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The Revenge cuts a solitary figure against a half-moon sky. It was quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull and the tea-kettle constant inside Ed Teach’s brain.
The fearsome pirate lies perfectly still in the dark of his quarters. His eyes are shut, but he knows sleep is as futile an exercise tonight as it has been every night for the last…how long has it been? Days? Weeks? He’s not certain of when, where, or who he is anymore.
Does it even matter? Did it ever, really?
Ed’s eyelids rip open the second a flash of golden hair and soft eyes cross his mind’s eye. He growls at himself, feeling the sickly heat rise in his chest and the water cloud his vision again. He pushes it down, fingers pressing against temples in an effort to regain himself.
It takes a moment to find some semblance of self-control. The sound of shattered breathing echoes in the lonely cabin like the death rattle of some miserable wretch who could never know how fortunate he was to have reached the end of the line.
Is that not exactly what he is? A dying man, his ghost pressed out by the very armor that used to protect it?
As his breathing slows again, Ed’s tired brain makes one last attempt to trick him into sleeping. It’s very focused on the wind and the waves and definitely not anything else that he ever found comforting and the rocking of the ship and the quiet creaking and the smell of damp wood and the softness of the one duvet that he kept and the slight lavender smell that still clings to it and the warmth of that smile and the light in those eyes and–
Gasping, Ed flings himself into a upright position. He swings his legs over the edge of the bunk and braces his elbows on his knees, exhaling with a shudder into steepled, shaking hands.
Moonlight slices, sneaky, over tan skin, across silvery hair, before finding purchase in the sharp angles of a huddled shadow. Ed sits, all gooseflesh and prickly heat, waiting to see if the urge to run screaming across the deck and throw himself overboard would subside. The pirate’s tongue feels too big for his mouth, and he swallows hard against the dryness.
A twinkling splash of water against glass startles Ed, who stifles a scream against his fist. Wide eyes dart around, settle on the source of the interruption. He crumples, face drawing down into a sneer and resignation settling over him like thick tropic heat.
“Fancy a drink, Captain?”
Lucius wrings his jacket out over the drinkware, errant droplets spattering against the edge of the heavy wooden desk. He sashays over to Ed, who grunts when offered the glass half empty.
Ed shakes his head like an Etch-a-Sketch, hoping to clear the macabre scene in front of him. When his vision settles, Lucius is still there, fish-bitten fingers of one hand tapping against a soggy hip. He still holds the glass in his other. The pirate groans.
“You again.”
“Mmhm, me again.” The younger man chirps.
Blue lips pull back into a smarmy smile as he plops down beside Ed on the bunk. The older man can feel the humidity increase in his personal bubble, feels the dampness of Lucius seeping into the bedcloth on the bunk, feels the spray of saltwater against his calf and thigh as his companion crosses one leg over the other neatly. Ed sees a flap of skin slough off the cabin boy’s (man’s?) ankle, and– is that a barnacle?
“The fuck do you want ?” The pirate’s haggard features contort into a look of exasperation. Lucius shrugs. Body and clothes squish together with a sickly, sticky noise.
“Oh, just thought I would check up on you, you know, see if you needed anything… oh, almost forgot-” he chuckles to himself, and a slimy, cold feeling works its way up Ed’s spine- “I’m also here to consume you so fully with guilt and grief that you unravel down to your very bones and becoming a gibbering pathetic hack who has nothing left to himself but a head full of ghosts and a heart full of heartache.”
Ed blinks.
“Oh.”
“Mmhmm, just kind of trying a new thing, y’know, after you fucking killed me and all… thought it would be…appropriate. You understand.” Lucius’ words garble as dark water pours out of his mouth and onto the floor.
Ed nods along, tries to tamp down his rising distress, fails, and starts to boil under the surface in his own defense.
“Right, yeah…totally. Totally get it. Makes….sense, I guess.”
A beat.
“Fuck! The fuck do you want me to say? D’you want me to say I’m sorry? I’m fucking sorry ? I’m fucking Blackbeard! I’m not fucking sorry I threw you overboard. I’d do it again if I could drown your fucking ghost. You’re nothing but a fucking–”
Briny, tepid water splashes across Ed’s face, knocks the words from his throat. Water sparkles on the rim of the glass he holds between them like a knife. Suddenly his hand drops, a casual expression blessing his bloated face.
“Yeah, you know what? Hard pass on, just… all of that.”
“What?”
The apparition gets up and shuffles about aimlessly, spreading that pervasive dampness further throughout the cabin. Ed thinks he can see the floorboards warp, and winces at still more artistry and fine things gone to waste.
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a terrible liar? Because you are. Just so, sooo bad at it.”
Ed is silent. He reckons it’s true that he’s better at fuckery and hiding things than bold-face lies, anyway. Lucius continues, wet fingers tracing across the top of the desk.
“You’re sorry, Captain. You know you’re sorry. You’ve never been more sorry in your life, actually. You killed me for the same reason you threw out all of Stede’s books and pretty, fine things. You killed me for the same reason you left everyone you could fucking spare to die. You killed me -killed us - to hurt Stede, and he isn’t even here to witness this silly little mess you’ve gone and made. You can’t hurt him, because he’s gone, so you hurt yourself and everyone around you. And you’re so sorry that you’re sick over it. All of it. But you can’t take back what’s been done, and so you just keep digging a deeper hole, because the only thing that makes it hurt less, even if just for a minute–” pitching into view suddenly, Lucius taps Ed’s heaving chest, just where his heart is being strangled inside him–”is becoming the monster, completely undeserving of kindness and love, that you always believed yourself to be.”
Frank words filet nerves that were already laid bare. Hot tears stream down hotter cheeks, cutting swathes through the remains of charcoal, sweat and seawater. Ed sobs, wrapping his arms around himself for what little comfort they could give. Pruney fingers (sans an index) press under his chin, forcing his gaze upward. Lucius leans in, whispers more to ears that Ed wishes he could block up or rip off.
“And you know what? You deserve it. All of it. All the pain you’re feeling, right now. You didn’t deserve it when Stede left. In fact, we all felt sorry for you. We all wanted to help you. And then, you fucking threw me overboard like somebody else’s scraps. When you killed me, you killed Ed Teach, the man that knew what it meant to love and be loved. And now? Now all you’ve got left is Blackbeard and his ghosts. And isn’t that the most sorry thing of all?”
Lucius lets go of his face abruptly, and Ed lurches forward, palms smacking against the wet floor to save himself. The spirit turns, meaning in the movement. Ed’s jaw works; he whimpers, but no words come out.
Halfway across the cabin near the door, Lucius pauses, all glittering moonlight and gleaming beads of seawater. He casts his gaze over his shoulder, looks down at Ed and seems to pause, thinking.
So softly that Ed hardly hears him over the ringing in his ears, he murmurs: “But it doesn’t have to stay that way, Captain. Sometimes…sometimes things aren’t as hopeless as they seem. After all, sometimes even the dead rise again.”
Complete darkness suddenly envelops the cabin, and Ed screams, unable to suppress it. When the moonlight returns, he’s alone, curled up on the bunk, sniffling and repeating “sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again, until he whispers himself hoarse.
Soon all that can be heard is the lapping of the waves against the hull.
“ Dios mio that was…fucking incredible!” Jim looks at Lucius with wonder as he laboriously peels the wax off his face and limbs.
Lucius shrugs, smiling. Frenchie assists by thoroughly wringing out whatever he was handed and warming an old sheet by the stove, but he nods and murmurs his agreement.
“Thanks! I think I did okay….and by okay I mean absolutely spectacular!”
In the corner, Izzy growls through the gag in his mouth and wriggles against his bonds. A knife whizzes in his direction, purposefully nicking his cheek before the blade buries itself in the wall beside his head. Jim gives him the eye and he stills.
“So he hasn’t figured it out yet?” Frenchie asks, curious and bemused at once.
Jim responds before Lucius has a chance.
“Did you see his face when we blacked out the windows? He has no idea that Lucius is alive. I can’t believe this is working.”
Frenchie hands over the sheet, switches it for Lucius’ shirt and jacket.
“Are you still mad at him?”
Lucius bows his head, thinking.
“A little. I mean, I know he tried to kill me with absolutely no remorse or regret, and absolutely would have if it wasn’t for you, but at the same time, I know what it feels like to have your heart broken. I know where he’s coming from.” He sighs.
A beat. All eyes fall on Lucius.
“Not that I would ever toss any of you overboard because I was in my feelings, I could never! Well, maybe you, Izzy. You’re just…so…so… icky.”
Izzy growls again, mutters something that no one understands. They pay him no mind.
“So…what’s next?” Jim asks.
“Well…I suppose we can wait and see what happens in the morning…if he isn’t batshit by then, that is.” Frenchie muses.
“Yeah, you did get a little…intense, mi amigo .” Jim drawls, smirking.
“Okay, so maybe I did come on a little strong, but I like being a plague upon his very soul, it’s so much fun! Besides, not like he hasn’t been a dick lately. Oooh, can we plan more ghost sightings?” Lucius clasps his hands together like an excited child.
“I don’t think we can, not with this asshole here.” Jim thumbs towards Izzy,
“You’re right. It’s not like we can just let him go or anything, since he knows...well, everything.” Frenchie tips his head to the side, thinking.
All three crew members turn to look at Izzy, who swallows thickly.
And that night, Izzy learns that consequences and regrets haunt the living more than the dead ever could.