Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to copyrighted characters of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise.

Author Note: If you're stumbling upon this story, take note that this is a sequel to a previously written story of mine, "Beckett's Debt." There are many aspects of this story which happen or are mentioned in the last story, and so, reading "Beckett's Debt" will help you to understand what happened beforehand. If you click on my pen name you can easily access my previous story, because it's certainly well-buried in the POTC fanfiction archives now. I'm going to mention this sequel in a new chapter I'll post to it, so it will move up a couple of pages for a day or so, and I will be able to inform people who have story alert but not author alert of the sequel. Well, thanks, everyone! And enjoy!

Chapter 1: Snowglobe

Warnings: none

"I think we made a dire mistake," Jack Sparrow grumbled, his breath forming a cloud of steam in the freezing air.

Elizabeth Turner sat across from the dreadlocked pirate captain at a table in his cabin, holding her frost-bitten hands under her armpits for what little warmth they could provide. Propriety had long since been discarded.

"We didn't have to choose Greenland as a safe haven to plan our next strategy," she told the captain, watching the icicles in his goatee rattle against the frosty beads. The Black Pearl had reached the ice-covered eastern shore of Greenland, very close to the north pole. It was merely a vast wasteland where no civilization dared exist. In other words, a perfect hiding place.

"It's not that, luv," the captain said, shaking his head, his teeth chattering all the while. "I think we should not have been so brave an' foolish to boot as to rescue Beckett from his execution. Wot did we gain from that anyway, save for an armada of Royal Navy fresh on our backs an' a month-an'-a-half-long journey to a godforsaken wasteland?"

"Well, Beckett was the one to tell us that this part of Greenland would be a safe place to lay low for a while."

"Of that he was most certainly correct!" Jack exclaimed. "No one else is bloody stupid enough to follow us here!"

She flashed him a look of annoyance. They had all been cramped aboard the Pearl now for over two months. Upon arrival, they had not even made an attempt at disembarking to explore the land. It was just too cold.

"So have you thought of a plan for how we are going to avoid being killed by both the East India Trading Company and the Royal Navy? We've been here for almost a month."

"It's a wonder we are survivin'." He pointed his finger. "Actually, strike that. It's a miracle we're survivin'. Found only one crate o' food remains. I've been bringin' food up to th' crew from th' hold so they aren't aware o' that depressin' fact yet."

Barbossa stormed through the cabin's unlocked door, Jack the monkey cuddled up inside the neck of his coat, probably to supply Barbossa extra warmth at his throat. He slammed the door angrily behind him.

"I hope ye two been talkin' about when we be departin', 'cause if we're not leavin' by tomorrow at sundown, yer gonna be takin' a swim, Jack."

Barbossa's nose was as red as a tomato, and he had let his facial hair grow to a scraggly longer length. Little stray hairs were scattered all over his cheeks, each hair covered by a thin coating of ice. His face resembled that of an unkempt hedgehog.

Jack stood, keeping his hands tucked into his waistcoat, tri-cornered hat pulled tightly onto his head to keep as much heat as possible from escaping.

"I'm well-aware that th' crew is not happy. I myself am disgusted. However, we need to figure out another place to acquire some allies, meanwhile avoidin' our two pursuin' groups, as it were."

"Yer not gonna have a crew soon to carry out yer plans," Barbossa said matter-of-factly.

Jack looked affronted.

"Wot are you goin' to do? Mutiny on me again? That'll have to be over my dead body!"

"Bein' as I also be a cap'n of the ship, there be no need. 'Sides, the crew be gettin' restless enough on their own to do so's themselves. If'n they don't freeze to death firs'."

"You should have spoken up, then, when it came time to decide where to lay low for awhile. I recall quite clearly that you did not have an opinion on th' subject at hand."

"That decision was made without my bein' informed first, e'en though I've jus' as much right to take part in such a decision as ye do. Rather hard to have an opinion on a choice I wasn't e'en takin' part in!"

"You should have been more involved then!"

"All I can say is whate'er becomes of this foolish choice ye made is yer fault alone, an' I'm not goin' to be helpin' ye when ye have to face the consequences."

"This was not my—"

Elizabeth kicked him swiftly beneath the table, causing him to stop mid-sentence, flashing her a look of pain. She narrowed her eyes at him in response.

"—my intention, to cause such feelin's amongst th' crew," Jack stammered.

Elizabeth looked satisfied.

"Then what d'ye propose we do?" Barbossa asked.

"Why not go somewhere else?" was Jack's reply.

"We have allies in Singapore; we could lay low there fer awhile," the tall captain offered.

Elizabeth felt her stomach squirming. There were at least half a dozen Singaporeans who would not be happy to see her again.

Jack responded to Barbossa's idea.

"I think that place will be teemin' wiv Company employees an' Royal Navy alike, bein' as they also know this fact. Also, that's quite a distance away."

"How 'bout the Canary Islands then."

"Where are they?" Jack questioned, scratching his head.

"Don' ye have a map o' some sorts?"

"I don't recall such a place existin'."

"Well, I can assure ye that they're there—"

"Any place I would be aware of?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes, looking exasperated.

"Well, as I be pirate lord o' the Caspian Sea, we could always go—"

"Too far," Jack interrupted.

Barbossa sneered at the younger captain.

"What be yer ideas then, Sparrow?"

"How about…." There was an excruciatingly long pause, as Jack pondered the ship's next possible destination.

"How be it that ye made the decision to come to this godfersaken place so quickly, I wonder," Barbossa asked, suspicion in his eyes.

Jack received another kick from Elizabeth. Though not as forceful as the first one, the new bruise he'd be getting on his shin did smart quite a bit in its earliest moments.

"I mus' have gone insane… temporarily," he responded, looking at Elizabeth the entire time he spoke.

"Only wish I could've been there to put ye out o' yer misery then," Barbossa said with a sinister smile.

Barbossa would have killed Beckett outright had he known it was actually Beckett's idea to come here, Elizabeth mused, watching the encounter. He's blaming Jack for our misfortune, but at least Jack has established allies on this ship that will prevent any rash action. Beckett, on the other hand….

The main body of the crew was assembled in the forecastle, nibbling idly on saltpork and trying to peel the now-frozen produce with their stiff frostbitten fingers. On deck, the Pearl's sails were suffering from this unfortunate journey as well, the mainsail slowly becoming thinner and thinner as pieces were sliced off day after day by the crew and used as rather coarse, uncomfortable blankets. Not one crewmember dared venture on deck otherwise, for the bitter winds that blew along the length of the ship every couple of minutes was enough to severely limit even the ability to breathe, let alone move to avoid the wind.

Cutler Beckett sat in the corner of the forecastle closest to the door, back facing the remainder of the crew, wrapped in the material of two hammocks. He had come to the realization that his fingers had swollen to the point where he could not remove the sole piece of jewelry he possessed, a large solid gold ring he kept on the ring finger of his left hand signifying his acquisition of the rank of lord of the East India Trading Company.

Fortunately for me, the guards didn't notice the ring during my trial and subsequent sentencing. This is the only piece of my old life that I have left.

After Jack, Elizabeth, and he had returned to the Black Pearl after the intervention to his execution, he, now able to traverse the ship freely, soon discovered his frockcoat and waistcoat balled up under a cannon on the quarterdeck. Thankfully he was able to use them to keep warm in this frigid cold. His tiny pistol was notably missing from the pocket of his frockcoat, but he realized that it could not have been functional, having been immersed in water after the explosion of the Endeavour. The gunpowder had probably formed a solid ball in the barrel at this point. Ha, he mused, touching the empty pocket where it had always been. It's unlikely it even stayed in my pocket during that explosion… It's probably lying on the bottom of the ocean amidst the wreckage of the Endeavour The pistol had been another gift to him upon attaining the rank of Lord, but was long-gone now. He had to cherish the ring as the only reminder, the only real evidence of his past existence.

Pintel had been glaring over at the quiet new member of the crew, a man a couple of months ago they had not hesitated to kill – err, try to kill – and now he was aboard their ship, walking amongst them, using their supplies and food, drink, and hammocks. His splendid frockcoat and waistcoat, though the velvet was destroyed by water, made the crew uneasy. Even though Pintel was already wrapped in two hammocks of his own, he stood up with a grunt and walked over to Beckett, grabbing the netted material of the hammocks from Beckett's back and jerking it upwards, so that they were yanked right out of the former lord's hands.

Beckett turned his head to look up at the offender, and seeing that it was Pintel, who had previously been his assaulter, stood up, affronted. Immediately the crew that had been so focused on each of their minute tasks or thoughts looked on at the impending fight.

Both men faced each other, each emitting a cloud of steam through their nostrils. However, neither man could remain breathing with their mouths closed, for their nose hairs were frozen. Each opened his mouth slightly, allowing the steam to escape there, neither uttering a word.

Ragetti stood up, moving beside Pintel, but without any anger in his expression.

"Pintel," he said to his crewmate, tapping the shorter man on the shoulder. "I think it's a better idea for us all to huddle together to keep warm. You're goin' to expend too much energy fightin'."

The short bald man looked at Ragetti. "If I kill him, I can keep much warmer after I slice 'im open an' hold my hands over the heat o' his steamin' guts."

Beckett looked mildly disgusted.

"Do you realize how absolutely barbaric you sound?" he questioned, tucking his hands into his coat.

"Barbaric or no, I know wot'll keep me warm," Pintel replied.

"That's something a mongrel dog would do to keep warm. I would have thought you would possess more intelligence than some mangy cur, but I was mistaken."

Pintel lunged forward, impeded only by Ragetti grabbing onto the hammocks that were now slung around his upper body.

"Lemme attim," Pintel demanded, flashing his one-eyed crewmate an angry glare.

"Surely we can think of a better way to resolve this than fightin'," Ragetti calmly stated, not releasing Pintel's hammocks. "We have those spare oars; why not start a fire?"

"Are you serious," Beckett said disbelievingly, turning his attention to Ragetti. "In case you haven't noticed, we are on a wooden ship. The only thing a fire would be good for is to kill everyone aboard."

Ragetti looked disheartened, his eye becoming downcast. "I's jus' sayin'. Fires is right warm."

The cold had definitely called for desperate measures. A gallon jar, previously Jack's jar of dirt, was set up with some shards of kindling from an oar and pieces of paper stuffed inside it, in the center of the forecastle. A bottle sat nearby, filled to the brim, in case the fire needed to be extinguished. However, the problem at the forefront was igniting the materials in the gallon jar to start a fire.

The crew sat cross-legged around the gallon jar as if performing some sort of religious ritual. Ragetti hunkered down by the jar, striking the match against any type of coarse material he could find. During this time he blew on the kindling with hot breath to try to keep the small pieces of wood within from freezing. However, his efforts were for naught.

"Give me that," Beckett said disdainfully, moving towards the jar from where he had been sitting in the circle. He snatched the match from Ragetti and began repeating the same motions to initiate some sort of friction that would light the match.

Murtogg and Mullroy had a piece of the Pearl's sail draped between the two of them, their hands balled up in the fabric.

"Can I see that for a moment?" Beckett said to them, indicating the material. They handed it over hesitantly, following their handover with a blowing of warm air into cupped hands.

Beckett rubbed the match on the piece of rough sail fabric, and after a minute or so of quick movement, lit the match. The crew gave a little cheer and he dropped the match in the jar with the kindling.

Shortly thereafter the crew had become uncomfortably close, huddled directly up against the slowly building flame. Most of the crew were still a distance from the flame, and sat shivering, not much better off than before.

"I jus' thought o' somethin'," Pintel said, from his position behind Ragetti's, Marty's, and Gibbs's closer position to the flame. "Why don't we pass aroun' the jar so that everyone gets a chance at the heat."

It became a game of hot potato that no one wanted to win. Each crewmember held onto the jar as long as possible, usually positioning the container in the center of their crossed legs until the jar was taken from them by the next crewmember. This continued for a while.

Jack entered the brig, seeing the crew seemingly cooperating, passing around a gallon jar.

"Wot are you all doing?" he asked his crew.

"Tryin' to keep ourselves warm!" Marty cried. "Are we gonna be leavin' here any time soon, Cap'n?"

"Aye," Jack replied, nodding. The remainder of the crew stopped focusing their gazes on the desirable jar of fire, instead looking at their captain. Beckett could only scoff. Jack had already claimed this twice before to no avail during the near-month they had been anchored here.

"When are we leavin' then?" Ragetti asked.

"Right now," Jack replied. The looks he was now receiving were etched with doubt. More scoffs were heard.

"We have decided to make berth in the Azores," Jack matter-of-factly replied. "From there, we shall acquire new crew an' supplies, then we will be free to sail th' seas as we please."

Beckett felt a pang in his heart at the familiar place. A pang that was only associated with this particular island chain deep in his past. The only time his emotions had gotten the better of him. Ever since then he had conditioned himself to never express those horrid things to any great extent again.

"So wot's stoppin' us now?" Pintel asked. Jack rolled his eyes in reply, noticing Beckett doing the same. Immediately he quit the eye-rolling.

"Death is wot's stoppin' us. We beat th' Comp'ny once rather recently," he said, casting a sidelong glance at Beckett, who looked away, "an' escaped their related minions thrice. Once barely, if you recall. We have not th' supplies nor th' manpower nor th' energy to take on a ship of our own size, let alone larger, which is wot all th' ships o' the line an' o' th' company seem to be nowadays. An' so we lay low in a warmer climate whilst we rebuild. Wot say you to that?"

"Aye," came from the crewmembers. Beckett sat where he was, arms crossed, staring at the flame in the jar, which was now in front of Murtogg and Mullroy.

The crew began to rise from their positions on the floor, dusting the frost off their frockcoats and waistcoats and breeches. They steeled themselves for the numbing cold they'd be exposed to above deck. However, they were happy to know that they'd be setting sail as soon as the sails caught the icy winds that whipped through every so often.

Beckett remained seated in the forecastle. Upon the leave of the crew, he looked up at Jack.

"What makes you think that no one will be looking for you in the Azores?" he asked the captain. "It's a well-known trade route and refueling point for both the Royal Navy and the East India Trading Company." Beckett felt uncomfortable with the notion of returning there—not that anyone would remember him by now. It was the last time in his life he had been a rage of emotions.

"Let's jus' say… I'd be out o' my mind to e'er try to return," Jack replied. "I had figured that you, of all people, would have been made aware o' my situation, at least from your time in th' Royal Navy."

The former lord flashed him a look of confusion. How could Jack have had a bad experience there as well, also during his time in the Royal Navy…. It was such a strange coincidence. Jack continued explaining.

"Even though you are not aware, which does indeed surprise me, I do know that th' entirety o' th' Royal Navy would know to never look for me there, no matter how dire th' circumstances."

"And why is that," Beckett asked, a slight smirk on his face.

"All that's important is that it creates a doubt in the minds of my enemies to ever consider my visiting there."

Beckett did not like the idea of returning to the Azores, and desperately wanted Jack to change his mind. Anywhere was better than there. Anywhere. Well, except for Port Royal, of course….

"And what of the East India Trading Company? They know not of your unfortunate experience there. They'll be looking for you there."

"Not so," Jack said confidently, "bein' as mos' of the Royal Navy men at the time th' issue occurred are now high officers an' leaders of the Company. An' it's somethin' they won't forget to remember. Or would that be, 'remember to forget?"

"You shouldn't be so sure of that," Beckett drawled.

"Wot? Have you been communicating wiv them in th' las' two months you've been aboard th' Pearl? Right. Didn't think so."

"But really, a better place to go would be—"

"No," Jack said, stopping Beckett mid-sentence with a hand. "I am not listenin' to your advice again, Mr. North Pole. I'll never forget how bloody awful that particular idea o' yours was."

"But I can assure you, there are so many safer places than the—"

"You may be good at knowin' how to flee and knowing wot truly constitutes 'no man's land' but I say to you this decision is final, discussed amongst the captains of the ship."

"Captains," Beckett scoffed disdainfully. "What exactly is the nature of this problem?"

"It seems that you have more of a problem wiv the Azores than I do."

"You aren't answering my question. Wouldn't your crewmates be aware of the situation as well?" Beckett asked. "I don't understand what should stop you from revealing to me this problem, being as I can just ask anyone else."

"Actually, they are not aware o' th' situation," Jack said very quietly. "Wot is your situation there? You're awfully adamant about avoidin' it."

"Nothing," Beckett snapped back. "I simply do not wish to be strung up by the East India Trading Company, which has been waiting so patiently for your arrival."

This was a good excuse, and a valid one for Beckett. But not the prime reason he did not wish to return. Oh, the rotten memories I'll always have of that godforsaken place….

"Well, if you reveal to any o' my crew th' presence of a situation there, I shall see to it that it is never revealed or known by anyone but meself. If I hear a word of it from anyone else aboard, I may even be so inclined as to toss you from th' Pearl… savvy?"

"So apparently the situation is over there, being as no one may ever know what occurred," Beckett said, hoping to extract more information. Too bad his threat didn't also consist of avoiding the place altogether….

"That I do not know," was the curt reply. Jack shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting nervously about the room. "At any rate, you're an able-bodied hand now, so you can aid in our departure from this frozen hell that you actually recommended us to go to," he said, signaling with covered hands to the area above his head.

Beckett remained seated, smirking.

"Just because I recommended it doesn't mean it is law."

"That's not the point. No one could come up wiv a better idea, I had thought at the time. But now I realize that any other place all th' way to world's end is better than here! The bloody locker is better than here!"

"Well, the Pearl did remain safe during our stay here, did she not? It's not like I set some sort of trap for you pirates."

"You've got to watch your wordin' from now on, because popular opinion is o' the persuasion that you yourself have gone pirate. An' that's not entirely inaccurate, is it?"

Beckett narrowed his eyes at the captain and exhaled a puff of steam, yet didn't say a word. He glanced down very briefly at the ring on his finger, the reminder of a better life and the hope that someday he could be redeemed. But the Azores… Why did they have to go there, of all places?

Upon Jack's departure from the forecastle, Beckett stood up, picking the piece of sail off of the floor and wrapping it around at chest-height. The flame in the jar was flickering wildly with the influx of wind due to the recent leave of the crew. Shame to have spent so long starting the fire, only to have it blown out shortly thereafter.

The former lord was very curious as to what had occurred at their destination that had made it impossible for the Royal Navy to imagine Jack ever going back. He would have to investigate and ask the right questions. Maybe Jack told Elizabeth, he thought. She's more prone to accidentally reveal the past of another, than he is to reveal his own past. No one need know my unfortunate association with the place. However, I wonder if it would be safe for me to disembark in the Azores. For good.

Elizabeth sat in Jack's cabin with Barbossa, awaiting Jack's news from telling the new heading to the crew. The past month had not been good to her. Every morning she would awake with nausea and would lie in bed for an extra time, attempting to curb these unwelcome feelings so as not to burden the remainder of the crew. She had blamed the lack of fresh food on this new daily experience for her, and vowed that once they arrived in civilization again, she would gorge herself on any food she could get her hands on. She also noticed the absence of her woman's cycle, but attributed this to the lack of good nutrition. There had been other times in her life, times of great stress, that she had missed her cycle, but it had resumed once the source of stress was removed. My body will straighten up once we get to the Azores, she mused. That is, if the crew agrees to go there… but I don't see why they wouldn't.

Jack returned to the cabin, a big toothy grin on his face.

"Guess wot?" he queried. "Azores it is!"

Elizabeth gave a little cheer, and Barbossa only grunted in reply, now seated where Jack had been.

She had noticed Jack in past days trying to decipher the Singaporean chart, with its array of circles that could be turned and adjusted to reveal new adventures. Unless he was keeping a secret regarding some unforeseen treasure hidden somewhere in the Azores islands, he hadn't found any exciting new destinations on the map.

She watched Jack pacing in front of the large window of his cabin, face twisted with concern.

"What's wrong, Jack?" Elizabeth piped up. "You look troubled."

He suddenly became aware of her addressing him, and froze in place.

"Nothing's the matter," he replied hastily, on the defensive. "We're leavin', aren't we? I'm not troubled."

All of a sudden Gibbs burst through the door, clutching the doorjamb with an unsteady hand.

"Cap'n, we can't raise the anchor!"

"Are ye sayin' tha' we actually dropped anchor here?" Barbossa said to Jack. "The ice aroun' the ship prob'ly'd do the job on its own."

"We've been here nearly a month, an' you never noticed that?" Jack shot back.

"D'ye see anyone darin' to go above deck fer more than a few minutes? I guess I just thought ye'd be smarter than that."

"Well, if it weren't for you tryin' to make quick work of your task in Curaçao by takin' the anchor an' crew o' th' Merry Murder, we wouldn't have had 'em mutiny on us, creatin' th' need to return to Port Royal an' now havin' countless redcoats hot on our trail, thus drivin' us into hidin', an' possibly resultin' in the second loss of th' anchor. It just seems you came full circle. Th' new crewmates you picked up? Gone – didn' even last an hour. New anchor? Probably goin' to be gone as well. A useless endeavour, it was."

Elizabeth, Jack, and Gibbs watched Barbossa's face turn the shade of red of his nose.

"That rescue in Port Royal was not needed, by any means," was Barbossa's reply. "Where'd it get us? 'nother mouth to feed. Less supplies fer the others t' make use of. He's the enemy, Jack. I shan't see yer purpose fer not jus' lettin' Beckett hang."

Elizabeth began to open her mouth, but Jack beat her to it.

"Th' reward for 'is capture before was 10,000 pounds. Can you imagine wot it's risen to now? Upon his impromptu stay of execution an' darin' escape wiv an infamous pirate captain as well as th' pirate king—" he said, looking over at Elizabeth, "—he's made hisself of use as a source of emergency funds. Prob'ly at th' very least 25,000 pounds to hand 'im in now."

Barbossa looked unimpressed, and Elizabeth couldn't help but let her jaw drop a little. Jack truly did anything for the benefits that it bestowed on him and him alone. It seemed that nothing he did could be attributed to just being a nice person. Barbossa spoke.

"Are ye tellin' me tha' we've been reduced to needin' a mere sum o' twenty-five thousand pounds? When I be cap'n o' the Pearl, such a sum'd be—"

"Wouldn't we be much better off wiv that sort of money to spend as we please? New crew, new supplies?"

"We're pirates through an' through," Barbossa growled. "What be the need o' money to get those things, when we can always plunder 'em?"

"'Course that was always appropriate before, but now that we're already bein' watched for by every sort o' group, even other pirates seeking their fortunes –referring to your Merry Murder blokes, o' course –it'd be best to lay low until we have said supplies an' crew in our possession. Do you not agree?"

Barbossa gave Jack a haggard look, but it appeared that he would submit. He spoke.

"An' how to do propose we hand 'im o'er, if'n th' need should arise? We're sure t' be recognized. Each one o' us is prob'ly worth twice as much as he is."

Jack idly stared at his grimy fingernails.

"Actually probably only myself is worth quite that much, th' last time I checked."

Barbossa rolled his eyes.

"However," Jack continued, ignoring the other captain's response, "it would not be one of us turnin' 'im in."

Elizabeth looked on with anticipation. What kind of tricks does he have up his sleeve now? The cabin was absolutely silent for a minute or so.

"The person being—" Elizabeth began. Jack held a finger up, a grin spreading on his face.

"Th' real traitors aboard th' Pearl."

So, does this have potential? This was a rather long chapter. Not all chapters should be quite so long. That's either a bad thing or a good thing...