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Ed sprawls against a palm tree, comfortably ensconced in a bend in the trunk. The sun beats down on him, leaving the air shimmering in the scorching heat, but the palm tree’s leaves bathe him in shade, and he has a bottle nestled in the crook of his arm for whenever the temperature becomes too much.
The afternoon warmth has left him languid and lazy. He claimed his spot as soon as the ship docked, and he has no plans to leave it until he runs out of rum.
This might be more of an issue if the crew of the Revenge were engaged in anything of worth. Instead, he has a clear view of them messing around on the pier.
He watches them idly as they mill about, far enough removed that he’s not sure of the details of their endeavour, but he’s got the gist of it. They’re engaged in a competition, which he concedes is not unusual for a bunch of pirates. Ed’s won more than his fair share of poker games, and he could happily pass an evening with a few rounds of the knife game.
This is… not that.
“All right, gentlemen!” Stede’s voice cuts through a chorus of jeering chatter and Ed’s gaze swings inexorably onto him. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he watches him; he has abandoned his pristine coat and silk waistcoat in the face of the sun, and is left in a loose white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to bare his forearms, and the neck hanging open.
It is strange, seeing Stede like this. Being stripped of his usual finery has left him looking somehow debauched, even though he’s practically fully clothed.
Ed takes a quick swig of rum as a wave of heat spreads through him. It must be getting hotter.
The crew falls as close to silent as they ever get. Stede claps his hands pointedly as Frenchie emerges from the sea, a hunched, dripping wet figure traipsing awkwardly through the surf. With great reluctance, the crew produces a smattering of applause as Frenchie slouches his way up the beach and walks along the pier towards them.
“I’m sure you’ll all agree that was a good effort,” Stede says, as firm as he’s ever sounded. “That was a very interesting form you used, Frenchie.”
“Interesting’s right,” someone sniggers from the back of the group.
“Yeah, good effort? It was a good laugh, is more like it.”
Laughter breaks out among the crew. “I tripped, all right?” Frenchie grumbles. “It’s not fair. I should be allowed to go again.”
The general amusement morphs into outraged muttering. “We agreed we all get one go each! We agreed!”
“Them’s the rules, we said! No exceptions!”
“It’s not our fault you tripped! If he gets another go, I want one too!”
“Now, now! Let’s all just settle down!” Ed huffs an incredulous laugh to himself as the crew dissolves into formless grumbling again. He cannot imagine any other captain addressing their crew that way and living, and yet not a single knife buries itself in Stede’s gut.
It’s miraculous. Ed’s determined to figure out how he’s doing it, one of these days.
Stede claps a hand on Frenchie’s shoulder and gives him an encouraging smile. “All right, so maybe you tripped. That’s affected your performance, for sure. I won’t lie, you probably haven’t won the distance contest. But…” His smile grows, and his eyes shine excitedly. “You’re definitely in the running for biggest splash!”
Frenchie’s sullen pout morphs into an arrogant grin. “Yeah, well, y’know. Somebody’s gotta set the bar for it, I guess.” He straightens up and wrings out his shirt with an affected nonchalance while the crew explode into protests.
“What!”
“Is that a thing?”
“Since when is biggest splash a thing? That’s not fair! If I’d known about biggest splash, I’d have employed a completely different technique!”
“I want another go!”
“We agreed to no exceptions!”
“Gentlemen, please! Calm down! Nobody’s getting another go!” Stede says decisively, but excitement underlies his voice. He paces around in front of the group and smiles like he’s having the time of his life. “You know, I can’t believe none of you have ever done a pier jumping contest before. You’re all naturals!”
Ed smiles to himself as he takes another swig. They’re pirates. They’re moderately successful, they’re occasionally bloodthirsty, and they’re all wanted criminals.
And yet they’re all lining up to fling themselves into the sea, because their captain thought a group activity would be ‘good for morale’, and he’s surprisingly persuasive.
There’s no way Stede should have been able to talk them into this. The crew have enough swords and pistols between them that the second the words, “Why don’t we have a contest, for a bit of a giggle?” left his lips, Stede should have been more full of holes than a particularly tattered fishing net.
And yet, here they are, doing as he suggested and actually enjoying themselves in the process. It’s amazing.
He’s amazing.
The thought drifts unbidden across his mind, and Ed quickly raises the bottle to his lips and drinks until it is empty. Then he wipes the glass across his forehead, glad of the condensation in the sudden rush of warmth.
His eyes do not leave Stede.
The afternoon drifts by as the crew hurl themselves off the pier one by one, with varying degrees of grace and success. Ed watches through half-lidded eyes and does not bother to hide his smile as Stede presides over it with all the pomp and pageantry of a peacock.
Eventually, as the crew feverishly debate whether Jim or Wee John have produced the most impressive jump, Stede turns in Ed’s direction. He shields his eyes from the sun with one hand and waves excitedly with the other. “Ed!”
Ed raises the bottle in a languorous salute and does not bother to move beyond that. He’s warm, and drowsy, and has no plans to uproot himself until absolutely necessary.
Stede gestures towards the group for a moment longer, wearing an encouraging expression, before he trots closer.
Ed watches openly as he approaches. His hair is damp with sweat, his curls plastered to his forehead, and the skin where his shirt lies open has caught the sun, and is already turning pink.
He’s beaming. The sun haloes him from behind, making his white shirt gleam and sending his curls into a flaming shock of red. He looks somehow angelic.
He trips on a branch as he approaches, and a laugh is startled from Ed as he stumbles. His hand darts out to catch Stede on the upper arm, helping him to right himself before he can fall face-first into the sand.
“Whoops!” Stede’s eyes crease as he smiles, and he pats Ed on the hand. “Thanks!”
Ed clears his throat. It’s suddenly dry. He could really use another drink. He retrieves his hand and shrugs. “It’s nothing.”
“It wouldn’t be nothing if I fell over. I’d be washing sand out of crevices for days. It really does get everywhere, doesn’t it?”
“Mm.”
Stede claps his hands together, then cocks a thumb over his shoulder in an impatient gesture towards the pier. “Well, c’mon then!”
Ed stares at him, drinking in his eager smile. “What’s that?”
“It’s your turn!”
“My turn?”
“Yes! With the contest! Weren’t you watching?” Stede’s head turns in a confused tilt. “I could’ve sworn I saw you watching.”
Heat rushes to his face. Ed presses the bottle against his the line of his throat, hoping to cool off. “Yeah, I s’pose I was.”
Stede’s sudden uncertainty evaporates like mist at daybreak. Something in Ed’s chest unclenches. “Oh, good, I don’t need to explain the rules, then!” He takes a few steps back and gestures towards the pier again. “Come on! Everyone’s waiting for you to have your go!”
Ed pushes himself off the trunk. He lets the bottle thud into the sand as he stretches. “My go?”
“Yeah! The lads have all had their turns, and now it’s your go.” Stede cocks his head back towards the crew, all of whom are openly watching them. When Ed looks their way, they hurriedly avert their eyes.
Stede seems not to notice; he’s already looking at Ed again. He arches an eyebrow, then leans in and lowers his voice, as though spilling secrets. Ed cannot help but lean closer to meet him, drawn in like a flower to the sun. “Now don’t get me wrong, there’s some pretty stiff competition, but I reckon you’ve got a good chance of winning something. You’ve got a lot of natural athleticism to draw on.”
“Oh, have I?”
“Of course you have! You’ve got…” Stede trails off as he waves a hand vaguely in Ed’s direction, encompassing his entire body. He hesitates as his eyes rove over Ed as though he’s seeking inspiration, before blurting, “Arms!”
“Arms?”
“Arms.” Stede suddenly seems flustered. He nods abruptly and looks away.
Ed blinks. He lifts his arms to look them over curiously. They’re just arms; tanned from the sun, and scattered with scars and tattoos, each telling a tale, but there’s nothing about them that screams, ‘this guy can jump’. He frowns. “Everyone’s got arms. Most people, anyway.”
“Well, yeah, but yours are…” Stede glances back at Ed’s arms and seems to lose his train of thought again. A snigger comes from one of the crew. Ed sees Lucius roll his eyes behind Stede’s back.
“Mine are…?”
“Yeah.” Stede breathes, as if in agreement to some point Ed’s made. There is a moment of confused silence, before he suddenly forces his eyes to Ed’s. His mouth spreads into a beam, and his eyes are gleaming. A flush colours his cheeks. He must have caught the sun there, too.
He holds a hand out towards Ed and waves him towards the beach. “So, that’s settled, then? Come on!”
Ed takes a step towards him. He stands on the edge of the shade and self-consciously folds his arms, just for something to do with them. “Bit old for all this, aren’t I?”
Stede’s eyes drift down to his crossed arms for a moment. “What?” he says vaguely, before he frowns. Their eyes meet again as Stede gives him an incredulous look. “What d’you mean? What makes you say that?”
“Because it’s true?”
Ed is well aware that he’s not getting any younger. It already feels as though he’s lasted several lifetimes on the sea; as though somewhere along the way he made a deal with some devil, who has kept him going for far longer than he should have lived.
Someday, probably someday soon, that devil will collect its due. Time was, Ed thought that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Looking at Stede, beaming in the sunlight with his eyes bright and his hand stretched towards him, he’s not so sure about that anymore.
“What’re you talking about?” Stede shakes his head. “That’s not true! Look at you! You’re a spring chicken, Ed!”
“Oh? Good for eating?”
“What?”
“Hmm?”
The two of them stare at each other, both lost. Behind Stede, Lucius mutters, “For fuck’s sake!”
Eventually, as he always seems to, Stede finds his smile. He shakes his head again and moves closer to squeeze Ed’s shoulder. “What I mean,” he says fondly, “is you’re only as old as the man you feel.”
Ed’s gaze drops to Stede’s hand on his shoulder. The heat of his touch sinks into his skin like a brand. He wonders, briefly, ridiculously, if he’ll ever stop feeling it.
He’s smiling again. Ed can see it as he glances up through his eyelashes. The laughter lines at his eyes crease as he watches Ed, as though he’s something worth smiling at; as though he’s not fucking Blackbeard.
Whoever he is, Blackbeard or Ed, there’s an innocence to Stede that he would do anything to protect.
Something flutters in his chest, soft and warm and expanding day by day, and he finds himself nodding. “All right.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Somehow, Stede’s smile grows. “Great! I really do reckon you’ve got a good chance.” The hand on his shoulder curls over and tugs at the thick leather of his jacket. “You might want to lose this, though.”
Ed’s eyebrow arches. “You think I should get undressed?”
On anyone else, it would read as suggestive, or sleazy, but despite the world he has enmeshed himself within, Stede remains guileless.
Lucius is making frustrated noises behind him, but Stede merely nods seriously. “Oh, yes. It’s proven to be a real leg-up in the pier jumping stakes. Less air friction, maybe? Some of the lads are kicking themselves for not thinking of it. Of course, it’s up to you, but I reckon you’ll be throwing the competition away if you don’t at least consider it.”
He tugs on the leather again, in a pointed little gesture. His eyebrows are drawn together; he looks more serious than he has all day. It is more endearing than Ed has words to express.
He can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. “Guess I’d be daft not to, right?”
“Right!” Stede grins and turns his back to trot back towards the crew. “All right, lads! Ed’s gonna have a go!”
Some people cheer. Jim throws up their arms and curses expansively, and Wee John sighs.
Ed takes off his jacket, then his shirt. He leans against the tree as he pulls off his boots and relishes the embrace of the sun against his bare skin as he strolls over to the group. He nods at the crew as he passes them, and stands beside Stede, staring along the pier.
“I just have to jump?”
“Easy as that!” Stede trills.
“And I’m aiming to be the furthest away from the pier when I land?”
“Yup! Or, well, there’s also the biggest splash to aim for. And me and the lads have been talking about a most graceful award, too. Or best impact noise has also been floated, if you fancy going for that?”
Ed huffs a laugh. He knows Stede well enough to know every one of them is going to be awarded best something by the end of the day.
He backs up a few steps, aims his eyes at the end of the pier, and starts running. “Wish me luck?” he murmurs as he sprints past Stede.
His excited call of, “Good luck!” fills Ed’s ears as he launches himself off the pier.
For a moment he feels as if he’s flying; as if he could leap and never land. The world is gone, and the weight of his reputation with it. He’s not Blackbeard; Blackbeard would never engage in a stupid competition just because a ridiculous, sweet man asked him to.
He’s just Ed, hanging in the air with the sun warming his skin and the future stretching off before him, and that same sweet man cheering at his back.
Then gravity hits. He falls, of course.
But he turns the fall into a somersault, and grins as he hears the crew cheer just before he hits the water.
When he surfaces, with water streaming from his hair and beard, he finds Stede beaming down at him from the end of the pier. The crew have gathered around too, letting out appreciative whoops and applause as Ed waves up at them.
“Oh, good show, Ed! Excellent job! Well,” Stede claps his hands imperiously, “now that everyone’s had a go, I am happy to announce -”
“- What about you?” Ed’s words surprise Stede into silence.
After a moment, he blinks. “What about me?”
“You haven’t had a go,” Ed points out as he treads water. “Seems unfair to go announcing winners just yet.”
“Well, I mean, I’m the one running the competition,” Stede points out, with just a touch of patronising to his tone. “You can’t expect the judge to go getting involved. It’d hardly be fair, now would it?”
“Seems to me it wouldn’t be fair without you involved. Am I right?” Ed asks the crew at large and, true to form, they do not hesitate to chime in.
“That seems only right.”
“This was to be a group activity, wasn’t it? Ain’t much of a group if it ain’t everyone.”
“He has a point.”
“Now, lads, come on,” Stede says, sounding just a mite flustered. He turns away from Ed to face them and starts pacing around on the pier. “I’m judging this whole thing! You wouldn’t be able to trust my judgement if -”
Lost in his argument, Stede steps back too far. His foot meets the air, and he tips backwards off the pier.
The crew cheers as Stede shrieks and lands heavily in the water, flailing and gasping as he begins to sink like a stone. Ed is swimming in his direction even before he lands.
He dives and finds Stede floundering, his legs kicking and his arms struggling to right himself. Ed catches him around the waist and pulls him close before propelling them to the surface.
Stede is flush against him as they breach the waves, his chest rising and falling rapidly as a counterpoint to Ed’s steady breathing. He tightens his arm around Stede’s waist and murmurs, “Hey. Breathe. You’re fine.”
Stede chokes, spluttering and hacking as he empties water from his lungs. His eyes are red and snot streams from his nose as he coughs up sea water and mucous. He’s never looked more dishevelled. His arms rise up to cling around Ed’s neck as he leans all his weight on him.
Something in Ed’s stomach flips, warm and fizzy. He grins and tightens his arm around Stede.
Eventually, the coughing fit settles. Stede groans, and wipes his flushed face with both hands.
“You good?”
“Yeah, I’m – yes. I think I’ll live.” Stede looks up after a moment. His hair is already beginning to frizz, curling wildly at the temples. Water beads on his eyelashes. Ed’s breath catches as Stede laughs self-consciously. “Thanks.”
It takes Ed a moment to find his words. “It’s fine.”
“No, I mean it. You saved me.” Stede smiles sheepishly. His voice is soft, his words gentle. He removes his arms from Ed’s neck and for a moment he is disappointed, his stomach dropping as though he’s lost something, but Stede moves his hands to rest them carefully on Ed’s shoulders. “Again. Thank you.”
They’re so close together, their chests flush with Ed’s arm wrapped tightly around Stede’s waist. Their faces are inches apart. Ed’s heart is hammering.
Stede is safe. He’s whole. There’s nothing to panic about. So why is his heart beating so wildly?
He’s so close.
A shout comes from the pier, suddenly sharp and piercing, and the two of them dip lower in the water as Stede jerks in surprise. “Captain!”
Both look up at the same time. The crew are all peering down at them over the edge of the pier. “Who won the -”
“- I can’t believe you!” Lucius hisses. He buries his elbow in Roach’s stomach, who folds up with a wheeze. Lucius waves hurriedly down at the two of them. “No rush! You two take your time! We’ll wait! It’ll just build the anticipation, yeah?”
“No, no! We’ll be up in just a minute!” Stede gently pushes away from Ed. He hears Lucius groan from above.
Stede grins at him for a moment, bobbing in place, then jerks a thumb at the shore. “Well. I don’t want to keep them waiting. Better go announce the winners.”
He turns and starts to swim away. His form is better than Ed expected. He watches him for a moment, taking in the way the light gleams off his soaking hair, before he calls, “You mean it isn’t you?”
He swims after him as he hears Stede chuckle. “After that performance? I reckon if I tried to give it to myself they’d mutiny. Again.”
Ed makes it alongside him. “Maybe you’ll win next time.”
“Next time?” Stede pulls himself onto the shore and gives him a delighted look. Excitement shines in his eyes. “Are we doing another round?”
The warmth that had fallen away at the loss of Stede’s presence blooms into life again at the sight of his thrilled expression. Ed joins him on land and shrugs easily. “I reckon we should. I’m not sure that was my best work. Besides, maybe we could make it even more interesting?”
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”
Ed hesitates as Stede looks back at him. He’s soaking wet, the white linen of his shirt hanging off him and leaving his chest even more exposed. His eyes gleam, reflecting a thousand motes of light shining on the sea.
Ed clears his throat. “Maybe we do, uh, couples jumping? Pair people off. See what they can do together.” He pauses for a second, then carelessly adds, “I reckon us two’d have it sewn up between us.”
“Ed! That’s a great idea!” Stede gives his upper arm a squeeze. He feels it in his chest.
Then Stede claps his hands and starts jogging towards the crew. “Lads! Ed’s had a great idea for the next round!”
Ed lets Stede run ahead. He ambles lazily behind him, watching him talk a bunch of pirates into finding a buddy and thinking up a creative way of throwing themselves into the sea…again. He’s not sure anyone else could manage it.
Stede makes it sound fun.
Jim is declared the overall winner of the first game, but Ed makes sure he and Stede win the couples round. It’s not easy, pulling off a somersault with Stede clinging to his back and laughing against his ear, but the look of joy on Stede’s face when they surface is more than worth the effort.