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Their reunion isn’t at all what Stede expected. Though honestly, he’s not sure exactly what he’d expected. Anger. Grief. Screaming. Stabbing. He thought he deserved it all, and probably more. Deep down, though, he hoped for something more romantic; like a fairytale reunion from a book he used to read to his children, and later the crew. Something where the prince and princess run into each other’s arms before riding away into the sunset.
Though he supposes it would be two princes in this case. Or pirates. And instead of riding away, it would be sailing away.
It was a stupid analogy.
What he’s not expecting is a bag being thrown over his head, his surprised yelp being muffled by a firm hand covering his mouth. He should have listened to Olu when he said not to go too far on his own in Nassau. They were far from Spanish Jackie’s dive, and far from anyone he felt a semblance of comfort with. It was his own stupid idea, going off and searching other dives and bars to scope out information on where The Revenge and her crew were today.
“ You’re more likely to get stabbed than find him. You know that, right?” Olu had warned, glancing at a similarly cautious Black Pete. “We want to find them as much as you do, but—”
“Nonsense,” had been Stede’s sure response. Months of looting, pillaging, and surviving, calloused hands and a hard bedroll instead of a cushioned bed, had made him feel like a proper pirate. Even if it was his own version of pirating. Mostly out of necessity, and still more polite and significantly less violent than anything he witnessed while sailing with Ed. He was sure he could hold his own in The Republic of Pirates for long enough to ask a couple of questions on his own.
Stupid. He was so fucking stupid.
Stede loses consciousness shortly after the bag is thrown over his head. He has a brief thought of someone, please help , before a sharp pain knocks him out. He should’ve known better. You see someone getting knocked out in a pirate dive, you ignore it. No one’s willing to risk their neck for some poor idiot who probably had it coming, anyway.
Waking up is almost more painful than being knocked unconscious. Not only is his head pounding, but he’s not entirely sure where he is. He’s on a ship, that’s for certain. If there’s one thing he knows by now, it’s the calming lull of the ocean on a quiet night. No storms or Spanish ships on the horizon, just salty air and gentle rocking. For a moment, he doesn’t open his eyes. He squeezes them shut even tighter, ignoring the pain that sears through his head. He can almost pretend he’s back in his quarters on The Revenge, easing into a long night’s sleep after an eventful day of sort of pirating.
Instead of a soft bed, he’s on a cold metal ground inside some sort of makeshift brig. A fucking cage is what it is. It’s big enough for him to stand up if he wanted to, but really, he doesn’t. Everything hurts too much to move much beyond moving his head to survey his surroundings. There’s not much to see between the spots in his vision and the overall darkness. There are no lanterns in the room, and no light coming through the portholes.
Eventually, his eyes adjust. The room is still too dark to make much out, but he picks up on the familiarity of it. It’s the same size and design of the rec room back on The Revenge, though instead of nets, balls, and games, there’s a handful of iron cages bolted to the floor and haphazardly pushed against the wall of the ship. Despite the change, he knows his own ship when he sees it, even in a state of disarray.
It sounds like a nightmare, being knocked over the head and dragged aboard his old ship, but Stede finds a sick sort of peace in it. It’s like coming home, even if he’s there by force. He’s sure there must be something wrong with him if he finds this more comforting than returning to his posh life with his family.
Stede pushes himself upright, leaning against the bars of the cage. He can feel the hard wood of the ship behind him if he extends his hand backward, but that’s all he can feel. He’s well-aware there’s no way to escape this one, and if there is, he’s not skilled enough at… well, anything to get himself free.
“Hello?” he calls, squinting at the room’s exit. It’s too dark to see much; a lantern or two would be nice, but he supposes if he truly is a prisoner of The Revenge (or what’s left of her), he doesn’t deserve a light.
He’d appreciate knowing what the hell was going on, though. He doesn’t deserve much, but he thinks he deserves that.
Stede clears his throat, as if that would catch the attention of someone up above. “Hello? Is anyone there?” He stops for a beat, worrying his chapped bottom lip between his teeth. “Ed? Are you there?”
Nothing. Fuck.
“Please, Ed, if you’re there, can you please speak to me? I’d just like to…”
Suddenly, Stede is all too aware that he has no idea what he wants to say. He’s thought this moment over so many times in the last couple of months. He’s gone through scenario after scenario about how to make this right, both alone and with the help of Oluwande (who, in retrospect, was only humoring him out of pity. Story of his life.)
Even after what felt like hundreds of imagined scenarios, he never imagined ending up in a makeshift brig on what was once his ship. His home. For once in his life, he’s at a loss for words.
Stede hears no response to his unfinished plea. The stench of liquor and rot festers through the room, even more so than normal. It turns his stomach, but less so than it would have a year ago. It doesn’t make the experience any more enjoyable.
“I’d really like to apologize,” he yells. He doesn’t care who hears him at this point, as long as there’s a possibility that Ed can hear him. If he’s even behind this at all. For all Stede knows, Ed never left the dock that night. Or maybe he did, and he’s in China, making a Stede-less life for himself.
He’s sure he’d be better off either way.
Stede bites his lip hard enough to hurt. It’s nothing compared to the pain in his head and the ache in his heart. “For-for… for everything.”
Still no response. Someone has to be hearing him. The ship is by no means soundproof. He wonders if the crew has been given orders to ignore him or suffer the wrath of Blackbeard.
He exhales. “Ed? Hello? I said I want to ap–”
“Would you shut the fuck up already?” a slurred voice grumbles. “I heard you the first ten times.”
The voice is unmistakably Ed’s, but it doesn’t sound like him all the same. It sounds miles away from the man he knew months back. He’d always had a gruff, blunt edge to his voice, but this was something entirely different. Drunken and bordering on unrecognizable.
Stede scoots forward as much as he can in the small cell. He still can’t see Ed, but that doesn’t stop him from looking, even in the dim room. “Ed, is that you?” he asks, even if he already knows the answer.
A hoarse laugh is his response. His adjusting eyes focus on a vague shape of a man, leaning against a pillar to his right, almost entirely out of view. Stede’s not quite sure how he missed him; he chalks it up to the dark, his throbbing head, his spotty vision, or a mix of the three.
“In the flesh.” He hiccups. “Relatively.”
Stede hears the clink of a bottle scraping against the floor of the ship. He can almost see Ed raise the bottle to his lips, taking a swig, before putting it back down on the floor next to him.
“What’s… what’s going on here?” Stede asks.
“What the fuck do you think, man?” Ed returns. “You’re in a fucking brig. Figure it out.”
“I suppose that I’m trying to.” Stede surveys the room, the unfamiliar shapes of cages where games used to be set up. It’s a depressing sight, seeing a place once filled with laughter and happiness now filled with make-shift jail cells.
“The Revenge didn't have a brig before.”
“That’s because you’re a fucking idiot.” There’s another clink of a bottle before he continues. “What kind of fucking ship doesn’t have a brig?”
“I suppose I didn’t think we’d need one.” He shrugs his shoulders slightly. “And we didn’t. Though, come to think of it, it might have come in handy with the hosta—”
“Stop fucking talking,” Ed cuts him off. His slurred words are heavy with exhaustion. As he speaks, the smell of rum wafts in Stede’s direction again. He wants to ask him how much he’s had to drink, but he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer. “For once in your life, just… stop fucking speaking.”
Stede swallows. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You’re still speaking. That’s fucking speaking ,” Ed growls.
“I was just—”
“I should have let Izzy throw you overboard,” Ed cuts him off. “God knows he fucking wanted to when Ivan and Fang dragged you aboard.” He huffs something close to a laugh, sardonic and drowning in misery. “At the very least, I should’ve kept the fucking bag over your head.”
That’s fair. He would’ve deserved both things. He wants to ask why he didn’t, why he’s even alive in the first place, but he doesn’t dare speak again. Instead, he scoots closer to the edge of the cage, his hands wrapped around the bars. Stede pulls himself up, ignoring the throbbing pain shooting through his body. While standing up, he can see Ed better, but not by much. He wants to see his face, to gauge his reactions, to see just how furious he is with him. Stede suspects it’d hurt even more than being stabbed, but he doesn’t care. He deserves to see the pain he caused.
“You were gone for…” Ed is quiet for a second, a thud coming from his direction. Stede can barely make out the image of him hitting the back of his head against the pillar he’s leaned against. “Five fucking months. Half a year, nearly.”
Another thud, another clink of a bottle, and some indistinct shuffling. “I didn’t think…”
Stede squints in Ed’s direction, hoping that it’ll help him see better, but it doesn’t. All he can do is picture him. He can’t seem to get the image of the man who kissed all those months ago out of his head. Bare-faced and smiling, hope in his eyes, setting every inch of Stede alight for no other reason than no one had ever kissed him like that before. He doesn’t think anyone will again, either. He doesn’t want them too, not if it’s not Ed.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he continues, his breath shaky. “And then I didn’t want to. And then I hoped you were fucking dead because… that’d be a whole lot easier than admitting that you… ” Ed trails off as his voice cracks. Stede watches as he raises the bottle again, drowning his sorrows in rum.
Stede knows he’s not supposed to be talking, but he can’t help but chime in. “Technically, I am dead.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It’s a long story. I did a fuckery. Faked my death. I think you’d be proud of it.” Stede leans his forehead against the cold iron bars of the cage.
Stede watches him bring the bottle to his lips before speaking. “Why the fuck would you want to do that?”
“Because…” Stede pauses, looking across the room at the mostly hidden man. Not being able to see him makes his heart ache that much more. The worst part: it was his own fucking fault.
He lets out a deep sigh. “I had to kill myself to get back to you.”
“Well then, you’re stupider than I am,” Ed snaps. Stede can see his body move, standing up against the pillar unsteadily. He doesn’t turn to face him, just stands and grasps the bottle of rum in his hands.
“I don’t think you’re stupid.” It was a dumb response, but it’s all he had. “But you’re right. I am stupid. I should have never–”
“Then why did you?” Ed asks before Stede can even finish the sentence, clumsily turning to face him.
For the first time in five months, Stede can almost see Ed’s face. It was the moment he’d been dreading and anticipating in equal amounts. Now that it’s here, he’s not sure what to do but stare with wide eyes.
His beard had grown out some in the last five months. Though despite being shorter, it was unkempt. The Ed that Stede knew took pride in his beard, taking care of it better than most pirates would bother with. He was undoubtedly the same man, but the look in his eyes was something foreign to Stede. Pain, heartbreak, and anger all mixed in beautiful dark eyes.
Stede didn’t care. He was the same Ed to him. He always would be.
“Why did you fucking leave?” Ed asks, not giving Stede an opportunity to answer. “Did reality set in? Did you decide to stop playing pirates when things got too hard?”
Stede shakes his head, maybe a little too aggressively. “No!”
“Then what was it?” he shouts. “Did you realize how much you fucked up or… or realize that you didn’t want to run off with a goddamn monster, or—”
“Ed, stop it! You’re not—”
The bottle in Ed’s hand goes flying, crashing against the wall behind Stede. He can’t be sure it wasn’t supposed to hit him or not. Before he can even react to it, Ed pushes forward, hands grasping the same bars Stede is holding. They’re nearly eye to eye, practically touching. It’s familiar and unfamiliar all the same.
Stede thinks anyone else in the same position as him would be terrified. To most people, the infamous Blackbeard nearly cracking their skull with a half-empty bottle of rum and shouting in their face would be the stuff of nightmares. He himself would have been terrified beyond words over a year ago, but not now. Not after weeks of sailing and smiling and laughing and falling in love.
As the metallic clank of the bars rattling in Ed’s hands echoes through the ship, Stede realizes: this is the closest to home he’s felt in months.
“I fucking loved you!” Ed spits through gritted teeth. “I-I was ready to give up everything for you, and you just fucking le–”
“Hey!”
Both heads turn in the noise's direction. Stede can make out the small stature of Izzy, standing in the door's entranceway. Stede can only imagine Izzy’s all too happy to see him in a goddamn cage on his own ship.
“What the fuck do you want now?” Ed snaps. He sounds angrier at being interrupted than he was at Stede.
“The entire ship can hear you, Edward,” Izzy responds. His voice is cool and put together, in stark contrast to Ed’s drunken raving. Stede still prefers the latter.
Ed sniffles, averting his gaze from Izzy to Stede one last time. He glares at him, bloodshot eyes set on him with an unfamiliar glower.
“Ed…” Stede whispers. He wants to say something more, but he knows nothing would be of use right now. Between Ed’s drunken state and Izzy’s presence, there’d be no getting through to him.
“Don’t,” Ed mutters. Pushing himself off the cage and stumbling over to Izzy.
“What should we do with him?” Izzy asks. The glare he shoots him is the least of Stede’s worries right now.
“Leave him,” Ed grumbles. He staggers towards the door before turning back to glare at Izzy. “I mean it. Don’t fucking touch him.”
“Understood, Captain.”
Ed disappears out the door without a second glance in Stede’s direction, leaving Stede alone with Izzy. He’s the last person Stede ever wanted to see again, though he realized it was inevitable. The man followed Ed around like a lost puppy who’d been kicked one too many times, yet somehow yearned for more.
Stede straightens up and attempts to wipe the hurt off his face. He’s not sure how successful he is. “Where’s the rest of my crew?”
“Not to worry, Mr. Bonnet. Unlike you… they aren’t our prisoners,” Izzy responds, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Smug bastard.
…
Footsteps and jingling of keys stir Stede from his fitful sleep. He’s not sure how long he’s been out, but it can’t have been long, seeing that it was still dark out. Jim and Oluwande are standing outside his cell, Oluwande looking around nervously while Jim struggles with an almost large key ring.
“What are you doing?” Stede asks.
“What the fuck does it look like?” Jim returns, inserting a key into the lock. They curse in Spanish under their breath when the cage doesn’t immediately open before moving onto the next. “We’re breaking you out.”
Stede stands up, careful to avoid the broken glass from the broken bottle of rum. “Are you sure that’s smart?”
“Would you rather be Blackbeard’s prisoner?” Olu asks in a whisper.
“Don’t ask that,” Jim mutters, on their third key attempt with no success. “The answer’s probably yes.”
“I’m not scared of Ed,” Stede answers, looking from Olu to Jim. “I can’t leave him. Not again, not like this.”
“You’re fucking crazy. I know you two were close, or… whatever . But that’s not Ed up there. That’s fucking Blackbeard.” Fourth key, no luck. Jim curses again before looking up to Stede for the first time. They look angrier than usual, which is saying a lot.
“I don’t know what the fuck happened between you two, or what the fuck you did to him, and frankly, I don’t care. He’s lost it. Whatever you did, it fucking broke him. I’ve been on his goddamn crew for the last five months, and he’s ruthless. He’s not the man you fell in–”
“Aye!” Olu cuts them off, looking from a frantically pissed off Jim to Stede. “He gets it.”
Stede sighs. “I still need to speak to him.”
Olu clicks his tongue. “Or maybe he doesn’t.”
Jim finally finds luck with the sixth key. The cage rattles open, making Olu straighten up nervously, looking around to see if it alerted anyone. Stede steps out of the cage, but before he can fully emerge, Jim pushes him against the cage.
“Jim, what are you–?”
“These last five months have been hell,” Jim snarls, cutting Olu off. “I’ve been stuck on this godforsaken boat, killing and stealing for that fucking maniac. I might not have been down here, but I’ve been a prisoner all the same.”
There’s a fury in Jim’s eyes that Stede can’t ignore. If he’s honest, he’s more afraid of Jim than he ever could be of Ed.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here. We all are. We have a fighting chance of escaping now that we have the entire crew. All I have to do is grab Lucius, and…”
“I–”
“He tried to kill him, you know that, right?” Stede didn’t know that, but he doesn’t have time to process it before Jim tightens their grasp on his lapels and shakes him. “Shoved him overboard. The little bastard better be glad I heard the commotion and came up to save him. Otherwise he’d be dead. And it would’ve been that fucking asshole’s fault.”
“Jim…” Olu starts, his voice a frantic whisper.
“It was his command to abandon Olu and the rest, too,” Jim continues, clearly not caring about the potential of anyone overhearing them. “All because you two had a spat. You think you can bring him back from that?”
Stede nods nervously under Jim’s dangerous glower. “Yes, I do.”
Jim glares at him for a couple seconds, a gaze so intense that Stede feels his blood run cold.
“Love makes people stupid,” they grumble before dropping the handfuls of Stede’s coat they’d bunched up in their hands. They look back at Olu for a moment; they share a glance, and some of the tension visibly leaves Jim’s shoulders. Jim sighs and steps away, allowing Stede past them.
“Just don’t let it get you killed.”
…
Stede is wracked with nerves as he makes his way to the Captain’s quarters. It’s not like it’s a long walk from the rec room—brig, now—to his once-living quarters, but there’s no telling how many of The Revenge’s new crew he could bump into on the way. Best-case scenario, everyone is asleep. Worst-case scenario, Izzy is guarding the door like the dog he is.
For once in his life, things go as planned. He’s able to approach the cabin without incident or intervention. The problem now is that he can’t bring himself to knock on the door, much less announce his presence. As far as Ed is concerned, he’s rotting away in an iron cell in the brig. The smart thing to do would have been to leave like Olu and Jim had planned, but…
He can’t leave him again. Once was enough. Even if it’s the death of him, he refuses to leave again. He can’t keep hurting the people he loves.
And God, does he love Ed.
He raps on the door a couple times, not particularly loud, but loud enough that he hopes Ed can hear him from inside. There’s no response, even after daring to knock louder. He’s not sure if he’s being ignored, if Ed can’t hear him, or if he’s simply not in his quarters. He’s not sure which is the worst-case scenario, but all he knows is he can’t stay out in the open any longer than he already has.
For the second time that day, luck hits him when he tries the handle to the door and it opens. He ventures inside the room, only to find it empty. Not just of Ed, but of everything. Every book, knickknack, treasure, and anything else of sentimental value is nowhere to be seen. Even most of the furniture is gone. The only thing that remains intact is that lighthouse painting Mary had given him all those years ago. It was an odd thing to keep, he thinks.
There’s a selfish part of Stede that mourns losing everything that once adorned the room. He loved his books and trinkets, loved the design and warmth of his quarters. It was the safest place on the ship, not only physically, but mentally. He always felt protected when he hid in his quarters, shielded by books and soft fabrics.
Especially if Ed was there with him.
He takes a couple steps into the room, surveying his surroundings. He loses count of empty bottles of liquor scattered across the room. Some lay broken, some half drunk, and some thrown down on piles of clothes Stede recognizes as his own. Stede imagines his clothes would’ve been the first thing to be thrown overboard, but most are littered across the room, draped over windows, and piled on top of a lonely bed.
Christ.
Chauncey had been right. He’d ruined the most fearsome and loathsome pirate. This pain and heartache was all his doing. He really was a plague.
“Ed?” he calls out, not nearly as loud as he had in the brig, but loud enough that he hopes he’ll hear him. “Are you…” His eyes wander up to the empty bookshelf. It’s empty, save for a couple of bottles of rum, a dagger or two, and the statue that opens the secret closet.
He straightens up and walks across the room, stalling only for a second before he pulls it down, the closet swinging open slowly. Stede isn’t surprised to see Ed hidden away inside. What he is surprised to see is him fast asleep, head cushioned by a stack of clothes, a familiar red robe wrapped around him for warmth. Stede’s presence doesn’t wake him, but that’s no surprise. He’d always been a remarkably sound sleeper. Any time he’d fallen asleep in Stede’s quarters (which was more often than not, now that Stede really thinks about it), waking him up was like raising the dead.
Still, Stede approaches him quietly once the closet door is shut. The last thing he wants to do is startle him when stirring him from his sleep, especially considering he’s probably the last person Ed is expecting to see, seeing that he’s supposed to be locked up in a rum and glass littered cage.
Part of him wants to let him sleep, but this conversation can’t wait much longer. Besides, he’s almost positive if Jim hears nothing from him within the next hour, they’ll leave with the crew and leave him to his own devices. He can’t say he blames them, either. If the brief conversation Stede had with Ed was any indication, he wasn’t the most pleasant man to work under in the last five months.
Gently, Stede lays a hand on Ed’s knee, squeezing it softly yet firmly. “Ed,” he tries, giving his knee a shake. “Ed, wake up. It’s me.”
Ed stirs but doesn’t open his eyes. Stede can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. Despite the carnage outside the closet, despite his tear-stained cheeks and matted hair, he looks peaceful. Stede hates to be the one to bring him back to consciousness, hates that his face is the first thing he’ll see.
“Ed… Darling, it’s me,” he tries again, shaking his knee a little harder this time. “Wake up.”
Finally, his eyes flutter open. It takes a second, but they eventually settle on Stede. He was fully expecting him to push him away, to tell him to fuck off, punch him in the face, or anything else violent and angry. What he’s not expecting is a shaky breath and a soft, if not surprised, look. He’s not expecting Ed to tilt his head to the side, to look at Stede like he’s happy to see him.
It’s more painful than if he’d punched him.
“You…” Ed stops whatever thought he started and averts his eyes from Stede’s face to the hand on his knee. Stede considers pulling away, but Ed doesn’t shake him away, so he doesn’t bother. “How’d you get out?”
“I had some help,” Stede answers.
Ed blinks a few times, like he’s still trying to wake up, before grimacing slightly as he shifts. Stede can only imagine that’s due to the hangover he's undoubtedly suffering through right now.
“Then why didn’t you leave?” he asks. “They wouldn’t have stopped you.”
Stede raises his brow. “They wouldn’t have?”
Ed almost looks embarrassed. He averts his gaze from Stede entirely, looking over at the rows of linens, silks, and cashmeres lining the closet. “I told them that no matter what, they weren’t to hurt you. Or any of your crew. Even if you tried to escape.” Ed sighs, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. A layer of dark, charcoal-like eye makeup rubs off as he does. “I told Izzy I’d feed him another toe if he even thought about it.”
“I’m not sure if I want to know what that means.”
“Why’d you risk it?” Ed asks, ignoring Stede’s remark. “For all you knew, I was going to let you rot down there.”
“Weren’t you?” Stede presses.
Ed shrugs. “I hadn’t thought about it much.”
Ed reaches to his left, running his fingers absentmindedly over a blue scarf Stede recognizes as one Mary had bought him not long after they got married. He never liked it much, but couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, even if he never wore it.
“It wasn’t like I was expecting to see you again. I didn’t have a plan for any of this,” he continues. “We weren’t searching for you. Ivan spotted you in that bar and suspected I’d want to speak to you. Or kill you. So they brought you aboard.”
“Did you?” Stede asks. “Want to kill me, that is.”
Ed is quiet, still staring at that scarf on the floor. “No,” is his simple answer. “Didn’t want to talk to you, either.”
“That’s fair,” Stede says. There’s a couple of seconds of silence before he forces himself to go on. “I was looking for you. That’s why I was there… looking for leads on where you could be.”
Ed bunches up the fabric of the scarf in his hand. “Why?”
“I told you. I wanted to apologize. To explain why I–”
“Left,” Ed finishes for him. He looks in his direction again, eyes watery, breath becoming labored. “You left me.”
Stede nods. “It was a mistake.”
“Then why the fuck did you do it?” Ed asks, some of that anger coming back to his voice. “I waited all night for you. I paced that damn dock, searched the woods… I even risked going back to see if you were still asleep. But you were just… gone.”
Stede sighs and drops back to sit in front of Ed rather than squatting in front of him. His hand finally falls from Ed’s knee, which feels wrong. He wants to be touching him, to assure him he’s still there, that he’s not going anywhere ever again, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to reach out and touch him again without consequence.
“I woke up with a gun to my head. Chauncey led me out in the woods and…”
That night flashes in Stede’s head again. The cruel (if not completely true) remarks made by a drunken Chauncey, the fear of dying, and a gunshot play on repeat in his mind, just as they had for the last five months. He was responsible for yet another man’s death, even if not directly. No matter how horrible they were to him, and likely every other person they’d encountered in their lives, that would haunt him until the day he died.
“What did he do to you?” Ed asks, straightening up against the wall of the closet. “Did he hurt you? I swear to God, if he hurt you I’ll rip his fucking balls off and–”
“He’s dead, Edward,” Stede cuts him off. “I killed him.”
“You killed him?” Ed asks, his brow raised. “How the fuck did you kill him?”
“The same way I killed Nigel. Gravity did most of the work. Or clumsiness, in this case.”
Ed furrows his brow and tilts his head to the right slightly, a telltale if not somehow sweet sign of confusion. Stede takes a breath and prepares himself to relay the events of the night in a way he’s yet to do to anyone else. Even Oluwande only got the shortened version.
“He kept saying all these awful but true things to me. About how I left my family, killed his brother, and…” Stede takes a breath and forces himself to look at Ed. “How I ruined you. He said I was a plague. And he was right. He didn’t like that I agreed with him, though. He was prepared to shoot me, but he was drunk, and he tripped, and… he shot himself instead of me.”
Ed stares at Stede for a couple of seconds in shock before he laughs. It’s a hearty sound, if not mixed in with pain and the tears he’d shed again.
“Well, I’m glad you find this funny.”
“Jesus Christ, mate.” Ed wipes his eye again, more of that black makeup coming off onto his hands. “What kind of fucking person manages to take out an entire family’s bloodline entirely by accident?”
Stede shrugs. “I guess I have bad luck.”
“Or remarkably good luck,” Ed amends, still laughing.
“My point is, he died. The guilt of his death, and his words rattled me. So… I did what I thought was right,” Stede continues. He bites down on his lip for a second, averting his eyes to the floor. It’s a coward’s move not to look at Ed as he apologizes, but he can’t bring himself to stare into those dark, tear-filled eyes. “I went back to my family and tried to make things right with them.”
He lets out a shaky sigh, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Chauncey was right. I’m a plague. No matter what happens, I make everyone's life worse. Whether I’m coming or going. I thought by going back home I would be doing the right thing by my family… and by you.”
“Well, you didn’t.” Ed’s voice is harsh, but there's more pain than anger in his voice. “I don’t know about your family. I don’t care, either. But you leaving me alone on that fucking dock wasn’t what was right.”
“I know that now,” Stede says, forcing his head up to look at Ed. He looks worn down, broken with heartache, and overall just tired. Stede doesn’t know what to do to fix any of it, or even if he can.
“Why didn’t you come find me?” Ed asks, a desperate edge to his voice. “We could’ve figured it out together. Altered the plan. Gone back to your family together. Something.”
“How would that have worked?” Stede asks, trying to stifle a wry laugh. “Darling, I’m home. This is Ed, he’s Blackbeard, and I’m deeply in love with him. Hope you don’t mind.”
Ed rolls his eyes and throws his head back against the wall of the closet with a thud, just like he had back in the brig. “It would’ve been better than you leaving with no explanation.”
“I know,” Stede answers. “And I’m sorry.”
Ed is quiet for a little while, a silence that Stede doesn’t dare break. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t know what to say. He explained why he left, said his apologies. Now all he can do is hope that Ed forgives him. Or at the very least, finds closure and can move on. Even if that means Stede has to live in an Ed-less world. It seems a fate worse than death, but he supposes he deserves it.
“Did you mean it?” Ed asks, voice quiet and unsure.
“Mean what?” Stede asks.
Ed sniffles before turning his gaze on Stede again. “Do you really love me?”
Stede nods, quick and desperate, trying to convey the months of heartache and agony he spent missing him with one movement of his head. There’s no way he could put into words how miserable life was without Ed. How he hadn’t realized how worthwhile life was until Ed saved him from being hung. How he didn’t even know what love was until Ed kissed him.
“Of course I meant it,” Stede answers. “I know it might not seem like it, seeing that I left right after we planned to run away together, but I do. I love you so–”
Ed moves from his spot against the wall, crashing his mouth against Stede’s with no warning. It’s so aggressive it nearly knocks Stede over, but somehow he’s able to keep his balance, one hand planting himself against the floor while another follows an instinct he doesn’t know he has to wrap around Ed’s waist.
It’s not like the kiss by the sea all those months back. It’s not sweet, tender, and new, more so aggressive, messy, and desperate. He can taste rum on Ed’s breath, smells the salty brine of the sea on his hair, and even a hint of his own colognes. It’s overwhelming, and too much, and not enough, and everything, and nothing, and fuck, Stede is getting lightheaded.
All the while, Ed continues to kiss him with a desperate fervor, his beard scratching Stede’s face in a way he never thought he’d enjoy. He thinks about what it would have felt like to kiss him with his full beard, how it might tickle his mouth and chin as their lips slid together. All the same, he doesn’t care if he’s kissing Ed with or without the beard. As long as it’s him, and that he keeps kissing him like he’s special and worthy of love. Or forgiveness. Or just the ability to breathe the same air as him.
Ed straddles his hips effortlessly, like it’s a dance they’d practiced before, which they certainly hadn’t. Stede doesn’t want to think about Ed having done this with anyone else, even if that’s an unfair thought. He doesn’t care. He feels the same irrational jealousy in the pit of his stomach as he did that day on Blind Man’s Cove with Calico Jack, bragging about the dalliance between himself and Ed in the past.
Maybe that’s all this was. One last kiss to get Stede out of his system before throwing him overboard. Maybe forgiveness wasn’t on the table, maybe Jim was right and this wasn’t Ed anymore. Maybe he was holding onto fistfuls of clothes Blackbeard—Not Ed—stole from him while he stuck his tongue down Stede's throat. Maybe he’d killed two men in the forest that night. Maybe neither were coming back.
“Stop thinking,” Ed growls into Stede’s mouth. “I can hear it and it’s annoying. Shut up.”
Stede nods, once again a little too aggressively. Ed goes back to kissing him with a passion Stede doesn’t know how to categorize. Ed’s kissing him like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, like he’s been waiting for this moment for as long as Stede has. It’s more intoxicating and addicting than any liquor Stede has ever tried.
He dares to let his hands roam lower and lower, as far as he can, as Ed lets a breathy moan escape into his mouth. Just like that, all the worry, guilt, and anxiety Stede’s been carrying with him for the last five months are silenced. It’s like Ed has found a way to suck the rotting thoughts out of him, to ease his mind into a sense of safety, making him feel at home…
He’s thinking too much again. Being too loud. He needs to shut up.
Stede doesn’t allow himself to think about anything other than Ed’s lips moving against his. The way Ed’s tongue slides against his own. Ed’s desperate moans he doesn’t bother to hide. The way Ed’s chest is so close to being pressed flush against his own. Ed’s hands bracing himself on the floor on either side of Stede’s head. The scratch of his beard, the way his hair falls and brushes against Stede’s face. The way it’s too much and not enough, and how he wants more and more and everything Ed is willing to give him.
He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t care. His head is swimming with pleasure and love in a way he’s never felt before. He could stay here forever, kissing and holding back moans where Ed refuses to.
At some point, one of Stede’s hand moves back up Ed’s body, threading into long, tangled, gray hair. He’s not sure if he did it to push it out of the way or because he spent too many nights wondering what it would be like to run his fingers through it, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that he’s running out of oxygen, either. If this is how he dies, it would be a marvelous death.
One of Ed’s hands moves from the side of Stede’s face, moving between them to rest on Stede’s lower stomach. His fingers push beneath his shirt, fingers tracing the scar left by Izzy’s sword all those months back. It makes Stede shiver, even elicits a moan from his lips that’s mostly drowned out by Ed’s lips crushing against his.
Ed’s hand goes lower, grasping at the waistband of Stede’s pants. In that moment, Stede can’t bring himself to care about how he’s wearing one of his last few nice pairs of trousers. Doesn’t care if Ed rips them off and breaks every button. Doesn’t care if they’re soiled within seconds. He doesn’t know what exactly it is he wants, or what Ed has in mind, but he’ll take anything. Everything.
For the first time since Ed crashed their lips together (besides his brief pause to tell him to shut up) Ed pulls away from Stede. He looks down at him with wide, pleading eyes. His lips are kiss-bruised and wet, quivering slightly with desperation. Stede has never seen this side of Ed, not to this extent. He doesn’t know what to do with it, besides stare up at him with equal amounts of desperation and need.
“Can I–”
Before he can finish, and before Stede can blurt out a yes to whatever Ed had in mind, Ed’s head jerks upwards. His hand moves quickly from Stede’s pants to his mouth, quieting whatever response he’d been waiting for. Stede doesn’t have time to question him before he hears footsteps outside the closet door.
“Edward?”
Izzy. Of course.
It was one way to kill the mood, that was for sure.
“Edward, I know you’re in there. Bonnet has–”
“Fuck off,” Ed shouts. “I’m… in the middle of something.”
Stede raises his brow as if to say, is that the best you could come up with?
Ed looks down at him and shrugs before mouthing, “I don’t know!”
“What could possibly be more important than Bonnet escaping?” Izzy snaps. “I’m coming in there. We need to find him. The rest of his crew don’t seem to know where—”
“Don’t come in here!” Ed cuts him off, sounding more frantic than Stede was sure he meant to. “I’m…” he looks down at Stede, then back at the closet door. “Naked. And… busy. Touching my–”
“Dear God, man!” Izzy hisses. Stede wishes he could see the look on the man’s face, though he’s sure that it’s something between disgust and lust. Stede, on the other hand, can only relate to the latter. “Clean yourself up and… get on deck.”
Izzy’s footsteps, along with a string of curses, get quieter before they hear the door slam shut. Ed slowly removes his hand from Stede’s mouth, revealing a smile he couldn’t quite stop from spreading across his lips. They stare at each other for a couple seconds before breaking out into a fit of laughter over how fucking ridiculous it all is.
Ed leans down, his forehead knocking against Stede’s as he laughs. This time, it's not twisted up with grief. It’s the same laugh Stede had heard so many times before. It makes him laugh harder, makes him feel loose, like he can forget how fucked up their lives have become. How fucked up they’ve always been.
“Shit,” Ed mutters, flopping off of Stede to lay next to him on the floor. “Fucking cockblock.”
Stede smiles, turning on his side to look at Ed. “I wasn’t expecting that, if I’m being honest.” He pauses. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Yeah, well, me neither,” Ed responds. “Just kind of went with it.”
“Why?”
Ed turns his head to face Stede. It reminds him of that day on the ship, pushed to the deck with Ed next to him, staring into his eyes for what felt like an eternity until British officers hoisted them back up. Stede thinks he loves him just as much, if not more, than he did back then. Maybe that makes him selfish. Ed had tried to kill Lucius, put Jim and Frenchie through hell. Stede’s sure anger will find him eventually, but right now, he doesn’t care. He can’t be mad at Ed when his own actions pushed him into it.
“I don’t know. Because you said you loved me too. Because… because I wanted to. Because I missed you,” Ed says. He looks like he wants to avert his eyes, but he never does. “No matter how mad I was at you, or how mad I still am… the love part never left. Even when I wanted it to.”
Ed bites his lip, his long eyelashes fluttering slightly as he closes his eyes for a moment. “I did some really awful shit these last five months,” he admits. “I went back to old habits. Looting and pillaging and ransacking, and… all that. I don’t know. I was drunk for most of it. Izzy was in charge for more of it. I couldn’t stand to be sober, much less in charge.”
Stede dares reach out to brush his fingers across Ed’s cheek. Once again, he’s expecting him to brush him off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into it, allows Stede to cup his cheek with his hand. It somehow feels more intimate than when his tongue was in his mouth.
“Promise me you won’t hate me,” Ed whispers.
“Ed, I could never–”
“I killed Lucius,” Ed admits, eyes opening again, staring directly into Stede’s. “Pushed him overboard. He was the only one to see me… open. Vulnerable. I couldn’t stand having him around.” Ed lets out a shaky breath. “Maybe he reminded me a bit too much of you. I don’t know.”
“Lucius is alive, Ed,” Stede says, a soft smile on his lips. “At least, that’s what Jim tells me.”
Ed’s eyes widen in surprise for a second, before they settle into something more relieved. “Fuck,” he mutters, letting out a relieved breath. “How the fuck did he… Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Stede answers. “I just know Jim saved him that night you…” He trails off. He’s not sure he can say it out loud without picturing it. How scared and alone Lucius must’ve felt in the cold ocean before Jim came along.
Truthfully, he feels guilty for not asking Jim for more details. But all he’d wanted to do once he escaped the cell was to talk to Ed, to make things right. Maybe he should have paid a bit more attention to the wellbeing of his crew, but…
But now Ed lays next to him, his chest rising and falling with each breath. It reminds him of all the times he watched him sleeping, wondering why he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. Wondering why he thought about how it would feel to lay his head on Ed’s chest and fall asleep in his arms. He should have taken the chance and gone for it when he had a chance. Before things got messy and everyone got hurt because of his own stupidity and cowardice.
As he looks into Ed’s eyes, Stede realizes just how much he doesn’t care how selfish or wrong it may be. He doesn’t care what Ed— Blackbeard— has done. All he wants is to lay here with him, to be anywhere with him. To be with him. If only he’d have him.
“I’m so sorry,” Stede says, his thumb tracing a gentle line on Ed’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have left you. I wish I could take it back. I wish that there was something I could do to make it better.”
“Don’t leave again,” Ed answers almost immediately. He sounds urgent, like he’d been waiting months to plead for Stede to stay. “Or take me with you if you do. I don’t…”
Ed stops mid-sentence, going from looking Stede in the eye to turning his head to staring up at the ceiling of the closet. Stede won’t have that. He moves from where he lies on his side to hover above Ed, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “What?” he asks, voice soft and sweet as he can manage.
“I don’t want to go back to being Blackbeard.” His cheeks flush, like it’s embarrassing to admit. “I can’t be him when I’m with you, anyway. I guess I never could.”
For the first time in his life, Stede takes the initiative. He leans down, presses his lips to Ed’s. It’s gentle, more so than their first kiss. It’s full of promises and yearning and hope. Maybe Stede is a hopeless romantic, but it feels like a new beginning with each chaste movement of their lips, with the way Ed cups Stede’s cheek with his hand, just like he had during their first kiss.
Stede parts their lips, but doesn’t dare move much further away from him. He can still feel Ed’s hot breath on his lips, begging him to lean back in. He has to stop himself from going back in for another hit of whatever drug was laced in his tongue.
“You’ve always been just Ed to me,” Stede says, tracing a nonsense shape into Ed’s cheek with his thumb. “My Ed.”
There’s a smile that crosses Ed’s lips, so sincere and sweet it makes Stede’s heart feel like it could burst. “Fucking Christ, I love you,” Ed mutters, not letting Stede respond before he pulls him back in for another kiss. It’s messy, but Stede supposes everything in their lives is.
He knows nothing is healed entirely, that it’ll take months of working and fighting for some semblance of happiness. He’s not sure if they’ll run away together after all, or if they’ll continue a pirate's life. There’s a genuine chance that half the crew will want to throw Ed overboard for trying to kill Lucius, or for taking out his anger towards Stede on Jim, Frenchie, and anyone else he came into contact with over the last five months.
Jim was right. Love makes people stupid. But he doesn’t care. For the first time in months, Stede feels at home.