Work Text:
Edward Teach watched out of the corner of his eye as Stede Bonnet stretched his arms high over his head and twisted. The pop of his spine was peculiar, the sound of a body that hadn’t yet been worn down by too many years of hard labor on the deck of a ship.
Ed and Stede had been working hard for hours. The early morning had brought a hard summer storm, one that Ed hadn’t anticipated (one that Blackbeard forgot to look for, he reminded himself), and The Revenge, unprepared, had taken on just enough damage to fill the day with good work for crew and co-captains both. It was the kind of hard work that was easy to do, with slow and steady rhythms that led to satisfying results.
The shadows had grown long as the sun dipped low, and finally the rest of the crew went below deck for a hard-earned supper. Captain Bonnet had volunteered to stay above deck, and wouldn’t you know it, Captain Teach had found an excuse to stay up with him. And so, worn out by the day’s work, they settled in together along the railing of the deck, as they had many times before.
Now they fell into a long, easy silence. More often than not, the air between the two men was full of chatter, little jokes and challenges. Ed hadn’t laughed so much in years. Not this way of laughing, anyhow, the kind that reached all the way up to his eyes. But lately, in the days since their disastrous treasure hunt, bouts of quiet had begun to spring between them. There was no anticipation in it, nothing hanging unsaid in the silence. It was just - easy.
“Hullo, Captain!” the silence was broken by Frenchie’s enthusiastic approach. “And how do you do, Captain!” he continued as he gave an overstyled flourish, sloshing around whatever was in the two bowls he was holding. “Courtesy of our own Roach, dinner tonight is turtle soup à la water, à la bits of something green that is in the soup, also. Chef’s suggestion is to eat up before it gets cold, because cold is- if I may quote- how the soup gets gross.” He handed a bowl to each of them, lingering a moment too long after Stede thanked them. He looked between the two men expectantly. Ed groaned.
“For Christ’s sake, we’re not going to tip you, man!” he said. Stede brought his hand to his mouth to cover a laugh. Ed continued, “This is your job! Pirate crew, mate! Just - do your job! Go on, get out of here!” He tried to look fearsome as Frenchie retreated below deck, chagrined. It was tempting to join in Stede’s laughter, but somebody had to keep at least a hint of discipline on this ship of fools. “Stop smiling, Stede. I mean it. You spoil those boys.”
Stede protested. “Frenchie is a good lad.”
Edward held firm. “Frenchie has a lot of gall.”
“Pun intended, I assume?” Stede’s eyes were sparkling, and Ed felt like he had just missed a stair. “Frenchie?” Stede continued. “Gall?” Nothing. “French, Gallic? No?” Ed shook his head. “Ah, well. Sometimes the best wordplay is thoroughly unintentional. Cheers!” and he raised his bowl in both hands. A bewildered Ed copied the gesture, and brought the bowl to his lips.
After the storm broke the day had been hot and humid; the setting sun was offering a reprieve but the air was still thick and heavy. A bowl of hot turtle soup is not what he would have chosen for supper, but on ship, food’s food, and this was -
“Surprisingly tasty!" Not for the first time, Ed’s co-captain gave voice to Ed’s own thoughts. He watched as Stede gamely brought the bowl to his mouth again.
“Not a very gentlemanly way to eat, though, is it, Stede?” he asked with an eyebrow cocked. “What d’you think, then - ought we lash Frenchie for forgetting the soup spoons? A lashing might be good for morale.”
“Shame on you, Ed!" Stede sounded scandalized. "I think you should know by now that a broth this light calls for a bouillon spoon, not a soup spoon. Besides, there are days when The Gentleman Pirate will behave as a gentleman, and there are days when he simply must behave like a pirate. And today,” Stede sighed happily as he looked out at the waves, “I really do feel like a pirate.”
His satisfaction was contagious, Ed realized with a twinge. He drank deeply from the soup, and found himself smiling into the bowl. Stede was right, it was surprisingly tasty.
+ + +
By the time they finished their little supper, the sun had set, cooling the air. The rest of the crew were still below deck, making merry, but the two captains of the Revenge sprawled happily in the dim light above. They planned out the next day's activities- some merchant ships were due approach la Louisiane in the coming days, laden with weapons and wine to barter in the new colony. It would be a rich haul if they could get it, so each day until the ship was spotted, they decided, the crew would run drills and practice their combat.
The day's work was catching up to Ed, and a massive yawn ripped out of him just as Stede was predicting what Ed's reaction would be to his first proper taste of port.
"Tired already? I suppose it has been a long day - if you'd like to head down to the mess, I can man the deck alone until Buttons comes back above to relieve us." Ed could hear the disappointment in his voice.
“Nah, I’m alert as can be,” was his protest, but Stede continued to worry over him. “Keep me awake, then,” Ed said, daring. Perhaps Stede raised his eyebrows, but he let the line lie for a moment before answering.
“All right, then. If it’s my duty to keep the famous Blackbeard alert, I suppose I’m up for the task. Tell me a story. Oh, here’s one! Tell me about your first duel.”
Suddenly, Blackbeard missed the silence. He listened to the water lapping against the ship’s hull for a moment as his thoughts darkened.
There would be plenty of time for Stede to learn about real fear, Ed thought. Plenty of time for him to learn how it feels to take the blood of a man who means to kill you. Would Stede come to enjoy the smell of blood, in time? Most men did. And the Gentleman Pirate had surprised Ed so many times already.
“My first duel lasted two minutes and damn near left me dead,” Ed began, scanning the horizon. The light was getting dimmer. It was the kind of story he wouldn’t have shared in the daylight. “I was a deckhand on The Golden Fleece, going on about seven months. I wasn’t Blackbeard yet then, you know, they just called me Teach. Yeah, I was as green as anything. Greener than you, even.” And here he let his eyes slide to Stede, who was looking - as he knew he would be - directly at Ed, as if there was nowhere else in the world to look. As if there was nothing to be afraid of.
“I can just imagine.” Stede said with a small smile.
“I was fifteen.” Ed murmured, and he told the story. He told him about a clever man named Cummerbund on the Golden Fleece, a man who had taken Ed under his wing, who he could nearly have called a friend. One afternoon Cummerbund made a joke. The joke was so inconsequential that Ed honestly couldn’t remember it, but it made fifteen-year-old Teach burn with anger. “I told him that his insult wouldn't stand, and that I demanded satisfaction. I reckon I was just looking for an excuse. Trying to prove I was a man. You know.” Ed told Stede how, after he issued his challenge to Cummerbund, the first mate tried to step in and talk him down. He told Stede how Cummerbund himself offered - kindly, even - to shake hands and forget the whole thing. Ed told Stede how reckless he was. He tried to show him the scar he still carried, rucking up his shirt to show how it ran up and down his ribcage, decades later.
“I don’t quite know where to look,” Stede laughed, leaning away. “Look at the state of you, like a pincushion.”
It wasn't meant to be a funny story. Edward scowled and grabbed Stede’s hand. “Here,” he muttered, and before he could think he had pressed the man's soft fingertips to his scar. He shivered.
“Are my hands cold?” Stede whispered.
Ed just shook his head, watching Stede’s face as his fingers traced along the ridge of the long scar. “Ed - what happened?”
“What does it look like? Cummerbund tried to play nice long as he could, but I was an idiot with hot blood. His cutlass-”
“No,” Stede interrupted Ed. “What happened after the duel? You said you almost died. Somebody was there to- take care of you?” His fingertips were still right there, light but steady on Ed’s rib. The tenderness in his voice was suddenly unbearable, and Ed moved away, tugging his shirt back down sharply to cover the ancient wound. For a short moment, a new silence grew between them. Then, just as Ed knew Stede was about to apologize for pushing too far, asking too much, he answered.
“Nah. Who's got the time to nurse some dumb kid back to health?" He shrugged. "They could've let me bleed out there. Should've, maybe. But they stopped up the bleeding and dropped me at the next port." The way Stede was looking at him made him want to scream. His eyes were too gentle. It made Ed feel like a liar.
"It was my own fault, anyhow, and everybody knew it. I found a new crew. I got better. I learned not to swing my sword at a man unless I knew how to use it. " Ed wanted to stop talking, but Stede kept on looking at him like he was good, and Ed couldn't let that stand. "You want to know how people really learn to be pirates, mate? They pay for their lessons in fucking blood."
With that pointed barb, Ed looked desperately for a trace of anger on Stede's face. Anger he could work with. What he saw was worse.
The fearsome pirate Blackbeard had heard the pleas of dozens of desperate men and turned away unmoved. But faced with a single look of sadness from Stede Bonnet, Ed was nearly overwhelmed by the desire to take both of his hands in his own and swear to the stars that he meant no harm. He wanted to hit Stede until he started hitting back. He wanted to kiss Stede until the burn in his belly was satisfied. He wanted to jump overboard. Fuck.
Instead, Ed took a breath. He leaned forward, tilting his forehead on the railing as he looked cockeyed at the man next to him.
"God. You were right, Stede - I am a bit tired, after all, I think. That was-”
“No, no, that’s quite all right,” Stede jumped in, all courtesy despite his confusion. “It’s your business, I shouldn’t’ve-”
Ed hauled himself up to standing, and extended his hand without thinking. Stede dusted himself off as he rose, fastidious even now. They were saved the agony of deciding what to say next, as the deck was suddenly swarming with their boisterous, well-fed crew. Ed seized on the distraction. “I reckon I’ll call it a night, Captain. The ship is yours,” he said as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.
+++
Laying in his berth in the belly of the ship, Ed could just hear a wisp of Stede’s voice above. One of his bedtime stories, maybe. He smiled to himself at the thought of the perplexing peace that would descend on the crew tonight. These were people who liked each other and might even like themselves, not in spite of who they were but because of who they were. It didn’t make sense, not a lick. That kind of satisfaction wasn’t an option for pirate crew, not any pirates, but especially not these ones.
For a moment, Ed could imagine being the kind of person who could feel contentment like that. Really feel it, without trying, like it came naturally. What an idea. It was as tempting as a table creaking heavy with ripe fruit and soft bread and crackle-skinned meat, and Ed wanted it, like a half-starved rat smelling dinner through a crack in the mess wall. It was a dangerous game, wanting fine things you weren’t meant to have. Satisfaction. Elegance. Retirement. Somebody who looks at you like you’re good.
Ed rolled over, focused on the gentle rocking of the ship, and tried to go to sleep.