Jack and I wandered through the blackened streets of Saint Martin, both of us were soaking wet from the pouring rain that represented Jack's current mental state. My patience was exceeding my expectations, but I was not sure how much longer I could go on. Going back home, where I was sentenced to be executed, was looking better and better with every bottle of rum that Jack drank.

"The gallows or Jack... the gallows or Jack... the gallows... or Jack," ran through my head. I could not meet with Gibbs and the rest of the crew because I had no idea where they were going, and I was not certain if I could handle being with Scrum for another second. That man was always getting on my nerves.

Jack muttered to himself drunkenly, "think Captain's Jack's washed up, eh? I've not had a wash in years."

His face was somber, and I could tell that he knew that the crew was right about him. He nearly tripped over a cobblestone, and gripped my arm for balance. The touch that once pumped me full of desire was now nothing more to me than dirty fingers.

"I know," I said once he caught his footing. I tried to cheer him up by joking with him, "do you know how long it took me to get used to your smell?"

Jack continued ambling, but I could hear his boots scuffing on the rocky cobblestones below. He produced a guttural noise in his throat as a response.

I said to him, "you should know that I don't blame you for your bad luck."

"Thank you, dear. Wait, why would you blame me?"

"I don't," I shrugged.

"Me ears aren't as good as they used to be," he said.

"I said, I do not," I restated louder and clearer.

"Well, good, because I don't blame you," he said with a nod.

"Well, obviously," I said, immediately hearing the sarcasm and regretting it.

"Uh, now I'm starting to feel the blame."

"Well, when a door closes—"

"A window will open. But should we answer it?" Jack asked, trying to sound philosophical.

"You don't answer windows," I interrupted him.

"Oh, how fun for you. Jack made a little mistake," he snapped.

I looked up just in time to see some British officers up ahead and I grabbed Jack's arm to get him to stop walking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him snap his head at me in confusion, then drunkly swirl his head toward the soldiers that were marching on the cobble streets.

"Check the alley down there!" A soldier called out.

Still clung to his arm, Jack began running to a nearby fence, yanking me along in the process. As he was putting his empty bottle down on the ground so he could use both of his hands to aid in jumping, I hopped over the fence with ease.

"Grasshopper," Jack snarled at me.

"Let's go!" I pleaded. I hoped that the soldiers would not be able to see him. I've put up with Jack for a great portion of my life, but I was more than willing to bolt the other way and leave him if I had to.

Jack slowly climbed up on top of the wooden fence, one foot at a time. I squinted at him through the rain, feeling the heavy water soak through my black coat and my hair flatly clung to my face. He stood up straight on the fence, yelping as he tried to balance on the rickety wood. I stepped back and nearly tripped over a pig. I looked down and my boots were covered in mud. I shook my foot to try to fling the sludge off before looking back at Jack, who was waving his arms considerably as he tried to balance himself.

He finally gave up and said flatly, "bugger," as he fell face first into the pigsty. The mud and dung flew as I jumped back to avoid it, but it completely caked Jack head to toe.

I shook the mud that landed on my hand and said through gritted teeth, "bahh... degueulasse," as the mud started to drip off from the rain. I looked down at Jack with severe disappointment in my eyes, and in my vexation I grabbed his shoulder to pull him up. He grabbed the compass that had jumped from his pocket and stood up. He started staggering toward lit window of a tavern that was ahead and I ran in front of him to stop him.

"Move," he scowled, trying to shoo me away with his hands.

"Not until you've listened to me," I barked at him.

He looked a little taken back, for I had done my best to stay calm around him until now. His eyebrows came together and he squinted at me with a snarl of his lip as he swayed in his stance. "Go on, then."

"Don't make me say it, Jack, I know you're not as dumb as you seem," I groaned, hoping that he could catch on to my tone.

"Well, let's just say that I am," he responded, tilting his head up while looking down at me.

My combination of annoyance and exasperation finally bubbled up and I could not hold myself back, "you are a pathetic excuse for a pirate."

Jack blinked. "That's harsh."

"J'en peux plus de toi. You're full of rum and self-pity. A stupid, sorry, parasitic sack of entrail," I continued, "a pitiful, spineless, pasty, bloated..."

"Annie," he interrupted me, "your point?"

"Where did your enthusiasm go?" I asked. "You were so lively and determined when I first met you. Lately, you have been going crazy. And I have a very high tolerance for crazy people."

"My enthusiasm in those days was fueled entirely by the alcohol. Which reminds me, I'm going off to drink me onsie to death."

I knew I should probably deal with this, but I sighed, "okay."

Jack's eyebrows rapidly came together. "What the bloody hell do you mean, 'okay'?!"

"You've betrayed me, your crew—" I began.

"Want to talk about betrayal?" He slurred, "how about when somebody steals a boat and takes it for themselveses?"

I rolled my eyes, "that was years ago. Let it go."

"Never," he spat. He removed his pistol from his belt and pointed it at me.

"That's cheating," I told him.

"Pirate," was all he said.

I didn't move and I watched him squint at me as he flailed the gun in every direction, not able to keep the barrel straight. He groaned, "how can I shoot you if you keep moving?"

"How can you go from being one of the most formidable pirates in the Caribbean to... to this?!" I gestured to him, and he looked down at himself and took a step to regain his balance. He was a wreck.

"What's it to you?" He slurred and shoved the pistol back in his belt.

"I have tried to be true to you, Jack," I sighed in anguish, the rain was beating on my skull and the heavy drops were running down my face. I squinted at him to avoid getting raindrops in my eyes as I said, "but I can't do it anymore. For years, I followed your every whim and somehow managed your increasingly erratic moods. I have supported you when the crew was worried about your judgement. But now, I'm done. If I am going to sail under someone who's not me, it'll be someone with a straight head."

"My head is straight!"

"Jack, you need your compass just to find your own hands!"

Jack stared at me with fury in his dark eyes and his nose flaring with each breath. He must have been able to see in my eyes that I was restless, and the time had come for me to leave. His eyebrows scrunched over his eyes, making more wrinkles then I've ever seen on his face. I could smell the alcohol that lingered on him. He was disheveled and hollow-eyed.

"Belay that tongue. A remark spoken like that... could raise a man's blood now, could it not?" He asked rhetorically while tilting his nose up at me. "One thing old Jack Sparrow don't take kindly to... it's them sort of 'insinuendos'. Come to think of it, I don't care for the cut of your jib, neither. If this were up to me, I'd choose myself a companion—a hearty companion—with a little blood on her sleeve, and a predilection for rum, for song, and for the occasional wench. But what have I got? Hmm? I've got a shindly little bossy lass."

I continued, "I don't need you, Jack. I can't take this anymore."

"Well, you might have to."

"I am not going to stand by and watch you kill yourself," I said.

Jack paused for a moment before he said, "you're welcomed to sit, if you like."

"No. You promised to show me the moon, Jack. Do you remember that? You promised to throw a noose over it and bring it down. Now— now I will leave you alone and maybe you'll realize what you will miss. Because this is not what I want. Tu me gaves."

"Don't upset yourself," he said.

"No, you are upsetting myself!"

It was hard to let him go, and I knew it was harder for him to let me go. We had grown very close, but I had to be who I was made to be, and being by the side of a drunk is not who I am. Just once I wanted someone to be afraid of losing me, but Jack's only fear was losing himself or his ship. I know where his compass pointed, and it wasn't to me.

Jack would always be a huge influence in my life, and he would always be in my heart. With my luck, we would probably meet again somewhere down the road, so this was not goodbye.

"Fine," Jack said furiously and pushed me out of his way as he stumbled to the tavern. I could hear him muttering to himself about how he didn't need anyone.

There was an emptiness in my chest and I wanted to scream as loud as my lungs would let me, but I could not afford to pull any attention to myself. I found a nearby bench, which I sat down on and put my head in my hands. The cold rain had soaked through my clothes which made me shiver. I did not have a plan, nor a ship. Jack had more connections than me, although most of them were negative. I did not need Jack, I could figure this out by myself.

Narrator's POV

Meanwhile, in the tavern, Jack stumbled in and was immediately greeted by seeing his own and Annette's wanted posters on the wall. His face fell as he saw the reward for his capture went from €100, to €50, then €10, to finally €1. Still covered in mud and unrecognizable, he looked offended. He stared at Annette's wanted poster, even more offended that she was worth considerably more for her capture than him.

Jack's vision was blurry, but he stared at the eyes of her poster, inspecting the realistic ink drawing. The anger from her speech toward him resurfaced and he snarled at the poster, "what are you looking at?"

The barkeep behind the bar counter asked, "what will it be?"

Jack turned to the bar. His mouth was mushed by rum but he slurred to the man, "may I please have a drink, please?"

The barkeep said, "show me your silver."

"Silver?" Jack asked, briefly patting himself down and realized that he had nothing left. The devil danced in his pockets. He slowly looked down at his compass, which has never left his side. He had never given it away willingly, but he looked at it for a long moment. Jack peered up at the bartender and said, "how about a trade? Give me the bottle," and he smacked the compass on the wooden counter.

Instantly, everything started to rumble and shake around them. Jack raised his hands in surrender. The silverware on nearby tables and mugs and food were shaking, as if it was an earthquake. Bottles shook off shelves and shattered on the ground, and the compass was dancing in the table. 

Jack reached for the compass, but the barkeep snatched it and put a bottle in its place. He tossed the compass into a bowl behind him, full of other valuables that people have traded for alcohol. Jack watched as the needle of the compass spun slowly.

The rumbling stopped, and Jack picked up the bottle and held it up. He grinned woozily, "pirates life," and stumbled back out into the rain.

Annette's POV

I looked up from having my head in my hands when I heard the tavern door hinges creak. I sighed when I saw that it was Jack, holding a new bottle of rum in his hand. It was still raining, and I figured that I would rather just spend one more night with Jack and abandon him in the morning, because the crew usually huddled on the Dying Gull at night. I did not want to be forbidden to board for shelter. I was sure that a quick apology would suffice.

I started walking up to Jack as I heard him say, "come to daddy," as he brought the bottle up to his lips.

The sound of a gunshot made me jump, and Jack's bottle shattered and fell out of his hands. My head snapped in the opposite direction, and I saw troops headed toward us.

"Oh, merde," I said and tried to turn to run, but was met by more guards who surrounding us with guns. I backed up and accidentally bumped into Jack.

"Just the man we've been looking for," I heard. I spun around to see Mayor Dix approaching us.

Dix is the mayor of this town of Saint Martin, on the island of the same name. He was the man who opened the vault and saw Jack passed out in the money, with his wife. He has blue eyes and wore a short grey wig under his fancy hat.

"Why? Why am I looked for?" Jack asked. He had a double-take when he looked at me and said, "hey, Annie! When did you come back?" Then he said to Mayor Dix, "did you know that she's the Pirate King?"

"Shut up, Jack," I said firmly.

"I'll handle this, darling," Jack said but I was not reassured in the slightest. He faced Mayor Dix and said, "we kindly tell you to piss off. We both think you're a bloody wanker who is just far too consumed with us. We—"

My eyes grew wide. "Stop with the foutus 'we', shit!"

"Let it be known that the pirates, Jack Sparrow and Annette Levasseur, will be executed at dawn," Mayor Dix said, shackling me and Jack in irons. He glared at us, so I knew that Jack's riveting speech did not help matters whatsoever.

"Executed?!" Jack asked. "I will never set foot in this town again, sir. You mark my words."

"Dead now, you cur," a soldier said as they carried us off. We had one guard on each arm, dragging us down the street.

"I do mean it, you know. I shall never be back here again, Annie will remind me," Jack said loudly.

"Jack, I mean this with all my heart..." I said as we were being led away, "I hate you."

AN: What would be on your flag if you were captain?
I like Jack's flag of the skull with crossed swords under it! Simplicity would be ideal