Work Text:
Anne woke to the sound of hushed voices. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, belatedly realizing she’d fallen asleep in her coat, hat and boots. They’d come into port late last night, when Nassau was filled with a quiet darkness. Now warm light was streaming in the window. The voices were coming from Max and Jack, crowded next to the mirror–Jack was sitting in a chair, his back turned, and Max stood in front of him, leaning down, holding him by the chin.
“Owww!” he whispered.
“The price of beauty, mon cher. Hold still!“
There was grumbling. Anne got to her feet, curiosity winning out over sleepiness.
Max laughed conspiratorially to herself, a warm and bubbly sound, and Anne found herself smiling. “What’s going on?” she asked, and Max glanced up, still firmly holding Jack’s face as he attempted to look behind him.
Max shook her head, pursing her lips in an attempt to stop smiling. She failed. “Nothing…”
“The torture you’ve put me through for the sake of beauty and you say it’s nothing!” Jack sighed in exasperation.
Anne took a step closer, raising her eyebrows. Max held out a hand to stop her, then bent down to Jack’s face again, holding something in her hand that Anne couldn’t see. “There,” she said in satisfaction, “finished.”
“And you do this elaborate feat every day,” Jack exclaimed. “Never underestimate a woman.” He stood and turned to Anne. “Well? Tell me I’m pretty."
Max had outlined his eyes with a thin line of black, expertly applied. Anne was used to seeing it on Max, but Jack–he had wonderfully big soft brown eyes when they weren’t narrowed at people or squinting into the sun. Now they we’re focused earnestly on her, seeking her approval.
Anne was at a loss for words. A small smile curved up her lips.
”‘Stunning, Jack, you look so sultry, so seductive,’“ Jack imitated. "That’s what I was hoping for at least.”
“You look…nice,” Anne interrupted, and the flattery immediately got the better of him. He let out a small laugh, and shrugged, smiling as he watched Anne look him up and down.
“He’s blushing,” Max teased, and Jack opened his mouth to deny it, then found himself unable to do so.
Max reached up to smooth something through his hair. “You should take better care to not let the salt water dry it out so much. Anne likes it softer."
Jack inhaled deeply. "Oooh what is that? It smells wonderful." Max pushed him back into the chair, and massaged the scented oils through his hair. "Are you turning me into you? Maybe I should speak in ze French accent.”
Max’s eyes lit up. “If you are me for today, I get to be Anne!”
She pulled Anne into a good-morning kiss, plucking the hat from her head and putting it on. What followed was a slow and thorough undressing punctuated with little kisses, which left Anne flustered and in nothing but her underclothes and Max wearing her full getup–boots, sword belt, coat and all. Max giggled, twirled, then stopped in front of the mirror, looking up at Anne’s reflection behind her. “What do you think?”
Anne looked at both of them. “What’s gotten into you two?” But before they could answer, she gripped Jack’s frock coat by the shoulders–this one was honey-colored, with brass fastenings and green and blue embroidery down the front in the shapes of flowers. “Off.”
Jack made a little noise of indignation, but pulled his shirt over his head after the jacket. “Darling, won’t these look a bit big on you?”
Anne pulled the shirt over her head, swiped the cravat from around his neck, and then shrugged on the coat as Jack fussed with the cravat. “It can’t look too formal. It’s got to me more relaxed,” he explained, exasperated. He scrutinized his work, then adjusted the silk scarf again. “There.”
Anne pulled on another pair of her own trousers–Jacks would fall down around her knees–and looked in the mirror. Jack took off his studded belt and fastened it around her waist under the coat, then adjusted the shoulders and smoothed her hair.
“This may be your size,” Max called, having just emerged from the closet, holding up a teal dress with dark trim on the shoulders, sleeves and bodice. Jack’s eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead. “Pants, off,” Max prompted.
Jack undressed, and Anne watched as Max somehow fit his tall lanky form into the bodice and full skirts.
“Where the hell did you find this?”
“Off a textile ship a few years back, headed north. I kept it for the fabric. Yes, some women are quite tall. Sit.”
Jack kicked the skirts as he sat down. “How do you walk in these. Jesus Christ.”
Max continued fastenings the back of the dress as Jack adjusted the cuffs. “You’re one to talk. I’ve seen you trip over nothing but your own two feet coming down the stairs.”
“She has a point, Jack,” Anne interjected.
“Ow!!!”
Max finished tightening the corset and stood back to review her work. “This dress does not flatter your figure,” she lamented.
“Well, I am lacking in a certain important area.” Jack motioned to his chest.
Max shook her head. “No no. It is your waist.” She fluffed out the skirts more. “But there is nothing I can do. God made you in the shape of a scrawny rectangle.”
Jack grumbled. “Well, don’t you think you’re a little too busty to pull off that outfit?” he countered, and Max frowned, adjusting Anne’s coat over her chest.
Anne stifled a laugh looking at the two of them. “What about my hair?” she asked.
Max came over, gently gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and pinned it into a bun. Jack arranged the loose strands around her face.
“Moustache?” he offered, and Anne tilted up her head as he applied Max’s makeup above her upper lip and a dot below. “This stuff is so hard to use,” he muttered, glancing at Max. “I’ll never understand how you do this every single day.”
“You spend more time fussing with a razor every morning than Max does with her makeup,” Anne pointed out, a small smile on her lips.
Jack cocked his head at Max. “And she said I didn’t have the feminine touch.”
The door opened. They all turned to see Featherstone, standing at a loss for words in the doorway, staring at them: Max dressed up like a pirate, looking slyly out from under the brim of Anne’s hat, Anne with her hair up, mustachioed, hand on her hip over Jack’s embroidered coat, and Jack, eyebrow raised, made up like a wealthy madam.
“Bad…time?” Featherstone asked.
Jack cleared his throat. “Mmm.”
The door closed quietly and they all burst into laughter.