High Seas and Low Blows: At The End of All Things

[churbooseanon]

Warnings: Major Character Death, Suffocation

My beloved co-author has inspired me to do this. We’ve talked recently about the idea of Felix and Locus as pirates, and this sorta springs from that. But it’s not necessarily going to follow a path that people expect. The overall frame of it I’ve already decided on, but the general details are quite fluid. Mainly I’m just going to do this as a series of drabbles that I work on when the spirit moves me. Here, though, we start with the end.

At The End of All Things

The ship feels dead.

Truth be told, it’s fitting. At least it feels like that to Felix. The Sunset could never be the same again, not after today. But he isn’t going to have to look at her again. Still, it shouldn’t feel so dead yet. Not with the calls of his men as they offload the remains of their most recent haul onto another ship. He doesn’t need, he doesn’t want to see the Blade again. Not like this, not knowing what it will make him remember.

He can hear the groan of the wood of the ship, familiar and once welcoming. The flap of the sails being taken up, and his men shouting to each other as they strip Sunset Blade from everything that could be useful on other ships. Except for one thing, the thing that matters most.

It’s loud out there, and it’s quiet in here. The air is close and thick with the sickness. Nothing spreadable. Felix is careful not to look down, not to seek out the infected wound cutting from his lover’s calf to his hip. It didn’t matter how many healers Felix had brought to him, his partner was long past helping. This… this is all he can give to him.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Locus whispers, his voice weak. “You’ve lost crew members before.”

“You’re not just my navigator,” Felix snaps at him. It’s not that simple and they both know it. If it was…

If it was then this wouldn’t be about to happen.

“You’re not just… you’re not just some crew member, Locus. You’re more than that. You’re…”

The words won’t come. Not with what he knows comes next.

“I know, Captain,” Locus answers. “But you’ve got to do it anyway. I need you to do it.”

There are a lot of things Felix wants to say.  So many things. But he isn’t much of one for these kinds of speeches. No, somehow, man of words that he is, he just can’t find any. Not on that covers what is happening and what he knows he needs to do. His fingers reach out to brush slowly across Locus’s brow, moving a stray bit of hair behind his ear. When his fingers come away they are damp with the sweat that Locus can’t seem to shake.

That’s the wrong way to put it. Because Locus is still shaking with his fever. Or maybe weakness. Not shocking if it’s that. Felix’s eyes dart to the tray he had brought the night before. Still the cold broth is untouched. There’s nothing they can do if Locus can’t even muster an appetite anymore.

Still he tries. Reaches for the cloth by the bucket on the floor, wets it, and reaches up to mop Locus’s brow clean. Locus sighs in relief at the action, and Felix bites his lip to keep from sobbing at how such a small thing seems to be the greatest pleasure left to his lover.

He can’t say the words he needs to say, so he acts instead. Rolls the blanket down Locus’s chest and wets the cloth once more. Each stroke of the wet cloth brings shivers to his partner, but leaves a small smile on his lips.

Felix doesn’t do this kind of thing. He’s never been the ‘serve your fellow man’ sort of person. Hell, a life of piracy sort of screams that, doesn’t it? Sure his crews seem to think he’s an absolute wonder, but that isn’t truth. At his depths he knows that. You don’t loot fat merchants and ransom their crew because you’re a nice guy who likes people. You do it because you don’t give a fuck. And providing for his crew? It’s just a logical step to keeping their loyalty.

Put simply, tenderness is not his thing, except with Locus. Helping the sick is not his thing. Except with Locus. Slowly cleaning someone with nothing more than a wet cloth, trying not to tear up, doesn’t happen, except with Locus.

A hand settles over his, and Felix starts, looking up at Locus. Pity fills those dimming green eyes. Pity and pain and so many things that Felix can’t put into words.

“It’s time,” Locus declares, and Felix just nods.

He stands, dropping the towel on the floor. Slowly he walks to a stand in the corner and blows out the candle burning in its holder. He’ll leave that. Locus will need something to light his way. Then he returns to the cot and kneels by his partner, his lover, his Locus. Their hands join again, a hasty touch that both of them crave, Locus’s fingers wrapping weakly around his own. Felix’s throat is tight but when Locus nods, he pulls the pillow from under his lover’s head.

At first Locus is still as the small silk thing covers his face. But no one, not even someone taking this willingly, can fight instinct. Felix just looks away, refuses to watch, refuses to see the way Locus’s body struggles. He can feel fingers clawing at the back of his hands, trying to remove the pressure, trying to win him another breath, and another, and another after that. It doesn’t matter that they both know this is for the best. The infection is in his blood now, and it’s only a matter of time before it shuts down his body, slowly and painfully. This is the best death Felix can offer.

It isn’t the quickest, but it’s the best one Felix is capable of.

It seems an eternity before those hands stop scratching. Before the desperation fails and hands grow limp. Even then Felix keeps holding, just in case. Holds it as he leans forward over his lover, sobbing into his chest.

Only when he smells the pitch and oil does Felix stand. Carefully he sets the pillow back under Locus’s head. After a moment he reaches out and closes his lovers eyes, unable to let them just stare up into the emptiness like that. Then he stands, slow and unsteady on his feet. Casts his eyes about to see if there is anything here that he needs to take with him.

Nothing that has been here to see what he has done can ever survive. Resolved, Felix heads to the door and pushes through.

After that it’s a blur. He knows his men are still moving around him. He knows the final measures are being made. He knows he has to get to a boat and be taken over to his new flagship. All of it is very certain in his head. In fact, he’s pretty sure his body does it, as if by its own accord.

Once his feet strike the deck of the other ship it’s all as good as done for him. He doesn’t look back as the Sunset Blade and its most precious cargo burn.