Our Own Reason

They were starting to get desperate.

The maelstrom had been raging on for nearly an hour now, and showed no sign of letting up—Calypso had a temper something fierce. The situation above deck on the Black Pearl was no different, as more and more enemy crewmen were swinging on board to finish off what remained of Sparrow and Barbossa's followers. Pintel was too tired to risk facing such a swarm of opponents, being the weary old man that he ultimately was, and Ragetti was just too overwhelmed by confusion to fight the onslaught himself. The fierce duo had somehow lost their usual battle swagger, and so they'd remained below deck to resume fighting the only other way they knew how to: with cannons.

"LIGHT IT!" the older man bellowed. Ragetti frantically complied and recoiled as the powerful blast sent the weapon rolling backwards. The two of them panted wildly as they grabbed hold of the giant gun, halting its backlash, and scrambled forward to load the next cannonball.

Ragetti looked anxiously from the iron barrel to Pintel and wheezed for breath. Panic was starting to take a toll on the lanky pirate, and he could see that his uncle was having an even worse time coping with it. Between the screaming and clashing of blades above them, the bitter stenches of sulfur and blood, and the constant, sickening feeling of the ship whirling about in that dizzy funnel, Pintel's shaky fingers could barely keep hold of the heavy ball he was lifting. Even so, the old sailor was anxiously trying to stay focused on his task; uncontrollable fear prevented him form thinking of anything else.

The younger pirate was taken back by this, and stopped to gaze at the floor as he tried to calm his breathing. Fear seemed to be the only thing either of them knew anymore.

Pintel whipped his head up to glance at Rags, then did a double-take when he realized the other was doing nothing to speed up the process. Now what was wrong with that daft sot?

"…Wot?" he asked impatiently. "Come on, help me! Rags, help me load the cannon!"

But Ragetti was oblivious to his shouting. All the narrow escapes they'd made, all the running and cowering that they'd done over the years from countless enemies…it was all coming back to him in that chilling instant. He and Pinters had always been cowards in the long and short of things, and every single last-minute action that they'd taken to postpone death had only made its looming presence terrify them all the more. Now, their blind scramble to stay alive had led them here, and Ragetti's searching eye could find no way out.

He stared drearily out the portal and swallowed hard with realization. "…We're gonna die 'ere." Somehow, just accepting their fate made this all seem easier.

Pintel sneered at his nephew's blatant surrender. "Well do me a favor and load the powder b'fore it 'appens!" he barked back sarcastically.

Ragetti lowered his head glumly, but did nothing. The older man's anger continued to flare for another second, but the emotion behind that sad prophecy soon registered with Pintel, and the pirate's hard expression grew resigned as well. A lump formed in his throat, and he slowly turned to glance out at the violence unfolding beyond their portal, his cannonball forgotten. "We might," he admitted dully.

Ragetti shifted in his kneeling position, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I didn't fink we'd go this way."

Oddly enough, this prompted a grim laugh from Pintel. "We're bloody pirates!" he said with an unpleasant smirk. "Wot other way'd you expect us to go? As a couple a' old land rats on our deaf'beds?"

The younger man quickly snapped out of his trance and shook his head. "No, it's not that. I mean…" His blue eye twitched back and forth in search of the right words. "…I just always 'fought there'd be more of a reason behind it than this."

Pintel stopped, taken back by this, then leaned forward. "More of a reason?" he echoed. His voice had grown softer, yet more scolding. "Rags, look out the window. That's our reason. We're fightin' for the sake of piracy—we're savin' it from Davy Jones and them big-wigged sots what're commandin' 'im. You 'eard Poppet givin' us all them words b'fore!"

Ragetti nodded again. "Aye, I did, I did. It's just that…" he looked down and shrugged, revealing his embarrassment. "I kinda 'fought we'd 'ave our own reason b'hind it all, like we always done for everyfing else."

A moment passed, and the older warrior understood. "Ah… So it's 'wot shall we die for,' then?"

They both fell silent in thought, preparing for what could be their last argument.

Ragetti had the first idea. "What 'bout Cap'n Jack? Should we die for 'im?"

Pintel paused to consider this, but then shook his head. "Nah; we already done sumfin' for Sparrow's sake, and 'e weren't exactly brimmin' wif gratitude for it."

"True…"

Another silence.

Pintel glanced up at the ceiling. "The Pearl, maybe?"

Ragetti frowned. "I dunno." He began to look around at the warm interior surrounding them, taking in all the memories that it had to offer. "It seems too selfish, dyin' for a ship that we've been tryin' t'steal all these years. And she'll probably go down wif us too in all this anyways. Everbody'd just forget about 'er then." Their entire purpose would be in vain if that happened.

Pintel nodded in reluctant agreement. "So nuffin' of that sort, then. …But wot's left?"

For a long time, neither of the pair said anything. There seemed to be no answer for them, no person or object that seemed deserving enough for such a sacrifice. Their silence lingered for almost a minute, filled by the raging battle outside. Finally, a flicker of hope appeared on Ragetti's face, and he looked up.

"Poppet."

Pintel blinked. "Wot?"

Ragetti turned to hold his gaze. "Wot about for Poppet? And Turner?"

"Wot happened to 'nuffin' that could die wif us'?"

"No no no, not just them. I means all the Turners and Poppets."

When this failed to remove the confused look from Pintel's face, Ragetti tried to explain further. He turned more fully towards his uncle and rested his gaunt hands on the cannon. "They didn't want to be a part of this; they tried to avoid it and live regular lives on shore, but they got dragged into all this mess same as the rest of us who was lookin' for it. And now those two ain't gonna end up together 'cause of all this." Another note of sadness came to his voice. "They was just s'posed to be innocent bystanders."

Pintel swallowed back his sorrow and let his attention turn inward "…So we's dyin' in the name of all the innocent ones," he summarized quietly.

Ragetti nodded.

Pintel dwelled on this thought, then bobbed his head in return. "I could do that."

His younger mate reached over the cannon then, gently holding out a hand. "For the Turners?"

The grizzled pirate eyed the narrow fingers profoundly, then reached over and took them. "And the Poppets."

That said, Ragetti stood, helping Pintel up as he did so. Then the two turned and abandoned their cannon, fingering their sword hilts, and trudged towards the steps leading above deck with Barbossa's mischievous monkey in toe. They were going to make their final stand—as true men should.

But as they emerged onto the rain-soaked deck, still clinging mostly to the darkness below them, their tensed gazes caught something that stopped them dead in their tracks.

Two figures stood just beyond them, completely surrounded by the fray of battle and yet untouched by it. Pintel and Ragetti both gawked at the pair, and then their grim faces softened as one. It was Will and Elizabeth—wrapped tightly in a kissing embrace.

For a moment, neither of the two pirates said anything, preferring to simply watch the young lovebirds in this single moment of warmth. Ragetti had been wrong; the odds were against them, their enemies were closing in, and Will and Elizabeth's own plans and motives had nearly destroyed their trust for each other…and yet there they were, together after all. This maelstrom battle didn't have to mean the end of the line for them. In fact, it didn't have to mean the end of the line for anybody.

Gripping the edge of the floorboards beneath his chin, Ragetti smiled and silently admitted his error. There was always a first time for everything.

The touching moment would have continued just a little longer, had it not been for the presence of a tiny but obnoxious Capuchin monkey seated beside the ragged duo. Jack the Monkey chattered loudly as it glanced around at the stormy setting, and instantly averted Pintel and Ragetti's attention. The two looked equally indignant as they glanced down at the hairy little pest, but in that ungrateful instant, the same idea crept into their scheme loving heads, and the smiles returned. This time, however, they were nothing but devious.

Ragetti's arm shot sideward and quickly latched onto the furry little head, and behind him, Pintel turned to hurry back below deck.

They were returning to their cannon to fight—with some special ammunition in hand.

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