Chapter Text
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Seth was buried on a quiet morning.
The island was quaint. Small and nonchalant unlike the man himself. The gunners dug the hole as the crew watched from above, the orange flag at half-mast. They drank bottle after bottle, nipping at the threshold that kept them walking straight. Foxes descended when Damien waved them down, Neil carried to the sand by a thick spout.
Andrew doused half of the crew with water, funeral be damned.
“Oh, he would’ve loved this,” Matt mused, raising his bottle.
Dan took a swig. “He’d punch anyone that bothered to cry.”
Seth was lowered carefully into the hole, his shroud fresh and layered with more patchwork. The edges pastel, coloured with care. Each gunner dropped a cannonball at every corner of the grave, chanting as they did. Neil stood at the head, his hat sitting high, featherless, Allison beside him, the necklace tucked neatly under her shirt.
Each Fox took turns pouring ale into the grave, even Andrew poured a trickle. The shock was gone, the wave of grief having passed with it. All that was left was the taste Seth had left in their mouths, and the space his hammock used to hang. His memory would live on through the gunners, and Allison’s wicked tongue.
Neil swallowed down a wad of spit. He’d been dreading to speak. A week to prepare was entirely too long and entirely too short. He had the urge to rip his hat off and fling it into the sea. Wymack gave him a nod of confidence, his wooden leg sinking into the sand. The tinge of sadness around his eyes made him appear older than his years.
“I will make this quick,” Neil looked at each of his crew. “Seth was a rowdy, rude bastard, but he was one of our own. He fought long and hard, it’s only fitting he’s finally able to rest. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.” Neil poured his rum. “We live on, but we do not forget. Foxes don’t die quietly.”
They said what Seth couldn’t. Aye, aye, Captain.
Andrew summoned a wave to unbeach the Fox, careful not to disrupt Seth’s grave. He slumped against the railing when he was done, the unkempt bandana on his head poorly protecting him from the sun. Neil bit down a smile and steered the ship back into open water. Allison sat by the bow, Renee with a hand on her shoulder.
Neil left them be. He urged to be without worry, if only for a moment with Andrew.
“If you want to sleep,” Neil murmured, “my bed is free.”
“It is as hard as a rock.”
“When I’m not in it, yes.”
Andrew opened one eye. “Will you be in it?”
“I have to man my ship, Andrew,” Neil grinned. He felt lighter than he had in too long. “I’ve been reborn. I need to remember how to steer.”
Neil had been mortal for a week.
A week passed since the Foxes had been thrown from a cliff face, hurtled down a short waterfall and dumped into a deep cove. A week since Andrew curled a protective arm around Neil and swum them to shore on his back, quiet and competent as Neil rested against his chest. His limbs heavy, his bones surely dust. Neil could’ve laid on Andrew for hours, days.
Neil remained unbelieving of that long day and longer night.
He woke up most nights thinking about it. Sweating, gasping. Dying. He had to convince himself more than once it was a memory and not a dream. He checked his palm religiously. The scar was gone, the mark of the Exy faded. Neil wondered if the rest of his scars would follow. He wondered if he would feel like himself with smooth, untouched skin.
Andrew mapped the hard tissue that first night with a bath, like he too was curious if they would fall off Neil’s skin. The scars remained as permanent as Andrew’s unyielding stare. Neil doubted they would fade. He didn’t want them to. They were proof of his survival, of a life hard fought and won by Nathaniel, by Neil. By Abram. Immortality never changed that, mortality couldn’t either.
Neil doubted he’d have to wait long to test his mortality. He would prefer to wait if it meant more quiet moments with his crew. With Andrew.
The delicate sound of Matt plucking his guitar string sliced through Neil’s thoughts. Foxes hummed, waves crashed. The morning passed. Neil gripped the spokes tight. He found it hard to wind down, the endless weeks of calm followed by carnage not boding well with his instincts. Neil focused on the noises of the ship, the natural lullaby more soothing than any old melody.
“You should sleep,” Andrew said.
“I will sleep when I’m dead,” Neil said, “and that will come soon enough.”
A hand curled around Neil’s nape. Andrew’s nose brushed his jaw. It was a clear do not joke about that, followed with a or I will kill you myself. Neil leaned into Andrew. He allowed the touch before moving slowly down to the main deck to find Aaron. What would normally be a hive of activity was subdued. The gunners kept to themselves below. Dan had a small group managing their stock and reorganising storage.
It gave Jean space to stretch his legs.
Minor cuts and scrapes were healing, Renee’s salves working wonders. His broken bones and malnutrition would take longer, his mind even more so. Kevin’s clothes draped off of his thin body. His bruised skin and pointed bones were hidden by the large blanket thrown over his shoulders, Jean wrapped up for a winter’s night in cooler seas.
The most surprising touch was Jean’s bald head.
Jean leaned against the mainmast. Kevin stood uncomfortably by his side, their tattoos similar but oh so different. Thea tried and failed to speak to them both. The high, midday sun did nothing to alleviate the tension, nor did Matt’s guitar. Renee smiled politely as she passed them. The ends of her hair were fading, in need of chalk. Neil wondered what Jean’s head would look like blue.
Renee mounted the stairs, motioning for the wheel. How she knew Neil’s stomach was rumbling was not something he needed to know. She took the wheel and gestured to Jean. “Kevin might need some support navigating that.”
“Kevin is more than capable of handling this himself. He’s been doing just fine.”
It was the truth, even if Neil had been quietly wondering what to do with Jean. He knew one thing; Jean couldn’t stay on the Fox, not in the state he was in and not with the trouble the Foxes continued to find themselves in. Jean wouldn’t have the chance to heal, and neither would Kevin. Kevin, who worried Neil the most. They needed space, Neil just didn’t know how.
“Kevin is very capable,” Renee said. “But he doesn’t need his captain, Neil, he needs his friend.”
Neil, knowing she was right because Renee always was, took the stairs two at a time. He took the last two slowly, having to remind himself of his recklessness. Kevin was the one to put the thought in his head. You need to remember what it’s like to be human, and be hurt, he said, the pair alone in the navigation room just the other night. If you break a bone, it will take months to heal. An infection could kill you. Use your head.
Neil hated to use his head.
He wasn’t alone when he joined the trio. All Allison needed was an hour to lick her wounds. She reclined against the mast, yawning. It was like Seth’s morning burial hadn’t happened. “You know, I hear the French are bastards.”
Jean muttered something unsavoury, his crooked nose upturned.
Thea shook her head. “I think you might be the bastard, Allison.”
“Always have been, darling.”
Neil stepped in. “I’ve been thinking.”
Jean spoke for the first time. “Oh dear.”
“It's nice to know your vocal cords are working, Jean,” Neil said. “I was worried they were damaged.” Kevin’s glare brought Neil back to himself. “As I said, I’ve been thinking-”
“Sail, ho!”
Dread sparked, fresh and crooked in his stomach. Neil peered through his telescope, his hands infuriatingly shaky and itching for Andrew. Only, there was no need for Andrew, or any weapon or fighting words. The approaching ship brought a wave of relief, smothering any memory threatening to bite. “Fly the green, Robin!”
The crew flocked to the main deck, appearing as sudden as a summer storm, guided by the commands of their captain. Andrew marched through the Foxes scrambling to assemble the ramp. Reggie practically bounced off Andrew’s chest after running into him. Andrew didn’t spare him a backwards glance.
“Trojans,” Neil told him.
Andrew rolled his eyes. I know.
The Trojan ship was somehow grander since the last time Neil saw it. The warm, autumn tones were warmer, the gold accents shinier. Even the flag appeared larger. Jean cast a suspicious glare at the ship. He slunk backwards towards the stairs, hovering outside the navigation room doors before ducking inside. A thought tickled Neil’s skull, reminding him of Jeremy and Jean’s history.
Neil wondered if Jean even knew it was his old friend about to board.
Andrew stood beside Neil, their arms brushing. Allison watched them with pursed lips, her fingers twitching for gold. Her teeth glinted when she smiled. Neil had a suspicion the Foxes were catching onto them. He had no intention of giving them gunpowder for that cannon. Their bets were outlandish and unruly enough without his intervention.
Four Trojans crossed the ramp, the same four as last time.
“Captain Knox.”
“Captain Josten.”
“How have you been? Did you manage your vague journey east?” Jeremy asked, searching the crowd. He smiled when he spotted Kevin and Thea, eyes crinkling at the clear tension. “It feels like a lifetime since we saw each other. Time is strange out here, isn’t it?”
Foxes mumbled to themselves. Neil kept his gaze firm. “We got what we were searching for, and nobody caught scurvy along the way. Seth is dead.”
Jeremy scanned the crew. His frown was unnatural, wrong. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” Neil said. “Did you ever make it to Port Columbia?”
“No, no we heeded your warning.” Jeremy laughed. “No Ravens either. We somehow ended up at Campbell Bay, took a few weeks to ourselves after clearing out the naval stench and disrupting some merchants. That sand is remarkably soft, it felt like home again.”
Alvarez agreed. “Lounging around is almost as nice as punching merchants in the mouth.”
“Not nearly as nice as your bare legs in the sun,” Dermott sighed, stroking her girlfriend’s shoulder. “I never wanted to leave.”
An idea bloomed.
“Would you consider resting for a while longer?” Neil asked, glancing back at the navigation room door highlighted by the sun. “We have some steals and gold we can offer you as compensation, so long as you do something for us.”
“Is this one of your deals, Neil?”
“It might be. I have no doubt you’d be interested.”
Jeremy crossed his arms, his easy aura shifting to something more fitting for a captain for a ship like the Trojan. “What are you suggesting?”
Kevin followed Neil’s line of sight. His jaw dropped. “Neil...”
Alvarez looked between them. “I’m not quite following.”
“Neither am I,” Dan stepped forward. “Neil?”
“Let him finish,” Andrew spoke slowly, “and you will know.”
Neil bit the inside of his cheek at the silence that followed. “Go get him, Kevin.”
Kevin wrung his hands together. He made a frustrated noise, the look on his face complicated as he rushed to the heavy doors. Jeremy waited patiently, his Trojans impatient around him. Erik was too distracted by Nicky’s flirtatious waves and winks. Alvarez and Dermott wouldn’t stop muttering to themselves, burning holes into Neil’s head. Neil stood strong, wondering if his gamble would pay off.
Heavy doors banged. Boots scuffed. French words were exchanged, the heated whispers spoken with rapid fire tongues. Jeremy’s lips parted. He whispered something along the lines of I know that voice, his glance at Neil desperate. Neil kept his face neutral, his nod to Jeremy a silent Yes, you do. Kevin led Jean through the crowd, right into Jeremy’s line of sight.
Jeremy’s eyes were spring clouds, soft and round. “Jean?”
Jean paled. “Jeremy?”
He reached for him. Jeremy froze, taking in his wrecked appearance. “What did they do to you?”
“Everything, ami.”
Jeremy took Kevin’s hand, furiously asking, “Where is Riko?”
Kevin swallowed hard. “We should talk.”
“You don’t need my permission,” Neil waved them off.
Kevin gathered Thea close, taking her, Jean and Jeremy into the navigation room. Foxes erupted, exchanging gold, groans and pleased slaps. Trojans were more alarmed, Neil having to talk them down with the most pleasant voice he could muster. It was hard to keep himself from that room. Neil wanted to know if Jeremy had the mouth of a true sailor.
“Charity,” Andrew drawled.
“I hear its basic humanity.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Kevin won’t be pleased.”
“Kevin won’t heal if a constant reminder of his past is lurking around our deck. The same goes for Jean,” Neil shrugged. “They’ve suffered enough, and I would like this business to be done.”
It was an hour before the four of them resurfaced.
Promising was the first word that came to mind. Neil peeled himself off the capstan, the rest of the Foxes having lost interest and made their way back to their stations. Only Andrew and Renee remained, unaffected by the Trojans' pestering. Neil was flanked by both of them as Jeremy made his way back to Neil. Captains eye to eye, toe to toe.
“From what I am understanding, Josten,” Jeremy said, leading the group, “you want us to take Jean from you, to heal him?” He spoke quieter than he did before, some of the air and hope knocked out of him by whatever tale he’d endured. Neil was confident he would find it again. He was Jeremy Knox, after all. “Out of the kindness of your heart, no strings attached?”
“When have I ever led you astray, Knox?”
“You did try to kill me when we first met.”
“That happens to me a lot,” Neil’s eyes darted to Andrew. “He is not cursed, if that’s what you’re asking. There will be nobody that cares enough to chase him. The Moriyamas have bigger things to worry about.”
“Such as yourselves?”
“Their time will come.”
Later, Neil told himself. I need time to be Neil again.
“Jean,” Jeremy spun around. “What do you want?”
Jean’s attention hadn’t left Neil. It was a glare so strong, in fact, Andrew stepped in. He edged in front of Neil, water startling to rumble against the hull. Neil took one of Andrew’s fingers in hand, easing him down. Another slid under his armband, stroking ever so slightly. The water rested. Andrew didn’t. If anything, he sharpened, his hands just as capable as the water.
They waited for Jean, who didn’t seem to care they were waiting for him. He had all the time in the world, and then some. “I don’t like this ship,” he said. “The orange is hideous.”
Kevin closed his eyes. Neil steadied him with a nod, keeping track of him as the Trojans talked between themselves. Alvarez was particularly vocal. Eventually they parted, Jeremy’s chin high and the tips of his ears red. He held out his hand to Neil, Jeremy’s crew looming over his shoulders, just as Neil’s loomed over his own.
“A deal is a deal.”
“A deal is a deal.”
Neil shook Jeremy’s hand. It was yet another inch of weight to slip from his shoulders.
“Regarding this exchange and our pleasantries, I would like to offer you something, Neil. Or better yet, someone,” Jeremy clapped Erik on the back. “Erik has offered to join your crew, which is especially fitting now that you’ve lost one of your men. He’s a fast learner, strong. He also looks good in every colour.”
“I think our hideous orange will suit him just fine,” Neil nodded. “Thank you, Jeremy.”
“No,” Jeremy glanced at Jean, still bundled in his blanket. He smiled. “Thank you, Neil.”
The Trojans didn’t stick around.
With goodbyes exchanged on both ends, and crew members themselves exchanged, ramps were hauled back. Neil stayed by the railing, close enough to hear Jeremy’s parting words to Thea and Kevin. We’ll take care of him, Kev, Jeremy took Kevin’s bicep in hand. He squeezed, tight enough that even the strongest of currents couldn’t break them apart. Trust me, and try not to worry. You do that far too much.
Neil waved at the parting ship, his amicable smile dropping the moment they were out of telescope range. He threw his head back and looked to the sky, his neck cracking with the effort. He wanted his pipes, he wanted to feel land under his feet and run until he couldn’t breathe right. Neil wanted to see the end of this. He wanted the wound clear, free to heal and scar like all their others.
Andrew’s huff sounded a lot like sea spray. “You’re glad he’s gone.”
“I am,” Neil said under his breath. “He’s a bit of a prick. We have enough of those around here.”
“Keep telling yourself that’s the reason,” Andrew flicked Neil’s thigh. “Liar.”
Neil leaned into his warmth. “Pirate.”
Kevin only moved from the railing when Wymack found him, his wooden leg never one for stealth. Thea was long gone, having left to give Kevin time to think. Neil heard murmurs and hums, mostly from Wymack, scarcely from Kevin. It was only when they drifted closer to the stairs that Neil heard Kevin clearly.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
Wymack’s thumb covered the M on Kevin’s cheekbone. “We could start by getting rid of this.”
Kevin’s throat bobbed. He remained unnerved whenever he was reminded of Riko’s death and whose hand had taken his life. With time, Neil believed he could look back on it fondly. Neil already did, often having to smother his smirk in the face of Kevin’s complicated grief. Andrew had covered that smirk with his mouth one night when Kevin wasn’t watching.
“That won’t change anything.”
“It can’t hurt, can it?”
“What would you replace it with? An F?”
“No way in fucking, hell, Kevin.”
“Then what?”
“Your mother never got a chance to see my homeland. It’s a long way west, about as bloody warm as these waters. More islands, more culture, less fucking merchant boats, at least for now.” Wymack traced one of his own tattoos, his thumb resting on one of the biggest spirals. “It would be nice to see my uncle again. Lost a tattoo when I lost my leg, he wouldn’t be happy.”
Kevin looked anywhere but his father. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Inking is a custom. Considering my father was-” Wymack shook his head. “My uncle raised me to be the man I am today, so he inked me. If you’d like, I could take you there. Might even give you a tattoo of your own, if you want.”
Kevin’s eyes shone.
Neil stopped listening.
The afternoon came slowly, like a tide hesitant to greet land. Neil spent his time by the wheel. He sat underneath it, allowing the Fox to steer herself in whichever direction she liked. Neil had to hope it wasn’t a storm, or a reef. He had his bets on neither, not with Andrew sitting beside him, the falling sun bathing him in a golden kind of competence.
Andrew twirled a blade around his finger. “Stop.”
“What?”
Andrew's blink was slow. “All of the things to look at,” he said, “you decide to stare at me?”
“Of course,” Neil hummed, resisting the urge to pick at his knuckles. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Andrew embedded a knife in the deck. A deck that belonged to Neil, to both of them.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Staying,” Neil said.
Andrew stopped twirling his new blade. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“You did, and you know what choices you made. I know, Andrew, and I’m thanking you.”
Waves crashed below. Andrew took a while to speak. A statement, not a question. “What are you doing with that.”
Neil picked at the edge of his captain’s hat. “I was going to add another raven’s feather,” he muttered. “I’d rather move on. We’ll keep the past where it belongs.” Buried. He guided the orange strip through a hole he’d made, tying it nicely on the brim. It was a piece of the flag, snipped from the same one flying.
It took up more space than the feather ever did. Neil thought perhaps he preferred it.
Renee mounted the stairs. She regarded them with a smile, her eyes not softening for their sake. There was something about her, something that had Neil on his feet, forgetting his hat. Andrew followed him up and threw it on his head. Neil straightened the brim, gliding his nails across the worn edge. He took hold of a spoke, the Fox creaking a welcome.
“Easy, captain,” she laughed. “Nicky has prepared dinner. Erik brought fresh fish with him, they’ve been down below for a few hours preparing it.”
Andrew’s lips quirked, there and gone.
“Another gift from the Trojans?”
“Appears to be. Will you be joining us?”
“We will,” Neil said. “It’ll be the last decent meal we’ll eat for a while.”
“Dan did mention rations are getting low,” Renee tapped her elbows. “I’d suggest finding a port, and soon. I’m sure Kevin would agree, as would the others.”
It was the smart choice, a choice backed by the crew Neil trusted with his life, with everything. “It would be sensible.”
"We'll eat, then we'll decide. I'm sure you already have something in mind," Renee inhaled the salt with a sigh. “Where to, Captain?”
Neil intended to look to the sea. He found Andrew instead.
“Set course for Port Mill,” Neil’s grin was a fierce thing. Andrew’s eyes burned just as bright. “I believe we have some unfinished business with a merchant or two.”