A/N: Thanks for reading this far! There's a bit of a time jump here when the actual story gets going, since (spoilers) Carina was born right after the events of At World's End, according to math and the internet. POTC timelines are weird, though, so I tried to leave it a little vague. Anyway, enjoy this next part!

PART II

THE PRESENT

"You were right, you know," Rita added, after she had finished going over the exhausting details of their first adventure. The bar had quieted some, but she and Jack were becoming rowdier by the minute, a collection of empty bottles and pints beginning to crowd the table. "We heard a lot about Captain Jack Sparrow in the years after."

"Aye, I bet," Jack muttered. "Though I had hoped it would be under better circumstances."

"Surviving a marooning was nothing to scoff at," Rita said, taking another swig from her bottle. "Though you were in a right state when we saw you again. Hell-bent on revenge, and planning to take back your ship. Margaret thought you'd gone mad."

"I admit, I was glad to run into familiar faces after getting off that godforsaken island. Not a friendly trade, piracy. Ten years until I saw old Hector again, and it was not a pretty reunion."

"Sounds like you worked it out, though. God, the rumors we heard. Returning from the dead, fighting Davy Jones himself, breaking curses. And ending that monster Beckett's regime...To think it all turned out to be true. You two were a force to be trifled with."

Jack smiled, remembering fondly.

"I'm glad you got my letters. Wasn't sure they'd reached you."

"Did you ever tell him? About Morgan's men?" Rita asked suddenly. Jack looked up, pretending at first not to understand what she meant.

The news that all of Morgan's crew had been captured and hung after sailing into Port Royal had reached the girls not long after they parted ways with the Pearl. Years later, when they ran into Jack in the Tortuga marketplace, they had told him that they were the only ones left who knew where to find Circe's magic. There and then they made a pact to keep it secret, but should one ever need its power they would return together. Hector had no idea it was just the four of them that remained as the secret keepers.

"No. I didn't. Didn't seem worth mentioning, as I doubt he would ever betray that information. Did you?" Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Who says I ever saw Hector Barbossa again?"

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"When I last saw you two girls, it was ages ago. She hadn't heard a thing from him," Jack began.

"I know, you were disappointed. You'd hoped she would tell you where he was."

"Did she ever marry?"

Rita looked quizzically at Jack. She could sense it was a loaded question.

"No," She said. "Margaret would hardly have taken a husband she didn't love. And she was nearing spinsterhood towards the end."

"Spinsterhood? At what, twenty-seven?"

"A woman's life, Jack," Rita smiled darkly. "I didn't think she would ever care for someone as much as she cared for your fiend of a first-mate."

"They did meet again, though, didn't they." Rita noticed Jack was watching her carefully as he edged nearer to his actual question.

"Yes, they did," Rita said slowly, furrowing her brow in suspicion as she took another sip. "Why do you ask?"

"Timing," Jack said, leaning back. "Their daughter's a young woman now, so that puts them together roughly around—"

Rita spat out her drink. Jack laughed at her, having been eagerly awaiting the moment all night.

"How the hell do you know? He told you?"

"God, no, d'you think Hector would ever share anything personal with me?" Jack said, waving his hand dismissively. "I met her."

Rita bit the inside of her cheek as she mulled this over. The form of a tiny baby popped into her head, cooing and innocent.

"Carina," she said quietly. "How…how is she?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Real looker. Not good at keeping out of trouble, not unlike her mum. Met her at a, um, joint-hanging, in fact. But, she's alive!" He added as a look of horror crossed Rita's face.

"You met Margaret Smyth's child," She repeated quietly.

"Aye. And I'm honestly very curious as to what her story is. I mean, how did she even…begin?"

Rita tried to steady her breathing, looking down at her hands on the table. It wasn't a time she liked to remember, but then again she never thought she'd be asked to recall it. Inhaling sharply, she pushed aside her bottle.

"Well, as you said, Barbossa was little more than a ghost story while he was cursed. It wasn't until after the two of you took down Beckett that we saw him again. Captain of the Black Pearl once more, and a changed man, who happened to be in need of a couple of skilled rum-runners…"

YEARS AGO

It was too quiet a day on the west coast of St. Kitts Island. Usually by the time Rita was out to pull the clothes off the line, the streets were crowded and full of obnoxious cacophony. Today, however, the people of the village had made themselves sparse. The sky was gray, a color they had not seen cast over the cheerful island in some time, and Rita sensed a storm brewing. Resisting the urge to kick her laundry basket in frustration, she hurriedly collected the linens and ran back inside the house. Rain was bad for business, and she and Margaret hadn't seen business in weeks.

Of all the places they'd lived, their home on St. Kitts was by far their favorite. They had a small, two story place in the center of town, and from their bedroom windows they could clearly see the beaches and green sea. Their profits over the years had allowed them a higher quality of living, and they were one of the most desired smuggling crew in all the Leeward Islands. Yet being at the top of their game did not come without a price. They'd had to move frequently, and take up a different crew every time they had a long quest. Gone were the days when Margaret and Rita could uphold a simple, two-woman operation. Margaret had become something of a fearless leader, ordering and organizing their crew with a passion, while Rita advised her. When they weren't off on a transport, they were bartering from on land and living peacefully together.

Today was one of those days. The crew they'd picked up since arriving on the island was off on a scavenging mission while the two women awaited leads on a job. Though she ought to have been relaxing, Rita felt anxious whenever she was left behind. Margaret felt the same, though she never dared show it. Being the faces of the business meant far more responsibility than either of them was used to. Rita walked into the kitchen, where she found Margaret starting dinner. She looked almost like a housewife in her apron, a fashion that was not meant for her.

"Edmund come back yet?" Margaret asked as she heard Rita enter. She was staring intensely at the boiling water in front of her, as if trying to turn it into rum with her mind.

"Not yet," Rita said. She began to fold the laundry. It felt very dull. "Better hurry though, looks like rain."

"Damn. The crew better not get themselves sunk, not sure we can afford another one."

"Mm. They'll be fine, the wreck wasn't too far from here." Though couriers by trade, they never could resist picking off any leftover valuables whenever word of an abandoned ship would reach them.

They worked in silence for a bit, lulled into monotony. Margaret looked out the window. A young man was running down the road towards the house, a slip of paper in his hand and a satchel slung over his shoulder.

"Would you look at that," Margaret smiled. "The boy's got something for us."

Edmund had been sent to work for the women about a year ago, as a present from Esperanza. He'd worked as their messenger and squire since then, arranging their meetings and running errands. Though he was no longer a boy, Margaret and Rita continuously teased his naivety and praised his childish enthusiasm. He'd become more or less like a little brother.

He rushed into the kitchen, panting as though he had run all the way across the island. Unable to catch his breath, he tossed the little paper onto the table with a look of pride between gasps.

"Well don't spill it all at once, Ed," Rita mocked.

"You didn't go waving that thing around town, did you? After all this time, you're still a terrible sneak," Margaret said, snatching up the parchment.

Edmund shot her a resentful look.

"I did not. I was just in a hurry. A storm's coming, and I got held up buying the vegetables because they were out of cucumber, so I had to run to Teagan's farm stand, which is all the way—" For someone who was out of breath moments ago, he had no trouble using it all to ramble.

"Spare us the particulars, would you?" laughed Margaret. She looked down at the note. "A rum-run to Tortuga. Long journey, but should pay well enough. Where'd you get the hook-up?"

"The buyers left the lead with Fisherman John. Said they were an odd sort, wealthy looking but secretive. He suspected thieves."

"Sounds like our kind of people," Rita said. "When do they want to meet?"

"Midnight at the Barnacle Tavern," Margaret read. "I hope they pay up front…"

Hours later, the women set out into the darkness. Edmund had insisted on joining them, but agreed to keep his mouth shut while the deal was made. Secure under their dark cloaks, they moved stealthily through the town. This was always less for their sake than for their clients, who were better off not being seen in public with the three. The tavern was the most populated joint at that time of night, so Rita, Margaret, and Edmund entered unobtrusively. There was no way to seek out their mystery buyers; it was up to them to approach first.

"There, an empty table," Rita said, pointing through the crowd. "We can dock there and—Margaret, what's wrong?"

Margaret was wearing an expression that looked like she'd just swallowed a lemon. She was at a loss for words, staring at something in uneasy astonishment. Following her gaze to a nearby table, Rita could see, sitting in plain sight, a familiar bearded face. A Capuchin monkey paced along the surface of the table, poking its head in an empty chalice.

"So," Hector Barbossa called out, grinning wickedly at them. "I see ye received my offer."