Work Text:
Blackbeard was insane, just like flat-out insane, obviously, and Jim was pretty sure Izzy was, too, thanks to whatever the hell psychosexual drama was going on between him and the Captain. That left Fang, who was all broken up over losing Ivan and the rest of them, he wouldn’t talk, he barely ate – and Jim themselves, who was pretty fucked up too, which was embarrassing because they had repressed their dead mom and dad and brother for how many years? But one guy comes along, one sweet handsome perfect guy named Oluwande, and Jim knows them for not even a year, and that’s the loss they can’t get over? Fucking embarrassing. But Frenchie was somehow OK. Apparently he had a box? He had explained this to Jim and Fang one night, when Fang had spontaneously burst into tears during supper.
The three of them had left the galley and were bunched up together in the cabin that Jim had once shared with Oluwande. Now Frenchie, Fang, and Jim all bunked in there together. Wasn’t like it got crowded at night, since, without enough deckhands to spread out the shifts, there was almost always one of them on watch. It would be Jim’s turn soon. For now, Jim and Frenchie were sitting on either side of Fang, almost but not quite in a hug. Jim felt twitchy. They wanted to check their knives again – left boot, right boot, left hip, right hip, left interior vest pocket, right interior vest pocket, left outer vest pocket, right outer best pocket, and one under the pillow just in case – but they were afraid if they got up, Fang would start crying again.
“Have you tried taking all your sad thoughts, folding them up, and putting them in a box?” Frenchie asked. “S’what I do.”
“What box? Where’d you get a box?” Fang asked. His voice was wet, a moment of curiosity only slightly beating out sadness.
“It’s an inside box,” Frenchie tried to explain. “Like, in your stomach or beneath your ribs.”
Jim caught on. “It’s a metaphorical box.”
“Yeah, that. And then you just, lock it all up.” Frenchie mimed turning a key in a lock and tossing the key over his shoulder.
A shadow appeared in the doorway.
“If you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean,” Izzy Hands barked. “Jim, get on deck. You’re on first night watch.” Izzy seemed to wince as he turned to stomp away, though in the flickering candlelight it was difficult to be sure. Jim sighed, patted Fang’s arm once more, then stood up.
Fang breathed out, shuddering but slow.
“There you go, buddy,” Frenchie grinned. “Just put it all in the box, simple as.”
Maybe Frenchie is actually crazy, too, Jim thought, as they reluctantly left the small candle-lit sanctuary of the cabin and went out onto the deck. Even if Frenchie seems like he was managing better than the rest of them – a freaking box? That didn’t sound healthy.
***
Given the highly compromised state of the crew of Revenge (formerly known as Izzy’s Revenge, formerly known as The Revenge), it was no surprise that they had a limited staff. Revenge raided naval ships and pirate ships alike, and slaughtered the sailors before anyone had the chance to surrender or beg to enter into Blackbeard’s employ. The rare survivors spread the word: Blackbeard had gone off the bloody rails and the rest of his crew was just as unhinged. No amount of gold (technically, the promise of gold since shares hadn’t been paid out in months) could be worth it to join his crew. If you were thinking about joining his crew, you’d be better off working for the Devil himself. Meanwhile, Jim was keenly aware of how too much work and not enough sleep were taking a toll on everyone’s already-damaged psyches.
So it was a real moral quandary when, one afternoon, Jim spotted a woman in a dinghy rowing towards the ship. At first Jim had thought it was somehow Calico Jack back from the dead, because every day life on Revenge got worse so it would only make sense if that asshole came back and also was a zombie. But, looking through a spyglass, it was clear that the person was a woman, and that the woman was a babe.
“Hot damn,” Jim said.
They passed the spyglass to Frenchie. “She’s got no supplies but she looks healthy enough,” he observed.
Jim and Frenchie looked at each other. They desperately needed more crew, and here was this woman, alone in a dinghy on the open sea, probably only days from starvation if a ship didn’t find her. But could they let anyone else join what was, quite frankly, turning into a hostage situation?
“Ahoy!”
Frenchie jumped, Jim grabbed a knife from their right interior vest pocket. But it was just the woman, who had spotted Frenchie and Jim, and was now standing up in the dinghy, waving at them, a bright smile on her face.
“Ahoy! Throw a rope over, will you?”
Jim frantically glanced at Frenchie. Frenchie glanced back.
“Did you guys hear me?” The woman shouted. “I’ve been drifting for days and could really use some help over here.”
“Say something, will you?” Jim hissed.
“Ah, we’re actually busy with this other thing right now, so sorry,” Frenchie shouted.
“No, you aren’t, I can see you, the two of you are just standing there.”
Another flurry of panicked looks and jabs between Jim and Frenchie, then Frenchie spoke again. “Gosh, guess you’re right. Well, to tell you the truth, we’re actually the pirates of Revenge, which as you may know, is Blackbeard’s ship, and so we are really just the most bloodthirsty guys around and therefore can’t help you.”
The dinghy had drifted close enough now that Jim could see the woman clearly without a spyglass. She had dark hair, longer than Jim’s shoulder-length hair, pulled back in a loose ponytail and was wearing simple breeches and a tunic.
“I mean, maybe we can throw down some rations or something?” Jim muttered. “Feels kind of bad to just leave her there.”
“No shit, this is Blackbeard’s ship? That’s pretty rad. Let me up, I’ll be cool, promise.”
“What are you idiots waiting for?” Izzy barked. “Throw down the ladder. Unless you want to work yourselves to death before we get off this floating prison?”
Jim jumped. Damn the way that fucker could sneak up on them, even with his limp. Even more surprising, though, was what he had said – before we get off this floating prison. Did that mean Izzy had some kind of plan? Was there, maybe, a scrap of sanity left in him? A scrap of hope that they wouldn’t just endlessly sail under Blackbeard’s maniacal whim like the cursed crew of The Flying Dutchman? No – Jim couldn’t let themselves hope. They crumpled up that tiny feeling and put it in the tiny locked box beneath their ribs, then stepped back to watch the woman climbing the ladder.
The woman hoisted herself over the side of the ship in an agile move that emphasized her biceps. “Hiya.” She looked around, beaming, apparently oblivious to the exhaustion and desperation worn into the faces of her rescuers. “I’m Archie.”
***
Three days on and Jim couldn’t figure out what Archie’s deal was. (Aside from looking hot as hell in company-mandated leather and smeared eyeliner – not like Jim particularly cared, it was just an objective fact, that’s all.) The thing was, Archie seemed to have her shit together almost too much. When Blackbeard ordered to help him destroy Stede’s study, she got out the eyeliner and drew rude faces on the statuary. When whatever was wrong with Izzy’s bad foot got so bad he couldn’t stand, Archie straight-up volunteered to take a double shift on watch. She was practically cheerful in a way that Jim suspected no truly sane person could be.
Unless Archie’s past situation had just been so shit that working for Blackbeard was a step up in comparison? Not that Jim would ever ask. They sure as hell didn’t want to explain their fucked-up upbringing; as chill as Archie was, she probably wouldn’t want to talk about her past, either. Especially considering that whatever her previous situation had been, it had ended with her alone on an unprovisioned dinghy in open waters.
And on that note – Nana might have been a lousy parent-figure, but at least Jim had never gone hungry, not even as an adult. But they knew what starvation, even the threat of starvation, did to people. Even as their daily rations of hard tack and salt pork got smaller and smaller, Jim gave Archie whatever extra bits they could spare.
“Salt pork again, huh?” Jim said.
“Go on, give it another try,” Fang encouraged them. “Maybe its an acquired taste.”
Jim took a tiny bite, swallowed, then made an exaggerated face of disgust. “Nope, still too salty. Well, I’m not going to eat this, anyone else want it?”
“Ooh, don’t mind if I do,” Archie said. “Cheers, Jim.”
From the doorway where he continued to lurk instead of joining them at the table, despite the fact that the man’s foot was clearly very messed up now and so he absolutely should have taken Frenchie’s offer to sit down, Izzy shook his head. If he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like No pets onboard, Jim didn’t hear it. Jim didn’t know what Archie’s deal was, but they wanted Archie to stick around long enough that they might could find out.
In retrospect, it should have seemed obvious that Archie’s deal was, she had a box. Jim realized this a week into knowing Archie, during their first raid together. What was the ship they were raiding? Jim didn’t know. Maybe Izzy did, Blackbeard definitely would have been able to look at the flags the other ship was flying and read exactly which company or country and if they were false flags or true, but Blackbeard didn’t care. It was like a compulsion at this point: see a ship, raid it. Face the possibility of death in the battle, or face the certainty of death at Blackbeard’s hands.
They were close now, they’d be boarding in minutes, if the other ship didn’t surrender on sight. Jim twitched. Left boot, right boot, left interior vest pocket, right interior vest pocket, left exterior vest pocket, right exterior vest pocket. Plus the big-ass machete in their hand, just in case. Next to them, Archie made swishing sounds as she swung a cutlass back and forth.
“Looks cool, huh?” she said. “You know, I’ve never used one of these before. Guess I’m a natural.”
“You’ve never-- but you’ve fought before, right?” Jim panicked.
“Oh, loads of times,” she replied. “Don’t worry about old Archie, I know what I’m doing.” Then she screeched, and leapt the gap between the ships.
Two and a half terrible hours later, everyone except the dozens of murdered merchant sailors were safely back onboard Revenge. Jim always cleaned their knives first. That was their post-battle ritual and what they were doing now, while Frenchie and Fang were lugging crates of who-knew-what down to the hold, while Izzy and Blackbeard had disappeared into Blackbeard’s cabin. That left Jim alone with Archie.
Jim glanced up from their task. Archie was just standing there, hands empty – eyes empty. She looked bad. Not physically, thought they’d all been roughed up in the raid, but mentally.
“Hey,” Jim said. They set their knives and cleaning rags on the deck, then stood up slowly. For a while, after Nana found them, any sudden movement would set them off screaming. “I’m going to get you some water, OK, Archie? Just stay right there.”
Archie hadn’t moved at all by the time Jim was back with two mugs of water.
“Here.” They pressed one into her hand. “Just drink some water now. I’m going to stand right here next to you, OK?”
Archie silently nodded, and raised the mug to her lips. And it was like Jim could see it, the way with each sip of water she swallowed, she folded the memories of the raid into smaller and smaller pieces. When the mug was empty, she put those memories in the box, turned the key, and pushed it down.
“Thanks for the drink,” Archie said. She leaned her head against Jim, then pulled back. “Is that your blood?”
Jim raised a hand to their hair. Their hair was matted with blood just beginning to dry. “Ugh, no.” They felt their pockets futilely for a hair tie. “I should just cut it all off.”
“Oh, I think that would be so hot,” Archie exclaimed. “I could do it for you. I’m picturing, like, really short on the sides and longer up top? Emphasize those cheekbones, you know what I’m saying?”
Jim did not know what Archie was saying, but frankly did need a hair cut, and was also relieved that Archie had bounced back – even if Jim was suspicious about the long-term effects of repressing emotions, surely it was better for Archie to be talking than not? And even if it wasn’t, well, what could Jim do about it, anyway?
Izzy returned to the deck while Jim was mid-shave. Archie had one hand on their chin, keeping them still, while she carefully scrapped Fang’s straight razor along Jim’s scalp. Jim’s eyes were closed, but they recognized Izzy’s uneven foot falls. When Izzy came to a stop in front of them, Jim looked up.
“What’s going on here?” He grouched.
“Um, sorry, didn’t realize it was against the rules to cut my friend’s hair,” Archie snarked. Then, thoughtfully, she added, “I could probably give you a cool new look too, if you want.”
“My look is perfectly fine as it is.” Izzy replied shortly. “Jim – don’t forget. No pets on board. It’s Blackbeard’s rule, not mine.”
The tinge of sadness in Izzy’s voice left Jim silent. Izzy just sighed, and walked away – though he paused as he left them, turned back, and looked again, thoughtfully, at Jim. “Short hair suits you,” he said.
“Geez, is he always such a sourpuss? Izzy Hands, more like Jizzy Hands.” Archie said, and laughed like she was the first person to ever think of it. “Get it? Jizzy Hands?” Archie was laughing so hard, she was snorting. “Jizzy, like jizz, you know, instead of Izzy?”
Jim’s eyes crinkled, their body shook as they laughed despite themselves. “Yeah, I get it, Archie,” they said, and thought, Oh, I’m down bad for her.
That night, Archie took first watch so it was just Jim, Fang, and Frenchie in the cabin. There was no chance that Jim would fall asleep, not with their stomach in a dozen knots so they just waited until Fang was steadily snoring, then leaned over and pinched Frenchie awake.
“What now?” He asked blearily.
“I got a question. Like, kind of a personal question.”
Frenchie raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.
“I mean, it’s personal but it’s not about me – I mean – fuck. OK. Say there’s a guy. Not me. Just some guy and he meets a woman. And they both really like each other but then stuff happens, not their fault, just stuff happens and they can’t be together. And then that guy meets a second woman and… he really likes her, too. But he still likes that first woman. Should he say something to the second woman or would that be like, a party foul?” Jim patted their vest. The knives in the left and right exterior pockets were still secure. “Would she be jealous? Can a man love two women?”
“I don’t think man can love,” Frenchie replied flatly.
“Fucking dark, man,” Jim replied, but tried to make their voice is light. Frenchie was doing a bit, wasn’t he? Jim and Frenchie, they still fell into these moments of banter from time to time – usually call-backs to jokes they had with the rest of Stede’s crew, but sometimes new bits, too. Jim waited for Frenchie to reply, to yes-and Jim. He didn’t.
Oh, Jim realized. Frenchie was serious. The bad vibes on this ship were really getting to him. Jim rolled over and looked at their friend. His eyes were closed, his face as relaxed as it ever got these days. How was he already asleep? Bastard had probably already put this conversation in the box.
Jim knew, if Jim could just put everything a box, they’d be sleeping soundly, too. But the thing about Archie was, she made Jim want to remember. Jim didn’t know if they should feel what they felt for Oluwande even though they might never see Olu again, and at the same time, feel this way about Archie, but they sure did. They wanted to open the box sitting beneath their ribs and take out all their memories of Oluwande, unroll them like bolts of fabric, hold them up in the sunlight for Archie can see. Look, first, his smile, the way his cheeks scrunch up around his eyes, and his earring (the noise he made when Jim sucked his earlobe into their mouth), and here, now, his laugh – the way he laughed the first time he saw Jim in the fake beard, because it was goofy, even Jim could admit that, and how he laughed again, in relief, in delight, when Jim took the beard off for good. Isn’t he the best, Archie? And wasn’t not just memories of Oluwande they want to share. They wanted to find Oluwande and hold him and kiss him and tell him everything about Archie. Look, how she moves through the world like everything is new and brilliant and waiting for her. And, here’s this too, how she fights and burps and farts like a man and is still gloriously, mysteriously, a woman. She shaves her armpits, Olu, isn’t she incredible, isn’t she the coolest and the best? Can Jim love two people? A better question, maybe, why now? Why, at this apex of misery, is Jim so full of love?
When Jim finally fell asleep, they dreamed that they were tangled in teal silk and black leather, trapped inside a wooden crate, suffocating aboard a model ship in a cork-stopped bottle.
***
Jim had to tell Archie how they felt. They didn’t want to make it weird or put her in an awkward position, but also, they were going to go absolutely bananas and coconuts if they had to spend another day acting like everything was normal and Jim didn’t have a massive crush on this woman who, at any minute, might be killed by the navy or Blackbeard or other pirates or fall overboard or get struck be lightning or die in a freak seagull accident. Jim had barely had any time at all with Oluwande before they’d lost him. They couldn’t wait for Archie, too.
But despite the urgency, and the ratio of ship size to crew, Jim was finding it shockingly difficult to get a moment alone with Archie. In the handful of days since the raid, they’d made numerous attempts, only for Fang or Frenchie to interrupt them. Meanwhile, Archie kept running her hands over Jim’s newly-shaved buzz cut. According to Archie, this was the ‘haircut tax’, but Jim was 99.5% sure this was flirting. So now Jim was both emotionally overwhelmed and very horny.
The opportunity finally appeared one evening. Izzy had sent Jim down to the hold to do inventory on the cargo. Jim had given up on that task – what was the point, it wasn’t like Blackbeard would let them drop anchor at a port where they could actually sell any of the luxuries – and was debating if they had enough time to jack off in peace, when Archie entered.
“Knock, knock,” she said instead of knocking.
Jim looked up, painfully aware that they were blushing. “Oh, hey, what’s up?”
“Izzy said you could use some help down here?”
Jim’s blush got hotter. They crossed their arms over their chest, felt the weight of the knives in on either side of their vest. Now or never, mijo, they thought. “Archie, I have to tell you something.”
Archie looked at them, stepped closer. What expression was on her face? Concern? Anticipation? Jim couldn’t parse it. They squeezed their eyes shut and went for it.
“I really like you, like like like you, I mean, in a sexual way. Or romantic way. Both ways, all the ways.” Well, that was smooth. Maybe Archie had already left and Jim wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment of rejection. Jim opened their eyes. Nope – she was still there. Wait, Archie was still there and she was grinning. Massively, happily, Archie was grinning.
“You like me? Gosh, I was afraid you were going to tell me that you were a secret agent from the snake cult sent to hunt me down and kill me.”
“What- snake cult? Really?”
“Yeah, I used to be in a snake cult. You know how it is, in your twenties. Anyway, just kidding, I knew you liked me.” She pulled Jim in to a side-hug and leaned over to press a kiss to their cheek. “Did you notice I was flirting with you? Trying to, anyway. I didn’t make it too weird, did I?”
“No, you were…” Jim kissed Archie’s cheek, then the edge of her lips. “You were perfect.”
Archie closed the distance between them, pressing her lips firmly against Jim’s.
“Wait, sorry,” Jim pulled back. “Before we go further, you should know – there’s this other guy, Oluwande, from my old crew. He’s-- we were together, kind of, before--”
“Hey, don’t worry about. Snake goddess don't judge.” Archie said. “Seriously though, you can tell me all about him later, if you want. Right now, I want to hear more about going further.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Yes ma’am,” Jim said. Which was doofy as hell but apparently did something for Archie because she hopped up onto a barrel, then pulled Jim into the space between her legs.
“Hey,” Archie got a sly look on her face. “Want to see my snake?”
Holy shit, holy shit, Jim thought. Is this moving too fast? But that thready pulse of fear replied, and told Jim that they couldn’t possibly be moving fast enough, that they had learned their lesson about taking it slow. “Yeah, I mean, yes, please.”
The smirk on Archie’s face broadened, and she was laughing before she even got her shirt completely off. Her breasts were gorgeous, the left larger than the right, wide dark nipples with a few wiry hairs that Jim desperately wanted to touch. She moved them apart and-- a tattooed snake slithered up her stomach, between her breasts, forked tongue flicking her sternum.
Jim laughed, too. “It’s a tattoo. Because you were in--”
“Yeah, because of the snake cult.”
“I thought you were going to get out your dick, or strap, or whatever--”
“Nah, babe.” Archie cradled Jim’s face, then pressed them into her boobs. “I’ll give you the strap next time.”
Next time – there was no doubt in Archie’s mind that there would be a next time. Maybe, Jim thought, if they put all their fears and traumas and sorrow in a box, and locked the box, and pushed it deep down, they could keep it together long enough for them to get off this ship. But maybe there were other ways to make it through. (As a crew.)