T'was a bit more nip than was the sweltering usual in Tortuga and Captain Jack Sparrow frowned as he attempted against the whipping wind to fasten the buttons of his flashy new coat. Wasn't his usual style, all crimson velvet trimmed in gold, and quite a nuisance really with all its fancy gilt buttons. It'd been a laugh amongst the crew, the frilly French frock, and he'd wished for the very first time that he'd heeded Gibbs' fashion advice—it would have been better to wear his familiar, if faded, justaucorps. If only, Jack thought with a twitch of irritation, he hadn't been so set upon showing a festive face at Christmastime.

Most colonial settlements had done away with tradition set down by the Church but there wasn't a place west of England so decorated at Yule as was the unsettled rock of Tortuga. Thatched roofs wore shell garland, palm fronds were strung with all manner of beads, and near upon all windows were lit with candles flickering in the slight breeze blowing in off the harbor. Several establishments were dressed with wreaths of holly leaves and one ambitious madam had dangled a fat bit of winking mistletoe over the arch of the hothouse door.

"Rather inviting," Jack said to Anamaria.

In way of answer, she snorted and took the lead through the bustling alleyways. Jack, still fussing with his buttons, was nearly trampled on several times but was much comforted by the many salutations spoke his way. They'd gone only a few crossings when a whisper of voices wafted their way.

Here we come a wassailing

Among the palms so green

They exchanged glances but kept on. As they rounded the corner they came upon the wandering wenches and wastrels making murder of a traditional tune. They stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught the curl of Anamaria's lip and couldn't help but grin just a bit for it.

"Here we come a wandering so fair to be seen," he intoned, doing his best to match their offkey kilter. Knowing more than well that Anamaria was readyset to pounce, he tossed an arm o'er her shoulder and winked his best at her. "Love and joy come to you and to you your wassail too."

And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year

And God send you a Happy New Year.

"Enough," Anamaria growled, shoving him off. "Or I'll be sending you to God, Sparrow."

Jack watched as she stomped off. He bid a fast farewell to the carollers and strode forward to catch up. "That's Captain Sparrow, love. And as your captain, I command you, darling, to brighten up just a bit."

Ana bore her teeth.

He hid a wince behind a grin of his own. "See now, that's the spirit!"

There was a moment's hesitation on her part in which Jack guessed she'd decided not to argue. It was occasionally one of her better traits, really, knowing when a bidden tongue was best. But more oft than not Jack found he much preferred their tiffs to her sharper silence. So it was that he was a bit disappointed when she turned on heel and marched forth. He hurried to catch up, near to tripping on the heels of his newly acquired boots.

"In a hurry?"

Anamaria cast a dark glance his way in lieu of answer. She ducked the eager approach of two young men she usually favored and set off around the corner. Jack stopped there to exchange sympathies with the fishermen who'd been given the off—if only to rest his weary feet. Blasted boots he'd bought felt more shoe than boot, and not for the first time he speculated as to whether or not one of his irascible crew had dropped an ill-tempored crab into the depths to snap at his toes. It would at the very least explain the pinching paining him. Some respite came by way of his rest and so he parted ways with the men and made round the corner.

The way led to the Faithful Bride, a small tavern that knew Jack as well as he knew it. Despite all the pains of appearance, he stepped inside the open door with a smile. Several men raised their mugs as he made way past their tables and two wenches blew kisses his way. The barkeep waved his filthy rag in familiar salute and handed off two mugs to an impatient Anamaria who knocked the first one back in less time than even Gibbs could have managed. Jack smiled, thinking it terribly thoughtful of her to have ordered for him, and reached for the second cup—just as she raised it to her lips and gulped down its contents.

"Thirsty, are we?"

No answer as Ana clapped the mug on the bartop and called over the bigger of the two barmaids. Name was Berthilda if Jack remembered correctly, and not so fond of him after his having once mistaken her for an ape whilst enduring a most hideous haze of drunkeness. Indeed, her heavy brow darkened on sight of him so much that he forwent ordering a cup of drink. Feeling less than festive, he watched Ana down her third and wipe her mouth on her sleeve.

"Needed that."

Jack raised a brow.

Ana scowled. She straightened her hat and slapped her mug in his hand. "I have things to do."

She was lost in the crowd 'fore he could complain that the thing was empty. No doubt the woman would prowl the streets for whatever it was she wanted to sink her claws into next. Lesser men might refer to Anamaria as a hellcat, but she was, to Jack, a tigress.

"What's on your mind, Sparrow?"

Jack looked up past the new cup set before him into the beaming face of the barkeep. Kelk was a good man with a good set of teeth. Seemed fond of showing them and who would have blamed him for it—pearly whites were hard to come by in places like Tortuga.

"The better question, Kelk, is what's not on me mind." He flashed a smile of his own, which was only as bright on count of the several precious metal substitutions he'd had put in his mouth, and eyed the white contents of the cup before him suspiciously. It was a milky substance and on sniff smelled of fat. "Nog, is it?"

"Kelk's Nog, in fact. A whole kettle of it in back for particular patrons."

"Well tis the season!"

Jack took a taste of the stuff and was pleasantly surprised that Kelk's Nog was not the usual. No, the barkeep had thickened up the recipe with coconut 'stead of eggs. For all its coconut it was surprisingly smooth. It went down lighter than the traditional drink and tasted much sweeter than he ever remembered it tasting in old England.

"You've outdone yourself, mate."

Kelk grinned and took up the empty cup. "Another?"

Jack wasn't sure how many cups of Kelk's Nog he'd had by the time he stumbled from the Faithful Bride. It had occurred to him sometime between the fifth and the last cup that Anamaria had not come back, nor had he seen neither hide nor hair of any one of his crew. T'was an odd thing at a time such as this, Yule or Christmas or whatever one might like to call it. If the men were ever in mind of anything it was having a good time and doubly so at the holidays when most of them would have liked to be home with families they'd left behind. To not see them in the place they knew best was worrying and though Jack was as wobbly in the head as the knees, he was quite concerned.

Through the dimly lit streets he hobbled. His toes protested the boots with every step but he was of mind to get to the Pearl as quick as he could. It was halfway down the docks when behind him a chorus of carolers burst into a fervant rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. Pitiful as it sounded, Jack could only stare out at the silhouettes of ships in the harbor, remembering suddenly that he had not anchored there.

"'Let nothing ye dismay,' my foot."

Twitching with irritation he turned on his heel and fell face forward into a mound of hay. It was with some frustration that he fought his way out of the pile and it was only as he managed to poke his head out the top that he realized that it—that he—was moving! Startled, he leapt to his feet. A bad move it was, ending him up once more in the heap. He shook it off with a scowl and sat up to look about.

It was a cart he'd fallen onto. There was a beast of burden doing the pulling and a rail thin man Jack had to squint to see keeping pace beside the animal. By way they were heading, it seemed to Jack a very lucky thing that he'd tripped. With a self-satisfied smile he laid back in the hay and watched the stars twinkle overhead till the trees grew too thick to see the sky.

It was not long after that he saw his destination looming ahead. Careful not to disturb either the man or his beast, Jack picked himself from the bed of hay and leapt onto the soft ground. He noted with some distaste the straw sticking to his fashionable frock and attempted brushing it off as he made his way past the gate into the garden.

For whatever reason, Jack thought to look up and was ever glad he did. If he had put one foot further he would have stepped smack into a rotund man wearing more red than he. The man on closer scrutiny was obviously Gibbs—his great grey sideburns and wrinkled brow giving him away—but whatever the man was doing wearing a red velvet outfit trimmed in white fur, Jack had no idea. In case the man had finally gone one step too far off the dock, Jack gave him his friendliest of smiles. This seemed the right reaction, for the uncertain look on Gibbs' face was gone for an enthusiastic grin.

"Ho ho ho!"

Finding this booming greeting a bit unsettling, Jack drew back with a grimace. A glance around found shadows that took the shape of his many crew. They were standing around he and Gibbs, all of them with the strange grins on their faces.

Gibbs looked at Jack expectantly, but Jack wasn't certain what he was expecting. It seemed to him that this was the oddest scene he'd ever stumbled into—and that was really saying something. "Merry Christmas?"

"Merry Christmas!"

At Gibbs' cry, there came the unmistakeable sound of jingle bells. Flashes of gray told Jack that a group of his men were the ones making the silver sing. A tune fluted up over their melody. A happy sound it was and as if by its magic did the whole place light up. Lanterns had been lit and Jack turned in his spot to marvel at it all.

All of the palms in the yard were transformed. Their trunks were wrapped in shell garland and from their fronds hung strands of beads and baubles. At the base of the biggest was a pile of brightly wrapped parcels—presents! Jack spied one tied with a bit of satin bow and was on his way to take a look at it when something heavy careened into him and a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Steadying himself, he gaped down at the small, dark head of the small person in pyjamas that had him in a clinch he could not budge.

"A nice gift," he drawled, giving up and patting the lad on the back, "choking the life out of your captain."

Faust looked up at him, blue eyes bright as his crooked grin. He had the look of a cat that had caught the canary and it was no wonder—at this hour the boy was usually made to sleep. Jack was glad, by looking at the boy so proud of himself in his pyjamas, that he hadn't witnessed whatever battle of wills had transpired between Isaac and their superior.

"We was waiting for you all the eve!"

"For too long I daresay."

Jack turned at the sharp voice and found a fussed Alice Witter coming at them. She looked quite unlike herself—having forgone the usual ridiculous ruffles for a simple skirt and bodice. There was no bow tied at her neck and a scarf held a wild tangle of white curls back from her petulant face.

She arched a brow. "Now that you're finally here, perhaps we can have a go at the gifts?"

Panic choked Jack. His gaze darted from her to Isaac to the presents under the palm tree. "Might I delay?" At the furious look on her face, he forced a contrite smile. "T'was my intention to do the gift giving on the morrow, but if you give me just a bit of time—"

"Ya don't need it."

Without further ado, there was a heavy sack shoved at him and Jack staggered under its weight. He frowned at it and then at a smirking Anamaria. She patted him on the shoulder in passing.

"Thanks for the blade."

Indeed, the silver pommel of the dagger he'd commissioned from Will sat at her hip. Its top was the proud pearl he'd plucked from an oyster not long ago. It'd been hard work sneaking Ana's rusty old dagger off to the blacksmith for fitting but Turner had been quick about it—Jack had it back before she'd even noticed the trusty knife gone missing. All that, however, was not so imporant as was just how the woman had found not only her own gift but the hidden hoard now not so hidden and heavy in his arms…

"You've been snooping!"

Accusatory as it was, Anamaria's dark eyes danced at him. "And lucky for ya," she called over the holiday hubbub, "wasn't it? Knew ya'd forget to wrap up what ya had to give—being so wrapped up in that mad getup! Told ya I had things to do, Sparrow."