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The First Time
Jim is kept under guard for a week - long enough, they know, that even if they could commandeer the ship and sail back, the crew marooned on the island would long be dead from thirst. The Revenge doesn’t have a proper brig, but one of the many recreational rooms was freed up for the purpose of holding them. Ivan finally, finally lets them go with an apologetic shrug, hands them their knives back, and a small bottle of rum. Jim pockets the rum, but doesn't bother putting the knives away.
Jim's had plenty of practice moving through the ship unseen, and moves almost silently to the captain's quarters. It's late, and the cabin is dimly lit. Blackbeard is in the process of getting undressed for bed - unstrapping his leather, placing his knives and guns under his pillow. Jim waits until he has his shirt pulled up, over his eyes, and hurls their knife towards the outline of his head.
With uncanny speed, Blackbeard is ducking, dropping, rolling away - the knife strikes home in the wall beam with a thud and a twang. Jim pulls his second, but Blackbeard is already on them, striking low, catching them off balance and knocking them to the ground. Jim lands, recovers, and brings the knife into position, but Blackbeard has his shirt off now, gripped between his hands, he uses it to wrap Jim's hand, yanks. The knife goes flying, and Jim is down on the ground again, arm bound, Blackbeard's knee on their chest.
“Was wondering when I’d see you" Blackbeard says.
Jim scrambles to get their feet back under them - their free hand reaching towards their shoe knife. "You son of a whore. I’ll fucking kill you."
Blackbeard raises a considering hand to his chin. “Not like that you won’t. I expect better from my crew. Maybe I should've left you on the island with the other misfit kiddos."
Jim's hand closes on the handle of the knife. "You absolutely should have."
The knife’s free, and Jim lashes out towards the hamstrings of the knee holding them down. Blackbeard pivots and brings his free hand up, catching their hand. Jim’s cut a shallow groove in his arm. Blackbeard licks the bloody stripe and grins, teeth gone red with it.
"I'd rather be dead with them than serving a piece of shit like you." Jim lets their head fall to the deck. Fucking stupid. Pathetic way to go. Oluwande would be -
“Well, we can’t always get what we want, can we?” he says.
Blackbeard stands, drops the impromptu bonds. He nudges Jim with the tip of his boot, like a cat inconveniently underfoot. “Now get going, it’s late, we’ve got piracy in the morning.”
Jim blinks, then climbs to their feet, wary. "I'm supposed to be part of your crew, then?" Jim spits.
"Unless you'd rather sit in the brig forever," Blackbeard shrugs. "Well, "forever," or until we get tired of having to watch you and toss you overboard."
"You're not my fucking captain," Jim says. It needs saying, for all that Blackbeard won't care. "You killed Oluwande and the others."
Blackbeard tilts his head. "Well then, that should settle it. Much easier to kill me for it in a battle than in the brig."
The Second Time
Jim doesn't get a chance during their next boarding raid, or the one following. The sight of Blackbeard's flag is enough to send most of their prizes cowering, handing over goods without resistance or complaint. They don't need fuckeries or desperate lighthouse ploys - they barely even need violence, beyond the suggestion of it. Jim can see why he went nuts - it's boring as dirt. Not that it’s an excuse, or anything.
Jim watches Blackbeard cut the ear off of a man too slow to unload the cargo onto their ship. Gross, but especially troubling: he's using their knife.
"What? No, you can't have it back," Blackbeard says, when Jim raises the issue. He's still toying with the ear, flipping it through his fingers like a coin.
“It’s mine.”
"Well, you shouldn't have thrown it at my head, then. Maybe I'll throw it back at you sometime, see how you like it."
Jim takes a deep breath. Oluwande would say to keep calm - but Olu's not here, and that's the fucking problem, isn't it?
"Fat fucking chance,” Jim says. “With your aim? You’d never hit me."
"I have incredible aim," Blackbeard says, wounded. "And perfect vision, I'll have you know."
"Sure.” Jim says. “Prove it.”
“How?”
Jim picks one of the seized crew loading cargo onto the Revenge, across planks laid between the ships. “Bet you can't hit that guy's hat, from here.”
Blackbeard squints, sizing up the distance. "Bet you I can."
Jim gestures expansively. Blackbeard turns away from Jim, moves towards the rail of the ship to line up his shot with Jim's knife. It's tricky positioning - the target is perched on a plank, narrowly visible, hat bobbing as he works. To make it, Blackbeard will have to lean outwards...just...so...
Jim lunges forward and shoves him over the rail. Blackbeard windmills, and he pitches over the edge, but not before getting his arm wrapped around some line. Jim pulls a knife and lunges - and then they're lifted up, Fang's arms wrapped tight around them, pulling them away, and Izzy Hands, the piece of shit, is leaning down to help Blackbeard back up onto the deck.
“Oooh, I liked that one!" Blackbeard says, dusting himself off. "I mean, I'm not a bad swimmer, but I could've hit my head."
"I was trying to cut your throat on the way down," Jim says.
“Hmm yeah, that would've been trouble." Blackbeard gestures, and Fang lowers Jim to the ground, freeing their arms.
“It's a hanging crime," Izzy hisses. "Attacking the captain."
Jim bares their teeth. It would be great to stab his eyes out, but the weird little pervert might enjoy it.
“Ugh, Izzy, no, it's the only interesting thing happening on the ship!" Blackbeard says.
“A flogging, at least.”
“What, and wait weeks for them to heal? C'mon, now." Blackbeard pouts.
“You patronizing fucker,” Jim spits. “This isn’t some enrichment activity. I’m going to kill you.”
Blackbeard still seems thrilled. “See what I mean! Incredible.”
Jim throws a belaying pin at Blackbeard’s head, which might technically count as the third attempt.
The Third or Maybe Technically Fourth Time
Izzy kicks up a fuss and gets Jim thrown back in the not-quite brig.
Blackbeard comes to visit that afternoon. He stays away from the door, out of lunging distance, and pulls up a stool to sit on.
“You know why I asked you to join my new crew, Jim?”
Jim doesn’t respond. They got pretty used to people monologuing at them, when they were pretending to be mute.
“There’s a certain something you need, to make it in this line of work. Skill, for sure, which you have. But something else as well.” Blackbeard gestures expansively. His beard is growing back in, but it’s not long enough to cover his expressive mouth as it grins.
“An air of mystery, maybe. Or charisma. I think you’ve got the makings of it. I think, with time, good men will whisper your name with fear. I see it in you. You could be infamous. You wouldn’t have to be just you anymore. You could be a real legend. You could be a real monster.”
Jim looks at him, flatly. “Why would I want that.”
Blackbeard shrugs. “Most people do.”
“You’re so goddamn transparent,” Jim says. “One bad breakup, and this is how you react? ‘Oh, be infamous, oh, be a monster.” No wonder the Captain didn’t want to stay with you. Look what you become the second he’s out of the room.”
Blackbeard freezes, and Jim's nerves sing danger. “For one of Stede’s people, you really aren’t very supportive.” He's reaching towards a weapon. Good.
“Well, tough luck, you killed all the nice ones,” Jim says. “I don’t give a fuck what the world thinks about me. I don’t want good men to fear me. I care about what Oluwande thought about me, as he died on that fucking island. If he thought I’d left him there, or I sold him out. If he hated me. Does that get through your fucking head?”
Blackbeard stands and turns to leave. “I’ll give you some time to think about it.” The door closes heavy behind him. Jim wants to fucking scream.
Another week in the brig passes, slowly.
Not for the first time, Jim despairs of ever having set sail with Stede, the kind of man who built a library into his ship but not a prison. If they hadn’t joined the crew, who knows - maybe they would’ve found a spot on a proper crew, struck gold, be rich. Maybe Spanish Jackie would’ve caught them, killed them quick. Maybe Oluwande and them would’ve figured things out faster, maybe Olu would still be alive -
Jim shut that thought down like a lid of a chest slamming closed. If there was one thing you learned from being raised in a Catholic assassin convent, it was compartmentalization.
Frenchie stops by a couple times a day with food and gossip. Neither are particularly good, but there are some ominous and unlikely rumors of a pirate hunter making the rounds, and stew is stew. Until Frenchie approaches with dinner one evening, uncharacteristically hesitant.
“Hey, you can read English, right?” He asks.
Jim takes a bite out of a dried apple. “A little. My Spanish is better. And Latin.”
“Can you give this a go?” He says, and fishes a crumpled piece of newsprint from his pocket.
Jim takes it. It’s from an English broadsheet, the kind that passes local news and updates from the Empire around the colonies here. There’s a rough illustration included of a large-headed gentleman being menaced by a…jungle cat? Jim squints - the figure looks vaguely -
“Is that supposed to be Bonnet?” Jim asks
“I don’t know, you’re the one who can read!” Frenchie says.
Jim squints at the caption, which reads, in spindly font: “ye gentleman pirate findf a grifley end”
“Where did you get this?”
“Hands had it,” Frenchie runs a hand over his neck. “He found it mixed in with the loot from the last ship. Seemed real happy about it, which was, you know, ominous.”
Jim skims the accompanying article. Stede Bonnet, in a british colony, unlikely circumstances and amounts of sensational gore, killed -
“Shit” Jim breathes. So, Hands knows. And he must’ve told Blackbeard, that’d be a real highlight of his day. Which means Blackbeard will be -
“What?” Frenchie asks.
“There’s only one reason people like us get into the papers.”
“They… get married?”
Jim levels a stare. Frenchie blanches. “Oh, balls.”
“Do me a favor,” Jim says. “Go show this to Fang and Ivan?
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m about to break out of here and I’d rather not have to beat you up to do it.”
“Oh, that’s sweet, sure thing” Frenchie says. He does pause at the door though, hesitant once again. “You’re not gonna kill him though, are you?”
Jim doesn’t say anything, pointedly.
“Just saying, it seems a bit mean. To, you know, kill a man when he’s down.” Frenchie fiddles with the edge of his sleeve.
Jim leans forward. "Frenchie, I said I didn’t want to beat you, not that I wouldn’t.”
Frenchie leaves. Jim once again makes their way to the captain's cabin. They half expected to hear destructive, shouting, some kind of petulant temper tantrum, but instead it's just eerie quiet. Jim tries the knob, and finds it unlocked. Every one of their instincts is screaming to leave. They silently push the door open instead.
It slams shut, and Blackbeard leaps from behind it, tackling Jim. Their knife goes flying, again, and there’s no time to pull another.
They both slam the wall, Jim fighting to get out of Blackbeard's grip, striking down on the back of his neck, going for his eyes. Blackbeard loosens his hold, but pulls back and hits Jim across the face.
Jim kicks back. It's a bloody, brutal brawl, the kind Jim hasn't had in ages. It feels incredible.
Head ringing, Jim regains control, shoves him towards the bunk and punches him in his stupid mouth. Lit by moonglow, he's still got his nonsense makeup beard, and his eyes are ringed with black too, though it's bled rather badly. He reels, and Jim drags him, slams his head into a wall, sending a framed painting flying.
Blackbeard freezes, tracking the painting as it hits the ground with a snap as it breaks apart. Jim's caught off-balance as he shouts, pushes past them, lunges towards the painting on the ground.
Jim pants, taking advantage of the opportunity to catch their breath. Blackbeard flips it right side up - the frame is in pieces, the canvas inside seems untorn. Jim can't make out what’s on it, in the dim light.
After a long, slow beat. Blackbeard staggers back to his feet. "Sorry - I'll get back into it - sorry. If you want to keep going, I mean." As he stands, he nudges the painting away, under the safe cover of the heavy desk.
For just a moment, Jim allows themselves the luxury of feeling crushingly sad. It's easier to be sad about Bonnet then the rest of it, somehow. They collapse into one of the still-intact chairs. After a minute, Blackbeard sits as well, on the desk.
"What happened to my knife?" Jim askes. They’d been wondering. A loose end.
Blackbeard blinks. "Oh. Went over the side, when you tackled me. Sorry."
Jim shrugs. It was worth it.
“I liked Captain Bonnet.” Jim says, slowly. God knows they’re not good at this kind of thing, even under less-fraught circumstances. “Not as much as the others did, probably. But still.”
Blackbeard's face is a blank, black hole. Jim fights a shiver. Frenchie asked them not to kill a man when he's down.
“Does it help?" Blackbeard asks, eventually. His voice creaks like a breaking mast. "The whole, you know, revenge thing. Does it make it feel better?"
Jim can't look at his stupid face any longer. They leave, and put themselves back in the brig.
The Fifth Time, Maybe, Depending
A cannonball shatters the wall of the brig. Jim rolls into a crouch, sheltering their head from wooden shrapnel.
Once the dust has settled, Jim sticks their head through the newly-created hole. The sun’s setting, but there’s light enough to see the huge English warship that’s bearing down on them. Jim gets the door open and runs straight into Frenchie.
“Oh, good,” Frenchie says. “Was just going to check and see if you’d exploded.”
“What’s happening?” Jim grabs his arm and marches him back to the deck.
“I don’t know, they came out of nowhere, must be that pirate hunter -”
The deck is chaos. Cannonfire’s already destroyed much of the rail, and one of the masts is ready to go. Blackbeard bellows orders from the helm as Hands, Ivan and Fang man the guns.
“We’re absolutely boned,” Frenchie says. Jim agrees, but knows better than to say it. “I’ll go find the white flag.”
“Belay that!” Blackbeard shouts. “Jim, get up here! I want an eye-line on their captain! I’ve got a plan!”
Jim runs through the splintering deck, and skids to a stop next to Blackbeard. “What is it?”
He turns, and his mouth cracks in a small smile. He’s still got a black eye from their last fight, visible even under the makeup. “Oh, I don’t really have one. Just thought you deserved a shot at me before the English kill us.”
Jim reels back, eyes wide.
“You put in the work, I mean.” Blackbeard continues, and turns away, turns his back on them. The curve of his neck is visible, exposed, vulnerable. He’s not even fucking looking. “And I’d appreciate the personal touch.”
“I just came from the brig,” Jim says, finally, dripping venom. “I don’t have any knives.” They could still wring his neck, probably.
“Ah. Shame.” Blackbeard says.
There’s a horrible wrenching sound. He jerks backwards, attention redirected, and Jim looks up, watches the damaged mast give way - and topple right towards them.
“Fuck!” Jim swears, and turns to run, but there’s nowhere to go in that split second, nowhere but -
Jim flings themself over the side of the ship. The mast hits hard behind them, spraying the air with wooden splinters the size of fingers, arms. The air is knocked out of them as they hit the freezing water, the sound of the battle going suddenly silent in the rush of water.
They claw their way up to the surface, gasping - there’s a chunk of deck floating nearby, and they swim over to it, letting it take their weight. They catch their breath, trying to stay low in the water - they’re fish in a barrel for any English soldiers who spot them.
The board rocks, and Jim clings tightly - mother of god, are there sharks in the water? Instead, a dark, wet head bursts out of the water, and Blackbeard grabs on, pulls himself on top of the boards.
Fuck!” Jim yelps. Blackbeard seems to have gotten the worst of the shrapnel - his shoulder and side are skewered, even through the thick leather.
“Ah, glad you made it,” Blackbeard says, and passes out.
Night falls. Jim can see the British ship sweeping the area, searching for them or for their own crew, but it’s hard to find two small shapes in the dark. The bit of board is not really big enough for two grown adults. Blackbeard, still unconscious, is given the privilege of laying most of his body atop it, while Jim hangs off the edge and treads water.
“I should tip you over into the fucking water,” Jim says, shivering. “Who cares if it’s not sporting or whatever.” The sun is on the horizon, slowly rising, but it’s still cold as hell. And sunrise means being visible once more.
Blackbeard chuckles, and Jim startles. He pulls himself upright. The black leather doesn’t show blood, but Jim can see it in the water around him, smell it.
“I’m bored.” Blackbeard says.
“I don’t give a shit. Would drowning be more exciting?”
Blackbeard flops back down, rocking their little makeshift boat. “Tell me a story.”
“I don’t know any stories”
“Yea you do.” Blackbeard pauses. Closes his eyes. “You know the stories Bonnet used to read you all."
Jim considers letting go of the board and sinking into the ocean.
“Sure.” Jim says, instead. “Once upon a time, there was a little wooden boy, and he wanted to be a real person, but instead he was a real piece of shit to everyone around him until he fell overboard off a boat and probably got eaten by a shark. The end.”
Blackbeard opens an eye and cocks and eyebrow. “Why would a shark eat a wooden boy?”
“I don't fucking know. Ask the shark.”
They float in silence a while longer. Blackbeard's face paint is gone, washed away, and with his face bare he's looking increasingly gray.
“You knew he died." Blackbeard says. Jim startles, rocking the boards. "How did you find out?"
“I saw the newspaper.”
“Did it say how he died? What happened to him? Hands didn’t - I couldn’t ask."
Jim throws their mind back to the scrap of paper. Grifley. "You know how papers are, they sensationalize things. Sells more copies”
Blackbeard doesn't say anything, just rolls over onto his back, facing away from Jim.
"It said he'd been mauled by a jungle cat. And hit by a carriage." Jim says, finally. When Blackbeard doesn’t respond, they continue. "Then crushed by a piano."
“What?" Blackbeard says, slowly. He lurches over to Jim, who yelps - the boards rock again, threatening to burst apart. "What?!"
"Fucking - calm down -"
Blackbeard grabs Jim by the scarf, pulls them in. His eyes are wide, crazed pits. "Don't you see?"
"See what?" Jim wonders if he's finally lost it. His face splits into a grin.
"It was a fuckery!" He flops backwards, laughing, arms spread wide.
"You don't know that," Jim says. Though, now it's been raised - Jim reviews his memory of the details of the article. It did raise some questions. Strain credibility.
"I know him, though." Blackbeard's laughter quiets as he collapses, exhausted. He looks lighter, somehow, like the news has taken root in his body, wrenching something loose. "That's a good one. I'm proud."
Jim takes a deep breath, and grabs the far edge of the board and tugs as hard as they can. Blackbeard yelps as he is flipped off, the raft tipping. Jim drags themself back onboard as Blackbeard splutters.
“It's not fucking fair," Jim says. Their whole body is shaking with rage. Blackbeard flounders in the water, trying to grab the edge of the board, support his weight with his uninjured arm.
“They were the kind of people that make the world seem different - better. And then they’re gone and we’ve got to deal with it how it is.” Jim is so fucking angry. The stupid compartments that hold them together are failing, shaking apart, like the raft barely holding them both up. “So how is Oluwande dead and Stede alright? How fucking dare you? Is that fucking fair?”
Blackbeard clings to the edge of the raft. "It's not. I'm sorry."
“Fuck your fucking sorry.” Jim says. “Does that mean anything to me?”
Blackbeard gropes under the water for something. Laboriously, with this injured arm, he pulls out a knife.
“I lied about your knife," Blackbeard says, and flips it around, handing it over hilt first. "I didn't lose it."
Jim takes the knife, runs their fingers over the familiar engraving. Blackbeard drops further down, into the water. "If you want to kill me with it, it's not much of an apology, but it's what I’ve got available."
Jim looks down at the knife. Oluwande had been such a tit when Jim tried to get it back from Jackie. He hadn't cared about revenge at all. He hadn’t -
Jim reaches for Blackbeard's arm and pulls him onto the boards, and slides themself back into the water.
“Thank you," Blackbeard says, eventually.
“I wish I was still mute," Jim says.
“Yeah, don't think I was around for that bit.”
“Well, it was great," Jim says. "People left me the fuck alone.”
They float for what feels like hours, as the sun gets properly out of the horizon and rises into the sky. Blackbeard drifts in and out. Jim's stupid gesture may not mean anything, the way his blood loss is going. Serves them both right. Jim is finding it hard to stay awake as well - they've tied their arm to the wooden structure with their scarf, so they won't drift away, but their legs feel cold and distant.
“Captain! I see them!”
Jim jerks back to awareness to find the massive hulk of the warship bearing down.
“The Revenge? Blackbeard mumbles.
“Nope," Jim says.
“Oh, well." Blackbeard flops back down.
They're hauled on deck by armed English soldiers. Jim's legs aren't thrilled about the sudden transition from water to deck. They shoot a quick look at Blackbeard - he's not taking his own weight at all, held upright between two soldiers.
“Captain on deck!” a soldier announces, in that dumb way the military feel the need to narrate things that anyone with sense can see are already happening. A grim-faced man with a thin scar on his cheek approaches them, looks them up and down with appraising disdain.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks.
Blackbeard shrugs his shrapnel-free shoulder. "Some English guy, I reckon."
He looks unimpressed. “My name is Woodes Rogers. I was sent by the crown to govern. And that means meting out justice to men like you." he turns away and gestures to someone behind him. "Can you confirm the identity of those here?"
A tall, well-dressed figure emerges from the bridge behind him, and nervously approaches.
"Uh, hello." Lucius says.
“Fucking, Lucius?" Jim says.
Lucius gives a little wave. “Hey, buddy.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“Well, Blackbeard tried to kill me," Lucius says, with a pointed glare at the man in question. "But Mr. Rogers found me floating around the ocean and offered me a job helping him hunt pirates!" He turns to Rogers and gestures. "He is Blackbeard, by the way. Even though he doesn't have much of a beard at the moment."
“Excellent," Rogers says. "prepare the rig."
The soldiers level their guns at Jim and Blackbeard, as the crew gets to work setting up an ominous conveyance of ropes and winches across the deck of the ship. Rogers leaves to inspect them, leaning his weight against a joint.
“Lucius, no offense, but what the hell are you doing?" Jim says, as quietly as possible.
Lucius throws his hands up. "I'm collaborating! I didn't have a lot of options. Because someone," he says, turning his attention to Blackbeard. "decided one rough breakup gave him the right to start murdering people, even nice people who were being supportive!"
“That's fair enough," Blackbeard says. The soldiers holding him seem fairly baffled by the exchange.
“No, it's not fair enough,” Jim says. “You can't go snitching on people to the cops! Who knows what this guy will do!”
“Oh, c’mon, Rogers is fine.” Lucius waves a dismissive hand. “A bit grim, but he's, like, a governor, he's not going to do anything crazy -”
Woodes Rogers pulls on one of the heavy ropes, and nods approvingly. "Very good. String the pirates up and keelhaul them."
“Oh shit,” Lucius says.
Jim swears. They've never seen a man keelhauled, but the stories inevitably came out when old sailors had too much to drink, start reliving the nightmares. There’s not a lot of pleasant ways to go, but getting dragged along the underside of the ship, until the barnacles shred your skin off or you drown, is way down the list.
“Soon the whole nation of pirates will know that I put an end to the infamous Blackbeard,” Rogers smiles.
“Hey, no way," Blackbeard shouts. He's gotten his feet back under him, in his outrage. "I'm the great pirate Blackbeard, I'm not getting executed alongside some stowaway nobody. How's that legend going to work."
Rogers looks Jim over, seemingly just noticing them. "A stowaway," he repeats, skeptical.
Jim is perched between fury and relief. They open their mouth, but before they can say anything, Lucius interjects.
“Uh, yes. We found them in an apple barrel. Not worth executing, if you ask me.”
“Very well, we'll deal with himm on land," Rodgers says, dismissive. He turns back to Blackbeard, and with a gesture, the soldiers drag him over to the rig.
Jim's hand finds their knife, but Lucius grabs their arm with both hands. "Let go,” Jim hisses.
“No! I'm trying to make sure you don't die too."
“Now that's a concern? When you brought us in?"
Lucius pouts. “If you were being all understanding about Blackbeard and his personal murder journey, you should be able to support me as well."
“I was not doing that, trust me.”
The crew tie Blackbeard’s arms together and raise them into the winch. He hisses in pain as he hangs suspended, weight on his damaged shoulder.
Fuck," Jim says. "Fuck." Across the deck, Blackbeard's eyes slide shut as he’s raised into the air. He looks tired, in pain. Still grey from blood loss. Jim hates him so fucking much. They have no idea what Oluwande would do. Be somewhere the fuck else, probably. He was the sensible one.
But he did try and save Bonnet - from the mutiny, and from himself.
Jim turns to Lucius. "Does Rogers like you?"
“I like to think we've developed a rapport, yeah."
Jim grabs Lucius, pulls their knife and holds it to his throat. "Let him down! Or I gut your friend.”
Lucius freezes. The side of his face Jim can see looks absolutely furious. "Seriously?"
"Sorry."
Rogers looks them over. "Lucius, thank you for the brave sacrifice of your life in service of the British Empire." He turns back towards Blackbeard.
"Seriously?" Lucius takes a step forward, Jim has to drop the knife so he doesn’t skewer himself. “I helped you, you massive bitch-”
Lucius is cut off by the whistle of a cannon ball striking home. The mast explodes into pieces, and Jim is once again left swearing as they try to avoid skewers of shrapnel. Lucius yelps, and Jim drags them both behind the cover of a barrel.
“Is it the Revenge? Jim asks. Cannonsmoke is thick in the air now, the two ships exchanging volleys. More smoke, too, from lumpen grenades that land on the deck and leak the stuff.
Lucius sticks his head up to see, and ducks quickly back down. "I don't recognize it, sorry."
Jim pops up for a look. It's hard to see through the haze, but they catch a glimpse of the flag. White, with a -
Jim sits down, hard. Whatever compartments remained are cracking apart, spilling, messy, gorey, the metaphor's lost.
“Jim, are you alright? did you get hit?" Lucius fusses. "Please tell me you didn't, I would have no idea what to do in that situation."
“Their flag has a cat on it," Jim says.
“Oh, good, it’s our friends!” Lucius says brightly. "I was a bit worried about the rest of the crew, once I was gone. But I figured you and Olu'd be looking out for them. I hope Pete is alright."
"Yeah. Yeah. Me too." Jim wipes a hasty hands across their eyes. "C'mon, let's help out before they all get killed."
“Aw," Lucius says, but he takes the belaying pin Jim hands him without further complaint.
Jim is a whirling dervish of blades through the haze - they take out five English soldiers on their way to where they last saw Blackbeard. when they arrive, he's being cut down from the rig, by -
“Captain?" Lucius says, and Bonnet turns to them. For a moment Jim doesn't recognize him, his pastel finery gone entirely and replaced with grungy worker's wear. Even his hair is cut short, in a mangled buzz that looks like he did it himself without help, or even a mirror, maybe. The cheery smile is the same, though.
“Hello!" he chirps out. "I don't suppose you can give me a hand with Ed, here? We're putting on a good show but we really have to get back to our ship."
Blackbeard's hands are white-knuckled in their grip on Bonnet’s shirt. "Stede," he says.
“It's alright, Ed" Bonnet says, and gestures to Jim to take some of his weight. "We’re almost home."
And Once
Together, they quickly clamber across a plank between the ships, dragging Blackbeard between them. Lucius clears the way for them by waving his pin and yelling wildly.
“All done here!" Bonnet shouts, as they hop onto the deck of the ship. "Pull away!"
Pull away!" Roach echoes, and the ship departs with remarkable speed, exchanging cannonfire as they go. Jim lowers Blackbeard to the ground. It's still smokey as hell, and Jim can't make out shit, where is Oluwande -
"I'm so sorry, Ed," Bonnet says, and Jim turns back to the pair of captains. Blackbeard's leaning heavily, his iron grip on Stede’s shirt may be the only thing keeping him upright. "I made a real mess of things. I understand if you can never forgive me. But I hope you'll let me make it up to you. I wrote you a song -"
Ed pulls Stede down, collapsing together, and wraps him in his arms. Buries himself in Stede's shoulder, and shakes apart.
“Oh, Ed.” Stede cups the back of Ed's head, pushes the hair out of his face, rubs his back. He looks up at Jim, confusion across his open face. "Maybe the song can wait, then."
A familiar hand taps on Jim's shoulder. Jim spins around.
"Hey," Oluwande says. He looks good - he looks safe - he looks the same as ever - except he's wearing a very large hat. He follows Jim’s eyes up to it.
"Oh, right. Bonnet's got no money these days, so they made me the captain," Oluwande says. "It's pretty alright."
Jim feels like the words have fallen out of their mind, their mouth. Fluent in two languages and for what?
Olu starts to look concerned. "Are you alright? You look a little - "
Jim launches themself into Oluwande's waiting arms and is kissing him, kissing every part of him within reach.
"Mi corazon, por favor - you have to know, I didn't choose to leave you there, he knocked me out, threw me in the brig.” Jim’s frantic, the words stumbling over each other to get out. “I'm so sorry, perdon, mi amor, mi Oluwande."
Oluwande looks dazed, thrilled. Jim wants to see him look like that all the time. "The possibility literally never even occurred to me, honest."
Jim kisses him again, long and deep and slow. They feel light enough to float away. The smoke has blown away. It’s just bright blue sky and open sea.
Someone wolf-whistles. Jim laughs into Olu’s mouth.
“You know," Olu says, cupping their cheek. "As the captain, I get my own private cabin."
“Incredible," Jim can’t stop smiling. "Can’t wait to see it."
Oluwande takes their hand, and leads them across the deck. Nearby, Lucius sits in Pete's lap, as Pete chatters away about how he single-handedly tracked the Revenge, and then Roger’s ship.
By the rail, Bonnet removes the wood shards from Blackbeard's shoulder with painstaking care, as Blackbeard lays his head in his lap. Blackbeard smiles, and catches Jim’s eye. "Stede, did I tell you?" he says. "Jim tried to kill me a bunch."
"No!" Bonnet gasps, looking scandalized. "Well, I'm glad they didn't do a very good job."
"No, they did great." Blackbeard says, grinning. "really."