Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“What d’ya have there?” Ed asks from somewhere in front of Stede.

“Oh just some of my favorite books and assorted quills and paper,” Stede chirps as he fights not to trip over his own two feet stumbling through the cabin. “Ah thank you dear,” he grins as part of his load is lifted and Ed’s face appears from behind the pile of books.

“And you’re trying to transport your entire library because…?”

“Oh! Yes! See-with the menu finalized and Frenchie knee deep in songwriting I’ve come to remember something Lucius and Frenchie once mentioned: none of them can read. Can you imagine? What an utter tragedy! So I thought I would teach anyone who is interested. You’re welcome to help me of course,” he chatters.

“Yeah, well, writing and reading’s more your type of thing,” Ed replies, turning away from Stede and walking towards the deck. “I’m more into stabbing and stuff.”

“Come now Ed, there’s no one around to put a facade on for,” Stede chastises gently as he chases after him. “But it’s up to you!”

“Facade,” Ed mumbles quietly to himself before clearing his throat. “Nah I think I’ll just do some work ‘round the ship.”

And shrugging to himself, unwilling to pressure Ed into doing something he doesn’t wish to do, Stede walks through the door without another word. “Hello gents and Jim!” Stede greets once he reaches the deck. Nearly everyone looks up from where they’re working with half-hearted greetings and a scowl in Izzy’s case. “I am excited to announce the opening of ‘Stede Bonnet’s Schoolhouse for Pirates!’” As he makes the announcement Ed dumps his armful at the center of the deck before nodding and walking away, though Stede notices he doesn’t linger far.

“The fuck is that?” Jim asks from where they’re sharpening one of their knives.

“The chance for you all to learn to read and write,” Stede explains, clapping his hands together. “I’ve come to understand that’s a skill none of you have had a chance to learn and I should have remedied that issue ages ago!"

“We’re pirates,” Black Pete scoffs. “We don’t need to know how to read, only how to kill!”

“Says the man currently sewing picnic blankets for the restaurant he’s helping to run,” Oluwande mutters before turning to Stede. “I always wanted to read Captain. Would love to join your school.”

“Well that’s one! Anyone else?” He looks around hopefully.

There’s some mutterings before Frenchie steps up. “I s’pose writing would be a bit easier than drawing sometimes. And I would be able to write my songs down since Lucius refuses to be my scribe guy.”

“It is literally impossible for me to chronicle Stede’s memoirs, write down Roach’s recipe ideas, transcribe Ivan’s poetry, and copy down your songs!” Lucius bursts out, throwing his arms in the air.

“Even more reason to open up this little gateway to learning then. Anyone else interested?” Stede asks. And no wonder it’s been so difficult pinning Lucius down lately! And here Stede thought he was sneaking off with Black Pete for more dalliances.

“The only book I need is the sea,” Buttons declares. “But if there are any books on that particular subject I’ll have a look, yeah.”

“Ooo! Do you have any books on witches? Or cats?” Frenchie asks. Soon Stede is overwhelmed by book requests and he scrambles to hand out copies that come as close to them as possible. Some are easy, since Fang and Frenchie share an interest in animals and Ivan and Wee John in romances, but Roach’s cooking book request and the Swede’s interest in philosophy catches him a tad off guard.

Ultimately Stede is delighted to find that nearly the entire crew has agreed to join his school, even Black Pete with Lucius’ coaxing. The only ones to sit it out are Izzy who growls that pirates don’t need to read and Jim who arches a brow. “You really think I was raised by a nun to seek revenge and not taught how to read or write?”

“So you know how to read the bible then?” Roach asks as he studies the cover of the only book Stede could find that had anything remotely to do with cooking.

“Of course not,” Jim scoffs. “But I know how to write ransom notes and read wanted posters.” They shrug. “Good enough for me.”

“I feel like every time you open your mouth I learn another fascinating detail about your life,” Oluwande comments with a dreamy smile. Jim ducks their head before shooting Oluwande a shy grin while Stede watches on with warm fondness in his heart. Oh, what precious young lovebirds.

“Never held a book before,” Wee John mutters, roughly opening and closing the spine and turning it this way and that, making Stede wince.

“Now before we get to reading we should first touch on your letters,” Stede hurriedly declares, pulling out some parchment and gesturing for everyone to huddle close to him. (In retrospect perhaps Stede should invest in some books at a more attainable level to begin with. And less destructible.) Stede turns to Lucius hopefully, suddenly feeling slightly overwhelmed at the expectant and eager faces immediately surrounding him. “Lucius I don’t suppose you’d like to be my assistant teacher?”

“Rather teach a hoard of cats how to tap dance, thanks,” Lucius replies, studying his nails.

“Yes…right then. In that case, welcome to Stede Bonnet’s School for Pirates! I am happy to be your instructor.”

Izzy has been tense ever since Stede fucking Bonnet swanned in with the ridiculous plan to teach a group of pirates how to read. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave; Izzy had missed the sound of learning, though he’d never admit it and even the thought of why feels like a fucking hook tearing through his heart. He finds himself slightly relaxing when Jim settles beside him, flipping their knife and continuing to sharpen it. Izzy gives them a grunt of welcome while he works to clean his gun. He always had a grudging liking for Jim as the only competent crew member of these idiots, though they also lose some of his respect for settling for this crew of imbeciles instead of seeking out better employment.

“So. Dead parents?” Aaannd there goes the little relaxation he began to feel. Izzy’s finger twitches on the trigger he was polishing while Jim continues to study their dagger. “I recognize unresolved issues that you transfer into violence when I see it. Plus you’ve been cleaning the same part of your gun for 10 minutes while looking like you want it to burst into flames but not before it gives you a hug. So. Guessing they taught you to read?”

“Dunno why the fuck you’d think that,” he replies gruffly, feeling oddly choked up and five seconds from fleeing.

Jim hums, raising their knife towards the sun and inspecting it before taking the rag that’s sitting lax in Izzy’s hand. He can’t even muster up a growl in response. “To be honest my Nana just helped finish my education. My father was the one who first taught me. Every night after putting my brother to bed we would read together by candlelight. Until he was murdered in front of me of course.”

Flashes of memories Izzy’s worked so damn hard to bury rise unwillingly to the surface- being flanked on both sides by his parents with a book in front of him as he sounded out the letters, his hand inside of his father’s larger palm as he guided Izzy to spell his name, the soothing voice of his mother reading him stories as he slipped off to sleep. “And why do you think I would give a bloody fuck about any of that?” But Izzy grimaces at how hoarse his voice sounds- hoarser than usual. And why is his throat and eyes burning? Must’ve been something in that bloody chile Roach forced Izzy to help make.

Jim cocks their head toward him. “Dunno. Don’t friends bond over childhood trauma?”

“Why the fuck are you all trying to be friends with me?” Izzy bursts out, waving his gun in the air helplessly. It’s been maddening these past few weeks. At every turn these people who he tried to make miserable have offered unwavering camaraderie when he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve it the utter twats.

Jim shrugs, unfazed, even as several of the crew look up at him side-eyed. “Dunno, think we see you as a defanged cat who likes to hiss a lot and maybe if you get affection you’d chill the fuck out or something.” Izzy…has no response to that. “So. Wanna throw knives around? See who can hit a target better?”

He blinks. Then blinks again. “…Sure.”

Stede has progressed towards teaching all the crew how to spell their names when he spots Ed hovering behind Ivan’s shoulder at the edge of the group, mouthing along with Ivan’s muttered pronunciation and slow strokes. At the sight Stede’s hand twitches, messing up where he was helping Wee John spell the second half of his name. “Oh bugger, sorry Wee John,” Stede says faintly but his mind is far away, suddenly drawn back to that horrid moment when he and Ed were signing their lives away, what feels like a lifetime ago. Ed had commented on the size of the writing but come to think of it, he didn’t give it a second glance beyond that despite Stede combing through it painstakingly. And the way he held the quill so stiffly and only signed an X and never took Stede up on his offers to borrow from the library or read to the crew…Oh dear. Stede has been a proper fool, hasn’t he?

***

“Ed. Do you know how to read?” Ed stiffens from where he was settling into bed and curses to himself. Of course Stede noticed. Like he needed any further proof that they couldn’t come from more different lives.

“‘Course I do. I’m fucking Blackbeard. Can do anything,” he replies gruffly, turning his back on Stede.

“Ed…” And fuck he has no defense against that soft utterance of his name across Stede’s lips. He feels now calloused fingers brush his shoulder but Ed only squeezes his eyes shut. “You know you don’t have to put that facade up for me.”

“You said that word earlier,” he mumbles after a moment, shoulders hunched. “Dunno what it means.” He’s usually able to infer enough to know what Stede means when he uses his fancy vocabulary and has even managed to apply some to his speech as well. But even if he can make a guess at what that word means, this feels like the easiest way to admit the secret that churns through his stomach like spoiled cabbage.

“Oh darling,” Stede sighs, drawing Ed into his arms. “I’m so sorry you thought you had to keep this from me. I’m so sorry for assuming and making it worse.”

With a half-hearted grumble Ed curls up into Stede’s embrace and lays his head over his heart, matching his breath to that steady thump thump thump. “Not your fault.” He swallows before adding, “My ma was a servant, da was a drunk. Reading and writing wasn’t meant for someone like me.” And it says how unsteady and out of depth he feels that he doesn’t refer to them by the more “cultured” terms he usually uses- mother and father, mum and dad.

He fingers the silk sheets beneath him, such a contrast to the coarse material he has known all his life and he grapples with the sudden fear that he’ll lift his hand to find that he’s dirtied it with his very identity, but Ed blinks in surprise when Stede releases a disgusted scoff. “Now what rubbish is that? Reading and writing is meant for everyone, the rich simply hoard the knowledge for ourselves because we’re greedy for power. It’s not a reflection on you, it’s a reflection on me.”

“What d’you mean?” Ed asks, brows furrowed and hand pausing but still unwilling to meet Stede’s eyes.

Stede releases a heavy sigh as his fingers begin to card gently through Ed’s hair and, like always, Ed finds himself relaxing slightly. “I have lived all my life in this little bubble of privilege with things that I take for granted and ideas I don’t even consider aren’t true for others. Like the idea that a captain of a ship would be able to read and write.”

Ed’s eyes flicker shut as Stede draws a delicate finger down his cheek. “You have one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever met, Edward Teach. The ability to read plays no part in that. You shouldn’t feel shame for something you were never given the chance to learn.” Ed scoffs at Stede’s conflated praise but pauses as Stede cups his cheek. “Ed,” Stede whispers, and Ed finds his eyes opening and finally meets Stede’s steady warm gaze. He stares up at Stede, drowning in those soft orbs and feeling his breath catch at the utter beauty of the man before him. “I’m not giving you false praise. I’m not saying this as your partner. I’m saying this as a fellow pirate. You are brilliant and highly intelligent whether you can read or not.”

Fixated on the word partner, it takes a moment for the rest of Stede’s words to sink in. When they do, Ed blinks and he feels his cheeks warm, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Well. If you say so.”

“I most certainly do,” Stede sniffs, some of that aristocratic air replacing his previous gentle tone to Ed’s amusement.

He relaxes fully as Stede returns to stroking through his hair before panic lances through him again. “Don’t tell the crew,” Ed begs, still slightly unused to being vulnerable in front of anyone who isn’t Stede and at times Lucius.

“Of course not,” Stede promises, kissing his forehead. “But perhaps you and I can have our own private lessons?”

Ed licks his lips. “I might like that,” he croaks.

And so begins a routine. When they’re not busy sailing or pillaging or preparing for the opening of their restaurant, the crew gathers around in the evenings reading and writing. And at night when it’s just them two, Stede takes Ed’s hand and teaches him by the candlelight, slowly and patiently and ever so lovingly.

Just. There was one problem.

“So it’s unanimous. Mutiny it is.”

“What’s that about mutiny?” a dangerous voice asks.

Oluwande jerks up to see Ed hovering in the shadows, fingering a knife and clearly debating whether to use it.

“Not an actual mutiny,” Oluwande rushes out. “It’s just…it’s real nice Captain wants to teach us how to read and write, it’s only-”

“He’s the worst fucking teacher I’ve ever met,” Lucius bursts out, throwing his arms in the air. “And one of my teachers once thought if he hit me hard enough I would actually remember what 10x10 is.”

“Ah,” Ed acknowledges with a wince, slipping his knife smoothly back into his sheath.

“He has the enthusiasm just…not the skill?” Roach offers.

“Yeah, if we could just find someone who, y’know, actually knew how to teach, we might be in a better spot?” Frenchie adds.

Ed hums to himself, contemplative, before a slow smirk spreads across his face. “Y’know I just might have an idea.”

***

“P-please! Please don’t kill me!” The sobbing man begs, terrified eyes staring up at Ed and Stede from where he’s tied up to the mast. “I’m begging you! I’ll pay you! Do you want money?” He stutters. “I-I mean I don’t have much money I’m a bloody teacher but I-I can get money! I swear!”

“Oh, so you have a rich family? Rich friends?” Ed asks, unable to stop himself from playing with the cowering man just a little.

His eyes widen impossibly further. “Well. Um. Not quite. Most of my family is dead. Or estranged. And, uh, I’m not the most social…of people.”

“Mmm too bad. If you’re not worth a ransom not sure if you’re worth living,” Ed muses, tapping his chin with the butt of his knife. He raises his hands with a smirk when Stede gently elbows him with a chastising glance, though his eyes twinkle with slight amusement.

“No good chap, we’re not here to murder you or ransom you,” Stede assures him, turning back to their prisoner. “Ed here simply loves some drama you see.”

The man slumps in his bonds, looking around at the ship. “S-so what do you want from me then?”

Stede starts pacing and Ed simply steps back, twirling his knife and admiring the exposed forearms of his lover as Stede begins to gesture through the air while he speaks. (Though Stede has kept most of his wardrobe, he tends towards simpler, more piratey outfits more often than not lately. More specifically, outfits that make Ed salivate and occasionally trip over his own feet.) “Well, you see, I’ve come to realize that none of my crew can read or write, which is simply unacceptable! Everyone deserves a chance to learn how to read and write, don’t you agree?” At this he pauses his pacing to turn expectedly at the man.

“Um.” The poor man’s eyes dart between Ed and Stede before tentatively responding, “Y-yes?”

“Exactly! That’s what I said!” Crossing his arms behind his back Stede continues to pace. “But you see, it turns out I’m not quite the best teacher.”

“Something we’ve all been surprised by,” Ed cuts in, raising his voice and glaring at the scattered crew until they mutter in half-hearted agreement.

“It’s kind of you to say dear but I’m man enough to acknowledge my weaknesses,” Stede reassures him with a pat on the shoulder.

Mind flashing to all the instances when Stede has been entirely unaware of his weaknesses (case in point: accepting a duel from Izzy fucking Hands) Ed nods and responds faintly, “Sure.” He’s distracted however by the way the captured man’s gaze seems to alight on where Stede’s hand is still resting on his shoulder, something unreadable in his eyes.

“So you see good fellow,” Stede continues, turning back to their captive, “We’re looking for a good teacher, and it just so happens that you were the last one to come out of the schoolhouse.”

“Lucky me,” the man mutters before balking and stuttering out, “I-I mean, I would be happy to lend my services? If it would keep me alive?”

“Oh don’t worry, as I said there will be no killing you,” Stede reassures him with a bright smile. “Or maiming,” he adds, turning to shoot Ed a warning glance.

With a sigh, Ed slips the dagger he was playing with back in its sheath. “You’re no fun,” he grumbles. (Even if part of him wasn’t really planning on messing with the poor bugger, his tastes running more towards assholes in fancy suits and uniforms and bastards transporting people in chains.) But a dark part of him still enjoys the fear that plays across the man’s face. The fact that Stede seems to understand that and not be repulsed by it makes Ed weak in the knees with gratitude. The first time he enjoyed a good maim in front of Stede after they got together, he was terrified that Stede was going to back out, regret ever latching himself onto a monster like Ed. But instead he gently washed the blood off of Ed’s hands after the fact, kissing his palm and whispering, “I love all of you darling. I promise.” Ed has no fucking idea what he did to deserve such a man.

“So- you kidnapped me just to teach your crew how to read and write?” The man clarifies, looking less terrified and more baffled.

“That’s the gist of it, yes!” Stede replies.

“Ooookaaayy,” he says slowly. “Um. I think I can handle that?”

“Excellent!” Stede chirps, drawing out the dagger Ed bought him a few ports over and neatly cutting their captive’s ties. Ed mentally facepalms in response to his far too trusting partner.

Fortunately, instead of bolting like any sane man would attempt to do, their captive (Ed should really get around to finding out his name if he’ll be staying) looks around their ship before giving a double take. “Um. Is that a cat?”

“Yes, so you best watch your step ‘cause everyone knows that cats are witches and if this cat doesn’t like what she sees she won’t hesitate to curse you!” Frenchie declares, his threat only slightly undermined by the way Talon is purring as he scratches beneath her chin.

“Right…” the man replies. “And are those flyers advertising a bar?”

“And grille! Some people didn’t hand out all the flyers advertising our restaurant before we went out to kidnap you,” Roach explains with a glare at Izzy who sighs and rolls his eyes. “Literally everyone I approached had one in their hands because you’re a lot of overenthusiastic prats.”

“Restaurant…” he says slowly before shaking his head. “Okay then.” Stepping forward and brushing off his jacket, he pushes back the dark bangs that had fallen over his eyes. “Hello everyone, I’m Jacob Henrique,” he announces, turning to the crew and only trembling somewhat. “And it looks like I’ll be your teacher for the foreseeable future.”

***

For the first few days Ed stands back and watches as Jacob Henrique stutters out his lessons to the gathered pirates, his burgeoning bravery after being cut down immediately snuffed out when he found himself surrounded on all sides by men (and Jim) carrying and playing with sharp things. But the man’s utter terror isn’t what catches Ed’s eye. No, it’s the way he falters and hesitates every time Lucius beams and pecks Black Pete’s cheek when he makes it through a word, every time Jim helps Oluwande with his lettering and he smiles softly at them and takes their hand, every time Stede brushes a touch along Ed’s arm and calls him darling.

Eventually, Ed can’t stand it anymore. While everyone is heading to dinner Ed grabs the teacher by the back of his collar and drags him to the captain’s quarters, shoving him against the wall and stabbing his knife into the wood right next to the trembling man’s face. (Stede will bitch him out for ruining the paneling later but Ed can’t bring himself to care right now.) “You best watch yourself dog,” Ed growls, shoving his face close till they’re a breath apart. “If you have a fucking problem with the way we run this ship, if you have something to say about the relationships here, I’ll tie you to a fucking anchor and throw you overboard. We’re not in the backwards fucking society you come from where you’re not allowed to be who you are, where you can’t be with the person you love. So watch your fucking step.” When Ed’s done with his speech he’s surprised to find himself breathless, his heart beating rapidly. He’s never this worked up when he’s threatening someone.

Ed’s distracted by that observation when instead of pissing himself or blubbering (some balls on him after all) Henrique stutters out, “I just want to understand…you and the other captain- and those other fellows out here, you- it’s allowed here?” The way he whispers his question, filled with aching hope, makes Ed pause. Oh- maybe he was reading this situation all wrong.

He takes a step back, fiddling with the knife before crossing his arms and feeling slightly unsteady. “So what if it was?” he asks gruffly.

“It’s just…I’ve always dreamed…” Ah. Looks like they have another one. Henrique takes a tentative step forward, eyes wide. “So you and the captain fellow?” Ed nods with a grunt. “And the angry one and the sarcastic one?” Another nod and another grunt. “And that larger man and-” Here he falters with a furrowed brow.

“Their name is Jim,” Ed offers up.

“They? I heard that earlier, wasn’t sure if I heard right.”

Ed shrugs, scratching the back of his neck with the butt of his knife. “Jim can explain it better than me. Gender is just kind of eh to them.”

At this the man’s eyes seem to widen even further. “That…” He swallows and clutches a chain around his neck Ed hadn’t spotted until now. “Good to know,” he eventually replies faintly.

Clearing his throat, Ed nods towards the deck. “Carry on. Sure the lads are eager to hear about their next lesson.” And with a stuttered reply, Henrique scurries away while Ed watches him go with a contemplative hum. This should be interesting then.

***

“Um. Jim is it?”

Jim looks up from where they’re sharpening their knife and cocks their head at the new guy. “Yeah. You want something?”

They eye the man, still wearing his coat and breeches though they’re looking worse for wear at this point. He shuffles his feet and fidgets before sinking to the ground to face Jim. “Um. I was talking to one of your captains and he mentioned. Well he said something about how gender just isn’t quite a thing for you?” Jim stiffens and closes their eyes, hating that they have to explain themselves. “It’s just- I’ve never felt quite like-” he trails off and Jim opens their eyes with a frown to find him gesturing to himself. Ah, so it’s this kind of explaining.

Jim relaxes and leans back on one arm, twirling their knife lazily and shrugging. “Never really felt like a woman. Then there was a bounty on my head so I disguised myself as a man. Felt more like me but still not quite right. So ‘he’ doesn’t really work and ‘she’ doesn’t work.” They shrug. “Oluwande was the one who suggested ‘they’ instead.” They smile softly at where the man in question is currently bickering with Black Pete as usual before turning their gaze back on the teacher. “That make sense?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “So- could a man-” He seems to struggle with his words. “Could a man be a woman? Not necessarily in between?”

Jim cocks their head with what they hope is a reassuring smile. (They’re not used to being gentle.) “Y’know, I think you might look good with long hair.”

Henrique's eyes widen and he reaches up to touch his head. Or maybe Jim should start referring to Henrique as she? They lean forward, the sudden urge to reach out to Henrique surging up. “Your name and gender and pronouns aren’t set in stone just ‘cause society says so. You born a man but know you’re a woman?” Jim shrugs. “Change your name, change your pronouns, change your appearance. And lucky for you you’re on a ship where people will hardly blink an eye if you do.”

Henrique's eyes start to brim with tears and Jim is about to call Oluwande over, absolutely not able to handle a crying person, when she scrambles to her feet. “E-excuse me I think I need some air.”

“But we’re on a ship on open sea,” Jim calls as she hurries away. “There’s literally nothing but air.” They smile quietly to themselves as Henrique bumps into Frenchie and hesitates before hurrying below deck. Well, looks like they caught another one.

When Henrique ran into him before fleeing, Frenchie's first instinct was to run after him. And it’s certainly not ‘cause his eyes are the greenest green he ever saw or the way he helped Frenchie hold his quill properly made butterflies burst in his stomach or that his voice is soft like a melody and Frenchie wants him to read to him every day. No, it’s none of that. He’s just worried that Henrique is gonna…raid the gunpowder storage. Yeah, that’s it. Can’t be having that now, can we?

“Um. Hello? Jacob is it?” Frenchie calls, cradling Talon in his arms.

He stumbles to a stop when he hears a small voice reply, “Not sure if that’s what I wanna go by anymore.”

Stepping into the rec room, Frenchie finds Henrique hunched against the wall, head buried in his knees. Bracing himself, Frenchie walks towards Henrique and hunches to the floor, proffering up Talon. “Wanna pet her? I find it quite soothing even if she might be a witch and could curse us at any point.”

At this Henrique lifts his head from where it had been buried in his knees and shoots Frenchie a watery smile. “I always thought cats were fascinating creatures. ‘Cause they have knives in their feet but we treat them like pets.”

“Right?!" Frenchie exclaims, sinking to the floor and crossing his legs, excited to finally find someone who understands. “What’s up with that? People are all like ‘aww look at that cute ball of fluff’ when at any point it can turn around and scratch your face off!”

“This one seems pretty docile,” Henrique remarks, nodding towards where Talon is purring in Frenchie’s arms. “Tame,” he clarifies when Frenchie stares at him blankly.

“Oh, yeah, well, you shoulda seen her when Fang tried giving her a bath.”

Henrique chuckles softly. “Sounds like it would’ve been quite the entertainment.”

Frenchie grins, petting Talon before returning to why he came down here in the first place. “Um. You alright though? It kinda looked like you saw a ghost or something before you ran down here. And if you saw a ghost you gotta tell me ‘cause I am not staying on a ship with a ghost.”

“No ghost,” Henrique replies with a weak smile, hugging his knees tightly. “Just. Had a talk with your captain and then with Jim-”

“Ooo got threatened did you?” Frenchie asks with a wince. “Honestly it’s a rite of passage to be threatened by Jim so congratulations?”

Henrique blinks at him before shaking his head slowly. “No…they were actually quite nice.” Now it’s Frenchie’s turn to blink. “They explained how their gender worked and I-” Henrique's brows furrow. “It feels like it was the first thing to make sense in my entire life.”

“Ohhh,” Frenchie lets out with a knowing nod. “Yeah, no problem. So want us to refer to you as ‘they’ too? Any new name you want?”

Henrique looks at Frenchie incredulously. “It’s that easy?”

Frenchie shrugs. “Do you really think my birth name is Frenchie or Roach was named Roach? We’ve all reinvented ourselves in some way or another. And we all became pirates ‘cause regular society just didn’t quite work out for us.”

Henrique studies Frenchie for a long moment and he begins to squirm awkwardly when Henrique whispers, “I think I’m a woman. I think I was born in the wrong body.”

Frenchie’s eyes widen and he stills. “Well that’s gotta fuckin’ suck,” he declares.

Henrique releases a rough laugh and shakes her head. “Yeah. All my life I would look in the mirror and just feel this wrongness at my reflection.” Her eyes grow distant. “When I was a child my mum caught me trying to put on her makeup and wearing her shoes.” Henrique pulls out a chain from under her shirt and reveals a locket cradled in her palm connected to what looks like a star. “She held me tight, told me I had to keep that secret close to my chest ‘cause this world wasn’t made for people like me.” She flicks open the locket with her thumb and gazes down at it. “She loved me, tried to protect me but ‘cause of what she said I worked to bury who I wanted to be deep inside myself.” She meets Frenchie’s gaze, eyes wide. “Never even realized it was an option though. To actually live like how I felt.”

“Well, welcome to being a pirate,” Frenchie proclaims, spreading his arms wide before hurriedly returning to petting Talon when she releases an irate meow. Can’t have him getting cursed now. “Where you can be whatever the fuck you want and if anyone questions you you get to stab them.”

Henrique barks out a laugh and straightens up, brushing her hair from her eyes with a grin. Frenchie swallows dryly. “You have a very nice smile,” he blurts out before wincing. Oh fuck it all.

But Henrique's eyes simply widen before she ducks her head, smile turning shy. “Thank you.”

“So d’you still wanna go by Jacob? Or something else?” Frenchie scrambles to ask, fingers tightening anxiously in Talon’s fur before he forces himself to relax.

Henrique fiddles with a stray piece of thread on her sleeve with one hand and twists the star back and forth in the other before looking up, green eyes bright and determined. “I think I’d like to go by Aviva. If that’s alright.”

Frenchie beams, handing Aviva Talon. “Well then, it’s very nice to meet you, Aviva Henrique. My name’s Frenchie and this here’s Talon. Welcome to our crew.”

And the way Aviva smiles brightly at him- Frenchie might be in just a little trouble.

***

“So are you a mermaid then?”

“She’s not a mermaid!” Frenchie protests.

“I dunno green eyes feels kinda mermaidy to me,” Wee John comments.

“So do we have to worry about bad luck again?” Black Pete asks.

“It’s a myth,” Jim reminds them, stabbing their knife into the table.

“But what about the crystals that attract demons, Frenchie?” the Swede asks, turning wide eyes to him.

“Well, uh, maybe science got it wrong, y’know?” Frenchie tries with a wince.

“I’m sorry…but what are we talking about?” Aviva interjects, waving her hands around helplessly.

“There’s a superstition that women are bad luck on ships,” Jim explains with a roll of their eyes. “But it’s a MYTH.”

“So…your problem right now is that I might be bad luck? Because I’ve said I’m a woman? Not that you met me as a man and I’ve now changed my gender? And even though I don’t…” She trails off, gesturing to her chest and the spare clothes Frenchie was able to scrounge up for her when she expressed an almost desperate need to be rid of her formalwear.

“Even though you don’t what?” Black Pete asks, blinking at her.

Aviva looks between Frenchie and Jim in what seems to be a desperate bid for solidarity but they both shrug. Frenchie just doesn’t understand what the big deal is, though maybe it’s ‘cause he could never wrap his mind around some of society’s hang ups. She looks back at the assembled crew. “So I say I think I’m a woman and you all accept that without hesitation?”

“I mean…yes? Why wouldn’t we?” Roach asks with a cock of his head.

Aviva opens and shuts her mouth multiple times before saying faintly, “Who the fuck are you all?”

“The crew of the Revenge. Welcome aboard, mate,” Frenchie grins, slinging an arm around her.

***

With their new reading instructor settled in and Izzy officially staying on the ship despite threatening to walk off about every other day, the restaurant preparations kick into full gear. Something that their newest arrival is only slightly confused by.

“How long till you think we write good enough that we can write out our menus?” Roach asks. “Lucius is getting a bit tired of writing them all out himself and Stede keeps getting too distracted to help him.”

“I’m sorry…your menus?” Aviva asks, looking up from where she is gently wrestling a book from Wee John so he doesn’t set it on fire out of frustration. “You’ll get there John, you just need to go a bit slower,” she murmurs in his ear before looking back at Roach.

“Yeah, our menus. For our restaurant?”

Aviva looks around at the ship sailing serenely through the waves. “Right, you mentioned that when I got on last week but I thought the terror was playing tricks on my hearing. Care to clarify?”

“Oh yeah, been meaning to explain that,” Oluwande nods from where he’s slowly writing out Jim’s full name. “We’re gonna expand our ship to be part ship part restaurant. Been working on the preparations for weeks but we paused after kidnapping you so we could focus on our education first.”

“Right,” Aviva says slowly.

“It was Ed’s idea,” the Swede explains. “Sometimes we’ll be a restaurant and sometimes we’ll be a pirate ship!”

Aviva glances over to where the two captains are currently canoodling in the corner, laughing to each other and sipping tea. She’s still utterly terrified of them both; there’s something unsettling witnessing how loving and gentle they can be after one’s been kidnapped and threatened by them. “Right. Of course it was,” she replies faintly.

“It’s the stupidest bloody idea I’ve ever heard in my life,” Izzy remarks, and now Aviva grows even tenser. If the two captains unsettle her, Izzy Hands makes her want to run away and hide.

“Oh, don’t lie we all know you’re coming ‘round to the idea, Chef Hands,” Frenchie says indulgently. And this is the part that baffles Aviva the most; how much Izzy snarls and barks and how the crew responds like he’s a particularly grumpy cat who just needs some pets. Speaking of cats, despite Izzy’s glowering expression he is currently scratching Talon gently under her chin, both hands bare which is a rare sight on the other man.

“So anyway, if you’re gonna be stayin’ with us long term we can find you a spot on our restaurant staff. Just say the word,” Oluwande elaborates, raising up his parchment to show Jim his work with a beam.

“Right. Staying,” Aviva says quietly with a glance at where Frenchie is sprawled on his stomach, tongue sticking out as he carefully writes out the title to his latest song with several misspellings. “I’ll have to get back to you about that. I think.”

***

“Alright everyone! Gather 'round!” Stede claps. Ed and Oluwande come up beside him as the rest of the crew gathers in front of the trio, looking smart in their matching black uniforms. Ed takes in the transformed ship, “Jeff’s Bar and Grille” waving proudly in dark lettering beside a stitching of a cat while the flags the crew made all those months ago hang in various places throughout the ship and lanterns scatter about to create some mood lighting. It was Aviva’s suggestion to switch up the decor a bit and she certainly has a knack for it, even if no one’s sure if she’s planning on staying long term or not. “Ah, yes looking sharp!” Stede declares with an approving nod while Ed shoots them a thumbs up.

“Now you all know your duties, make sure you stick with them and no pulling out weapons unless absolutely necessary,” Oluwande announces.

“Can you remind us what absolutely necessary means? In case anyone forgot?” the Swede asks, raising his hand.

Sighing, Oluwande pinches his nose. “Unless you or a crew member’s life is being threatened and by that I mean about to be stabbed or shot do not hurt or threaten anyone.”

“And can you just review what counts as threats?” Ivan asks.

“Hinting verbally or physically that you plan to harm a person mentally, emotionally, or physically,” Oluwande supplies, looking pained.

“And what is included under emotional harm again?” Wee John adds.

“Was no one listening during our final meeting last night?” Oluwande exclaims, throwing his arms up.

“No, I’m sure everyone was listening, they just got some opening day jitters, right gang?” Ed cuts in, nodding slowly until everyone else begins to nod as well.

“Yeah right totally,” Frenchie says with what Ed thinks is supposed to be a confident smile.

“Now wait staff, you have the menu memorized in case we have a guest who can’t read or has questions, right?” Ed checks while Jim pulls Oluwande to the side and rubs his shoulders, murmuring softly to him.

“We just quizzed each other a few minutes ago, we should be good,” Lucius reassures.

“Gift shop and fishing supplies you’re all set up?”

“Everything’s displayed on our picnic blankets just like you asked and I promise I’ll make sure Ivan stabs no one,” Fang assures, laughing when the man in question elbows him.

“Kitchen, entertainment, how we looking?”

“Ready to debut some new songs!” Frenchie exclaims, strumming his lute.

“And we’ll need that entertainment if the kitchen gets backed up,” Roach adds. “But me and Izzy should be able to handle it.”

“If we get killed over this I’m haunting you all in the afterlife,” Izzy mutters, still wearing his usual leathers but Ed’s not fighting him. Besides, he’ll be below deck so it’s not as important if he’s out of uniform.

“Right then.” Oluwande steps forward once more and takes a slow breath. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? It’s not like this is a fuckin’ raid or something,” Izzy says far too fast to be sincere as he works to finish prepping the stew he made that first time they cooked together. Even though the menu had already been finalized at that point, when Roach suggested adding it as a special the crew immediately agreed. Plus it was entertaining watching Izzy’s ears turn red.

“Right right. Anyway here.” Roach smirks as Izzy flails and juggles the fabric just thrown in his face before lifting it up to study it. “An apron to make it official since you haven’t threatened to leave in two days. Don’t want those leathers of yours ruined after all if you’ll be staying long term.” He turns away to give the man some privacy as he simply stares at the fabric with an unreadable expression. “Now Captain thinks that we’ll have a full ship with all the chatter in town so throw that thing on. Time to get to work.”

“Welcome to Jeff’s Bar and Grille! My name is Jeff Jefferson and this here is Steve Edwards. May we show you to your seats?” Ed bows and gestures the way Stede has helped him practice while fighting down the nerves dancing through his stomach. It’s ridiculous that he’s anxious; it’s not like this is a life or death situation but Ed can’t seem to help it. There’s a line down the dock of people waiting so their advertising seems to have paid off but that just means more people to witness it if Ed fucks up. And the couple in front of him are dressed in that fancy way that just screams pretentious assholes interested in examining the “low” folk.

He must have missed their response because the next thing Ed hears is Stede saying, “Wonderful! I’m happy to walk you to your seat.”

Ed feels slightly more at ease when Stede walks them away and Ed is faced with a pair of men in more roughspun clothes, closer to his comfort zone. “‘Ello mate. This here where we can find soma that fishing gear and grab a pint?” One of the men asks.

“Absolutely, right this way,” Ed gestures, breathing a bit more steadily. So far so good. Maybe this night won’t end in total disaster.

“Oh right I forgot, you’re dining with the fucking queen. Why don’t I just go ahead and get you some lace napkins and gold silverware, shall I?” Lucius snarks, giving an exaggerated bow to the stuck up couple at picnic blanket #1. Did they really think this is the kind of restaurant with fancy tablesettings? They don’t even have tables!

“What he means to say is all of our food is made to be eaten either by hand or with a simple spoon or fork. We do provide napkins but they’re request only seeing’s how not everyone feels the need to use one,” Oluwande hurries to explain as he jogs over. “And thank you again for choosing Jeff’s Bar and Grille for your dining experience!”

“Right…that’s what I meant to say,” Lucius says with a forced smile. “Now can I take your order?” Before telling Roach to spit in it? he doesn’t add. He rolls his eyes when Oluwande shoots him a warning glance as if he read his mind. What? It’s not like they would taste it.

“Mama can I have the kitty cat one?” a child asks, pointing to the wood carving Black Pete made while Talon snoozed in a sun spot.

“I like the seagull,” another child says, making Buttons preen from where he’s seated next to Black Pete on their gift shop picnic blanket.

“Aye, they’re quite majestic creatures,” Buttons affirms.

“Not as majestic as a cat though. Those things can be pretty cool,” Black Pete retorts.

“But can they fly?” Buttons probes. “Not sure how cool they can be if they can’t even fly.” Black Pete narrows his eyes, fingers twitching towards his knife.

“What they mean to say is both are excellent choices and if you choose a third carving you get that one half off!” Oluwande cuts in, huffing over to them.

“Oh, yeah…forgot to mention that,” Black Pete says awkwardly, slumping and placing his hand back in his lap under Oluwande’s glare.

“Wonderful, then I would like those two and that lovely fish. My husband will be delighted,” the mother of the two kids requests, only looking slightly uneasy.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Buttons says, accepting the coin and biting into it while Black Pete hands over their selections. “And if your husband likes fish you might wanna check out our fishing supply store on the other side of the ship. We sell all sorts of gear.”

“I think I just might, thank you! Now come along children, say thank you to the nice men.”

“Did you hear that? She called me nice! Never been so insulted in my life,” Black Pete grumbles, crossing his arms as the mother and two children walk away.

“In this type of business that’s a good thing. Now remember instead of competing against each other work with each other, okay?” Oluwande begs. Buttons and Black Pete exchange glances before agreeing half-heartedly. Oluwande nods, turning back to the rest of their floating restaurant and releasing a quiet whimper. “Now I have to step away and deal with what looks like Frenchie antagonizing a patron. Gods fucking help me.”

Welcome to Jeff’s Bar and Grille
The best place to eat in town
Please enjoy it while it lasts
‘Cause next week we won’t be around

Like all best things
This cannot last
So eat and be merry
Before we raise our-

Frenchie cuts himself off and switches up his lyrics, maintaining the melody with a charming smile.

Sir it’s a lute not a mandolin
And if you touch it I will kill you
That’s a promise not a threat!
So you can’t stop me Olu

“Ah yes isn’t our resident singer charming?” Oluwande laughs, clapping his hands together with a strained smile. “But as a gentle reminder please avoid crowding any of our employees- it’s important to respect everyone’s personal space after all!”

Yes respect our space to avoid a knife in the face

Iiisss what a pirate would say Frenchie hurries to add when Oluwande glares at him.

Me though I simply wish you a good day
So spread the word of the greatest restaurant in town
And come back tomorrow
while we’re still around!

“Oh. Um. Hello little girl,” Ivan says with uncertainty, unused to talking to a little one.

“Hello! My name is Gwendelyn,” the little girl says with a cheery wave and a gap-toothed smile.

“Remember, we don’t give our names to strangers dear,” the girl’s mother says, smiling nervously at him while wrapping protective hands around her daughter’s shoulders and the little boy beside her gazes up at him curiously. Ivan only scowls, too used to this kinda response. Not even emotionally threatening people is a real tall ask; he better get some reward for his restraint later.

“What can me and my partner get for you?” Fang asks, brushing a subtle hand down Ivan’s back.

Ivan takes a slow breath in response and tries to smooth his face out into a smile. “We got knives to help gut fish, some bait and hooks, an’ some netting,” he explains, waving a hand across their display.

“This is pretty,” the little boy coos, picking up a hook and admiring the feather woven into it.

“Ivan here’s made the hooks himself,” Fang declares proudly. “Finds all the materials and weaves ‘em together by hand.”

The woman’s eyes widen while Ivan ducks his head. “Oh what marvelous craftsmanship. Can I have five please? And perhaps you can point out the best knife in your stock?”

Ivan feels himself straightening, more in his comfort zone. “Well it depends on whether you want something pretty or something that will actually stab someoo-thing,” he catches himself.

The woman blinks at Ivan and flits her gaze between him and Fang. She clears her throat, twisting a ring with a bright red ruby Ivan is itching to steal from her finger. “I believe I’d like one that is a bit more than simply decorative,” she decides hesitatingly.

Ivan hums, fluctuating between a simple bone knife and one with some slight engraving on the handle. Deciding a woman in a fancy dress like hers might like something a bit posh, Ivan picks up the second choice. “Here ya go, should do ya some good?”

“Oh, no I won’t be using it,” the woman protests, flushing and placing a hand to her throat. “It’s for my husband.”

“Oh,” Ivan says, slightly disappointed.

“More women should learn how to stab shit,” Fang mutters to him as he selects four other hooks to hand over to the woman.

“Mmhm,” Ivan can’t help but agree.

“And that’s how I learned that teeth don’t go back in, isn't that fascinating?” The Swede says brightly.

“Um. Yes. Quite. Now returning to my question, what would you recommend off the menu?” The well dressed man asks only slightly desperately.

“Oh yes! I like the stew. It's very yummy and easy to eat if you’re missing some teeth!”

“…Right.” The man trades a glance with his companion. “I suppose a serving of that then?”

Jim and Aviva have been partners all night, helping to run dirty and clean dishes back and forth which has been more tolerable than Jim expected. They like Aviva ‘cause she doesn’t drag them into conversation like some of those other idiots. Of course, the moment Jim thinks that Aviva leans over and whispers, “So…can you explain Izzy to me? Like what’s up with him?”

Jim snorts and stacks the newly cleaned dishes. “He’s a fucking bastard I’ve been tempted to knife countless times since meeting. He’s done some shit that’s pretty fucked but seems to be working on making amends in his own particular way.”

“And what way is that?”

“Eh, helping out with minimal complaining and walking up to Ed and almost apologizing for being an utter asshole before turning on his heel and running away instead.” They shrug as they lift up the plates to carry over to Roach and Izzy. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Fascinating.”

Jim snorts. “If you stay on long enough you’ll see he really only has a bark, no bite. We trained it outta him. Isn’t that right Dizzy Izzy?”

“Right. If I stay.” And officially done with talking (there was a reason Oluwande gave them this job) Jim dumps off the dishes to a glaring Izzy and wanders off. Time to see if they get to threaten anyone yet.

“Wee John, what have we said?” Stede warns.

Sighing, Wee John lowers his knife. “No stabbing the customers,” he grumbles.

“Exactly! Besides, there’s little a stab wound can do to this man that he’s not already doing to himself by pairing that horrid collar with that style breeches,” Stede sniffs, looking down his nose at the now stammering man who dared to insult their fine restaurant. “Now if our establishment is a bit too highbrow for you and your companion then you can both kindly fuck off.”

It’s late in the evening at this point and most of the more expensive crowd have been behaving themselves, but there have been one or two customers that have been quite rude. Stede and Ed find it slightly amusing, if irritating; how would these bastards react if they knew they were insulting a restaurant run by Blackbeard? But no matter; this is only the second attempted stabbing tonight which might actually be a record for this crew when they aren’t running a restaurant. “I was just saying the bread was a bit dry and the service could be better,” the man stutters, eyeing Wee John with apprehension.

“Yes and since I don’t recall asking for your feedback you can understand how we ended up here. Now will you be leaving our restaurant by your own volition or shall I call security?” As if on cue Jim steps out of the shadows, flipping their knife with a promising glint in their eye. With a squeak, the man hurries to his feet and rushes off the ship. “Ta now!” Stede calls, fluttering his fingers. “Right then,” he claps his hands together with a vicious smile. “That was fun.”

“It’s moments like these that I’m glad we decided not to set you afire,” Wee John says, grinning and nodding approvingly.

Stede balks, wide eyed. “Yes, what a relief,” he says faintly. “Now it looks like picnic blanket #5 is flagging you down. Make sure to remind them we’ll be closing in another 10 minutes.” And with the reminder of his almost murder in the forefront of his mind, Stede stumbles off to find Ed.

***

“Never again. I’m never doing that again. They can find themselves a different manager.”

Jim sits next to where Oluwande is face planted on their bed and pats his back. “You loved it, didn’t you?”

He releases a heavy sigh. “Every fucking second.”

“So. How does one go about this exactly? Being friends?”

Ed whips his head up from where he was folding up one of their picnic blankets, hope flaring through his chest as Izzy hovers awkwardly in front of him, looking five seconds from bolting. They haven’t brought up the heated confrontation that occurred between them since Ed meekly followed up the next day that he would very much like to be friends if at all possible. It’s been about a month now and Ed had given up expecting anything to come from it. Knowing the last thing he should do now is show his excitement, far too aware that Izzy would shut down, Ed bites back his grin and says as nonchalantly as possible, “Well, often you bond. Over mutual interests.”

“Right.” Izzy nods. “Liked the way you cut off that guy’s fingers on our last raid.”

“Yeah, usually mutual interests that don’t involve death and maiming,” Ed winces. And how odd to find himself stepping into Stede’s role of explaining how things like this work.

“Ah.” Izzy shifts on his feet and Ed frowns. Huh. Do they have any other mutual interests?

“Um. It can also be about finding a mutual interest that you both enjoy?”

“Right.” Izzy nods again. “Sewing something other than wounds seems like it might be kinda interesting. I dunno might be stupid but…wanna try to learn?”

Ed can’t hold his grin back any longer. “Fuck yeah.”

“The boys have made some remarkable progress in their learning,” Stede gushes as he helps Aviva put away the final dishes. “And I’ve learned some things myself,” he adds, thinking back to the night previous when Ed triumphantly finished reading his first chapter to Stede independently and looked up at him with blooming pride. He wouldn’t have gotten there if Stede hadn’t been borrowing some of Aviva’s teaching techniques. “If you want we can swing back ‘round, drop you off to where we kidnapped you next time we need to go to port. By then I’m sure we can carry forward without you if necessary.”

“Oh, I was wondering actually…” She clears her throat, gaze fixed to where she’s fiddling with a fork. “I was wondering if perhaps I could stay?” Now Aviva looks up, eyes wide. “I would pull my weight of course, continue to teach the boys, help around deck in whatever capacity you need. I could earn my keep! It’s just-” Her gaze flicks over to where Frenchie and Wee John are swaying and singing with a celebratory bottle of rum between them. “I think there’s just some things I want to figure out that I can’t figure out on land. And-” She clears her throat and fingers a chain around her neck. “Things I want to be that I can’t be on land.”

Ah, he was wondering if this is where they would end up. Stede smiles softly and claps a hand on her shoulder. “Believe me, I understand completely. And I’m sure the crew will be delighted to hear about your decision.”

“No. No no no no no,” Lucius moans, burying his face in his hands.

“What’s up sweetie? Upset tummy?” Black Pete asks, rubbing his back.

“I can’t do it. I can’t go through it again. It may just destroy me,” he declares into his hands.

“What will destroy you? Show me and I’ll fuck it up!” Black Pete promises, already reaching for his gun.

“This isn’t something you can fight,” Lucius sighs, lifting his head to gaze at the stars. “And knowing my luck I’m gonna find myself dragged into it whether I want to or not.”

“Dragged into what?” Black Pete asks, utterly baffled. Wordlessly, Lucius points towards the bow. Turning, Black Pete searches for the threat before shrugging. “I don’t see anything. Just Frenchie showing Aviva one of his songs he debuted tonight.”

“And how is Aviva reacting?” Lucius asks dully.

Black Pete returns to look, studying the way Aviva has scooted closer to Frenchie and is now leaning over his shoulder to watch his fingers move along the strings. As she watches Frenchie seems to be shooting her furtive glances before hitting the wrong chord and releasing a colorful swear. Aviva only laughs in response and Frenchie shoots her a sheepish grin. “Ohhhh,” Black Pete says.

“Yes,” Lucius sighs. “We have another one.”

“Gather ‘round gang!” Stede calls, wrapping his arm around Ed’s waist as their yawning crew all stumble together, even Izzy looming awkwardly to the side. “First, I want to wish you a congratulations on a successful opening night!” Stede waits for all the half-drunken cheers to die down before continuing. “Now, Aviva brought up a marvelous suggestion to help us all celebrate. Would you like to explain, mate?”

“Yes, of course.” Aviva steps forward, clutching a book of fairy tales in her arms. “I know you all like storytime and I thought tonight we can all take turns reading from a story instead of just listening to Stede tell it. I chose one that should be at everyone’s level, but of course you can get help if needed.”

“I wanna read first!” Frenchie cries, rising to his feet with only a slight stumble. “I’m the best at doing voices.”

“No you’ve got the spotlight all night give it to someone else for once!” Roach protests. “Since I’m the reason we had any food to serve in the first place I think I should start.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Izzy mutters.

While a full blown argument erupts Stede scoots over to Aviva who looks slightly pained. “I should get used to this, shouldn’t I?”

“I’m afraid so,” Stede replies, clapping a hand on her shoulder with a warm smile. “Welcome to the family.”

There were lots of two leggeds in Talon’s home that rocks back and forth this dark time so she spent most of it hidden in lots of soft things. But now she’s happy ‘cause only her littermates are left including her newest littermate Quiet One and they’re all piled together passing the thing that smells like tall things and doing lots of two legged meowing. Talon’s eyes drift shut from where she’s curled up in Papa Talon’s lap. It’s nice when her litter is all in one place.

Several months later

Captain Henry Walker sighs, staring broodily out towards the endless sea when one of his men rushes towards him. “Captain! I believe we’ve spotted a pirate vessel,” Smith reports with a salute.

Walker releases another sigh. Oh goody him. “Let’s have a look then,” he requests, hand out for the spyglass. Putting it to his eye, Walker squints and notes that the ship ahead does appear to be waving a black flag, almost a spitting image of Blackbeard’s flag before he disappeared without a trace all those months ago. However, as he studies it the flag is hurriedly lowered before being replaced by a cheery flag emblazoned with the title “Jeff’s Bar and Grille” and an image of a cat.

Walker lowers the spyglass and clears his throat. “You clearly need your eyes checked Smith,” he grunts, handing the item back to his now sweating crew member. “Now stop wasting my time.” Leaving the soldier sputtering, Walker stalks away.

“Well?” Stede asks, shuffling his feet nervously.

“Should be clear,” Ed declares. “Just Captain Walker, he came by a few nights ago. Asked for a whole ‘nother serving of Roach’s sea mussels.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Stede sighs, wiping his brow. They had only just spotted the English man o’ war since Black Pete abandoned his watch in order to watch Lucius sketch Ivan instead. They will be having words with that man later.

No matter how many times they’ve made the quick switch from pirate ship to floating restaurant, it never ceases to prevent his heart from pounding. It pays to have a surprisingly successful and now renowned floating restaurant however; even the fiercest British ships pass them by as long as that flag is hoisted.

“Since we have it up we might as well be open for business tonight. Let’s sail into the closest port and have at it,” Ed decides, clapping Stede on the shoulder.

***

“You know the strangest thing happened this afternoon,” Walker muses, as he scoops up a final mussel. “I was passing by your ship and could have sworn you were flying under a black flag.”

“Oh, yes,” Stede stutters out, eyes darting to where Ed is walking their latest patron to their picnic blanket. “It’s only, you see, we find that pirates don’t bother us if it looks like we’re one of them.”

Walker hums and finishes his ale in one gulp. “What a clever strategy. And you chose an homage of Blackbeard’s flag? S’funny, it almost looked identical to the one I’ve seen besides the addition of the heart.”

Stede releases a stuttering laugh, hands fidgeting with his towel before he hides them behind his back. It was a rather endearing conversation that led to a flag so similar to Ed’s old one. When he first suggested it, explaining that he always liked the image of the skeleton but can’t keep it like that since Blackbeard’s gone, Stede was confused. “But why is the skeleton stabbing the heart? Wouldn’t that be a bad thing? And send a negative message?” Stede had asked.

“Well, yeah, we’re pirates. So other people will be like ‘ahhh!! They’re stabbing our hearts!’ But y’know, we’ll know it’s more like, ‘oh we stabbed each other’s hearts but like in a non-deadly we’re in love kind of way.’ You know?” Ed had asked, fidgeting and looking up at him shyly. And how could Stede not ravish him after such a comment? Who knew his partner was such a romantic?

Drawing back into the present Stede clears his throat. “Yes, well, uh, are you a fan?”

“Hm. I’ve had my eye on him for awhile.” Walker turns to Ed with a discerning gaze while the man in question chats with high humor to an eating couple. Stede gulps, fingering the knife hidden in his belt Ed bought him after three months together. Stede has come to understand there is very little he won’t do for the sake of Ed’s happiness and if he needs to take action right now so be it. “If your friend’s beard was quite a bit longer I’d say they were twins.”

“Who, Jeff? Can’t carry a sword to save his life,” Stede laughs a touch too loudly and hysterically. Somehow hearing him from across the ship, Ed’s head shoots up and his eyes narrow before he comes stalking towards where Stede and the captain are talking.

“Yes of course. And can’t say I’ve ever known a pirate who goes by the name Jeff.”

Stede nods and keeps nodding, only finding he can breathe again when Ed comes up beside them and brushes a subtle hand along Stede's arm. “Got a problem here gentlemen?” Ed asks, his eyes and smile a tad too sharp.

Walker rises, brushing down his uniform. “Of course not Jeff. But now that you’re here I’ve just remembered-there’s a fleet that’ll be passing through in a few days, and their general is more of the shoot first ask questions later sort of man. You might want to keep your restaurant flag flying a bit longer yet. So they don’t mistake you as pirates of course." Stede gulps as Walker looks them both straight in the eye. "Compliments to the chef.” And with that, the captain gives Ed a nod and walks out.

They both stand there in silence before Stede turns to Ed, eyes wide. “Did he…did he just imply he knows we're pirates? And then let us go?”

“Those sea mussels,” Ed shrugs. “They’re fucking magic.”