Death Left Me At The Alter

[Elliot Walsh]

(Takes place the day after the deGrey trading company returns to port, before King Edwards funeral)


The old Sailor for once had been both excited and terrified for the first time in a long time. So much so, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Was this really happening? Had he really done it? There was a tightness in his chest, and that last day of Sea had left him an anxious, paranoid wreck. He kept waiting for the sea to pluck them up and spit them out with a storm, or some problem that would prevent them from getting home to Tresteria on time. The fact they made it to the harbor in one piece and early, had the old man actually pinching himself to make sure he was in fact not dreaming.

Were the tides finally turning? Was he actually going to be there for once? That night when the crew had returned to their families and Elliot was left on the boat alone, he’d actually jumped around, clicking his heels together as he whooped with joy. Punching the air and shouting “Yes!” before his coughing fit had taken over. He was too thrilled to worry about the pain in his chest, or that breathing was difficult for those few moments. He was going to make it. He was going to be there. For Jacob. For his son. For his wedding. He was going to make. “I’ll be there Annie. I’ll be there for him.” He’d gone to sleep that night telling his wife’s memory.

He’d risen early, dressed in his best. He’d ran a comb through his hair and beard more times then he probably needed too, but he wanted Jacob to see the effort he’d put in. He had his new daughter-in-law to impress after all, and he could only imagine what sort of tales Jacob had told her about him. Well, Elliot was going to be his stubborn self and prove to the both of them that he was still there. That he wanted to be there. The wedding invitation that Jacob had managed to get to him had surprised Elliot, but he’d also clung to that spark of hope like it was a lifeline. The hope that Jacob would let him be his father. That Elliot did care about him. He was his son after all, and other than his mother, the old sailor didn’t love anyone else as much as he loved his wee Captain Jake. It just seemed like Jacob had forgotten. "My boy's gettin' married!" He practically told everyone he passed on his way to the church. The excitement and joy clear on his weathered face. He'd picked up flowers on the way. Wanting to get his new daughter something since he hadn't the time to get the two of them a real wedding present, but he wanted the effort to be seen. 

The world was cruel though. It was so very cruel, and like to taunt and tease those it sank it’s claws into. Elliot had arrived at the church early, to try and catch a glimpse of Jacob before the ceremony started to show to him that “hey! You’re old man can make it to important things!” but he was met with an empty building. He had sat there for far longer than necessary in one of the pews just waiting. His old eyes had scoured the invite several times. Making sure he had read it correctly. He’d had the right place, the right time, the right date, then where the bloody hell was everyone?! Finally annoyed, he’d gotten up and searched for answers. He didn’t think Jacob was this cruel to send him an invite to a wedding that didn’t exist. Was this a test? To really see if Elliot could keep his word?

After finding someone who worked at the church, he’d asked about the wedding. Elliot had to pick his jaw up off the floor at what he’d heard, and then he was off at a hurried jog. Shoving the forgotten flowers at the worker. She was dead. Had died, a month ago. Elliot had either not gotten the news in time, or Jacob hadn’t bothered to tell him. Either way, if there was a time Jacob needed his father more, it was now. Especially on this day. He knew the route like he knew the back of his hand. He’d walked the very steps more times then he could count, and by the time he got to the house, he was bent over wheezing. Struggling for breath as he whipped out the rag he’d been coughing into when no one was looking out. He had to rest his hand against the stone wall, and lean on it while he caught his breath. He blinked up at the sky, and became very angry all of a sudden. Wishing this misfortune had picked someone else and not his son. His boy had suffered enough.

Gaining his bearings, he folded the rag up, and tucked it into his coat, before he marched up the front stoop and pounded his fist on the door repeatedly. Not easing up either. He was a persistent old coot, and though he usually respected his son's space when he came to visit, it was still Elliot's house. He’d walk in if he had too.

Jacob Walsh

[Jacob Walsh]

It was only a month ago that Natalia had her accident and died. A month. Such a short amount of time to completely rearrange someone's life around. Today would have been their wedding day...Just that one month had stood in their way. One. Month. If only they had made it, today would have been a happy, joyful day, rather than the depressive somber one Jacob was struggling to get through.

He was far from being sober, even though it was early afternoon. It would have been time for the ceremony, and for the hell of it, Jacob found himself getting ready for the wedding as if it were happening. But he never left his house. Instead, he sat in his room, seated in front of the wardrobe where Natalia's wedding dress hung, with a bottle of whiskey more than halfway gone. He would never get to see her in it. He wouldn't get to see her walking towards him, down the aisle, looking gorgeous as ever. Jacob probably would have teared up at the sight of her. It was finally here... Their wedding day... And the bride was nowhere to be found. Alive, that is. He knew exactly where she was, though-- six feet under in the Tresterian graveyard.

The month had been a whirlwind of events and emotions. There was the funeral and trying to comfort Natalia's family, despite his own grieving. He had thrown himself into his work to try and hide from his pain, to keep his mind occupied. And at night, he turned to the bottle to try and dumb and drown the pain away. Sometimes it worked and he would wake up in the morning with a pounding headache and get ready to start a new day the same way as the previous one. This had become his life. He had hardly thought to send word to his father about the death--or anyone really. Most of the people attending the wedding lived in Tresteria and had heard and knew about the accident. So it was the last thought that had crossed his mind. Besides, Natalia had been the one who insisted on sending his father the invite, despite Jacob wanting to waste an invitation. 'He wouldn't be there', he had told her. 'He's far too busy out on the ocean to even think I exist.'

His thoughts were interrupted with the pounding on the door. "Go away..." He called out with a slur, though barely loud enough to be heard from outside. But the pounding persisted. Jacob slid out of the chair and stumbled towards the door, yanking it open, only to find his father standing there. He stared at him for a moment, hardly any expression or emotion on his features. He did not stand there shocked or surprised or happy to see him. He looked at him as if he were nothing but a ghost. Nothing to him. His appearance obvious that he was hurting. He wore his formal suit, his shirt half tucked in, the tie left hanging around his neck, untied, his hair disheveled and the bottle of whiskey still in his hand. "Go away," he repeated with that emotionless tone as he began to shut the door in his father's face. He wasn't in the mood to deal with this. Not today.

[Elliot Walsh]

He didn't care how long he waited, he kept pounding on the door. And if he had to barge his way in, he would. It was his house. The old Sailor was growing anxious though the longer he waited, and for a moment, he wondered if Jacob wasn't home. If he was somewhere else. Had something happened to him? He didn't even stop to see if anyone knew where Jacob Walsh's whereabouts were, and he began to wonder if he should of. As much as it would hurt his pride, he would even go ask Kit to pull some strings to find him. He wouldn't be ashamed about it. This was his son, he was talking about. 

Just as he was about to slam his hand on the door for the hundredth time, it was yanked open and Elliot had to pull up or else his fist would have collided with Jacobs nose. He lowered his hand, his blue eyes looking the sight before him up and down. "Cap..." His voice was low and gruff and filled with concerned as his bushy brows furrowed together. Jacob's nickname fell easily on his lips like it always did. Taking in his disheveled appearance he found an ache forming in his chest. He suddenly wanted to reach forward and throttle him. Curse him. Why didn't you send for me sooner? Why didn't you let me know sooner I would have come! Elliot knew his track record for coming to funerals was not the greatest, Jacob's mother's was evident, but dammit. He wanted to be there. If only Jacob could see that Elliot cared. He always had. It was just the price he had to pay as a sailor, but there was nothing he wanted more than to be there for his son. Even more so now then ever before. He knew this heartbreak. He knew the heartbreak of losing the woman you loved. He could only hope Jacob had been at her side. Had been at her side like Elliot had wished he'd been there for Anne. It still haunted him that he hadn't. He hadn't gotten to tell her goodbye. He hadn't gotten to see her smile one last time...It killed him. 

"Oh no ye don'" Elliot growled reaching forward. Shoving his foot in between the door and the door frame while he reached a hand up and and gripped the door. Shoving against it. "I'm not goin anywhere." He said firmly. Not caring if he'd have to fight his way in. Jacob was hurting. A blind man could see it. Probably smell it too. "I"m here." Elliot said in quiet desperation. He wasn't going anywhere. Not when his boy was like this. 

[Jacob Walsh]

He barely registered his father's use of his nickname. A nickname that once meant something to him. But now he detested it. It was probably better that he was drunk and a little incoherent. Otherwise, he may have been quicker at shutting the door in his father's face.

Jacob had already begun to walk away from the door, having faith that the door shut before his father could stop it. He didn't look back, but he heard the voice call after him. It wasn't until he heard him claim that he was here, that Jacob whirled around and had the most disgusted look on his face. "Oh, good for you! Daddy dearest is here! Get the man a drink! Let's celebrate!" He raised the bottle in his hand as if to toast the celebration that good old Elliot was here! He laughed a saddened laugh as he turned away and into the kitchen where he began searching for a glass for his father. "He's here, everyone! He's here when it's so convenient for him. But let's all stop everything and celebrate because he's here!"

His tone was sarcastic, bitter, and filled with anger, but he didn't care, nor did he even look at him. He was managing just fine moments ago when he was alone. But now- Now he wished he was even drunker and passed out by now, as to not have to deal with this.

He poured the whiskey into the glass before nudging it towards his father, "there you go, father. Cheers! Welcome home!"

Jacob honestly couldn't remember the last time he had seen him. Just after his mother passed? And he barely spoke to him then, just as he barely wished to speak with him now. He moved past him, bringing along his beloved bottle of whiskey before he sank down into a chair in the living room and took a long swig from it, barely wincing as it burned down his throat. That had gotten numb to him as well.

[Elliot Walsh]

Elliot shoved the rest of the door open, walking in and shutting it firmly behind him. Jacob would have to forcibly remove the old man, and Elliot wished him good luck with that considering how drunk he was. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not when he was like this. He watched Jacob whirl on him, and his bushy brows turned inwards, as Elliot all but frowned at him. This was typical Jacob, trying to get him to just go away, but Elliot was a stubborn old man. You’d think the boy would have learned by now… Still, didn’t stop the gut wretching feeling at hearing those words spewed at him. One of these days, Elliot was going to just let him have it. He’d always kept his mouth shut, always just said it was what he had to do to put food on the table, but one of these days he was going to break.

Funny thing to be broke by your own son eh?

His heart clenched as Jacob laughed and toasted him, turning to find him a glass. Elliot's eyes scanned the state of the house and his brows just furrowed even more. What would his mother think seeing her home go to this pigsty? He could still see some of her belongings untouched and covered in cobwebs as it was like she’d gotten up and just never come back. It left an even deeper hole in his chest, and he clenched his jaw before his eyes went back to Jacob, and he slowly began to walk more into the house.

He sighed deeply at Jacobs next jab. It wasn’t when it was convenient for him. It was when the sea behaved. She was a temperamental mistress. The days you returned and the times, were mere guidelines. Jacob would know if he’d ever really been out and sailed with him, but the lad had only ever been around the island. Anne had never wanted Elliot to take him out for longer voyages despite how much he wanted too, but he respected his wife’s wishes. He wasn’t about to argue with a drunk, as it would just be pointless. He walked over taking the whisky glass off the table. Holding it in a hand and looking down into the amber liquid as Jacob walked passed him and sat down in a chair. He turned and looked at him, and for a moment, Elliot didn’t know what to do. What could he do? Jacob was angry, and hurt, and both at him, and the world for taking the love of his life away. Why wouldn’t he be angry? Taking the glass, Elliot went over to one of the open seats, and plopped down with a deep sigh. Groaning slightly at his old bones. He felt a cough coming on, but forced himself not to. The lad didn’t need anything else on his plate.

“Git it ou’” He said quietly. Looking down into the whisky glass. “All o’ it.” He said more firmly, Turning his eyes on his son. He could take it. He’d have to. Jacob needed someone else to hurt so...It was a sacrifice Elliot was willing to take. “Everythin’ on yer ches’” He explained more. “Ye got a feck ton shite and anger at me built up son.” He continued with a sigh. “Let it out.” He said in hopes that it would make him feel better.

[Jacob Walsh]

Whether Elliot had meant to or not, he felt abandoned by his own father. The man had barely been in his life and he had mostly been raised by his mother, who often fell depressed whenever Elliot wasn’t around. It had forced Jacob to grow up far quicker than he should have. He had to look out for his mother whenever his father wasn’t there. And he had to deal with the aftermath of him leaving them each and every time. It hadn’t been fair and he often wondered if he knew how much his absence troubled his own wife and son. How they had to get by and live without him.

After his mother had passed, he barely heard from his father after that. His absence had seemingly gotten worse. Maybe because his own son wasn’t worth his time- it was certainly how Jacob had felt sometimes.

For what seemed like the longest moment, Jacob sat silently, as if pretending his father wasn’t even there. He stared at the wall swigging the whiskey straight from the bottle every so often. Even as Elliot spoke, he didn’t look at him. He tried to ignore him and only half heard what he was saying. Something about letting things out and getting it off his chest. Jacob rolled his eyes and took a longer sip of his whiskey.

“Ye got a feck ton shite and anger at me built up son.” If that wasn’t the understatement of the year, Jacob didn’t know what was. He sneered and shook his head, not planning on saying anything to his father. What made him think that he wanted to or would speak his mind to him?

It wasn’t until Elliot, again, told him to let it out, that Jacob finally turned his attention to him, giving him a scorned glare. “What in the hell makes you think I’d want to talk to you and get everything off my chest?” He stared at him for a moment, sitting straighter in the chair before he leaned forward and rested elbows on his knees, hanging his head and combing a hand through his already messy hair, in a sign of frustration. “Don’t you get it, old man? I don’t want you here. Just leave and go back to whatever the hell you go and do these days.” He waved his hand as if dismissing him. Any other day, Jacob may have humored his father. But not on the day he was supposed to get married- left without his bride because life had a funny way of ruining things for him. And the last person he wanted to talk to about it, was his dear old father who hardly knew anything about him anymore.

[Elliot Walsh]

Elliot didn’t have to look up to feel that green eyes glare on him. His mouth twisted to the side as he pursed his lips, his brows furrowing. What did make him think Jacob wanted to talk to him? If he wasn’t going to talk then he could just put him with his presence, because he wasn’t leaving. Not now, and in a few months...maybe not ever.

There was that irritating tickle in his throat again, and he couldn’t fight the cough this time as he pulled out his handkerchief and turned his head away to cough into it. He thanked his lucky stars it wasn’t one of those coughing fits that had had Marcel snooping around wondering if he was doing okay, and having to lie that something had just gone down the wrong pipe.

He put the handkerchief away and then leveled those dark blues of his at Jacob, his hand tightening around the glass he held. “And Don’ ye get it lad? I'm naht goin anywhere when yer like dis.” Elliot told him sternly. His face softened as he looked at him. Jacob looked a helluva lot like he did when he hadn’t made it back in time to Anne. The guilt had chipped away at him. It still did, and he found himself at the bottom of a bottle, and was ashamed at knowing his crew mates had to see what it’d done to him. They hadn’t let him drink himself to death. They’d been there for him, and Elliot wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to his son.

“Ye don’ want ta talk? Fine. Drink in silence, but I know ye got somethin’s in ‘ere lad,” He patted his chest. “That ye’ve let chew away at ya all these years. Thin’s ye want ta say ta me. Bottlin’ them up ain’ good fer ye. I’m ‘ere. I’m willin ta let ye tell me how I’ve failed ye as a Fahter. How I should o’ been there fer ye mahter.” Elliot finally brought that drink up to his lips, realizing he was going to need something strong to get through this. He gulped the whole thing down, letting it burn his throat as he sucked on his teeth and then set it down. “How I failed you, Cap.” He turned to face him. “Let me ‘ave it. I can take it.” He told him.

[Jacob Walsh]

Jacob wanted to just go on pretending his father wasn’t sitting there. Pretending he was alone with his sorrow and grief and his bottle of whiskey, wondering what the day may have been like if Natalia had lived and they were getting married. Though he was sure, eventually, he’d just fall numb to his emotions and pass out.

But he could feel his father’s presence. Hear his breath and his cough and his voice that seemingly wouldn’t go away. Jacob sighed in annoyance, rolling his eyes again before taking another swig from his bottle. He wondered how much his father would try and how much or how long he would take his attempts at pushing him away. What would it take, how hard did he need to push before Elliot would just leave him be? He said he wasn’t going anywhere- but Jacob knew the man had limits and he was tempted to see how far he could push him towards them.

He didn’t want to talk. So he would drink in silence. And to demonstrate that he would, he took a longer swig of whiskey before lifting it in a gesture that clearly stated thanks, I will. But he just kept rambling on, and being drunk made it harder to understand his father’s damn accent. Was he trying to guilt him by throwing it back in his face that he failed him as a father? That he should have been there for his mother? Jacob sneered and continued to ignore him. Now he didn’t wish to give his father the satisfaction of admitting he was right to think that’s what bothered him.

“How I failed you, Cap.”
Until he uttered those words. Jacob sat up straighter and finally turned his attention to Elliot, glaring at him just as he was urging him one last time to let him have it. He gritted his teeth and pointed a finger at him, his voice bursting out of him loud and abrupt, “Don’t you call me that!” He nearly startled himself with how harsh his words escaped him and filled the room, but the glare remained on his features as he stared at Elliot, his breath escaping his nose rapidly as if he were preparing to let him have it.

He stood up quickly and reeled in his drunken state, pointing a finger at his father again. His lips parted and he inhaled sharply. But no words came out of him. Instead, he turned away from him and walked off, to his bedroom, leaving his father alone in the room. Jacob wasn’t sure it was worth the energy it would take to blow up at the man.

But no. He wasn’t sure why he was walking back into the room where he had left him, but he did. He stormed back in and immediately began to let his father have it. “You have failed me. And mother. And you may think you know that...But you haven’t the slightest idea, old man!” He wavered as he stood there and set his bottle down on the mantle of the fireplace before he leaned against it to hold himself up. “She would spend days locked up in her room, too depressed to do anything because she grew tired of you leaving her to raise me alone...And so she resented me… Couldn’t even look at me… And I had to learn to take care of myself...and her real quick. You never saw her that way...Because as soon as you came home, it was like life could go on the way she wanted it to. And she never wanted to make you feel bad for what you had to do.” He let out a short and saddened laugh and shook his head. Wasn’t that funny?

There were several stages of Anne’s depression. First, it was the isolation. Then the anxiety, worry, and panic. And finally, the distraction of engrossing herself in her work. Her immune system had diminished and she was constantly falling ill. But it was one of the times where she spent far too much time at the infirmary that she caught an illness and infection which was ultimately what killed her.

“Did you know that she blamed herself? That she failed you. That she was a bad wife and that was why you never wanted to stay…” Jacob shook his head and narrowed his eyes at his father. He knew his mother never would have hinted at any of this or showed her vulnerabilities to him. She often acted as though she supported Elliot and all of his decisions. She was a good wife and mother, but she constantly doubted herself and allowed that depression to get the best of her.

He knew he had already made his father well aware how angry and disappointed he had been in him when he couldn’t even be there for his own wife’s funeral- and he had seen how upset it had made him. If it did not upset the man, he would have been even angrier with him, claiming he was a heartless man. What Jacob didn’t understand, however, was why he hadn’t tried harder to get there. But he wouldn’t go down that road again.

“But you know what is so fucked up?” He laughed and reached for his bottle of whiskey, taking a long sip of it. Once he pulled it away from his lips, he pointed the mouth of the bottle at his father. “I wanted to be here for my wife… To not leave her… To maybe be a father someday… The kind of father who doesn’t leave his son behind and replace him with others…” He raised a brow before taking another swig of whiskey. “But…” He swayed slightly and caught himself against the mantle again. “She was taken from me...” Jacob stared at his father with a hurt expression before taking another long sip of his drink. The bottle was nearly empty now. “I. Have. nothing.” He scoffed and shook his head. “No father. No mother. No wife. No son…. Nothing, but this.” He lifted the bottle to show his father. It was then that he noticed the liquid inside was almost gone. “But not for long, it seems…” He laughed a sad laugh and set the bottle back on the mantle before turning away from Elliot. He caught a glimpse of Natalia’s wedding dress hanging and it caused him to pause and lean against the wall. He stared at it for a moment, standing there in silence until he finally slumped down and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He placed his head in his hands and his shoulders gently shook as he finally started to cry. 

[Elliot Walsh]

Brace yourself. Elliot thought. He could sense it. A sixth sense that this was the calm before the storm, and when the storm happened it would be unmerciful. Relentless in it’s assault. He reminded himself for a brief second that he’d asked for it…. His son’s outburst startled him. His blue gaze went wide, as he leveled it on Jacob. His voice was loud, and coming from Jacob, it was surprising, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He deserved the outburst. It didn’t stop him from feeling like Jacob had physically knocked the wind out of him however. Since he was born, Elliot had always called him Cap. His little Captain Jacob as he fondly called him. He’d always be Cap to him, and to hear Jacob so vehemently tell him not too…. He felt his heart crack.

His blue eyes followed Jacob as he stood, watching him point his finger at him. He waited for his verbal lashing. Knowing it was coming, so he merely straightened, and took a deep breath. Waiting patiently. He watched as Jacob decided he wasn’t going to give him what he wanted and walk away. Elliot arched a bushy brow, watching him carefully, and then began to count. Call it a fatherly insight, but he still counted once Jacob was out of sight, unmoving. Waiting….

Six…

Seven….

Eight…..

He was almost at ten when Jacob reappeared, and Elliot took another deep breath. And so hurricane Jacob was upon him.... Any normal father might have hauled off and hit Jacob for the disrespect of screaming at him. For raising his voice in such a way and the choice words he decided to use. Only, Elliot Walsh was no ordinary Father. He sat there, watching Jacob stand by the mantle as he gave him what he had asked for.

He was not prepared for this storm. Elliot had faced pirates, hell, he used to be a pirate until he’d been shipwrecked. Anne had saved him. Given him a better life. He knew the horrors of the world. Faced down many storms, but he was not prepared for what his son told him. Elliot visibly flinched, hearing that his wife had come to resent their son. That crack in his heart just got deeper. Opening up into a canyon as it cracked itself further. No, no Annie you didn’t. You didn’t do that to our baby boy… He wanted to argue that Anne would have never done such a thing, that he knew her, but even Elliot couldn’t argue. He had to admit he’d seen the change in her. He just hadn’t wanted to accept it. The last few trips home had been the hardest. The last one where she’d practically begged him to retire, and to stay. He couldn't...They had to eat. He was the main breadwinner. All Elliot knew was sailing.

He’d unintentionally forced his son to grow up far faster then he’d ever intended for him. The guilt that Elliot usually kept in a cage suddenly burst forth like a raging beast. His hands had started to shake around the crystal glass, and he was clenching his jaw so hard it was starting to ache, but he didn’t interrupt. He continued to brave the storm.

Nay, Annie. I failed ye. I failed ye both. Elliot thought hearing his wife blamed herself. He hadn’t known. Any of it. He thought be might have, but he was sorely disappointed. He knew nothing of their lives while he was away. Never before had the sailor thought to resent his sea mistress. The thing that had given him life, had taken his family from him.

As Jacob laughed, Elliots eyes settled on him. The heart of the storm. That’s what he was in currently, and the worst was about to come. He found himself holding his breath as he watched Jake sip more of that whisky. Elliots hands tightened so hard around the glass he was afraid he’d break it. But hearing that everything Jacob had wanted was lost to him… “The kind of father who doesn’t leave his son behind and replace him with others…” He averted his eyes. There were many Elliot thought of as his own. Wesley deGrey, Helene, Marcel Durant, Shane O’Sullivan….Lost souls in the world that needed guidance and that fought with their own demons. He’d always tried to just be a stable force for them. It was easier when they were sailors as well, save for Helene. But she always sought him out. He felt guilty for not being there for Jacob, and so he helped those he could help. He never thought how Jake would take it…

Elliot watched Jacob sway, and he’d watched as that whisky had disappeared from the bottle. He was about ready to stand to possibly catch him if he didn’t catch himself. His body was tense, but Jake caught himself, and he relaxed only momentarily. He saw the hurt expression on his sons face, and Elliots heart seized. “I. Have. nothing.” The cracks his heart had formed, suddenly burst. His heart shattered with those three words. Jacob… Elliot wanted to say, and felt tears begin to spring into his eyes. His throat burned, and a lump formed. Oh how I’ve failed you…. He thought.

Elliot couldn’t argue. Jacob was valid in his feelings, and all Elliot had to do was take it. He couldn’t go back in time and fix things. What he could do…

The old man slowly began to climb to his feet as Jacob slid down that wall. He set the empty glass down, as Jacobs cries began to fill the room. They were like daggers to his soul. Knowing his son had suffered because of him. His attempts at trying to provide for his family had broken them apart. He walked over to Jacob quietly, staring down at him. His brows furrowing in concern, as his vision was blurry from his own unshed tears. He took a shaky breath and then walked to the spot next to him, put his back against the wall and used it as support as he sank down beside his son. His legs were extended out in front of him, and Elliot reached out a hesitant hand. Contemplating patting Jacobs knee to give him the comfort he wanted to give him. I’m here son. Yer old man’s here. He wanted to shake him. To tell him. Words were just words. It was actions that mattered, and Elliots actions before had always been disappointing. Well...no more. The future was ahead. It would take him time, but….Sorry Kit… He thought. He let his eyes gloss over his boy, and he brought his hand back. Deciding not to risk the possible back lash of trying to comfort his son. Cap’s more important.

He reached into his coat pocket, bringing out a small silver flask. One that both Annie and Jacob had given him for Yule one year when it seemed like Elliot still put the stars in his sons eyes. He kept it on him all the time. His reminder on why he did what he did. He unscrewed the cap, and took a swig of it, before he reached out for one of Jacob’s hands. Forcing it into his palm. If he had no more whisky, then he could have his. “Ye need it more tha’ me.” He whispered quietly. “Yer Valid boy. I never knew how bad ye must have suffered because o’ me.” He spoke quietly, placing his hands in his lap. “I never realized how bad ye mot’er was, I couldn’, I was’n ‘round.” He wasn’t making excuses, and he didn’t know if Jacob would even want to listen to him. “There’s no amount o’ appologi’e I can tell ye son…” He glanced at him as Elliots own tear rolled down his cheek, and his bottom lip trembled. “But I am sorry. Fer everythin’.” He quickly reached up to wipe a tear, looking down in his lap. “I never wanted thi’ fer ye.” He whispered, struggling to talk around the lump in his throat.

He reached up, using his index finger and thumb, and pressed them to his temples. “I never wanted my tryin’ to make ends mee’, make ye suffer so.” Elliot let a shaky breath out. “I’m so sorry.” he pressed his palm against one eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears, while he tried to not let the guilt he felt at screwing his son's life up consume him.

[Jacob Walsh]

His father had urged him to let him have it and that he could handle it. And so after all this time of holding everything in, of pretending to be fine with everything for so long up until his mother’s funeral, he had finally let it all out, confessing and admitting everything to the old man. Whether or not his father actually could handle it, well, Jacob was either too drunk, or too taken over by his rage, that he didn’t seem to care or even try to filter the words that spilled from his lips.

He hadn’t told anyone of these things, not even Natalia. This had only been something between him and Anne, and even she was blind to what her actions did to him. For a long time, Jacob thought he could just handle it and get by on his own--and he did. But as he unleashed all of the repressed emotions he had, it was obvious that he had only handled things on the surface.

Jacob felt his father slide down the wall and sit on the floor next to him. He didn’t lift his head from his hands, or see the emotion or tears Elliot was now displaying. He couldn’t look at him. Even in his drunken state, he knew he had perhaps gone too far and should have still held some things back.

He felt the cold metal placed in his hand, and it was then that he lifted his head and took a look at the flask. He instantly recognized it, and it made his heart sink. Deep down, he knew Elliot loved and cared for him. But that didn’t change the anger that shook through him.

As his father spoke, he stared down at the floor, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear the man’s apology. The words would not change anything that had happened. The past was what it was, and no apology could bring his mother or Natalia back. It couldn’t give him his childhood back. All it offered was the understanding Elliot might now possess knowing why his son was as angry and bitter as he was towards him now.

He took a long swig from the flask before handing it back to Elliot. “I don’t want your pity, old man,” he finally said, his own hands moving to his face, using his palms to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Or the excuses or guilt.” Jacob knew his father did what he did to make ends meet, but he didn’t need to have that thrown at him--that his hard work and dedication had made him suffer, as if it were selfish of him to be angry for that. “I don’t need them.” His voice was quiet, tired and defeated, no longer laced with that loud anger that moments before had boomed through the house.

Jacob wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted in that moment, honestly. If he could have anything at all--it would be that he was watching Natalia walk down the aisle towards him and they would soon be husband and wife. Or maybe he did want his father. He was all that he had left now.

[Elliot Walsh]

He may not have needed to say the excuses or the apologies, but for Elliot’s own sake, to keep his own sanity and guilt slightly at bay-he had needed Jacob to hear the words. To know he was sorry for how his life had turned out. That it wasn’t what he’d wanted for him. Yet, fate had decided to rear her ugly head at his son and put him on the rocky bottom of the sea.

He expected more yelling, but instead, Jacob was quiet as he handed that flask back to him. Elliot took it instinctively. Taking another swig as he held it in his hands. Running his thumb over the embossed surface of the design. The end of the storm was upon them, as the hard, frigid waters calmed themselves down. Elliot knew this wouldn’t be the last of it, but he could only hope it would be the worst of it.

His blue eyes flickered over to look at Jacob through his peripherals. “Nay, Ye need a fa’her tha’ ‘round.” He said with a tired sigh, handing the flask back over to Jacob. “And ma’be some more whisky.” They both needed it. A twitch of a smile appeared on the old sailor’s face as he let a big sigh out and glanced up at the ceiling. Letting silence surround them for a moment, as he studied the ceiling designs. Wondering where they went from here. Elliot knew something needed to be done, and that was something he felt deep in his bones. He only hoped Kit would be able to forgive him, but the time had come. They had one more voyage, where they’d be gone for two weeks after Yule, and then be home. And Elliot needed to break it to Kit, that it would be his last voyage. Any sailing outside of Tresteria would not be for the old man. His health was worsening, and he was thankful no one had noticed yet. If he was on limited time, then Elliot Walsh wanted to spend it with the person that mattered most in the world.

Even if he complained, tossed him out, cussed at him, and called him a no-good son ‘o a bitch. Elliot wanted to finally get to know the man his son had become.

“Only way now is up, Cap.” He whispered softly. It was a reflex to call his son by that nickname, even if now he realized how strongly he felt about it. “Yer already on rock bottom.” There’s nothing else that can happen to ye, save my death. Elliot thought grimly. Nearly saying it, but he didn’t want to add to it. He straightened his head then, looking down in his lap, as he wiped away the remaining dampness from his cheek. Scrunching his nose slightly, before sniffing. “I hav’ a shor’ voyage righ’ af’er Yule, it’ll take two weeks.” He said quietly. Knowing Jacob might not even want to hear it, but Elliot still wanted him to know. “Af’er tha’ I’m done. No mo’e. I’m retirin’.” It was strange to say the words aloud, as he’d only ever thought them. Elliot turned slightly more towards Jacob so he could then get a good look at him.

“I can’ change the past, Jacob. But I can do somethin’ ‘bout the future. If you let me.” He told him. Realizing he was holding his breath. Let me be here for you son. He wanted to say, but was too afraid to receive another backlash. He could only hope that Jacob could understand what he was wanting. A chance to get to know him. To be there for him, like he should have been there all those years ago.

[Jacob Walsh]

Losing his mother had been difficult, but Natalia had been there for him. Natalia’s death was a tragic one--something he had been coping with on his own for the most part, aside from the help from the alcohol and his work. But now his father was here to save the day? Supposedly.

He didn’t want or need pity, excuses, or guilt. But apparently, he needed to have a father around. Jacob’s eyes rolled upward at his father’s words, but he took the flask of whiskey back and took another swig of it. This time, he didn’t hand it back right away. A small groan escaped him and he tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “There’s never enough whiskey.” He quietly admitted.

As the silence lingered between them, he closed his eyes, with his head leaned back against the wall. He came close to dozing off, but Elliot’s voice startled him.

“Only way now is up, Cap...Yer already on rock bottom.” Well, if that wasn’t an understatement, Jacob didn’t know what else would be. He let out a sighed laugh, one that lacked any form of amusement. “You think so?” He said with a bit of sarcastic surprise.

He wasn’t sure what else to say. For so long he resented his father. He wanted nothing more than to shut him out, to never see him again, to speak his mind-- And now he had. Whether he’d remember it the next day was another story--but it was done. So now what? Was he supposed to instantly forgive and accept the man back into his life now?

Jacob’s thoughts were interrupted when the old sailor began to speak of his final voyage. He rolled his eyes and let out a doubtful laugh as he stared back up at the ceiling.

“I can’ change the past, Jacob. But I can do somethin’ ‘bout the future. If you let me.” Jacob groaned at his father’s words, took another sip from the flask, and ran his free hand down his face. “There it is….” He stated simply and mostly to himself in response to his own thoughts. “I’m just supposed to forgive and forget... Now that you are here, sitting on the floor with my drunk, sorry ass… Going on about retiring…. You and I both know that will never happen.” He laughed and shook his head, taking another long sip from the flask.

He handed the flask back to his father and sighed, shaking his head again. “I don’t really know what you want or expect me to say, old man...I might be drunk...But drunk or not... I --” Jacob paused, unsure of where he was going with his point he wanted to make or forgetting. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he quietly admitted, sounding defeated and tired. Words were one thing. Actions were another. He had seen his father come and go so many times, and words were all he had at the moment.