Surviving Death
Somewhat inspired by a conversation I was having about Beckett being very very dead.
Title: You did what?
Rating: PG
Characters: Mercer and Beckett
Summary: Both recount how they managed to live. xD
Mercer was sitting on the dock in Port Royal wondering how much pocket change he had left to get him back to England. Sunshine never sat well with him, on a personal level. Deciding that perhaps pawning his cufflinks might be in order (and, with a wince, he acknowledged that his hat might have to go as well) he was surprised to see a small boat, almost gondola looking, approach the port. It had a rag tag sail and he was reminded of some of the legends of Sparrow and vowed, should it be the pirate, that he was going to murder him in the most creative fashion he could think of then cut him up into pieces so small that not even the rats in London would think him worth their time.
“Allo, Mercer,” an all to familiar Oxford accent greeted him.
“M'lord?” He blinked in confusion, still obligingly taking the rope the younger man threw at him.
“Need a lift?” Beckett smirked as he pulled himself onto the dock, dusting off burnt breeches and torn coat. “I see you're heading home.”
“Yes, that was my intention.”
“Excellent.”
“M'lord?”
“Yes?” A prim look as he fixed his hat over the wet wig.
“You're supposed to be dead.”
“Am I?”
“Your head was severed from your body by a large flying object after the ship exploded.”
Silence as Beckett pondered this, lips pulled into a frown.
“I've a question,” he said at last, reaching to fix Mercer's cravat. “How are you alive?”
“Er.”
“You were orally raped to death by a walking seafood dish.”
“Yes, well...reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.”
“Fair enough.”
“You didn't answer my question, m'lord.”
“I made a bet with the boatman.”
They were walking up towards the down, Beckett's stride as imperious as ever.
“The boatman?”
“Yes, do you like the gondola? I'm quite fond of it.”
“What sort of bet?”
“A drinking game, for every time there's a moment in Julius Caesar where Cassius and Brutus act like sodomites. Which is every other line.”
Waves lapped at the shore.
“You outdrank Charon?”
“You know your classics, I'm impressed.”
“I work for you.”
“Hush, and yes I did. I knew that Irish on my mother's side was good for something.”
Another silence descended as Mercer's face went carefully blank, fingers fidgeting with shirt cuffs. Beckett turned back around and continued into the town, flatly ignoring the stares.
“You outdrank Charon.”
“Is that all you can say? And how did you survive?”
Silence again. Beckett turned back to face his clerk, expression mischievous.
“Mercer? What did you do?”
“Nothing of any import, m'lord.”
“What did you do? Don't make me order you.”
The older man's face was carefully, so very carefully, neutral.
“Mercer.”
“You mentioned how I was orally raped to death...” a discreet cough.
“Well?”
The cough happened again followed by a worried look aimed everywhere but at the younger man. Beckett gave an annoyed sigh.
"I... relieved Charon of many years of pent up stress."
"You did what?"
"I... gave him a blow job."
Title: You did what?
Rating: PG
Characters: Mercer and Beckett
Summary: Both recount how they managed to live. xD
Mercer was sitting on the dock in Port Royal wondering how much pocket change he had left to get him back to England. Sunshine never sat well with him, on a personal level. Deciding that perhaps pawning his cufflinks might be in order (and, with a wince, he acknowledged that his hat might have to go as well) he was surprised to see a small boat, almost gondola looking, approach the port. It had a rag tag sail and he was reminded of some of the legends of Sparrow and vowed, should it be the pirate, that he was going to murder him in the most creative fashion he could think of then cut him up into pieces so small that not even the rats in London would think him worth their time.
“Allo, Mercer,” an all to familiar Oxford accent greeted him.
“M'lord?” He blinked in confusion, still obligingly taking the rope the younger man threw at him.
“Need a lift?” Beckett smirked as he pulled himself onto the dock, dusting off burnt breeches and torn coat. “I see you're heading home.”
“Yes, that was my intention.”
“Excellent.”
“M'lord?”
“Yes?” A prim look as he fixed his hat over the wet wig.
“You're supposed to be dead.”
“Am I?”
“Your head was severed from your body by a large flying object after the ship exploded.”
Silence as Beckett pondered this, lips pulled into a frown.
“I've a question,” he said at last, reaching to fix Mercer's cravat. “How are you alive?”
“Er.”
“You were orally raped to death by a walking seafood dish.”
“Yes, well...reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.”
“Fair enough.”
“You didn't answer my question, m'lord.”
“I made a bet with the boatman.”
They were walking up towards the down, Beckett's stride as imperious as ever.
“The boatman?”
“Yes, do you like the gondola? I'm quite fond of it.”
“What sort of bet?”
“A drinking game, for every time there's a moment in Julius Caesar where Cassius and Brutus act like sodomites. Which is every other line.”
Waves lapped at the shore.
“You outdrank Charon?”
“You know your classics, I'm impressed.”
“I work for you.”
“Hush, and yes I did. I knew that Irish on my mother's side was good for something.”
Another silence descended as Mercer's face went carefully blank, fingers fidgeting with shirt cuffs. Beckett turned back around and continued into the town, flatly ignoring the stares.
“You outdrank Charon.”
“Is that all you can say? And how did you survive?”
Silence again. Beckett turned back to face his clerk, expression mischievous.
“Mercer? What did you do?”
“Nothing of any import, m'lord.”
“What did you do? Don't make me order you.”
The older man's face was carefully, so very carefully, neutral.
“Mercer.”
“You mentioned how I was orally raped to death...” a discreet cough.
“Well?”
The cough happened again followed by a worried look aimed everywhere but at the younger man. Beckett gave an annoyed sigh.
"I... relieved Charon of many years of pent up stress."
"You did what?"
"I... gave him a blow job."