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It was a dark and stormy night … No
The moon hung low above the horizon like an omen … God, no.
So, words weren’t working then. Lucius could admit that obsessively sketching Blackbeard’s likeness—Ed’s likeness, they were all calling him Ed again, weren’t they?—wasn’t particularly healthy. No better than throwing Ed overboard and discovering that, nope, that doesn't instantly solve anything either.
He thought he’d have a crack at fiction. Why not invent a character (not unlike himself) and another (not unlike Blackbeard), throw them together, and see if he couldn't write a better ending? Sounded doable. Lucius was by no means a perfectionist, not anymore at least, but if the opening sentence didn’t immediately set the tone, what was the point?
The crew had given Lucius “advice” on coping. Some so-called pearls of wisdom were:
Frenchie’s memory box. A solid no there.
Pete, bless him, was so willing to listen, but Lucius couldn’t put him through all that again, and he’d barely scratched the surface.
Wee John extolled the benefits of knitting, or as he'd put it, "losing oneself to the mediative rhythm of fibre craft", which sounded lovely actually, but Lucius couldn’t keep his hands still long enough to finish one row.
Fang’s suggestion of working negative feelings through physically, like punching a bedroll or doing push ups, was the closest Lucius got to thinking, you know, that might work? Then he remembered he despised exercise of any kind, so that was out.
Then there was Izzy, who Lucius never expected in a million years would have the slightest insight on the psyche. And there was Izzy’s wooden shark, a gift of smooth lines, delicate fins, and tiny teeth. While Izzy’s advice (“Not moving on is worse”) sat lodged at the back of Lucius’s throat, a pill he couldn’t quite bring himself to swallow, it was the shark that stuck with him, sank in its splintered teeth and refused to let go.
He’d watched Izzy whittle it from nothing: an ungly hunk of wood, transformed. From where it perched beside him on his corner desk, the dangerous smile of a monster, tame now, watched Lucius write (or try to) in his berth. It goaded him the way Izzy might.
Turning it in his grip, Lucius rubbed his thumb along it to feel the wood’s grain.
Perhaps it didn’t matter if the first sentence wasn’t perfect. Starting was enough.
The cry of 'Man overboard' never comes. A splash heralds the young man’s descent, but the Revenge Vengeance continues drifting, course unswayed by her forsaken soul.
Yet, is all not lost? The first mate stands watch, gaze falling upon the desperate struggle below, man against ink-black water. He can save him! Alert the crew. Heave to, or drop anchor.
Instead, he turns away, almost like he wants the boy to drown.
Oh. That was… an unexpected development. But whatever, Lucius would roll with it, see where it took him.
*
“Did you ever look for me?”
Now felt like a good time to ask, a quiet moment in the mess. Izzy didn't appear to have come here to eat, though. There were no dishes laid out, no sounds nor smells from the galley. Not even any crumbs. To anyone not paying attention, it might appear Izzy had come here for a moment of respite from the crew. But Lucius had watched him a moment before he spoke, found him massaging his bad leg with trembling hands, above where his knee had once been. Izzy kept his pain for empty rooms.
“When?” Izzy asked hoarsely, squeezing his hands in his lap.
“After Blackbeard tossed me overboard, obviously.” The question kept Lucius up last night, the story that spilled out lifting it from his own hidden depths. Not just a question for Izzy, but for everyone. Did no one hear his screams for help? Did no one (besides Pete) care to ask how he’d made it out alive?
Izzy shook his head.
Lucius sank onto the opposite bench. “Why?” To be honest, he hadn't expected that.
“Ed told me he’d killed you.”
“...And you weren’t curious as to how? It’s your job to make sure things are done properly around here, but you didn’t think to check?”
Izzy sat back against the bulkhead, lifting his hoof onto the bench with a wince. “What do you want to hear me say, eh?”
Lucius blinked. He— he wasn’t sure. Reaching for the cigarette tucked behind his ear, he shrugged. He’d no intention of lighting up; it was just something to hold while he pondered, just as the shark somehow helped last night. An apology would be nice, though it’d probably bounce right off like everything else had so far, never sinking deep enough to make the tight, nasty feelings go away.
“What if I said I turned the ship about,” Izzy said, “went against my captain’s orders and searched the seven seas for you? That help?”
Would it? Lucius shrugged again, annoying himself enough he opted to use his words. “I don’t know.” Not much better. He found himself offering the unlit cigarette across to Izzy, confused even as he did so. Maybe he wanted to prove he wasn’t angry. Which wasn’t even true. He couldn’t remember what not being angry felt like.
“Tell me,” Izzy said, reaching to pinch the cigarette between his fingers.
When Izzy didn’t elaborate, Lucius swallowed. “Tell you what?”
“What it was like when he pushed you overboard. How'd it feel? Where'd you go?" He slid Lucius's cigarette behind his ear and leant forward, hands on the table. "How'd you wind up back here again?”
Lucius wrung his hands in his lap. Stede couldn’t take it, Pete neither. But Izzy? Maybe the great Izzy Hands could stomach what had leaked from Lucius’s seams since the night he half-drowned. It might be worth a try.
“Okay…”
*
How is the young man to descend into the depths, rest at peace upon the ocean floor, when none aboard cared to extend a hand? No line cast. No mournful farewell to their shipmate consigned to the deep. No pistols discharged in his honour. Even the one who bore witness to his plunge chose not to watch him drown.
In the wake of the Vengeance, he swims, choking on the brine that’s claimed him. It’s a cycle, sinking, kicking and struggling, gasping for breath, cursed to forever trail the vessel as it presses onward, never stopping.
Desperately, he reaches for a Jacobs ladder, ropes smacking the hull as waves thrash. His cries are lost to the wind and waves, but he grasps it, unbeknownst to those aboard.
He slips under again, but he won’t let go. He’ll hold on. Hold on. Hold on…
Christ. Even now, Ed found a way in.
*
They’d had these covert meetings for some time now, finding quiet places in which Lucius gradually divulged the harrowing detail of his post-Blackbeard survival, all while Izzy patiently listened in silence.
It helped. Despite Izzy never saying a word, Lucius felt a little lighter every time. Still angry, still hurting, but the cloud that followed him grew smaller and less dense each day.
In turn, Izzy spilled too, the unburdening of his soul spurred by Lucius’s openness in the space of safety they’d carved together.
A shark didn’t do it. (Obviously.)
Everything that Izzy had chased, yearned for his entire existence, had only led him astray. Once on that misguided path though, there was no easy way off besides retracing his steps—the hardest but most essential part of the new journey. Izzy saw that, and he was trying. Even with only one leg to walk that path, he didn't plan on stopping.
After one evening of sharing, Lucius came to sit beside him, offering his shoulder for Izzy to rest upon until his quiet, sucked-back sobs subsided.
While tears provided some measure of relief from Izzy’s emotional pain, they only compounded the physical. When he’d reached to soothe the cramping in his leg, Lucius gently moved his hands away.
“Allow me.”
Incredulously, Izzy let him.
*
They made their way back to ship, weighed down by wood. (No, not like that.)
Izzy’s gait would be forever slowed thanks to the hoof, not that Lucius could go any faster currently. He’d offered to carry the hefty piece of tree trunk back from the market, as that was kind of why he’d been brought along on this excursion, but the sheer weight of the thing left his every muscle burning, and they'd barely made it halfway yet. The sun beat down, unforgiving, and every step felt dangerous, like Lucius might put his back out any moment, or trip, or get bitten by a snake or something. That'd be just his luck.
Breathless, Lucius tried to get out of it. Fuck manual labour. “Are you sure about this?”
“Course I am.”
Shame. He didn’t want to discourage Izzy’s project, but any excuse to put the log down. “I mean, one shark to a whole unicorn. Quite the leap, don’t you think?”
“Nah,” Izzy huffed. He was out of breath too. “Ship needs a figurehead. I took some'a the old one—” he knocked his leg “—only fair I replace it.”
“Well,” Lucius wheezed as he hauled the wood onward, “I admire your confidence.” Maybe it’d be better to roll it…
After a few, uneven steps, Izzy said, “Always admired yours. Back when you were a cocky little shit, you said you’d decided to carry yourself like you’re cute.”
Lucius laughed. Yeah, he did say that, didn't he? Kind of cringe to be honest, but Izzy remembering it took the edge off.
They stopped for a breather, Lucius dropping the trunk to lean against another that was rooted in the ground, enjoying its shade. Izzy joined him, unhooked his waterskin and took a swig, then passed it across.
“You could do that again,” Izzy said, watching him drink. “Carry yourself like you’ve got your confidence back.”
“Aww, Izzy.” Lucius wiped his mouth and passed the water back. “Miss the bitchy old me do you? That’s sweet.”
Izzy smiled. And wasn’t that a wonderful sight. “That.” He pointed. “That’s what I mean.” The way Izzy looked at him made Lucius’s chest ache, and it wasn’t residual wood carrying pains. There was a sparkle in his eyes, an appreciation that was all for Lucius.
“I don’t miss the old you,” Lucius teased. “The old you was an arse. I like this one better.” He reached out to pat Izzy’s shoulder, finding his leathers blisteringly warm. When he didn’t flinch, Lucius dared slide his hand higher, cupping Izzy’s jaw to thumb the greying edge of his beard. “Your bark’s always been worse than your bite though, hasn’t it.”
“That right?”
Izzy grabbed Lucius’s shirt and tugged him into a crushing kiss. On Izzy’s side, it was heated, all teeth and vigour and gloved fingertips digging into Lucius’s nape, which, wow, okay—so this was happening! After the initial shock, Lucius kissed back, not meeting Izzy’s energy but seeking to soften it, coaxing his surrender to the tenderness he clearly craved. He placed a steadying hand on Izzy’s waist, another on his cheek, and licked along his lower lip until he weakened in his hold.
When Izzy calmed, their kiss did too. It became fluid and luxurious, unhurried. Comfortable. It was everything Lucius wanted from Izzy, and everything he knew Izzy wanted too.
Izzy looked shaken when they parted, eyes darting and jaw hanging loose. He looked lost, unmoored.
“All good?” Lucius asked, still holding his face.
Izzy looked up at him, their gazes finally meeting. Then he blinked the sun from his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah… fine. Let’s get back to the ship.”
*
Back and forth, the young man treads the ship’s planks, a relentless march trailing seawater from his dripping garb, spilling from his mouth. A phantom he remains, unnoticed by the crew aloft in the rigging, invisible to those hunched upon the weathered deck. If any chance to glimpse him, none dare inquire.
Below decks, the first mate lies within his berth, lost in slumber, a solitary candle casting a feeble glow over his face. The young man extinguishes it with a hiss, pinching the wick twixt wet fingertips.
Empty bottles clatter as the vessel sways. The first mate's breath, heavy with whiskey, belies another restless spirit. He’s harbouring his torments here, away from prying eyes.
"I... I didn't see you," the first mate mumbles, ensnared in his stupor. "I couldn't see you..."
A sharp shake is enough to rouse him fully, and he gazes up, recognition dawning.
He sees him now. At last.
*
Rain pelted above deck, though it was cosy and warm in Izzy’s cramped berth. His leg leant against the locked door, gold paint glimmering in the candlelight, that same sparkle in his eyes.
Izzy confessed, while sat astride Lucius’s lap kissing him sore, that he’d never done this. Not ever. Lucius reassured him—as they both knew full well that he had, quite a few times—and promised to go gentle. Even when Izzy groaned in frustration, unable to sit for long thanks to his leg, Lucius made certain he knew it was never a problem. Here, nothing Izzy could need, want, or ask for ever would be.
Clinging, Izzy let Lucius kiss and touch him wherever he wanted, let him open him with careful fingers and whispered encouragement, let him see him, nerves and all.
Fucking him slowly, Lucius let him know how wonderful he was, how gorgeous he sounded moaning on his cock, how good he looked on his back. Until Izzy grabbed him, and Lucius stilled.
“I’m sorry,” Izzy blurted, tears in his eyes. “How I treated you – all that shit that happened to you – you didn’t deserve any of it – you never did.”
Touched, Lucius squeezed Izzy’s waist and pressed a kiss to his damp temple. (He knew he was good in bed, but reducing Izzy Hands to an apology? Damn, he was better than good.)
“You never deserved it either, sweetheart,” he whispered. “But shush now. We'll talk about this later.”
They had plenty of time to work this through. Together.