Black Sails: Surprise
by mirwalker
18. Call to Arms
Billy continued to sift through the bedroom's sparse contents, both hopeful and doubtful he'd find anything of use in the home Mrs Barlow had hurriedly vacated months before. Still, she owed him something for all the trouble she—or at least the idea of her—had caused him and others. May she rest in peace.
"Company!" Ben called from the front room—not in alarm, just giving notice.
Leaving the lantern and pulling his pistol nonetheless, Billy stepped carefully up the short hallway to where the low voices murmured around the main table.
"Idelle sent all this, did she?" Wayne asked the figure he faced, as they rustled items from a saddlebag.
Ben nodded in Billy's direction, letting the courier standing at the foot of the table know the boss had appeared.
In barely more time than it took him to glance sideways, the visitor shouted gutturally and rushed Bones-ward with a murderous look. As the others stood surprised at the sudden outburst, he got in three blows to their leader's midsection before Billy was able to grab him around the waist and hoist him ass-out against his hip. "Save me some supper," he said with remarkable calm—nearly resignation, as his captive continued to curse admirably and flail energetically at his side.
Wayne and Gunn traded stunned glances at the wild attack and tidy response, before Wayne shrugged and reached for the freshly delivered bottle of rum.
Pulling the door behind him, Billy warned "Quiet!" as he strode away from the house into the dark yard. "You've made your point, and calling the redcoats or plantation militia won't help anyone..." With no warning and a quick thrust, he pushed his passenger out into the lawn in front of him, trying to interrupt the rage. "Bastian, stop!"
But the freed fury merely renewed its attack, pushing words through his snarled lips, as he rushed Billy and tried to pummel his chest and face in time with the repeated words, "You! Came! Back!"
Still not reacting in kind, Billy instead caught his wrists with one hand, and with the other, pulled him into a tight embrace, slowly—and carefully—kneeling, drawing the frothing frenzy to a lower physical and energy level. Expecting some outpour of emotion on their reunion, anger certainly hadn't been the goal. So, he rocked and soothed as he explained, "I did; I came back. I'm just sorry it took so long; and at some point, I tell you the whole tale. Just know that several times I nearly didn't make it, even doubted I would. But I never stopped trying. I never stopped thinking of you, of getting back to you." Feeling Bastian relax slightly, he loosened his grip and cupped his hand along the wet, red cheek. "And I did; I came back."
Having fallen still in Billy's warm remorse and dedication, Bastian's large eyes were empty except for a persisting, deep betrayal. He took a deep breath, both to calm himself and to underscore his central charge. "You didn't come back to me."
Billy nearly choked at the throaty accusation, the opposite of the joy he was feeling and had hoped the reunion would inspire.
Bastian pressed on coolly. "I could shout for joy that you're here. 'Cause I prayed there'd been some mistake, some confusion—like last time, and that you'd come back. But Hornigold, he had your tattered black… It was weeks. I- I grieved you! Again…"
Billy's elation had been burned away, ashamed to his core for the pain Bastian must have suffered, even if only a fraction of what he'd imagined for the younger man or experienced himself.
Expression unchanged, Bastian fired a final time. "Then, whispers on the beach that you'd been seen with Silver at the tavern, that you was alive and dry and tall again in Nassau. But I told 'em—told 'em they was crazy… Because I knew… there was no way… after two months… William Manderly'd come… to these shores, to this town… and not find some way to get me word, to somehow find me." He was nearly gasping through angry tears as he named the cruelest offence he could imagine—ignored and disregarded by the one he loved. "Even tonight, no warning…"
Billy had visibly wilted at the disappointing hurt Bastian's whole form was confessing. His gaze dropped to his lap along with his fumbling hands, unable to marshal much defense; in fact, he wondered whether he even deserved one. Regardless, he owed Bastian whatever solace he could offer. "I know; and I'm sorry. I'd hoped to slip away to you that night. But we were rushed and… Dufresne… The alarm was bound to be raised; I couldn't risk you to that… And today, we just couldn't risk names." He sniffled and a slight smile returned, as one hopeful fact came to mind. "Who do you think asked Idelle to send you on tonight's delivery?"
That earned him a deep in-breath and hard swallow.
"Happy birthday…"
His tenuous rage and sorrow now fully interrupted by the pirate's sharp memory and smart choice in words, Bastian could only sputter some mix of surprise and relief, and throw his arms around Billy's neck, knocking them both over.
Gripping with his own fierce regrets and reprieve, Billy whispered repeatedly into the warm neck and sweaty locks, "I'm back. I'm here. I'm home."
After weeks of conflict, setbacks and mortal peril, the nearly-forgotten comfort of holding his anchor was swift, sweet and complete. He buried his face in Bastian's neck, clutching a handful of hair and pressing the whole lean form against him as firmly as he dared. The familiar touch, heat and scent soaked into him like rain into parched sand; and he relished the long moments they simply, fiercely and tenderly confirmed one another.
Ultimately jealous of the heart's attention and fullness, Billy's stomach growled between them. Both chuckled at the awkward, honest intrusion.
Bastian finally moved his drunken smile into Billy's vision. "I could try to live on this alone; but, I'll take it you haven't eaten all day; and Wayne…"
Billy opened his eyes, and brought his hands around to cradle the concerned countenance. "I'm in no hurry to let this go. And they'll probably leave me something…"
"You have more faith than I; your army is small but hungry."
"Army?" Billy grinned. "We're sailors."
"You're on dry land now…," Bastian pointed out. "And word in town is that you got away with Rackham and his chest, but now Rogers has Vane." That the pirates hadn't returned in numbers or come back into town at all, and had instead moved in secret to this distant rendezvous, meant the challenge to Rogers was not over, but was starting small. He patted Billy's midsection, beginning to roll away with a kiss. "You eat, while I go get my things; and I'll rejoin you by morning…"
Interrupting the proposed plan, Billy's grin vanished, and one hand kept Bastian from pulling too far away.
The younger man understood immediately that the night was taking another unexpected turn, that the hesitation boded poorly for their reunion. "Don't you dare, Billy Bones. I want to help, to be with you…"
Billy sat up beside him, nodding in appreciation and agreement with the shared desire. With as much confidence as he could through the simultaneous regret, he explained, "I know; I'd rather that as well. But having eyes and ears in town, especially yours—that'll make our freeing Vane faster and more likely. It'll be no more safe there, but…"
Fresh wound re-opened, Bastian's simple ask could barely be heard in the night's dark stillness, "Please don't send me away."
"Billy?" an accented voiced called from the porch, not quite worried.
The pirate swallowed and glanced toward the question, and the larger commitment it represented. "Bastian…"
Recognizing what priorities clearly hadn't changed with Billy's second coming, a newly cold Bastian nodded knowingly and stiffly pulled away. Without another word or look, he stalked to the waiting horse and cart, and headed off toward Nassau.
"Bastian…!"
Gunn joined Bones on the lawn, checking on the odd pair, and watching the odd supplier vanish into the darkness. "Everything alright?"
Billy sighed and shrugged half-heartedly, not turning until they could no longer make out shape or movement down the road. "Good as it ever is for us…"
Billy wasn't entirely confident that his goal would actually be at the end of this quest or his climb. There was a light on in the loft, but no amount of careful calling had elicited a response; and all the obvious, easy means of ascent were withheld. So, with a moment's attention to the shaggy greeter below, he carefully picked his own way up through piles and beams. Hoping he needed to avoid surprising his prize, he softly called ahead as he finally crested the landlocked lookout, "Bastian?"(1)
With still no response, warning or other acknowledgement, despite his clear proximity, Billy moved slowly through the brief maze, intentionally making a little noise to confirm his approach.
Coming finally into the living space, he found Bastian sitting on the platform's edge, facing the bay, his shirtless back dotted with fresh scratches, and a stained bandage around his left upper arm. "I'm sorry," he began immediately, again.
"Fuck 'sorry,'" Bastian replied instantly without turning.
"I didn't tell Gunn to lock you in the shack. I didn't even know he had until an hour ago; and I came as quick as I could. I just wanted you occupied, and safe in case things went badly today. Are you alright?"
"Fuck 'safe.' Fuck 'alright.' Fuck him. And fuck you, Billy Bones." Bastian turned just enough for Billy to glimpse a few additional escape-made scratches on his shoulders and face.
Anticipating the attitude, the unexpected injuries drove Billy forward involuntarily. But a growl stopped him in his tracks.
"Since you're so keen to decide what's best for me, you need to choose what's next. Pick a path…" He gestured to the floor, where three items were laid out between them: a bottle, a knife, and a model ship.
Seeing no benefit in arguing, as he'd actually come to make amends, Billy accepted the odd instruction and took stock of the literally drawn line. Squatting, he looked closely at the apparent choices before him. An unremarkable open bottle of what was likely rum. Bastian's own blade. And, picking up the small craft, he found it was an unfamiliar and incomplete sloop. "I'm going to need a little help…," True, and he hoped Bastian would face him, offering more insight into his frame of mind, and a more direct eyeline for connecting.
"It's simple really," calmly explained the uncooperative back of the head. "You seem intent on keeping me from the all-important fight you're at the center of; so as I figure it, I can drink to forget who I can't have and what I can't do. Or I can just finish myself off, so I'm free of worries and you're free to focus on everyone else-"
"Bastian!"
"Have I misjudged my importance? Then perhaps you prefer we just sail off to somewhere neither of us is endangered or a distraction to the other…"
Blunt as ever, Billy conceded, even as he was irked by the oversimplified and extreme options. He also knew that Bastian was as hurt as he was angry, and so chose to approach the suggested ultimatums from a less absolute angle. Pulling two cups off a nearby shelf, he pushed the knife well out of reach, and joined Bastian on the edge. Pouring nearly full drinks, he handed one over, and took a quick draught from his own. "Would you really sail away with me, tonight, if I offered?"
"I think I've just said so. But you won't…"
"Because I value the men and the fight over you?"
You said it, Bastian's silent sip seemed to suggest.
"I'm tempted; I am. But for all our challenges, what you and I share, we are illegal everywhere but here, you know. There's no port, colony or county where we can be anywhere as open as on this rock. It's not easy and won't be perfect, but I'm fighting for us, for you."
"I don't need you to fight for me!" Bastian's rage broke through his feigned indifference. "I was taking care of myself long before you sailed these seas. If anything, I've—" he caught himself.
"Suffered more since I arrived," Billy deduced. Birthday beating, dead dog, accused of murder, feeling betrayed, nearly drowned, and twice widowed.
"I-"
"I hope you know I'm not blind to what you've sacrificed, what you are suffering, for me. Ben's excess this afternoon included. I do know. And I regret. And I must ask for a little more… Not lightly, but necessarily."
Bastian finished off his rum in two quick gulps.
Billy turned slightly toward him, to emphasize his case. "If the English take hold here, they will sack this place as sure as Rosario;(2) more gradually and perhaps more politely, but just as certainly. They'll take away everything of value for Rogers or some other posh prick or distant family. What's more, they will separate you and me, if not impress you outright. And beyond the obvious distance, I couldn't bear to know you're toiling in the servitude I knew… I couldn't; I won't." That deepest, realest fear was clear in the rare tremble in his voice.
Bastian sat perfectly still, as Billy took a deep breath and continued. "So, despite Flint and his grander aims, beyond any concern for the men, we all need to fight here and now at least. And with his throne and focus elsewhere for now, I am left to manage Nassau's resistance, her direct liberation. In parallel to Flint, and with my brothers, I need you to know that I am still, I am nonetheless, I am passionately fighting for us," he pointed between them. "And as I have since that night you picked more than my pocket, I am thinking first and always of you."
Rum barely touched in one hand, Billy turned over his other, nearer hand, on his thigh, leaving his palm open and hopeful.
Bastian maintained his stare out across the dark water, his jaw alone rippling in reaction to the explanation and invitation being made. Suddenly and silently, he pulled back his arm and hurled the battered mug out into the night, lost to the lantern light and lapping waves.
Billy forced himself not to react to the outburst, unflinching and hand still extended.
Shoulders sagging, Bastian reminded, "I've only left this island, only been out of sight of her, the once; and even how that went, I've dreamed ever since of getting away to anywhere else. And best I can see, the English are no different to everyone else—harsh, whoring, and eventually in need of ship supplies. But, if you tell me this is our best beach, and the new redcoats are worse than the native wretches, then bien; I'll believe you. If you feel this fight is necessary for you, then it's all the more so for me."
Slowly, he placed his hand on Billy's, but kept it flat and stiff as Billy tried to close his around it.
"But if it's my fight, our fight, I need to be part of it, not pushed and locked out."
"Bastian…"
Bastian began withdrawing his hand, signaling there was to be no negotiation. "You've set it up that way; and it's my choice, not yours, regardless." He looked Billy square on. "I know this place and its people better than you. I know secrets, I have sources, and supplies: I know that many of the Governor's men fall ill, and that he has fallen… close to Eleanor Guthrie. That Max sees her fortunes tied to him, that Mapleton is back to running the floor at the Inn, and so the street follows the skirts." Examples given, he turned back to his point. "Your fight needs me; and I'll be damned if this struggle that keeps separating us finally holds you here, but apart from me. I fight with you, or not at all." He turned his hand in offer of a handshake, eyebrows asking whether Billy would accept the deal.
Bested and besotted, Billy quickly set down his cup and instead pulled Bastian into a fierce embrace. "This is stubborn courage I love, you beautiful rascal." He sat back, carefully wiping curls from Bastian's face, and fell serious again. "I've no shame in admitting the only thing I fear more than losing you to the English, is losing you entirely, in a direct fight. And you've just pointed out your knowledge and networks in Nassau…."
"I want to be beside you—" Bastian shook Billy's shoulder in protest, his face showing he realized he'd given Billy good excuse to leave him in town.
"I'm not sure yet exactly where I'll be," Billy reassured, clasping his hands behind Bastian's back to demonstrate there was no separation yet. "Vane's hanging has sparked the resistance, but only just… But I do know that your connections here are more valuable than any able hand outside the city."
Bastian pouted at the truth. "I can do more than gather information in town…"
Billy leaned his forehead against Bastian's furrowed brow. "Depending on Flint and Silver's success with the navy, we'll certainly need more than just what you can learn. And it's not as if being here among them will be safe…"
Both men sighed, sharing and savoring the rare and threatened breath, touch, nearness.
"So long as I can… see you regularly," Bastian pulled at Billy's collar, "I'll do it. For you. Promise?"
Billy playfully feigned indecision, as if he hadn't actually gotten his way.
Sealing the deal with a long kiss, Bastian reminded with wriggling eyebrows, "And, don't forget, I have a canon."
Billy glanced down between them, coyly choosing to misunderstand. "Such dangerous offers, Mister Price! Show me?"
NOTES:
1. Was going to call Bastian's room a crow's nest; but found that term wasn't likely coined until the early 1800s.
2. Devastating Spanish raids referenced in the show, during which many were killed, including Eleanor's mother, and ostensibly Mr Scott's wife and daughter.