Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Aftermath

The study door creaked irritably as Diana pushed it open, carefully balancing a plate and mug in her hands.

"Fuck off."
The voice that spoke from the shadows was low and rough, the Irish accent thickened by alcohol and emotion.

"No," Diana said simply as she tried to find space on the cluttered, untidy desk to set the dishes she was carrying.

Slumped in the high-backed chair by the dying fire, Edward Teague balanced a half-empty bottle of whiskey on his knee, several empty ones littering the Persian rug in front of the hearth.

His dark eyes, dull with grief, watched Diana.

She finally balanced the plate and mug precariously atop a heavy book and crossed to stand beside him.
Her long, slim fingers closed over the neck of the bottle.
"I'll take that," she said softly but firmly.

"To hell ye will," he retorted, getting unsteadily to his feet, kicking aside the empty bottles on the rug.

He settled himself heavily in the chair, looking in disinterest at the meal she had prepared.

Diana sat on the windowsill in the shadows, noticing the smell of gunpowder lingering in the air.
There was broken glass in various places on the floor, glittering in the firelight, no doubt the remains of more bottles.

She glanced over her shoulder at the starless, indigo sky. The night was clear, the windowpane cold against her back as she leaned against it.

"What the fucks the point?"
Her grandfather was muttering to himself as he toyed with the mutton on his plate. "There's no point. No point in stayin'. Nobody needs me."
His hand drifted to one of the desk drawers. "It'd be so fuckin' easy to be with her again."

He drank deeply from his whiskey bottle, draining half of what remained.

Diana wondered if he'd forgotten that she was there. Staying quiet, she continued to observe.

Teague's feathered hat and frock coat were both hanging carelessly over the back of the chair he'd vacated by the fire. His worn black boots had been kicked off at one corner of the table upon which sat the ancient oak chest that held the Pirate Codex.

His dirty white shirt and breeches looked as though they hadn't been changed in days.
His beard was long and unkempt, loose from its usual ties and deep shadows of exhaustion had blackened the skin under his eyes.
Every line and wrinkle seemed etched deeper than usual, making him look very old.

"Soracha was in earlier," Diana stated, in an attempt to make conversation after a short while of silence.

"Mm. For all of ten minutes. Asked if I was retirin', had a smoke an' fucked off again," Teague said.

"Are you retiring?" asked Diana quickly, having not thought of that.

A shrug was her only response as he laid his knife and fork down.

He'd eaten about half of what was on the plate, leaving the tea untouched.

It was clear he wasn't going to eat anymore, so she sighed softly and picked up the dishes again.

Standing again, Teague crossed back to the fireside chair, whiskey in hand.

A aged dog nudged the door open, coming to sit at his leg, looking up at him anxiously.

He absently ran a hand over her head, sighing softly. She wagged her tail slightly in response to his touch, but her eyes never left him.

Diana, standing in the doorway, glanced back.

"All your Sparrows love you and need you. Everyone's worried about you. We're all here for you, Dad, Mum, Soracha, Skye, me. Hazel's still here too, with at least three of Dad's cousins. We all loved her. We all love you, and we want to be there for you as much as possible."

Teague scoffed softly, twisting the slender gold band on his wedding finger.

Around his neck on a fine chain, hidden under his shirt, hung an obsidian ring. He touched his breastbone, where he could feel it resting.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and his younger granddaughter glanced around the door.
"Everything alright?" she asked softly.

He surpressed another scoff with difficulty. Nothing was alright, nor was it ever going to be alright again.
The only treasure that had mattered in his life was gone.

Instead of scoffing, he silently shook his head.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Necromancy is forbidden in the Code, so no."
Teague's voice was flat and matter of fact.

He'd double checked that section of the Code late last night, or early this morning. He wasn't sure of the exact time.

He hadn't slept, just sat watching the fire dying to a pile of embers as he emptied several bottles of whiskey.

In fact, he hadn't slept in his bed for four nights. He'd dozed briefly in the chair he was currently in.

He couldn't face going to sleep in an empty bed, knowing that it would never be filled again.

Skye watched him, her blue-grey eyes soft and compassionate.

He didn't look at her; he didn't want to see the pity in her expression.

"Dad's worried about you," she said after several moments silence.

"I know, he spoke to me yesterday evening. The conversation ended in tears from both of us."
Teague's voice was soft, his gaze fixed distantly on the dark window.

"I don't know what to do without her," he finally said, his voice breaking.
"She was part of my life since I was nineteen. Part of...part of my heart, part of me, died with her..."

He ran a hand through his tangled dreadlocks.
"I can't go into the bedroom. I doubt I'll ever be able to set foot aboard the Lady again..."

His head dropped into his hands, and Skye realised he was crying.

Wanting to offer some comfort, she attempted to hug him, but he pulled himself away, quiet sobs racking his body.

The dog whined as she watched in concern.

He said something in Gaelic, which she didn't understand.

He then stood up, putting his boots on, tears flowing freely.

Wordlessly, he left the room with the dog following, a devoted shadow at his heels.

Skye joined her sister in the doorway, seeing her own sadness and worry reflected in her features.

"Do you think he's going to the grave?" she asked quietly.

Diana nodded, giving her a hug.

Skye buried her head against her neck. Trying not to show how upset she was.

She knew she should be thankful; she still had a family, all of whom loved her very much, but without the presence of her grandmother, there was always going to be something missing from the hearts of the family, a hole that could never be filled again.