It was quite late by the time Jack rang his father's doorbell.
Maggie the housemaid opened the door and screamed when she saw him. She dropped to the floor in a dead faint. Jack made a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a groan, as he walked in. He stepped over her carefully as he closed the door.
The distinctive click of a pistol being cocked made him freeze in place, hands fluttering nervously out from his body.
Teague's menacing rumble came from the darkened doorway of the sitting room. "Who are ye and what do ye do here?"
"Hello, Dad," Jack said, with a degree of relief. "Just came by to let you know that I didn't end up having to die after all."
Teague mulled this over. Jack listened for the pistol to de-cock. When it didn't happen, he frowned. "Dad?"
"Jacky?" Teague asked, finally coming out into the light. He saw Jack standing over the unconscious housemaid, with his hands still up.
"Oh," Teague said, finally de-cocking the pistol.
Jack sighed and lowered his hands.
"So ye didn't die, then," Teague observed. He nodded several times, swallowing. "I'm glad of that, Jacky. Glad to see ye."
Jack smiled at the warm response he felt to this declaration of paternal love—one of the first he could remember hearing from his father.
Teague peered owlishly at him, and Jack realized that Teague was three, maybe four sheets to the wind. He felt a stab of envy.
"What's happened to your hair?" Teague asked him.
"Had to give it up," Jack answered. "'S one of the things Calypso demanded so's I could send Elizabeth back to life. Is she still up?"
Teague thought the question over for a minute or two, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Then he nodded. "Oh, aye. Aye, she's in there. We was—we was—we were just 'avin' a drink together. In your memory. Givin' ye a proper send-off, as it were."
Jack grinned. "Mind if I join you, then?"
Teague nodded and opened the door wide. Jack stopped. "What about—?" he asked, waving his hand in the housemaid's direction. His gesture expressed both his disdain and his concern simultaneously.
Teague rolled his eyes., "Let 'er lie. Girl ought to be made of stronger stuff."
"Aye," Jack agreed. "And speaking of stronger stuff…" he took from his pocket the bottle of rum Elizabeth had given him when she gave him the new hat.
Teague smiled and waved him into the room.
It was lit only by a couple of candles, barely illuminating Elizabeth's form as she perched on the divan, staring into a candle flame. She clutched a half-full bottle with both hands. She didn't look up when they entered.
"Good news, Miss Liz," Teague slurred. "Jacky's still alive."
Elizabeth's head whipped around and she dropped the bottle. She was off the divan and in Jack's arms in less than a second.
Jack hugged her hard, holding her head tightly up against his shoulder, where she muffled her sobs of relief in his coat. Teague wandered over, picked up Elizabeth's dropped bottle, and sat down with it in the chair opposite. He lifted the bottle in their direction and toasted them silently before tipping it up. He watched them embracing, with all the attention and enjoyment that comes with watching good theatre.
Jack produced a handkerchief from his sleeve and mopped Elizabeth's face with it. "Here, love, no need for all that. Turns out I didn't need to die after all. Calypso sent me back to you."
Elizabeth wiped her streaming eyes, and, with the rapid shift of mood that drunkenness brings, glared at him. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged closer, so they were almost nose to nose. "So help me, Jack Sparrow, if you ever leave me like that again," she hissed, "I will make you sorry you were ever born!"
"Not to worry, love," he assured her, "Since I'm never letting you out of my sight again. Ever. Savvy?"
Her response was to pull him even closer and attack his mouth with frantic kisses. Her hands started pushing the coat from his shoulders, desperate to feel his body under them, to make sure he was real, warm, alive.
"Now, now," Teague mumbled. "Reef yer sails, Miss Liz. I don't need to see you debauchin' my son in me own sitting room."
"So leave!" Jack growled.
Elizabeth giggled a little drunkenly. "I'm sorry, Captain Teague. I got carried away."
"I don't mind!" Jack assured her, turning his back on his father. "Ignore him."
"You don't mind, but her aunt will," Teague pointed out. "And she's not someone to cross."
Jack grimaced in agreement, shoulders slumping. He sighed and sat back on the divan, pulling Elizabeth back to sprawl against him. He reached for the bottle he had brought. "Well, Auntie can't object to this sort of debauchery, can she?" he asked rhetorically, popping out the cork and taking a swig. "Especially as we're celebratin' her niece's return from the dead! Not to mention my own," he added.
"True enough," Teague agreed. He raised his own bottle and clinked it against Jack's. "To your health, then, son," he toasted, "And that of your lady."
"And yours," Jack added, toasting his father in return.
Elizabeth kicked off her slippers, tucked her feet up underneath her, and curled up in the circle of Jack's arm with her head lolling on his shoulder. Her fingers trailed through the short hairs at the back of his neck. "Your hair," she murmured.
"Had to give it up," he told her. "Sorry, love."
"'S all right," she replied with a yawn. "This way looks nice too." Her face nestled into his neck as she drifted off to sleep.
"Long day," Teague remarked.
"Aye," Jack agreed, taking another swig. He was so tired he felt boneless, slumping down into the cushions with his legs stretched out in front of him and a warm, comfortable Elizabeth nestled into his shoulder. He rested his cheek against her hair and let his eyes drift closed. Sprawled in the chair across from them, Teague smiled as he tipped his head back and let his own eyes fall shut.