The click of the latch falling into place sounded as loud as a gunshot.

Roxanne remained frozen in place, her clenched fists resting on her hips.
Then she tossed her head defiantly.

"Well fuck you too!" she called in the direction of the door before poking angrily at the embers in the fireplace, stirring the flames back into life.

Hands still trembling with anger, she made herself tea before sitting at the table, covered in the usual mess of parchment, books and other assorted items.

She lifted a book.
It was an old diary of her husband's, dated four years ago.

Roxanne tipped her head curiously. She knew he kept diaries but had never read them.
He actually usually kept two.
His Captain's Log- a plain, fairly large book that permanently resided in the desk drawer in the captain's cabin of the Troubadour and a smaller, normally green book kept in an aclove behind the headboard of the bed while at sea.

The small one was his own diary, for his personal writing.
The Captain's Log was where he wrote as a captain, recording things that happened on the ship during voyages.

Roxanne flipped the diary open.
The first page bore nothing but his signature, an untidy, distinctive scrawl in black ink and the date.

She turned the page.
It was dated January 12.
Then underneath, Home in Madagascar. 2 am.

The entry was nothing exciting, simply detailing his activities during the day.

Was up by twelve-very unusual.
Checked ships, gave Sahara lists for both. Started to look for new crew as suffered heavy losses in battle in early Dec.

Still rereading Code. Roxy hinting at next meeting at end of month.

Roxanne ran her thumb over the word "Roxy."
His nickname for her, which only he was ever allowed to use.

She closed the diary and set it aside, still too angry to concentrate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Teague entered a tavern.
Not the one he went to with Roxanne but another one called "The King's Jewel."
It was ten minutes from their house, in the opposite direction to their usual haunt, and stood across from a brothel.

Weaving through the crowd of wenches and men, he got himself a whiskey and a seat.

Sipping the whiskey, Teague relished the burn it left as it slid down his throat.

He glared at an approaching wench, waving his left hand so the ring on his wedding finger flashed.

"I'm married," he snapped.

She didn't seem to hear him as her hand snaked around his neck, lips pressing against his jaw.

Teague shuddered.
Her lips were smooth and the hand on his neck was soft, a stark contrast to Roxanne's chapped lips and calloused fingers.

He slipped from her grasp, glaring at her again.
"I told ye I'm fucking married!"

"But you look so lonely," she murmured, her hazel eyes very wide.
"We could have fun. Your wife doesn't need to know."

"Piss off."
Teague's voice was calm but, as he looked at her, his dark eyes were almost black, a sign he was dangerously close to loosing his temper.

The wench leaned close again and his fingers caressed the handle of his pistol.

She smirked, pressed another sly kiss on his jaw and slipped away.

Teague curled his lip in disgust as he finished his whiskey and motioned for a refill.
He'd wait half an hour to give his simmering temper a chance to cool and hopefully Roxanne would be calm by the time he returned.

His fingertips ran lightly over his cheekbone, knowing a bruise was forming.

Teague smiled wryly.
Roxanne had hit him with her left hand, meaning the stinging was probably where her ring had connected.

He sipped his whiskey and got comfortable.
He had to calm himself down within half an hour.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roxanne took her fiddle from it's place by the faded scarves that covered her husband's guitar.

Tucking it under her chin, she started to play, letting her hips sway as she did so.
Her mind flashed back to firelit winter evenings, learning to play under her husband's patient teaching.

The fiddle had been his.
He'd given it to her, explaining he'd always preferred guitar anyway, and taught her to play.
She'd picked it up very quickly, impressing him with her natural flair for the instrument.

Now, they spent long evenings playing together, usually traditional Irish tunes Teague had grown up listening to and taught himself to play.

They played them in duet, her on fiddle, him on his beloved guitar.
Occasionally, usually if he'd been drinking, he'd sing in Gaelic, his native language.

She let the music cool her anger, then gently replaced the fiddle and sat to await Teague's return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly an hour passed before Teague even thought of going home.

He found he was afraid of walking through his door.

He'd drank enough to thicken his accent and slur his words. The marks of a woman's attention were clear on the side of his neck.

He hadn't wanted the attention but had recieved it anyway.
He was dreading facing his wife, knowing the conclusion she'd reach.

Scanning the tavern, Teague saw a familiar head of blonde hair.
"Oi, Seamus!" he called.

The man stood up, crossing to his side.
"Aye? If this is about the Troubadour's sails I was just followin' Mrs Sparrow's orders."

"Tisn't. There nothin' wrong with the sails. I need ye to come with me so Roxy doesn't kill me."

Seamus frowned but asked no questions as he followed him.

As they approached the door to the cottage, Teague noticed it's flaking green paint and remembered he was supposed to have painted it a week ago.

He quietly pushed the latch down and let himself in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roxanne was making more tea when she heard the click of the latch, followed by the sound of a dog's claws on wooden floorboards.

A reddish coated terrier trotted through the kitchen, her tail wagging as she dissappeared into the hall.

"Rua, down."

Teague's voice rang out, heavily accented.

Two sets of footsteps sounded and she frowned slightly.

Teague slowly entered the kitchen, his head bowed.
Behind him was Seamus, a crewmember of them both.

"You're drunk," Roxanne said calmly.

Her husband was completely steady on his feet but the smell of whiskey was heavy on him and she knew he was far from sober.

"Only slightly," he responded without meeting her eyes.

She snorted, then noticed marks on his neck, half-hidden by his dreadlocks.

"What the fuck," she began, her voice soft and dangerous, "did you do?"

"Absolutely nothin'," he replied steadily.
"She kissed me."

Roxanne narrowed her eyes and Teague stepped back.
Seamus moved between them.

"Why are you here?"

"To stop you shootin' me."

Roxanne was silent for a second, then burst out laughing.

She sat down heavily, her head in her hands as her shoulders shook.

Finally she looked up, wiping her eyes.

"You're afraid of me," she gasped.
"Captain Teague, Keeper of the Code, one of the most feared pirates sailing, is afraid of his wife!"

Teague looked sheepish.
"I like me bits where they belong an' me head on me shoulders."

Roxanne dissolved into helpless laughter again, the noise filling the room.

"Seamus, you can go," she said, finally controlling herself.
"I'm not going to shoot him or cut his jewels off."

Once they were alone, Roxanne turned to Teague, a slight smile on her lips.

"Imagine if word reached a few ears that the feared Keeper of the Code brought home another pirate because he's afraid of his wife."

She kissed the top of his head with a sweet smile.
"Goodnight."

He stared after her as she exited the kitchen, then scrambled to his feet.
"Roxanne Sparrow you wouldn't!"

Her laugh floated back to him.
"Would I not?" she called.

Teague dropped into his armchair, cursing under his breath.

Roxanne now had blackmail material that could ruin his reputation and something told him she was never, ever going to let him live tonight down.

ShahbanouSheherazade
Thank you for inspiring this with a conversation about Keith being afraid to meet his father and bringing Ronnie Wood with him and suggesting I apply the same idea to Teague and Roxanne.
Also, consider this a small amount of the gratitude I owe you for all your invaluable advice and information.
Xx