Disney owns the copyrights to these characters; I'm just borrowing them for a bit. After some suggestions, I've also changed the title from its original "Naughty/Nice" to something a bit more appropriate to the story.

The Great Reindeer Accident

Three days out from Tortuga. Already things weren't going right. In fact, things were downright wrong.

Hector Barbossa regretted everything about this trip. He regretted underestimating the crew of that brigantine that sank his own ship and left him afoot. He regretted going to Tortuga. But most of all, he regretted signing on as Jack Sparrow's first mate. Sparrow had showed up looking for a crew to hunt gold. Barbossa knew better than to fall for that line, but he did need a ship. And Sparrow seemed idiot enough that Barbossa would doubtless have full control of the ship, the journey, and, if there was any, the gold. Even if there wasn't, at least he'd be at sea again. Either way, it seemed simple enough.

But Jack Sparrow was turning out to be more of an idiot than Barbossa first thought. Sparrow concerned himself with the oddest things, like who slept where, rather than which men should stand watch, and whether the cook should serve biscuits or potatoes with ham. Yesterday he had carried on a running dialogue all day about women's shoes, yet he neglected to keep a logbook and refused to allow Barbossa to take noonday sights or anything else to identify their position. His compass, he insisted, was enough. Barbossa believed that even if the treasure's location was secret, it was absurd not to do any navigating.

It bothered Barbossa, too, that he didn't even have the control he should, for half the time when he gave an order, Sparrow remanded it. Now, in perhaps the grandest show of stupidity yet, with the ship enveloped by one of the thickest fogs Barbossa had ever seen, Sparrow ordered two hands to bring all the available stores of rum on deck. Sparrow insisted he'd been shortchanged. He'd paid for three cases of rum and could only account for enough bottles to fill two. He had the hands setting bottles out on the deck so he could count them, once, and then a second time. When he started on the third tally, Barbossa interrupted him.

"Shall we drop anchor, cap'n?" Barbossa suggested, not wanting to risk giving another order without Sparrow's approval. The men would soon stop listening to him if Sparrow kept on countermanding everything he did, and that would not help his position at all.

The captain grumbled about empty bottles and waved Barbossa off with a flutter of his fingers. "Don't worry, I can count my bottles on a moving ship. Keep her goin' as she is."

The temptation to break one of the bottles over Sparrow's empty head came strong in Barbossa's mind, even though he knew it wouldn't help. The Capuchin monkey on his shoulder made a rude noise which drew Barbossa's attention back to the matter at hand. "It's the fog," he pointed out.

"Never mind the fog. I've got my trusty compass, we'll not get lost. Go back to whatever you were doing. You're interrupting my count. And take that annoying animal with you. That monkey makes me nervous. He looks too human to be runnin' around naked like that."

"Ye don't expect me to put clothes on a monkey?"

Sparrow pursed his lips. "Why not nappies, at least? He's making a mess o' my ship."

The monkey chattered harshly as if he understood the captain's words. Sparrow snarled at the monkey in response.

"Puttin' on airs, he is. You shouldn't have named him 'Sir Francis Drake', it gives him grandiose ideas. If you've got to have a monkey, you should give it a simple monkey name."

Barbossa muttered under his breath as he turned away. "Maybe I should call him Jack."

Sharp looks from a couple of the hands told Barbossa he wasn't the only one disenchanted with Sparrow. Barbossa shook his head at the men and went below deck to think. Or maybe not to think. Much more of this and he would start questioning his own sanity.

---

Barbossa stayed below deck for only a few minutes. The whole situation was wrong. This fog was far too thick for safety. Whether captain or first mate, he must consider the ship and the men on it. Bolstered by a belt of Irish whisky he kept in his own cabin, he determined to have it out with Sparrow. On deck, the captain still played with his bottles, arranging them now by size. Barbossa stopped dead in front of him.

"Captain Sparrow, have you even looked at the fog?"

Sparrow didn't flinch. "Why? I've seen fog before."

"It's not safe." Barbossa spoke slowly and very clearly. "We could run aground."

"No, no, no, we won't run aground."

"Captain, I really think - "

With a huff, Sparrow clambered to his feet. His dark eyes narrowed as he yanked the compass from his belt. "Look, Barbossa, this compass shows us where we're goin'. If there's something in the way, it'll let us know. But it's been holdin' straight and true since we left Tortuga. Savvy?"

"We've all got a stake in this venture, and as such, we've a right to share in the –"

"Stop!" Sparrow waved both his arms at Barbossa and then almost literally shoved the compass at him. "This is where we're goin'. Follow that heading, we'll get to the Isla de Muerta and our treasure. Guaranteed."

Barbossa did take note of the needle before Sparrow snatched the compass away and returned to his rum. Straight and true, eh? Well, well. Barbossa knew what that meant.

"Now run along like a good little first mate," Sparrow said, "and do whatever it is I'm paying you to do. I've got my own worries."

Rolling his eyes, Barbossa walked away from the captain. He strode to the far side of the ship and stopped beside two hands who were mending a net. One of the men glanced at the monkey sitting on Barbossa's shoulder.

"That monkey'd make a better cap'n than Sparrow," he said.

"Aye, he would." Barbossa leaned heavily on the railing, closer to the two men, and lowered his voice. "But I've got the heading now. I know where we're goin'. We may not need the captain much longer."

"That's the best news I've heard in weeks," the hand agreed.

Barbossa started to smile. A loud crash from high in the rigging stopped him. All hands gaped up into the blankness of the fog. There followed the clatter of splintering wood and finally, a dark shape took form in the whiteness, tumbling down through the rigging. It landed hard, right in the middle of Sparrow's rum bottles. Shattered glass and rum spattered all over the deck.

Sparrow sprang back out of the way. "What the bloody hell was that?!"

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