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Stede and Francis, for all it that it looks turbulent to an outsider, actually have a very stable relationship.
The rest of the crew would definitely not agree, but what do they know? They only see Francis sitting in Stede’s chair, feet up on his desk, as Stede forces through gritted teeth the order to move, and the way this order is pointedly ignored. They hear Francis’ raucous laughter as he ribs Stede over his weird obsession with Vane for only the hundred thousandth time, the tightness in Stede’s voice as he growls at Francis to shut up for only the millionth time, burning anger blazing in his eyes.
The whispers around the ship are constant. The Captain’s going to snap one day. He’s going to snap, going to run Francis through with his sword and Francis will just laugh at him, laugh viciously around the blood gurgling up through his throat as he dies. Or maybe it’ll be Francis who snaps first, gets sick of sticking to mocking the man he hates so much, and he’ll skin Stede alive before throwing him overboard or something equally unhinged.
How have they managed to go this long without mauling each other, the other sailors wonder. There must be some kind of secret. Somebody higher up must have some hold over them, forcing them to work together. Maybe Francis is from a powerful family and Stede can’t get rid of him without facing… repercussions. That theory’s pretty popular, from what Francis can tell.
They’re all wrong, though.
Stede fought tooth and nail with the higher-ups to have Francis as his second in command, no blackmailing needed. And Francis is a nobody, and his death would be of no consequence.
Francis doesn’t blame them for not understanding. And honestly, they’re actually pretty close! Francis is trying to goad Stede until he snaps, just… not in the way they expect.
After all, it’s not just rage burning in Stede’s eyes as Francis leans in close, too close, close enough that their foreheads are almost but not quite touching. The drawl of make me snaking from his lips electric in the air.
And it certainly isn’t intent to kill that drives Stede to bend Francis roughly over his desk, voice dropped an octave or two as he promises ample retribution for Francis’ brazen disrespect.
God, Francis loves his voice likes that.
Whatever the sailors believe, the way they function is actually very simple: Francis infuriates Stede. Stede fucks out his frustration. They don’t talk about it after. Rinse, repeat.
Perfectly, totally stable.
As it turns out, dying is a pretty good way to disrupt most otherwise stable systems.
It’s not as though Francis is holed up in his cabin to avoid Stede or anything. Maybe he just doesn’t want to hang out with a bunch of people he was trying to kill not even a few hours ago. It definitely has nothing to do with the bright and somehow understanding eyes of that Rais kid. Or the gentle smile on the prince’s face.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he’d said. “Poor Stede was really in a bad state without you!” Whatever that was supposed to mean, princes really do just say whatever they want.
And then there was the, well. The… everything about Stede ever since Francis had woken up. The hope he could feel in his own treacherous heart at the difference.
He’s kind of annoyed, honestly. Watching Stede, resolute pirate hater and right at the top of the list of People Who Want Vane Specifically Dead, having to play nice around the guy to avoid upsetting the prince honestly sounds like it’d be the funniest thing he’d ever see. But noooo, he’s here instead, shut up in his cabin like a loser because he’s scared of feelings.
In retrospect, he realises as the door swings open, he probably should have found somewhere less obvious to not go into hiding than his own sleeping quarters.
Stede stands in the doorway, arms folded. Trying and failing to hide the anger on his face under an impassive mask. In other words, exactly the same as always.
Francis stoutly ignores how that makes his heart sink, choosing to focus instead of keeping his tone appropriately dismissive. “Aw, you get bored and kill off the pirates already?”
There’s no answer for a moment, as the scowl on Stede’s face deepens and he grips his arms tightly in his hands. Francis, he realises with growing trepidation, is all too familiar with these signs: Stede’s about to snap.
Stede reaches out, grabs him.
He can't do this. Not today.
"Hey, hey, I know I'm irresistible but I just died, give a guy a break."
It's not that the whole dying thing has made him tired- he feels great actually, there's no pain or aching anywhere, whatever weird magic the pirate used must have been powerful. But having Stede here, in front of him, touching him, is bringing to mind everything Francis would much rather not think about right now.
The unease at the idea of Stede and Vane duelling; Vane can make Stede lose his cool like no one else and that's dangerous. The things he'd said to Rais, feeling safe in the assumption that either Rais wouldn't live to let him regret it, or he wouldn't be alive to feel regret.
A loud sound from somewhere, a crushing impact, and then-
Opening his eyes to see Stede, wearing a strange and terrible expression. The immediate flood of relief at the sight that runs through Francis and spills out his mouth, you're safe, thank fuck, and the shuddered haltering breath of his own name on Stede's lips.
It's a lot to process, you know? And until he's done there's a very real risk he'll do... something. Something that could turn their carefully maintained status quo on its head.
He puts out an arm to brush Stede's hand away, braces himself against Stede yanking their faces together with his usual roughness, but that doesn't come. There's a thump and a dull ache as Stede crashes Francis' head into his chest, but only that. No painful clinking of teeth as their mouths collide, no biting and sucking at his lips with unrelenting force. Just Stede's arms, wrapping around him, pulling him in so tight it hurts.
Just Stede... hugging him.
Oh, no.
Just... act normal. Like nothing is different. "Aw, one little brush with death got you all-"
"Shut up, Francis."
Ah, back to familiar ground. Not that he's ever listened to that command before. "Big chicken you are, huh-"
"Shut up." Okay. Stede's voice cracked. Not familiar.
Francis shuts up.
Huh. First time for everything.
He can feel the tremor as it starts through Stede's body, his arms shaking as he rests his head on top of Francis'.
"Don't ever," Stede's voice continues to tremble, breaking, and Francis' heart breaks with it. "Don't you dare do that again."
This is not helping with the processing.
“I know you’ve never once obeyed me in all your life.” Stede’s arms tighten around him further, clutching and desperate. “But don’t you dare die on me again.”
Francis doesn’t know what to say to that.
He’s been ready to die for Stede since he was, what, nine years old? Wouldn’t think twice about it. Didn’t think twice.
Stede’s choked voice cuts through. “Please.”
He’d never thought about… about what would happen after.
Hesitantly, he reaches up, wraps his arms around Stede. Strokes one hand slowly over Stede’s shuddering back.
“I’m… sorry.” It’s the only thing he can think of to say.
The shaking slowly subsides and the desperate strength of Stede’s hold starts to fade until it’s no longer an iron grip. Something gentler, Stede cradling Francis’ head against his chest, softly rocking him back and forth. Holding him like he’s something precious. Even as Stede’s breathing evens out, he doesn’t let go.
Francis can’t say he’s ever felt precious before.
He also can’t say he dislikes it.
He doesn’t know how long he’s standing there, wrapped in Stede’s embrace. There are a couple things he does know, though.
The first is that he’s going to have to come up with a plan for serving Stede that doesn’t involve dying for him. Apparently that one isn’t an option anymore.
And the second?
Well, maybe, just maybe, the stable status quo of their relationship could do with a little disruption.