It hadn't been long enough since the last time Margaret encountered a dark cell. She was reminded eerily of The Valiant's brig, the only cage that had ever contained her. In all her time as a misfit, she'd always evaded capture by the skin of her teeth. She thought herself slippery and sly, just one jump ahead of the gallows. She'd felt invincible.

It had taken years to break her, years of watching friends die to make her question her clandestine belief in immortality. Yet through it all, she was still alive. She was relatively unharmed. Some nights, like the night she lost her brother, she wondered why she had remained for this long. What had kept her going? She bled, like everyone else, but had never been drained of blood. She made mistakes, like everyone else, but reconciled. She took risks, but had never drowned in them. Often she wondered if she was being saved for a miraculous, honorable end and she was being protected by some omnipotent being until the time came. It was wishful thinking.

Though Margaret had given up the hope of being a savior long ago, she had pretended that at least Rita-her good, kind Rita—would always be safe at her side. Yet even that couldn't hold true.

One well timed blast in the shabby brick wall, curtesy of the twins, revealed her cowering in a smelly, damp cell. Margaret almost didn't recognize her. Bruised and cut everywhere but her legs, which were revealed only by the ripped hem of her dress, Rita looked like a small child as she cowered on the floor. She looked up at the hole that had just announced her freedom, bits of debris in her hair.

"'Bout time," She muttered, stumbling to her feet.

Margaret reached out to pull her through, just as shouts were heard around the corner.

"Isabelle could only hold them off for so long," said Oscar. "We better get to the docks."

Everyone nodded and took off running. They had become quite god at running in formation, ensuring they stayed together with speed and strength. The first officer came hurdling around a corner.

"Here! They've gone this wa-"

BANG. The man collapsed to the ground, his words lost to a scream as he clutched his bleeding leg. Margaret kept her pistol drawn, and the others followed suit.

"You always did have a thing for shooting people in the leg," Oswald commented.

"It's my signature shot," Margaret smiled over at him while she ran. There was neo a need to add "murder" to their list of crimes tonight. She wondered what her daughter would think if she ever found out what a gun-slinger her mother was. Maybe the child wouldn't have to know.

The dock was dark and empty, thankfully. Perhaps people had heard the shouting and went running. On the downside, the water was always the first place an escaped prisoner would go. Sure enough, a horde of officers came down the road after them. From around a corner, another figure raced towards them. Isabelle had caught up, but with two men on her tail.

"Nice night for a stroll!" She called, turning to shoot at the men while she ran backwards. They collapsed in a heap, but the rest of the armed officials were in hot pursuit. They had large rifles with bayonets, which they couldn't quite use while on the move. No, Margaret could see where this was heading. They would corner them at the docks and fire at will.

Time was still on their side. The dingy Barbossa had left them was at the far end, and Oscar was already untying it. In they shuffled, Isabelle jumping aboard just as they pushed off. And then, inevitably, the quiet night became riddled with gunshots.

Everyone ducked as low as they could, but they were still too close to shore. Oswald was rowing ferociously, while Margaret, Isabelle, and Oscar did their best to block him from the rain of bullets. They fired back at shore, but the only damage their short-range pistols accomplished was adding to the deafening cacophony. Rita managed to get hold of Oswald's piece and join in the shooting, but with little added benefit.

"I'm out," Isabelle said, chucking her empty gun aside.

"Go faster!" Oscar shouted.

"We're running for our lives, you really think I'm not going at top speed?" yelled Oswald. "ARGH!"

A bullet had pierced his shoulder. He dropped the oars and howled in pain. Oscar rushed to his aid, pressing down hard on the wound.

"Margaret," Rita's voice rose in panic. "They're wheeling out the canons. And a few are heading to the boats. We're not going to make it."

Margaret looked ashore and saw she was right. So much for justice; they really wanted to blow them out of the water. She looked at her wounded mate, and the fear in her friends' eyes. Then she saw the tip of a familiar bow, poking around the corner of a cliff in the not-to-distant distance. The Pearl was coming to meet them. Was it too late? Margaret threw her pistol down as well.

"Like hell we're not," She said, and grabbed hold of the sides of the boat. She rocked it back and forth until the sides began to rise out of the water. Rita caught on, and started to help.

"Are you crazy?" Isabelle shouted over the din.

"Absolutely!" Margaret said. "Oscar, hang onto your brother!"

After another minute of rocking, the dinghy finally gave in. They capsized tremendously, spilling out into the dark, murky abyss. Margaret resurfaced under the shallow breathing space the overturned boat provided. She was followed by the rest of her crew, who were all gasping and disoriented.

"Well," Rita coughed. "It'll provide us some cover. But how do we know which way to go?"

"The way we were pointing of course," Margaret said simply. And they began to swim. It was a lot to ask of their tired bodies, but they heard a cannon fire and their will to live pushed them forward. They could hang onto the seats and kick with their legs to move their awkward escape mechanism. Oswald was in agony, the saltwater stinging his fresh injury. Yet they persisted.

"I'm…I'm sorry, everyone. I got us into this mess," Rita panted out halfway through their journey. The sounds of rifles had subsided somewhat.

"We would've found ourselves in that mess sooner or later," Isabelle said gently.

Rita said nothing. Margaret knew she wouldn't be willing to accept forgiveness that easily. At that moment, the boat's hull began to rock. Voices could be heard above. They all looked at each other, certain that this was it. The officers had caught up to them.

But it was many pairs of grubby hands that lifted up the side of the dinghy, and familiar faces that greeted them from their own little boat, the base of The Pearl filling their entire background. They'd made it, somehow. Margaret wondered dully if it was luck after all that kept her alive.

Hector was already at the helm, sending the ship into fast motion the moment they had touched down onto the deck. Once they were well on their way, he handed off the wheel to his first mate and went to greet the gang of smugglers.

"That's some stir ye caused lass," He called to Rita as he approached. "But glad to see ye've not yet been killed."

"Thanks," Rita half smiled.

"This all of ye?" Hector looked around at the small group.

"Edmund elected to stay behind," Margaret said quietly. "The boy's got a life for himself there, and nothing to tie him to us."

"She tricked him, poor lad," Oscar said. "But mother knows best."

Yes, Edmund had wanted to join them in their escape but Margaret had sent him to the other side of the island with a false mission to occupy him. As he walked away from them, she could tell he knew he was being played. The fact that he didn't protest told her she was doing the right thing. He would be safe there. He wasn't meant for the harsh reality of a smuggler's life. They hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. She thought briefly that perhaps it was better that way, but with a jerk she remembered all the times she hadn't gotten to say goodbye and realized the cruelty behind it.

"Where to, then, captains?" Rita asked.

"To England, as per Smyth's request," Hector raised an eyebrow.

Rita rolled her eyes.

"We're escaping back to the place we first escaped from," She said. "Is the irony lost on everyone?"

"Not at all," Margaret replied with a sad smile.

"It'll be a fresh start!" Isabelle said brightly.

"I'd like a fresh bandage at the moment," Oswald winced, grabbing his shoulder. Fortunately the bullet had only grazed him, and though the wound was bloody there was no metal inside him. Oscar and Isabelle helped him get below decks. Before joining them, Rita turned to Margaret.

"Thank you," She breathed, wrapping her arms around her friend.

"If you thought for one second I would leave you to rot, you're an idiot," Margaret laughed in her ear.

Rita smiled shakily, then with a nod at Hector over Margaret's shoulder, she went off. Margaret and Hector faced each other, not entirely able to find words right away. The deck had become quiet again, which was a strange contrast to the bustle it had been not moments ago. But the ship was on the open ocean now, and St. Kitts but a speck in the distance and soon to be her memory.

She leaned over the side where Hector joined her, gazing out at the stars. There was a foggy haze blurring their view.

"Can't even see Carina," she murmured. "Not like the night we met."

"A lot's not like the night we met," Hector sighed. "Ye do understand, I hope, that it's a damn miracle none of ye were hurt worse?"

"I'm not a fool or a child, so stop treating me like one," Margaret snapped. "Of course I know that."

"I'm only sayin-"

"You're worried. Uncharacteristically so, I might add."

Hector chuckled and put his rough hand on hers atop the ship's rim.

"Yer here. That's what matters."

Margaret bit her lip as she looked at him.

"Hector, this could be my life, you know. Sailing with you. The others would be happy in England, but I…I could stay."

"Do ye remember Bootstrap Turner?"

It was not the response she was expecting.

"Yes…why?" She asked, taken aback.

"He had a son, a while back. His namesake. I don't reckon many pirates work as hard to keep their family safe as he did when he was part of me crew. But there ye have it. I didn't know about the kid 'til after we sent the man to the depths of hell. Out there was the child of a pirate who had no idea who he really was. Of course, he learned well enough when we needed the boy's blood and had to hunt him down, but those were unusual circumstances…"

"Would you have still killed him had you known about the child?"

"Yes," He answered truthfully. "That's why I keep thinking 'bout old Bootstrap. Have been ever since ye told me I was to be a father. How did he do it? How did he protect him all that time?"

"By keeping his distance," Margaret guessed ruefully. "You came to this conclusion for yourself?"

Hector gripped her hand tighter, looking into her eyes with genuine pain.

"A child by my name would only be in danger," He said. "Anywhere ye go on globe."

"Hector, I forbid you to abandon us," Margaret tried to steady her voice. "You can dump me in England, leave to seek your treasure, but you can never not come back to me. I'll go mad!"

"I'm only trying to think about what's noble, for once in my life!" said Hector, shaking. "Think about it, Smyth…were we even meant to be? You deserve far better than an old fiend like me."

Margaret stepped back, looking at the man she loved with a twist of anger and pity.

"Meant to be? Of course we're not 'meant to be', Hector. Is anyone? If we were, we'd be in a home right now. Our home, with a little bed and maybe a fire if we could afford it. But we're not, because…that's not who we are. The odds are ever working against us, they always have been, and yet somehow we managed to fall in love. Somehow we kept coming back to each other. No, not somehow. I know how. It was because we wanted to. In spite of everything. That's not 'meant to be'. That's choice."

Hector looked at her for a moment, then pressed her hand to his lips.

"I thought I'd give it another try. Bein' a man of honor and all… But if yer mind's made up, I'll never let ye go. Not if I have the choice."

He kissed her, and it felt as electrifying and sweet as mead. When they parted, Hector chuckled, returning to his usual playful aura.

"So what's the plan, dear heart? If ye have one?"

"I've thought it all out," Margaret said with a grin. "I'll open up a shop. Perhaps a flower or hat, something 'lady-like'. From there we'll conduct business, as no one would dare suspect anything unsavory from such a common place."

"Enticing," Hector ran his hands along her waist.

"You'll visit every chance you get. I'll have a beautiful yellow house with a view of the sea. We'll have nights of bliss and passion, so sublime you'll sometimes forget all about your ship."

"Isn't that a challenge," He chuckled.

"And we'll be happy. And we'll miss each other when we're away, but we'll be happy because we'll know the other is thinking of us."

"Too right ye are. I didn't know ye were such a dreamer, lass."

"It's not dreaming. Its only practicality," She pecked him on the cheek. "Just you wait. I'll show you."

And she did. And for a while, they would, in fact, be happy.