108 Days Before
Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming from tender stem hath sprung,
of Jesse's lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came, a flow'ret bright, amid the cold of winter,
when half-spent was the night.
Isaiah 'twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;
With Mary we behold it, the virgin mother kind.
To show God's love aright, she bore to men a Savior,
when half-spent was the night.
On the main deck of the Black Pearl, the men engaged in a makeshift game of Tenpins, setting up ten empty rum bottles into a triangle near the foremast and rolling a cannonball from several feet away. Amid Gibbs barking out, "Gently, boys! Can't have yer feet cut up with shards of glass now…deadliest game of Keggling I ever heard tell of," and the clanging of the bottles, Jack could hear a drunken, but nonetheless passionate, singing of the hymn. Still anchored in Sicily, he recalled the last several hours.
"Don't seem too smart is all, goin' all by yourself," Gibbs growled behind him, arms crossed rather than helping Jack prepare the longboat.
"Do I always seem smart to you?" Jack paused in his work, taking in Gibbs' thoughtful expression, actually pondering the question.
"What do ye gotta do here, of all places, and on Christmas Eve! Jack, it'll do a number on the crew's morale if their captain leaves 'em…" He took out his timepiece. "…three hours before it's officially Christmas. Leaving at night all alone…feels bad all the way around."
"I'm not going all the way around. It's a straight shot to where I'm going." Jack grinned, climbed into the longboat and lowered himself down to the still waters. The moonlight reflected off of it perfectly, he saw as he steered towards the land. Already the sultry aroma of the orange trees competed with the salty sea air.
It was well worth the traveling, Jack thought, puffing only a little after the journey, taking in Monreale's cathedral, "like two churches forged together into one," just as his mother had described it to him. The Arabesque arches complimented the Biblical tales carved into the capitals. He entered, dabbing filthy fingers into the Holy Water, his eyes on the massive columns on either side of him, leading up to a half-length figure of Christ himself welcoming the congregation below him with his pious mother and his infant self immediately underneath him.
Even at night the bold white and gold of the cathedral stood out, the smells of oranges, olives, and almonds from outside swirling around the columns. There were few places in the world Jack truly regarded as holy, and in spite of the knowledge that this was the very place Captain Teague fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around Oria Pettirosso's legs and begged, yes, begged, for her to sail away with him, this was one of them. He'd heard the story so many times from Mum, leaving Confession only for the man she'd known but a few days to confront her right then, right there, and make some confessions of his own.
She'd had a lot to confess, Teague had snorted to him later, revealing that his mother's life in Monreale, Sicily had consisted of pickpocketing and burglary to stay alive, eking by when she probably would have done quite well for herself if she'd taken her religion just a tad less seriously and resorted to prostitution.
He snapped his head back in the direction of the central apse. Then the sounds he hadn't heard in years stilled him.
Bells.
Chanting.
Luscious, rich pipe organ.
Latin.
He remained silent for each congregational response, not ready to speak, in fact, determined not to speak while he sat under so many golden, glossy saints. Accepting the unleavened bread, he knelt with the others, his trinkets jingling, and swallowed the Body of Christ, wetting his lips for the Blood that would follow. The strong wine burned his throat on its way down, cleansing him most likely, he thought. He needed it.
Prayer followed, but when in mass did it not follow, he thought, interlocking his fingers and concentrating on the priest's words in a language Oria had taken great pains to ensure her son learned to the point of fluency.
Silens Votum, a call to silent prayer.
Lord, his thoughts started before blanking. Confess your sins, bloody codpiece. Ha, we'll be here all night if we do that. Just the important ones then. Lord…he ran over the Ten Commandments and Seven Deadly Sins in his head. I am guilty of…wrath, pride, greed, gluttony…but only by way of rum…sloth, we'll throw in envy for good measure…
Lust?
At first, the most serious part of him took insult. Only lust? Well, it was, but it was…it was more. He wasn't stupid. He knew what started out as lust was growing into something he didn't want to name, didn't dare name, because once he did, there would be no going back. Nothing would ever come of it anyway. But still he took insult. It was more, so much more, and the simplicity of it, the purity of it, was growing more potent by the day.
But you're fighting it.
With good reason! For one thing it would be so much easier to confess to if it were only lust, good old-fashioned, nothing-new lust.
"Amen."
Bugger. No! No, add profanity during mass to a long list of sins. He tightened his already-closed eyelids and scrambled around in his mind for the best way to summarize the garbled thoughts circling around in it.
Lord, bless and keep Elizabeth.
His eyes widened and then bulged as he stood with the rest of the congregation to receive the Benediction. Fool. Didn't even ask for forgiveness. And you called her Elizabeth. You must have meant it.
Shut it.
Side-stepping out to the center aisle, he curtailed the long line forming to clasp the priest's hand on the way out into the night, sneaking out of the house of God and back to the streets, rejecting sanctuary rather than claiming it.
He'd found Gibbs sitting on a barrel, already tipsy, laughing and wiping some saliva off his chin with his arm, listening to some story one of the men told. Jack's ears rang at the sound of bottles jangling together, being positioned for Tenpins. Creative, he nodded, smirking at the gift he had for his first mate in his coat.
"Your turn, Cap'n!" they all called, forcing him back into the presence. "Come on! Show us what ye can do!"
Tipping his hat, Jack descended the stairs and held the cannonball with both hands, positioning his feet just so, straggling forward. He let the cannonball go, wincing while it veered just slightly to the left, knocking down six pins instead of the intended ten.
"All is not lost. You do get another turn," Leech said, his snake-like fingers coiled around a narrow bottle of ale.
"Aye, and we just know you'll pick up that spare. Don't we, boys?" Gibbs shouted, giving a sharp laugh and raising his flask. The crew cheered, staggered, and cheered a little more, so drunk Jack speculated he could run up to the pins and kick them all over the place like a sullen tot and they wouldn't know the difference. Shuffling forward, he rolled the cannonball again, willing it to stay straight with his arms.
"Miss it!" Gibbs blabbed immediately after Jack had released it. Glaring at him the whole time, he didn't have to see he had indeed picked up the spare, the crew's cheers echoing up the sails.
"Mr. Gibbs."
"Aye?"
"Enlighten us, if ye please, as to what the Code has to say in regards to jinxing."
"Jinxing?" His face fell.
"What you did just there, jinxing. Enchant. Bedevil. Hex."
"I'm well aware what it means," Gibbs sputtered, blinking a few times in thought. "Jack, I'm not sure the Code says anything about jinxing."
"Then by doing so, whilst the Code does not say anything about it, you are in indirect violation of the Code, for you see, if it were in the Code to begin with, it would be an important item that required doing or not doing." He smirked, his hand resting on the gift. "And we cannot have perpetual violators of our sacred Code go unpunished, can we?"
"I thought we was agreed they were more like guidelines," Gibbs argued.
"Guidelines? Pft! There are certain pirates that would kill ye for spouting such tripe." One in particular, Jack thought with a grimace. "Now." He strutted over to him and gestured for him to stand. The crew watched with bated breath. "As I am too sentimental to do anything physically harming to your person…" He paused to give Gibbs a wink, causing the older man to cock his inebriated head in confusion. "I see no other choice but to humiliate you…with this." He produced from his pocket a hand-stitched-and-stuffed bear, small enough to fit just right under one's arm. Jack relished the second of silence before a few sarcastic coos and amused applause. Refuge in audacity, he thought.
"A bear?"
"Not just any bear. This, Mr. Gibbs, is the bear of shame. It is to lie on your hammock to remind you just how vital the Code is to our way of life. Is that understood?"
Gibbs blushed, staring at the small bear's button eyes. Then he nodded and mimicked Jack's smirk.
"But, Captain…" he said with no emotion.
"I said is that understood, Mr. Gibbs? This bear is to be yours and yours alone?"
"Crystal clear." Gibbs took the bear in his arms and slapped Jack's back. Setting his jaw, Jack normally would not allow such a thing to occur in front of the crew. But seeing as it was Christmas and all…
"Now, now." He clapped his hands at the men. "Proceed with your game and your singing. Quick now. Resume."
He glanced back at Gibbs, retreating below decks to drop the bear off at his hammock. They exchanged a look, one of understanding, silent and stoic understanding, before Gibbs disappeared into the womb of the Pearl. I do trust ye, mate. Not with everything. But enough. Climbing up to the crow's nest, he let his legs hang over and watched over his crew. Emerging from below decks, Gibbs turned around and smiled up at him, hurling up an apple to him and mouthing "Happy Christmas" before mingling back into the festivities.
The shepherds heard the story, proclaimed by angels bright,
how Christ, the Lord of glory, was born on earth this night.
To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger found him,
as angel heralds said.
This flow'r, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,
dispels with glorious splendor the darkness ev'rywhere.
True man, yet very God; from sin and death he saves us
and lightens ev'ry load.
A/N: "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" is a Christmas carol I still sing in church. It's in several hymnals, especially Lutheran ones, so sorry if you hadn't heard of it. There aren't many carols that date back this far and it took forever to find ones I knew. So, I suppose this is belated, but we've come to Christmas time. Please note the next chapter will be structured the same way as these were originally meant to be companion chapters for a two-shot. Anyways, let's see how Elizabeth is spending her Christmas…