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Edward was curled up on the end of the chaise like a cat, dark eyes tracking Stede as he wandered aimlessly about around the room.
They were both on their third drink, steps beginning to slur and stumble as much as their words.
“It’s a shame the bed’s so small. Co-captain shouldn’t sleep on deck.” He muttered into his beard, ignoring the beating rush of something that might have been fear and might have been want.
Instead he downed the rest of his drink and reached for the bottle.
“Pardon?” Stede asked from where he stood, staring, at a shelf of books.
“Didn’t say anything.” Ed answered, pouring more brandy into his cup.
“Are you certain? I could’ve sworn you said something.”
“Nope. Silent as church mouse, that’s me.”
Stede didn’t look convinced, his drink-softened eyes roaming. Curls of golden hair had fallen from their usual sweeping grandeur to hang limply into Stede’s face. The cut of his dressing gown squared his shoulders and hung alluringly from his waist, framing ivory trousers and stockinged calves.
Ed licked his lips and sipped at his drink, trying to very hard not to look like he was staring.
His leathers were stiff, the various buckles digging into his flesh in his awkward position.
“Why do you wear all that?” Stede asked as Edward attempted to reposition himself, entirely failing to be subtle about it.
“I’m Blackbeard. Blackbeard’s gotta look scary.”
“And what about Ed? Does Ed have to look scary too?”
It was the simple concern in Stede’s voice that gave him pause, that made his heart twist, so easily touched despite his armor.
Stede didn’t care about Blackbeard, Stede cared about Ed.
Ed wanted to care about Ed too.
“No.” He said quietly.
A smile brightened Stede’s face and he drained the last of his brandy, “Well then. Let’s fix that, shall we?”
“What?”
“You know, the scary thing. Get you something more comfortable to wear.”
He had worn one of Stede’s nightshirt before. He hadn’t expected to again.
“Maybe this?” Stede plucked a long white thing from his closet and draped it over the chaise.
Ed stayed very carefully still, too many thoughts in his mind. He couldn’t be seen on deck in that. Not by Izzy. Not by the rest of them.
Stede knew that, didn’t he?
Too many unspoken thoughts hung between them, too many possibilities.
“I know I’ve got a spare dressing gown in here somewhere.” Stede’s voice called from the closet, “Just got to find it.”
“Yeah.” Ed answered, reaching one arm out to the nightshirt. It was made from soft linen, finely woven and impeccably stitched.
Despite his previous encounter with Stede’s night apparel, the softness of it still shocked him, the perfect stitching still foreign.
“Aha!” Stede shouted triumphantly, emerging from the closer with a bundle of red silk, “Found it!”
Ed raised his eyebrows. The nightgown, perhaps, could have been forgiven. The dressing gown was too much, too fine for the likes of him. More than he deserved.
So instead he said, “I can’t be seen on deck like that.”
A tiny smile curled the edges of Stede’s lips and he said, “A co-captain shouldn’t sleep on deck.”
Oh.
“For real?” Ed whispered, eyes pinned on Stede, every other sensation creeping to stagnation, heart beating in his throat, heart hung on this man’s every whim.
“Certainly.” Stede replied, eyes soft, “Go on. Get changed. I won’t peak. I promise.”
Edward sat, momentarily shocked into stillness as Stede brushed past, leaving the scent of linen and lavender in the air.
Slowly he unbuckled his weapons and left them on the chaise, collecting the nightshirt and dressing gown in his arms as though they might disappear. Safely ensconced behind the curtain, Ed stripped off his leathers, fiddling with the buttons and buckles.
The nightshirt was as soft as he’d remembered.
He picked up the dressing gown, letting the silk slide over his fingers. It was embroidered with flowers, dyed a pleasant red. Ed shrugged it on, letting the sleeves fall over his fingers and curling his shoulders forwards.
With careful steps, he emerged from the curtain.
Blackbeard, the most dreaded pirate of the Caribbean, known for his violence and his cunning, looked bashfully up at the man across from him and said, “Hey.”
Stede looked up from his book, eyes crinkling into a smile, “Hey.”
That hope he hadn’t a name for blossomed at the simple sight of Stede’s smile, at the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, heating Ed’s cheeks as he ducked his head, “It’s very nice.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Stede rose to replace the book on the shelf, every moment so graceful and easy. So untouched by that performative viciousness Ed had trained himself into.
“Ed?”
“Yeah?”
Stede looked at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face before he gave a minute shake of his head, “It’s nothing.”
Ed stayed awkwardly in the middle of the room, too uncertain to ask. Too afraid to address the question hanging between. Too afraid to hope.
“Are you alright?” Stede asked softly, blowing out the candles in the stern windows.
“It’s a small bed.” He blurted, fingers twisting his mother’s scrap of silk.
Stede tilted his head slightly, face filled with something Ed couldn’t name, and said quietly, “You can sleep on the chaise, if you want.”
Ed couldn’t look at him, despite the dim light, as he whispered back, “No.”
For one long moment the world stilled around them, nothing else but the catch of their eyes on they other.
Stede blew out the last of the candles, leaving them in only the faint light of the moon.
Carefully, bare feet silent on wooden planks, Ed took a step towards the bed.
Stede’s fingers found his, curling around his wrist and leading him forwards through the darkness. Silken sheets brushed his ankles and his wrists as Stede helped him into the bed, catching Ed against his chest and pulling the blankets up over both of them.
Ed could scarcely breathe, his forehead pressed against Stede’s chest, a hand pressed against Stede’s stomach, silk and fine linens wrapped around him, his mother’s silk clutched in his other fist.
The air was hot, filled with the gentle rasp of Stede’s breath and the smell of lavender, salt, and the indescribable scent of Stede’s himself. It was anything and everything he could have ever hoped for, the soft brush of Stede’s fingers against his shoulder like an island in a storm.
“Hey Ed?” Stede whispered, the curl of his breath like fire against Ed’s cheek.
“Yeah?”
“The two absolute perfect people?” Stede's voice was tenuous.
Ed didn’t say anything, just tilted his head so he could look up into Stede’s eyes, their faces so close, the desperate hope in Stede’s eyes so obvious that Ed wondered at it. Words rose to the edge of speaking, too tentative, too absolute to be said.
For once said, how could it be taken back?
“Good night.” Stede whispered, eyes drifting shut, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
“Good night.” Ed whispered back as Stede settled himself against the wall, letting Ed curl forwards against him.
There, wrapped in darkness and lavender and Stede’s arms, all his fears forgotten, he remembered how to be Edward. Not to pillage or plunder or burn, but simply to be, in peace, with the world around him and so to find that peace inside of himself, heart and soul soothed by the soft touch of a man too naive to fear him, and a man too kind to loathe him.
So there, simply content with the world for the first time in a very long time, Ed closed his eyes and fell into a nightmare-less sleep.
And when he woke would be to the soft light of Stede’s smile and the warm glow of the morning sun, one arm thrown across Stede’s chest, their legs tangled together, and that battered, war-worn heart would heave a sigh and remember how to love.