The Ranger limped into Nassau sails tattered and wood shattered. The mid-morning sun was blazing down on the pirates already, causing rivulets of sweat to make tracks on the dirt caked to their skin. The sailors hurried about deck, tying up sails, readying the longboats, and bringing up the wounded.

Two days ago, they had been in a costly battle. Today, they were home. They would set up camp on the white sand beach like so many times before. It was the only place that Vane would consider home, though he would never admit it out loud.

First thing first. He had to see Eleanor about his cargo and get some new leads. Then he needed a drink. It seemed like over the past months, Eleanor had gotten colder towards him and the leads that she had previously given him were drying up as well. More and more of them seemed to be going to Flint.

Charles Vane hated Captain Flint. Flint always seemed to parade around Nassau like he was some sort of British royalty. He was arrogant and acted like he was above the rest of the people who called Nassau home.

When they had first met, Flint dismissed Vane with a wave of his hand and called him "a drunk, rabid dog who should have been put down years ago." The resulting fight had become a local legend. Vane rubbed the reminding scar on his eyebrow and smirked. He wasn't the only one who had walked away scarred. Now, the two captains avoided each other when possible and ignored one another when not. Both captains had a very grudging respect for each other, not that either would admit it, even with a pistol to the head.

Charles stalked back into camp, snarling under his breath. Crew members gave him a wide berth. He violently threw back the flap of Rackham's tent and stormed in.

Jack startled and reached for his sword. Anne, of course, had heard Vane coming and didn't move a muscle.

Seeing that it was only his captain, Jack slouched back and sighed.

"I'm taking that it didn't go well? I knew I should have gone in your place."

"That woman- that woman gave my lead to Flint!" Vane started cursing the Guthrie's, Flint, and everyone in Nassau.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"We'll worry about it in the morning. Tonight, you need a drink, I need a drink, and Anne needs a drink."

Jack Rackham watched his captain, friend, brother drowned his anger in rum. Normally Jack was the drinker of the group with Vane being more reserved, but tonight the rolls were reversed. Anne was still nursing her first drink. Jack knew that Anne wasn't shy about drinking, but both of them knew that one of them should at least keep a semi clear head and Charles needed a drinking buddy, which tonight was Rackham.

"Did you at least get a good price for the Margaret's cargo?"

"Decent. I was able to get the money in black pearls. I already dropped them off." Vane stared moodily at his boots propped up on a spare chair. They were in one of the tavern's side room. Jack had cleared everybody out of it so that they could talk in peace without what they said turning up as town gossip the next morning.

"Do you know I sometimes hate her?" Jack didn't have to ask who 'her' was. Charles continued, "I sometimes think I should kill her but then I remember that I think I love her." Charles looked at Jack in drunken confusion.

"Well, the heart wants what it wants. It's really a tricky devil. That's why I make a point never to listen to mine." Jack dismissed the notion with a cocky smile and dismissive wave of his hand. Anne snorted into her mug.

"Crew's getting low," was Anne's contribution to the conversation.

It was true. For the past few months, they were slowing losing crew for various reasons. Some died, some through injury, some decided that they would rather stay at a tavern instead of sailing, and some hopped crews in hopes of a more profitable captain since Eleanor Guthrie stopped giving them their share of leads.

Though what had really depleted their crew was their recent capture, looting, and release of the British ship Margaret. Six had been killed on boarding, with many more injured. The Margaret's crew had fought frantically, no doubt terrified of their captain and the ship's owners.

Normally they would have taken some of the Margaret's crew members on board, but they were a miserable bunch of half starved sailors with scurvy. It wouldn't have been worth taking on crew that wouldn't be able to pull their own weight.

Jack picked up his mug and sauntered to the doorway so that he could look into the taproom. His lip curled into a sneer. The sailors who weren't currently signed onto a crew were free for a reason. They were the dregs of the barrel. However, with the state of the Ranger, they couldn't be too picky.

Just then, the door of the tavern burst open and the rowdy crew of the Walrus came in. Rackham recognized two of the sailors, Flint's quartermaster Gates and a large, burly fellow by the name of Singleton.

Gates had pulled Singleton to the side and was trying to keep their conversation low. Singleton, however, was clearly agitated and began speaking louder and louder.

"This can't go on! The last couple ships we took, their cargo was worthless! We lost good crew for what? We get good leads that we ignore so that the captain can go off and do whatever he does. The crew won't take this for much longer."

Gates tried to calm the man again, but Singleton jerked out of his grasp and stormed out.

Charles appeared by Jack's elbow, startling him so that his arm jerked and sloshed rum on his jacket. Jack brushed hopelessly at the wet mark.

Charles snorted. "Singleton's a fool if he thinks that he has a shot at running a crew, let alone at beating Flint. I can't stand the man but he is unnaturally lucky. He can also convince his crew of anything, like east is west and north is south. Kind of like you." He thumped his fist on Jack's shoulder.

Jack clasped Charles' arm and dragged him back to the table. His eyes gleaming with excitement. Anne knew it was the look he got when plotting an especially complicated and complex plot.

"We need more crew, right?"

"Right."

Anne only nodded.

"And the only crew available aren't fit to sail in a bathtub, correct?"

Again, the other two could only agree.

"What if we back Singleton's mutiny behind the scenes?"

"How, exactly, would that help?" asked Anne bluntly.

"Charles is right. Singleton doesn't have a prayer at running a crew. He would take them out once and when they return, they would abandon ship in droves. We could have our pick of able bodied, good, experienced sailors. Just imagine being able to recruit that one young giant on Flint's crew. What's his name? Something Bones, right? Currently, he's too loyal to Flint to ever leave the Walrus but he would leave Singleton in a second."

Charles tilted his chair back on two legs. Jack could see him contemplating the idea.

"What about Mosiah? He holds a chunk of the votes on the ship and is fairly loyal to Flint."

"Let's see how far Singleton gets on his own. If need be, we can always set in and take care of Mosiah."

Anne leaned back in her own chair and rolled her eyes. Her lover and her best friend continued to plot. Trust Jack Rackham to devise a needlessly complex plan to solve their crewing problem and to distract their best friend from his relationship woes. And Jack claimed to ignore his heart.