Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Homecoming

It was dark by the time the crew finished docking the Troubadour. It was at times like this that her captain cursed the size of the ship, the amount of canvas her yards carried. Properly docking her took a long time, and Edward Teague was impatient to leave.

Rain fell in heavy sheets, the bleak conditions doing very little to help the mens efforts to get the galleon safely in the harbour.

At last, he swept his gaze over the deck and moorings and furled sails. "Disembark."

"You're not staying?" The voice of his doctor startled him slightly as she appeared at his side, faded coat soaked through.

"Course not. I've been thinkin' about getting back to the house for about three days now."

"Careful with that. You've been up far too much."

Teague flicked a hand dismissively, ignoring the pain flashing through the wound that crossed his chest. "I know where you are if I need you, stop worryin'. Go home, rest." His tone softened as he drew a bag out of his pocket and held it out. "Yours and Sahara's. Thank you."

Soracha squeezed him gently around the hips as she pocketed the bag and went below deck to finish getting ready to leave.

He retrieved his belongings, locked his cabin and left after her, the wound in his chest starting to ache properly again as he stepped off the ship with his dogs following. The rain was still coming down hard, dripping down his neck as it ran off his hat. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he lengthened his stride as he got used to the absence of a rocking deck beneath him.

The quicker motion sent pain shooting through the wound, but he was too eager to get home to care. Through the rain and darkness, the cottages windows were lit, and as he got closer, he could make out a silhouette sitting by the fire.

She was home.

He'd known that already, known as soon as he'd seen the frigate docked in the harbour next to where his own ship was now anchored, but he still felt his heart lighten at the sight of her form through the slightly misty glass.

Teague cursed softly under his breath as his cold hands fumbled briefly before managing to flick down the door latch with a soft "click". The dogs darted inside, shaking themselves dry, as he flicked water off his hat and hung it where it belonged.

"Take your boots off."

Her voice floated out through the kitchen door, so very welcome as she had been occupying so much of his thoughts.

He did, inhaling sharply at the fresh flare of pain in his torso. He slowly removed his weapons, he didn't need the sword within these walls, though it always took a little adjustment to the lack of it's presence at his hip. The same applied to the pistols that he carefully placed on the table by the coat hooks, gradually ridding himself of the tools that his lifestyle required him to carry.

Water was dripping from his coat as he peeled it off, the scarlet garment saturated and heavy. The waistcoat underneath took time to remove, his fingers still too cold to have the proper dexterity required for undoing its many buttons.

The frilled shirt beneath it had been white. Now it was stained with blood, both fresh bright red and dried to a duller, browner shade.

"Oh for the-get in here."

He looked up to see his wife standing in the kitchen doorway, her brow furrowed in concern as she outstretched a hand towards him. A breath left his lungs slowly when he allowed himself to take it, her slender, calloused fingers closing around his as she led him into the kitchen.

The room was warm, and he finally started to shiver, teeth gritting as it made his wound hurt more. His focus was on Roxanne as she deftly stripped him of his remaining garments before gathering a bowl of warm water and cloths.

Now seated next to the fire, he was silent as she cleaned the wound. She broke the silence. "What happened?"

"Navy." He grunted involuntarily when the alcohol she was cleaning with stung the injury, but was otherwise quiet. She paused, set the cloth down and gently raised his chin to look him in the eyes.

His dark gaze was distant and unreadable, emotions hidden behind the title he had built as a wall while at sea.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

She didn't acknowledge what he'd said, just knelt by him, kissing his knuckles until he slowly glanced at her, his hair slightly hiding his face. She brushed the strands away quietly before repeating her question.

"I saw the terror when they boarded. When they saw me. The Navy didn't realise what ship it was until they saw me on deck. They hesitated, talked, before they attacked. Talked about what Captain Teague has done, about how infamous he is for violence and lack of mercy and-" he paused, voice dropping.
"Jesus Roxanne, what've I become?"

Roxanne kissed his brow gently before she spoke. "You have not become anything. The side you show to them, to the Navy, to your crew, is not you. It is a part of you, not the entire thing. A part of you that you were forced to create to survive, and to be successful, and a part of you that has protected your family a hundred times over. Captain Teague may be a monster to some. Everyone is a monster to someone. I am very thankful that Captain Teague exists, as I most certainly owe him my life on multiple occasions."

She had finished cleaning the wound. He watched her as she collected bandages from a drawer in the dresser and set about wrapping his torso.
Guilt flickered through him as he noticed her cuffs were open, exposing the P branded into her skin. He touched it distractedly, apologetically.

The touch drew her attention away from the bandaging. Her eyes found his again.

"You're home, with me. You left Captain Teague at the door. Nobody calls you "Captain" in here, nobody has any expectations of you. I love you, Edward."

The sound of his given name, which he realised now he had not heard uttered for over a week, not even by the crew he considered his family, released the last of the tension in his body.

Rising to his feet, he wrapped his arms around Roxanne and drew her close. "Love you too, Asthore. Thank you for bein' here, and for everything you do, and for loving me."

She looked at him, her gaze impossibly gentle, before covering his lips with hers.

He was home.