Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The mattress had been an extravagance. For their marriage bed her husband had insisted on straw, some paradoxical urge for asceticism in the midst of absurd wealth; her back was still recovering even six months after she’d last slept there. On her own ship, with her stolen funds, she’d bought the softest thing she could and lay there in smug satisfaction every night for a fortnight before she’d realised it wasn’t much better for her spine.

Stede pressed her fingers into the soft surface, thoughtfully, one knee resting on the edge of the bed. It was barely broad enough for two, really. There had been a few nights Stede felt perilously close to falling from the edge, until Ed insisted on switching sides. She’d insisted it was no trouble, that she preferred sleeping away from the window. Then she’d fallen out of bed during the next squall and ended up with a deep purple bruise from hip to shoulder.

The point was that sharing the bed was occasionally troublesome.

Stede glanced over her shoulder at Ed, at that point occupied with detangling her hair before braiding it for bed. The salt and pepper streaks were familiar now, but that didn’t stop Stede’s breath from catching a little at the sight of Ed in the dim light.

“You gotta stop watching me do this,” she said, conversationally, the fingers of her free hand busy pulling silver threads free from the teeth of her comb. Her face was soft in the early evening darkness, broken by flickering candlelight. A fist-shaped bruise yellowed high on her cheek. The new moon, obviously, failed to shine through the windowpanes. “‘S distracting. Might break another one of these.”

She waved the comb for emphasis. It was a delicate thing, carved with an intricate lattice pattern like the panel of a fence. Stede had found it at a market in Nassau, while Ed was distracted threatening one of Jack’s crew over a bar bet, and bought it before she could change her mind. It was a dreadful habit she was forming, really, but Ed deserved lovely things, and if no one else was going to provide them then Stede was very willing to pick up the slack.

She hummed, still distracted by the mattress. Quills poked at her fingers through the linen cover. She ran her palm over the careworn fabric, thoughtful. Her nightshirt was almost as soft, worn through at the elbows.

“D’you think we should get a bigger bed?” She asked.

Ed made a non-committal noise.

Stede resumed her study. Her questing hands found the poorly-repaired gash in the topsheet, the only visible casualty of the night Ed forgot to remove her secondary back-up knife before she got under the covers.

There was a significant dip in the middle, the shape of two adults pressed together, where she and Ed usually ended up by morning, Ed’s back to Stede’s chest, legs tangled. There were lavender seeds pressed deeply into the sheets beneath Ed’s pillow, after the posie Stede made up for her had split open and scattered across the bed.

It was odd to think that such an ordinary object could pick up so much history.

“Stede,” said Ed. Stede turned, fingers still pressed against the quills. Ed tilted her head, comb pulling through her hair in one smooth motion. “Stede, love, how’m I supposed to seduce you if you won’t even look at my sexy seductive combing routine.” She raised her eyebrows, tongue caught between her teeth, teasing.

"Thought you didn't want me to watch," she replied.

"Part of the mystique," said Ed. "I say it, and you do it anyway. 'S like forbidden love. Sexy."

Stede huffed. Her knee hurt where she’d pressed it into the bedframe; her other leg prickled with pins and needles as she moved. “I was miles away,” she admitted, sitting back. She shuffled until her back was snug against the headboard, supporting her spine. Her nightshirt rubbed against her legs, caught on the mostly-clean bandage on her right thigh. She’d taken a nasty slash on a raid the week before, had to have Roach sew it up while Ed held her down by the shoulders.

“I figured,” Ed replied. She ran her hands through her hair once more, blunt fingers and rough palms, then came to perch beside Stede on the bed. She was wearing a vest and drawers, shoulders left bare. Stede pressed a kiss to the snake’s scales, as was customary. Ed laughed, pulling away slightly. “C’mon. Hair. Do my hair.”

“Alright, alright,” said Stede, trying not to smile. Ed shifted, wriggling until her back was to Stede and her legs were stretched out in front of her, Stede’s knees bracketing Ed’s hips.

They sat quietly while Stede split Ed’s hair into three even strands, all shot through with silver, and carefully wove them together, a pattern she’d used a thousand times. It was part of their routine, now, to do this. Stede had started it, after they’d slept together the first time and Ed woke up with her hair an absolute sight. An ounce of prevention, she’d said, when she sat Ed down the next night at the dressing table. Liliana’s stolen hairbrush glittered merrily in the candlelight. She didn’t even use it anymore; she just liked having the story.

You just wanna touch my hair again, Ed had responded. She’d grinned at her in the mirror, sharp but pleased. Say what you mean, Bonnet.

At first Ed had braided Stede’s hair as well, until an unfortunate incident with a length of slowmatch left Stede with barely enough for a queue, let alone a French plait.

They’d have to wait some time for her hair to be long enough to braid again. If Stede chose to grow it out that far, anyway. She brushed a strand back behind her ear, smiling. She quite liked it the length it was now, chin length and wavy from the salted air. A little wild.

Ed hummed a few bars of Frenchie’s latest composition as Stede tied off the end of the braid. She ran a hand through her own hair, scratched at a still-healing cut at the nape of her neck.

“He’s improving,” Stede mused, as Ed settled beside her, blanket across her knees. “Almost all real words in the last one.” She leaned over, lurching a little as the ship swayed, and blew out the candles at the bedside.

“Mmm,” said Ed. “Catchy as fuck, too.” She hummed it again, a little off tune the way she always was. Stede couldn’t help but kiss her, close-mouthed, one hand on her shoulder.

Ed smiled into it before pulling back. “C’mon, captain,” she said. “Bedtime for naughty pirates.” She slid down the headboard and nestled into her pillow, plait brought forward over her shoulder.

“Naughty now, am I?” Stede asked. But she did follow suit, pulling the blanket up and over both of their heads.

“Terrible,” whispered Ed. She kissed Stede again, slowly, and ran a hand up her side, beneath her nightshirt.

Stede shook her head. Her eyelids were heavier than she’d expected; it had been an admittedly busy day. She’d had to mediate an extended argument between the Swede and Roach over, of all things, the communal tambourine. Apparently the Swede had borrowed it from the jam room without asking.

Why this had almost ended in an honest-to-god kitchen knife duel on the deck of the good ship Revenge, Stede could hardly begin to guess.

Ed kissed her forehead, then each eyelid. “Night, Stede,” she mumbled. Stede heard her settle back on her pillow, the soft cotton rustling beneath her cheek.

Stede closed her eyes, content. “Night, Ed.”

Chapter Text

There was a certain charm to the moon waxing crescent, just a sliver of uncertain light. Ed awoke, quietly, to the sight of it through the cabin windows, hanging still in the sky amid a tapestry of stars.

She found the pole star automatically, scanning the horizon, and felt the familiar calm at knowing their heading.

Her pillow was soft beneath her cheek. The blanket was still over her shoulders, her toes warm in the bedsocks Stede had insisted she borrow. She frowned. Fuck knew her sleep had rarely been restful, most of her adult life, but there was usually a reason when she woke up in the middle of the night.

Most of the time, historically, the reason had been a knife at her throat, or cannonfire in the distance. Sometimes the pain in her knee spiked, sudden and hot, and she had to spend the night biting her fist against the feeling.

Not so much recently, though. Recently, she’d been sleeping until sunrise, when the dawn light filtered through the curtains - organza embroidered with flowers - and cast coloured shadows on her face. If she woke up in pain, Stede would usually follow, muzzy with sleep but kind as ever, and put whatever hurt beneath her palms until it eased.

Ed put a hand to her neck, touched the now familiar silver chain. The sleeve of her nightshirt slid down her wrist, over the cross. Her brow furrowed further. Some piece of the scene didn’t fit. She rolled over, still frowning. Her knee twinged in warning.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark, to the shadow she cast as she pushed herself up on her elbow, leaning over.

Stede made a blurry, frightened noise. Strands of her hair clung to her face, bathed in sweat. Her hands were clenched at her chest; Ed realised she’d missed the weight of them around her waist. 

Fuck . 

Ed touched Stede’s shoulder, over her shirt. She hadn’t had to wake Stede up from a nightmare before. Usually she woke up when Stede was already up, coming back to bed with a cup of tea or a book. Stede usually offered her a weak smile. Bad dreams , she always said. Nothing to worry about.

Unfortunately for Stede Bonnet, Ed had made it her job to worry about her. She was really fucking good at it. Could probably start drawing a salary, the way Stede’s crew did every month. 

On those nights she’d press closer, lie down with her head on Stede’s chest, throw her legs over her hips, put as much weight on her as she could, until Stede stopped trembling; the tiny imperceptible shiver only Ed got to feel. But she wouldn’t say why. Ed could only guess at what happened in her head, those nights.

When Ed dreamed, Stede took her hand, an anchor. She traced one fingertip around Ed’s fingers, up and down, until Ed could breathe easily again. Ed didn’t like weight the way Stede did. She needed to know she could move, if she had to. That nothing was tying her down. And then Stede would talk to her, quietly, about the book she was reading, or about the history of silk, or the latest recipe Roach had decided to try out in the kitchens.

They hadn’t discussed their dreams, really. Not since Ed had torn herself to shreds in the bathroom, the night of the fuckery. She’d seen Stede in the depths of delirium while she healed from her gut wound, fever climbing until she sweat through the sheets, but that wasn’t really dreaming . 

Stede whimpered again, high in her throat. She was so still; it unnerved Ed. She’d seen men thrash themselves up out of the depths plenty of times; being a pirate was hardly a life that left you with, as Stede might say, adequate coping mechanisms for traumatic events. She knew that she did it herself; she’d once left Jack with a shiner for a week when he tried shaking her awake. The stillness was rarer. She didn’t understand it.

Maybe this was why she hadn’t woken up for Stede’s dreams before. Maybe her body was becoming used to the way Stede slept, would let her know when something was wrong. Thank fuck for that.

“Stede,” she said. She tried to be quiet, to keep her voice low, but it still echoed in the darkness. “Stede, wake up.”

Nothing. She touched her shoulder again. Her palms felt clammy. Can’t even do this right , she thought, then bit her tongue against it. The part of herself that sounded more like Stede every day reminded her, sharply, that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with that kind of negative self-talk.

Stede shifted a little beneath her hand. Her hands clenched tighter, impossibly, twisting the fabric of her nightshirt. “No,” she mumbled, barely audible. “No, don’t.”

Ed kept touching her, hand on her shoulder, tried not to feel completely useless as she kept speaking, trailing off to incoherence. She knew what this was about. She knew it and she couldn’t do anything about it, because the bastard who’d caused it was back in Barbados, minus an ear and three toes.

She wished they’d taken more. She wished she had the bastard at the end of her sword again, when she’d come back aboard to find him bargaining with Stede’s life like it was some trinket he’d lost, like she wasn’t worth anything. The look he’d put in Stede’s eyes made her lungs fucking burn . 

The ransom had been split evenly between the crew, as Stede muttered something about a seasonal bonus. She hadn’t taken a share; Ed had spent her own on new silk stockings and a set of jewelled hairpins, and thought of his scream as Jim sliced off his ear every time she wore them. 

Stede shivered awake between breaths, her eyes wide in an instant. “Fuck,” she whispered. “Oh, fuck, Ed. ” Her face crumpled. The look was back; Ed recognised it because she’d worn it herself. She’d seen it in the polished tin on her mother’s night table, the only mirror she could afford, the first night her father left bruises on her throat. 

“Shhh,” said Ed, frantic, as Stede clutched at her arms, fingernails scrabbling for purchase in her sleeves. Her own hands pulled Stede in by the shoulders, tucked her head underneath Ed’s chin. “Shhh, Stede, ‘s just a dream.”

It wasn’t, of course. Nothing just about dreams like that.

Stede nodded anyway, frantic, pressed her forehead into the hollow of Ed’s throat. Her breaths came in short bursts, marathon-tired. She hiccuped, once, twice, then sobbed.

Fuck. Did she do this every time? Had she cried while Ed slept, oblivious?

“Let it out,” she said, as Stede cried. She had a faint memory of her mother holding her like this, when she was very small. She’d cried at everything back then; the world was too big and loud and scary. She’d wanted to stay in her mother’s lap for her whole life, cheek pressed to the rough linen of her sleeve. Mum had called her Edie, voice gentle. She didn’t let anyone use that name, now. Ancient history.

Eventually, Stede stopped crying. She stayed slumped against Ed’s shoulder, lungs heavy, eyes closed.

“Sorry,” she said, into Ed’s nightshirt. “Sorry. Woke you up.”

Ed raised her eyebrows. “Don’t apologise for shit that’s not your fault,” she said. Then she winced, because that was probably a bit direct for someone who’d just cried her fucking eyes out. 

“You need to sleep,” mumbled Stede, still not looking at her. The worry lines on her forehead creased; Ed ran a thumb across them, gentle as she could manage. “Sleep debt, ‘s a serious issue.”

“I want to wake up when this happens,” said Ed. She cupped Stede’s face in her hand, tilted her head back until their eyes met. “We’re co-captains. I could co-captain the shit outta your nightmares, scare them off for good.”

Stede hiccuped again, then smiled weakly. “If only it were that easy.”

“Worth a try,” Ed replied. She kissed Stede on the forehead, dry lips against sweat-soaked skin. Stede sighed, tremulous. “You do it for me, love. ‘S a partnership.”

“That’s different,” said Stede. She bit her thumbnail, gnawing at the corner where it had split the day before. 

“Enlighten me,” Ed said. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. 

Her thumb brushed over Stede’s cheek. She’d had freckles in the summer months; they were still there, if you looked closely, which Ed usually did. 

Ed could almost see the gears turning in Stede’s head, trying to put words to the dark shadow in her chest.

“Let me try,” she offered, as Stede stuttered through a dozen sentences, never settling on one. “You think it’s different, because the things I dream about are bad, and scary, and the things you dream of aren’t that bad. In comparison.”

Stede winced. Direct hit, then.

“And that, my love,” Ed continued, still cradling Stede’s face in one hand. “Is such utter fucking shit.” She punctuated the words with another kiss, this time on the mouth. Couldn’t talk shit about herself if her mouth was occupied with kissing! Genius move there, Teach. 

Not that Stede wasn’t going to try. She was stubborn as all fuck. It was one of the many reasons Ed fell in love in the first place.

“You may be right,” said Stede, quietly. Oh, okay. “But –”

“Ah, ah, ah,” said Ed. She pressed her thumb to Stede’s mouth, vertical. “No buts. We’re not measuring dicks, here. Both of us can be big bad pirates with big bad dreams.”

“Right,” Stede said, Ed’s thumb still on her lips. “Right. Er.” 

Ed took pity. “Let’s unpick more in the morning.” Stede loved a good morning unpicking. “You want me to lay on you now?”

“God, yes,” said Stede, fervent. 

They did end up unpicking quite a bit, once they woke up. But before that, before Ed closed her eyes and buried her face in Stede’s shoulder, before Stede wound her arms around Ed’s waist – Ed pressed Stede back into the mattress, rough hands gentle. Chest to chest, legs tangled.

Stede took her first deep breath, slow enough that Ed could follow the feeling in her own lungs. “Love you,” she said, quietly. “So good to me.”

Ed’s face burned. “Just returning the favour.”

Chapter Text

A long shadow stretched across the floor of Stede’s cabin. Rain battered the windows behind her, a sound she usually found quite soothing.

Then, a hushed whisper. “Captain? You awake?”

Stede rolled over and leaned up on one elbow, squinting in the sudden light cast through the open doorway. “I am now,” she said, voice rough. “W’s the matter?”

Lucius stepped in from the main deck, one hand protecting his candle from the elements. “Well, er, it’s just that there’s a bit of a problem below decks.”

Stede rubbed at one eye with her fist, thoughts still treacle-slow. “You couldn’t sort it out yourself? Lucius, this ship encourages problem solving and team building through adversity.”

“Well, we did try ,” said Lucius. He’d come to sit on the chaise, his habitual spot in the cabin, and set the candle holder down on the nearest table. “Didn’t really work. And, er, now the whole sleeping bit needs drying out. Might take all night.”

An interruption: “The fuck happened there?”

“Oh, Ed,” said Stede. She reached back blindly and caught Ed’s hand in her own, smiled as Ed twined their fingers together. “Good point though.”

“Minor flooding incident,” said Lucius. “Sort of got… less minor, while we were arguing about fixing it. Now Roach is stuck with his fingers in the hole in the ceiling, and Wee John’s trying to wring out all the bedrolls in the rain. Sort of like that guy in the story you told us about pushing a big rock up a hill.”

It did sound a bit of a Sisyphean effort. “Alright,” said Stede. “Well, er. I suppose we’d better plug the hole with something other than Roach’s fingers.”

Lucius wiggled his wooden finger. “I did offer, but Black Pete didn’t want his hard work spoiled.”

Ed hummed in agreement. She’d sat up beside Stede and had her chin resting on Stede’s shoulder, one arm around her waist. “Could cover it with something up on deck.”

“That is… hideously obvious, isn’t it,” said Lucius. He shook his head. “This is why we love you Ed, honestly.” 

“And then,” said Stede, while Ed recovered emotionally from being reminded that people cared about her. “Then, I suppose you’d better get the crew in here.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” said Lucius. He grinned. “Sleepover in the captain’s quarters!” 

There were plenty of spare blankets in the auxiliary wardrobe, and she’d found the crew sleeping in literally every single one of her chairs at one point or another. It would be a bit cramped, but better than everyone catching cold in a damp room.

Lucius scurried off to the main deck; Stede heard the tell-tale sounds of a barrel being dragged across wooden boards, and then a ragged cheer from below decks. 

The auxiliary wardrobe welcomed her with open arms; Ed followed, because she never missed an opportunity to fondle a few silks.

“Sleepover, huh?” asked Ed, as Stede started piling blankets into her arms. Easier transport than a basket, and more handsome too. “Not familiar with the idea.”

“Oh, they’re quite fun,” said Stede. “Alma and Louis always enjoyed having them on a stormy night. Build a blanket fort, toast muffins on the fire, go to bed at a hideous hour and end up grumpy all the next day.” Alma had usually been in a fine temper the day after such excesses, but Stede had never had the heart to suggest going to bed earlier. 

“Hmm,” replied Ed. She inspected the pile in her arms with a thoughtful expression. “Blanket fort?”

“Might have to save that for another day,” said Stede. “But I think we could certainly manage quite a magnificent example of the form.” Shelves emptied, she returned to the main cabin just as the crew emerged from below decks.

Buttons waved at her through the door. The rain was still falling, even as the wind began to die down. “I’ll stay on deck,” he shouted cheerfully. Stede was used to his nudity by this point, but it still made her wince when she saw him starkers on such a cold night. “Cannae pass up a chance tae bathe in the moonglow on such a fine night!”

Stede saluted him and tried to suppress her feelings of deep scepticism. Buttons was a fine sailor but she had a terrible feeling she’d never actually understand him as a person.

The rest of the crew crammed into her quarters with audible relief.

“Thanks for this, captains,” said Olu, as he and Jim started constructing a sort of blanket nest underneath the desk. “Wasn’t looking forward to sleeping down there tonight.” Jim nodded in agreement, although only after Olu elbowed them in the side.

“It was no trouble,” said Stede, although really she was still smarting a bit from having to wake up from a quite lovely dream. “Always good to have a bit of group bonding time.”

Lucius gave her a thumbs up for that one; he was pressed firmly to Black Pete’s chest and looked extremely pleased about it. 

She surveyed the rest of the crew, clearly all half-asleep and very ready to drift off. Frenchie and Wee John had claimed a corner in the library with half of the cushions in the room. Roach was curled up like a cat beneath a heavy crocheted eiderdown, cuddling a pillow to his chest and looking almost angelically serene in sleep. Fang had insinuated himself into Pete and Lucius’s cuddle, arms around both of them, while Ivan lay peacefully, flat on his back, closest to the door. 

Ed, of course, was in their bed, snuggled up beneath their blankets, strands of hair already beginning to escape from her plaits. Stede draped a blanket over Fang, feeling oddly maternal about a man at least a decade older than her, and went gratefully to bed.

“Night, love,” she said, as Ed wriggled closer, pressing her nose into Stede’s throat. “Night, everyone.”

"Goodnight, captain," said the crew. A mumbled chorus of goodnights to specific people followed, until Jim very politely asked everyone to shut the fuck up so they could get to sleep. Then they said goodnight to Olu, and set everyone off again.

"This is so stupid," mumbled Ed.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," said Stede.