Disclaimer: Disney's

A/N: This is Chapter 1 of 4, a sequel, of sorts, to my J/E story, Lost and Found. Happy Holidays, readers!

-.-.- The Christmas Guest -.-.-

Chapter One: Remembering

A long while later, they lay twined together, sated, the covers pulled up close around them against the chill, and, completing her contentment, he made no move to go.

"'s all right," he murmured, eyes closed. "Gibbs'll come if I'm needed. Wore me out, you did."

Elizabeth studied the face next to hers on the pillow, golden in the waning light of afternoon. The fey, Sparrovian animation was absent, replaced by a quiescent beauty that made him look both more mature and more youthful at once. She reached up and ran a finger along the edge of his jaw, the curling facial hair soft-rough to the touch. His eyes opened, and focused on hers, warm and penetrating, as always. She subdued the little thrill, and frowned a question.

An answering frown. "What? Have I something on my face?"

A bubble of laughter rose, and her voice shook as she said, "No! It's just… what do you look like? Without all the hair and ornaments?" She smoothed one ruffled eyebrow, and ran the backs of her fingers against his cheek, just because she could.

He reached up and caught the hand, and kissed her fingers, tenderly. "Don't look like a pirate, that's certain," he smiled. "Fella called me 'fetching' once."

She chuckled. "Oh, dear!"

"Mmm," he agreed. The eyelids drooped. "Couldn't look 'fetching' an' still be the best pirate in the Caribbean, could I?"

Elizabeth smiled, thinking yes, he could, and did, and he certainly was. But she said, instead, "How glad I am that Father asked you to come to me."

"Aye. Though Will asked first." He opened his eyes again at her sudden stillness.

"How was this?"

" 'Twas that first Christmas. Remember?"

She did, and her expression lightened. "Oh. Yes. I remember. How could I forget?"

"How indeed?" he chuckled, and let his thoughts wander back...

Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl, grandest pirate ship in the Caribbean (and, quite probably, the World!), should have been filled with the joy of the season, or so he thought. The trouble was, he wasn't.

Jack hadn't bothered much about Christmas during the last ten years, when he'd been adrift and taking whatever inferior ship and chance of employment came his way, but this year should have been different. This year, they should have been docked here in Tortuga and hosted a monstrous party, celebrating the death of his old enemy, his fabulous escape from hanging, and his return to the captaincy of the Black Pearl. Not to mention other happy events and circumstances: his attendance (in disguise and without mishap) at the wedding of Elizabeth Swann and William Turner; the expansion of Commodore Norrington's "one day's head start" to include most of the previous year (possibly due to Jack's policy of completely avoiding English ships and settlements); and his continued and most convenient access to the vast treasure of the Isla de Muerta.

The latter was what had him at loose ends now, for, as his beloved ship needed careening, he'd elected to hire workers to accomplish this, and gave the whole crew fat bonuses and leave for the holidays. Jack almost thought it would have been better if they'd had to do the work themselves, or at least that he should have stayed to supervise, but Gibbs had offered and Jack had taken him up on it readily enough, thinking that two weeks of carousing in Tortuga would be the next best thing to celebrating on the Pearl. How wrong he'd been.

Maybe he was getting old, he thought morosely, as he wandered along through the town, his tricorn pulled down and his coat collar pulled up against the rain that had been drizzling for days. Somehow the raw and raucous life of the place wasn't making him happy like it usually did. He remembered how enthusiastically he'd extolled the town's virtues to Will when he'd brought the boy here that first time: 'twas always entertaining to see a place through new eyes. But, ultimately, Will hadn't liked Tortuga much, and, though that hadn't bothered Jack then, it was bothering him now, considerable. His usual haunts, close to the waterfront, seemed seedier than usual, the women coarser, the liquor execrable. He knew the better parts of town, and had made his way there, through the rain, but even these more attractive streets with their well-stocked stores and neat houses failed to cheer him. P'rhaps if he'd had company… but Gibbs was back with the ship, AnaMaria had gone into the interior to visit an aunt and uncle, and the rest of his crew had either found lodgings with friends, or were content to reside in the brothels back near the harbor for the holidays.

Crossing a muddy street, he saw a prettily dressed woman emerging from a store called Finnegan's Mercantile, carrying a number of parcels: Christmas gifts! Admiring the view as the lady retreated up the boardwalk, he crossed to the storefront and peered in. Finnegan's looked as though it catered to the well-to-do. There was a little of everything on display in the window, from dry goods to fine jewelry, and, as Jack looked the items over, a piece of the latter caught his eye. It was a stickpin, for a gentleman's cravat, elegant but not too 'barock', and surmounted by a black pearl! The thought came, unbidden but immediate: Will would like that.

Now where had that come from? And what was he going to do about it? Go to Port Royal, on the sly, just for a few days, playing Father Christmas to those children? He imagined their surprise, and the decorations Elizabeth would have arranged so carefully (their first holiday together, after all!), and the hot rum punch they'd press into his hand, after seating him close to their little fire. And perhaps they'd have him to dinner, as well…roast goose? With all the trimmings? How long had it been since he'd spent a Christmas like that? Lord, they might even try to drag him off to church at midnight—if he stood at the back he wouldn't be too noticeable, and he supposed they'd sing carols and such, just like they'd done in England when he was a lad.

He looked up and around, shaking off this warm vision, and seeing the reality of his current situation: the muddy street, drizzling rain, palm trees scraggly and dripping. He could stay in one of the better establishments here in Tortuga, but most of his crew would be at the Faithful Bride, or the Blue Boar, down by the docks, and somehow he wasn't in the mood to be alone. He frowned up at the unrelenting gray of the sky, and suddenly made up his mind.

"Right, then," he said aloud, decisively. He'd take the chance. At the very worst he'd have a different set of inns and taverns to choose from. And at the very best…well, he'd just have to wait and see.

He pushed open the green-painted door of Finnegan's Mercantile, went in, closing it behind him with a jangle of bells.