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Just wait until her father got a hold of these… these awful men! It was the single thought that kept fear at bay for Minnie, because surely her father would come and save her from these brutes, and everything would be all right. It was just a matter of patience, and she could stand to wait. She felt she needed to show her lack of fear, and so kept her nose up, making a small 'hmph' noise, but she went ignored. The big, burly men in front of her were far too invested in their chat to care too much what a tied up little girl was doing.

She was about to give another fruitless attempt, when the only door to the room slammed open. That got her attention and that of the men as well, everyone staring at the little man in the doorway. He took a look at her, blinked, and then back to the men.

The biggest and burliest of the men then had a split grin, rubbing his hands together greedily. "About time ya got back, boss!" Boss? Who, this little cute boy of a mouse? Surely not! Yet the other men burst into good moods as well, laughing and offering hands to shake. "Ya won't believe our luck! We were gettin' all ready to get the train schedules, plan the whole robbery out, but then this little missy wanders in... the sheriff's daughter! We'll be rich as the president when we get the ransom back!"

The boss was still silent, and then he looked at her again. All right, so maybe he was the boss. That meant he was as bad as the rest of them… worse, even! He told the gang what to do, so he had the blackest heart among them! Now fear did set in, for what if he gave them orders what to do about her? The fear then doubled, as the boss then began walking towards her, his spurs clicking against the wooden floor. She tried to back up, but of course the ropes around her limbs prevented doing so.

He now stood over her, looking down at her, still not saying the word. His eyes glowered, and his teeth were grinding. She swallowed a whimper, and awaited whatever horrible, nasty things he had planned for her…

… when he spun around, taking a gun out of his holster, and snapped. "I said we don't kidnap! We don't ever kidnap! Bunch a morons!" he took a warning shot at the window, shattering it as the boys ducked for cover. He then returned the gun to its holster, grabbed the missy to set her on her feet. "Awful sorry… and we ruined such a pretty dress!" He clicked his tongue, as if it was the greatest crime of all.

She stared at him, not moving as he untied her. He wasn't going to do anything to her? No awful, scandalous, dirty things? What was this feeling of great disappointment? "Oh… oh, well… really?"

~*~

Weren't ladies made of sugar and spice and everything nice? Mickey thought that applied to all women, regardless of their upbringing, regardless of their current careers. Even if she was the pirate queen, didn't she have a shred of decency or girlish modesty? It could be argued that most of this frustration as due to feeling that, as the man, he should be the one making the moves and setting the pace. However, the biggest argument in his head was loudly shouting SHUT UP AND LET HER.

There was no time to react to a kiss or a hold or a nuzzle because as soon as he registered one thing, she was already doing something else. He wasn't even given ample warning time, and his mind became cloudy as he tried to think. He loved her, dearly, truly, ever since he had first been taken aboard and laid eyes on the petite pirate. She had been brash and harsh to him, assuming that his princely status came with a princely snobbishness, but that was then and this was now and her teeth were biting off his buttons and oh gosh what in the world had just happened?!

He let out a small yelp as his balance was thrown off by her sudden embrace, falling backwards onto his back onto the dirty matted bed she had allowed him to use. He felt he couldn't breathe, not with all of the repeated kisses over his mouth, fully forgetting that he had a working nose. Part of him wanted to understand this change in attitude towards him, while the remaining part was wondering why he wondered the first thing instead of just enjoying this gift. As far as he knew, nothing had changed in their unusual friendship.

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP, KISS HER BACK , MORON. He tried to, and would have been glad to, but her mouth was already gone, and at his neck, leaving traces of wet fur in its wake. His flimsy arms tried to make up for his error, awkwardly reaching up to try and wrap around her, and keep her body close to hers. Without meaning it, the little act slowed her down, somewhat, and she lifted her head, gazing into his eyes. When she opened his mouth, he expected to hear her line of reasoning, or, even better, that she had fallen in love with him as deeply as he had her, and that she was never going to let him leave her ship, which was fine and dandy with him. He opened his own mouth in response, ready to reply his own infatuation and devotion and loyalty to her.

However, fancy frilly speeches were apparently not what she in mind, as her mouth was on his again and suddenly all Mickey could think of was TONGUE TONGUE TONGUE and it was the strongest of wills that kept him from fainting because girls were sugar and spice and everything nice, and not wet flimsy things touching every tooth he had.

~*~

The prince of the sun once thought that the most beautiful thing in the world was the moon, and he had spent countless nights gazing upon it, trying to imagine what the people who worshiped it were like. Now he knew that the princess of the moon was the most beautiful thing in the world, and felt foolish to have ever thought otherwise. How could the moon compare to her soft cheeks, her flowing hair, her glimmering eyes? Simply, it could not, and never would, and his entire definition of beauty had changed. Yet no matter how many compliments of this beauty he gave to her, she never seemed to fully believe them. Her modesty was at once both endearing and frustrating.

It only strengthened his resolve to prove her otherwise, and he tried harder each time they met in secret to prove it. The moon was full this night, and it shone through the only window in the prince's room, casting its light over the forbidden lovers. He had her in his lap, his fingers weaving in and out of her white locks, watching in wonder as it could spill out. It was unfathomable – how could she not know just how beautiful she was? Surely she must have seen her reflection before, so what was holding this thought back? He looked at her, but her gaze was all on him.

That gaze, those eyes, they were beautiful too, warm and soft and loving. No matter what he did, they still contained traces of disbelief, still amazed someone like him could love someone like her. Why didn't she see? Why didn't she understand just how utterly beautiful, perfect, wonderful she was? His hands cradled the back of her head, bringing her in for a kiss, deep and loving and struggling to transfer his opinion to hers. He would make her understand, if it was the last thing he ever did. He wanted her to know how she made him feel, and needed his lover to be more confident about herself. It hurt him whenever she would deny his compliments, and when she would say bad things about herself.

A slow lesson might be best, so that's how he made his kiss, as slow as he could make it, taking his time to savor her and move. He could feel her timid hands on his shoulder, as if unsure if that was the proper place to rest them during such an intimate movement. There was still a bit of a shake to them, but they would eventually go still, too lost in their love to care what was proper and what was not. Even better, after a moment of these lessons, she began to show what she learned in turn, returning his kisses with the most delicate of breathes. Back and forth, kiss after kiss, enveloped in night light and hoping to make the other understand how grateful they were to have the other in their life.

But the prince's inner flames could only be stalled for so long, and as always, it took over rational thought, and his kisses began to pick up speed. He wanted to convey this lesson to her, but, darn it all, she was just so sweet, so delicious, so appetizing, that he needed more, and couldn't wait for her confidence to build. Not when she was there, and plaint, and loving, and giving.

~*~

The weather outside was frightful, but the fire was so delightful, especially considering he had never been able to feel fire like this before. Mickey knelt before the fireplace, his hands out near the flicking flames, still fascinated by the feel. He knew he couldn't move in too close, lest he repeat that awful stove incident, but it couldn't he helped. Being a spirit of winter, he had felt anything before, and now, as a mortal, he could feel everything. Warmth was one of his favorite feelings, and he felt he could have stayed right in place the entire time.

He heard a delicate sigh coming from the second thing he loved to feel. Minnie was at the window, ignoring his strange behavior. She had gotten used to her unusual house-guest in the short time she invited him to live with her. Her attention was on the weather outside, as snow covered the earth, blinding the world as it came down. She absolutely loved the view, and so loved the town more for it. Nothing was more beautiful than the fall of snow.

Mickey could say otherwise, but love made for a terrible bias. He stood up, deciding his fire enjoyment could always be felt later, and came to her side to watch. "Whatcha lookin' at?"

"The snow." She replied, not moving her eyes. "It… sounds a little silly, but I just think it's so lovely."

"Huh." He rested an elbow on the windowsill, propping his head on his head.

"It's like a cloud falling to pieces, or dancing white petals…"

"A-huh." He supposed the polite thing to do would be to pay attention to what she was saying, but she was just too cute not to gaze upon. He had experienced snow all of his life, whereas she had only been in his life for a brief time. It was times like this that made him glad he had given up his spiritual powers to gain this mortal frame, so he could spend this time with her, and truly get to know her, get to speak with her, get to touch her. He tried to focus, clearing his throat, and reaching out to touch her cheek. "I don't think it sounds silly at all."

Her cheeks pinked, and now her eyes shifted to him. "I… I just love… th-the snow. You know?"

"I love it too." He smiled at her, causing her cheeks to darken even further. He ran a thumb over this colored cheek over and over, feeling a sort of heat coming from her body as well. This kind of heat was far more favorable than the biggest fire. She probably just thought he was being a romantic, since she never would have guessed she was being loved by a former snow spirit, but then, who would make that kind of guess? He ran his thumb there again and again, his hopeless expression reflected in the window. Silence took over, save for the crackles of the fire.

But really and truly, the best kind of heat was when she was snuggled up against him, as she chose to do just then, and his expression was more stupefied in stupidity. He rested his head on top of hers, sighing in content as his eyes went back to the falling flakes. It was still amazing how someone so small and delicate as she could radiate such warmth and fire of her own, and it felt like his entire body was burnt alive in bliss. Moments like this told him he could never go back to the spirit life.

~*~

Since he was lower class and she was upper class, Mickey felt he had to make up for a lot of things. Never mind the fact that she loved him unabashedly despite the difference in status, he was always looking for ways to better himself, or at least appear better than he was. This particular time, he asked his friends their opinions. Normally this would be a fine idea, except Mickey's friends were often as clueless and dumb as he was. It was Donald who suggested something girly like 'poetry', and the idea had stuck with Mickey.

It sounded like a good idea, but when the actual writing process started, difficulties piled on top of each other. He couldn't just cheat and write one of those free form things, but rhyming everything was also proving challenging. She just had to have a penchant for wearing purple, of which nothing rhymed, unless 'smurple' was a word, as Goofy insisted it was. He sat in place, trying to concentrate, pen on paper, when he was supposed to be guarding her like a good musketeer, but with the peace the kingdom had, no one really held it against him. Perhaps he would have come up with something, if his devious little princess hadn't insisted on invading his process –as usual – and peeked over his shoulder, whispering into his ear, knowing the effects the latter would have on his big, sensitive ears. "What are you writing, Mickey?"

He had nearly jumped out of his uniform in surprise, and his cheeks darkened a rose hue when he looked back to face her. What did she need bodyguards for, when she had the creeping skills of a ninja? "H-Huh! Well! Uh! Nothin', it's, uh…" He tried to move the paper of her eye's line, embarrassed at his failure. "Just… well, uh… just tryin' ta work on a… poem?"

A little gasp of excitement escaped her. "A poem? Really? How sweet!" She quickly knelt down, eyes gleaming and hands knotted together. "Can I hear it?"

Uh-oh, she assumed it was already finished! He was going to say it wasn't, but maybe she had seen him sitting there for hours. How could he say he'd been there for so long and had nothing accomplished? He'd look like a darn fool, that's what. Fumbling the paper in his hands, his mind raced for excuses and creativity. "Um… well… s-sure, I guess…? It… it aint much, though, I mean, I never wrote one before…" That didn't steer her off it, apparently, since she stayed right in place, fixated on him. He made his bed, and now he'd have to lay in it. Clearing his throat, he pretended to read off of lines that didn't exist. "A-ah… my… my princess Minnie… she…"

She what? Was a 'winnie'? Not fat but skinny? Wasn't a ninny? Each one sounded worse than the last. Another clearing of his throat, and he went to meet her eyes. He took in a deep breath, and went for the last escape he had left… making stuff off of the top of his head. "… She's real pretty, and sweet, and got the biggest and most colorful eyes of any girl I've ever seen, and… she's got a great laugh, and is… is a swell kisser too, and - " And apparently it worked, as she suddenly proved to be a great kisser to him once more.

~*~

Captain Mickey had drunk plenty of rum in his lifetime, so he knew this wasn't a drunken hallucination. He'd also been in enough fights to have his head bonked sorely, so he knew this wasn't a pain-induced hallucination. This had to be a hallucination of some kind, because it wasn't a dream, the pain from his open cuts proved that much. The problem was figuring just what kind of hallucination it was, since he wasn't drinking, nor was his head part of the injured. It had to be stemming from his imagination.

He had to give himself credit, though. He had no idea his imagination could work so well, conjuring up this beautiful woman who was lying with him on the cold and sandy shore. How did his head work up those deep blue eyes, her icy yet soothing touch as her fingers brushed his cheek, and, most importantly, how did his head come up with this voice? It was in a tongue he had never heard before, despite having sailed almost all over the world. So he couldn't understand what was being sung, but found he didn't care too much. The emotion in the voice more than made up for it.

Whatever kind of illusion it was, there was no desire to escape it soon, not when he was being looked at with such love in those eyes, and such care in that voice. If he had to guess, he would say this was a love song, because the tone in her throat just… just seemed to match it. It couldn't be anything else, didn't seem logical. It had to be an illusion that such a thing of beauty would love him, considering what a rotten pirate he was. He found himself caring less and less about the entire situation, and allowed his mind and body to relax, despite the small amount of blood escaping his side. He cared not for the world, as long as this out-of-nowhere goddess continued to sing to him.

He didn't want to speak, lest he interrupt this divine melody. He just smiled at her, trying to show he appreciated the tune, and allowed himself a blissful sigh when her fingers stroked under his chin. He'd give up every single piece of booty he'd ever stolen if he could keep up this gaze and song, lost shamelessly inside it forever. The song enveloped him, protecting him, assuring him he would be all right, no matter how bad he was hurt. It was like the tide of the ocean, drowning him without pain, a kind of coolness that went to his very bones. It could be foolish of her to already love him, but he felt less foolish for already falling in love with her.

It would be a shame whenever he snapped out of it, though, since this couldn't be real… what with the girl having a fish tail and all.