Chapter 3: Everything Will Be All Right When We Go Shopping

A/N: Sorry to my darling fans for the brevity of my last chapter, but I think it sort of worked there.

James was slightly confused by the concept of cornflakes. Whenever he'd get the spoon halfway to his mouth, one or two would slither off and back into the bowl. "What is this stuff?" he asked.

"It's what I've had every morning since my folks died—cornflakes." I don't think my face meant to express condescension, but it did indeed. His face fell. "I'm sorry…just been on edge lately is all."

"What happened to your parents?" he queried.

"They were in a car crash while Pam and I were at summer camp. I was twelve. Pam was fifteen."

"I'm awfully sorry, Carmen. If there's anything I can do, let me know."

"I think I'll be fine." I took his de-cornflaked bowl from him, and drank the milk. He looked vaguely disgusted. "What?!" James hid laughter behind his hands, but his eyes told me all. "It's good like this. Nevermind, James. I've got plans for today, and you're coming along." I absentmindedly twisted a longish strand of hair around a finger.

"And what are those plans?"

"We're going to get you some proper clothes. I'm sure my sister's clothes," I took another look. Yep. Still tight enough to induce giggling. "aren't quite the style you're looking for."

With that, I led him back out into the carport, where the Pontiac lingered. "No," I said preemptively. "I don't know how this works either. Sometimes it doesn't even work. I assume you know how things go from the last time you were here."

James gave me a look that said both 'shove off' and 'you're so sweet.' In no time, we pulled up at the local Supermart. "Stick close," I said to him. "This place can get pretty weird."

And weird they did become.

I have never shopped for a guy before. However, the necessity for jeans in short order was so strong that I couldn't quite avoid the matter. I only just found out that it's measured by inseam and waistline and not by a general number like girls. Shoot. This would definitely get awkward. I decided in my quick mind to abdicate the responsibility to him. An admiral of the former EITC ought to be able to figure it out.

"Here's how it works, James," I said, pointing out the racks of jeans. "These are all what guys wear as pants here. Find a pair that fits. There'll be a number on them and you're going to need to match that number with 4 or 5 other pairs. Keep in mind that I'm low on cash and your currency's been out of use for 200 years. I'll be just an aisle or so over, looking for shirts."

"Sounds good to me," he muttered, still kind of lost.

"And by the way, find something that comes all the way down to your ankles. Nobody does that thing with the kneepants anymore." James looked a little hurt.

"I liked my kneepants…" he whimpered.

"Tough modern luck, sunshine." I walked off. Jeez louise.

Now off to more pressing matters. Where to find shirts? Now, mind you, the Murphies tee had a flattering cut to it, (droooool!) but he needed his own stuff. A green camouflage t-shirt tempted me, but before I could take it and check the size on it, a voice called out that sort of scares me to this day.

"Hey Arse-ugly Riordan! I didn't have you figured for a crossdresser!"

"Hey, Plain-Jane London! I might question you thereof as well."

She plays the mellophone and she's so-so at marching, but she's got…personality. We're not exactly best friends. She's in the top ten, but just barely. And like I said, Rosa London is a bit plain. Her hair is long and brown, (only just today it feels threatening.) and her eyes are light blue. She's much shorter. Lots of folks call her Short-stack. What somehow twists her look is her eerie smile…sort of fang-ish. It's right now, directed right at me.

"If you must ask," she began, "I'm picking stuff up for my brothers."

My stomach turned with the information I held about my charge, and then a moment of weakness. I had to tell her what I was doing. I could use help taking care of him anyway…just so long as she didn't try to… 'What am I thinking! Am I getting jealous?' I thought. 'No. Just…concerned! Really! Focus, dammit!'

"Well…" I spilled the goods. "I think after band, I picked up a straggler you might recognize. Look next to the clearance jeans rack."

"No. That isn't."

"Not what?"

"Jack Davenport?"

"Even better, Plain Jane. A dimensional buggerup sent me the real deal."

"James N-n-n-norrington?"

"Hell yeah!"

"I should so come home with you guys. Just let me drop off these clothes and I'll be right over." Rosa rattled off the quickest text message I had ever seen, and beamed. "I'll have some interesting news as well."

Settling on the camo tee, plus a red, blue, white, and brown one, and a grey Navy sweatshirt, I went over to check on James. He had picked up a few pairs of jeans that looked like they would fit. I took him over to grab a pair of sneakers and a pack of socks. Without much ado, except for his wonder at the goofiness of some of the selection, I grabbed him a pair of white Chuck Taylors. They seemed to suit his personality in an ironic sense.

We paid. We left. We arrived at home and I bid him change. Ever modest and proper, he darted towards the bathroom, but a very familiar voice called "¡Ocupado!"

James made a sickened face and looked at me. "This is not good. Not good at all," he muttered. "Jack Sparrow is in your apartment."

"Frick."

Just then, Rosa popped out of the bathroom, hair slightly mussed, and looked at me as if I had grown a second head. "What are you staring at? And by the way, hon, can you tell me where you keep the toughest hairbrush in the house? Witty Jack wants to take a stab at redoing his dreadlocks."

"Second drawer, right hand side. You know that, Rosa. But can ya' please vacate the lavatory as soon as humanly possible? James kinda needs it."

"'Course I can, Carmen. Jeesh! You trumpet players are pushy. Anyhow, be out in a sec!"

I turned to James again and he looked sorta scared. I knew about their going rivalry, and it seemed to still be there even in alternate realities. I began to rage with the best word I knew to describe it. "Frick frickin' fricky frick frickity frick!"

"Is he going to be out soon?" He asked.

"Let's see, are you acquainted with Jack's dreadlocks?"

"Of course. What does that have to do with it?"

"Have you ever seen Jack without his dreadlocks?"

"No…."

"Right now my buddy is trying to take them out and redo them. I suggest you go change in my room. Go on, there's nobody in there now."

A/N: ZOMG! Intense! But I mustn't keep the public waiting on another update, so I wanted to get this to you ASAP. (Also, ZOMG isn't misspelled, according to my spellcheck.) I'm going to warn you, this is a long school week for me, so I wouldn't expect any more rapid fire updates for at least 3 days. Much love, FG.

Thank you for the reviews, they're much appreciated by the way.