AN: Important little plot point affixed at end of chapter. (Hopefully it'll shut up all protests of "But it's not got ANYTHING to do with PotC!")

How My Perfect Life Was Inverted II

Chapter Twelve: Rivals

At first, everything seemed perfectly normal, and her life progressed as such; the Thursday and Friday passed without any incident, unless you counted how, during one Food Tech. lesson, Sierra had accidentally trapped an apron that was being worn by a girl called Sasha (who she just happened to despise) in an oven door, and how a fire hazard had subsequently occurred.

Saturday morning, however, brought with it a slightly different story; but like its predecessors, that day too began like any other Saturday morning. She made a show of poring over a Physics homework so that Olivia would be satisfied that her charge was unrelenting in her studies, then she disappeared into her room and chatted with Angie for half an hour. It wasn't until she had opened the front door that she was confronted by what appeared to be a giant teddy bear of amorous intent offering forth a bouquet of flowers. Like any other girl confronted with a life-sized teddy bear of amorous intent offering forth a bouquet of flowers, Sierra simply stared.

And then the teddy bear burst into song; a rich, mellifluous tenor voice that sang of love, youth, faith, beauty; a voice she had sung along with, had listened to, had adored all her life.

"Julian?" she exclaimed, flabbergasted, suddenly realising that one of the arms holding onto the toy was offering her a wrapped box of chocolates. The singing—or serenading, rather—abruptly stopped, and Julian's earnest face appeared over the bear's shoulder.

"Good morning, sugar lump!" he crooned, stepping forward and offering her a hug via the teddy bear. Taken aback, Sierra returned the embrace as best she could, taking care not to crush the roses and lilies.

Eventually, Julian pulled back, eyes bright and brimming with enthusiasm. "I got your message!" he informed her enthusiastically. "The one you left on the telephone."

"I can tell," she replied, accepting the chocolates and carefully loosening the ivory flowers from the doe-eyed teddy's grip. Julian followed her inside, the giant teddy bear still clutched protectively to his chest, and watched as she handed the bouquet to Olivia with the request of putting them in water.

"Um… Why don't you come upstairs, Julian? W-We obviously have a lot to talk about…"

Julian simply beamed and nodded with childlike enthusiasm, clearly believing that he had won her back, and Sierra's stomach dropped as she was suddenly overcome with dread-tinged guilt. She supposed the teddy bear, the most potent symbol of childhood romance if ever there was one, didn't help alleviate her discomfort.

"No," Julian was saying firmly, following Sierra down the stairs. "No, I don't accept."

"It's not a question of accepting it, Julian; I've broken up with you."

"But surely I get a say in it!"

"In what?"

"In whether we break up or not; is it not our relationship? Don't we share everything equally, make decisions equally—namely after consulting one another?"

"But there's a completely separate rule for break-ups, Julian," Sierra pointed out apologetically, stepping nimbly over the doorstep and pulling her coat tighter around her. "Break-ups are universally accepted as being one of the few areas of a relationship in which one participant alone can make adjustments."

"I don't care—I still demand to be consulted!" Julian wailed, stamping his foot petulantly. Then his attitude abruptly changed, and Sierra nearly fell as his arms were flung about her waist.

"Why are you doing this?" he sobbed into her coat, and Sierra was overcome with both guilt and embarrassment; he had fallen to his knees, clinging tightly to her hips, effectively preventing her from moving. "You're my girlfriend—my Sierra! Sierra; my sausage, my heffalump, my sugar-coated celery stick!"

"Julian, please, you're embarrassing me—"

"My malnourished, boyish-figured celery stick," he wept, and suddenly, Sierra's guilt vanished. Narrowing her eyes, she grabbed onto a nearby lamppost, and with Herculean effort, pulled herself out of his unrelenting grasp. She was certain she looked as stupid as she felt, perhaps more so, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She was profoundly glad she was wearing trousers, though.

As soon as she had both arms and legs wrapped tightly about the lamppost, like a vertical sloth, or some sort of monkey, she leapt off and onto the ground, darting out of Julian's lunging arms with a squeak of fear, and took off running down the street as fast as her skinny legs could carry her, squealing every now and again as Julian's fingers grabbed her billowing coat.

"WE BELONG TOGETHER!" he bellowed for all the world to hear as he chased her, a manic gleam in his eye. "Don't you remember last year, when we went to Camden and laughed at all the pretentious Goths moping around in their black lipstick?"

"Julian—" Sierra panted, cursing as she came across a busy road she would have to cross, if she wished to get to the Underground on time.

"And there was a deranged Druid called Tabitha who came from Jamaica, and she said we would be together for all of eternity!"

"I don't—"

"She did, she did!" he insisted, skidding as his prey abruptly changed direction. "Remember, she cackled and called you Susan The Happy Trotting Elflike But Tediously Normal Human Being With Abnormally Small Breasts—"

"JULIAN!"

"—That Will At A Later But Deliberately Unspecified Date Become Abnormally Large?" he completed regardless, releasing a girlish shriek as he nearly ran into a tree Sierra had cunningly darted around. With a quick glance, the girl ran across the road, and with an enraged but nevertheless unusual curse ("Coitus interruptus!"), Julian spun on his heel and ran back from whence he came.

"She said that in a previous life I was your lover!" he yelled at her from across the street, ignorant of the stares he was receiving from drivers and pedestrians alike. "She told us of how I was a ravishing Archduchess of Italian birth by the name of Arabellinasotema di Calatanisetta who after many a proposition from a handsomely dreadlocked but highly effeminate pirate captain—"

"For the love of God, Julian—"

"—who you stole from me out of jealousy—"

"SHUT UP!"

"But I love you!" he howled, darting pass a white van in time to see her disappear into a Tube station. Relentless, he followed her, and once in the foyer, stopped, eyes darting wildly around. She was at a barrier, fumbling with her handbag, clearly searching for a ticket she must have purchased the day before, perhaps after school; setting his jaw, Julian darted through the crowd, clawed hands outstretched, and shrieked as the machine permitted her to pass, but closed the moment he approached.

"Curse these vile barriers!" he cried, slapping the plastic indignantly.

"Excuse me, sir," the guard came over, "What seems to be the problem?"

"This barrier!" Julian cursed, pointing accusingly at the object. "They absolutely refuse to let me through, the bastards!"

"Perhaps the ticket's bent," the guard suggested, pulling the teenager away. "Let's have a look at it."

Julian blinked his green eyes in confusion.

"…Ticket?"

"You do have one, don't you?"

"Well, I don't personally, no," Julian confessed before spinning on his heel and pointing accusingly at Sierra, who hurriedly turned away and quickened her pace. "But she does—the one with the brown hair and Gucci handbag, my girlfriend—she has a ticket; therefore, I have a ticket by association!"

Sierra lowered her head in shame. "Oh, God…" she muttered.

"If you don't have a ticket, I'm afraid you can't—"

"But we're in love! Sierra! SIERRA! Tell him we're in love!"

"Look, son—"

But Sierra had already leapt upon an escalator, and, more than a little terrified, leant against the moving rubber railing, mouth slightly open as she panted for breath. She reached her platform just in time to see her train pulling out, and stamped her foot as the board announced that the next was not due to arrive for another four minutes.

"Four minutes is a long time when you've got a psychotic ex on your heels," she muttered under her breath, clutching tightly to her bag and hunching up her shoulders, hoping to appear as inconspicuous as possible. The 240 seconds snailed by, and Sierra smiled in relief as she finally heard a son of London's best-loved public transportation approach.

But then she heard a familiar shout, and turned to see Julian pushing through the crowds, a pink-tinged ticket held high in the air.

"Damn."

And with this mild curse, Sierra darted to the nearest door, pushing the button repeatedly. Julian was behind her; she knew he was, she could hear his voice growing louder…

Come on come on come on…

The doors creaked open as though devoured by rust; forgoing etiquette, she leapt into the carriage, turned to her left, and ran towards the door, swinging it open and darting through it, allowing it to slam shut behind her. The train jolted forwards, and she cried out as her bag fell from her hands, her purse, keys, everything flying out across the floor as she tumbled to the unsteady ground—

Only to be caught in a pair of arms. Momentarily relieved, she looked up towards her saviour's face, smiling gratefully—and froze as she took in the boy's quirked eyebrow.

"So I guess we're both running a little late then?" he greeted.

"Steve!" And she buried her face into his shoulder, arms reaching up for a brief hug before she pulled away, chasing after her scattered belongings.

"Oh God, oh God, I can't find my purse…" she whimpered. "Where is it?"

Steve's response was to approach an ordinary-looking girl with mousy hair, hand outstretched. She looked suspiciously at the offered fingers and promptly snarled.

"What d'you want?"

Verne simply raised an eyebrow, hand falling to rest on the back of her seat as he leant closer to her with a smirk.

"What do I want? Now that's a very interesting question. I want to be rich. Guess I wouldn't mind being famous. But what I really want is to be adored by millions, declared Supreme Emperor of the Universe, build an experimental harem on Mars filled with the world's most beautiful women, of whom I will then proceed to make lesbian clones of. But until I get to heaven, my girlfriend's purse will suffice."

"…Piss off."

Steve simply rolled his brown eyes, exasperated, and half-turning to Sierra, gave her a shrug. "Well, what can a man do?"

And he promptly plunged his hand down the sulky girl's shirt, earning a shriek of outrage.

"WHAT are you doing?" Sierra snapped, enraged, but Steve's hand continued to remain down the stranger's shirt for some time; longer than she deemed necessary. Eventually, the boy's hand emerged, purse clutched triumphantly in his fist, ignoring the look of horror that flashed on the wide-eyed girl's face, studying his prize with keen eyes.

"You know, the zip's open; there's a chance a couple of pounds fell down into your—"

The girl pushed him away, stumbling to her feet and running in the direction where a rampaging Julian possibly waited.

"Next time you plan on stealing a stranger's cash," he called lazily after her, "make sure you're wearing a bra." And he turned his gaze to find Sierra staring at him, positively scandalised.

"What?" he asked, baffled.

"You-You just…" she stumbled gracelessly before stopping, shaking her head as another, more pressing matter returned to her. "Never mind!" she brushed off, darting forward to grab his hand and drag him further down the train, pulling open the next door. "Oh!" as she felt his hand slip her money into her bag. "Um, thank you—Please hurry!"

Stephen's confusion only increased, but it was only after they'd slipped through the carriage door and were starting towards the other did he think to ask her why.

"I'd explain, only—hide me!" she yelped, fingers scrambling at the next door. Pushing her gently aside, he swung it effortlessly open, ushering her in before him, and it was only three carriages later did Steve finally persuade her to take a seat.

"Give me your coat!" she begged him. "Please!"

Shooting her a pointed look, he obliged, frowning as she viciously snatched it away from him, shrugging it clumsily on.

"Now sit down," he said firmly, shoving her into a seat and settling beside her, "And tell me—exactly what's going on?"

Sierra's response was to squeak and move towards him, grabbing hold of his shirt as she buried her head into his shoulder, and after a moment's silent reflection, he decided that an impromptu hug was better than whatever answer she could give him, and flung his arm about her shoulder in response. They remained like this for some time, and just as he was truly beginning to appreciate their closeness, the door swung open to reveal a madman in a trench coat; in one of the buttonholes lurked what appeared the remains of a red rose. Sierra remained silent, but he felt her grip tighten as the nutter stalked up behind them, head snapping left and right, scouring for something. The moment the door slammed behind the boy, his girl bolted upright.

"Quick!" she hissed. "We have to go back!"

"Who was that?"

"…No one."

He didn't believe her in the slightest.

"So why don't we stay here then?"

"NO!" she shrieked, a hand going to her mouth in embarrassment. "No, I mean… Oh Steve, please don't ask any awkward questions. Here, thanks for your coat."

He folded the black material over his arm, and followed her obediently. "What's so awkward?" he demanded, adding teasingly, "He wasn't some jealous lover you've been hiding from me, is he?"

Sierra tripped over her own booted feet, and he wrapped his arm tightly about her waist once more, pulling her firmly towards him and silently noting the way her small breasts strained upwards against her bra. Such a spectacle was quickly concealed by the twin layers of her shirt and coat.

"Can we please not talk about this?" she pleaded. "Let me go!"

He did no such thing, choosing instead to pull her closer still with an elevating jerk, sulking slightly as the coat remained obstinately shut over her chest. "It won't move…" he scowled.

"What won't move?"

"Nothing," he dismissed. "Now, what's got you running about scared?"

"I'm not scared."

"Liar."

"What did you want to move?" she demanded persistently.

"…Don't evade my question."

"Don't evade my question."

"Look, if I'm going to be dragged up and down trains like a dog on a lead—but unfortunately, without the collar—" Sierra's brow furrowed in confusion at this "—I think I've the right to know why."

"…Well; well, Julian, the boy that's chasing me… He's been my bestes—BEST friend since we were babies, and-and—" Steve frowned, registering the childlike tone that had crept into her voice, but then decided to accept this as part of her overall charm. "And when I was seven we got married—"

She stopped as she sensed the odd look that he was giving her and, smiling embarrassedly, cleared her throat and continued, "Well, we signed—" Stopping upon realising that would sound even stupider. In a final attempt at maturity, she whispered, "We were childhood sweethearts, and-and now he's a little obsessed with me…"

"A little?"

"A little bit… Put me down now, please."

He obliged, following her panicked steps obediently, interrogating all the while.

"Oh, so he's not your ex then?"

"Sorry?"

"The boy you cancelled on to meet me on our first date," he reminded, and she bit her lip. "That was someone else?"

Sierra was uncertain of how to reply; she suppose she could deny such charges, as whilst Julian had always been a little… mad, she had never witnessed such displays of lunacy as was shown today, so in a sense he was an entirely different person…

"You never broke up with him, did you?" Steve's voice drawled, and Sierra's stomach twisted. "I'm not accusing you," he added as the carriage slowed to a stop. "No honey, we're meant to get off next—"

"I DON'T CARE!" she exploded, and he flinched. "Steve… I just want to escape…" And she dragged him towards the door regardless of his feelings.

Teenagers, he thought, irritated as he pulled her to a stop. "You do realise that we won't be able to get pass the barriers, don't you? Sit down."

"Only at the other end of the train!" she stipulated.

He rolled his eyes. "If it'll make you happy. By the way, I think you're insane."

She could only glare at him.

The escape from the train was without significant incidence, as was their journey up the street and into a coffee shop, where Sierra darted into the bathroom to fuss over her appearance, certain as she was that the two of them were no longer in danger.

That was why she didn't object to a window seat, which proved to be the downfall of them all, for who should suddenly lunge at the shatter-proof glass, handsome face twisted in a snarl as he hurled inaudible obscenities?

"So!" Julian exclaimed, eyes falling on the reclining Steve moments after he had burst through the front door and stalked towards the youthful couple. "So this is the tall, lightly-muscled, chocolate-eyed, working-class prat you've left me for!"

"Julian!" Sierra cried, pulling at his arm. "Please, this is a public place!"

"That doesn't matter to me!" Julian screeched, attempting to gouge Stephen's eyes out and failing miserably. "In my indignant rage of righteous anger born out of the unfair dissolution of a long-lasting and heterosexual relationship, I care not for the thoughts of others!"

Steve shifted in his seat slightly, looking pass the clawing fingers to glance at Sierra and comment pleasantly, "Gay, is he?"

"Um…"

"Let me have him!"

"Gay," Steve concluded, nodding sagely.

"Julian! We can talk about this! Please! Let's discuss this in a civilised manner."

"I cannot discuss such a thing in a civilised manner, for I am a heterosexual male who has just lost his first girlfriend! Have at you, coward!"

"Julian!" Sierra pleaded, forcing him down into a chair and waving away a barista. "No, no, really, everything's fine… Yes, yes, he's under control, thank you…"

It took fifteen minutes and a delicate latte for Julian to actually calm down enough to glare disparagingly at Sierra's new beau in a stoic silence; the girl herself sat between the two boys, wringing her hands and attempting to initiate friendly conversations, whilst Steve leant lazily back in his chair, examining Julian with a keen and intense interest.

Presently, the spurned lover turned in his seat to look at Sierra, ignorant of the whipped cream decorating the tip of his nose.

"Why?" he said finally. "Why him? Why not me?"

"Julian—"

"Does he have a better figure than me?" "he brazenly bombarded. "What, I suppose that with spending all his days loading and unloading crates at the docks for a mere ha'penny is bound to have its advantages. Disrobe, sirrah!"

"Medieval gay," was all Steve would say.

"Julian!" Sierra snapped, standing and effectively shielding her boyfriend from her ex's view whilst she glared down at the hysterical male. "That is enough! Really! I had my own reasons for leaving you, and they had nothing to do with Stephen's biceps! So there is absolutely no point asking him to disrobe; and besides, Steve isn't some sort of shameless exhibitionist who would strip in public just because—"

She was abruptly cut off by a white T-shirt landing on her shoulder. There was a pause as she delicately picked the garment off, folded it over her arm, and turned to see an unashamedly shirtless Steve, still casually seated, a thumb tucked into his belt.

"Shall I continue?"

"What?—No!"

He gave Sierra a sidelong glance, amused.

"I wasn't talking to you, darling," he drawled, looking at Julian pointedly. The poor boy was looking quite horrified now, but was spared from answering by the reappearance of the barista, who politely but firmly told the trio to leave.

"Unbelievable!" Sierra raged as she watched Steve button his coat. On seeing the little effect this had on him, she directed her furious glare to Julian, who flinched and lowered his head, temporarily shamed.

Temporarily shamed.

"We belong together!" he persisted, moving towards her, but was prevented from going further by Stephen, who had to physically hold him back. "Look, look, Sierra!" and he pulled out a slip of paper with a flourish.

Sierra's heart leapt, and she stumbled back, earning a quizzical look from her current boyfriend.

Oh no, she thought, horrified. Oh no, no, no…

"You alright, love?" Steve queried, concerned. "You're looking a little pale…"

"I-I'm fine," she said, watching an uncharacteristically evil smirk spread over Julian's face as he caught her eye.

"This," he said smarmily to Stephen, "is our marriage contract."

For a moment, Sierra simply stared at Steve's dumbfounded expression, and closed her eyes, burying her face into her hands. A somewhat repressed snigger had her straightening again, and she watched with cheeks flushing in indignation as Steve pulled the page gently out of Julian's hand, attempting to smother the amused grin that threatened to break out as he perused the document.

"It seems to me," he said at last to the married couple awaiting the verdict, "that although you are… married," he was able to cough out between abrupt guffaws, "you—your clerk forgot to specify the period of time in which this marriage would be considered valid."

Julian and Sierra simply blinked and stared, first at one another, then at Steve.

"Beg pardon?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well," he said slowly, "in most wedding ceremonies, there tends to be the tiny, niggling phrase of ''til death do us part' ensconced somewhere—a clause which is conspicuous only by its absence in here."

Horror dawned over Julian's pleasant features as the full implications of this mild but clearly significant mistake sunk in; to make matters worse, his wife rounded upon him, eyes narrowed in fury.

"You forgot our wedding vows?" she spat, disgusted. "How typical of men."

Julian looked from one conspirator to the other, unable, unwilling to believe… to accept… Why, it just couldn't be true!

"W-W-We said that part… in front of a Catholic priest," he sputtered, and Steve snorted.

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Sierra was silent, watching guiltily as Steve prepared himself for the kill whilst Julian, helpless as a fawn, slowly backed away.

"Julian!" she yelped just as Stephen was opening his mouth. "Julian… snuggle-bunny… come here," she gestured, ignoring how Steve had turned to her to incredulously mouth the words snuggle-bunny?

The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and took a tiny step forward, green eyes downcast.

"Closer," Sierra beckoned encouragingly; when finally in range, she reached up and flung her arms about his neck in a tight hug, burying her face into his shoulder. Steve quirked an eyebrow at this, but refrained from comment.

"I'm sorry," she murmured to him. "I shouldn't have left that message on your phone… And I should have been more sensitive about the whole thing. And I should have told you it was all Steve's fault."

"What?"

"WHAT?"

Still wrapped about her ex, Sierra turned and fixed her current beau with a steely glare.

"Well, this is all your doing," she explained calmly. "If you hadn't taken my purse—"

"He took what?" Julian interjected.

"Only as a means to an end," Steve explained cryptically with a nod. "Her end."

"He did it only so he could have an excuse to talk to me," Sierra explained offhandedly, turning to look up at Julian affectionately. "And then, through a mixture of mulish persistence and roguish charm, I conceded to partaking in a relationship on purely experimental grounds."

Both Steve and Julian were shooting her odd looks; Sierra gave the latter a kiss, and the former a thin smile.

"I love you," she said simply to Julian. "You and I both know that we care deeply for one another. But whether our feelings are romantic or not is debatable, don't you agree?"

Julian was silent, looking intensely down at her; Stephen could have retched, keeled over and died, and neither would have noticed.

"I… I think my feelings are romantic," he said slowly, and Steve's hand unthinkingly strayed to his pocket, where a flick-knife lay concealed, but stopped, thinking better of it.

"And I don't thin—know if mine are," she sidestepped. Her eyes returned to Steve, wide with apprehension. "You're going to break up with me now, aren't you?"

The eldest of the three snorted, shaking his head in amusement.

"Sweetheart, he's gay."

"Am not!" Julian squeaked indignantly, pulling Sierra protectively closer. "I am not gay, and I have the fashion magazines and colour co-ordinated wardrobe to prove it!"

Stephen could only stare at the pair, his brown eyes eventually focusing on Sierra.

"This is my rival for your love?"

"That's right," Sierra purred affectionately, looking from one boy to the other in adoration.

Verne burst out laughing, but quickly sobered at the disapproving glares he received. "Sorry," he apologised, tongue planted firmly in cheek. The adoring smile slowly faded from Sierra's face as she turned her attention back to her ex.

"Julian," she began. "Much as I would love to continue our relationship, I honestly think that I'd like to see how things go with Steve."

"But—"

"Don't get me wrong," Sierra said quickly. "I mean, I would love so, so much to be with you, now and always, but… Oh, Julian," she sighed at the heartbroken expression she received. "H-How about," she began anew, looking uncertainly from Verne to Clancy and back again, "the three of us just… remain friends?"

Both boys looked utterly bewildered at the very suggestion. "…Friends?" Julian asked sceptically, and Sierra nodded eagerly, pulling herself out of Julian's grasp and dragging him a little closer to Steve.

"Yeah," she affirmed. "I mean, that's practically all we are, isn't it, Stephen?"

"Um, no."

"Well, we are now," Sierra said firmly, and shoved Julian's fingers into Steve's darker palm. "Shake and make up."

After yet another exchange of glances—for Julian, one of open hostility; for Steve, something best described as polite curiosity—the two clasped their hands a little tighter, and abruptly released one another. Sierra merely rolled her eyes.

"I'm sensing a little tension and hostility between the two of you," she commented needlessly as she grabbed each companion by the wrist and proceeded to drag them down the street. "And I feel that I'm the cause of it… And I think that in order to relieve it, the two of you need to bond. And to do that…" And it was only then that the two boys realised she was slowly backing away, clutching her coat tightly as she did so. "To do that, I think you need to spend some time together. Without me."

"What? But I'll kill him!"

Julian squeaked at this proclamation, and lunged for Sierra, who swiftly stepped away.

"Steve won't really kill you, sugar lump."

"Yes he will…" Julian whimpered. "Heffalump, I don't want to get killed!"

Sierra looked up from the prostrate Julian lying at her feet to give Steve a smile and an apologetic shrug.

"Take care of him, won't you?"

"…Do I have to?"

"If you still want a chance with me," she replied, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"That's emotional blackmail," he resisted. "Very damaging to long-established relationships, much less a budding one like our own."

"Compromise, Stephen; after all, isn't that what relationships are all about?" Sierra asked sweetly. "Bye-bye, Julian; I love you," and she reached down and patted his golden-red head.

She said no such thing to Verne, and deliberately made no gesture other than a friendly and platonic wave; as a direct consequence, Steve had to consciously resist the urge to kick his 'rival.'

"Come on," he said gruffly, grabbing a fistful of Julian's hair and tugging. "Up you get."

Reluctantly, Julian clambered up (using Steve as a rudimentary ladder) to stand before him, silently examining his clothes and dusting off his coat.

"Well," he said at last, surveying Steve critically, "that was perfect, don't you think?"

The darker boy was abruptly taken aback at what appeared to be a spontaneous change in character; what's more, he could see that Julian was openly smirking, clearly pleased with himself.

"Christ," he said at last, looking down at Julian in surprise. "Was all of that—the twenty-minute chase, the scene in the coffee-shop, the almost-tears—was all that just an act?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call it an act, per se," Julian answered, pulling open a compact mirror and adjusting his hair as was necessary. "Merely improvised tactics essential in pursuing and preserving the main objective as a matter of course."

"…So what you're trying to say is that you shamelessly exploited and manipulated what I can only imagine to be Sierra's innate motherly instincts for your own selfish and unjustifiable ends?"

Julian snapped the mirror shut, placed it carefully into his pocket, looked into Steve's brown eyes, and with a slightly mischievous smile, sagely replied,

"The pheasant has no agenda."

Then he placed both hands in his pockets and walked off, whistling a merry tune whilst Steve simply watched him disbelievingly before following.

"I find it incredibly offensive that you would arrogantly allow yourself to believe that in order to keep her I must resort to subterfuge and temper tantrums."

"But you did resort to subterfuge and temper tantrums."

"Ah, but only to ensure that the outcome is satisfactory to all likable parties involved," Julian pointed out. "She'll pick me in the end; you and I both know she will."

"And what makes you so sure?" Steve challenged.

"Well," Julian began, "not only do I have a longer relationship built on stronger foundations than teenaged infatuation and unconscious rebellion, but I also have the approval of her mother, her father, her brother, her sister, her uncle, her aunt, her uncle's harem, her guardian, her friends, her horse, her tailor, her confessor, her legitimate cousins, her illegitimate cousins, their goldfish, and, most importantly of all…" And he stopped suddenly in his tracks, causing Steve to stumble clumsily back as he looked manically up at him.

"I have the approval of the Family Ghost."

Steve could only look upon him with raised eyebrows.

"Oh do you now?"

"You don't believe me?" Julian tutted. "Ugh, commoners these days." And he turned around and promptly continued his gleeful gait. Naturally, Steve followed.

"And how do you know that the Ghost approves of you?"

"Because I only ever got a splinter," Julian replied, halting suddenly and sticking out his foot on the pretext of showing to Steve. "In the big toe, see? When I was little. Other boys that were not of direct blood relation to Sierra either irredeemably embarrassed themselves in front of her or ended up very very hurt—but not fatally or grievously so, of course," he added hastily. "Fare thee well, sirrah."

And he continued his carefree stroll as though these words would prove satisfactory, and Stephen Verne would henceforth abandon hope and go away.

Now there's an optimist if ever there was one.

"This family ghost," Verne pestered belligerently, deliberately leaving ambiguous whether he believed in such things or no, "Is it male or female?"

Golden lashes fluttered rather prettily as Julian blinked in surprise. "Um, male I think…"

"Then how do you know," Steve continued slyly, "that the Ghost isn't obsessively in love with Sierra, wants her all to himself, and only allowed you to stick around so as to ward off more, ah… serious competition?"

Julian was so taken aback by this theory that he immediately stopped in his tracks, and promptly tripped over a loose paving stone; clearly, he had never before considered this scenario, judging by how he turned clumsily around to glare at the cruelly smiling Stephen, crossed his arms, stuck out his tongue, and blew a raspberry.

"I think my knowledge of my girlfriend's ghost fast surpasses your own, Stephen," he superciliously sniffed.

"But what if, though?" Steve persisted, grabbing hold of Julian's sleeve just as he was about to scarper. "What if this ghost is in love with Sierra? I mean, what chance could either of us really have against a supernatural entity of paranormal energy, hmm?"

Julian's expression was utterly heartbreaking, and in a moment of compassion, Steve silently backed down.

"This ghost of yours," he asked in a slightly gentler voice, "who is he?"

"What? How should I know? It's not my family ghost."

"So you're saying he doesn't have a name? Seems like a pretty impersonal family ghost to me."

"H-He does have a name…" Julian insisted slowly. "Only it's been so long since I've last heard of him that…" He trailed off, forehead furrowed endearingly, whilst Steve merely looked on in polite interest before giving up and consulting his watch.

"Jack," he said after what seemed (to Steve) to be three long minutes.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"Jack," Julian repeated. "I'm not sure if that's his real name or not, but Sierra always called the Family Ghost 'Jack.'"

-x!x-

AN: See? All the Steve/Sierra stuff is completely relevant to Pirates of the Caribbean…