Archive of Our Own ^beta

The beer’s shit, the bar is a dive, and the less said about the company the better. It’s all fine with Ed. He sits alone, dour and scowling, gloved hand around a cracked tankard, dark eyes cast downwards. It’s just him; the Kraken has fallen into a restless disquiet, though never far beyond his reach; he can feel its crushing wrath, its terrible rage, roiling just beneath the surface. He lets it simmer there for now. Nobody knows who he is here, not in this dreary backwater tavern in the fuck-all end of Martinique. Better it stay that way, so he can drink without the fucking bother.

They'd captured a French ship, a real nice one, off the coast of Saint Vincent, and with it had come more barrels of cargo than Ed and Izzy knew what to do with. They'd come here to offload it all, or rather, Ed had left that to the rest of the crew. He'd fucked off to the nearest watering hole. Exhibit A - right fucking here.

Jesus. When's the last time he's gone more than half a day sober? He doesn't care. Ed drains his tankard and slams it down on the table before beckoning over one of the serving girls.

"Another." His voice comes out worn and scratchy as he shoves the empty tankard towards her.

"What're you having?"

"Fuck, do I look like I care? Whatever gets me pissed."

"Sure." She turns and walks back towards the bar, completely unfazed. She's no doubt seen a lot worse than his sorry case. Ed sighs, leans back in his seat, and retrieves his pipe and tobacco from the pocket of his jacket. He's nearly out - there's more on the Revenge, but it's the last place Ed wants to be right now. A wave of nauseous rage rises in his stomach. 

He'll make do with what little leaf he's got left. He has no intention of returning to the ship tonight, not until Izzy has to drag his passed out arse away from the tavern and throw him on the deck to sleep it off.

The serving girl returns with a brimming tankard, which she sets before him; he flicks a coin her way and leans towards the stub of a candle in the centre of the table, lighting his pipe with it. The first pull into his lungs brings with it a grimace - damn stuff's gone dry, stale. Oh, well. Can't bring himself to give a fuck. Exhaling smoke through his nose, he reaches for the tankard and drinks deeply. God, it's dire. Fucking terrible. Exactly what he's worth. 

"…You'll end up another middle-aged sad sack dying alone in a puddle of his own piss!"

"Cheers to that, kid," Ed mutters to himself, "wherever the fuck you are now." Bottom of the sea, floating on a piece of driftwood, hell, haunting the walls of the fucking Revenge for all he knows or cares. He ought to burn the blasted thing, rid himself of it all. He's become weak. Even when he tried to throw it all away, rip his heart from his chest and cast it to the depths, he can't recover the strength he once had. He's merely posing as Blackbeard now, a wanly-limned façade. No wonder Izzy's still trying to walk all over him. 

I'm fucking lost.

No, murmurs the Kraken, stirring into wakefulness, you are yourself again. 

I didn't want to be…

You must be, the Kraken hisses. You went soft, Blackbeard. There's no place at sea for that. Show your yellow belly, and you die. This… this here, who you are now… this is how you survive, how you've always survived.

And it's true, however much he's grown to hate it over the years. He's so tired. Too old to keep it up. And he has to keep going. He must. There is no room for weakness anymore. Izzy's missing toe hammered that home well enough.

You're a monster. You always have been. 

Raucous laughter erupts from somewhere across the room. Ed lifts his eyes from the scuffed wood grain and fingers the knife at his belt, wondering whose eye he might take out with the right throw. As he watches, one of the laughing men - they all look to be fishermen - separates from the group with much patting of arms and shoulders, and makes his way to the bar. There's something vaguely familiar about the dark whorls and waves etched across his face, and it makes him think of hands roughened by servitude, starched bonnets and dimly lit hovels by the sea. It does nothing to quell the howling, rampaging sadness in his heart. He lifts his tankard to his lips and takes another drink of terrible beer, wondering if it's possible to drown his fucking emotions.

"-that's the one, kia ora, mate, thanks a lot."

Ed's head snaps up so fast his neck cracks. 

The fuck did he just say?

He's on his feet and storming across the room before he can catch up with himself. He pulls his knife free with one hand and slams Tattoo Face facedown on the bar with the other, gripping his dark ponytail with firm fingers. Amidst shouts of fear and protest from the other patrons, Ed leans in and growls into the man's ear,

"How the fuck do you know those words, mate?" 

The man struggles underneath him, trying to turn his head; Ed grips him harder, stilling his movements. "Ah, ah, ah, no moving, or you might just find my little friend here-" he presses the tip of his knife to his back, "-nicking one of your kidneys, and apparently, we need those little buggers. So keep still. Got it?" The man mutters something in the affirmative. "Good. Now answer me quickly, before I lose my patience - where did you learn those words? How can you speak te reo?!"

A ripple goes through his captive - and then he laughs. It's the only sound in the tavern now, bar Ed's heavy breathing and the enraged bellowing of the Kraken inside him. The obstinate fucker dares to laugh at Blackbeard? Maybe he ought to stab him in both kidneys and leave him out for the -

"...Te reo Māori is my mother tongue, lad. You know of it? You'd be the first I've met out here."

Ed recoils. 

Holy shit. Oh, holy fucking shit.

Deep within him the Kraken continues to writhe and howl as he staggers back, knife clattering to the floor, suddenly feeling sick with horror. Bile rising in his throat, he spares one last look at Tattoo Face, now surrounded by his flustered friends, before staggering out the door as fast as his fucked-up knee will take him.

The beer tastes even fucking worse on its way out. 

Blessings are something seldom counted for Ed these days, but he's grateful in the moment that there's no beard for it all to get caught up in. Once the heaving subsides, Ed leans back against the outside wall of the tavern, shivering, stomach aching and sweat shining on his brow. He fumbles for his hip flask, swills around a mouthful of rum to wash out the sourness, spits it out along with the rest.

Interesting, the Kraken murmurs, somehow complacent. You'd given it all up until now. That part of you.

Fucking had to, Ed thinks, taking another swig of rum, swallowing it this time. It burns in his throat and he grumbles about it, kicks out at a nearby crate. All he gets for his effort is a sore toe. Ha, wouldn't Izzy laugh at that. 

You still should have killed him. He mocked you. Mocked Blackbeard.

He's too tired, too drunk. Ed sits down on the upturned crate and puts his spinning head in his hands. Sitting here till morning might not be so bad. Fresh air's nice, sea breeze sweet as lover's kisses on his stubbled cheeks. He closes his eyes, willing the world to fuck the fuck off.

"Hey, mate. You alright?"

"Fuck me!" Ed yelps, jumping upright. He turns, reaching for his knife - but it's in the hands of Tattoo Face, held out towards him hilt-first. Ed's eyes flicker between it and its holder, making no move to take it. 

"You dropped it when you left. Thought you might want it back. Nice blade, that. Wouldn't want to lose it in a place like this."

Take it and stab him in the gut, the Kraken urges.

Ed reaches out a wary hand, slowly at first then, quick as lightning, snatches the knife from his hand. "...Thanks." He slips it back into its sheath. It is a nice fucking knife, to be fair. "Coulda killed you with that, back there."

Tattoo Face shrugs. Now that Ed's paying attention, he can see the man's around his age, maybe a bit younger, but he's never been a great judge of age. His black hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and he wears silver studs in both ears. As well as the tattoos spiralling across his face, there's the typical seafaring sort, anchors and fish and so on, scattered over his arms. He looks strong, capable, but gentle. Had Ed not got the jump on him, he imagines this guy could have easily put up a good fight.

His eyes, though; they're observant, annoyingly so. They rove over Ed, taking him in, eventually coming to land somewhere over his shoulder. "That beer really didn't agree with you, did it, lad?"

"Fuck off, I'm no lad."

"Alright, then. What should I call you?"

"Why're you making small talk with a bloke who tried to kill you?"

"Because you're the first Māori I've met since I set sail from Aotearoa. You are, aren't you? Otherwise there's no way you would have known the tongue. And you have the look about you."

Māori… Ed repeats the word out loud, the instinctive rolling of his tongue soothing something deep inside of his battered soul. It's been decades since Ed's heard the name of his mother's people spoken aloud. "I'm, ah…I'm Edward," he finally says, and hates how his voice cracks. "My mum, she was…she's Māori." He fixes the man with a stare he hopes is piercing, but is probably lopsided and tipsy. "Who the fuck are you, man?"

"The name I took when I set sail was Te Moananui-a-Kiwa. You can call me Moana, or Mo, if you like - that's what the boys I work with call me."

Intrigue wipes clean the anger, the sorrow and the need to fuck everything up; Ed steps forward and clasps the man's outstretched hand with both his own. "What do you want me to call you? Names, they're sacred, man."

“Moana is fine," comes the reply, then a chuckle. "Our names can be a mouthful after a few drinks, even for me.”

“Sure, Moana, why not.”

Moana smiles. Ed can't help it - he finds himself smiling back. "Why don't we go back inside, and we can talk a little more. I'll even see if I can't get us something a bit better than the beer.”

They end up occupying one of the back rooms, where it's a bit quieter - just a little. There's definitely an orgy of some sort going on in the next room, but Ed's been on a lot of ships and seen even more orgies on said ships; he can handle that shit in his ears for an hour or two. Be like it's not even there by the time he inevitably passes out.

He sits down on the bench in the corner, stretching out his achy knee and massaging some life back into it, dimly wondering if Izzy and the rest managed to sell any of the cargo they got from the French ship. God, wouldn't the angry little pup be foaming at the mouth at Ed now, if he could see him all chummy and making friends after so many weeks of bloodthirsty rampage across the Caribbean - a rampage, he should add, that Izzy himself had practically begged Ed to carry out. Seriously, who the fuck is Captain right now anyway? Ed's just going through the motions. Putting on Blackbeard's face by day and sobbing into a fucking banyan by night. A legend indeed.

"Here we go!" Moana returns, carrying a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, looking triumphant. "Had to convince the boys that you weren't going to kill me back here, but they seem happy enough at the moment. Oh, have you hurt yourself, Edward?" he asks, noting the thumbs pressed in deeply, either side of the joint.

"Nah, old wound. Gimme that." He swipes the bottle and pours a good measure of pale gold liquid down his throat. "Fucking hell," he gasps, handing it back. "Oh, man, burns like nobody's business. Love that." As Moana takes his own seat at the bench and pours them both a glass, Ed's over-stimulated mind falls over itself with questions to ask. He just about manages to get them out one at a time. “Your face tattoos - there's a name for it, yeah? Begins with M?”

“Ta moko, that's right." 

"Why did you come here? Why leave your homeland?"

Moana slides a glass over the table towards him. "I wanted to see the wider world. Our peaceful life is beautiful in so many ways, but eventually it bored me, and I craved adventure. So here I am."

"Do you miss Aotearoa?"

"With every breath I take. But my place is here now, and I'm happy. I have no regrets."

"What does your name mean?"

"Te moana is the ocean in general, but te moananui-a-kiwa, that’s what English-speakers call the Pacific.” 

"This is so fucking cool, man." Ed sounds awed as he pours them both more whiskey. "Mum never really told me much of the language. Just the odd word here and there. Guess she was scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

"Not what," says Ed darkly. "Who."

"Your father?"

"Ding ding ding, ten points to you." 

"I'm sorry to hear it."

"Don't be sorry. Fucker's dead now." The Kraken rumbles with laughter from the depths. "Englishman, Bristol born and bred. Ever been to England? No? Don't bother, it's shit. Wouldn't believe the weather." Ed pulls out his pipe, tips out the old tobacco and begins packing it with the dry-ass shit left in the pouch. "Best decision I made, hopping on that boat to Charles Town."

"And your mother?"

"Dunno. Hope she's still alive and kicking. Probably happier with two fewer mouths to feed. God, she worked so fucking hard for us all the time."

"What's her name?"

Ed blows out a solitary smoke ring. "Jennifer Teach. I guess she must've had Māori names, too, but she never said…" After so much back-and-forth, the sudden silence that follows his words is disconcerting. He frowns at Moana, who looks back at him, dumbstruck. "What is it, mate?"

"Did you say Teach?"

"Yeah?"

"So you're…"

"...Ah. Um. Didn't mention that bit, did I…"

Moana's eyes are wide. "You're Blackbeard."

Here we go. Your nice new friend knows who you are now. The monster you are.

"Sorry fucking excuse for a beard right now, but yeah. Guilty as charged." 

Still got the knife? Good. Take it out and nail his hand to the table, show him your true darkness.

But his new friend is full of surprises - and just as he surprised Ed at the bar with his laughter, now he surprises him again with a font of tears springing to his eyes. "I can't believe it," he whispers. "The legendary Blackbeard has the blood of Aotearoa flowing through his veins."

"Christ, mate." Ed doesn't blush. He does not. "I'm really nothing special."

"Still - you don't know what this means to me, to have met you here tonight."

“Don’t tell anyone I’m here, will you? Trying to keep a low profile right now.”

“I won’t tell a soul, Edward.”

“Ah, fuck. Call me Ed."

Ed's a maudlin drunk, always has been. Around large groups he can adapt easily enough, but otherwise he has a tendency to fall into a pit that's fucking difficult to climb out of. And with half the whiskey bottle gone, he's well and truly into maudlin territory now. 

"...Had to choose what face to wear, y'know?" he's telling Moana, who is swaying a little, flushed from the drink, but otherwise fairly composed, while Ed is slumped forward with his cheek pressed to the sticky table, mumbling into the rough wood grain. "'M not light enough for all this…this fancy bullshit, an' the rest of 'em, they'll - they'll turn on me if I show 'em a gap in the armour, so I gotta lean into it - see a bloke with colour in him, you don't think…you don't think fuckin'... sophistication, do you? Gotta…gotta give 'em what they want, give 'em that fucking savage persona they want, and it's so damn tiring! I'm exhausted!" He lifts his head, blinking bleary-eyed up at his new friend. "D'you know, I went to this real posh French party once?"

"You did? Really?"

"Yeah. Got all dressed up for it 'n' everything. Told 'em my name was Jeff." Moana splutters with laughter at that. "Had the beard back then, little fuckin' bows in it an' everything. I looked great. And y'know, I fit in for a bit, when they thought I was charming, an' I could play a bit of harpsichord, but you know what tripped me up?"

"What?"

Ed's head hits the table again. "Fuckin'...spoons. Such dicks about spoons. They laughed at me."

"Ah, I'm sorry, Ed. That sounds tough."

"Mortifying," Ed whispers.

"I can imagine."

"Was just a performing monkey for 'em, really. Ooh, look at the funny little brown man, thinks he's one of us! Ooh, let's humour him till he does something stupid!"

"Ed…"

"Was never gonna fit in, was I? An' he tried to tell me, he did, but I was too fuckin' excited, got over my head…and when he realised what had happened, he went in there, and burned down the whole fuckin' ship!" He lifts his head up just enough to swallow the mouthful of whiskey still sitting in his glass. "Was sexy as fuck."

Moana considers the bottle by his elbow, frowning at it, then shrugs and pours them both some more. His fishing pals have long since departed the tavern, though not before sticking their heads in to check he was still alive. At that point he and Ed had been parading around the room, arm-in-arm and bellowing sea shanties, so it was safe to say they'd been placated. "The world isn't kind to those of us with colour in our skin."

"No no no, world's just fine on its own. 'S half of fuckin' Europe's the problem. Riding in with their bibles and their preaching, forcing their fucking God on us all. They did it to my mum, scared her half to death, made her believe we couldn't…we weren't the sort who could have nice things. Took me so long to realise what that meant." Ed puts his head in his hands. "But he was different," he whispers. "He was."

"Who?"

"My…well, guess he was my friend."

"The one who burned down the ship?"

"Yeah. Fuckin' lunatic, he is. Didn't have to be anyone else 'round him. Could just…be me. Be Edward. An' I thought he liked me like that. Woulda given my life for him. Nearly did. But…"

Moana leans forward, elbows resting on the table. "But…"

It's been too long. The Kraken has had a stranglehold on his heart for what feels like forever. Try as it might to hold on, its grasp falters with his shuddering inhale, and falls away completely as he bursts into great, ugly tears.

"But then I kissed him, and he left me!"

Thank fuck nobody else knows who he is. Blackbeard does not cry. His tears are the blood of his enemies and the screams of the fallen. But here, he's just Ed, and he can bawl and wail all he likes into Moana's shoulder when the man staggers round the table to wrap an arm around him. He makes soft shushing noises, rocking Ed like a baby, and Ed clings to him and soaks his rough sackcloth shirt with tears and snot. 

"We were gonna run away together," he hiccups, "go somewhere nobody'd find us. He said he would, he said… but he never showed." Reaching blindly for the whiskey, he sloshes his glass full and downs the whole thing in one miserable gulp. "Next port I get to, I hear he's gone back h-home. Back to his wife. An' then…an' then there's some shit about a jungle cat and a piano…"

"What?"

"Doesn't matter - point is, he left me, Moana, and it's fucking ruined me, but he's b-back out at sea again, we heard it a few days ago, and I don't know what to do!" He dissolves into a fresh round of tears and covers his face with shaking hands. "I've always been alone," he sniffs, "but this…knowing he's out there, after everything that's happened…it's worse than death."

He's spent so long at sea, so much of his life, it's no surprise he holds so much water to cry out. It leaves him wrung out, eyes reddened and sore as he slowly comes back to himself.

Once the tears dry up, Moana gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It sounds like you were in love."

"...I think I was. Am. I dunno. Never been in love before." Shit like that was what got you killed out at sea - not that the crew of the Revenge had ever seemed to care. It certainly nearly got Ed killed. Act of Fucking Grace.

"They say the first is always the hardest."

"Is that why I feel so fucking awful all the time? Like a - a fucking pining teenager? I'm in my forties, for crying out loud." Ed's head hits the table with a thud. "'M drunk and I hate m'self. C'n I sleep here?"

"Wouldn't advise it." Moana patted Ed's back. "Why would you hate yourself, Ed?" 

"...'M fuckin' Blackbeard. I've done shit. Bad shit. Know what I did, when he left me? Chucked out his stuff, marooned most of his crew, chucked another overboard, kept two for myself. One of 'em tries to kill me nearly every night. Can't say I blame 'em." He sighs, fluttering the waves of unkempt, greasy hair around his face. "They're all fine, the marooned lot. I think. They got picked up again. Pretty sure their ship's been tailing mine. Well. Theirs. Made off with his ship an' all, didn't I? Probably wants to take it back."

"Or perhaps," Moana suggests, "he isn't coming for the ship, but for you."

"Why would he do that? Bastard made it perfectly clear how he felt when he left me on that fucking beach."

"Perhaps he loves you as much as you love him."

"That's bollocks," growls Ed, nausea curling in his stomach. 

Unbidden, he thinks back. Memories flash before his bloodshot eyes, painful like daggers to his heart, but sweet as the seven sugars in his tea. He'd always make it for Ed like that, knowing how much of a luxury the stuff was, but he'd drop the lumps into the brew regardless, because Ed liked it, no questions asked. 

The banyans, too; extravagant, luxurious swathes of silk in all colours and prints, that he'd let Ed swan around in to his heart's content. Said he wore fine things well, that he was welcome to anything in the auxiliary wardrobe. They'd been fucking glorious to sleep in, and pure heaven on bare skin freshly bathed.

All those nights spent up on deck, or in the captain's cabin, laughing and drinking brandy in those cute little glasses, trading stories and stealing glances and touching each other's shoulders. Nodding off on that cramped little couch thingy, waking in the morning to find a blanket tucked around him and a cushion under his head. Like taking care of him was the easiest thing in the world. 

The gentle press of lips, hands holding his own. That tiny whisper, the best thing Ed had ever heard -

You make Stede happy.

The biggest fuckery in the history of fuckeries, apparently, had been making Edward Teach, left on the beach, feel like he'd ever been worth something.

God, he'd give anything for the pain to go away.

He's crying again, little hitching sobs that catch in his chest and burn like fire, and Moana is rubbing his back and murmuring words in reo Māori that Ed doesn't understand, but the cadence is comforting and familiar. 

He finds his eyes slipping closed, feeling himself being pulled under. Never let it be said that Blackbeard couldn't sleep anywhere he fucking well chose.

Come morning, Izzy doesn't drag him from the tavern, but he is there when Ed wakes, groggy and confused with a sore back and arse from slumping all night. Rubbing his eyes, he forces himself upright with a wince, getting his bearings, giving himself a mental pat-down. Tongue's still there, dry as bleached driftwood, but present. Ten fingers, ten toes. Knife still on his hip. Liver somewhere in there, presumably. He'd find out what that did later on. Stomach just about alive and churning unpleasantly.

Nose picking up the bittersweet scent of coffee in the air, wafting from the tin mug in Izzy's hand as he talks quietly with a tired-looking Moana in the doorway. 

"Kia ora kōrua…ugh, my fuckin' head…" Ed digs the heel of his hand against his brow with a low groan.

Moana looks over and grins. "Ata mārie e hoa!" he proclaims. "You look like death," he adds, to which Ed gives him the finger and Izzy visibly bristles.

"Fuck you and your whiskey, Christ almighty…I see you've met Izzy. Oi, Iz, coffee, c'n you get me some of that?" 

Izzy eyes Ed as he sips from his tin mug. "Your new friend here tells me you've been having yourself a pity party back here, Edward."

"Ah, well, you know what I'm like when I've had a few," shrugs Ed, voice light and casual over Moana's annoyed hiss of "I didn't say that-"

Izzy, though, Izzy looks utterly thunderous. "I have been busting my fucking balls getting all our shit fenced," he rasps, "loading us up on supplies, keeping the crew in line, while you've sat on your arse and drank yourself half to death. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was to leave yourself so exposed? Someone could have murdered you in your sleep."

"'S why I've got a bodyguard, eh, Moana?"

Moana sticks out his tongue. "You sleep like a babe, Ed."

"What, crying every hour and constantly shifting myself?" Ed roars with laughter, then clutches his head. "Ugh. Ow. Well, the first bit was true, I guess."

"Ah, you didn't cry all that much."

"Fuck off, I was like a waterfall." 

"Kia kaha, mate. You had a lot to get off your chest."

"I'll kia kaha when I'm not dead on my fucking feet-"

"Enough!" Izzy yells. Approaching the table, he slams the mug down and leans in close, his face inches from Ed's. "Last I checked, you were fucking Blackbeard. So act like it, quit speaking in tongues, and get your fucking act together, or I swear to-"

Ed looks up through his lashes, and smiles.

Izzy clamps his mouth shut, eyes suddenly bulging. Oh, he knows he's overstepped. His cravat dangles over the top of his shirt, swaying slightly with his movements and easy to grab hold of. Ed tightens his fingers, pulling the fabric tight around his first mate's neck.

"I know exactly who I am." His voice is a dark whisper, barely carrying over the struggling breath of his captive. "Seems you've forgotten who you are, though. Enjoyed walking all over me lately, haven't you? I won't be making that mistake again. Mark my words, Iz - you better get back in line, and know your place, or it won't just be your toes that go missing next. Am I clear?"

"Y-Yes, sir - crystal clear."

Ed shoves him back, and reaches for the mug of coffee. He takes a long, deep gulp, looking Izzy in the eyes. Not enough sugar, but keeping up appearances and all that. "Good. So. Are we all loaded up?"

"Yes, sir. Ready to leave anytime."

"Fantastic. Good job." Ed claps Izzy on the shoulder. "Now fuck off. I'll meet you at the Revenge in a half hour." 

Izzy turns to go.

"And Izzy?"

He stops. "Yeah, boss?"

"Call my mother's language "speaking in tongues" ever again, I'll have yours cut out and fed to the sharks."

His first mate's face goes pale.

"And leave the coffee. Cheers, mate."

The angry little man almost falls over himself in his haste to leave the tavern. Ed chuckles into the half-empty mug and winks over the top of it a very impressed-looking Moana. "You gave me a fair bit to think about last night," he says, as if nothing had happened. "Gotta hand it to you, you broke through when I was at my worst."

Moana comes to sit opposite him, scratching absently at the moko spiralling across his cheek. In the light of day he looks completely wiped out, probably feels just as shit as Ed. "I don't think I really did anything. You did all that yourself. You just needed to vent it out before you could decide what to do."

"Aye, and I've decided."

Moana leans forward. "Go on."

"Gotta keep some of Blackbeard's mysteries to myself," says Ed, tapping his nose. He drains the remainder of the coffee and rises to his feet, knee aching. "Ugh, I gotta piss. Walk down with me to the ship in a minute, will you?"

"Sure thing."

It's scary - flaying yourself open, being so vulnerable. Ed remembers vividly the bathtub, the golden banyan covering him, tears sliding down his face and a gentle hand on his shoulder as the Kraken bared its ugly self for the world to see. 

No, not the world. Just one man. 

And Ed wants answers. They both do; he can be sure of that.

Moana walks with him through town, his strides long and easy in contrast to Ed's slight limp disguised as swagger. In the wan light of morning, it's a nice enough looking place. Ed could see himself coming back, under better circumstances. They chatter along the way, mundane snippets of life, a small talk that Ed finds himself enjoying. Moana lives in the next town over, with his wife, Marcia, and their two year old daughter, Hinekōrako, who he loves taking on long walks, collecting pebbles and admiring the nature; he talks about his family with a passionate enthusiasm and such outpouring of love that Ed feels dizzy just hearing it. But it's good. It's nice. Knowing people can love, even if he himself has been blindsided by it all.

Finally, they're at the port, and the Revenge sits idling, ready to depart.

Ed turns to Moana. "Thanks, man. I mean that. Feels like a real load off after talking with you."

"It was my pleasure, Ed." Moana is looking up at the ship with a sad smile. "This your friend's ship?"

"Yeah. Nice, ain't she?"

"She's lovely." Finally he looks at Ed properly. "I hope that you can find each other again. For both your sakes." 

Ed makes a low noise in the back of his throat. "Moana?" 

"Yeah?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "D'you reckon I…could I have a Māori name, d'you think? If I'm only Māori on mum's side?"

Whether it's the done thing or not, Moana doesn't seem to care, his inked face splitting into a wide, joyful smile. "Of course you can."

"Really?"

"Sure. What name would you like?"

Ed frowns in thought. Casting his gaze out at the ocean, its unfathomable depths, he remembers the crew of the Revenge around him, listening to him share his soft, vulnerable underbelly in poetry and song. It had felt good, to cast aside the old moniker and just…just try to find himself beneath the anger and the grief. He'd almost made it, too. He'd been so close. 

"...All I really wanted…was just to be Edward. To be me. That's what was important to me then…and I guess it still is. I'm tired, Moana. I've been running around as Blackbeard for so long, and I need to...I just want to know who I am."

Moana is quiet for a few long moments, the wind ruffling his dark hair. The silence calms the anxious waves rocking Ed's heart. 

"What I'm hearing, Ed, is the name you were born with is an identity you've not been able to assume as much as you'd like."

"Yeah, I…I guess."

"So I think maybe…your Māori name would be "Eruera". That's how we'd pronounce "Edward" in reo Māori." 

Eruera. 

He likes the flow of it. It feels like gentle waves bobbing his soul up and down. The loveliest rise and fall, second only to the broad chest of…

No, fuck off with that right now.

He likes it, though.

It feels right.

"...Yeah. Yeah, I…it's good."

"Yeah?"

"I think so. Sounds enough like me to be familiar. Reminds me I've got a heritage to be proud of."

Moana looks as though he might burst with joy, eyes bright and sparkling. "I'm glad." He seems to think for a moment, then snaps his fingers excitedly. "Hey. Do you know what a hongi is?"

"Haven't the foggiest, I'm afraid," Ed admits. 

"Can I show you? Doesn't hurt, I promise…"

It turns out a hongi involves invading your personal space a fair bit, but somehow, Ed finds he doesn't mind it. Moana's nose and brow press gently against his own and their hands clasp together, and they both close their eyes, absorbing the moment. Ed suddenly feels rather hot and watery beneath his eyelids, a tremble running through him. "This is how we greet people in Aotearoa," Moana whispers. "In this, we exchange the breath of life."

"You already met me." Ed tries not to choke on his emotion.

Moana smiles wryly. "Couldn't very well do this last night with a knife to my kidney, though, could I?"

"...Eh, suppose not."

"So I'm showing you now, to take with you on your journey." They draw apart slowly, and as he opens his eyes, Ed feels in his heart that he's been privy to something truly special. Moana claps a gentle hand to Ed's upper arm and inclines his head. "Tēnā koe Eruera. Go well, my friend, and be true to yourself."

Ah, fuck - there go the tears. "Thank you," Ed sniffs, scrubbing at his damp cheeks. "I won't forget this."

"Come back anytime - you'll always be welcome. Can introduce you to my family, even. My little girl would love you." 

"Would you teach me some more? If I came?"

"I'd be honoured."

A final clasp of hands gives way to Edward pulling Moana in for a hug - no, not final, not goodbye, but till next time, and there will be a next time, Ed will make sure of that. "Your first mate is coming," Moana chuckles into Ed's shoulder. "He looks angry; you'd best be going before he explodes."

"That's just his normal look." Withdrawing from the embrace, Ed runs a hand through his hair, grimaces, and makes the decision to give it a good wash and oil later on. "See you around, mate. Tell the boys I said hi? And thanks for trusting me not to murder you?"

"I wager they'd be glad to hear it." They smile at each other, Ed truly feeling it after so long drowning in the dark. Then Moana is turning away to walk back towards town, raising a hand in farewell as he looks back over his shoulder as he calls out, "Haere rā! May the wind always be at your back!"

Ed watches him go, a heaviness in his stomach equal parts sorrow and hangover. "Bye, mate," he whispers, soft in the cool morning air. 

Then, composing himself, he sets his face into something relatively impassive and uncaring as he turns on his heel to face the snapping dog that is Izzy Hands.

"We're ready when you are, sir."

Ed nods, touching Izzy's shoulder as he falls into line beside him. "Was a hell of a night, Iz. Think I'm gonna sleep it off today."

Izzy's cane taps on the rough boards of the gangplank with each step as they ascend. "Sure. Whatever you need to do, boss."

"Cheers, mate."

"Mind telling me our next destination before you doze off, though? So I can direct the crew?"

Ed grins. "You know that funny little ship that's been hanging around us lately?"

"Yeah, that's-" Izzy suddenly splutters and shakes his head. "Oh, Edward, no…"

"Edward yes. Let 'em onboard."

"After everything that's happened? Really?" 

"Yep. Got some unfinished business to attend to." Ed stalks off without waiting for Izzy to continue arguing. 

What he's asking for could play out any number of ways - God knows he might be in for more heartbreak, and that's terrifying - but that's something for sober, well-rested, bathed-and-brushed Ed to think about. It can wait. Sleep first. Lots of sleep.

Izzy, left to seethe on deck, rolls his eyes heavenwards. "Lord give me fucking strength."