Disclaimer: Devils and black sheep, really bad eggs…

A/N: Apologies if you think you've read the first half of this before…

It hadn't been all that difficult a decision, in the end. The sun was warm, and the vessel rocked like a cradle. Squirrel sighed in contentment from where she lay, face turned towards the warmth, eyes closed and a smile about her lips. The wind was good, and the seas were still, and she was happy.

This was the way it was meant to be. Not how she'd dreamt it, but somehow so much better.

It had been strange to walk Tortuga's streets again, and she wouldn't have been able to without Sam walking beside her, keeping pace with her, keeping an eye on her, and being the hero he was. She found where her parents were buried, and visited their graves. They weren't buried in the vicinity of the hypocrisy of the empty church, but further out; in a part of Tortuga that was calm and peaceful and overlooked the sea. Squirrel was grateful that someone had understood her father and mother enough to do that for them. Ivy twined over one of the graves, a rosebush grew out of the other; the two plants mingled and climbed an old stone wall together, reaching for the sky. Squirrel left nothing behind on the gravestones, seeing the symbols of the flowers as being more fitting a remembrance for her parents than anything else. But she did leave a few tears for the dead, and was glad to.

Squirrel moved slightly, adjusting the way she was lying on the timbers, getting a little more comfortable.

It hadn't been as bad as she'd thought it to be, walking those streets again. The darkness wasn't as close, the panic didn't claw at her, and the old spectres of the past loomed no longer. Tortuga was nothing more than a port city now, no different to any other. It was done, and over, and she could move on with her life. And not at anyone else's orders, either, or pressured by thoughts or nightmares or desires to impress.

Squirrel smiled to herself, and gave another contented sigh. This was freedom; this was the life she'd wanted. Around her, there was the creak of timber, the slap of the rope, the gentle promises hissed by the foam. And it hadn't been all that difficult a decision to make. After all, she was a woman of the sea, and where better to find the freedom to plot her own course?

This was the life she'd always dreamed of. And now she was free enough to claim it for her own.

"Sleeping?"

"Just dozing," Squirrel told the shadow that fell over her, smiling. "Resting my eyes."

He came and sat down beside her, and ran a hand through her hair. "I see."

"I'll be up in a minute," she told him, having no intentions to do so now that he was here beside her. As if to reinforce her opinion, she was rewarded with a kiss on the forehead. She giggled and reached up to pull his loving face down, so that his lips would meet hers. He obliged.

"I was…"

"Wondering how I'm feeling?" She looked up at him. "I'm fine, really." She gave a deep sigh. "It was hard, at the time, but I'm glad it's over. I feel free."

"I see."

"I do feel bad about Gibbs, though. I know we had to leave him behind, but still…"

"Mmm."

Sensing this wasn't enough, Squirrel started to sit up on the steps where she was lying, to turn and look her man in the eye. "What's wrong?"

"… This decision," he said slowly, as though measuring every word carefully, "Even a good decision, made for the wrong reasons, can be a bad decision…" He looked at Squirrel, hazel eyes filled with concern. "Are yeh sure this is what yeh want?"

She frowned at him, confused. "Sam?"

The Irishman shrugged, looking a little sad. "A stór, from since I've known yeh, and long before, yeh've always been in love with Cap'n Jack Sparrow. An' I'm wonderin' if, maybe, you only decided t' stay with me because… because I…" He gave up trying to complete the sentence, and tried a different tack. "I wasn't yeh first choice, a stór, I knoo that. I mean, I'm glad yeh're here now, but is it really what yeh want?

"Yes." she told him simply. "Time passed, and I grew up. I'm still fond of Jack, Sam, as much as you can be fond of a legend. But you can never be happy with someone who is little more than that."

"But yeh still think of him."

"Of course. He's been a large portion of my life." She turned and looked out to sea, the wind teasing her hair. "But on every course I charted with him, it always seemed to point me elsewhere." She smiled at the Irishman. "To you."

Sam looked away briefly, then back. He was smiling, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "But yeh miss him, don't yeh?"

"Of course I will." She smiled wryly. "He was a man worth telling stories about. But its high time I had a life of my own, rather than playing a shadow in someone else's tale." She sighed, contentedly. "The world's just the right size that I'll see him again, Sam. I've no doubt of that. But I'm done chasing after him. I've my own life to lead… and it's not chasing after him anymore." Squirrel reached up to stroke the side of the Irishman's face. "You're here, Sam, you make me happy, and we want to spend the rest of our lives chasing the same dreams together." She smiled, blushing. "And as far as I'm concerned, that makes you perfect."

The Irishman looked insulted. "I am not." But then he grinned.

She laughed, then sobered. "There more's to life than just stories, Séamus Flynn." She pressed his hand to her lips. "Much more." She smiled fondly at him, then started to lay down again.

"Don't get comfortable, a stór," Sam said, gently slipping his leg out from under her head, "There's somethin' happenin' at the helm I think yeh need t' be a part of, First Mate Grey."

Squirrel smiled at the use of her title. "Help me up, then."

"Yeh're no cripple. Yeh can do it yehself."

"That's an order!"

Sam sighed wearily, then lightly picked Squirrel up and handed her the crutch. "Aye, m'lady, aye."

"Do I detect a hint of disrespect in your tone, Master Flynn? Being a little insubordinate, perhaps?"

He gave a wicked grin at her teasing. "With an arse like yours, how can I not be?" And he winked, prompting a short burst of giggles from Squirrel, before the two of them walked together across the deck.

"Gents, I give you… The fountain of youth!" Barbossa's proclamation was met with less enthusiasm than he'd expected. He held up the bamboo map, staring through the hole that had been cut through the heart of it. "Sparrow," he snarled, rolling his eyes in defeat.

"Oh dear," Squirrel called out as she got close, "Outfoxed again, Hector?" She shrugged. "That must hurt."

Barbossa was in no mood to play games. "One more word of out of you, Miss Grey, and ye'll be walkin' the plank!"

"Oh, come now, Captain," Sam stepped in, slipping an arm around Squirrel's waist. "What kind of a lookout would Squirrel here be if she didn't see this coming?"

Most of the crew went silent, doing only a pantomime of their chores in order to watch this exchange.

Barbossa stared for a long moment, looking between Squirrel and Sam with curiosity and suspicion. "What," he asked, keeping his tone as civil as possible, "Is it ye be sayin' there, Master Flynn?" The monkey climbed up on the railing to get a better look at Squirrel, and chewed on its tail.

"Well," Squirrel shrugged, shifting her weight off her crutch and onto her good leg, "He's saying that I just might possibly have made copies of the chart, and that these…" She pulled a collection of papers out from her pocket, "These just might be them…"

The monkey gave a screech and leapt at her, trying to grab the papers, and Barbossa himself went to the railing to grip the wood greedily.

"Ah ah ah!" Squirrel tucked the papers back in her pocket as the monkey leapt up onto her shoulder. She shook a finger at him admonishingly. "You're not getting them that easily." She smiled pleasantly at Barbossa.

"Is this the thanks I get?" Barbossa asked, burring in anger. "I made ye First Mate of the Black Pearl!"

Sam tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Yeh know, a stór, I seem t' remember a story about the First Mate of the Black Pearl a long while back…"

"Really? I think I've heard that one too. A different version, perhaps, but the same story."

The captain of the Black Pearl smiled amicably at her as he climbed down from the helm and stood before her. "Does our friendship count for naught, angel?" He asked, all hurt and sincerity as the monkey climbed up onto his shoulder and made big sad eyes at her.

"I can't sail a friend-ship," Squirrel retorted with a smile. "I want a ship of my own. Think you can catch me one?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes, sarcasm oozing from his words. "Oh, and I s'pose ye want t' be captain, too?"

"Naw," she shook her head and shrugged. "Not me. The power would go right to my head. I was thinking someone a little more… Irish." Sam smiled pleasantly at Barbossa, who scowled back. "Think about it, Hector," Squirrel said, getting his attention again. "Two ships, one flag. The makings of your very own pirate fleet."

Barbossa looked levelly at Squirrel, his expression unreadable.

Sam once again offered his opinion. "It's a win-win, Captain. And ye got to admit them's pretty decent winnings."

The captain closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out in a defeated and slightly irritated sigh. "… Fine." He held out his hand, scowling. "I'm beginnin' t' understand why it is that women are seen as bad luck aboard ships. Give them an inch and they take a mile."

"I love you too, Hector," she grinned as she shook his hand. "Head for Cuba, and let me know if you see a ship my size."