Disclaimer: Oddly enough, the daughters in this story both belong to me. I admit it; they're mine. Won't Ruthie and Elizabeth be surprised? ;P
A/N: Okay this is the first part of the POTC Christmas special! I told y'all I would hbe creating one, and here it is. So, HappyChristmas, all, and a Merry New Year!
The night was chill, or as chill as it ever got in the tropical Caribbean. The whole of Port Royal was clothed in holiday splendor; even the poorest houses were bedecked with a few candles and a sprig or two of holly. There was, of course, no snow, something that a few of the British-born lamented, but Christmas in Port Royal was cheery, all the same.
It was Christmas Eve, and the best houses were in the throes of parties fraught with egg nog, brandy, and mistletoe. The governor's house was particularly blessed with both brandy and guests, laughing and eager to greet the greatest of holidays. Elizabeth moved with ease about her father's house, smiling at the graceful way Will slipped from "lowly" (though extremely well-to-do) blacksmith to highborn gentleman without batting an eye. It was a skill he had carefully perfected even before they were married, so that no one in the Swann family could bemoan Elizabeth's and his union.
Her smile widened as young Isobel Turner flew from the parlor where the children played and clasped tiny arms about her father's leg. Grinning, Will lifted the girl high into the air, planting a kiss on her cheek while she giggled and spread her arms out to "fly."
Elizabeth pulled her attention away from her beloved family back to her conversation partner. However, he seemed as distracted as she was. The Commodore gazed at Will and Isobel, a frown beginning faintly between his stoic brows. Mrs. Turner's heart ached; Norrington had not courted a single woman in the four years that she and Will had been married. Many believed that this was because of his heartbrokenness over losing the young Miss Swann to a blacksmith; the couple knew better. Norrington hadn't married because the woman he loved was already being courted by the sea.
Watching him, Elizabeth couldn't bear the thought of allowing him to go home to an empty house. She touched his arm to gain his attention, smiling.
"Commodore," she said, "Will and I would love it if you would join us for a Christmas Eve night cap."
Norrington's eyes lit up gratefully. He had spent much of his spare time with the Turner's, especially holidays. Both Will and Elizabeth had begun to think of him as a member of the family; Isobel called him "Uncle James."
"I would be delighted, thank you, Elizabeth," he murmured. The young woman smiled at him again, and made her way to Will, who now held a deeply sleeping Isobel.
"Mm…looks like someone needs to be put to bed," Elizabeth murmured, stroking her daughter's hair. Will kissed his wife's cheek.
"Ready to go, then?"
"Indeed. James is going to be joining us this evening, though."
"Splendid! Why don't you take Sleeping Beauty from me," he said, handing over the child, "and I'll ready the carriage and meet you outside?"
The three strode into the Turner home, full of laughter. Isobel was now fully awake and riding on her father's shoulders, engaged in the sort of banter three-year olds are prone to. Will closed the front door behind them and stopped, frowning a bit.
"Will? What's wrong?"
"It sounds as if…someone's playing the pianoforte."
Indeed, there was hearty Christmas music coming from the inner parlor. Isobel perked up immediately and wriggled down from her father's shoulders, determined to be the first into the room.
"Gr-Ankle Jack!" she squealed as the familiar greatcoat and tricorne hat greeted her eyes. Jack turned, fingers never faltering on the keys, and grinned shinily at the little girl.
"It's about ruddy time," he chastised cheerfully. "We thought ye'd never get here!"
Finishing his song with a flourish, the pirate rose to swing Isobel into the air. She squealed happily as Great-Uncle Jack tossed her high and caught her in their standard greeting.
"Have mum and dad been behaving themselves for ye, little lass?" he asked, tickling her ribcage. Giggling, Isobel answered the affirmative. She wriggled to the floor, then, and raced into the kitchens, where the suspicious sounds of baking were to be heard.
"Jack, heavens, man, we haven't seen you in ages!" Will clasped his friend's hand and clapped him a hug in greeting.
"Bloody right! We thought it about high time we pay the Turners a visit, and what better time o' th' year than this? Elizabeth, darling!" Jack released Will to take Elizabeth in his arms and plant a kiss on her cheek. "Motherhood has made you even more beautiful, if that's possible."
"It's good to see you, Jack! But, what's all this talk of 'we'? Has someone else come with you?"
Just then, Isobel rushed back into the room, her tiny hand clasped firmly about the thumb of Mari Cutlass. Flour speckled her impeccable green shirt, evidence to her doings in the kitchen. She, too, was consumed by warm Turner greetings, especially Isobel, who found having Auntie Meg, Great-Uncle Jack, and Uncle James all in the same room nearly too much to bear.
After a few moments, the two pirates finally noticed the Commodore, and stilled a bit nervously. James eyed them for a moment, then put out his hand to Jack.
"Pleasant greetings, Lord John Gull, is it? And Lady Margaret" –with a bow to Mari- "splendid to see the two of you again."
Tension seeped out of the room. As far as Norrington was concerned, these were not criminals; they were friends of the family, and no one would hear differently from him. Relieved, Will and Elizabeth went to lay off their wraps, while Isobel tugged Jack back to the pianoforte.
This left James and Mari eyeing one another rather nervously.
"You've been well?" James asked softly. Behind them, Jack began teaching Isobel to henpeck Jingle Bells, the music covering their words.
"Yes, quite. And you?" Mari replied. James merely nodded. Strange, Mari thought, all I've wanted these last months is to see him again, and now I can barely think of what to say. I who have a tongue to rival my father's…The thought made her grin, and James grinned back a little hesitantly.
"D'ye know anything about baking, James?" she asked, her usual boldness returned.
"A bit," he replied. "why do you ask?"
"I'm doing a bit of Christmas baking for the Turners, and I could use some help."
"It would be my pleasure," the Commodore replied, following her eagerly into the kitchen. As he passed Jack, the pirate sent him a cautionary glare. Odd, James thought, one wouldn't believe Mari to be a papa's-girl. Yet, with Jack's constant over-protectiveness –at least where men were concerned- she could hardly be anything else. James shook his head. Pirates –especially these two- would always be a paradox to him.
Once in the kitchen, James saw a tray of ginger-bread men cooling on the counter, waiting to be decorated, a bowl of unmixed dough close by with a bottle of rum next to it. The sweet-spicy fragrances of baking hit him pleasantly, reminding him of holidays he'd had as a boy.
Mari drew him to the bowl and picked up the rum.
"Rum cookies," she said grinning, and took a swig from the bottle. "Have to make sure it's good quality." She then proceeded to pour about twice as much rum into the mixture than was needed. James grinned as she began to mix, enjoying the way she swayed to the music still coming from the parlor.
"What precisely did you need help with?" he asked softly, standing next to her. Mari took his hand and held it firmly, drawing it up close to her face…before plopping a sticky mass of cookie dough into his palm. Laughing silently, she picked up her own handful of dough, and began rolling it into a ball.
"Form balls about the size of your palm," Mari instructed, still grinning, "and put them on the sheet. Once they're in the oven, we can decorate the gingerbread men."
James was still looking askance at the glob of rum-laden pastry in his hand when a grin forced its way to his lips, a hearty chuckle tickling his throat. Heavens, he'd missed her. Without warning, he gripped the pirate's chin firmly in his clean hand and pressed his lips against hers. Carefully keeping her hands away from his coat, Mari wrapped an arm about his neck, responding contentedly. They shared a few more pecks before returning to the task at hand, now totally at ease.
Jack eyed the door to the kitchen suspiciously. After a flurry of giggles some moments ago, there hadn't been much sound coming from behind the door. Isobel bounced in his lap, eager for another demonstration of Jack's piano prowess. The elder pirate returned his attention to the keys, only then noticing that Sparrowhawk had made an appearance.
Sparrowhawk was a two-year old tabby with an extra-long tail, given her name because of her propensity to shadow Jack's every movement whenever he visited. And, when the moment was ripe (or when Jack's various hair accoutrements were too tempting to pass up) she would attack out of nowhere, usually from above, eliciting a stream of creative vernacular from the pirate captain. The Turners suspected Jack was beginning to regret having given the kitten to Isobel in the first place.
Now, the cat's green eyes were fixed on the new sliver bells tied into Jack's unruly mane. Captain Sparrow watched the feline with narrowed eyes as he continued to play, Isobel making up words to the song and oblivious to the battle of wills going on above her. Suddenly, there was a slight crash in the kitchen, Jack turned his head…
…And Sparrowhawk struck.
The cat launched herself from the top of the piano to Jack's precious tricorne hat, intent on killing the offensive silver bells. The hat fell over Jack's eyes, causing him to play a nonexistent chord and nearly fall from the bench. Isobel, giggling, slipped from "Gr-Ankle" Jack's lap to watch the scene.
"Bloody hell!" Jack spat as he tipped the hat from his head. Sparrowhawk, wearing an expression something like amusement, sped away with a chirrup, her work finished. Growling in his throat, the weather-beaten pirate grabbed his hat to inspect it for cat hair.
"Bloody hell?" a childish voice asked behind him. Jack's heart constricted. He turned to Isobel, smiling nervously.
"Now, dear lass," he said gently, "we don't want to be sayin' things like that, especially in front of mummy, a'right?"
Isobel nodded happily. "Bloody hell."
Jack dropped his head in defeat. "Elizabeth's goin' t' murder me."
The scent of rum and pastry filled the kitchen pleasantly. The gingerbread men were fully decorated, two or three bearing frosting bandannas. James held Mari's hands tightly as he kissed her once more, hoping fervently that no one –most especially Jack- didn't choose this moment to see what they were up to. Mari pulled away from him, a smirk reminiscent of her father's pasted on her face as she slipped the gingerbread onto a plate.
"I love you, you know," James said, rather offhandedly. Mari dropped her spatula with a small crash. Retrieving it coolly, she continued her task.
"'S about ruddy time ye said something."
James smiled. That, he knew, was as close as he would get to an "I love you, too."
"I want to marry you," he went on, as if he were speaking about the weather. "We could have a very private ceremony; two or three witnesses, and you could go back to piracy while I pretended to hunt you, and neither of us would have this aching void inside any longer."
"Funny, love, ye never seemed the eloping type t' me."
"I never seemed the type to fall in love with a pirate, either I suppose."
"Captain. Pirate captain, love."
"Is that a yes, then?"
"No," Mari told him blandly, before gripping his face between both hands and kissing him. Hard.
"But that was."
James nodded, in something of a daze. "Very good, then."