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Ed had almost died more times than he could count.
Once, during a raid on a Spanish warship, a barrel of gunpowder exploded directly below Ed’s feet, throwing him off the balcony. He’d cracked his head on the mast so hard that he hadn’t woken up for two days and hadn’t been able to walk straight for a week.
Then there was the time when he’d been dueling another ship’s captain on a beach, and his opponent had sliced Ed’s thigh open so deeply that he could see the bone. The white sand around him had turned dark red, almost black, the blood seeping out of him so fast that he had been sure it was all over. His vision had been going soft and fuzzy around the edges when Izzy, face hardened with fear, had made a quick tourniquet with his belt, squeezing Ed’s thigh so tight that he screamed.
He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been run through in the abdomen. Two times were courtesy of the British Navy, one was Izzy during one of their arguments, and a few were from brawls in pubs. The most recent scar was still puckered and pink, not fully healed. Sometimes, Ed found himself running his fingers over the wound absentmindedly, remembering Stede’s hair glinting under the moonlight as their swords clashed together.
But this pain, this was something far, far worse than any mortal wound he’d ever suffered. It was lodged right under his ribs, like ten swords had pierced him through and been left there—a searing, scorching heat radiating outward to his limbs. Like someone was flaying him apart from within, gouging out his organs until he was empty.
At first, the grief had rendered him completely useless, and all he could manage to do was wrap himself in Stede’s dressing gown and lie on the ground. Even breathing had felt like too much effort. Lucius had had to coax him to eat, to even drink water.
But Izzy had forced his hand, so he’d brought back Blackbeard under duress. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he’d done it, in the end. Maybe because it was something to do other than wallow in his misery. It was easier to retreat into the dark shell of Blackbeard than to clothe himself in heartbreak. But it didn’t seem to be doing anything at all to satiate the hollowness in his chest.
He couldn’t look at all the reminders of Stede on the ship without openly weeping, so he had to get rid of all of it. The captain’s chambers were almost completely empty after he’d thrown everything overboard—that is, everything that was in sight. The hidden closet was still untouched. He tried not to think about what Izzy would say if he found out about it.
Then there was the crew. He couldn’t stand Lucius’s pitying looks, the way they all treated him like a broken thing, speaking to him in hushed tones. They’d had to go. After he ditched them on that tiny island, out of sight and out of mind, Ed had found a stash of old rum belowdecks. Drinking day and night gave him a pounding headache, but at least he would eventually pass out. Then he didn’t have to think.
Seconds ticked by, one by one, turning into hours, turning into days, passing agonizingly slowly. More and more, the days were completely lost to a sugary drunken haze. When they had a raid, he was reckless, numbed, fighting the crew like he hadn’t done since the early days.
Sometimes, he fancied letting himself be run through, but not turning to the side this time. At least this would be over. Maybe it would be better.
He avoided going down to his chambers, because that only meant many sleepless hours in Stede’s bed. Instead, Ed stayed on deck while everyone else slept, staring out into the emptiness of the ocean, bottle in hand, until the sun came up.
Once in a while, he’d allow himself to remember that night on the beach…possibly, the only happy moment he would ever be allowed in this life, or the next. That one glorious evening of pure joy before everything went to complete and utter shit.
What makes Ed happy is…you, he’d said.
He remembered Stede’s look of surprise, before Ed leaned in to brush their lips together. And, gloriously, incomprehensibly, Stede didn’t push him away—instead, he moved closer, leaning into Ed, their breaths in and out mingling with the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. At that moment, Ed realized that there was, actually, something that he wanted out of life.
Actually, that he wanted to live.
Until the day he’d met Stede–gentle, quick-witted, kind and beautiful Stede–he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually looked forward to waking up in the morning. The last time he’d felt anything, other than listlessness, other than empty days one after another stretching into that endless ocean horizon.
He’d wanted to be with Stede somewhere, far away. And one day, maybe, they’d be in a bar in a distant land, and a stranger would tell stories of a pirate named Blackbeard who was killed by the English and had disappeared into legend. They’d tell of the horrific and brutal things he’d done. He pictured Stede laughing, unable to contain himself, as Ed asked mundane questions about Blackbeard, pretending to be awestruck.
That dream was gone now, of course. He still couldn’t scrub Stede out of his heart, his mind, no matter how hard he tried to rid himself of him.
That was the real trouble, wasn’t it? Letting Stede run him through with a sword had been nothing, in the end. He’d survived dozens of near-fatal wounds. It was exposing his soul to Stede that had finally done him in.
Ed wasn’t entirely sure how much time had gone by since the day Stede had abandoned him. It had been weeks, surely.
He was sitting on the deck of the top mast, finishing off his second bottle of the evening, and the sky was starting to become rosy around the edges, so he decided it was probably time to pack it in for the night. Or morning. Whatever.
Ed hurled the bottle as far out into the water as possible, and it made a satisfying little plop. He swayed only a little on his feet as he made his way back to the captain’s chambers, touching the walls as he walked. He grabbed one more bottle from his stash in what used to be the library, popping it open and immediately taking a swig. Nightcap.
He lumbered over to the little miniature bust on the shelf and pulled the lever, opening the secret room. Leaning against the doorway, he took another long swig.
There they were, lit gold in the creeping light of dawn: Stede Bonnet’s fine linens, silks, and velvets. Ed should have thrown them overboard with the rest of the lot, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it.
He took another draught from the bottle and walked over to the nearest row of silk coats, his “spring collection” in varying shades of pastels. There was one in a pale yellow, the gold buttons glinting, mocking him, and he fingered the fine silk of the hem, already fighting back tears.
Memories assaulted him immediately–Stede’s wide eyes, comical in his surprise, when Ed had told him that he was Blackbeard in that very room. Stede, fixing the purple bows to his beard, insisting that it “completed his outfit” for the fancy party. Ed lying in the bathtub, hating himself, and Stede comforting him with kind words and gentle touches, saying, “I’m your friend,” when Ed had just admitted to trying to kill him. The moonlight over the dark water as Stede softly commented that Ed wore fine things well, carefully folding Ed’s red cloth and tucking it in his pocket.
Ed had wanted to kiss him so badly that night, but he’d chickened out. The fact that he had been afraid to show Stede how much he liked him…well. He should have realized then how bad he’d let it get.
Ed sniffed, wiping his nose on his black sleeve. Black was easier than these ridiculous clothes. Black didn’t show dirt, sweat or blood. It was better that way.
He picked up the red robe, slinging it over his shoulders before closing the door on Stede’s finery. He stumbled over to the bed nook and pulled open the secret compartment at the foot of the bed, where he’d hidden a couple of the books, saving them from the Great Library Raid of 1717.
One of the books had been on Stede’s bed when he’d left. It was well-worn, obviously read many times. He hoisted himself up clumsily on Stede’s bed, putting the bottle in the crook of his elbow, and turned the pages, feeling the vellum through his fingers, imagining Stede holding these same pages himself. Many times, as they sat in these chambers, Stede would sit and read, and chuckling under his breath at something contained in these black scratches on the paper. Ed always wanted to be in on the joke. Really, he’d been planning on asking Stede to teach him to read, one day. He’d just run out of time.
Ed ran his finger down the spine of that brown leather tome, the gilt letters on the side as indecipherable to him as ever. He regretted throwing Lucius off the boat, now, because at least he could have told him what they said.
The other book he’d kept was illustrated. It was some kind of romance–a woman in flowing dresses, pursued by some roughneck pirate. In the end, the pirate and the lady sailed off into the sunset together. He couldn’t look at that one anymore.
Ed lay back in the bed, holding the books to his chest, turning his gaze out the window at the disgustingly gorgeous sunrise. Tears started to stream down his face through the charcoal he’d painted there, dripping onto the red robe wrapped around his shoulders, staining it black.
Eventually, Ed fell into a fitful sleep.
He dreamed that he was back on the dock that night, the warm air lifting tendrils of his hair around his face, the dusk deepening into navy velvet punctured with bright stars.
After an hour went by, then two, panic started to prick at his chest. Was Stede not coming? Had something horrible befallen him?
Worse…had he decided that Ed wasn’t worth the trouble?
A hand brushed against his shoulder. Ed stirred, looking up, and Stede was there, smiling down at him, the stars glittering behind his head.
But then, he heard something behind him, rising from the depths, large tentacles reaching out toward an unsuspecting Stede–and Ed didn’t have enough time to scream-
The door to his chambers slammed open.
Ed gasped, sitting up straight, scrabbling to find a weapon near him. “W–What—”
Izzy hobbled in, Fang in his wake. “Captain!”
Ed crumpled immediately, his head pounding, adrenaline coursing through him. He pressed his fingers to his temples. “Not now,” he snapped. “Go away.”
“You need to deal with this,” Izzy insisted.
“Get out,” Ed said, starting to turn over and lie back down again.
“Ed,” someone said.
Ed felt his heart quicken. That voice.
He turned around, and there he was…standing in front of Fang, hands bound, hair wavy and less dandied, cheeks a bit sunburned, wearing a plain shirt and pants. He looked gorgeous, the absolute bastard.
Ed’s breaths came in short, sharp bursts. Stede. Stede was here.
“Hi,” Stede said, making a little wave with one of his bound hands.
He smiled at Ed, that warm smile, as if nothing had changed, no time had passed–as if he hadn’t abandoned Ed on that dock.
Slowly, Ed stepped forward, unable to form words. He was afraid that if he blinked, Stede would disappear again.
“We found him with the rest of his crew, trying to climb back into the ship from a dinghy,” Izzy said.
“How the hell did all of them fit into a dinghy?” Ed muttered, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he definitely couldn’t stop staring at Stede, drinking him in like a drowning man.
“Should we—” Izzy began.
“I’ll deal with this,” Ed said, ripping his eyes away from Stede long enough to throw on his Blackbeard facade.
“But—"
“I said, I’ll deal with it. Get out.”
Izzy narrowed his eyes at Ed. “Captain.”
Ed strode over to him, hand on his knife. “Need me to remind you of your place?” he growled.
Izzy stiffened, shook his head, and limped off, Fang in his wake. He paused at the door. “What of the others?”
“Later,” Ed waved dismissively.
Izzy looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it, and left the room. The door closed with a thump, and they were alone.
Now, Ed had no idea what to do.
Stalling, Ed walked over to the table in the middle of the cabin and poured himself a cup of water, drinking as much as he could to rinse out the fuzzy feeling in his throat from all the rum.
“So…” Stede began. “What happened to him?” He tilted his head toward the door, eyebrows lifted.
“Made him eat his own toe.” Ed leaned against the table.
Stede’s eyes widened, and he blinked. “Why?” he asked.
Ed shrugged. Because you left me, and there was nothing I could do about it, and lying around crying about you was going to get me killed, so I had to do something, he thought. “He was being an asshole,” he said aloud.
After taking another long drink, Ed felt his jaw working. His heart was beating so hard against his chest that he was sure he was about to break ribs. He took a last drink of water, setting the cup down.
There were a thousand things he wanted to say, to scream, to ask, but the first thing that came out of his mouth was—
“You came back.”
Stede’s forehead knitted. “Never left,” he said. His lips tugged upward into a crooked smile.
Ed sucked in a breath, his hands clenching the table so hard that his knuckles turned white. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then, his body moving of its own volition, Ed closed the two steps between them and socked Stede, hard, in the nose.
“What the,” Stede gasped, stumbled backward.
“You left me there at the dock,” Ed gasped, barely able to restrain himself from punching Stede again. “You fucking left me. Don’t say you never left.”
Stede held his nose awkwardly with his bound hands, blood streaming down his face. “I’m shorry,” he said, his voice muffled.
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?” Ed laughed, harshly, the sound grating and cruel.
Stede winced, still holding his nose.
“Do you have any idea…” Ed trailed off, clenching his hands into fists to stop the trembling. He was shaking, because he wanted to hit him, hug him, kiss him, throw him to the ground and hold him down so that he’d never leave again.
Stede just stood there, holding his nose, his shirt starting to soak red with blood. His sharp eyes flicked over Ed’s body, and Ed flinched, knowing he looked a complete mess. His charcoal makeup was probably smudged, after crying and falling asleep drunk, his undershirt filthy, his hair matted. At least he wasn’t still wearing the robe–it was crumpled on the bed.
“Here,” Ed grumbled, grabbing a scrap of cloth from under the table, throwing it at Stede.
“Fanks.” Stede pressed it to his nose to staunch the flow. “What did you do to your face?”
“Fuck off,” Ed said, moving over to the nook, leaving a larger, safer distance between them. He was still boiling with rage; it was coursing through him, but that hollow feeling in the middle of his chest had lifted, even if just a tiny, miniscule amount.
Stede may have skewered his heart and left him to die, but he was here.
“I kind of like it.” Stede cocked his head, watching him appraisingly. “It’s very ‘renegade chic.’”
Ed rolled his eyes. “I had to do something to distract from the fact that the English basically emasculated me.”
“Hm.” Stede looked around the bare room, still holding the cloth to his nose. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Minimalistic.”
“Your stuff was impractical and took up unnecessary space. Just like you.”
Stede snorted, then groaned in pain, clutching his nose. Without meaning to, Ed started reaching out to him, but stopped, crossing his arms.
Gritting his teeth, Ed tilted his head up to study at the ceiling for a long time, and Stede didn’t move or say anything. Ed didn’t want to give in, but the suspense was killing him.
“So where the hell were you, then?” Ed asked, aiming for nonchalant.
Stede swallowed. “I went back to my wife.”
Ah…there was the pain again, searing through him, tearing his flesh apart with white hot teeth. Forget physical torture; this was far worse. He’d rather have his leg slashed to the bone a thousand more times than have to have this conversation. Ed shook with the agony of it.
“Your…wife,” he managed to choke out.
Stede dropped the cloth, moving toward him. “Ed—”
Ed turned his back. “Get the fuck out of my room.”
“Technically, it’s my room,” Stede said matter-of-factly. Bastard.
“Not anymore, I commandeered your ship, I took your rooms. They’re mine now. Unless your crew is planning on taking the Revenge back by force, but I doubt they can manage it. So I repeat, get. The fuck. Out.”
Stede made a sound of frustration. “Listen, Ed, just let me explain—”
“Shut up.” Tears pricking his eyes, Ed stared at the lighthouse painting, which was directly in his view. The painting Mary had made for Stede. He couldn’t stop thinking about the night on the dock, waiting fruitlessly for any sign of Stede, his heart breaking into tiny pieces with every second ticking by.
This man had wormed his way into Ed’s heart and his life. He’d made it impossible for Ed to kill him, to the point where Ed couldn't imagine Stede being gone and still managing to breathe.
Then he’d promised to go with him to China, then had immediately gone back to his fucking wife, and hadn’t even said a word to Ed.
The painting was all in blues and whites, but suddenly…Ed only saw red.
“Ed,” Stede said, right behind him now.
Turning on his heel, Ed grabbed Stede and pushed him up against the wall by the throat, their faces so close their noses were almost touching. “Go back to your wife, and leave me alone,” he seethed.
Stede didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, despite being completely vulnerable and at Blackbeard’s mercy. It was a position that would have made most men shit their pants. But not Stede Bonnet. Not this ridiculous, gorgeous, brilliant, idiotic man.
“She’s not my wife anymore,” Stede said evenly. “I’m dead.”
Ed blinked at him. “You’re what?”
Stede looked him straight in the eye, and then the bastard full-on grinned. “Fuckery.”
“Fuckery,” Ed repeated. He was starting to wonder if he was still dreaming, but in no universe could his brain ever come up with something this absurd.
“She helped me fake my death, so. I’m dead now, to everyone from my old life. I wanted to be with you in China or…wherever. I don’t care where. So here I am.”
“You…” Ed swallowed, trying to take in this information.
Stede pressed his lips together, hesitating. “She…she helped me realize that what I really wanted was you.”
Ed gulped, shaking his head, because if he let Stede in again, that was it, he’d never survive losing him a second time. He wouldn’t succeed in resurrecting Blackbeard again.
But if he was being honest, Blackbeard was already dead and buried at sea. Since that first day he’d found Stede dying on the deck, he’d been a goner.
“Do you believe me?” Stede asked, softly.
“It doesn’t matter if I believe you,” Ed choked out. “Why didn’t you show up? Why did you leave me there, like an idiot, waiting for you?”
“Chauncy kidnapped me to kill me in revenge for his brother. But he was so drunk that he fell on his pistol and accidentally shot himself.”
“He—what?” Ed’s head was spinning, and he wished he hadn’t had the last bottle of rum so that he could keep this straight.
Stede kept going, though, words tumbling from his mouth. “Before he died, he said—he said,” Stede gulped, “that I defiled beautiful things. I ruined my family and…I destroyed you, the best pirate the world had ever seen. And I realized he was right. I met the most beautiful, terrifying, amazing man, and I single-handedly turned him into something ordinary. I thought I was doing the right thing, making my family whole again, and letting you go back to being Blackbeard, the way you were supposed to be.”
Ed clutched his chest. It felt like he couldn’t get a full breath—his lungs couldn’t expand all the way. “The way…I’m supposed to be,” he repeated.
Stede licked his lips. “Seeing you, in that barracks…they took your beard, your clothes, your crew, your life, and you were sitting there completely calm, folding bloody socks…I knew that was all my fault. I’d done that to you, because you wanted to save me from the firing squad. I kept you from being who you are really supposed to be. I thought, maybe you could go back to being you, if I…wasn’t there.”
“I don’t care.” Tears spilled over onto Ed’s cheeks, tracking through the charcoal, dripping down to his shirt. “I don’t give a single shit about being Blackbeard anymore.”
Stede started to speak, but Ed kept going. “You leaving me is what destroyed me. Blackbeard is dead, he was dead long ago, long before you even met him. The only thing left of him is me, and I want you, you fucking idiot. Don’t you get it?”
Eyes wide, Stede seemed stunned for a moment, even more than when Ed had socked him in the nose. He stared at Ed, as if really looking at him for the first time since he’d returned. Ed felt his chest cracking open again, his heart exposed for Stede to see.
Then, Stede nodded. “Now I do.”
“Do you?” Ed’s voice cracked, his heart still going a mile a minute.
“I made a mistake,” Stede said plainly. “Ed, please, please can you forgive me?”
You still fucking left me. After I told you I wanted you. After I let you see who I am at my very core. You saw it and you threw it away, like it meant nothing to you.
Ed knew Stede was watching him, waiting; he wavered just a bit longer. He inhaled, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. He wasn’t exactly well versed in…feelings.
Biting his lip, Ed reached down and deftly undid the knot around Stede’s hands, letting the rope fall to a tumbled mass on the floor. He took Stede’s hands in his own, turning them over, and Stede didn’t resist, standing like a supplicant. Ed ran his thumbs over the skin of his palms, the gentleman’s hands that were more worn now, callused, scarred, after months at sea.
“I can’t…do this again,” Ed said, finally. “You…” he stopped, trying to find the words.
Shuddering, he sucked in another breath, and he knew, despite the fact that he’d pretended to fight it…since the moment Stede had reappeared, this was the inevitable result. He looked up again, and Stede was watching him in that earnest, openly admiring way of his, but something had changed. There was something new in those eyes.
“I bared my soul to you, Stede. I’ve never done that before, not with…not with anyone. I showed you who I really am…and you…you threw it back in my face.” His voice was small, the admission harder than almost anything he’d ever said in his life. “I don’t know if I can…forgive you for that.”
Stede pressed his lips together, considering this. He squeezed Ed’s hands. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“But you did.” Ed trembled, looking down again. “The Edward from the beach, the one who trusted you without a second thought…he might be dead forever.”
“I’m sorry,” Stede said gently.
Ed grunted in frustration. “Just saying you’re sorry, it doesn’t…it doesn’t fix it.”
Stede considered this for a moment. “Turnabout is fair play. Let me bare my heart to you, so we’re even.”
Stede took something out of his sleeve—a handkerchief—to rub the charcoal off Ed’s face, lovingly, gently. Once the black was gone, Stede tucked it back in his sleeve, and stood up a bit straighter. He took Ed’s hands again, kissing the knuckles one by one. Ed’s head was pounding, and this time, it wasn’t from the drink.
“When I went back home,” Stede said. “I realized very quickly that I no longer belonged there. Mary hated me…and I hated myself. And all I could think about was you.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Mary fell in love with another man while I was gone. And when she told me what it felt like to love someone that deeply, I…I knew.”
Stede took a deep breath in, and released it slowly. Then another, like he was building up his courage.
“Get on with it,” Ed prompted.
“I’m trying,” Stede huffed.
Ed raised an eyebrow.
“Oh for…okay, fine. I love you, Ed,” Stede said, exasperated.
Ed blinked at him. Once, twice. His brain couldn't seem to absorb those words.
Stede’s forehead wrinkled, uncertain. “Ed?”
In his darkest moments, he’d wondered if Stede had only kissed him back because he was kind. Because he liked Ed, liked being around him, but maybe…maybe not like that.
But Stede was still watching him with those honest eyes, and Ed knew…it was real. He’d come here to say that he loved him.
And before he knew what was happening, Ed collapsed into Stede, pressing his forehead into Stede’s neck, sucking in deep, gulping breaths, his hand fisting into the front of Stede’s shirt. Stede relaxed, leaning his head against Ed’s, wrapping him in an embrace, and Ed just breathed. Stede stroked his hair with one hand, and Ed had never realized that this was something he had been missing…no one in his adult life had ever stroked his hair, and he’d never wanted anyone to.
After a while, Stede said, “I have to admit, I’m a bit new to this…when you tell a bloke you love them, do they always cry?”
Ed sniffed. “Fuck you,” he said, no heat behind the words.
“I’m sorry,” Stede whispered.
“You keep saying that.”
Pause. “...sorry.”
Ed laughed, the first true laugh he'd had in far too long. He straightened a bit, so that he could lean forward to press their foreheads together, and Stede’s eyes fluttered closed.
“I missed you,” Ed said, softly.
“And I you,” Stede said. They stood there for a while, and Stede moved a bit closer until his lips brushed against Ed’s. “Ed,” Stede whispered.
Ed closed his eyes, relaxing into the embrace, and then crushed their mouths together.
Their first kiss had been short, tender, but staccatoed. That time, Stede was timid, letting Ed lead; now, he pulled him closer, tilting his head to the side to kiss him deeply, so passionately that everything beyond the two of them blurred into nonexistence.
This Stede was different, more confident, more…just more. It was intoxicating, and Ed went a bit boneless with the force of it, like waiting for a tidal wave to rise up and drown him.
As if sensing this, Stede switched their places, pressing Ed up against the wall. Ed let himself be manhandled, blood rushing through his body, singing through him, pushing away the wasteland of his grief until there was nothing left—nothing in his thoughts or his body or his being but Stede. He clung to Stede to keep himself upright, fingertips pressing into his chest. After not being touched for so long while he was gone, it was a complete sensory assault–the tang of blood on Stede’s lips, the ghost of his French cologne, his warm hands on Ed’s waist.
He’d never had this, never had someone who kissed him because it was him and not because he was a convenient body to get off with. There was a bright feeling in his center at that thought, that Stede wanted him like this…that they could have this.
“You’re actually…quite good at this…for a limp-wristed nobleman,” Ed gasped between kisses.
“I had no idea what it would be like to kiss someone I loved,” Stede said, his lips moving to Ed’s jaw. Ed couldn’t help but think of all the ways he wanted to touch Stede and be touched, to hold, to kiss, to…
But first.
Ed nudged Stede’s face back up to kiss him again, once, and then cupped Stede’s cheek.
“I love you, too, Stede Bonnet. You fucking lunatic.”
The wrinkles around his eyes crinkled as Stede smiled, the morning sun streaming through the window, highlighting the gold in his hair.
“Well that’s good, then,” he said, leaning in to kiss Ed again, this time sipping from his lips so gently, so tenderly that a sob cracked through Ed’s chest.
Stede held him and touched him like he was a precious thing, and it was more than he could bear. Tears were on Ed’s cheeks again, but he didn’t care.
“Don’t leave me again,” Ed pleaded, the last of his bravado crumbling into nothing. “Please.”
Stede shook his head vehemently. “Never.”
Ed closed his eyes, and Stede kissed the tears off his cheeks, then each of his eyelids, threading his hands into Ed’s hair. Ed melted into him, losing himself in Stede’s embrace.
They stayed like that for quite a while, kissing languidly, unhurried.
The adrenaline of Stede’s return was wearing off, and the exhaustion was more than Ed could bear. He hadn’t really slept in weeks, and most of it had been a drunken haze of fitful unrest.
“Stede.” Though he was loath to do it, Ed broke the kiss, leaning his head back against the wall. “Can we go to bed?”
“Already?” Stede cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to wine and dine me a bit first?”
Ed gaped at him, feeling his ears go scarlet. “No, I mean, yes, but…oh my god, how can you… just not right now. I’m exhausted. Can…could you stay with me while I sleep for a bit?”
Stede softened. “Of course,” he said. “I’m knackered really. I could use a good kip.”
Stede took his hand and led him over to the bed, taking off his boots. With shaking fingers, Ed took off the rest of his outer clothing until he was only in his undershirt and shorts.
He lay down, and pressed his body up against Stede’s, tucking his face into Stede’s neck. Stede sighed, turning on his side, wrapping his arms around Ed, relaxing into his embrace. Ed sighed, feeling tired to his very bones, but the pain in his chest was finally lifting, floating away like clouds in the wind.
Before he closed his eyes, though, Ed noticed the handkerchief poking out of Stede’s sleeve–the one he’d used to wipe off Ed’s face.
It was red.
Unable to help himself, Ed tugged at it, and it came free–it was the handkerchief, the one he’d thrown off the ship. He could tell, because there was a small black stain in one corner.
“Unfuckingbelievable,” Ed said under his breath.
“Mmm?” Stede stirred, opening his eyes. “Oh, yeah, that–so bizarre, it was floating on the wind–hit me in the face when I was rowing out to save my crew. It reminded me of you, of the one I put in your pocket that time.”
“This…is mine,” Ed said. What are the fucking odds? This was absolutely impossible. And yet, Stede had always seemed to completely defy all logic.
“You dropped it?”
“No…” he gulped. “Threw it away. I couldn’t…bear looking at it. It reminded me of you.”
Stede paused, brow furrowed. “Well, we both made our way back to you,” he said, taking the cloth and tying it around Ed’s neck.
Ed shook his head, lower lip trembling. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”
“I’m here,” Stede assured, pressing his palm to Ed’s chest. “I’m here, Ed.”
Ed shuddered out a breath, pressing his hand over Stede’s.
“C’mere,” Stede said, cocking his head. Giving in, Ed lay down, tucking himself back against Stede. He touched the edges of the silky fabric, feeling it between his fingers, still not sure that he wasn’t dreaming. Sleep tugged at him, and he eventually gave in, letting himself drift.
“M’nose still hurts,” Stede mumbled, after a while, half asleep.
Ed chuckled into Stede’s neck. “Sorry.”
“Now who’s saying sorry too much?”
“Shut up, prick.”
“Mmm,” Stede hummed. “Go to sleep, Ed.”
The boat rocked underneath them, and Ed felt Stede’s breaths in and out, and listened to his heart beating. When he eventually slept, the dreams came again, but this time, when Stede found him on the docks, the kraken never appeared. Instead, they kissed under the stars, palm trees whispering in the wind behind them, before they rowed away into the sunrise.