Chapter Text
The pirates attack them in the dead of night. Most of the ship’s passengers are merchant sailors, so they never really even have a chance. Eric Richard Bittle awakens to the sounds of screams and gunfire and thinks, This could be the end.
The skirmish is over almost as soon as it begins. The pirates round up the ship’s passengers and corral them onto the deck. Eric and the others huddle together in the dark, forming a feeble protection against the piercing wind and pointed blades.
They watch defenselessly while the intruders load all of the gold, goods and guns onto their ship.
“Alright motherfuckers, anyone who tries anything is getting a cutlass in the gut, so for the love of Christ keep your mouths shut,” declares the pirate dedicated to guarding them. His bushy mustache is visible even in the dark. Eric watches numbly as he paces in front of their group, shouting over the crash of the waves. “I’d like to thank all of you for your cooperation and generosity. As you may have noticed, the screamers, fighters and fucking cockstains among you have been sent to Davy Jones’ locker, but the rest of you have a choice. We can kill you,” he proposes, “and you can join your fallen brethren at the bottom of the sea. Not my first choice, but hey, it’s your life.”
As he talks, he stares down the terrified group. “You can remain on this ship and hope that you’re rescued before your rations give out. A gamble, but again, it’s your life. Or…”
He looks at them with a shrewd smirk. “You can join our ranks, take to the sea on the Samwell, and become a fucking buccaneer.”
The group of passengers stands in silence, not moving, some not even breathing.
“No one…?” the pirate taunts.
Eric pushes his way to the front group before he even realizes his feet have moved. “I—” he stammers, clearing his throat, praying that his voice won’t tremble the way his knees are. “I’d like to join.”
The pirate stops in his tracks, and Eric feels the prickling sensation of dozens of shocked eyes on him. He squares his feet and repeats himself a little louder. “I’d like to join your crew.”
The mustached pirate looks him over, head cocked, eyes blazing. Eric tries not to faint as he waves over two more large pirates, the three of them circling him like sharks about to feed.
“Does your mother know you want to be a pirate, kid?” one of them asks.
“I’m nineteen,” Eric responds defiantly. “I can make my own decisions.”
“I’m sure. And if those decisions involve killing a man, what then? Can you handle it?”
Eric’s heart races, his body only remaining upright through sheer adrenaline, but he manages to respond with a clear voice. “I’m already a criminal, so why not add one more crime.”
The three men stop pacing, eying him for long enough that Eric has time to imagine at least four ways they could kill him without breaking a sweat.
Finally, the mustached one slaps him on the back. “Alright then, I guess you’re coming with us. As for the rest of you fuckers, good luck out there. Don’t drink the sea water if you can help it. Ransom, Holster, gather the boys, and get everyone off this fucking piece of garbage. Let’s go!”
Before he has a chance to blink, the pirates are shoving him to the edge of the deck and handing him a thick rope. He climbs onto the railing and jumps, trying not to cry out as he swings over the icy blackness of the crashing waves and onto the pirates’ ship.
The ship itself is not large. From what he can tell, the crew is about twenty men, most of whom are currently occupied with rolling barrels down into the hold.
“If you want to stay, make yourself useful and start hauling the loot down below,” shouts the mustached pirate.
An hour ago, Eric had been asleep aboard a merchant ship headed for England and a trial that would certainly end with a hanging. Now he is rolling a barrel of rum into the hold of a pirate ship. He’s still not entirely certain he made the right choice.
The crew moves quickly and efficiently, and Eric is impressed by how well they work together. He had never really given it much thought, but if he’d had to guess, he would have assumed that pirates were callous and mercenary, a disagreeable lot only out for themselves and for treasure, but these men work like a unit. Like a team.
It’s only once all of the boxes and barrels have been stored below deck and Eric is left standing alone on the middle of the deck, watching all the other men drift off to bed, that it really sinks in. He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing. His doubts begin bubbling up into a panic, and the thought creeps into his head that maybe he would be better off asking one of the pirates just to kill him and save himself the trouble.
His thoughts are interrupted by a sharp, terrifying shout. “What are you doing here?”
Eric looks up and tries not to shake as the tall, dark-haired pirate glares down at him.
“Um… I’m new,” he manages to stammer back. “I was on the other ship… I volunteered.”
The pirate’s glare gets even sharper, angrier, and it’s all Eric can do to keep upright.
“If you’re going to be on this crew, you have to pull your weight, not stand around doing nothing.”
“But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!”
“Well I don’t have time to tell you, so for now, stay out of the way,” he snarls, but it feels like a slap. He turns to leave and Eric can feel tears welling up in his eyes. He can’t cry, not now. His eyes are closed, fists clenched, but he hears the pirate continue, his back still to Eric. “Find Lardo at the end of morning watch for your assignment. Sailors’ quarters are on the middle deck, and newest hand takes the hammock by the door. Don’t fuck up and you can stay,” he growls, walking away briskly.
Eric has never felt so small. As soon as the pirate is out of sight, Eric scurries towards what he thinks are the sailors’ quarters, the adrenaline of the past few hours leaking out of him. He does find the room full of cots and hammocks and sinks into the one nearest the door. Despite everything – his panic, his dread, his aching muscles and anxious heart – it only takes seconds before he’s in a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
There’s a moment when Eric first wakes up that he doesn’t remember where he is and what has happened. All he notices is the same gentle rocking that he’s become accustomed to these many weeks on an ocean voyage. The events from the previous night all comes rushing back to him, and he’s overcome by a strange feeling in his stomach. There’s mostly fear and panic, but also, shockingly intertwined, a tiny ribbon of hope. For the first time in months, he is waking up with the possibility of freedom – at least if he can survive his first day.
He has no idea about the time, no idea when he’s supposed to meet Lardo, whoever that may be, and no reason to wait for that terrifying pirate from the night before to find him lying in bed, so he scurries up on deck to look around. The sun is up, but it’s still early in the morning. He must not have slept long.
“Think fast!” someone shouts, and before he knows it, he’s catching a squarish biscuit flying at his face. “Nice reflexes, kid.”
“Thank you.” Eric eyes the biscuit suspiciously just as his stomach growls.
“You can eat it. It’s just hardtack,” says the pirate, the same mustached one from the night before. “And I’m Shitty.” As far as names go, Eric has heard worse, but never self-imposed.
“I’m Eric,” he replies. “Eric Bittle,” he adds before shoving half of the biscuit in his mouth.
“Bittle, huh? That’s fitting for an itty, bitty bro like yourself. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys soon, but first you better go talk to Lardo.” Shitty leans in, propping his leg up on a box and resting his elbow on it. “Now don’t be intimidated. I’ve seen even the bravest men cower and run away sobbing from Lards, but you can handle it. Well, you might not, but you’ll have to if you want to get your assignment and ship’s share sorted.”
“Great,” says Eric nervously.
“You’ll be fine. We run a fair ship. Our captain wouldn’t have it any other way, and as quartermaster, it’s up to Lardo to make sure it all happens the way it should. Now get going, ya little fucker.”
“Okay… thanks, um, Shitty.”
He heads in the direction towards the quartermaster’s cabin, and knocks lightly on the door.
To his surprise, it’s not an intimidating tall and muscular pirate opening the door, but a petite sailor. In fact, Eric realizes right away, despite the short hair and men’s clothing, he’s face to face with a woman.
“Oh! Um, I’m looking for Lardo.”
The woman looks him up and down, then smirks. “I’m Lardo. Quartermaster. Kinda keep the boys running. You must be the new deckhand. Shitty totally told me all about you.” She reaches out her hand and Eric shakes it enthusiastically. While he has no doubt that this woman or any woman living on a pirate ship would be capable of rendering fear into the hearts of men, Eric is at least relieved that she seems in no hurry to beat him.
“Well goodness gracious, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, before adding, “But for some reason I thought you’d be—”
“A six-foot tall white dude?” she interrupts. “Chyeah. It’s probably because of all the dumb stories the boys tell.”
She ushers Eric into the room, which is a Spartan combination of private quarters and ship’s office.
As he looks around, Eric wonders out loud, “I thought most pirates were suspicious about having a woman aboard.”
“Yeah, most are,” Lardo admits. “I was thrown off three ships before I found this one. You don’t have a problem with it, do you?”
“Oh no! Not in the slightest.”
“Good,” she says. “Luckily the captain doesn’t believe in that particular superstition either. But enough about me. Let’s get you sorted.”
Lardo talks him through the ship’s shares, explaining all about the different watches and positions. Eric is actually very impressed with how well-run the crew is and says as much as she finishes up. “The captain must be pretty good if this is how well things are organized.”
“I’d say so,” replies Lardo, just as the door swings open. “And speak of the devil…”
In marches the tall, intimidating pirate who yelled at him the previous night. Even as he flinches in memory of the encounter, Eric can’t help but notice how handsome the captain is. He’s pale for a pirate, which only makes his dark hair and bright blue eyes that much more striking. He’s well-built, strong, and glaring at Eric in the most terrifying way possible.
After a moment, he tears his eyes away and turns to Lardo. “Do you have some time to discuss a few things?”
“Yes Captain, as soon as I finish up with our newest addition, Eric Bittle. Bittle, this is our captain, Jack Zimmermann.”
The captain glares back at Eric, his jaw twitching angrily.
“Do you even know the first thing about sailing?” he barks at him.
“My father was in the Royal Navy,” Eric responds defensively. “I’ve known how to sail for almost as long as I’ve known how to walk.”
“Can you wield a sword?”
“Well, no but—”
“Can you fire a gun?”
“No, but I—”
“Can you run rigging or operate a cannon?”
“I promise I’m eager to learn and—”
“You’re too small and too weak to be of any use. You have no battle skills. No experience. Why are you even here?”
Eric finally just snaps, lashing out with all of the fear and anger that has been brewing inside him for weeks, since long before he turned his fate over to this ship and the pirate’s life.
“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? If you don’t want me, then why don’t you just kill me?”
Both the captain and Lardo gape at him as he continues. “I’m a hard-worker, a good sailor, and there’s nothing left for me on land except the gallows, so I chose freedom, which I’m sure you can relate to. But if that’s not good enough for you, then go ahead and throw me overboard.”
Jack steps forward and looms intimidatingly over him. “I hand-picked every single member of this crew. I will not let them be bogged down by some freeloader, so I expect you to get with the program or you can go ahead and throw yourself overboard. Do not make me regret allowing you on this ship.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good.” The captain turns abruptly and leaves the cabin. “Come find me when you’re done, Lardo.”
“Aye, aye,” she replies. As soon as he’s out of sight she gives Eric an apologetic look. “He’s not always like that.”
Eric laughs bitterly. “I hope so, or else I’m not sure I’ll make it.”
“Just give it some time. Get to know the crew, find your place and don’t worry about the captain. He’ll come around.”
“I’ll try… And thanks,” he tells her, leaving the cabin and heading back to the deck.
He eventually finds Shitty inspecting the sails and laughing with the same two pirates who rounded him up the night before. “Ahh, Bitty, you survived your meeting with Lardo! Well done.”
Despite everything, the nickname gives him a warm feeling in his stomach. “Sure did,” he replies.
Shitty slaps the other two pirates on the back and continues. “These sorry sons of bitches are Ransom and Holster, our Sailing Master and Master Gunner respectively.”
“Welcome aboard, bro!” one of them – Ransom he thinks – says.
“Is Bitty a name or a description?” says the other, Holster.
“Um, both?” Eric admits. “My surname is Bittle.”
“It’s good to have you dude. What does Lardo have you doing?”
Eric shrugs slightly, “Just swabbing the deck for now. I think I’m a glorified cabin boy until I can prove myself and work my way up. At least, unless Captain Jack has me thrown overboard… He totally chewed me out back there.”
All three of the men nod knowingly. “Ahh, don’t take it personally,” Ransom assures. “He always gets really bitchy the closer we get to land.”
“He’ll return to regularly scheduled levels of bitchy after shore leave,” adds Holster.
Shitty shakes his head. “Hey, when a mate’s dad is Bad Bob, a mate’s gonna turn into a fucking pirate nightmare every once in a while.”
“Who’s Bad Bob?” Eric asks. He can almost hear the whipping sound of all of their heads turning toward him. “Wait. What did I… Y’all quit staring at me like that! This is exactly what happened before some Navy sailors locked me in the brig when I was 13.”
Shitty takes pity on him first. “Bad Bob Zimmermann was the most fearsome pirate to sail the seven seas. He found, stole and looted more treasure than any man combined, though he’s probably the most famous for stealing the Stanley Cup.”
“At one point he had all of Lord Stanley’s treasure,” adds Ransom.
“And he just happens to be our fearless captain’s father,” adds Holster.
Shitty chimes in, “No one knows what happened to Bad Bob, if he’s still alive and terrorizing the oceans, if he’s settled down on land somewhere, or if he’s lost to Davy Jones’ locker. And Jack has made it his mission to find Bad Bob and to find the Stanley Cup, since no one knows where it ended up.”
“Every pirate for a decade has been trying to get their hands on the Cup. Some say it’s the Holy Grail and will grant whoever finds it glory eternal. Others say that it’s filled with enough jewels to make all of us richer than the king himself,” continues Holster
“Either way we all want it, and the captain wants it more than most. So that’s why he acts like he’s got such a stick up his ass,” says Ransom decisively.
“Because he can't find the Cup?”
“Because no one can!” Shitty exclaims. “Not Jack, not Cutthroat Kent Parson, not his Majesty’s Royal fucking Navy, not even some dick-faced slave trader.”
Eric is so confused. “How do you know it's not at the bottom of the ocean and we’re all just wasting our time?”
All three of them laugh. “You would think that’s a possibility. But according to Jack,” Ransom discloses, “it floats.”
***
That night when Eric falls onto his hammock, every muscle aches, but it’s the pleasant ache of a good, hard day of work. He swabbed the entire deck and even set out to rid the sailors’ quarters of that awful bilgewater smell. He hasn't gotten it all out yet, but he’s optimistic.
While he worked, he talked more to Shitty, Ransom and Holster and got to hear about their histories. All of them had been proud sailors on the Samwell for years, though only Shitty experienced it before Jack was the captain. They confirm what Jack shouted at him that morning: that every single man on the crew either volunteered or was recruited, and none were captives. In fact, Ransom escaped captivity before Jack asked him to come aboard, claiming to have earned his name by fleeing slave traders and gaining a substantial ransom on his head. Holster, a former Navy man, got his name from his skill and prowess with a pistol, while Shitty, who apparently is the ship's boatswain, gave no explanation for his nickname. If Eric had to guess, he'd say it had some basis in his colorful vocabulary. However, all of them call Eric “Bitty” without a thought, which feels surprisingly wonderful.
The more he gets to know them, the more he has to question his prior misconceptions of pirates. On the one hand, the boys are aggressive, dirty, lecherous and unfazed by violence, but they are also cooperative, intelligent, fiercely loyal and protective of their own – a group that now includes him. They make an effort to bond together, eating dinner as a crew every night. The food is atrocious – most of the hardtack has weevils, and the salted meat might as well be leather – but there is plenty of rum and ale to go around. Holster, it turns out, has an incredible singing voice and most nights will lead the boys in a few choruses, which Eric loves. He’s always appreciated a good sea shanty. Overall, ignoring his interactions with Jack, he's been pleasantly surprised by his new pirate mates. As long as he can avoid the captain, he might even enjoy the pirate’s life.
***
As it turns out, the captain is impossible to avoid, especially when he decides to wake Eric up two bells into morning watch.
“Bittle. Get up.”
Jack drags him out of bed and onto the deck. Eric gazes up at the stars and determines that sunrise won't be for another hour.
“It's so early I'm gonna vomit,” he mutters.
“You've never seen the sun rise from a ship’s deck, eh?” Jack responds. “I thought you were a Navy sailor.”
“I was raised by one,” Eric corrects, “but that just means that there was no sympathy and no favoritism when it came to morning duties, so I have seen the sun rise from the deck, Captain. And I had to be up even earlier the other half of the year when I was a baker’s apprentice.”
“A baker?”
“Yes.” The captain makes a contemplative noise – Of approval? Disgust? – then turns to grab something over by the mast.
“Here,” says Jack curtly, tossing a sword at Eric’s feet. “You need to learn how to defend yourself.”
Eric gingerly picks up the sword, running a finger along the flat end of the blade. “Don't you mean I need to learn how to fight?”
“Eventually. But for now, I need you to be able to look out for yourself not to be a danger or distraction to the others if we go to battle. Now hold it properly. Like this.”
Jack demonstrates, and Eric copies.
He shows him a number of ways to parry a blow, all of which Eric tries to imitate. However, as soon as he thinks that he might have the hang of it, the captain swings at his head. Eric flinches and falls to the ground as Jack knocks his sword away, his blade just barely missing Eric’s forearm.
He tries not to cry as he pulls himself to his feet. “What in deep-fried hell was that?”
Jack gapes at him. “I came at you slow. I was obvious about the direction I was coming from. Seriously, Bittle…” He shakes his head. “If you're going to survive here, you need to be able to protect yourself, and if you're going to be a successful member of this crew, then eventually you'll need to be able to do damage in battle. If your fear is the only thing holding you back, then we’re going to get you over it.” He looks downs intently, then adds, “Just trust me, okay?”
Eric doesn't know how to respond. This is the same man who's screamed at him, made him feel resented on his ship, and then attacked him with a sword, but here he is going out of his way to teach him how to protect himself. It's enough to make anyone wary.
He picks up his sword again. “Then how long are we going to keep doing this?” he asks.
“As long as it takes,” says Jack, getting back into position. “But actually,” he admits, “the boys need to repair some of these railings, so we have to be done by seven bells. Ready?” He doesn't wait for Eric to answer, but simply takes a swing. This time, Eric parries.
***
The next few days follow the same pattern. Every morning, the captain wakes him up before sunrise and teaches him how to wield a sword. At seven bells, the rest of the crew arrives on the deck for quick rations, and then the day’s work begins.
Swabbing the deck and keeping the ship spick and span isn't the most exciting job, but it needs to be done. The benefit though is that it doesn't require much thought and takes him to all corners of the ship, which allows Eric to meet just about everyone.
He also hears stories. He learns about Samwell’s previous battles and conquests. Shitty tells him about the time Holster sunk a ship with a single cannonball and the time Ransom navigated them out of a raging typhoon. He hears about the fights they won in New Haven and the chaos they caused in Boston. He learns that their captain will never sink a slaver, but that he boards them to kill the crew and unshackle the would-be slaves. Furthermore, Ransom and Holster tell him – in great detail – about their romantic conquests, which Eric really, really doesn't need to know anything about.
Every night, they eat together, drink together and chirp each other, and Eric quickly begins to feel less like an outsider and more like a brother.
***
One night after finding another weevil in his ship’s biscuit, Eric goes to the quartermaster’s cabin after dinner.
When he enters, Lardo looks up at him and closes her account book. “What’s up Bitty?”
“I was wondering if I could help out with the galley, keeping it clean and organized,” he offers. “I managed the pantries in my family’s bakery, so I know my way around a kitchen.”
She hums thoughtfully. “I don't see why not. Other than to check the rum levels, it's not like anyone pays much attention to it anyway.”
“A regular cleaning would at least keep the bugs out of the biscuits,” Eric adds. “I also have another proposition for you, but it will have to wait until shore leave, and I might have to run it past the captain first…”
She grins. “What did you have in mind?”
***
They reach Port Royal exactly two weeks after Eric joins the crew, and it’s clear how desperate everyone is for a break – everyone except Jack, that is. True to Shitty’s comments that first day, Jack’s attitude only gets progressively worse the closer they get to shore. On their last day before landfall, he had locked himself in his cabin and refused to speak to anyone, even going so far as to cancel their early morning sword fighting clinic, which was fine by Eric. He's not sure if he would have been capable of surviving the captain at his most aggressive. Even with Jack at his most patient, Bitty has had a hard time keeping up, so this new layer of hostility would likely result in a lost limb or two.
Eric on the other hand is very excited about shore leave. With the help of Lardo, he comes up with a plan that even Jack agreed to (just on a trial basis, but Bitty is confident).
“Don't forget the rum!” Shitty reminds him as he and Lardo set off towards the market. “I'd rather starve to death in a drunken stupor than eat the best ship’s biscuits sober.”
Eric dismisses him. “That’s only because you’ve never eaten my ship’s biscuits.” Then he adds, “But don't worry, I won't forget the alcohol. I'm not an idiot.”
Shitty claps him on the back, “Attaboy, Bitty.”
As soon as the ship settles in the port, most of the boys head off immediately in search of a hot meal, a hot woman or both, while Eric and Lardo go directly to a local inn. Through a combination of bribery and intimidation, they manage to obtain access to the kitchen for the evening and spend the next few hours shopping and acquiring supplies.
Once everything has been purchased, they return to the inn kitchen, and Eric gets to work. He starts measuring, mixing and rolling sheets and sheets of dough. Lardo assists when she can, both as an extra set of hands and as the expert on quantity. With each batch of biscuits, she diligently tallies the weight and number.
Some of the boys find them a few hours in. “There you are, Bits! What are you doing working your ass off back here? We’re on leave. Take a break!” shouts Shitty.
“Why aren't you out there enjoying the considerable amount of pussy to be had?” Ransom asks, throwing his arm around Eric’s shoulder.
Holster does the same on his other side. “Yeah, you should be getting mad pussy right now, not baking.”
Eric almost chokes, managing to stutter out, “I'm not really… in the mood… for, um, that.” He squeezes away and flits over to the oven. “I'm very busy with an old family recipe for hardtack, which I guarantee it will taste twice as good and last twice as long as those bricks we were eating before.” He pulls out the latest batch, pleased with the beautiful wisps of steam rising from the tray. When he looks up, all of boys are staring at him. “I like to bake,” he adds sheepishly.
Ransom sniffs the air. “What the fuck is that smell? Goddamn! It smells like my aunt’s house, but with more love and innocence.”
“That might be the best thing I have ever smelled in my life,” says Holster. “It makes everything I have ever smelled before in my life smell like a shithole.”
Shitty laughs, “That's probably because you've never smelled anything beyond your own stench.”
“So what is it, Bitty?”
“Oh, well,” Eric starts, pulling a cloth away from an area in the corner. “I made some pies,” he says, gesturing at a half dozen pies cooling by the window. The smell really is intoxicating, catapulting his senses back to his family’s bakery when he first started learning his Moo Maw’s recipes. It's warm and sweet, like a piece of home all the way across the ocean.
“Well fuck me sideways and shiver me timbers. When do we get to eat those?” asks Shitty. He reaches out, and Bitty smacks his hand away.
“Two of them are for the innkeepers, for letting me use their kitchen. The rest are for tonight, for the entire crew.” He shrugs. “There's a lot of butter in them, as well as the fruit, so they won't keep on the ship, but I figured the men deserve a treat.”
The boys look at him dubiously, but if he hasn't already won over his crewmates, they won't be able to resist after trying his pies. He only hopes the captain has a chance to try them too.
Shitty and the boys don’t stay long after that, leaving the kitchen with a promise to round up the rest of the men later that night. True to their word, by the time the sun has set, the inn is full of pirates and their raucous laughter and drunken revelries.
After dinner, Eric comes out with the pies. He’s made a combination of apple, banana, and coconut cream pies. It's a decadent indulgence, the likes of which none of them have experienced in a long time and some of them have never experienced. Most of the crew is rendered speechless, resorting to groans and hums of pleasure. Shitty is not one of them, spouting off filthy commentary about the frankly felonious things he would like to do to the pies with every bite.
Eric surveys the scene, arms crossed proudly as he watches his new crew – his new friends – enjoying his handiwork. He smiles. Pies have always been his specialty.
Lardo sidles up to him and nudges his shoulder. When he turns to look over, she cracks open the box she's holding, revealing the special chocolate pie that Bitty baked especially for her for all of her help. “I'm gonna take this back to the ship, so I can enjoy it in peace,” she says.
Eric smiles, “Don't let the boys see, or you'll have to share.”
She pulls the box closer to her. “I'm not letting these animals near my pie. I earned it. Though I might share at least one slice with the captain.”
Eric looks around the dining room. “Is he not here?”
Lardo shakes her head. “He never leaves the ship unless absolutely necessary.”
Bitty frowns. “Oh.”
She waves goodbye, and he watches as she tiptoes away unnoticed by the hoard of pirates still distracted by the act of devouring the last morsels of pie. Once she’s gone, he moves over to sit next to Shitty.
“These were fucking delicious, brah,” Shitty declares, wiping crumbs out of his mustache.
“I’m glad you liked—” Before he can finish the sentence, he has to move out of the way for Shitty to jump onto the table. “Let’s give it up for Bitty!” he shouts. “The best motherfucking pirate baker on the seven seas!”
All the men cheer, whooping and raising their glasses in agreement while Eric ducks his head. It might not be written outright in the pirates’ code, but he's pretty sure that blushing is not considered an appropriate response in most situations. He blushes anyway and remembers this night for many years to come.