A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! (toots horn) yay! I'm proud to say I was the ONLY one in my family to stay awake until midnight! and what was I doing? finishing this chapter and working on my others fics!! i'm so dutiful!! course I stayed up till 2:30 doing so and am now incredibly tired, so forgive any grammer issues. I'll fix them when I'm not so out of it...

Disclaimer: I own the main characters plus anyone you don't recognize. Not Jack, not Will, not Elizabeth, not Gibbs, not Cotton, not Cotton's funny parrot...the list goes on.

oh, and I attempted Spanish in this chapter!! I think I got accents and nitpicky details in the right spots. It's been a few weeks, so don't judge me too harshly if incorrect.

And I dedicate this chapter to Jinxeh (of course I don't hate you silly!!) because she was one of my first reviewers and THE FIRST to send me a long review, complete with very nice criticisms that I took to heart!

there are more responses to reviewers at the end of the chapter. And fyi, I LURVE anonymous reviewers, being one for years before I got my own penname. I accept them and respond to them as much as I do signed reviews!!

Chapter 2: Confrontations

It was Saturday and Christina was wandering the main street of Port Royal with her best friend Isabella Santez, searching for nothing in particular and just enjoying the sunlight.

"Chiquita, mira!" Isabella said, taking down a bolt of printed velvet. Isabella, or Bella as Christina liked to call her, was a native of Spain and looked the part with her long lush dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin and thick accent. "This would be kind on you, no?"

Christina smiled. "You think it would look nice on me?" she corrected gently.

"Of course!" Isabella's tinkling laugh sounded at her slight mistake. She and Christina had an agreement: Isabella would teach Christina Spanish and Christina would better Isabella's English. "Tócalo!"

Christina ran her fingers down the length of the deep chocolate brown velvet marveling at the softness. "Haría un…buen vestido, no?" she struggled slightly.

"Muy bien!" Isabella said. "You could get the fabric."

"You know I can barely finish my samplers. What makes you think I could handle making a dress?" Christina asked, putting the fabric away. "Let's go see what else is in."

The two friends stepped out onto the street. Almost automatically, Alex came running up to them. They greeted him politely, but he was too excited about something and too out of breath to return them.

"Where's your father?" he managed to ask Christina.

"At home, I think. Why? Is there something wrong at the docks?" Christina asked.

"There's…a strange ship trying to dock. The captain's messenger asked to fetch your father. Apparently, he and the captain are friends," Alex called as he began running again. Isabella watched him go, but when she turned, Christina had ran off toward the docks.

"Tina, are you insane?" Isabella said, trotting to keep stride with her brisk companion. "You have no idea who or how dangerous this ship could be. Not to mention the state of the docks. We don't belong there!"

"But aren't you curious?" Isabella said, continuing at her speedy pace. "Besides, they have the courtesy to wait to dock. They can't be too bad. And the docks aren't as bad as you make them out to be."

Grumbling incessantly, Isabella drug her feet the entire way, but followed Christina all the same; curiosity had taken both girls' concentration from shopping.

o.O

Christina stepped onto the docks and immediately knew what ship was causing all the trouble. A great ship, at least as big as her father's own, if not bigger, was sitting still fifty feet from the docks, waiting patiently. It flew no sails and no flag, which had no doubt caused the investigation. Her eyes darted among the faces of the crows for the supposed messenger.

She spotted a man standing slightly apart from the queue at the dock offices, waiting somewhat impatiently. He towered over the majority of the others around him and his skin had a heavy tan about it. He was dressed in a dirty beige shirt and long black pants with heavy boots. His jet-black hair was cut short. This was the messenger, as his boot was tapping impatiently, her arms were crossed and he was casting his eyes over the crowd, obviously looking for something.

She felt Isabella move at her elbow; she had finally caught up. Not bothering to speak to her, she strode off again toward the man, sending Isabella into a rant, half of which was in Spanish. As she approached the man, he gradually turned his attention to her. His eyebrows knitted.

"You aren't Will Turner," he said.

"Certainly not," Christina answered. "But speaking of, what do you need him for?"

"Are you his wife?" the man asked.

"Hardly. You're evading my question," Christina pressed.

"True," he said simply. And he looked away and paid her no more of his time. She waited, but he never looked back. Huffing, she tapped him again. He rolled his eyes and looked down at her. "What, child?"

"'Child'?" Christina chuckled. "You can't be any older than I. And I demand an answer!"

"And how could anything dealing with Will Turner possibly affect you , woman?" the man snapped. Christina opened her mouth to retort, but Isabella pulled her arm.

"Callete! Tu papá está aquí," she warned. Christina looked and saw her father and Alex walking just as briskly as she had toward the man. Quickly, Isabella and Christina ducked behind a large stack of crates. Isabella started to leave, but Christina silently bade her stay; she would get her answer one way or another.

"You are?" her father demanded. Christina smiled at her father's bluntness.

"A representative of that ship yonder. We are trying to dock and no one will let us."

"Well, a large ship is rarely able to be docked at this part of the docks. Here, come with me and let's go talk to your captain," her father said. "Alex, stay here."

Christina waited for her father and the rude man to leave before she crept out from hiding. She silently stepped beside Alex, who was studying Will and the representative board the large ship.

"Do you know what ship that is?" she asked suddenly. Alex leapt, his hand already flying to his sword.

"Goodness, Christina! Warn a man!" he breathed heavily. "No, I don't…but there have been rumors…"

"What kind?" Isabella asked.

"Some of the men are saying that's the Pearl, looking for another raid of the city like they did years ago when our parents were our age," Alex whispered. "And some also say that Mr. Turner was invited aboard because he and Mrs. Turner are close friends with the captain."

Christina laughed suddenly. "My parents? Gallivanting with pirates? My father possibly but my mother's too much of a stick in the mud," she said, half lying. The other half of her was desperately hoping the latter of Alex's statement to be true.

"They're just rumors," Alex shrugged. "Well, I'd better get back. Boss is already on my case about dawdling with fine women such as yourselves."

Christina and Isabella smiled at each other and chimed their goodbyes. "We should probably be getting back to town as well," Isabella said. Christina nodded and followed Isabella as she led them away from the sea.

"I hate the docks," Isabella stated once they were back on the streets. Christina smiled and shook her head. Isabella had no sense of danger, of adventure.

o.O

Night fell and Christina found herself lying awake in her bed, thinking and staring at the incessantly shining moon outside her window. Her ears were perked, listening to the creaking floorboards and muffled voices from her parents' room. Finally, all ceased. She turned on her other side, careful not to let the bedsprings creak. All light had been extinguished from under the door; her parents were safely in bed and drifting to peaceful sleep.

Grinning, Christina flung off her bed covers. Where her nightgown should have been was an old outfit of her father's, mended and tailored to suit her. A billowy off-white shirt masked her chest while semi-tight black knickers accented her strong, long legs. White socks were pulled to her knee and her feet were adorned in shiny black boots with a large silver buckle. Now she swept her long hair up and secured it into a ponytail, the end of which she tucked under a modest hat. Careful not to make a sound, she swung out of her open window and landed on the roof below her. From here, she climbed onto a tree branch and, expertly keeping her balance, she walked toward the trunk and continued her decent to solid ground. Quickly, she picked her way toward town. She headed for one of the only lit buildings in the square; the saloon.

It was dark and grimy and full of men, most half drunk. A few hailed her as she came in, calling her Chris. She smiled and nodded. She immediately headed for the bar and address the man behind it.

"Hello, Bert," she said merrily. "Are the rest here yet?" she grabbed a violin case from the back room and set it on the bar.

"Actually," Bert the barkeeper said, wiping out a glass, "Samuel stopped by and said he and Michael weren't going to be able to come in tonight."

Christina froze, her violin half out. "You couldn't have told me this earlier?" she asked bitterly, putting her instrument back and snapping the case closed.

"Well…you were with your father…" he trailed, giving a meaningful look. She nodded; they both knew her real identity and both knew to keep it a secret. "And I was kind of hoping to get some help around the bar tonight. I have to take off and meet Gertrude." His face brightened as he mentioned her name; Gertrude was Bert's girlfriend who lived in the nearby countryside. Christina smiled, knowing both well and how they didn't get to see each other often.

"Well, then what are you doing here? Go get her, stupid!" Christina laughed. Bert smiled thankfully and handed over his apron. She donned it quickly.

"Just make sure no one gets horrifically hammered and destroys anything. And you know my rule on prostitutes," he said, already half out the door.

"Absolutely none, under no circumstances," Christina called.

"Excellent. I told Matthew to come and relieve you in about an hour or so, but we both know how reliable he is," Bert said, holding the door open.

"Just get out of here! I'll be fine!" she shooed him off. Bert smiled and tipped his hat. And he was gone.

Christina sighed. An entire bar was now under her charge. True, she had been taught by Bert himself on how to run a bar and Samuel and Michael, her fellow musicians, often helped out as payment to Bert for letting them play there. But each time she had help and, to be honest, all three men ended up doing most of the work. You'll be fine, she told herself over and over.

Three quarters of an hour passed and all was going magnificently. Most of the crowd in the bar had shown mostly for her, Samuel, and Michael's musical talents, so she was perfectly at ease with her patrons. She chatted animatedly with them, served them drinks, and even pulled out her violin and played a few solo ditties. And it was on one of the solos that a rather large crowd of strange men came barging through the door.

All were oddly dressed and smelt of body odor and rum. They ranged in age and height, but all had the same air to him. They staggered in and took three of the tables toward the back of the room. The other patrons were not surreptitious with their inquisitive stares; the natives of Port Royal were closely linked and knew everyone. And although they were a port city, most could be halting around newcomers, especially ones so strangely decorated that barged into bars in the middle of the night.

Christina too, in the middle of a song, was staring her new customers. She had stopped at the sudden interruption but, at the pleads of the table she was entertaining at the moment, she placed bow to string and began to play a quick, light melody. Her fingers danced merrily over the neck of the violin, her blue-grey eyes sparkling and snapping as the people around her clapped their hands in rhythm. She turned as the newcomers settled into their seat. She gave a little bow toward them and jumped lightly into the air. Doing a little jig, she played the melody again and again, the tempo speeding as she went. Fingers nearly knotted and her bow jerked up and down as she grinned and laughed and continued to play. The patrons began to chant, begging her to continue. Finally, she played the last note and separated bow from violin. Panting slightly, she bowed at the waist, smiled modestly at the applause.

"It sounds much better with Michael and Samuel, I assure you," she called into the ruckus. She laughed again and walked to the bar, where one of the newcomers was waiting.

"You're the barkeep?" his voice nearly sneered as she tended to storing her instrument.

"What's it to you?" she snapped back. "Can't a barkeeper also be a musician? And can't his customer at least attempt some form of pleasantry when speaking to him?" She looked up and stifled a gasp of surprise. It was the man from the docks, the one who had been so rude toward her. Her eyes glinted; she wanted revenge.

"Shouldn't the barkeep be a little less rude to his paying customers?" the man asked.

"Not when said customer treats him in discontent for having other professions besides tending to drinks," she spat back.

"I was merely expressing my shock. I never meant insult," he said.

"Well, that's how it was taken and easily so. What do you want?" she asked.

"Twelve bottles of rum and some birdseed if you have it," the man said as if it were the simplest order in the world. Christina looked at him.

"We don't serve bottles. I can, however, give you twelve drafts. As for the birdseed, you'll want the feed store three doors down," she said, already extracting tall glasses.

"Is it open?" he asked.

"No," she said simply.

Another man from the same party staggered over. He slumped into a stool beside the first and reached out a bejeweled hand. It grasped the neck of the rum bottle. Quickly, he tipped it to his lips. Instinctively, Christina reached out and popped the end of it, making the bottle jab into his teeth and its contents spill and stain the newcomer's shirt and vest. He coughed and spluttered as Christina took back her bottle.

"I think not, sir," she sneered at him. To the first, "Was he one that ordered?" The man nodded. "Only a pint for him. He looks like he's already had enough."

"Why the rum? Why is it always the rum that goes?" the newcomer murmured. Just then, two finely dressed women, their faces caked in makeup came trotting up to him. He greeted them with a slur, making each go into giggles. Christina's face contorted. She set down the rum bottle with a clunk.

"No. Absolutely not. They leave now," she commanded, pointing at the two women.

"Why, mate? They're lovely and I paid to have them for the night," the second stated.

"No prostitutes in my bar," Christina seethed.

"But –– " he protested again.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me," Christina growled. She grasped around the underside of the bar and whipped out a long sword. The prostitutes shrieked. "No whores in my bar. Now get them out."

Christina was aware of cold steel on her neck. She focused her gaze on the first man, who now also brandished a sword, the one threatening to slit her throat. "We'll do as we please," he snarled.

"No," Christina ducked under his blade and, stepping back, placed her own inches from his, "you'll obey the rules of my bar or get out."

"Give us our rum and we will," the former retaliated. Christina's eye flitted to the half-finished order. The man with the whores was reaching for the bottle again. She let her left hand fall limp, then contracted it and made a throwing gesture: she had let her dagger slip out of her sleeve and now it pinned the stealer's sleeve to the wooden bar. He examined the hilt carefully, then attempted to remove it with his other hand. Christina smiled as he failed.

The door burst open again and framed a frazzled Matthew. It only took him one look before he was behind the two men, their whores in his grasp. "Just in time, Matt," Christina smiled, more at the demanding man than Matthew.

"Are you all right?" he asked looking at her, the drawn swords, and the struggling pinned man.

"I'll be fine once you get rid of them," she nodded her head to the prostitutes.

"And these two?" he asked. Christina looked slowly at the one still brandishing a sword at her.

"I think I can handle it," she smirked at the man.

"In fact," the pinned one spoke up, "if someone would be so kind to release us, we will take this outside. Men," he barked, turning as far as he could the rest of his party. They stood quickly and stepped over to him.

"Shiver me timbers," a blue and yellow parrot said from a man's shoulder.

"Cotton says you're in quite a bind," an older man with a short beard commented.

"I am, aren't I, birdie? Gibbs, get me out," the pinned one said. The bearded one obeyed and together they managed to wrench out the blade. Shaking his sleeve, the newly released looked again at the handle of the captive blade again. Something seemed to click in his mind. "This yours?" he asked.

"Perhaps," Christina said, noncommittal.

He nodded. Placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, he said, "Now children, lower your toys and lets go kill each other outside like normal…men," he directed the last word to Christina. Slowly, each lowered his weapon. "Good, now, left foot, right foot," he coaxed. Never taking his eyes of the boy, she came out from behind the bar and followed him towards the exit.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Christin…"

"Yes, Matt," she hissed, cutting him off before he could reveal her name. "I'll be back, don't worry." And with that she, the two men, and their entire group exited the bar. They stepped into the abandoned street and Christina found herself and the man from the docks encircled. There was no choice but to fight. She brought her sword back up as he did. They stood watching each other for a few silent moments.

"Whenever you're ready," the other man spoke up. "I've got the girls for the whole night." Christina looked at him; the damned prostitutes were hooked onto his elbows and giggling softly. Well, I'll give them something to giggle about, she thought darkly.

Her dueler had taken advantage of her distraction; Christina only just managed to block his blow before it caught her in the chest. She tossed it off and they began to circle each other, waiting for a break in defense or someone to lunge. She had to admit that he knew his stuff. He was obviously no stranger to the blade. He lunged again and she quickly parried it, thrusting with some attacks of her own. One would gain ground, causing the circle to migrate one way, but it would be soon retaken and then some, causing the circle to migrate the opposite direction. Christina smiled; no doubt most of the bar was watching the fight attentively and she guessed what an odd sight they must be.

On and on the battle raged, but neither her nor her opponent made any successful leeway on the fight. She noted little beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. She herself was tiring way too quickly, the blade becoming a dead weight in her rapidly fatiguing arm. Nevertheless, she kept striking, meeting each of his blows. He was much better than she. Her breaths became more and more labored and her mind began to wonder, her defenses weakening. With one fatal blow, the man managed to knock her sword away and break her stance. Once she had recovered, she found herself again at sword point, the cold steel on her jaw. She let her arm fall to her side, closing her eyes in defeat. The surrounding spectators erupted in cheers for a man named Tristan. The prostitute-armed man clapped her defeater on the back. He leaned in toward the latter's ear, muttering something. Her defeater frowned, looking at the whisperer as if for confirmation. The latter nodded, and both looked at Christina. Suddenly, she felt her hat be knocked back. She turned as it floated innocently to the ground.

Gasps replaced cheers as her long hair tumbled down from its hiding place. Varying remarks on her revealed gender broke out. She glared at the two men. With a sharp cry, she brought her leg up and knocked her defeater's sword from his hands. The prostitutes screamed shrilly as she kicked him down and held her own sword under his chin as he looked up at her from his back, obviously taken aback. She smiled in success, as the crowd became deathly silent. Just then, muffled cheers erupted from behind them. Christina turned and saw a window of bar patrons cheering and clapping. She laughed heartily as she spotted Matthew in the front, clapping as well. Therefore, she was quite unprepared for two sets of strong arms grasping her, bending her arms back so that her sword dropped.

Her opponent was back on his feet with help from the other man "Parlay," she spouted involuntarily. Both were looking at her, the former incredulously and the latter almost eagerly. "Parlay!" she repeated, looking expectantly at them.

"We heard you the first time, love," the older man spoke up. "And what made you think that shouting random words at us would do any good?"

"You're pirates, aren't you?" she said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "No other large group of people in their right minds would be frequenting a bar at night, be dressed in such outlandish clothing, and carry a parrot on their shoulder!"

"Awk! Blast ye scurvy dogs!" the parrot spoke up.

"Cotton says you've got some nerve for a wrench," commented one of the pirates in the circle.

"Birdie's got a point," the older man agreed. "Maybe we're a traveling bunch of merchants in need of refreshment after months at sea? Maybe we enjoy unique clothing? And maybe Mr. Cotton here is a mute and his pet parrot speaks for him!"

"Doubtful," Christina rolled her eyes.

"Show her, Cotton," the man commanded. And the man with the parrot opened his mouth, showing a stub of a tongue. Christina flinched back, her face contorting in disgusted shock. "He has that effect on most. But now I'm wondering where you learned such a strange word and think it has some connection to us supposed pirates."

"It's the Pirate's Code," she said simply. "My father told me that if the one is captured by pirates, once he invokes the right of parlay, he has the right to an audience with the captain. The captor cannot be harmed in any way until this deed is fulfilled."

"And who might your father be to know this bit of trivia?" the older man questioned.

"William Turner," Christina said. Again, gasps and repeats of her father's name flitted around the circle. Her opponent himself expressed disbelief; he seemed to look at Christina in a new light, almost respect. "Obviously this name has some effect on your companions. How are you acquainted with him?" she asked.

The elder ignored her question. "Take her aboard. She has an appointment with the Captain," he said, turning.

"But –– " the man beside him said. The elder flashed him a look.

"Do as I say," he said to Christina's captors. She went without a fight toward the docks.

"So I was right? You lot are pirates?" she questioned. No one answered her, but many were staring openly at her. "Right? I am right, right? Are you all mute or just Parrot-Man? No offense," she added, looking at the parrot. The bird was oddly silent.

The docks loomed in front of them. They continued walking on the boards, numerous footfalls echoing loudly on the midnight waters. She had never visited the docks any other time than daylight. Now that the sun had set, the romance had faded and was replaced by uneasiness. Of course, it didn't help that a dozen men, all more armed than she, flagged her. Finally, they stopped near the dock office. All the men were looking expectantly at the man who had ordered the trek. Christina waited for something to happed. She looked around expectantly.

"Now what? We wait for the captain…? Hold it," she trailed. She had spotted a large ship behind their leader. It dwarfed its surroundings, even her father's Delius. But the true oddity of this ship was its dark sails, more hole than canvas. She gazed at them in disbelief. "There's no way…" she gasped. "No bloodypossible way that is…that would make you…but you….couldn't be…" she spluttered, gaping at the man, now on the board leading onto deck. He grinned and bowed at the waist.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, Miss Turner," he said.

o.O

A/N: ooooh, cliffie!! what's going to happen to Christina? How badly does Tristan want to kill himself now that he was beaten by a girl? What's Will and Elizabeth going to do when they find out what their daughter's been up to. And probably most important...if chickens had lips, would the whistle instead of cluck? hmmm...truly all questions of measure...

Shout-outs!! (yay for loverly reviewers!!)

Jinxeh: aaaaa, long review!! I've never gotten one so long...and so helpful!! Thank you soo much! I don't hate you in the least. If anything, it made me realize exactly how much escapes me during my midnight writing sessions! it gave me a chance to throughly edit and I think I corrected all of it...and thanks for the complements!! here's (well, there's) your update!!

AB Firestar: ah, I wouldn't go so far...I"m just a lowly writer who uses fanfics to release random plot bunnies and strengthen my skills for original works...but thanks all the same. I continued!!

actress2bejess: glad this sounds 'cool' (I like to think so XP) here's more!

PrincessAmberly: I'm a fav?! (screams in sheer excitement) WOOT!! glad I'm believable...I try!

like I said, reviews get special recognition...and if I really love you, you get a pretty, pretty dedication (cuz that's all I have...:'( tear)