Chapter Text
“No, Bonnet, that’s not what I fuckin’- forget it. Move before I have to clean up your mess again.”
There’s a sharp smack of palm against too-tight denim, then an indignant squawk.
“Hey! You said stir. I was stirring.”
“You were splashing about like a kid at the pool. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s everywhere…”
In the next room, Ed smiles at his computer, cursor blinking idly in the first cell of an empty spreadsheet. They had asked Ed to set up next month’s budget plan while Izzy spent the morning continuing Stede’s training. Well. What passes for training with those two. By Ed’s calculations, the squabbling should escalate to genuine insults within the next five minutes, and wet-angry kissing soon after that. Actually, Ed reckons, it’s hardly worth getting started on this deathly tedious task. Any minute now, they should be tumbling into his office - aka the bedroom - half-dressed in aprons and fuzzy socks, cheeks flushed and lips already bitten raw. And then they’ll sweep Ed up, pull him into their frenzy, and all three of them will fall into bed and-
The sound of the front door closing makes Ed snap out of his reverie. He can’t hear them anymore - not his boyfriend, not his husband, only the gentle bubbling of whatever they left to simmer on the stove. Ed closes the laptop and pokes his head out into the hallway. It smells delicious, brings up memories of warmth and fall. But there’s nobody here to share that sentiment with.
“Stede? Iz?” Nothing. He’s all alone. Something starts squirming in his stomach, starts writhing cold and slimy all along his bones. It’s an old companion, that sensation. And his therapist would be so damn proud of him for trying to name the feeling, to sit with it, when all he wants is to reach in between his own ribs and tear it the fuck out.
But maybe his therapist is an idiot. Or just trying to spare Ed’s feelings with all that acknowledging childhood trauma and self-care nonsense. Maybe. Because the facts are simple, aren’t they? Ed Teach makes a good first impression. He’s not bad looking, he can be funny and endearing as fuck. Easy to trick and charm people into doing what he wants them to. Up to a certain point. Up to the point where the facade cracks and they realize what lies below. Darkness. Anger. Fear of what that anger can do. He still can’t look at the scars on Izzy’s foot without wanting to punch a wall-
“-no need to buy the organic shit. I had a fucking coupon.” A key rasps in the door.
“Well, excuse me for caring about the quality of produce we-”
The two men freeze in the door frame, Stede peeking over Izzy’s shoulder from behind. Ed sniffs. Shit. Why is he sitting on the carpet? And when did he start crying, for fuck’s sake?
Izzy gets his bearings first, crouches down on the floor next to his husband.
“Eddie?” The way his voice goes all careful tells Ed he must look a right mess. Stede comes to join them, rubs a warm palm up and down Ed’s spine.
“Is this about the budget?” Stede’s question sounds so genuine, Ed has to huff a snotty laugh.
“Nah, mate,” he shakes his head. “Well, maybe a little bit. But- I dunno, it’s stupid. You were just… gone.” His voice cracks again, a fresh wave of tears stinging his eyes when Izzy answers.
“Ed, we went to the store. Ran out of fuckin’ garlic because Bonnet here is trying to ward off vampires or something…”
“It barely even tastes of garlic!” Stede bristles, still stroking Ed’s back. Ed manages a watery smile.
“Said it was stupid. Just… exhausted. Too many late shifts, I guess. Might have to up the meds, too. Because for a second there, I really thought-” He swallows, shakes his head again, like he’s trying to dislodge something nasty stuck to his brain.
“Thought what?” Izzy’s eyes flicker through love and worry and hurt the way they do. The way only his husband’s eyes can.
“Thought you’d left the sweet spot.” Ed has to look at the floor, it sounds so fucking ridiculous out loud. Izzy sighs, but says nothing.
“The what?” Stede’s hand stills between Ed’s shoulder blades. Ed waits, hopes Izzy might jump in and explain, but he doesn’t, so Ed takes a deep breath.
“Y’know. The time between getting to know someone and… really getting to know them. Finding out they’re maybe not as great as they seem. That they’re terrible, actually…”
“Oh, darling.” Stede presses a kiss to Ed’s wet cheek. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“So I’ve been telling him. For three fucking decades.” Izzy rolls his eyes. They’ve had this talk too many times over the years. Izzy’s own sweet spot seems to be damn near indestructible. The exception to the rule - for better or for worse.
“What’re you making, anyway?” Ed asks, in hopes of deflecting the conversation from his own malfunctioning mind.
“Pumpkin soup!” Stede announces with all the pride of a new parent. “We want to serve it in little bread bowls at the café.”
“Ehh.” Izzy makes a noncommittal gesture. “Something pumpkin soup-adjacent. If you get off the fucking floor, you can try some.” Izzy stands up and extends a hand to Ed, who gets to his feet with a groan.
As Izzy and Stede continue their bickering - about dairy-free cream or spoon sizes or napkin colors, he lost track at some point - Ed texts his therapist to ask for an earlier appointment.
The soup is rich and creamy, bright orange, and with just enough garlic to pack a decent punch. It warms Ed’s insides, melts the jagged edges of that fear-anger-loneliness he can never quite seem to shake. Not yet. But perhaps in time.