"No es muy crujiente, ¿no?" With a fork in his plate of Carne Mechada, James looked up at Tara and immediately knew that his remark was not exactly a clever one to make. "It's just … I know you say too much oil isn't good for us, but I thought –"

"Os preparo comida sana y tú te atreves de quejarte?" Tara immediately glanced at Jack, it seemed to be a call for him to agree. But his puzzled face quickly gave proof to the way he didn't quite understand her. "They've had plenty of cake for their birthday yesterday," she reiterated, "what kind of mother would I be if I added a galleon of oil on top the very next day? But now he complains –"

"No, no, I'm not complaining," James protested, "I just meant that it's not –"

"How's anything healthy supposed to be crujiente, huh?" Tara groaned. "Tell me that, Jay …"

Throughout the last seven weeks he'd spent with the ocean, Jack had been practicing his Castellano with a sailor from Lima once more. One he'd hired solely for that purpose, if he were to be frank … And still he wouldn't understand each and everything his children babbled, let alone what their mother said when she was mad, or happy, or both …

But he wasn't one to be coy, least when it came to translations. "Jay, what's it about?"

"¿Qué? ¿Lo que acabo de decir?"

"You're teasing at this point, aren't ya?"

"Crujiente," Tia now repeated for her father. "It means crispy. He whined that it wasn't very crispy."

Jack glanced up at Tara and shrugged. "This dish isn't supposed to be crujiente, is it?"

"Of course it's not," Teague confirmed, still chewing and obviously enjoying his meal. He quickly swallowed to add, "Carne Mechada is never crispy. That's the point of it being mechada. It's lovely, Tara."

"I appreciate you saying that, Edward, thank you."

"See?" Jack kept leaning back. "Utter nonsense! Jay!"

"Huh?" His son's eyes grew wide.

"How dare you complain."

"I didn't –"

"You're lucky someone's spending tons of time and effort in a kitchen for you, you know that?"

James hesitated, then shrugged, unsure how to react because to him, it actually was a matter of course. "Well, yes, I am, it's just –"

"It's heaven in disguise, you hear me?" Jack nodded, grinning at him as though he was about to conspire. "See, when I was your age –"

"In medieval times?" Tara chuckled.

"In medieval times," Jack repeated in a high-pitched voice of mockery. "Hate to remind you, darling, but you're actually not that much younger than –"

"A decade, Jack. A whole bloody decade."

"Didn't mind when you met me, sweetness, and let's be precise, shall we? Nine years are no decade. Considering you're working for Ching, counting her blessings and whatnot, that's quite preocupante, no? What if you miscount for her as well and she happens to notice and hence confronts you with –"

"Ah, you win, just go ahead with your tales, Sparrow," Tara softly stopped him while she could, "we'll need to talk about Ching another day anyway – back to what you did when you were their age."

"I was actually –"

"He was hungry all the time, unless he saw to his own meals." They all stared at Teague. The man looked guilty as charged. "That's what you wanted to say, isn't it, Jackie? Because neither of us ever cooked for you. Because we weren't there very much."

Jack opened and closed his mouth, however quite pleased with Teague's reluctance. "I was going to say I wasn't picky when it came to food …" He shrugged. "But in principle, it's a bit of the same thing, ain't it?"

"Grandpa, what do you mean, you were never there?" Tia smiled at Teague, genuinely interested.

"Well, I …" Edward sighed, deciding that he could just as well tell her. "You both remember when you didn't know your Papá?"

Tia and James nodded.

"But you had your Mamá, right?"

"Yeah."

Teague added, "She was always there, aye?"

The twins nodded yet again.

"See, your Papá didn't have that."

"He didn't have a Mamá?"

"No, James, don't be ridiculous, he did. He just … didn't get to see either of us that much. You know?"

"No." Tia watched him closely. "You mean you weren't there for him?"

Teague began massaging his temples. He shouldn't have said a thing.

"Probing questions, Tia, chapeau." Jack ruffled her hair, helping his old man out. "Listen, your Grams and the old bat over there, they had lots to do. Lots to see, many to love. It's not a bad way to live, actually, it's just … made me a vagabond, you know?"

Tara was in awe at once, watching him talk to his daughter in glorious self-reflection, with his heart so open, his mind, his spirits … She loved that, and those of his ways. Most of the time, at least, just like he loved hers as much as he could with the way life had shaped him.

"What is a vagabond?"

"Bloody hell," Teague moaned, Jack just cackled.

"Look at me, Tia, then you know."

His daughter smiled. "I like vagabonds, then."

"Oh, no, no, only I am a good one at heart. See, all the others aren't. Don't even bother to look at them in a couple of years, princesita. They're no good, the lot of them."

"That seems a bit confusing now," Tia found.

Tara couldn't hold back her laughter when she saw Jack shrugging. "Such is life, Tia."

"But why …" James was clearly still trying to make sense of something else when they all looked back at him. "Why didn't Teague and your Mamá also include you in their way to life?"

"You're both competing for the best questions, aren't you?" Jack teased, glancing at Teague with utmost satisfaction.

But he knew his father wouldn't say much. It was too long ago, and his mistakes hurt him much more now than they did in the past.

So Jack just said, "They were never quite planning on having me, Jay, I just happened to be around at some point."

Tia thought about it for a moment. Then she asked, "Did you plan to have us, then?"

That question touched Tara, out of the blue, and she wished to answer. But even more, she longed to hear Sparrow reply.

And he did. "Worry not, people commonly wonder whether I plan it all out, or just make it up as I go along."

"And which was it?" James asked.

Tara, too, hung on every word he said.

"I'm not that often entirely honest, but I'll be for you now. So trust me when I say I couldn't have planned either of you. In no version of life would I've ever seen myself deserving of you. But now that you're here, bold and clever and full of curiosity, and I'm finally here as well, I'll see to it. That I do. Savvy?"

Tia smiled. "Savvy."

"Good." Jack turned to Tara. "Now all of that is to say that you don't need to listen to dear James and his requests for thingies muy crujientes, because that ungrateful little sunshine has no idea how nice his life is. Aye?"

"But Papá!" James protested while Tara just grinned at that moment of pure nonsense. "Just imagine crispy chicken for a second!" James nodded as though he tried to emphasize his vision. "Wouldn't you also like to bite into –"

"¿Pollo extra crujiente?" Jack couldn't help but smirk at the thought. "Wouldn't be all that bad either, Jay, I'll give you that."

When his son and he both glanced at Teague, the latter was hesitant, but eventually shrugged as well.

"Cook that oily stuff yourselves then," Tara mumbled.

"Don't make us do that, dear," Teague said, patting the back of Tara's hand to appease her. (It even worked a bit.) "We'd just poison ourselves, and you know it."

"He's right," Jack agreed, "I can't cook, love."

"And you were never ashamed or hungry enough to learn it?"

"He can't either," Jack said, pointing at his father. "And look how old he's gotten in spite of it."

"This isn't about Edward. You and your son better had –"

"No sólo de pan vive el hombre," Jack cited with a wink. "It is not by bread alone that we live. Isn't that so?"

"Do not drag the Lord nor His Scriptures into this trivial matter!"

"But we could overcome this trivial culinary matter with a bit of neighbourly love, couldn't we?"

"I pray and preach the gospel to all of you, in two languages at that, just like I cook good food for you," Tara retorted, "but still you and your son, and now even you, Edward! You only think about crispy chicken!"

"I do, too, now," Tia admitted.

"Horrible, isn't it." Jack pouted in mock-understanding. "Putting up with deadly sins on the daily."

James meekly said, "I didn't mean it to be so complicated, I was just wondering whether tomorrow we might have –"

"Pollo crujiente, yes, good heavens!" Tara chuckled, rolling her eyes. "It'll be the crispiest pollo anyone of you has ever had, alright!"

"There you go," Jack whispered to his son while Tia giggled, "complications arose, ensued, were overcome."

"Shut it, Sparrow!"

Her challenging glance was his heaven. After all these years of trial and error, she knew exactly how to take him. She knew she couldn't just let him, nor his children, get away with everything, only just here and there, since it was in their blood to always push the limits.

"I'm glad we found each other. Over and over again." He didn't even think about it, the words just came out of his mouth as though his father wasn't even present, and each syllable was, undoubtedly, genuine.

It softened her gaze even more.

He knew how to take her as well, after all. Sure, his charm had worn off a tad after she had to spend a twin pregnancy and almost seven years with those twins on her own. But he'd achieved the impossible. He truly made it up …

And when night fell, and everyone was fast asleep, even the dog, Tara savoured feeling his heart beat right in line with her own. He'd hugged her closely to him, and despite it being much too warm for that, she held on to his hand. Right on her growing belly, making sure he wouldn't move an inch away.

"As though either of us could fall asleep like that," he eventually whispered into her ear, his warm breath making her heart jump a beat. She didn't need to see it to know how the lopsided smile on his lips looked.

"Would you like to fall asleep?" she asked, still not letting go of his hand.

He was almost hesitant to admit, "Depends on the options."

"The way you talked to Tia and James today …"

She didn't mean to tease, or did she. He was so used to that. She knew exactly whenever her words, and the ideas beyond, were slightly tainted in his ears. But suddenly changing the subject took all his verbal opportunities to elaborate on it in no time.

"What's with that?" he instead asked.

"I was proud of you."

These strange words made him move for good now – leaning on his elbow he directly gave her an incredulous glance.

"I mean it, Jack. You said the truth in all its beautiful colours. We love them as though it wasn't so. But neither of them were planned."

"This one somewhat was," he said, pointing at her body with a wink.

"You mean this time, you knew what you were doing?"

"Nah, I improvised once more – but thank goodness for that, cause if I didn't I'd probably never learned how I could come to like the concept of …" He let his hand whirl around. "This …"

"This? A family, you mean?"

He all but nodded, his eyes never leaving her face.

A strange word it was. Didn't suit him that much, not at all, actually. Still it was his most recent guilty pleasure.
He couldn't voice it. Still he meant it.

Touched, and smiling, she pulled him even closer to steal a quick kiss.
But quick it wasn't. He needed more, and he made no secret of it. With her warm skin pressed onto his, he tried not to be too demanding, but after weeks at sea, he just couldn't get enough of her with only that much. Not while she let her curves close the gap between her and his body ever so consciously, with the radiance of Venus herself.

He loved the way she shivered when he kissed the hollow of her throat, as though they had just met, like every touch still burnt with traces of destiny.

She belonged to him and him only, as did her children, and the weight of that privilege challenged his ways more than ever. He needed her to be happy, and free to be herself, with him. Sacrificing the thrills of endless fights on the edge of all good virtues didn't come too easy to him, neither to her, but he truly wished to work it out for … their family's sake.

And for that very reason, he now forced himself into noticeably more restraint, letting go of her – much to her confusion.
Holding her gaze, he believed to see traces of disappointment. But then again, maybe he only wished to …

"You weren't just proud today," he still tried to verify his assumptions, a bit under his breath, "I could've sworn by the look you gave me."

"You did notice."

Now they were talking. He smirked. "I always do, you blush. Not as much as then, but still. Must be a side-effect of being such a saint throughout your days."

"But rarely ever do you keep from acting on it at night," she whispered, well aware how mesmerized he was by the touch of her hands cupping his cheeks to better glance at him, "which seems to be the case ever since you've been back. So who's the sinner, who's the saint?"

"Odd you'd ask that, love." She knew that impatient glare in his black eyes so well. And yet she couldn't help but toy with it.

"Why odd, handsome?"

"Tara," he sighed, a slight frustration well audible already, "I was under the impression that, while you're with child, if I were to only think about –"

"It's such a pleasure to see how you wish to act right." She bit her lip, he was so heavenly reluctant to trust his instincts even now.

She loved how he treated her like a fragile dream for once. How concerned he was, how he didn't want to hurt the mother of his children …
Yet he looked so hungry, and ever since she'd met him she loved to take care of that.

"It's fine – don't be so shy, I miss you," she finally whispered. "Or shall I rather support you in your pious behaviour while you show it?"

He tilted his head. "It's too late for me to become a saint anyway, whichever way we look at it, huh?"

"I've never expected you to change that dramatically." She smiled, and the orange candle flames highlighting her body were just as inviting.

He let his hand wander, tracing along the lines of her collarbone. "Frankly, that leaves me with but little incentive to even try."

"Then just be yourself instead."

She paused his hand to then guide it for just a heartbeat long – until he felt undeniably like himself again.

She brushed her lips against his ear, and hardly audible she gasped, "But be quiet, everyone's asleep."

"Be quiet yourself," he retorted, making that a challenge for her already.

Burying her face in his embrace just to muffle any kind of noise was right about perfect. Yes, she was proud of him …