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It was the fitting end for Blackbeard.
Stabbed twice by a nameless thief in a tavern even Ivan had doubts for, lying in a pool of his own blood and—yeah—his piss.
For a moment he’d thought he’d be able to change this. Another ending, one that wouldn’t be for a few more years and wouldn’t feel so fucking lonely when it happened. But that was before. This is after. Fuck everything in between.
He thinks, good.
About damn time.
—
Ed wakes to the soothing lull of the sea, the creaking of a ship on the run going full speed, the red sun setting through the porthole, and the beautiful blond man he’d tried to forget bumping noses with him, staring at him with those awful doe eyes full of concern.
When he’d imagined reuniting with Stede again—not that he did and not that he did it very often or every time he’d duck into his quarters to keep it together, hold on hold on hold on—he’d picture slicing his tongue off.
A simple move. Grab and cut. Doesn’t kill a man, but fucks him up good enough.
He’d idle on cutting each of his elegant fingers off one by one.
Tie him to the mast and head south to leave him to cook for weeks until he’s crispy to the touch.
Keep the man alive until Ed could stomach the very idea that he would no longer be in this world with him, even apart, to be gone forever and sent to a place Ed would never be able to follow.
Or he’d take the coward’s way and have Izzy do it.
Handle him, he’d say and Izzy just would.
On his worst nights where even his needling first-mate would avoid him, he’d picture Stede on that small dock waiting by the dinghy. Smiling soft with his hand outstretched. There and ready. A horizon of opportunity waiting just for the two of them to make what they want for themselves. Together.
Ed wets his chapped lips and struggles to say anything, pain steady in his side with every breath he sucks in. He shoves himself up anyways. Knocks the cup of tea Stede hands him away.
“You left.” Ed spits out.
“I came back.”
Stede sits on the end of the bed, hands awkwardly going to touch Ed’s leg or his hand or any part of him and he can’t know what Ed would do if he did and Ed isn’t so sure either.
“I like the paint. Looks quite intimidating. Very Blackbeard of you.” Stede offers. “You’re probably wondering where you are and it’s, well, it’s a very funny story—maybe for another time, though.” Stede laughs to himself and peeks at Ed. “Short version: Stole a ship and it turns out Jim is as handy with a machete as they are with a knife. Very talented, that one. Your beard is growing in nicely, have I said that already? I don’t think I have.”
Ed scratches at his chin, not nearly as long as his beard had been when they’d met, but you could get a fistful of it without having to pinch fingers.
“You like it?” Ed asks, his stomach twisting around the pain to find something close to the old slip of warmth.
Looking Stede over, Ed is surprised to see he’s in a plain shirt and trousers. No intricate weaves or dandy accents like ascots or a handy handkerchief embroidered with golden silks. He looks odd like this. He should be draped in fancy shit.
Pink cheeked from the heat of being below deck or Ed’s own imagination where this is all in his head and maybe there’s more than just Heaven and Hell, Stede’s flushed.
“Oh well,” Stede ducks his own head, “Your face is quite a face, which I mean—handsome. Extremely handsome. Even without your beard. . .” Stede trails off and snaps back. “I enjoy your face, Ed. Whatever state it may be in.”
“Blackbeard.”
Stede studies him, a long pause before he says, “Lucius is alive.”
He says it pointedly.
Passive Aggressively, Ed thinks, sour and little sheepish.
“And I understand why you’d maybe desert my crew on an island.”
That was mostly Izzy, another example of you handle it.
“And you left me.” Ed’s lips pull back in a sneer. “Just living up to the name.”
Stede shakes his head and there's a disappointment there Ed can't stand. "But your right side. Why didn't you maneuver yourself?"
He hadn't had time. Or cared much to give that thief aim.
Ed quakes. Every part of him. Pissed and ready to claw his way into this man’s arms again. The bandages around his waist are splotchy with blood.
Stede reaches out and grasps his shoulder to still him and it works.
“We’ll have to change those. And get you something to drink. And eat, something plain and easily digestible, of course. You move quite a lot in your sleep, much more than you had on The Revenge.”
Ed grabs his wrist, stopping him from leaving. He searches his face. Soft and upper class and pretty in ways pirates just aren’t.
Ed looks at him. Really looks and looks and he sees flesh and blood and dark scruff hinting at a long trip with little luxuries.
“Are you real? Has a mermaid got me? A harpy?”
Stede gingerly sits back down, a look of confusion ruffling his eyebrows.
He places his other hand over Ed’s, his palm cool on Ed’s feverish skin, rubs circles along Ed’s knuckles until his grip slackens, so easily soothed it’s maddening. Maybe Izzy has a point. Hope is an ugly thing when it’s been hit too many times.
Stede holds Ed’s hand up to his cheek then turns and kisses his palm.
“Can you feel me? I’ve no claws or songs to lure you to your death.”
“You wouldn’t need them. Hell. You’ve killed me without even being there.” Ed says. His fingers stretch to skim those golden locks, afraid of touching them and sapping the color out. He clenches his hand into a fist that Stede gently pries back open and lax by nuzzling him with his nose. “You left me. Why did you leave me only to come back?”
“It’s another long story.” Stede sighs, shoulders slumping. “Though one I hope you’ll let me tell you? Perhaps over some contraband marmalade?”