'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.
xxx
On their first evening in Jack's townhouse, nobody felt like spending a lot of time in the less-than-spacious kitchen. So dinner was Chinese take-out.
After that meal they took a frosty half-mile walk to the Russet Stag pub, which Mr. Norrington knew to be family-friendly. They sipped peppermint cocoa, milled punch and hot buttered rum, and joined the locals singing several Christmas songs. Lysander needed to have it explained how anyone could eat a boar's head.
The child was rather tired when they got home. She, her Mom and Jack promptly vanished upstairs. James ensconced himself in the parlor's corner wing chair, to study a bound musical score. The whole family was scheduled to attend the Christmas Eve Messiah From Scratch sing-along at Royal Albert Hall (Mare had snagged four tickets the same day she'd bought the townhouse), so James wanted to familiarize himself with the baritone part.
Slippered footsteps caught his attention. His pajama-clad cousin entered, carrying a medium-sized green shopping bag. Just for fun, Norrington addressed him in his sternest British Naval tone.
"Exactly what are you up to, Pirate?"
"I'm exactly up to makin' my contribution to the decor, exactly accordin' to our previous accord," Sparrow replied, giving his braids a haughty flick. He set the bag on the parlor couch and extracted something resembling a black velvet cantaloupe. It was a large drawstring jewelry pouch, which he opened with a reverent manner. Realizing what must be inside, Norrington stepped over to make sure Sparrow didn't try to affix it anyplace more conspicuous than it's designated branch.
But as Jack carefully hung the object, James had an agreeable shock. Under needle-filtered light, the withered relic looked less than repellent. It even possessed a certain dignity, reminiscent of a brown-toned El Greco portrait.
"That fits in much better than I'd expected," Norrington admitted.
"'She', if you please. 'Tis me Mum," Sparrow reminded. "Ah, the lady knows she's home. Note how she's smiling a bit?"
James checked again. Perhaps it was a trick of the shadows, but the leathery features seemed to have softened, relaxing into a fond expression. Jack mirrored it as he carefully smoothed the bright nimbus of backlit hair. The mother-son resemblance had never been clearer.
"'Also picked up a few pretties on Martinique." Jack raided the green bag again, removing a zip-lock bag full of seashells strung with loops. Purple and yellow scallops. Cowries with stripes, spots and speckles. Monochrome and chestnut-colored cone shells. One zigzagged volute, two ribbed harp shells. Pea-green and raspberry-pink snails. A pair of pristine white angel wings. And a chrysanthemum oyster that bore resemblance to an orange porcupine.
The Commodore made an admiring sound. Jack smirked wickedly. "You may assist with hanging 'em- you've a talent fer that!"
Ignoring the dig, James helped apply the new decorations. When they'd finished the two men sat on the parlor couch to appraise the results.
"You've made a fine contribution to our tree, Jack."
"The shells or Mum?"
"Both." Norrington carefully regarded the latter item. "If your mother really can spy on the living through that, object, she must be gratified by your current situation. You have finally achieved respectable social status. Albeit following a profession she couldn't possibly have imagined."
"I'd not place a bet on that. Mum had formidable powers of imagination!" Sparrow's cheerful grin drooped. "I only hope she's not too disappointed about the absence of any daughters-in-law or grandwhelps."
James decided not to comment. Sparrow cleared his throat. "You love Meredith, aye?"
"Yes, I do."
"When was it you first knew?"
"That I loved her?"
"An' that it were more'en a passing fancy. If you don't mind tellin'," Jack added, just slightly abashed.
"It was nothing like in the movies. No bursts of light or orchestral crescendos. The feeling, and my recognition of it, developed gradually."
"But there must've been some moments when you were more aware of it."
"I had a few of those, yes." Norrington rubbed his chin. "There was that Fourth of July when she visited me at the Academy. We went on an evening cruise, with several classmates and their own guests, to watch the New London fireworks from the Sound. On the ride out, the sunset and wind did amazing things to her hair... lighting it to a vivid crimson color and whipping it about like flames. She might have been some fire-haired goddess from Celtic mythology. I couldn't tear my eyes away.
"For some reason, that's when it occurred to me to wonder: how would I feel if this was the last time I'd ever see her? If, for whatever reason, she was going to leave for good on the following morning...?"
Jack prodded. "And?"
"And, I didn't like the idea at all. I suppose that qualifies as the moment I first realized I wanted her in my life permanently." Even from Norrington's mouth, firmer words had never been spoken. "Do you have any particular reason for asking?"
Sparrow tried to shrug. "Jus' curious 'bout what the indicators would be."
"Oh? Do you suspect you may have found true love?"
"Not at this present time. 'Been wonderin' a bit if I ever will. An' whether I'd recognize it when it happened."
"Hmmm." James had previously noticed that, over the past couple years, Jack's habitual promiscuity seemed to have moderated. Oh, the knave still enjoyed his one-night stands; he just didn't jump at every single chance anymore. 'Could be I'm gettin' a dram more concerned about quality than quantity,' Jack had once admitted.
But this latest conversation suggested the ex-pirate might possibly be getting his fill of casual flings, so was considering the alternative. Captain Libertine Sparrow, settled down with a wife and offspring... It rather boggled James' mind. Though it couldn't be denied, stranger things had already happened to both of them.
Not for the first time, Norrington wondered whether Jack's original life might have worked out that way, if he hadn't run into a gashing reef named Cutler Beckett. No spite-induced delivery assignment, no P brand exiling him to the criminal strata. Perhaps Sparrow would have become everything his mother had hoped for: a law-abiding merchant captain, with a normal family life and a normal lifespan... in which case neither of them would be here now, basking in the glitter of 21st century Christmas lights.
Of course, it was also possible Sparrow's penchant for untrammeled living had made his fall into piracy inevitable. James understood, better than most, what small variations of circumstance these things could turn on. And once he started pondering such matters...
Jack, perhaps surmising the direction his friend's thoughts were taking, pulled him back from that pointless exercise. "James? Do ya suppose Mare'll also take a more tolerant view of Mum's head?"
Norrington came back to the present. "I think it probable she'll find it far less offensive than she'd anticipated."
"Any chance she might let me relocate it to...?"
"Not the top, Jack. There's a reason why the Bethlehem star is placed above all else. Furthermore, I predict she'll still insist on putting the head away if we get any visitors. Because most people simply won't be able to understand. So I'd recommend you don't ask."
Jack pouted a resigned pout.
More steps were heard, coming down the stairs and up the hallway. As she swept in, the berobed woman announced, "I had to read her two more O'Henry stories after 'Gift of the Magi', but the Wild Child is down for the night. And speaking of wild..." She looked to the pirate. "When were you planning to hang up the shrunken head?"
"Already done, Mare. In the locale you suggested."
Mare stepped to where she could see. For a long moment she just stared. Sparrow and James exchanged knowing glances.
"It seems I owe you an apology."
"No need, luv. Mum really did have a wild streak to her. 'Tis why she socialized so well with all things avian."
"I mean, for objecting so strongly before I'd seen it. This head doesn't look like a savage's war trophy."
"Because it hain't. The blokes who affected that transformation believed they were conferring an honor, and a favor. If theer theory's right, Mum can look through her former residence ta see how her descendants are doin'. I doubt she's displeased with the view!" The gold-flecked smile was back. "She'd of liked you a lot, darlin' Mare. And Lysee. An' even this stuffy prig husband o' yours."
The stuffy prig grinned and scooted over, so his wife could join them on the couch. As Mare started to sit there was a papery rustle- she hastily straightened up.
Norrington snatched up the endangered shopping bag, glancing within to check the contents. The two beribboned little boxes were undamaged, the bright red envelope just slightly creased.
Jack's mustache twitched. "You know what's said about good things comin' in small packages."
James, whose own wrapped gift to Mare would fit neatly in a soap dish, had every reason to agree. "Often true. After all, this is likely to be the most-appreciated thing opened this year."
He had plucked out the envelope to smooth the crease. 'To Lysander' was scrawled across it in gold ink, in the most florid script a trained cartographer's hand could produce. Inside, the adults all knew, was a photo of a two-person sailboat- the original was currently stowed at the Marina Piccola. When Lysee got a look at that, they'd probably have to steel themselves against pleas for an immediate return to Capri.
Sparrow nodded agreeably. "'Tis the first step towards fulfilling her ambition ta be a ship's Captain. 'Seems ta run in the family."
"I think you had just as much to do with that particular ambition," Meredith countered. James returned envelope and bag to Jack, as Mare finally sat down. Her gaze swept over every inch of the decorated fir. "Oh, what lovely seashells! This is the most beautiful tree we've ever had."
"You say that every year, cinnabar," teased James.
"And I mean it every year." Meredith settled happily against her navyman's strong shoulder. "By the way, you haven't used up your Favors after all. It's appropriate for Jack's mother to be here."
"I'm glad to hear that." Norrington's voice was velvety, his eyes fixing on Mare's blissfully smiling mouth.
"Belay that, you two! I want ta linger here a while," the third wheel protested.
"We're just getting comfortable," assured James. "We're certainly not going any further than that, with your mother looking on... Sparrow!"
Jack was snuggling up to James' other shoulder. "I'm jus' gettin' comfortable too," he drawled.
To his annoyance, Norrington realized he couldn't shrug Jack off without seriously jostling Mare. He glanced from one to the other- neither lounger showed any inclination to move.
Mare chuckled- she was entirely aware of James' entrapment. "At least you'll keep warm there, Commodore."
"Aye. We all will," Jack added languidly. He yawned, eyelids drooping to half-mast.
James snorted... but Mare was right. An eiderdown quilt couldn't do the job any better. So, forcing himself to relax, he rested his head against the cushioned couch back. Still eyeing that bewitching tree.
"Indeed. Here's all the warmth anyone could want."
xxx
TBC...
