a/n: As ever, I do not own PotC.

Epilogue:

Tortuga looked different.

Ana had only been there once before, in another lifetime, back when she still loved a husband long dead and a certain wily pirate captain had only been a colorful memory. Still, she could not help but think that the town had changed, somewhat. It didn't look like such a rough and tumble haven for the lawless. It didn't look so foreign. She had a vague sense that she was coming home. Splashing in the shallow water, still wearing the mens boots and breeches that she had stolen from Prescott's ship, she walked to the shore while Callaghan dragged the boat up on to the beach. Her long black hair whipped in the wind and she tucked the pistol into her belt. A few times in the past, Jack had told her that she looked or acted like a pirate, she might as well embrace the fact.

"Have a plan now, do you?" Callaghan asked, once he seemed satisfied that the small craft would not float back out to the sea from whence it came.

Ana didn't really know how to answer the Irishman, not that she owed him any kind of answer. Still, a plan would be nice, whether or not she decided to share it with a mercenary. She did not think she could return to Kingston. Ana's dark skin and native mother had never really been accepted in the upper crust society of the town. Only her very heroic British Navy Captain brother had allowed her to mingle with the proper citizenry. Later, her very wealthy British Navy Captain husband had helped further, but her husband was dead and, as far as anyone knew, so was Prescott. In the past few months, she had been courted by a very well to do British Navy Admiral, but, as was becoming a morbid custom with men in Ana's life, he also was dead. So, she would go back to the fringes, to having to pretend she didn't see the sidelong glances or hear the gossiping words. She would have to go back to an empty house and start again from square one. Ana sighed deeply.

Callaghan chuckled softly, taking her sigh as an answer. "Follow me," he offered her his arm, "I'll take you somewhere so you can figure things out."

Raising her brow, Ana hesitantly took hold of the mercenary's forearm. Not really the kind of company she wanted to be keeping any longer than she had to, but aside from seeing Prescott's ship in the harbor, she had no where else to go and no one else to see. The Irishman winked and walked purposefully into the nearest tavern. Sliding into a table by the window, he motioned for one of the serving girls. "Whiskey," he said simply, when a particularly buxom redhead appeared beside the table.

The woman's eyes fell to Ana, "How 'bout you, Miss?" she asked.

"Oh," Ana was caught almost completely off guard, "I don't really need -"

"Make it two," Callaghan interrupted.

The redhead turned to leave. "No," Ana spoke up, stopping the woman's exit. "I'll have rum." The serving girl nodded and was back with two drinks in moments.

The Irishman smiled lifting his glass, "To making plans … or not," he toasted, downing his drink in one swallow, as though he'd had nothing to drink for weeks from the look of satisfaction on his face.

Ana raised her own glass, trying not to notice the fact that it probably had not been washed since the last time it had been drunk from. "To making plans that are better than the ones I've tried so far," she said. The Irishman nodded, apparently accepting her toast. Ana took a breath and tossed back the rum, mimicking Callaghan. The spicy liquid splashed in her mouth, coating and burning her throat in a slightly painful though not wholly undesirable sensation.

The mercenary held two fingers in the air, swirling them in a circular motion which called for another round. "To the plans we've tried so far," he said, "and mistakes made."

"Mistakes," Ana echoed, again raising her glass. "Mistakes made once, never to be repeated."

Setting her glass down on the tabletop slightly harder than she'd meant to, Ana watched the Irishman do the same. He once again called for another round, but this time he did not raise his glass. He sipped the amber liquid and stayed silent. Regarding the paid killer that she was fraternizing with, Ana sighed and sipped her own drink. "Do you have siblings?" she asked him suddenly.

Callaghan regarded her over the rim of his glass. Ana thought his gray eyes softened ever so slightly. "I'm Irish," he replied. "What do you think?" She smiled. "Two older sisters," he replied. "Two younger, and one younger brother."

"I have two big brothers," Ana mused. "Their mother died and their father came to Jamaica. He married my mother. Then, she died. He died. My brother, Findley, died. My husband died. My maid Sarah died. Prescott and I … we're all that's left." Ana stared into her dirty glass of rum, not meeting Callaghan's eyes. She didn't know why she told him that. Her life sounded so bleak when laid out in such simple terms. Her life. What life? There was nothing left of her life. She only had one remaining relation, her perfect big brother, a man she hardly knew anymore. For years, Prescott had been a constant in her ever changing world. He had protected her, taught her, and loved her. He'd been the one to give her away at her wedding and the one to stand beside her at the memorial service for her dearly departed husband. He'd watched over her for as long as she could remember and had even saved her life a time or two. In her eyes, Captain Sir Prescott Tarret had been the kindest, most honorable man in the world. Now, she couldn't be sure of anything, not even him. Draining the glass of the sweet, spicy liquor, Ana finally raised her eyes.

The Irishman stared back at her levelly. "Just because he isn't exactly who you thought, doesn't mean he isn't the same man he's always been," Callaghan said, somehow knowing exactly where her thoughts had wandered. "There really isn't any such thing as right and wrong," he went on. "There's only what a man can do and what he can't. Do you know who told me that?" Ana shook her head. How could she possibly know who passed such pearls of wisdom to a mercenary. He smiled a small, sad smile. "Your brother."

Ana returned his sad smile, allowing hers to widen slightly at the thought of her big brother. He had said those words to her a time or two in his life. When she accused him of being overly heroic or brave, he would always remind her that he simply did his duty and let the chips fall where they may. She had no doubt that he'd said those very same words to crewman, friends and enemies alike. She didn't know which category the Irishman fell in to, but as long as Prescott knew then she would simply have to trust that he knew what he was doing. "So, what are you going to do now," she asked, as the Irishman called for yet another round of drinks. "Sail that little boat into the mist and never be seen nor heard from again?" she asked, mimicking the way her nursemaid used to tell ominous stories of brigands yet uncaught.

"I'll go where there's gold, just as I always have," the silver haired mercenary said. "As for that tiny boat, she's yours. You commandeered her fair and square."

Ana laughed, actually laughed. "I suppose I did, didn't I?" she giggled. "I guess maybe I'm a pirate after all." Ana knocked back her final glass of rum. She had left Kingston under cover of night and stowed away on a Navy ship to catch a dastardly villain. Her life in proper society was over and now she was in a pub in Tortuga sharing drinks with a paid killer and contemplating life with a notorious pirate, and that, she supposed, she could life with.

88888

Tortuga looked different. Different than expected anyway.

Lieutenant Billings could not help but stare in wide eyed wonder at the fabled pirate haven. He was not sure exactly what he thought he would find here, but in all reality, Tortuga did not look unlike Kingston, Port Royale, Nassau or any of a dozen other ports of call that he had visited during his time in the King's Navy. There were no pointy tailed demons carrying pitchforks and breathing fire, no loose women plying their trade in the streets. As he ascended the main road, the former Navy man passed shops, homes, a smithy, a cooper and he could have sworn he even saw a steepled church set high upon the hill overlooking the town proper. There were taverns and pubs aplenty, each probably filled with pirates and smugglers, but Billings suspected any of these colorful people could have walked down the streets in a "respectable" British settlement and not drawn undue attention.

Only steps ahead, strode two men who would demand attention, on any street in any town. Jack Sparrow … Captain Jack Sparrow was a well known pirate throughout the colonies, and also, it would seem, among the varied citizens of Tortuga. Billings shook his head as women followed the pirate with eyes filled with either intrigue or murderous rage. Those kinds of stories Jack told, at least, seemed to be true. Beside the pirate, Sir Prescott Tarret walked with the same air of authority that the one time Admiral had always employed. He walked not only like he was supposed to be there, but also like a man who expected people to stand aside and make way for him. Not so surprisingly, that was exactly what people did. A few seemed to notice that Sir Prescott was minus one appendage, but mostly women smiled shyly and men tipped their hats. Captain Tarret, a revered hero of the British Navy, was now a revered hero of people from every nation and every walk of life.

In stark contrast, no one seemed to spare a second glance for Billings himself. He no longer wore his lieutenant's uniform, for obvious reasons, but he had expected to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. He had expected men and women to be wary of the all to clean cut stranger parading through the rough and tumble pirate town. What he was currently experiencing was an anonymity unlike anything he could have imagined. He could find a room in any inn or passage on any ship and utterly disappear.

"Mr. Billings," Captain Tarret had stopped in front of an inn called the Scarlet Fever. "After everything that has happened, I do not hold you to your previous agreement. I know the proprietor of this particular inn, and I know you'll be welcome as long as you like." The former Navy captain paused. "Captain Sparrow will set about refitting Loyalty and then we will embark to find my sister. Agreeing to join a pirate crew and actually joining one are two entirely different things. Consider carefully your future Lieutenant. I will respect your decision, no matter what it is."

Billings nodded stiffly. Captain Tarret was providing him with an opportunity to walk away from the criminal life he had so willingly accepted only days ago on Boothe's island. He could have any life he wanted, go anywhere he wanted. "When Loyalty sails," he heard his voice answer. "I sail with her." He always thought that he loved his country, and joined the Navy because of that love. Truthfully, though, he loved the sea. After what he had done, he could never return to the Navy, so he would have to return to his beloved blue mistress as a pirate. And that, he decided, he could live with.

88888

Tortuga looked different.

Standing in the main thoroughfare in front of one of dozens of pubs, he realized that he finally regarded this off color pirate haven as his home. Glancing at the man, pirate, who stode beside him, he wondered at how far he'd come from his life as a respectable man in English colonial society. "Sounds like ol' Mr. Billings is going t' stay," the pirate said, regarding Prescott with dark eyes.

"Sounds that way," Prescott answered. He almost felt guilty about taking a promising officer from a decent life in the Royal Navy, but Billings was a grown man capable of making his own decisions, even if those decisions made him a traitor to the Crown.

"Going after Ana then, are we?" Jack asked, sounding just slightly surprised by Prescott's previous comment as to their plans.

He could still see his baby sister standing in his cabin with her hands on her hips calling him out for selling his soul and becoming the kind of man that he'd always hunted. He remembered seeing something change in her eyes. She no longer looked at him as an adoring younger sibling who trusted her elders to any end. She looked at him as a fallible human being who didn't realize how far he'd fallen. He quirked a small smile. Fact was, he did know how far he'd fallen. How close he'd come to making Black Charlie Boothe scream for mercy the way Prescott himself had begged. He'd gone to bed with a mercenary and watched that mercenary ruthlessly kill an Admiral and a decent man, according to Annie. He'd burned all his remaining bridges with a man who was once his closest friend and he'd done all those things to save his own skin. Where was the hero of the Gazette now?

"What makes you think she isn't aboard Interceptor and halfway back to Jamaica by now?" Jack went on, when Prescott didn't immediately answer.

"She's through with Jamaica," Prescott said, "as it's through with her, I imagine. Besides, I expect she jumped into the damned jolly boat with Callaghan, intent on repaying him for his crimes."

Jack raised an eyebrow at the implications of that statement. "Then, wha' makes ye think she isn't dead already?"

"As much as you don't like the man, Jack," Prescott began. "He will have killed Boothe, the moment he had the chance, but he won't have killed Annie."

"What makes ye think she didn't kill 'im?"

"Is this an interrogation, Captain Sparrow," Prescott turned on his friend, eyes darkening somewhat.

"Does it need to be, Captain Tarret," Jack answered, matching his glare.

Before Prescott could answer, the sunlight glinted off of the gold cross that hung from the pirate Captain's neck. He found himself transfixed by the tiny pendant …

"Hang on Fin," Prescott's voice trembled slightly as he held his hands over his baby brother's wounded body, blood spilling too fast from between his fingers. "Hang on little brother, we'll get you home."

The battle was finished. Victorious cries from the second vessel, now boarded, told Lieutenant Tarret that in the eyes of the Royal Navy, they'd won. But, as he watched the ship's surgeon shake his head sadly and move on to the crewmen he could actually help, Prescott knew he'd lost. Kneeling on the deck, holding his dying brother tight to his chest, he could feel what must be rain drops on his face, though the sun still shone. "Hang on," he said again, softer, for he knew Findley could no longer hear him. His brother's hand, the one that had been clutching his own wrist, was loosening. His brother's blood was slowing to a sluggish trickle. His brother's bright blue eyes, were closing. His brother's frantic breathing was stilled.

Slowly rising from the bloodied deck, Prescott pulled his arm from his dead brother's grasp revealing the tiny gold cross that Findley had been holding. Wiping the sleeve of his uniform jacket roughly across his face, he took the cross and put it over his head, tucking it beneath his shirt so that the pendant dangled next to the larger silver one that he already wore. Annie had given Fin that cross and no one but his brother would ever wear it.

"Scotty?" Jack's hand was on his one remaining shoulder, all traces of anger gone from his face and replaced with familial concern.

Prescott shook his head slightly, dispelling heartbreaking memories that still haunted his dreams. "Well, if she killed the Irishman and managed to sail the jolly boat to Tortuga all on her own then we'll see her walking up this very street any minute and all of our problems will be temporarily solved," he said, grinning. "If not, then we sail as soon as Loyalty is ready."

Jack mirrored his grin. "Aye, aye, Captain," he said genially.

Nodding, Prescott left Jack on the street and entered the Scarlet Fever pausing in the doorway to give his eyes time to adjust. In only moments, the bar's red hair proprietor was rushing to his side, her eyes wide with worry and, he thought, love. He let her lead him to her rooms upstairs, fussing all the while as though he hadn't just sailed across the Caribbean sea under his own steam. He listened to her as she chided him for being such a damned reckless pirate all the while going on about how happy she was to see him safely home again.

Admiral Sir Prescott Tarret was a privateer who called a dusky hued lady of the night love, Jack Sparrow brother, and Tortuga home. He could live with that.

88888

Tortuga looked different every time he came ashore.

Sometimes haven and refuge, sometimes welcoming, sometimes not. Always temporary. Temporary until, that is, he saw a dark skinned woman in trousers walking up the main road her eyes fixed on his. The rowdy town, looked exceedingly different with her in it.

Her eyes were so dark as to be almost black. She'd laid those eyes on him many year ago without his realizing, but he would never forget the first time he stared into her glittering eyes and knew without question that she was no ordinary woman. He had chosen her palatial home at random, intending to relieve whoever lived in that home of some gold and be on his way. Instead, he'd met Anamaria Tarret and his life had been changed completely.

"Jack," she said, as she approached the spot where he still stood, rooted to the ground where Scotty had left him. "Thank God, I thought I'd have to search all night to find you."

The pirate shook his head as if to clear muddled thoughts. "How?" was all he could seem to say.

Ana half rolled her eyes and snorted quietly. "I did a bloody stupid thing," she said, self deprecatingly, "but, here I am."

"The Irishman?"

The lady shrugged. "I didn't kill him and he didn't kill me. I suppose you could say we struck up a truce," that last statement was punctuated by a hiccup and a sardonic laugh.

If Jack didn't know any better he would guess Ana had been at the rum. Tilting his head to one side, he regarded the woman thoughtfully. For so long, the wily pirate had thought his heart buried, but since that night years ago when he had attempted to rob Ana and she ended up saving his life, he might of let himself fall just a little bit in love with her. She smiled back at him, seeming to read his thoughts, and took his face between her hands and kissed him full and long in the middle of the busy street.

He let his eyes close, wrapped his arms around Ana and kissed her back. The black heart of a pirate perhaps was not so dead after all. He did not know what he could offer this tremendous force of nature before him, but he would endeavor to be worthy of her and only hope that she could live with that.

88888

It looked different than he expected, he mused as he examined the contents of the small package that had come in the morning post. It was an extremely large gemstone to be sure, deep blood red in color and sparkling in the soft light of his study, but James Norrington had almost hoped that the treasure that had sparked the events of the past weeks would be somehow larger, somehow more than this walnut sized stone in his hand. This, he presumed, was the long lost Heart of Captain Morgan. This was what Jack Sparrow and Prescott Tarret had been searching for. This was what Black Charlie Booth had laid claim to. This was what a band of Irish mercenaries had killed for. And, he supposed, this was what an Admiral had died for.

Fingering the stone, he picked up the small card that was the only other content of this morning's parcel. The card was stamped with a red wax seal, bearing a skull and one arm holding a strange curved sword … a left arm.

Capt. James Norrington,

I owe you a debt that no earthly wealth can ever begin to repay, not even this. Whatever ill will you bear towards me is entirely justified, and as we both know, well earned. Only know that a privateer I am, in the service of England till my last breath and should you ever need a low friend in a high place …

Your Friend Still,

Prescott

To say that explaining the events of the past weeks to Admiralty was difficult was a fantastic understatement. The Admiral in the West Indies was dead. Boothe had escaped. Callaghan had escaped. Tarret had died, or so he'd thought. Thank the good Lord no one really knew that Sparrow and a woman had ever been involved in the first place. His story was the stuff of fiction, but, at least, Sir George, Lieutenant Gillette and most of the crew corroborated the fool's tale.

The Lords at Admiralty could not reasonably be expected to give Delaney's flag to James, but there was the new governor in Port Royale who insisted upon a fleet led by no less than a Commodore and that perhaps they could reasonably give to him. Pulling on the new dress uniform coat complete with more brocade than was ever necessary and the gold lace epaulettes bearing the cross, two stars and anchor of his newly promoted rank James nodded to his reflection in the mirror. He had not been reprimanded for the debacle that this mission had become. Instead, he'd been promoted and given a commission to eradicate piracy in the Caribbean. He could live with that.

The End

If I had only known when I began this story that I would finish it nine years later ... I cannot believe how long this one took but I hate to leave something unfinished. Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing and I hope that when my muse strikes again it works a bit faster :)