Author: Ebony
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: You/Jack
Categories: General, Humor, Romance

Disclaimer: No, me still not own Jack. If I did, I wouldn't waste my time on writing about him when I could do him. Oops, that be my gutter mind speaking… ;) The snippet from "This Love" belongs to Maroon 5. Not very Christmas-y, but all the more sexy, teehee.

Summary: When Christmas creeps closer, you find it in your heart to celebrate it again for the first time after your father's death. You're determined to bring some Christmas feeling aboard the Black Pearl as well, no matter what. But what's this fuss about mistletoe, anyway…? A Christmas fic set amid my on-going "Call of the Caribbean" trilogy, before NQG.

Author's Note: This fic is set nearly four months after Call of the Caribbean, and obviously a good deal before No Quarter Given. It's basically just an excuse to write a little UST again while wishing all my readers and friends a very Merry Christmas. Thank you all for reading my stories and encouraging me to keep going, I couldn't do it without you guys. :) A Special "Thank You" to Adriana, Mary, Katla, Shad, Becca, Hilary, Ellie and Lisa - I love you all dearly and owe you a great deal just for being such amazing people and my friends. *big hug*

This was supposed to be published all at once, but time was against me and I had to break this into smaller parts. I shall give you the rest as soon as possible!

* * * * *

CHAPTER 1

You find yourself wondering whether this was such a splendid idea, after all.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you worry your bottom lip with your teeth absently as you stare at the mess in front of you, pondering where to start. Oh, but you hated the mere prospect of starting anywhere at all! Disgusted shiver skates down your spine at the sight in front of you.

"Byrne, sometimes you don't quite think things all the way through," you scold yourself quietly.

Aye, this had indeed been your very own idea, which naturally means you could not go backing down on it now. Not after the amount of ranting you had given over the matter, and not to mention all the… gentle persuasion of the Captain you'd had to do before earning his go-ahead. Well, if the said Captain were asked about it, he probably would have referred to it as "maddening pestering" rather than anything else. However, it had gotten your point through flawlessly and the result was just as you'd wanted. You could still picture his reaction perfectly the day he'd finally given in to your request, and the memory makes your lips quirk up in small smirk.

"Alright, fine! If it keeps you from asking me that same accursed thing over and over again, do as you wish!" Jack had proclaimed, his hands making haphazard motions that betrayed his aggravation.

He'd gotten over his spike of temper soon enough, as he always did - sometimes he could be quick to get a bit testy, but it blew over almost as quickly as it came. Although, you suspect the impromptu hug you'd given him as a thanks after his animated declaration had been the cause for this; he'd been too quizzical over your whimsical act to be irritated, and after he'd shrugged this off, he didn't even recall being cross only a moment ago and was back to his usual, bright and breezy self.

But now, you wonder if you could have been more foolish even if you'd tried. Well, quite probably, but... Now feeling irritated with yourself, you squash such unconfident thought and straighten your spine with a flare of defiance. You are a Byrne, after all, and certainly not one to give up so easily! Ever the creature of principle (and stubbornness, you amend, but principle sounds much more better), you'd see this one through no matter how dirty you'd have to get your hands in the process. You needed to do this, right now.

There was only one way to describe the galley of the Black Pearl as it was at the moment; a filthy mess. Not that it was completely awful, after all the crew has had to use it over the past months to cook up something to keep you nourished. However, the galley wasn't the first thing that was taken care of after the day when Jack had reclaimed the captaincy over his ship. Time had flown by, actually; it has now been almost four months since you and Jack made the rather rash departure over the bloody battlement of Fort Charles, Port Royal, a memory which still causes your heart to skip a peculiar beat. You're not all that sure if that happens because of the downright horrible plunge into the sea, or rather because of what occurred after the fall…

"Stop that," you mutter the order under your breath, closing your eyes for a small moment in attempt to clear your mind. You would not start having those kinds of thoughts concerning your Captain and good friend. Yes, Jack is an irredeemable flirt and you've had your fair share of that particular trait from the moment you met him. Yes, Jack has to be the most devilishly gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes upon, and he appears to be very mindful of his own charm. Yes, Jack has daftness down to an art, but at the same time he's got to be the most resourceful, most cunning and just about the smartest man you've known. Sure, he had his faults and shortcomings just like everyone does - yet you cannot think of anyone more perfect than him to save your life.

Your eyes widen as you fully realize the meaning of the notion that just crossed your mind. Now, hold on just a moment! No, no, no, no, that will not do. Sternly ordering yourself to cease such ridiculous ruminations, you push the thought away and will yourself to concentrate on something else, like the matter at hand. You really need to work now, if only to find some respite from the plaguing memories and random thoughts such as the one you just had.

On top of that, it's Christmas.

Christmas has always been a revered event for you, ever since you were a little girl. However today, a day that has always been full of warmth and happiness is filled with nothing but mere memories of the past holidays, ones when your father was still alive. You feel the familiar pang of unfathomable sadness at this, and your throat tightens uncomfortably. Clearing it quickly, you blink a few times to banish the hot tears that attempt to gather in your eyes. It's almost absurd, how much you still miss your father after three years that have passed since his death. Be that as it may, you simply cannot help it. He was such a huge part of your life, especially since you never had a mother. Peter Byrne had taught you everything you knew today from lock picking to reading, and treasured you like the dearest gem in the entire world - no doubt a true concept, since you were all that remained of his beloved Melissa. The feeling was mutual, for you were a daddy's little girl even when growing up, and not ashamed to admit it. He meant everything to you, and having him taken from you had almost destroyed you, as bloody clichéd as it sounds.

Christmases aboard the glorious White Wraith were the most joyous days ever; it was a holiday for the entire crew, one day out of a year when everybody were allowed to take it easy and just have fun. Most years you had proper food and drinks as well, ones especially acquired just for Christmas; the crew would play what instruments they had, sing songs and shanties, share tales and stories - dancing was not unheard of, either. Your father used to dock the Wraith in some relatively safe port during the celebration; Tortuga, Aruba, Bonaire, Port-De-Paix… and sometimes he anchored the ship by desolate islands or natural coves of the main lands. The location was different each year, but the event was always nothing but enjoyable and memorable.

The first two years after Bloodshot's death you'd wanted to forget the entire Christmas, the memories were just too painful. So, you spent those holidays in drunken stupor in some shady tavern, wallowing in self-pity and other wretched emotions. You were in such a poor state for the first few years you hope no one ever has to go through the same. The third year was better, but not by much. You did less drinking then. And this year… this year is still a bit uncertain, but you at least want to try to let Christmas back into your heart. You are already on the correct path to starting anew, thanks to Jack and his benevolent offer to join his crew aboard the Pearl. So, this year would also be a new start for celebrating Christmas again, as well, at least that is your hope. You wish to bring some of that wonderful spirit of amity and camaraderie you experienced aboard the Wraith over to the Pearl, too; and that's then you went to see Jack and had a word with him. You didn't tell him why exactly you wanted to have a Christmas party of sorts, for some of those things were still too personal, too painful, to be shared even with your new best friend.

Jack wasn't too keen on the idea at first, but he eventually gave in under your charming persuasion. However, he made it inescapably clear that his precious Pearl was not about to be decorated in any manner or way as long as he still drew breath. This was not a problem for you, as you were secretly in agreement with Jack. Decorating the Pearl even for Christmas might not do wonders to either Jack's or the ship's reputation… as fun as it might have been to witness Jack's expression should that ever happen, you amend to yourself with a wicked smile. You however know better that to toy with such a delicate matter, not quite yet; as good friends as you had become with Jack over the past months, there were still some lines that were not to be crossed.

In any case, there was no way you would welcome Christmas to a filthy ship, hence you were adamant to do something about that. But as you now stand in the galley, you're starting to question the wisdom of your choice. How come you didn't remember you actually hate cleaning? Cleanliness was obviously a factor Barbossa and his pirates had not been too concerned about, by the looks of things…

The Pearl had undergone a huge metamorphosis under Jack's loving care; she was careened shortly after the departure from Port Royal and cleaned of barnacles and seaweed, the dark timbers scrubbed and varnished meticulously, the ship's figurehead now cleansed and no longer weeping stained tears. Jack had immediately ridded the Captain's quarters of everything that Barbossa had touched, and practically renovated the entire room. He'd seen to the proper cleaning as well; the walls were still dark but not gloomily so, the thoroughly cleaned timbers having a deep mahogany tint to them. The windows were no exception; they were now clear, with the salt scrubbed away from the edges of the panes. There were certainly no leaks in the hull any longer, either. As hard as all the work on her had been, the result has definitely been worth every exhausting minute; the Black Pearl was absolutely beautiful once again, now being properly cared for by her rightful Captain. You could almost swear she sang out of happiness every once in the while, the wood creaking softly as she glided gracefully through the turquoise waters of the Caribbean…

You're so lost in thought over the Pearl's new appearance that you nearly forget why you're in the galley to begin with. Sadly, the galley has been a bit neglected with everything else in the ship to sort out first, and sorely needs to be cleaned. That is exactly what you're about to do, now.

"Well then," you pause, giving a resigned sigh. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Talkin' to yourself again, are we?"

You let out a startled yelp and spin around to face Anamaria, who's standing a few feet behind you, grinning madly at your reaction. You narrow your eyes at the mulatto woman whom you've become better acquainted with over the past months and point a vehement finger in her direction.

"Don't sneak up on me like that ever again, thank you kindly!"

Anamaria shrugs with a small, yet annoyingly smug smirk. "Well, if you'd stop mumbling to yourself, you might actually hear when people approach you."

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply sarcastically with a roll of your eyes. "And I wasn't mumbling…" you mumble after a moment.

"Uh-huh," Anamaria hums in way of response, very disbelievingly. Her dark eyes scrutinize the murky galley appraising the blackened pots and other things gathered there critically. "Are you still going to go through with this whole Christmas thing ye've been ranting about…?"

"Yes," you reply shortly, obstinate determination behind the single word. "Why?" you question, lifting your eyes from the small cauldron you picked up a moment ago. "Don't you like Christmas, Ana?"

"It's not really a question of me likin' Christmas," Anamaria replies sagely but evasively, dragging her forefinger across the nearby shelving and bringing it up, frowning at the dirt and dust that soil the tip of the digit.

"Then what?" you press further, curious. You're suddenly aware of odd tackiness under your hand, and hold the cauldron with one hand whilst appraising the other; your entire palm is stained with something very black and very sticky. "Ew, that's disgusting…!" you whine, desperately glancing about for something to wipe your hand on.

"Why does it matter?" Anamaria counters and carelessly wipes her finger on the leg of her pants whilst watching your predicament with amused eyes.

"You're purposefully evading the question, aren't you?" you say dryly, the dirtied hand held in mid-air.

"Aye," Anamaria says with a short nod.

You sigh a little, continuing your search for a cloth of some sort. "Your bluntness is so refreshing, truly." You spot no sign of anything you could use to cleanse your mucky hand on, and glance at Anamaria with a devious smirk. "Can I use your pants, too?"

Anamaria snorts and takes a quick step away from you. "No!"

"Gee, what a great friend you are," you reply, unable to curb the smile that tugs at your lips.

"For my own good," she smirks back.

"Fine, fine," you mutter, setting the filthy cauldron back down, noting that your other palm is black, too. Bloody perfect. "So, what do you think about Christmas, then?"

Anamaria rolls her eyes. "Again, what does it matter what I think of it?!"

You blink at her reaction, frowning a little. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend. It was just a general question."

A quick shadow of embarrassment passes over Anamaria's face. "Sorry," she mutters in subdued manner. "It's just a little… just forget it," she finally says, shaking her head a bit.

You wonder what made Anamaria react so strongly of your perfectly innocent question. Christmas obviously was not her favorite time of the year, then. You know asking her about it would not achieve anything, she'd most likely just get angry for such prying; you probably would, too, if you were in her position. Maybe Jack would know. Hasn't he known Anamaria a bit longer than you? You make a mental note to ask him later.

"Right," you reply lightly, wanting to get over the sudden awkwardness. "Then you think I can't do this, huh?" you prod with a smirk, to let her know you're taking no offense on her snappy retort.

Anamaria snorts again, but now there's s small smile on her lips. "Oh, I don't know… sometimes it seems your bark is worse than your bite, Byrne…" she trails off, knowing this if anything would rile you up.

Your eyes widen in indignation. "What?" you sputter. "Most certainly is not! Oh, I'll show you a bite, all right, and to everyone else as well! You just mark my words!"

Anamaria just smirks in return. "We'll see."

You narrow your eyes and purse your lips slightly. "You've been spending too much time around Jack."

Now it's Anamaria's turn to be indignant, and you have to stifle your snicker as her eyes widen. Anamaria hates to be compared with Jack under any circumstances, and you know this. "No I haven't! You… you Irish wench!"

"Em, technically I'm not entirely Irish since me mum was English, and I was born in the Caribbean…" you trail off nonchalantly, summoning up your lost Irish accent to tease Anamaria further.

Nowadays you don’t speak with as strong Irish accent as you did than when you were still living aboard the Wraith and hearing it everyday; it has been waning away during the three years you spend drifting around the Caribbean. But you suspect it would pop up again in your speech if you were to hear the accent spoken somewhere.

Anamaria gives a semi-stifled growl from her throat to convey her annoyance, but says nothing. Just as well, the Pearl's timbers suddenly bestow a mighty groan that breaks the silence of the galley, the sound gradually lessening into softer creaking as the ship lists slightly towards the starboard, forcing you and Anamaria to correct your pose to adjust in the movement. You can just about make out the muted crashing of waves that shatter against the port side, water licking the left flank of the turning ship. Wood groaned again, more quietly this time - somewhere above the bowels of the ship, stomping of feet on the main deck can be heard. The Pearl was about to pull into a port, and you abruptly realize you have no idea where you're going.

"Drat," you utter, glancing down at your filth encrusted palms. "Any idea where we're going?"

"I think Jack mentioned something about Curaçao, but I'm not certain. I wasn't listening half of 'is rambling, really," Anamaria replies slowly. "But we're close to the ABC islands, so I'd bet on that. Well, you can stay here and foul yer hands up to your elbows for all you like, but I'm going back up. Don't worry about the docking, we'll manage."

"If you say so," you respond, grateful for allowed to skip the docking. You momentarily wonder what Jack will think of it, but trust Ana to settle that. "I'll talk to you in a bit."

Anamaria disappears after acknowledging you with a brief lift of her hand, leaving you alone in the galley. Curaçao would be a good choice to stop for supply replenishment. It is the greatest free port in the Caribbean in the piratical sense, the home of the largest black market and the center for smuggling activity. Anything and everything could be acquired from the town with only about three-quarters of its average price, regardless of the demand or supply. A good third of all the establishments in the town are taverns and the carousing pretty much lasts around the clock, so it resembles a bit of Tortuga in that aspect. The more you think about it, the more certain you are of it; Jack would choose the particular town to stop in.

The wood screeches again, putting a stop to your meandering contemplations. You prompt yourself to finally get down to business. It would be a while yet before the ship would actually dock, but you want to venture in the town, too. You need some special supplies for tonight and, as you stare the filthy cauldron on the floor with distaste, apparently getting some new articles to the galley were in order, as well. It was a good thing the Pearl's holds were not lacking gold after a return trip to the Isla de Muerta after you'd left Port Royal… the loot was about to come in handy.

Ceasing your efforts of trying to find a rag for your mucky hands - they'd only get dirty again, anyway - you push the soiled cauldron to the side with your booted foot, deeming it ruined beyond salvaging. Returning your attention to the other things in the galley, you get down to sorting through them.

* * * *

Many excruciatingly long moments later, you have sorted out an admirable pile of useless things in the galley and piled them up in a neat heap. Your hands are grimier than ever, and not just around your palms; you've managed to stain the backs of your hands and wrists, and there are even some dark smudges on your forearms, too. But a little dirt never killed anyone. You hum a song that abruptly pops in your head under your breath, your humming gaining more volume as the song advances.

Picking up a half-rusty pan with no handle, you turn it over in your hands critically as you murmur a snippet of the lyrics softly. "My pressure on your hips…" you discard the pan, throwing it in the pile with the other things. "Sinking my fingertips…" you absently wipe your brow with your forearm before picking up what appears to be a skillet. "In every inch of you, 'cause I know that's what you want me to do…"

"I indeed wouldn't oppose to that," a low voice suddenly rumbles next to your ear.

You startle so badly that you jump and let out a bloodcurdling scream, before whirling around - and almost whacking Jack on his side with the skillet you're still holding in one hand.

"Good Christ, woman!" Jack exclaims, cocking his head slightly to one side and rubbing his ear with a pained grimace. "You'd put Banshees to shame with that shriek."

Your heart still pounds mile a minute from the scare, and you glare at Jack. "What is it with you people and sneaking up on me like that?!" you cry out in aggravation, shaking the hand that's holding the skillet in the air. "Start making noise when you arrive or else I'll make you wear bells around your necks! Like bloody cats!"

Jack hastily raises his hands in front of him in surrender, watching you wave the skillet with wary eyes. "My most sincerest apologies... Put aside the frying pan, won't you?" he pleads with a rather forced smile.

You give him a wry look. "Would've served you right if I'd smacked you with it," you grouse sourly, put do as he asks and throw the skillet away in the trash pile.

Jack responds with a face no female on earth could resist; the trademark "kicked puppy" eyes. The wounded look is completed with just a barest hint of pout. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say, luv."

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to hold onto your irritation. How was it that you end up feeling sorry for him, when he was the one who scared you out of your wits? Damn that man for knowing how to use those illegally beautiful eyes to his advantage! Opening your eyes, you notice that Jack is smirking that maddening smirk of his, appearing amused. You have an uneasy feeling of being left in the dark about something.

"What?" you demand gruffly, the word sounding almost like a grunt.

Jack shakes his head from side to side slowly while his eyes climb over your features, the smirk still on his lips. "You haven't yet looked into a mirror today, I presume?" he questions, not bothering to conceal the evident mirth in his deep voice.

"No," you reply, now understanding the source for his glee; you apparently look even more dishevelled than you feel. "And I think I don't even want to. Oh, quit that maddening smirking! I know I look awful."

Odd, small smile tugs at the corners of Jack's mouth - you don't exactly recognize it, but it seems almost affectionate. "No, I don't quite think you could ever look awful even if you tried," he murmurs softly, lifting his hand to gently brush back a stray strand of hair from your temple that has escaped the confines of your slapdash ponytail.

You swear your heart skips a beat at the tender gesture and the genuine warmth in his voice, and all you can do is to stare at him mutely. The impromptu act obviously catches even Jack himself completely off guard, for his eyes widen a fraction as he realizes what he's doing. Quickly, he lowers his hand and clears his throat, evading eye contact for a short moment as you both compose yourselves.

"Well!" Jack finally breaks the sudden silence, again his old, cheerful self. "We'll be leaving for the town soon, I just came to see if you possibly wanted to join us, seeing as you're hell-bent on throwing this little Christmas get-together of yours…"

"Oh," you respond, still a bit flummoxed over the previous. "I, yes, yes, I need to get some… things. For the… right," you stumble over your words, mentally kicking yourself. Get a hold of yourself, woman!

Jack quirks a questioning brow at your stammering, but finally gives a small nod. "Right… we'll wait for you on deck," he says, turning around to leave the galley. As he's about to disappear from your sight, he throws you a quick glance accompanied by a grin over his shoulder. "And don't forget to wash your hands, luv!"

Bloody smart aleck.

CHAPTER 2

Curaçao was indeed a lively place. It was bustling with people of all size and shape, and the same thing applied to the port, as well. Vessels of all types could be spotted there, from small sloops to grander brigs and even a few galleons - the Pearl blended in quite nicely.

The town was originally settled by the Spanish, but the Dutch captured it in a surprise attack later about a hundred years later. Now it was watched over by a Governor-General of the Dutch West India Company. As rowdy as the town was, for some part, the Governor-General still owns two 44-gun frigates that are there solely for keeping peace between the ships in the harbour. As long as one played by the rules and caused no disturbance, everything would be just fine. The island itself was sparsely vegetated, but the land was still more fertile here than on the nearby islands of Aruba and Bonaire. The weather here was mostly good - it rained infrequently - and the winds are prevailing; Curaçao overlooks a deep, sheltered harbour that is said to be the best natural one in the Caribbean.

The vast marketplace was not far from the harbour, seeing as it was the most logical place for it; the people who wished to get to the harbour would have to pass through the market, and thus increase the chances of spending some money along the way. Very shrewd, indeed… The marketplace has got to be one of the largest ones you have ever seen, with various stalls and booths littered along it. Everyone tries to get the passers-by to buy their merchandises and no one else's, and they are not being very subtle about it. The vendors are quite shamelessly endorsing their own things while scoffing to the others doing the same. A cacophony of different bids ("Only for you!") and encouraging pleas to come take a closer look fill the air. It's a controlled chaos, all in all, but somehow a very intriguing one. You have always liked browsing through different markets and bazaars, even if you rarely actually purchased anything.

You smile amiably and shake your head a little in decline to another merchant who eagerly beckons you to come and look at the collection of necklaces made of semiprecious stones. You chuckle to yourself at his persuasive words, "Such a pretty lady needs one of my necklaces, please, come see!" You have already lost count of how many times you have been called a "pretty lady", "lovely maiden", "beautiful woman" or another variation of these by the enthusiastic vendors. Some of them practically spout poetry in their desperate attempts to get the women in the market to buy something. Amused smile tugs at your lips as you watch Anamaria, who's walking a few paces ahead of you, scowling as other sellers throw the same elaborate words at her. No, she is definitely not one to suffer such speech with a straight face…

Your mind drifts back to the earlier talk with Anamaria and her heated reaction to your enquiry about her thoughts on Christmas. You can't help but to wonder what was the reason for this. You wish to understand her, but at the same time you don't want to cross your rights and be nosey about a matter that is, truthfully, none of your business. Yet, you can't seem to just let it slide and forget it… damn your ever-present curiousness.

Rather unexpectedly, Anamaria pauses her steps in front of a booth, her dark eyes sweeping over the various bits and pieces that have been laid over the wooden, table-like stands to show them off at the passing folk. There is everything imaginable from seashell bracelets to different stone baubles and non-valuable ornaments - nothing but mere trinkets, really, but pretty ones all the same. Next to the so-called jewels are more stands with other objects with actual value, from small knifes to colourful rugs.

A small hairclip amidst the other junk on the stand catches your eye, and you gingerly pick up the clip with a rose red butterfly on it. The all too familiar tightening in your throat makes itself known again as you lightly swipe your thumb over the left wing of the delicate glass butterfly; you had a clip exactly like this when you were a child, even if it was blue in colour. But the colour aside, the one you're holding in your hand is the exact replica of the one you lost years ago. You swallow to banish the uneasiness, questioning once again why couldn't you just let it be already. Why must everything reminding you of your father and his crew - your old life - still push you to the brink of tears?

"What's that?" Anamaria suddenly questions from beside you, bringing you out of your reverie.

You blink and take a quiet breath, placing the clip back on the stand with the rest of the bric-a-brac. "Nothing," you reply indifferently. "I just remembered that I had one just like this as a kid."

"Then get it," Anamaria says, shrugging a little. "It's hardly expensive."

You think about it, and the idea appeals to you in its sentimentality for a moment. However, you think better of it. "No," you say slowly, shaking your head. "It's nothing more than a silly trinket. I wouldn't even need it, anyway."

Anamaria gazes at you solemnly for a minute, clearly disagreeing with you decision. Nevertheless, she says nothing about it. Actually, she can't say anything about it because Jack chooses to finally catch up with you at that moment, appearing between you and Ana as he raises a curious brow at the trinkets before you.

"What's all this, then? Anamaria, don't tell me you have a surreptitious habit of purchasing pretty baubles with your pay?" he smirks at his first mate, knowing full well how ludicrous the idea is. You idly wonder if Jack will ever cease to play with his life like that.

Anamaria gives Jack a fierce glower, narrowing her eyes. You're expecting her to retort as only she can, but just as she's about to open her mouth the vendor who'd been serving another customer suddenly notices the three of you standing next to his stand, and immediately hastens to assist you.

"Welcome, welcome!" he gushes with heavily accented English, pointing his words mainly to Jack, it seems. The vendor's short hair is black and his skin is dark, but not quite dark enough to be a mulatto or African. You wonder if maybe he's from somewhere a bit more towards the East, like India, perhaps? "Ah, I see your ladies look at my jewellery! Yes, I have wonderful things for your wife," the eager merchant beams with a nod. "Which one is your woman, sahib?"

You blink incredulously at the presumptuous query and Anamaria's jaw drops slightly at the mere suggestion of her being associated with Jack like that. Jack, however, grins broadly at the merchant and lifts his arms to drape them over yours and Anamaria's shoulders in owning manner. "Why, they both are!"

The vendor's eyes widen and he gasps in awe. "You very lucky man! Two women!!"

"Very lucky, indeed!" Anamaria hisses acidly, hands clutched into fists by her sides. "Lucky I haven't yet broken his arm!"

Jack snatches his arm quickly away from Anamaria's shoulders, folding it close to his torso with a wounded look. Just as swiftly, Anamaria turns and slaps Jack soundly before storming off, her shoulders set angrily. Jack winces, rubbing the sting away from his cheek while glancing at the stunned vendor. "That one's a bit fiery like that. Luckily this one is a bit more tamer," he smirks and pats your left shoulder with his hand, keeping his arm still about your shoulders.

A bit more tamer? You fume mentally. This chauvinistic act would stop at this instant. You glare Jack before facing the vendor with a sweet smile. "What would happen to be your most expensive article in sale? I want it, and my husband here will pay," you say, glancing at Jack who is definitely not smirking any longer. "Isn't that right, darling?"

Jack gives a forced laugh, shaking his head and explaining the vendor quickly, "She's always jesting like that, so amusing, isn't it. Come along luv, we really need to go meet up with Gibbs. Now!" he adds, hastily steering you onward and as far away from the particular booth as possible.

You snicker softly to yourself; serves him right!

"I saw nothing particularly amusing in that," Jack grumbles.

"Aw, honeymoon over already?" you crack with a smirk, before adding, "You really shouldn't take chances like that especially with Anamaria, you know, for your own sake."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Duly noted, luv."

You raise your brows, trying to curb your knowing smile. "I doubt it," you mutter under your breath, looking like the very picture of innocence as Jack gives you a glance that all but says "zip it". Knowing that he'll get over it after a short moment, you give cursory looks at the numerous items for sale as you pass them by, deciding to wait a little while before asking him about Anamaria. You deem the time correct as you catch Jack raising his brows and grinning charmingly at a young woman who's walking your way from the opposite direction.

"Jack?" you ask, not bothering to call him by his title; he usually didn't mind it if it were just the two of you. Usually.

"Hmm?" He tilts his head a fraction in your direction to express his attention, even if he doesn't remove his eyes from the girl.

You roll your eyes at his behaviour, proceeding on with your query. "Do you know why Anamaria seems a little… hostile towards Christmas?"

Now Jack does look at you, the pretty girl forgotten. "Why?" his brows furrow a bit. "Did she say something to you?"

"Well, not really," you reply as you keep walking at leisurely pace. "I just asked her what were her thoughts about the said event and she got a tad irate. I got the impression it probably isn't her favourite holiday…" you trail off, glancing at Jack for his reaction.

Jack nods his head thoughtfully, the bauble strings woven in his hair swaying gently at the motion. He keeps quiet for a moment before speaking slowly, obviously taking great care in choosing his words. "I only know what little I have heard from others, and the few words Anamaria has spoken about the matter herself. I think you know Anamaria will like to keep this from becoming public knowledge," he says softly, glancing at you with question in his dark eyes.

"Of course," you assure sincerely, having no intents none whatsoever of spreading the word.

Jack nods a little again, small smile on his lips that however vanishes as he goes on. "If I'm not mistaken, her mother passed away on Christmas Eve when she was younger. Caught a pox of some sort, I think."

Sympathy for Anamaria washes through you at Jack's words. You had wished to understand, and now you do; you understand perfectly. She must have felt exactly as you did, and still do.

"As they were too young to be on their own, Anamaria and her younger sister were sent to their aunt's household. I don't know any further details, but I've gathered that her aunt and her husband were not exactly the most accommodating couple, to put it nicely - even to their own relatives. Which is why, I presume, Anamaria probably is as she tends to be nowadays with people," Jack finishes grimly.

"That's appalling," you say quietly, thinking of all the hardships Anamaria must have suffered to become so closed off, and from her own aunt, no less! "People can be so horribly malicious to each other…"

"Aye, it's a sad fact about the human mind," Jack replies gravely. "It can be bent to cruelty so easily with some."

"What became of her sister, then?" you ask. "What of her father?"

"I truly don't know, on both accounts. But I haven't asked either, for that matter. I believe old hurts are, more often than not, best left untouched," he says in low tone, giving you a look. "Tearing them wide open again will do little good."

You nod your head in understanding, considering Jack's insightful words. There is truth behind his statement, no question... "But sometimes it's not quite that simple. Sometimes one tears them open despite the inevitable pain," you reply in hushed tone, almost without even realizing it. You know you are no longer talking about Anamaria.

"I know." Jack murmurs in return, his dark eyes compassionate upon yours - you know he hasn't been talking about Anamaria for a while, either. "That's another sad fact about the human mind. It often likes to punish itself with a heavy hand."

You manage a small, sincere smile at him despite the sudden despondency that descended over you a moment ago. "You are a wise man after all, Jack Sparrow."

A broad grin graces Jack's features, granting you that charming glimpse of gold. "I really do love it when you boost my ego so, luv, truly I do," he drawls with an impertinent wink that causes you to chuckle; once again he manages to lift your spirits with just a single sentence. "Come along then, all this walking about idly has made me downright parched. I didn't get you that whatever it was that merchant was about to present, but I can buy you a drink in that inviting little tavern over there, what say you to that?" he asks, back to his usual vigorous self as he gazes at you with eager expectancy; prospect of some rum always made him very cheery.

You smile, a full smile that reaches your eyes this time. "How could I possibly refuse such a gracious offer? Lead the way, Captain!"

* * * * *

CHAPTER 3

You heave a sigh of relief as you set the small wooden box filled with ripe oranges and small, green apples down on a table. Matelot gives a grunt as he promptly drops another box, larger and heavier, on the floorboards of the galley, wiping his sweaty brow. Ladbroc, however, seems to be having no problems with his burden, being in better physical shape. He hasn't even broken sweat, and he has the heaviest crate; but then, he's the biggest man aboard the entire ship. Poor Matelot, though, seems like he's about to collapse any minute; they've already made a few runs with Tearlach, hauling the crates from the dock both to the galley and to the hold.

"Thank you very much for the help, lads," you say with a smile, although you're aware it was actually Jack who'd told them to lend you a hand with the crates.

"Ah, no problem, Byrne," Ladbroc returns cheerily in his usual manner. "'S probably us who should be thanking you, as it is. For goin' through all this bother."

"Aye," Matelot wheezes and coughs a few times, pulling a wiry piece of cloth from his pocket and patting his forehead with it. "Least we'll be getting decent grub tonight!"

You smile again, knowing that the huge piece of salted pork you'd acquired from the town wouldn't be left untouched by the crew; tonight would bring a welcome variation to the otherwise rather tedious food one normally got onboard. The pork hadn't been all that cheap since it had been already cooked, but Christmas was only once a year. Besides, there was no time to cook it yourself aboard the Pearl, nor the means to do so, either; the galley of a ship wasn't exactly meant for preparing such dishes.

"Indeed. Say, Matelot, I heard you're quite the wizard with that harmonica of yours. Would you care to play us in the evening?" you enquire.

Matelot smiles, apparently pleased by your words. "Sure. And I bet Quartetto can play 'is accordion, too."

Bidding byes to the two men, you mentally go over the things you've acquired today, you gaze jumping from one crate to another. After having a drink in the shabby tavern Jack had led you to, you'd continued your way to see if you could find the butcher for some meat and other traders for fruit and other goods. You had found a suitable trader from whom you'd gotten almost everything you needed, even if the price was just slightly higher than you would have wanted. Seeing your hesitation over the price of the deal, the trader had thrown in something you hadn't quite expected to see in the Caribbean; a real sprig of mistletoe. The utterly Christmas-y article had appealed to you, and you had finally accepted the deal the trader was offering you.

Mistletoe is quite rare in these parts of the world, and mostly only the wealthiest had the means to acquire some to hang it on their ceilings for Christmas. The tradition of hanging the plant over doorways and such hailed from England, where it was originally used by the Celtic druids; they hanged it on their doorframes to ward off evil spirits, if your memory serves you correctly. The custom nowadays was to kiss the closest member of the opposite sex should you happen to be caught standing underneath a mistletoe.

Searching for the boxes, you finally locate the dark green plant resting over other items, and pick it up, examining it. There are small, white berries in little clusters on the straight, twig-like stems, accompanied by the sparse, narrow leaves of deep green. You idly run a finger over one leaf, smirking to yourself. This might be rather interesting to hang somewhere, although it does create a few problems as well; there are only two women aboard the ship, you and Anamaria, and about twenty or so men. You bite your lip to stifle your snicker as you picture Anamaria's expression when told to kiss someone from the crew! You wonder for a moment if she would truly do it, but quickly decide she most likely wouldn't. She doesn’t like Christmas, so why should she appreciate anything related to it - mistletoe, of all things?

You give a quiet sigh, setting the sprig back into the box whence you took it from. Perhaps it's best to just keep this sentimental symbol of Christmas as your own information. Well, enough of that; you have other things to occupy your mind right now. Your gaze is suddenly nailed on the "dump pile" of useless things on the floor you'd sorted out earlier; you had completely forgotten to ask someone to help throwing them away. Your contemplation is however cut short by the heavy stomping of boots somewhere before the galley, followed by the merry melody of "A Pirate's Life For Me" sung by a characteristically gravelly voice. You don't need a second guess on the identity of the person making all that racket, and you slant your head to the side in bewilderment as the sound gains more volume. What on earth is Jack doing? Wonder if he had one too many in the tavern, you think absently.

Finally, Jack's familiar figure emerges in the doorway, and he drapes himself rather dramatically against the doorframe, smirking at you as mischievously as only he can. "I hope I was making enough noise for you this time?"

You roll your eyes. Well, you should've known; this was Jack, after all. "Yes, more noise than a herd of elephants."

"Actually, elephants tread more quietly than humans, just for your education... but they're tone-deaf, and have nothing on me, luv. Would you wish for an encore?" Jack enquires with innocently straightforward look.

You smirk slightly as you wonder where Jack pulls all these odd things. "Maybe later, thanks. I was actually just hoping for a strong, manly man to help me out a bit…" you trail off, glancing at Jack's proud, self-satisfied grin. You smile sweetly, and deliver the punch line. "…But I suppose I will have to settle for you, then."

You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter as Jack's grin vanishes in split seconds, and he frowns in affront. But just as quickly, the corners of his mouth pull into a sly smirk. "Oh, I see how it is… well then, would you like me to show you just how manly I am?" he drawls huskily, lifting a brow in question as he fixes his dark eyes on you.

You chuckle softly at the not entirely innocent question, smirking back as you cross your arms casually. "Maybe not at the moment, but thanks for the generous offer."

Jack sighs in imitation of despondency as he straightens himself up. "Pity," he responds shortly, but not without a small smirk upon his lips. "A little later, then."

"You never admit defeat, do you?" you ask with wry amusement as you watch Jack saunter closer to the table next to you, perusing the boxes sitting atop it curiously. Jack gives you a brief sideways glance at your question, smiling slightly as he returns his attention to the contents of the boxes.

"With things that are very meaningful to me, never," he replies, and something in his earnest tone unexpectedly causes a small shiver to skate up your spine. You look at Jack with a raised brow, pondering his words. Surely he didn't mean that you are very meaningful to him, did he…?

"Well, well! What have we got here?" Jack's voice, a mixture of mirth and incredulity, brings your musings into quick halt. He chuckles in glee as he lifts the sprig of mistletoe from one of the boxes, twirling it slightly in his fingers as he looks at you with positively mischievous eyes. "Mistletoe? I would've never thought you'd go acquiring something like this, you wicked woman!" he grins broadly, clearly enjoying the insinuations attached to the mere existence of the measly twig.

"I did not acquire it, I got it for free from the dealer, alright!" you hasten to correct - perhaps a bit too hotly to sound convincing, since Jack's delighted grin only seems to grow.

"Oh, you got it, and for free, no less…" he drawls, clearly not buying it. "Anything you say, luv. So, where exactly were you planning on putting this?" he asks with raised brows.

"Nowhere," you reply adamantly, rolling your eyes.

"I have a few suggestions, if you'd like…" Jack grins, trailing off. You do not fail to catch the almost foreboding glint in his eyes.

"Oh, I just bet you do," you reply sarcastically, but get no further as Anamaria suddenly appears in the galley.

"The port master wants to have a word with the Captain of this vessel," she announces in fed up tone.

Jack makes a grunting sound from his throat that conveys his obvious lack of interest towards the matter as he turns to regard Anamaria. "Ah, bollocks. Whatever for? Could you not handle the fellow by your onesies?"

"Don't you think I tried?" Anamaria retorts with a raised brow. "That pest won't settle for anyone else but the Captain."

"But of course he wouldn't, would he? That just might be entirely too simple," Jack grumbles sarcastically, chucking the mistletoe back in the box with a flick of his wrist. "Why this wretched pit grew a sudden interest to its visitors now of all times is beyond me," he goes on in aggravated tone as he marches briskly towards the exit.

"Hey, could you-" you start, but cut yourself off as you realize that Jack is already gone. Grunting in annoyance, you shake your head; despite the slightly swaying, leisurely gait Jack normally had, that man could sure move fast when he wanted to. You were about to ask him to tell someone up on the deck to lend you a hand with the things that needed to be thrown away.

"Is that a mistletoe?" Anamaria suddenly asks with slight amount of disdain in her tone, and you turn your head to look at her.

"Yes Anamaria, it is indeed a mistletoe."

Anamaria scoffs at the twig while she helps herself to an orange from one of the smaller boxes. "Why on earth have you bought something like that?" she asks disbelievingly. "You that desperate to get a kiss from… someone?"

You give the now smirking woman a pointed look that speaks volumes. "Can you see how my sides are splitting from laughter?" you ask wryly. You didn't fail to notice the brief pause in her sentence, knowing exactly what she was about to say initially. "Once again, I did not buy it. I got it for free from the dealer I made the bargain with."

Anamaria lets out a snort, rolling the orange in her hands absentmindedly. "You should've just chucked the silly weed straight overboard…"

You grin impishly. "And here I was thinking of hanging it over your head when you weren't looking."

Pointing her forefinger at you threateningly, Anamaria narrows her dark eyes. "You do that and I swear, Byrne…"

"You'll what? Glare me to my death?" you goad with a smirk.

Anamaria draws in a sharp breath of outrage, but her eyes flicker with amusement. You had banters like this with her rather frequently; they might seem odd and even hostile to outsiders, but everyone in the crew knows you were just joking around, having gotten used to them.

"Oh, you did not just say that!" Anamaria exclaims, trying to curb her own grin.

Sounds from the entrance distract your attention for a moment, and you see Ladbroc standing there with an amused look on his face as he listens.

"Well, I just did. What're you going to do about it?" you respond, summoning some faux flippancy in your tone.

Ladbroc chuckles to himself, before leaning back on the entryway. "Oy, lads! Byrne and Ana are having a catfight!" he hollers loudly, and you swear the bowels of the ship tremble as a result.

"I should knock you down on your arse, that's what I should do," Anamaria throws back, hands on her hips.

"Ha! You're welcome to try," you smirk, flicking one hand dismissively.

In response, Anamaria pulls back her arm holding the orange with a wicked grin, clearly about to throw you with it.

"No!" you shout, pointing a vehement finger at her. "Shameless waste of perfectly good food, missy!"

"You're right," Anamaria agrees, lowering her hand and smirking smugly. "Better not be wasting it on you."

You huff in indignation, staring at Anamaria piercingly. You hold her eyes for a moment, before both of you suddenly grin like idiots, erupting in chuckles and laughs.

"That was a good one," you compliment Ana with a grin.

"I know," she replies with a grin of her own.

"Aw," Ladbroc's disappointed voice makes both of you to glance towards the entryway, noting that besides Ladbroc, there are now Matelot, Tearlach, Quartetto, Crimp, Gibbs and Cotton standing around him. "Is it over already?"

"Shut up, Ladbroc," you and Anamaria speak in unison. Sometimes the men seemed to like your so-called "catfights" a bit too much.

"Out of the way, mates," Jack's voice floats into your ears as he pushes past Tearlach and Matelot. "What's all this about a catfight?"

"Too late already, Cap'n," Ladbroc says with a shake of his head, and you roll your eyes. Men.

"Damn it," Jack says, disgruntled. "That worthless port master is apparently out to wreck my day on purpose…" he mutters under his breath, stalking closer to the table with the boxes.

"Well. Seeing as you're all here, seemingly without anything better to do, you could help me out a bit," you state, raising your brows in question as you let your gaze wander from one crewmember to another. You should've expected the various responses - each different in phrasing but very similar in meaning - that immediately fill the galley simultaneously.

"Err, actually I was just about to go..."

"I really got to get back up..."

"Um, I just remembered I had to..."

You sigh in exasperation and roll your eyes yet again as the excuses go on and on, whilst Matelot and Crimp (supposedly attempting to be unnoticeable) sneak out of the galley entirely. Darn traitors. You glance at Anamaria and Jack, the latter being too busy choosing the best apple from one of the boxes to notice your questioning look.

Anamaria nods. "Peeling potatoes and such isn't very inspiring to me, but if you have anything else that needs doing, I can lend a hand."

You give Ana a quick smile of thanks before fixing your eyes on Jack, who pauses his careful appraisal of one of the apples long enough to flash you a brief, regretful smile. "I would truly love nothing more than doing some bodily labours under your command, but we have to be moving out of this charming port soon, so..." he trails off, spreading his hands to his sides just slightly and shrugging, proceeding to polish the green fruit on the sleeve of his jacket as if that would cleanse the skin of it.

"Me and Tearlach'll give ya a hand, won't we?" Ladbroc suddenly says, nudging the shorter man by his side with his elbow, prompting a dutiful, agreeing nod and an "aye" from him.

"Why, thank you!" you say, giving the men a genuine smile before throwing a sharp glance towards Jack's general direction. "It's nice to notice there are actual gentlemen aboard, after all," you remark with a smirk.

Apparently feeling your eyes on him and identifying the edge in your tone, Jack to pauses his fruit-polishing and flickers his gaze from the apple to you, raising one brow slightly while a small smirk that's only barely there tugs at the corners of his mouth up. After another second, he looks away, making no comment - he's letting you have this one little gibe, but you have no doubt that he'll rise to the occasion the next time. You curb your smile, already almost expecting the said next time. However, now it was time to get started on the preparations.

In no time, you'd successfully roped Gibbs and Quartetto to help as well, but released Cotton and Parrot from the kitchen duty with hearty agreements from both Jack and Anamaria (the pair finally agreeing on something), the two obviously having objections with feathers in their food. However, you figure Cotton was not very sorry about this at all; you could've sworn you saw a quick, victorious grin pass over the older man's features as he made his way out of the galley.

Without further ado, you had gotten busy with the others; some of the long tables were hauled out of the galley to be lifted on the main deck; there would be no sense to stay cooped up in the dim galley when one could feast in the fresh air, under the stars. Everyone were creditably helpful, doing this and that at your request; however, you realized quickly that Jack was especially talented in giving advices and downright orders to others, but staying well clear from the actual work himself, the sneaky devil. You had at one point, perhaps a tad too sweetly, asked if he should not be up at the helm already, but Jack had just smiled in response, claiming that you could linger for another moment yet, paying absolutely no attention to your subtle hints of leaving if he had no intentions of pitching in. You supposed it was his way of paying back the gibe of yours about gentlemen, and decided to just leave him be, then. Long at last, the tables were hauled up on the main deck and you had all the foodstuffs you needed delivered from the hold to the galley, which were the most important things, and you had also thanked everyone who helped you.

"That about does it for now," you muse, mostly to yourself despite having Jack, Anamaria, Gibbs, Ladbroc and Tearlach to talk to.

"Very impressive," Jack remarks lightly from his place beside the only remaining table that support the boxes of fruit and the chunk of pork, leaning his hips casually against the border of the tabletop. "You seem to have a knack at management."

"No thanks to you," you say wryly, but not without some amount of amusement. You reach over to slap away Jack's hand that lifts at the linen cloth draped over the salted pork that sits on the table. "Hands off! There'll be no touching that before the evening."

Jack pulls away his hand, taking on the most wounded expression you've ever seen, looking at you as if you tried to cut off his entire hand. "But luv, I'm famished!"

"None of my concern," you reply, but end up having mercy on him after all and shoving another apple into his hand from the box. "There you go."

Jack stares at the apple, clearly thinking something unfavourable about it but keeping quiet. With a suffering sigh, he gives the pork one last look. You shake your head and smirk a little in amusement, but furrow your brow in puzzlement as you realize the mistletoe is nowhere to be found. It was in one of the boxes earlier, but where was it now?

"Has anyone seen that mistletoe that was on this table earlier?" you voice your question.

"We have mistletoe?" Gibbs asks, his flabbergasted tone suggesting this was news to him.

"Maybe someone finally got the clue and threw it away," Anamaria smirks from her place close the entryway of the galley.

"I could be mistaken for once," Jack starts thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes a fraction as he points at something above Anamaria with the forefinger of the hand that's holding the apple you gave him, "But isn't that twig hanging over Anamaria's head it?"

You blink, whirling around. Yours and everyone else's eyes are drawn to the green plant that hangs above the galley's entryway. You blink again. How did it end up over there?! Without further thinking, you vocalize the thought aloud, before turning your head to give Jack a narrow-eyed look.

"I haven't touched the blasted thing!" Jack hastens to defend himself, interpreting your glance correctly. "When I said I had suggestions, galley was certainly not one of them."

"Well, someone has obviously put it up there, who the heck has it been?" you cry out in exasperation, motioning with your hands.

“Mind your blood pressure, luv,” Jack comments calmly, turning the apple over in his hand.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean that Anamaria has to kiss Tearlach now, or the other way ‘round?" Gibbs says slowly, causing Jack to start choking on a mouthful of apple he just took prior Gibbs’ statement. It is true; Anamaria is standing closest to the entryway, nearly under it, with Tearlach being the closest male.

"WHAT?!" Anamaria explodes, and poor Tearlach blanches whiter than a sheet, probably out of sheer terror; you almost think you hear him let out a small squeaking sound. You bite your bottom lip, quite frankly fearing for the worst. Ladbroc and Gibbs stay completely still and silent with you as you all wait what happens next.

Jack coughs a few times to clear his throat, unable to hold in his snickers. "Anamaria?" he repeats incredulously, his shoulders shaking from soundless laughter. "Don't kid me, mate!"

You throw Jack a quick look that tells him to shut the hell up, for goodness sake, but once again he ignores you. Glancing at Anamaria, you see that her eyes strike fire and she has set her shoulders in annoyance. For a moment, you think that she might smack Jack properly for that, but she doesn't move.

"Is that the way it is...?" she grinds out between clenched teeth, and you almost wince at her frosty tone. Quicker than anyone expects, Anamaria resolutely closes the space between her and Tearlach, planting a sound kiss on his lips. Your jaw drops open out of shocked surprise, and the men stare in wide-eyed stupefaction. Distancing herself from stunned Tearlach, Anamaria throws a freezing glare at Jack and stomps out of the galley without a word.

You close your mouth and take a breath, wondering if that just happened for real. Everybody is absolutely quiet, and poor Tearlach seems to be in near catatonic state of shock.

"Well," Jack finally breaks the silence in his typically unperturbed way after a moment, taking another bite of apple and states through a mouthful, "You don't see that everyday."

* * * * *

CHAPTER 4

You toss another peeled potato in a wooden bucket and sluggishly pick up another from the larger tub next to it, filled halfway with water that's now dirtied, unpeeled potatoes floating amidst the brown water. Absent-mindedly, you begin the task of peeling yet another, while your mind is working on entirely different things – mainly on the puzzling incident with the mistletoe that occurred few hours ago. How had the sprig ended up above the entryway of the galley? Well, obviously someone had put it there, but when? And whom by? And most of all: who had taken it again?

The said sprig was, indeed, gone missing yet again, a fact you couldn’t understand. Someone was running a rig on all of you, especially on poor Anamaria who is probably still seething in anger. You had not felt very sympathetic towards Jack after Anamaria had stormed out of the galley; you had actually felt like slapping him upside the head for goading her like that. Someday, he would get in serious trouble with his first mate, you are sure of it. Nevertheless, you’d valiantly resisted the impulse, settling on just giving him a pointed look that spoke volumes before ushering the lot out of the galley so you could finally get something done in peace – it hadn’t been until you were alone that you noticed the mistletoe was gone again.

You hiss a quiet curse under your breath as you scrape yourself on the finger lightly with the blade of the small knife, distracted by your ponderings. All right, the mistletoe had been on the table when Jack had left to talk with the port master; you’d seen him toss it back in the box before leaving. After that, Anamaria had spotted it, you’d had your playful little banter, which had attracted some of the crewmembers down to the galley thanks to Ladbroc, and then Jack had returned; all the time the mistletoe had still been on the table. Out of all the people in the galley, you suspect Jack the most despite his plea of innocence. He is a crafty man with a taste of practical joke every now and then, and could very well pull a fast one on you in such a little thing as this.

But then again, who’s to say it was the same person who put the mistletoe above the entryway and took it again? Ladbroc could pull a stunt like that, too, that much you know. Well, Matelot and Crimp were out of the picture since they left before the blasted twig went astray. Gibbs didn’t even know you had mistletoe, in the first place. Maybe it was Cotton? It was always the quiet ones who were the most surprising… You chuckle a little at the thought of pleasant Mister Cotton having a mischievous streak to him. No, Cotton was most likely out of question, too. Tearlach wouldn’t have played with his own well-being and risked Anamaria’s wrath – besides, the poor chap was already shocked near witless by the mere idea of kissing Anamaria. All things considered, you could come up with only one possible culprit for the matter of mistletoe: a certain Captain Jack Sparrow.

The thought of Jack pilfering the sprig for his own perverse amusement despite claiming otherwise causes an annoyed grunt to rise from the back of your throat, and you shake your head in incredulity. What on earth was he hoping to accomplish by such a feat? But then, the person in question is Jack Sparrow; some of his actions tend to seem a little unreasonable or illogical at first. He may or may not have some bigger picture in his head all figured out, or then he is just enjoying playing pranks on people at the moment. Frankly, it was sometimes a little hard to tell when it came to Jack.

Fine, you think, tired of figuring the matter out. Let him have his little fun, then. Why should you care? In the galley, you are safe from any surprises of the mistletoe kind, at least. You just hope Jack will have enough common sense to leave Anamaria alone from now on, before the mulatto woman really would give him a black eye - or worse. Well, that would teach him a lesson, at any rate. At least you think it would… oh well.

Deciding to just forget about the entire thing for the time being, you exhale deeply and concentrate on peeling the bloody potatoes instead of nicking your fingertips with the knife.

* * * *

A lonesome wooden groan breaks the silence of the galley as the Black Pearl rocks over the waves, water lapping at her ebony sides. The gentle swaying of the moving vessel and the small, familiar noises the timbers make under the movements of the ship are the most calming thing to you, having spent near your entire lifetime aboard a ship. You hum your favourite Christmas song softly as you start wrapping up your tasks, a light-hearted feeling creeping into your mind as you sing a few verses of the song quietly under your breath, before switching back to humming the tune. Chopping a few more apples and tossing the bits into a bowl that sits in front of you on the table to accompany the orange slices and mango cubes, you sweep the leftovers into a bucket on the floor to be dispensed later. Resting your hands on your hips, you scrutinize your accomplishments.

“Not all too bad, even if I say so myself,” you say to yourself with satisfied smile.

Granted, you are not the master chef, but you weren’t an absolute incompetent, either, when it came to cooking. There was, of course, the salted pork which you had made a bit more festive in appearance with few slices of orange, since you really had nothing else to use – although, you suspect the men couldn’t care less if their meat had any decorations on it or not. All those potatoes that you had peeled (getting your wrists sore and fingers all wrinkled from the water in the process) were almost boiled. You’d also acquired some pleasantly spicy, marinated fish, which you’d boiled with some herbs – too bad you couldn’t get any rice to serve with it, the potatoes would have to do. For dessert of sorts, you’d just chopped and cubed some oranges, mangoes and apples in one bowl.

But the thing you are most proud of has to be the small rum cake you made with your own hands from a scratch. It isn’t all that big, there’s enough of it only for four, five persons, perhaps. You couldn’t find a bigger pan where you could’ve baked it, and there was only so much sugar and flour you could use on it. You’d briefly contemplated on feeding your sweet tooth and keeping the cake greedily for yourself when you were making it, for you loved rum cake dearly, but some odd impulse made you dip the bottle a bit more generously than you meant to, splashing the rum into the batter a bit more than normally. So, you figured you should give at least Jack a piece or two. Besides, it was Christmas and one should be giving and sharing things, anyway.

Scuffle of feet from the entryway float in your ears just as you check on the potatoes, and you glance over your shoulder to see mister Gibbs appearing in the galley.

“Lass,” he says gruffly in way of greeting, smiling.

“Hello there, mister Gibbs,” you return with a smile of your own. “Can I help you with something?”

“No,” Gibbs shakes his head, scratching one grey sideburn absently with his finger. “The Captain just wanted to left ye know we’ll be anchoring in a bit. There’s an island not too far from where we’re now, so we’ll be stayin’ by its shores for the night.”

“Oh, good,” you reply, smiling as you see Gibbs eyeing the dishes with great interest. “I’m almost done here too, as it is.”

“Aye, I see,” Gibbs responds, before shaking his head in clear exasperation. “I tell you, ‘s been nothing short a pandemonium up there!”

You furrow your brows. “I thought I heard some excess thumping and other racket, but I didn’t think it was anything significant.”

Gibbs chuckles slightly, looking amused. “Probably heard ev’ryone runnin’ out of Anamaria’s way. Even hungry sharks look docile next to her when she be so incensed!”

You give a short laugh. “True. She’ll still mad about the mistletoe thing, then?”

“Aye, verily! And ever since the word spread among the men of that mistletoe, everyone’s been constantly lookin’ over their shoulders, glancing about ‘ere and there as if the sprig suddenly appeared over their very heads,” Gibbs rubs his forehead wearily, “I don’t know whether to be more annoyed or amused of their behaviour. That miserable twig’s got everyone on their toes, that’s for sure!”

You swallow your sigh, agreeing with Gibbs’ statement on how to feel about that. “Surely they know that even if the mistletoe did appear, they don’t actually have to kiss anyone from the same sex…?”

Gibbs grins. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, lass. I think that’s exactly the reason for the fools to be so on their guard.”

You roll your eyes, the pity you just felt for the men suddenly vanishing. “Well, I guess that’s their problem, then.”

Gibbs grunts in agreeing manner. “Well, I’ll be off, then. Unless ye need help with something?”

“No, no, you go on ahead,” you assure, adding with a grin, “And tell Jack and the others to break out the rum when we anchor.”

“Like Jack would need such a suggestion in order to do so!” Gibbs laughs as he leaves the galley.

You shake your head, unable to curb the small smirk that spreads to your lips as you think of the disorder that must’ve taken place above during this time. Jack must have been snickering in glee over at the helm while witnessing the consequences his little mistletoe prank has had on the crew. Chuckling to yourself, you’re off to see to the potatoes, needing to drain the water from the cauldron. Jack would probably anchor the Pearl soon, and you yet have a few things to do in the galley.

* * * *

Many hours later, you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself, filled with contentment and happiness as you watch with a smile as Anamaria and a bunch of the crewmember dance a merry jig, the lively tunes Matelot and Quartetto coax out of their instruments lifting everyone’s spirits. You sit on the lower steps of the stairs leading up to the helm on the starboard side, your legs stretched out in front of you with your soles flat on the deck. You’re a bit too drained yourself to do the same, content on just watching and soaking in the merry atmosphere. The slow sunset over the sea had dimmed into velvety blueness of the night a few hours ago, and only the sealed lanterns lit along the deck give soft light along with the bright stars overheard.

You polish off the last bit of apple you have in your hand, chewing slowly. After you’d made sure for one last time that everything was all set in the galley, you’d left the dishes into Anamaria’s care as you knew she’d make sure they would all be delivered up on the deck all in one piece. You’d rushed into your cabin to change; your old, yellowish white shirt you had on was dirtied from all the work, so you’d quickly thrown on another long sleeved shirt of light blue, buttoning it up while deciding the dark pants you had on would be just fine. For once truly making an effort, you even brushed the worst tangles off your hair with a comb and tied your old scarf over your forehead to keep the generally wayward locks away from your face.

The night had been an absolute success; rum and ale had been flowing for a while already and your dishes had been complimented heartily by the crew and Captain, and it warmed your heart to hear all your hard work had not been in vain. True, you were starting to feel quite exhausted, the day having taken its toll on you, but you would gladly do it all over again to witness the joyous merrymaking that was currently going around the main deck of the Pearl. It did good for everyone to just have fun and not to worry about anything for the time being – not only did it cheer everybody up, it also increased the solidarity among the crew. You’re happy that you could give them this chance to just relax for one night.

Tearing your eyes away from the revelry for a moment, you gaze out in the open ocean and over the darkened horizon, feeling a soft breeze brush against your face. A white sickle moon has climbed across the dark blue sky, casting a silver bridge over the water that ripples just slightly; the sea is never completely still. The beauty of the Caribbean night never fails to take your breath away. You used to do this so often aboard the White Wraith, your father’s glorious ship; you would spend many minutes, hours even if given the time, just watching the horizon and reflecting upon your own thoughts. But lately, you haven’t really done that so much; you’ve just hadn’t had the chances. An unbearable wave of longing suddenly washes through you, and for a moment you miss your father again so much it makes your heart ache. Memories of what once was are precious to you, but sometimes they could be the most painful of things. Swallowing away the tightness in your throat, you drive out the sadness that strives to settle upon you, forcing yourself not to linger on such thoughts. Life went on still, and so would you.

You turn your head back ahead, startling as you realize that Jack has walked up to you and is currently seating himself down on the same stair you’re perched upon – once again you curse his ability to sneak up on you like that.

“Why is it,” Jack starts slowly as he sits – actually it’s almost like he’s dropping or slumping down - on the stair next to you, only some odd inches separating your side from his. “That you’re sitting here all alone instead of joining the others? After all, this whole to-do was your idea.”

You give him a small smile while lifting your legs up, setting your feet on the stair below the one you’re sitting on, holding your knees together. “I like watching the others more. And I’m a bit tired. And, I wasn’t kidding about that bell earlier, by the way,” you smirk.

“Don’t take it out on me if you were too busy brooding to notice my handsome form approaching, luv,” Jack smirks back in a decidedly smug manner, eliciting a laugh from you.

“I wasn’t brooding,” you deny, smiling still.

“Oh, no?” Jack raises a sceptical brow at you. “Well, call it what you will, but you still didn’t look very cheerful. Want to talk about it?”

You shrug. “It was nothing important, really. Just a random memory, that’s all.”

“I don’t really believe you,” Jack replies softly, “But I’ll let you have it your way this time since it’s Christmas as everything.”

You chuckle, glancing at him with a smirk. “How very generous of you, thanks.”

“As long as were on the subject…” Jack trails off, starting to abruptly fumble with his jacket; you raise your brows in curious puzzlement as you watch him go through his pockets. Jack makes a small, triumphant noise from his throat as he obviously locates whatever it is that he’s looking for from his left pocket, pulling his hand away from its depths. “Hold out your hand.”

You do as he says, even if a bit hesitantly, and hold your left palm upward. Jack presses the mysterious object he dug from his pocket on your hand, and you stare at it in the dim lighting. It appears to be a square of parchment, not even the size of your palm – you fancy that’s however just the wrapping, there’s something hard inside the parchment.

“What’s all this, then?” you ask, turning the tiny square-shaped bundle about in your fingers.

“Your Christmas present, of course,” Jack grins as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You got me a present? But now I have nothing for you.”

“We’ll see,” Jack says mysteriously, and you glance at him in askance. He, however, motions with his finger to open the gift. So, you fix your eyes on the tiny parcel again, starting to carefully pry the parchment away around the item. Your lips part a little in astonishment as you stare at the item that’s revealed. It’s that little butterfly hairclip made of glass and gilded metal of some sort, the one you had briefly thought of buying from the market in Curaçao.

You dampen your lips that have suddenly done dry before speaking quietly. “How… how did you know to get this?” you ask, sweeping the pad of your thumb over one of the rose red wings.

Jack draws in a deep breath before answering. “I might had overheard that bit where you told Anamaria of having one like that as a child… so I thought you might have wanted it after all.”

Your throat tightens again and you blink your eyes to keep tears at bay, unbelievably moved that Jack would think of doing something like this for you. In hindsight, you had indeed regretted of not buying the clip from the market when you had the chance. “Mine was blue, the one I lost…” you utter softly, almost to yourself. “Thank you Jack, I really appreciate this,” you tell him with a sincere smile, giving into your affectionate impulse and leaning over him to brush your lips against his cheek briefly.

Jack’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, and he raises a brow at you as you pull away, smiling pleasantly. “And I didn’t even had to use this to get a kiss from you,” he says, pulling the astray mistletoe from his other pocket, grinning broadly. “Must be my lucky day, eh?”

You laugh as you see the lost mistletoe in his hand and your suspicions are proven correct. “You had it all the time, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Jack replies, a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps not. Guess we’ll never know.”

“Sometimes Jack, just sometimes, I actually think that you might be the most peculiar person I have ever met,” you say wryly, but unable to keep from smiling.

“I will be taking that as a compliment,” Jack grins, glint of gold evident even in the dimness of the night.

“I’m sure,” you smile, glancing down at the trinket in your hand. “Thanks again for this, Jack. Sorry I have nothing for you, though.”

“Believe me luv,” Jack says, that contagious grin pulling his lips upward again, “That peck was a pleasant enough gift, already. But!” he announces, standing up on the stairs, “If we are to sit here for the entire night, I must insist we won’t do it with dry mouths. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” you reply, watching with a smile as he swaggers off in search of some rum, the ever so charming sway of hip in his each step. When you lose the sight of him, you unwrap the scarf around your head, stuffing it in the pocket of your pants. Opening the hairclip, you pin back the unruly strands from your forehead, settling the red butterfly amidst your hair before glancing again toward the dark horizon.

“Merry Christmas, dad. Wherever you may be,” you whisper to the winds, and as if in response to your words, a brief gush of air blows from the sea, fluttering your hair gently.

With a smile, you turn your gaze away and catch the sight of Jack as he exchanges a few animated words with Gibbs on his way to you, motioning with his hands – both of his hands are clutching a bottle of rum, now. You suddenly remember the rum cake you’d made earlier, making a mental note to give it to Jack as a present later.

You smile again; this was turning out to be one of the best Christmases, after all.

THE END

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