A/N: This has been the week from Hell, but I have finally got this chapter together!

My thanks out ot my special reviewers Peipei and Catgirlutah, who have been hanging in there with me for quite some time now. And thanks to BlackJackSilver and Blacklabel. Blacklabel, your stories rock, and BlackJackSilver, I will be reading your stories real soon, promise!

Special little note for this text, there really is such a thing as Green Pepper Jelly, mind you. Don't know what it is used for, but it is out there!

Chapter 19: Breakfast in the Caribbean

Marita knew that there was no way that she and Estella would make morning mass. It was not a good thing when one finally crawled into bed to see the sky purpling with the coming of the dawn, and she was normally up and about an hour before this time. Those two lousy lowlifes were messing up her routine. The last time she stayed up this late through the night was when Karl died, and somehow clumsy and scattered brained as they were, they were involved with that time, too. Yes, they were definitely chaos to her well ordered life. She smiled with a slight laugh on her lips as she collapsed into her bed. They certainly were making her life more interesting. God would have to forgive her for missing services today.

She was dreaming of being at the foothills of the valley she grew up in. The white of the snow was blinding over the harvested fields. She could see Pintel, Ragetti, Estella, and Lucy were all there, too. The men were throwing snowballs at each other, and they were actually on target for a change. The dog sniffed at a small brown rabbit, who was more than capable of defending itself. Estella pulled at her skirt and pointed to the snowman she had made, that had walnuts for a crooked smile, a butter knife for a nose, and a marble for its one eye. Marita puzzled this as she approached it to find the structure was not made of snow after all, but it was made of dough. Estella pulled at her sleeve, as the woman pulled a hunk from its shoulder. The men's laughter sounded like sea gulls circling. The dough in her hand smelled strangely of potatoes and toast. There was also a strong penetrating smell of peppers. She wrinkled her brow.

"Mrs. Marita," she heard Ragetti's voice urge her and felt his timid long fingers tap her shoulder. She fluttered her eyelids to see her well lit room filled by the afternoon sunlight. She grasped white cotton sheets in her fingers. She pulled herself up and turned around into a sitting position. She looked at the tall one eyed man and the child at his side, who bore a tray with food and a bottle on it.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked at the uninvited guests in her bedroom. Ragetti cheerfully beamed at her with no sign of lechery. He was fully clothed, although still insistent upon being barefooted. He wore his usual loose shirt, that he had tried to tuck into his pants. The sling was still tied around his left arm. She could see that the bandages were bloodied, and she correctly assumed that he had been moving the wounded arm around too much.

Estella was dressed in a haphazard sort of way. Her hair was combed, true enough, but it was pulled back a bit off to the right of center. She had several loose strands of hair hanging from the bunch. Half the lace with all the frills were missing from her dress, as Ragetti had given up in complete confusion of how these girlie things all fit together or were applied or tied. Estella was quite amused at his unsuccessful attempts and his managing to tie the lace and himself into seventeen amusing sailor knots. The little girl did not even bother with fancy frilly slips and hoops nor did she wear shoes or socks at this time. The mistress of the house only rolled her eyes. The child was already picking up bad habits from the pirates. If running about barefooted was all she picked up from these two, she'd be lucky.

She pulled herself up and sat with the pillows to her back. Estella offered her the tray, and as the lady finally noticed in the bright sunlight that the man and the child were covered in flour, and Ragetti had a greenish pulp like substance on his shirt, his sling, and in his hair. She looked at the meal presented to her. There was a heaping mound of mash potatoes, that at one time had been molded into something, maybe a castle, but it had slithered down into something completely indescribable. Off to the side were two pieces of toast lightly browned with a bowl of a heaping pile of butter, good enough for two loaves of bread and another bowl of some sort of green jelly substance that matched the mush on Ragetti. Marita was afraid to guess what the green stuff might be, but from the sinus opening qualities it exhibited, she would make a wild guess that it was green pepper jelly. She didn't have to guess what was in the amber bottle, as she narrowed her eyes at it.

Her two uninvited guests gave a pair of smiles of insufferable pride at their grand achievement. "It be passed noon, ma'am," Ragetti happily chirped, "And since you were so nice 'bouts gettin' me all fixed up and all last night and lookin' o'er me, I thought 'Stella and me could whip you up some breakfast."

"And I found a big green pepper for Uncle Tony," the little girl added happily.

"Made the jelly fer yer toast meself!" he added with a wide grin and a tug at his shirt collar, "And the rum were fer tonight, but I thinks a special lady deserves it more," he added with warm blood rushing to his cheeks.

She looked over the meal with suppressed disgust. Her husband was the drinker of the family, and the pirate was a bit too fond of spicy foods. She picked up the toast and nibbled at it. It did not turn out bad, and it looked to be the most edible thing on the plate.

Ragetti looked around the single room in curiosity. He moved over to the window, that looked out on the bustling street below. He pulled back to the shadows as he saw a pair of redcoats walking down the street and chatting amicably with each other. He turned to the lady, who sat up in the big full sized four poster bed. He smiled brightly. "Ne'er been in yer bedroom 'fore. It be nice," he remarked, as he unconsciously took note of her different possessions about the place.

He poked at the dressing screen with her clothes and slips hanging over it. The structure folded in on itself and tumbled into the man. He hurried to right it again with very little success. He became draped in a series of the baker's undergarments. He stood up from the mess he had created with her bodice draped over his head and her slip over his shoulders like a shawl. He felt his face burn out to the tip of his nose. Estella helped him stand the dressing screen back up, and the pirate tried to neatly drape the clothes back over it. He picked up one of her stockings with the garter included, and he felt an embarrassed lump in his throat, as he hid it behind his back. The child took it from his hand and put it back on the screen.

Being awake for a little while longer, and awareness of her present company struck her like the dressing screen, she realized that she had a man (albeit a goofy piece, but still a man), that she was not married to in her bedroom and she was inappropriately dressed. She cleared her throat and said quite sternly, "Tony Ragetti . . ."

"Aye, ma'am," he answered distractedly, as he moved on to her dresser. He fully inspected a wooden box there. He lifted the lid to discover a small collection of jewelry and made a mental note of it, but mental notes were not his strong point. A cheerful little melody played, and he jumped back surprised. Curious as a cat, he poked at the jewels with in (and took another mental note to their worth), but they were not the source of music. He picked up the box and inspected it further for the device that caused the sound. The thought of witchcraft fled his mind, as he remembered hearing about such things in fancy high society from Randal. He stole one for that special girlfriend of his from some big mansion. Ragetti never got to see it personally, but he heard about it. He briefly wondered what they were doing now. It had been so long since he had seen the gang.

"Mr. Ragetti, I don't think I ever gave you permission to be in my rooms, much less my bedroom."

"Uh . . ." he answered, as he put the box back on the dresser.

"Another words, GET OUT!!" she ordered.

He swallowed a rather large lump down. "Yes, ma'am," he replied as he tripped to the door.

"Nothing had better be missing from my collection either!" she growled.

"Aye, ma'am!" he answered as he stumbled out the doorway. The two remaining females soon heard the clattering and the thump of the tall pirate tumbling down the steps and landing on the ground floor with a moan.

Estella quickly ran to her clumsy friend's aid. Marita sighed and got out of bed. Within a quarter of an hour, she headed down to the bakery. What met her eyes was not a pretty sight. Ragetti, with the child's help, had done quite an incredible job of creating a complete disaster area out of the kitchen. Pintel would have been most proud of his pupil, if he had not remained sprawled out unconscious in his bed through the whole incident. Lucy, not being particularly loyal to one specific member of the family, especially when food was involved, sat in the middle of the mess with that contented well fed look on his face. There were potato peels in the most unusual places, and Estella and Ragetti were having a potato peel flinging contest at Pintel's old boot that propped open the door to the outside. For a change, Ragetti seemed to be winning but only by a narrow margin.

Marita stood at the foot of the stairs. She crossed her arms and cleared her throat loudly. No one paid her any attention, as Ragetti made a double decker super duper potato peel flip that dunk three potato peels into the boot at once. The little girl jumped up and down with squeals of delight, and the pirate beamed proudly. He turned around and suddenly came eye to eye with the fiery glare of the mistress of the household.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Marita," he replied nervously, "I 'ope breakfast were to yer likin'."

"What are you doing?" she inquired reluctantly.

"Uh . . . well . . ." he answered, as he ran his good hand through his hair. "'Stella and me, well, we . . .uh . . . are cleanin' up our mess, ye see . . ."

"Uh hun," she remarked sternly, "and that means flipping the leftovers in your friend's shoe?"

"Oh, 'Enry won't mind. 'E's 'ad worse thing in 'is shoes. There be that time we picked up this prissy littl' man named Evans, and 'e just couldn't get 'is sea legs. Well, 'Enry's foot and boots are quite a size, and well, some of our crewmates 'ave some strange and exotic recipes for dinner, that take special taste and don't sit well with others. Anyway, Evans weren't feelin' too good 'fore we gave him one of Bo'sun's dishes, and we found 'Enry's boot quite useful for the situation, especially after we 'it that big wave."

"Enough," she cried out. She was still feeling a bit queasy from her lovely breakfast served her. "Clean up your mess, and I'll clean up the mess you made of my daughter." She looked over at the bedraggled little girl.

An hour later saw Estella cleaned and prissed, and the kitchen was back in some semblance of order. Wearing his nightshirt and scratching his backside, Pintel entered the kitchen. He wandered the kitchen a moment confused and wearing only one boot. He groggily spotted his old boot at the door, and slouched his way over to it. Taking back his old boot, he caused the door to slam shut, and the noise did nothing to wake him further, nor did the potato peels in his boot do anything for him. He crammed the other left boot on his right foot without a second thought.

He staggered over to the brewing teapot on the fire. He carefully fetched it and poured himself a cupful, then he dug out a bottle of gin from his left boot on the left foot. He eyed the contents of the bottle a moment, took a swig, then emptied the bottle into the steaming cup of tea. Squinting his eyes closed, he downed the hot drink. The bitterness slid down his system with a vile grimace on his face. Afterwards, he crawled back into his room like a silent spectre. A half an hour later, he re-emerged somewhat more awake and more disgruntled. He waddled through the kitchen with his mismatched two left boots and carrying a bucket and a broom.

"Henry," Marita called to the older man.

He turned on her with a groggy scowl. "What now, woman?" he growled, " I be off to do yer bloody chores!"

"Nevermind the chores, you have earned the day off. I do appreciate your protection of my child and my home. Just try to keep out of trouble."

Pintel puzzled her a bit, then being the type that was not exactly enthused about any kind of chores, he threw the broom to the side and dug through the materials in the bucket, then came up with the bottle of rum. He saluted her with it then turned to go out the door. He paused, then put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Lucy came bounding across the room, and the man and dog left to booze up for the day.

Ragetti let go a sigh and his face drooped into a downcast expression, as he cleaned off the counter. Marita touched his good shoulder lightly. "And you," she questioned, "What will you do after I change your bandages? Would you preferred to go join Henry or would you prefer to stay in here and continue your reading lessons?"

His brow furrowed with concentration of a most difficult decision, "Uh . . ." he answered simply.

"I thought as much," she remarked, as she pulled him away from his work. Estella brought clean towels and water and put them on the table. Ragetti smiled brightly at the perfectly dressed little girl. She returned his smile and curtsied like a lady. She, then, ran up to her room to get her doll and the study books.

Marita pulled his blood stained shirt down to exposed the blood soaked bandage covering his shoulder. She shook her head. "You need to keep this shoulder still to heal, you know."

The one eyed man blushed fluently. "I thought I did. Couldn't figure out why I needed a sling, so I took it off. I mean, I just 'urt me shoulder, right, not me arm, but it started to hurt real bad after 'while, and it started to bleed. So, I put the sling back on."

"Have you ever been shot before now?" she queried.

The blonde pirate scratched his head and shut his left eye, leaving him in the dark once again, as he tried to think. "I don't think so. I 'ave been shot at lots of times, and not all of 'em enemies neither. Bo'sun used me and 'Enry lots of time fer target practice."

"He must have been a lousy shot then," Marita remarked as she cleaned away the blood from his wound. The pistol shot had torn quite a hole in his shoulder, and several stitches were required. Fortunately, with all the man's activities, he did not pull the stitches out.

"Uh, 'e weren't a bad shot. Not like 'Enry, anyway. He nailed 'Enry through the leg and broke 'is shin bone, too."

"I bet your captain loved that."

"Nah. Barbossa just rooted 'im on to put a few more 'oles in 'im," Ragetti remarked.

"Henry isn't that good of help at the best of times, he's worse wounded. I would think that your captain wouldn't want his help laid up for several weeks for foolishness," she commented as she finished her cleaning.

"Ah, 'Enry weren't that much of a burden. 'E were up and at 'em the next day," he happily continued.

"I doubt that. A broken leg is no laughing matter, and you are not immortal, you know. Your crewmate must not have broke his bone, and he must not have shot it through like you. It must have only grazed him," she commented as she poured iodine on a cloth and applied it to his wound. He yelped out a hearty cry of pain, as it burned him down to his fingers. She narrowed her dark eyes at him. "Wuss," she called him.

His cheeks flared bright red as she bandaged his wound again. "For a man, who has lost an eye and has been beaten with the nine tails, you certainly squeamish about pain."

He shrugged and smiled. She leaned over him to secure the bandage in place, then she suddenly stood up straight. A dour expression crossed her face, and her dark eyes burned a hole into the grinning man before her.

"If you plan on keeping that hand, I suggest that you remove it immediately from that part of my anatomy."

Although the vocabulary she used was beyond him, he immediately pulled his right hand back to himself and away from questionable body parts. "Ye wouldn't be 'ittin' a wounded man, now would ye?" he asked nervously.

"I wouldn't test it, if I were you."