Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Damn It, Jackie

Very quietly, Jack eased the wardrobe door open, his hands cautiously searching through the contents.

He felt the embroidered front of a waistcoat, lace attached to a shirt cuff, the fabric of breeches, then, finally the soft material of the skirts of a dress.

Carefully, he drew the garment out.

Satin and lace, with voluminous skirts and a tight, beautifully embroidered bodice, as well as a delicate lace edging on the sleeves.

The dress his mother had got married in.

Jack stripped, and after a bit of struggling and many muttered expletives, put the dress on.

His mother's slender, small-busted frame worked to his advantage, as it meant the dress fitted reasonably well once he'd figured out how to secure it.

A wad of fabric served to make the appearance of a small bust, then he sat down and opened his father's pot of kohl.

Eyes now sufficiently made up, he turned his attention to his hair. It already fell to past his shoulders, and a wash and brush left it silky soft.

Pinning it up took patience, and many stabs to the scalp with hairpins, which thankfully weren't sharp.

Finally, Jack slipped on a pair of stolen ladies shoes and swiftly slipped out of the house.

The party, only open to women, was held in a hall not far from the house.

Jack mingled easily, jewels at his throat and on his fingers glittering in the lights as he wove around the room with a glass in hand, making small talk.

He was careful not to make his staring obvious, but his eyes were drinking in their fill of women of all sorts, their busts pushed up by corsets, faces and eyes carefully made up.

He was enjoying himself immensely, and was starting to feel the effect of the alcohol he'd been drinking when a hand firmly gripped his upper arm.

Jack panicked, trying to figure out how a lady would react, and settled for hitting, lashing out wildly.

Another hand grasped his wrist before it could connect with anything, strong, broad fingers rough with callouses.

A horribly familiar silver ring glimmered, the skull leering at him.

The hand that had been on his bicep moved to his waist.
"Play nice, boy," a voice warned him softly as he found himself being steered from the hall.

Jack had no choice in the matter, his stomach twisting uneasily as he walked obediently in his ladies shoes.

Edward Teague kept a firm grip on his son, looking straight ahead so Jack couldn't read his expression.

Silently, he was escorted into the kitchen of the cottage and sat into one of the chairs at the table.

Teague faced him, arms folded across his chest, looking him over.

"Is that your mother's wedding dress?" he asked at last.

Jack nodded sheepishly, then said sarcastically, "Unless there's another dress in the house that I don't know about, this was my only option. Plus it fits, with tight stays."

Teague bit his lip, trying to keep a straight face but it was no use. Jack looked so utterly ridiculous in a dress that he couldn't help smirking.

Shaking his head, he let a chuckle escape.

"Damn it, Jackie. I can't even tell ye off cause ye look so utterly ridiculous. Go and put a pair of breeches on, and return that dress unharmed to our wardrobe. I won't tell your mother if you do it quickly."

Not needing to be told twice, Jack lifted the voluminous skirts and left the kitchen.

Teague rested his head in his hands, shoulders shaking with laughter.
"Damn it, Jackie..." he muttered. "Dressing up in drag is bad enough, but of all the dresses, your mum's wedding dress..."

A/N. I had to. I had to write about Jack in drag. Actually, I had to write about Teague catching Jack in drag.