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Oluwande watched Jim pace back and forth in their shared cabin, one hand on their dagger, thumb running back and forth across the carved letters. He would’ve teased them about that or about the pacing itself, but there was a furrow in Jim’s brow, a minor slump to their shoulders.
“Jim, what’s wrong?”
Jim shook their head, still pacing, eyes darting back and forth from the floor to Oluwande. Stopping abruptly, Jim’s lips parted like they were about to speak, closed them, and then blurted out, “I’m not a woman.” The pacing resumed.
“Uh, yeah love, I know that. Everyone on the ship does.” Oluwande followed them with his eyes, watching them wear a hole in the flooring. “Did someone say something shitty to you?” he asked, his voice taking on a sharper edge.
Jim looked frustrated with the question. They sighed through their nose, teeth clenching like the words in their head were too much and they had to chew them up first before they could spit them out. “No, ese no es el punto.” That’s not the point. “Fuck, Olu, stop loving me so much.”
“Uh, don’t think so, Jim. Sorry.”
Two things happened then. Well, three if you counted Jim stopping so they could dip into his space. They grabbed Olu’s face and kissed him fiercely. And then they grabbed their chest with both hands, fingers splaying wide, fingertips going white.
“I don’t fucking want these anymore.” They shook when they spoke, their frustration cascading through their loose clothes, whipping all the way down their coat. “I don’t think I ever fucking did.”
“Oh,” Oluwande said softly, and then as understanding dawned, “Oh!”
And the pacing was back on, Jim’s hand back on the dagger like it never left.
“So don’t,” Oluwande finally said.
“What?”
“Don’t have them.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple, Olu.”
“Why not? We’ve got a surgeon.” Oluwande stood up, stopping Jim in their tracks and taking their hands in his. “Look, I’m not trying to pressure you if this is you trying to, like, talk this all out and figure out if it’s what you want. But if you’ve already made up your mind…”
Jim fidgeted where they stood, looking down at where Oluwande held their hands before meeting Olu’s eyes.
“Roach then?” Jim raised one of their eyebrows.
“Roach.” Olu shrugged.
Jim's face softened, a grin playing at one corner of their mouth. “Guess it’d only be, like, the fifth most dangerous thing I’ve done this year.”
“I’ll be there if you want.”
Jim punched him softly in the arm. “Of course I want you there.” Then they cringed. “Fuck, I have to talk to Roach. And the captains.”
“I’ll be there for that too then,” Oluwande said. “Family, remember?”
“Sí, mi alma.” Jim let their head rest on his shoulder. “Familia.”
The two of them found Roach in the galley. Watching him clean a fish with brutal chops and visceral sawing motions, Oluwande considered grabbing Jim and pulling them out of there. Maybe Roach wasn’t the best choice for this, actually.
“Hey there.” Roach waved a slick hand. “Need a snack or something? There’s some lovely little lemon and ginger cakes. Or hard tack if you decided you hate flavor and the general concept of having teeth.”
Oluwande kept his mouth shut. As much as he wanted to say “never mind,” the situation wasn’t his to dictate.
“Have you ever actually done surgery besides stitching?” Jim asked. “Or was Lucius gonna be your first?”
Jim’s tone must have made it clear they were trying to discuss something serious, because Roach stopped working on the fish and wiped his hands clean on his apron.
“Yeah, I’ve done it. Are you hurt? Where–”
“No,” Jim said, and the galley fell silent. Roach flicked his gaze from Jim to Oluwande and back to Jim, trying to figure out the situation. He went back to cleaning the fish, filleting the meat. Oluwande had to admit seeing him do that with much smoother, more deliberate movements was comforting.
Oluwande leaned close to Jim’s ear. “Do you need me to…?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Jim squared their shoulders and opened their mouth to speak.
“If it’s your chest, I’ve done it before.”
Jim flinched in surprise. “You’ve done it before?”
“I have.”
“How many times?”
“Three.”
“Are they all, uh, alive?” Olu asked.
“If they aren’t, it’s because they’re pirates. They all had excellent recoveries.”
Jim exchanged glances with Oluwande. He nodded and hoped it came off as encouraging.
“You’ll do it then?” Jim asked, rocking forward onto the balls of their feet. “If the captains clear it.”
“Jim, babe.” Roach grinned. “If you need it, I’ll do it even if they don’t.”
“Jim! Our favorite stabby friend. What brings you by today?” Stede smiled warmly. “Oh, and Olu is with you. Delightful.”
“Sup, mates?” Edward waved lazily from where he sat on the floor between Stede’s legs, letting him comb and style his hair, tucking silk flowers into his half-bun.
“I’m letting Roach do surgery on me. I won’t be able to perform my duties for a while.” Jim’s hand strayed to the dagger once more, their body leaning into Oluwande’s. He leaned into them in return and watched them raise their chin high before saying, “I’m telling you, not asking.”
On the floor, Edward’s face went through at least four distinct expressions while he processed the words–confusion, understanding, acceptance, additional confusion. “Your body, mate. Why the fuck would you need to ask?”
“I think Jim is asking permission to be relieved of their duties for recovery, dear.” Stede looked up. “I assume this about you not being a woman or a man.”
“It is.”
“And it will make you feel more like yourself?”
A swallow. “It will.”
“I’m sure the crew can pick up the slack. Edward and I will pitch in if needed.”
“We will?” Edward mumbled. He looked at Jim’s face and then Stede’s, the latter giving him an encouraging nod. Edward smiled up at him and sat up straighter. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Course we will. Whatever you need, Jim.”
“There you are then.” Stede gestured. “Take all the time you need.”
Outside of the captains’ cabin, Jim threw their arms around Oluwande.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” they asked. “I’ll need you for a while.”
“I’ll need you for longer,” Oluwande said, cupping Jim’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You’ll have to rest. For ages. You’ll hate it.”
“I will. I’ll be annoying. Insufferable. An asshole.”
“What else is new?” Oluwande kissed them briefly. “You’re the best part of my days, Jim. Wouldn’t trade you at your worst.”
“Olu, you fucking sap,” Jim said, but they pulled him in for another kiss. It lingered.
Jim laid in bed in the cabin, Don Quixote open in their hands. They’d barely read a word. Oluwande had been right. They hated bed rest. They also hated having to sleep on their back night after night (after night.) Who the hell did that? Jim was a side sleeper ninety percent of the time, and they’d become even more of one when spooning Oluwande had become a regular occurrence. They yawned.
“Knock, knock.” It was Frenchie, lute in hand. “Oluwande said you could use some entertainment while he’s mending barrels.”
Frenchie stepped inside the cabin when Jim waved him in, and Jim was surprised to see Edward behind him.
“How’re you feeling?” Edward asked.
“It hurts and I’m bored.”
“Yeah, kind of how I remember it.”
“What?” Jim squinted. “You…?
Edward undid his jacket and hiked up his purple shirt. The scars were old and faded, nearly lost among all the tattoos and additional scars. But once Jim knew to look for them, they were unmistakable.
“Hilarious when people promise to find ‘Edward Teach’s’ family. Good luck with that name on your lips, mate. I birthed Edward Teach myself from the remains of someone who never really existed. Picked up the name myself at the cool fucking dude market. Was on sale, but I stole it anyway.”
“Huh,” Jim said. “No shit.”
“Yep. You want a song, mate?” he asked. “Been working on one about a turtle and a crab. They’re mythical creatures locked in this, like, eternal battle. It’s a metaphor. Dunno what for yet, but it’s definitely a metaphor.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Frenchie,” Edward said with a dramatic waive of one arm, “if you will.”
After Edward and Frenchie left, Jim received a whole rotation of visitors. Oluwande showed up at lunch with a tray of food and a report on the morning’s more colorful tales. Buttons brought Jim a whittled stick he said was meant to be some kind of chrysanthemum. Pete brought a whittled stick he said was supposed to be a daffodil. Stede brought actual silk daisies. And Wee John showed up with a hand-sewn silk cummerbund.
“Thought if you wanted to do some kind of cool shirtless look, you could just wear this under your jacket all, like, badass, chest out.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’d get so sunburnt,” Jim said, caressing the silk in their hands. “I fucking love it.”
After that, Lucius spent a good hour gossiping about the entire ship.
“I think Fang and I might hook up, which, yes please. What a sweet little thing.” A flip through his notebook. “Oh, and Olivia got remarried.”
Jim almost did a spit take. “The fucking bird ?”
“Yes. Really moving ceremony. Buttons is apparently ordained. Did you know?”
Jim sighed. “I miss everything.”
There were other visitors. Fang and Ivan stopped in together. Frenchie showed up again with The Swede, who did a lovely aria.
And then, to Jim’s surprise, Izzy Hands of all people dropped by.
“Alright there, Mx. Jimenez?” Izzy asked, leaning around the door.
“Still breathing.”
“Good.” A strained look. “Your ability to actually fucking do something around here with a modicum of fucking competence is sorely missed.”
“Uh…thanks? I think?”
Izzy ducked out after that.
“Did Izzy fucking Hands just offer you well wishes?” Oluwande asked.
“Hard to say. How was your day?”
“Terrible. Would’ve rather spent it with you.” Olu slid onto the foot end of the bed and pulled Jim’s legs into his lap. It wasn’t as satisfying as having him pressed close. But it was something. He absently rubbed their feet.
“I heard Olivia got remarried.”
“Oh yeah! Apparently she’s bisexual.”
“The fucking bird ?” Jim asked for the second time that day, with just as much feeling.
“Yeah, married a lovely, uh, lady named Lizzie. Buttons said Lizzie wants to adopt the kids Liv had with Karl. Sounds nice honestly. Livvie and Lizzie.”
“I’ve got to get out of this fucking bed.”
As luck would have it, Roach was the final visitor of the day. He dutifully cleaned Jim’s surgical wounds and changed the bandages. He told Jim they were allowed to leave the bed provided they basically did nothing but walk around.
“Still stuck on my fucking back though,” Jim said after Roach left.
“At least you get to go up top,” Oluwande said, crawling into the bed. With cuddling out, he’d taken to twining one leg with Jim’s. A poor substitute, but it was enough to have him close. “Hey, Ed’s supposed to surprise Fang with a puppy tomorrow. He and Stede have been potty training her for the ship. So you’ve that to look forward to.”
Jim smiled and let their foot rub at Olu’s ankle. “A puppy, huh?”
“Yeah, little less exciting than bird marriage, but it’s something.”
“It’s something,” Jim said, turning their head to find Oluwande’s eyes, glancing at his mouth. Grinning, he carefully leaned over and met their lips.
Jim stood on the bow of the Revenge, wearing the gifted silk band beneath their jacket, which whipped in the breeze to show their flat chest and a pair of scars crisscrossed with inked-on orange branches.
Beside them, Oluwande stood, leaning on the railing. Ahead, the sun melted toward the horizon. In the water, dolphins jumped playfully alongside the ship. It was peaceful. Nice.
“So I was thinking,” Jim said.
“Dangerous.”
“Shut up.” They nudged him. “I was thinking about you being my family. And…”
He turned his body away from the sun and sea, focusing only on Jim.
“And?”
“We’ll be near St. Augustine again soon,” they said, meeting his eyes, their heart hammering away like dragonfly wings. “Wouldn’t be a bad time for a wedding. If…”
In a perfect mirror of how it had been when Jim found their way back to the ship and their family, Oluwande kissed them. He kissed them and kissed them and kissed them, until Jim thought surely the sun would’ve set and let the stars out of their nests.
“For you, I don’t even know the word ‘no.’” Oluwande said. And he kissed them again and then laughed softly. “Unless you want Buttons to officiate.”
Jim laughed too and then shook their head. “No, Nana thinks the good word has a lot of wiggle room and a lot of clear evidence men are ‘terrified of strong women.’ She’ll consider herself ordained enough, and if it’s good enough for her…”
Oluwande considered that. “That seems really appropriate actually.”
And it did, didn’t it?
The woman who’d once been Jim’s only remaining family helping them officially welcome in someone new.