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1.
Stede stocks the dinghy carefully: fresh water and rations for a week, two jars of jam, his favourite cravat from the chest of drawers at home, a small journal, and the gold coins Doug had insisted he take from the house, a meagre shadow of the wealth left behind.
He told Ed once that he would give it all up to be like Blackbeard. In hindsight, even then something within him had leapt at the thought, something long-forgotten; a visceral response to Ed’s eyes on him that wasn’t only about professional admiration.
And now - Stede has given it all up. Finally.
Should’ve done long ago.
He wades into the water with a sense of peace that has only rarely shown itself in his life, born as it is of actual courage. Stede has, at times, acted strong or just or even daring. But today he was honest, and did all that was needed to set things right, to leave no carnage in his wake as he goes on living. It feels good, to know he can do that.
It feels like possibility. If Ed will let him try.
My Wondrous Journey: A Life at Sea, Volume 2:
Gentle reader, your captain is a dead man walking rowing, and yet I have never felt more alive. The open sea calls to me like a gull’s song under the full moon, and naught but opportunity and wanton mayhem await. This hope is, however, tempered by the chill of my own stupidity. I can only pray that I may be forgiven for my delayed understanding of the truest gift my life at sea has provided me: love.
Weather: Clear
Piracy: 0
The truth of what he finds on the island, and the story behind it told in pieces by the sun-drunk crew, is of course much, much worse than the vague placeholder fantasy Stede’d let himself install in the part of his mind labeled Ed. Of course he wouldn’t have waited around. Of course he would be angry, erratic, lashing out. Awful of Stede to have hoped for anything else, but of course he had, selfish, soft thing that he is.
They row back to shore in the dinghy two by two, like Noah’s ark. It takes all day and into the evening, the last of them landing on shore at dusk: a motley crew surviving the flood.
“Well then, lads!” Stede claps his hands. “It seems we’ve found ourselves in a pickle!”
The crew looks at him, less delirious now they’ve had a sip of water or two and torn through the bare-bones provisions meant for one, but still sunburnt and grumpy.
“I’d like a pickle myself,” Wee John offers, and the rest nod vigorously
“Could use a snack.”
“Bit peckish.”
“I’m sorry I tried to eat you, Swede, you know how I get when I’m hungry.”
The Swede squeezes Buttons’ shoulder. “We’ve all said and done things we don’t mean when we’re in a bad mood, I think.”
Stede beams at them. “Good communication! Oluwande, would you be so kind as to lead the way for additional provisions? I would gladly go myself, only I’ve died quite gruesomely, you see, and I’d hate to undermine a successful fuckery.”
Oluwande gives him a long-suffering look, but rises to his feet, gesturing for Pete to follow. They trudge away along the beach toward the lights at the base of the wharf, and the others arrange themselves on the sand with exhausted sighs.
“Of course, I’m happy to build the fire for us,” says Stede, surveying the crew, and spends the next half hour asking Buttons detailed questions about the steps of building a fire.
Eventually, Oluwande and Pete return, laden with ale and bread and meat and cheese from the pub. It’s simple but it will do.
They sit around the fire, chewing furiously amid the crackle of wood and soft rush of ocean waves behind them, and for the first time that day, there’s nothing to keep Ed from Stede’s mind. It makes him ache to think how lovely Ed would look in firelight against the night sky. It makes him ache to think of Ed at sea alone - well, not alone, but not the two of them together - heartbroken and probably out of the good marmalade. Stede recalls now the ache of watching Ed with Calico Jack through the telescope, believing he’d left for good. How could he not have realized?
This love lives deep in him, in his bones, and he’d had it so easy until now, always near enough to Ed to keep him comfortable. Now, the pull of missing him is almost too much to bear.
But bear it he will. A good captain must think of his crew first, and so he reluctantly turns his mind to what they’ll need.
“Now, then,” he says to the crew when they’ve finished eating. “We’ll need a plan. Any thoughts? Remember, no bad ideas in brainstorming.”
Roach raises his hand. “We kill someone and steal their ship.”
“Bold, I like it! Anyone else?”
“What if we took people hostage and stole their ship?” suggests Wee John.
“Okay, sure, how about - ”
“Is anyone good at poker? We could challenge someone to a high stakes game at the pub and win their ship,” says the Swede, to a round of nods.
Oluwande pipes up, “Easiest would just be to disguise ourselves as part of someone’s crew, con them, then take over the ship when they least expect it.”
“Oh, good one!”
“Nice!”
“I want a fancy disguise.”
“Enough!” Stede shouts over the men, and they fall silent. “Very good cooperative thinking! Always a strength of this crew. I can’t help but notice, though, all of these ideas are variants on stealing a ship. Not much variety.”
There’s a pause.
“Well, aye, Cap’n, what else can we do? I’ve no other skill set,” says Buttons. The others mutter a chorus of agreement.
“We’re pirates, Captain,” Olu says firmly. “That’s what you came back to be, right?”
Stede nods, butterflies building in his stomach. “Right you are. Well then.” He looks around at his crew - a few missing for now, but soon to be back where they belong - and grins. “We are a pirate crew, in need of an ill-gotten ship. Onward!”
Reader,
Much has changed in such little time. Fortune smiled upon me and I chanced upon a deserted isle where my crew had been cruelly abandoned! Of course, I sprang into action and led them to safety with only my own humble oars, as is a captain’s duty. Unfortunately, terrible news accompanied this luck: our ship has been taken over, with three members of our crew forced to helm her alongside Edward Black the dread pirate Blackbeard.
We will take to the seas and track their whereabouts by any means necessary. The crew of the Revenge does not surrender easily! Not even when marooned, arrested, or terribly hungry.
This vengeful pirate horde descended on the port this evening under cover of darkness, armed with only our cunning and some large rocks. Of course, we have strategic expertise in trickery, illusions, deceit, foul play, and all manner of fuckery, and this allowed us to board a ship with a minimum of bloodshed. Only two men remained aboard the creaky but overall serviceable ship, and they were quickly dispatched.
The Gentleman Pirate has returned, and his legacy shall be heard anew. We set sail tonight on the Antelope, helmed no longer by Captain Barrett but by Bonnet, an easily engraved change.
What a gift it is to be back at sea together.
Weather: Cloudy
Piracy: Moderate
2.
In the end, it’s Fang and Ivan who step up to put an end to the whole business, because clearly no one else will.
They share the third-nicest room on the ship, after the captain’s quarters and the smaller space next door that Izzy’s claimed for himself. It’s quite cozy, though, and they’ve always been good bunkmates. The two of them have been thick as thieves ever since the doggy incident of 1710, when Ivan had been the only one to clap Fang on the back and tell him it was okay to be sad (“just don’t let anyone see you cry, or they’ll chop your balls off”).
Their longest-running argument was whether Izzy was in love with Blackbeard or just wanted to be him, and it said a lot that after years, the argument had finally come to a conclusive end.
“D’you see it now, then?” Fang had asked Ivan several weeks into them being on board the Revenge, and Ivan had sighed from his bed, hanging off it and looking at Fang upside down.
“Yep. Fuck, you were right all along. I should’ve listened, you’ve always been the emotionally intelligent one on this crew.”
“I know,” Fang said, smiling. “Blackbeard’s never been like this with anyone before. He’s so happy.”
“Did you see them having tea together? Fucking adorable.”
“Aw, yeah, they’ve got a whole breakfast routine going.” Fang rested his chin on his hands. “Poor Izzy. He’s so grumpy about it.”
“Guess he’s a bit heartbroken.” Ivan thought for a moment. “D’you think it would make him feel better if I gave him first crack at the eyeballs on our next raid?”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you! He loves gouging.”
“I just want him to know he’s not alone, you know? Even if Blackbeard’s going to maim with Bonnet now, he still has us.”
Fang reached across the narrow space between their beds to touch the tip of Ivan’s nose fondly. “You’re a good mate.”
Perhaps it spoke to their optimism, or, less charitably, to their naïveté despite years at sea, that neither of them had expected things to go this badly. Not at all.
-
“Psst,” Ivan whispers into the dark, once the ship has quieted and the only sound is the wind and spray against the hull. Only scraps of Bonnet’s crew remain, along with the four of them.
“What?” whispers Fang. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine, I just - do you feel good about all this? I don’t feel good about this.” Ivan tugs the blanket up over his head, only leaving out his face to see the silhouette of Fang rolling over.
“About what? Izzy being a dick? Ed being fucking miserable? Just tossing out half the crew with no plan?”
“Yeah, uh, all of it. All of that.”
Fang scoffs. “No, I don’t feel fucking good about it! This is a disaster, mate.”
“I know,” Ivan whispers fiercely. “Makes me sad to see Izzy peer pressuring Ed like this, you know? The turtle - ”
“The turtle!” says Fang. “Looked like he was going to cry when he bit the head off. No joy in it at all.”
“I don’t want to go back to the way things were.” Ivan flops over to stare up at the dark ceiling, closer to his face than he’d like. The rooms feel too small these days. “It’s no fun. I liked it best when we had everyone around. Lucius said he was going to sketch me, you know?”
“Really? Oh, what a shame.”
“Right, but what can we do? We can’t mutiny. We can’t somehow get Captain Bonnet back from wherever he fucked off to.”
“Well, let’s at least do some recon,” Fang offers. “Find out what the word is about him and the crew, right? Maybe someone’s heard something.”
“Yeah, all right. We’ll land at Montego Bay in a few days, maybe we can split up, one of us distracts Izzy and the other one can get some info on the ground.”
“Oooh, you’re good at this.”
“We are,” Ivan corrects. “We can do this.”
-
In Montego Bay, Ivan talks Izzy into going sword shopping, Blackbeard hasn’t even left the ship yet because he’s fucking miserable, and Fang sets out to make friends in low places.
The bartender in the first run-down place he visits doesn’t know anything. The second is the same. At the third, Fang sits down at the bar and gets another two fingers of rum he doesn’t really need, along with a blank look in response to the words Stede Bonnet or Gentleman Pirate. He tosses back the liquor and reaches over the bartop to steal a hunk of bread when the staff isn’t looking, because pirates do thievery, and also he needs a snack.
He heads into the back to take a piss before going on to the next grimiest place on this block, and walks right into Oluwande.
“Oh, fuck,” Oluwande says, clearly panicked. “I’m out of here.”
Fang steps on his Croc to keep him from moving. “Not yet,” he mutters. “I need to talk to you. Come on.” He looks around to make sure no one is looking, but absolutely no one in the bar seems less than disastrously, somnolently drunk except Buttons, whose wide bug-eyes have popped up in the corner to stare at them.
Oluwande holds up a finger, telling Buttons to give him a minute, and leads Fang out a back door to the supremely fragrant alley.
“Well? Come to kidnap us to a new deserted island, then?”
“Nah, course not! Sorry about that.” Fang really is; Oluwande was always one of his favourites, and really would make a great captain.
“Bit of a dick move, is all. One day we’re all about to mutiny together and the next you’re back on side with Izzy? Which is it, mate?”
“I know, I know,” says Fang, looking down and dragging his toe in the dirt. “It’s just, Blackbeard was so upset and Izzy really knows how to get him going, and the two of them together, they’re just - a lot, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess,” says Oluwande hesitantly. “Look, just tell me, is Jim okay? And Frenchie, and Lucius?”
“They’re fine, they’re fine, don’t worry.”
Oluwande seems to relax just a bit. “What’re you doing now, then?”
“Well, this is perfect!” Fang leans in closer to whisper. “Me and Ivan, we’ve been trying to sort this out - we all miss you guys - ”
“Oh, that’s nice - ”
“Yeah, and Blackbeard’s still a mess, so we figured we’d put our ear to the ground and see what’s what, come up with a plan. But here you are! Is Captain Bonnet with you?”
“Yeah, he is. But what are you thinking? I don’t want anyone stabbed. Or maimed,” Oluwande says firmly.
“Nah, course not. None of that. We just figure we’ve got to get the two of them in the same room so they can work their shit out, right?”
Oluwande slowly nods. “Right. Okay, good idea.”
“Can’t go on like this.”
“It’s lovely to have him back,” Oluwande says, “don’t get me wrong, but the brooding - ”
“Oh, my god, the brooding.”
“Right? Constant! Bad vibes.” Fang pulls a face and Oluwande grins. “Come on, then. When can we do this?”
“As far as I’m concerned, as soon as possible. Bring him over to the ship in an hour, I’ll take all the swords and shit out of the room and just fucking - make them talk.”
Oluwande winks. “Aye, aye. We’re on it.”
Fang slips out of the alley and power walks back toward the ship, planning what he’ll say to Blackbeard - maybe a vague story at first about a merchant or some new crew member looking for an interview, then he’ll tell the truth right beforehand, so Blackbeard doesn’t have a chance to overthink it.
“You better appreciate this, cap’n,” he mutters to himself, and walks a little faster as the ship comes into sight.
3.
Stede knows the Revenge can’t have gotten far, but he doesn’t expect it to be quite this easy. Lucky for him, it seems that a number of people have taken it upon themselves to bring him and Ed together. He feels a bit silly and young to need all this shepherding, but he’s grateful for it.
Stede’s flooded with adrenaline the whole walk down the wharf from the Antelope to his own former ship, palms sweating and breath coming tight and shallow.
“It’ll be fine, Cap’n, go on then.” Oluwande seems quite optimistic about the whole thing, so Stede takes the cue from him. “Thank you.”
The nerves begin to abate as he walks onto the ship, descends the familiar stairs and approaches a closed door, behind which Edward sits. Doubtless furious with him, but also hurting, and so Stede doesn’t hesitate before opening the door.
Ed is there, sitting at the table where they had toast together. He’s disheveled, his hair wild, face smeared with kohl and beard starting to grow out in a lovely greyish stubble. In leather head to toe. He looks thinner. Bouncing his knee a bit but trying to look calm, holding tight to a glass of something golden.
Oh, my dear. “Oh, Ed.”
He’s immediately interrupted. “It’s Blackbeard.”
Ed doesn’t look him in the eye. Stede sits down next to him, close as he dares, which isn’t very close at all.
“Blackbeard. I - I’m so sorry I didn’t come. I can explain. You look - are you all right?”
Ed chuckles, cold. “I’m grand, thanks.”
“I found the crew you left. On that island.”
At that, Ed stills.
“They were still alive?” Stede might just be listening too hard for something he wants to hear, but Ed’s voice sounds a little relieved.
“They were, no thanks to you. But they were honestly more worried about you than anything. It sounds like you were having a rough go.”
Ed’s jaw clenches. “None of their fucking business.”
“They said you did the toes thing.”
“Just having a laugh,” Ed says dismissively, but his knuckles have gone pale around the glass and his is leg bouncing again, faster. “Look, what the fuck is this about?”
“I thought you didn’t want to live like that anymore,” Stede tries, and maybe that was too bold of him, too soon.
Ed looks at him, eyes wild.
In a split second, he’s up on his feet and hurls the glass at the wall, shattering crystal everywhere.
“Don’t tell me what I wanted! You did this to me,” he yells. “You made me soft, and then you broke my fucking heart. So I went back to what worked!”
Stede’s heart is racing but he deliberately doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t want to do that to him.
“Did it really work?” Stede asks quietly.
Blackbeard scoffs. “‘Course it fucking worked, I’ve stayed alive longer than any other pirate at sea.” Glass crunches under his boots. “It’s who I am.”
Stede just looks at him for a moment, thinking.
“Of course. You are Blackbeard. Terrifying, scourge of ships everywhere, et cetera.”
His tone is careful, and he goes on, choosing his words. “But…you can be soft too, can’t you? Nothing wrong with that. Even Blackbeard should get to be a multidimensional character, right?”
Ed slumps, and Stede feels like maybe he’s hit the right nerve, this time. Ed throws himself back in the chair. “Yeah, well, it fucking hurts, you dickhead,” he snaps, but it’s in a more familiar tone, less icy-cold, more the one Stede’s heard before when Ed’s in a bad mood but doesn’t necessarily want to stay there.
“I know. But that’s my fault for hurting you, not yours for being able to feel it.”
Ed looks away and Stede very politely does not notice him blinking back tears, thumbing the corner of his eye.
He sighs, sounding tired. “Why the fuck are you even back? What do you want from me?”
What do I want?
The lamplight casts Ed’s face in deep shadow, and Stede isn’t sure his body has ever wanted anything more than to touch Ed’s face, his cheek, run his fingers through silver hair and tell him that he’s lovely and perfect and gorgeous. He feels quite stupid, though in a different way than before when it was about looting and fencing and all that, because - well. This is how it’s supposed to feel. How he was supposed to think about Mary when he looked at her. All the books and poems said so, said it was just like this, all the wanting and aching and touching someone’s pretty face and everything. Stede just thought it didn’t apply to him.
“Well, ah, the whole thing is a bit of a long story. But it’s just that, ah - ”
“Spit it out.”
“Well. I had to come back. I said before that you make me happy.” Stede takes a deep breath. “But really what I meant was I’m in love with you. I didn’t say that bit because I was a bit slow and I, ah, hadn’t realized it yet? Didn’t really know what it was, I suppose.”
Ed is staring at him. He hasn’t blinked or moved, which is a bit weird, but he also hasn’t interrupted or punched Stede, which has to be promising. So Stede keeps going, because he’s already dead and hasn’t really got anything to lose. Being honest feels quite nice, actually.
“Anyway, I went home for a bit because I felt quite terrible about abandoning my family and then sort of ruining your life, but then it turned out everyone was much happier without me, which was a relief. Mary’s doing quite well, she’s a painter now. So we faked my death so I could come back to find you, and since you asked me what I want, I suppose I’d just like to spend the rest of my life with you. See if I can still make you happy. Preferably on the sea, but I’m flexible, might be nice to have a garden or something eventually.”
Ed’s still staring.
“I’m very sorry I stood you up. Please don’t stab me.”
“You didn’t ruin my life,” Ed says, finally, softly.
Stede lets out the breath he was holding in the silence. “Oh, good. I didn’t think so once I’d calmed down a bit, but it was quite convincing in the moment.”
Ed narrows his eyes, confused.
“Oh, Badminton dragged me out of bed and tried to murder me, yelled at me quite a bit. Said some very hurtful things.”
It seems to percolate for a minute, and then Ed’s up on his feet, knife out. Stede barely has time to blink but Ed’s turning away, and does this rather odd thing where he stabs the wood of the wall and makes a sound like he’s laughing or crying or a bit of both.
“All right?” Stede asks dumbly, knowing it’s a ridiculous question.
Ed knocks his head against the wall next to the knife and just stays there, sort of leaning, his shoulders sagging. “That was - Jesus Christ, Stede, never seen a man inflict that much fucking emotional whiplash at once.”
“Oh dear, I do apologize - ”
“Nah, it was impressive. And, you know. I asked.”
They’re both silent for a long minute.
“So, er,” Stede says hesitantly. “What now?”
Ed shrugs, still not looking up. “I don’t know. I need some time to get my head straight. Figure it out.”
“Oh, yeah, right, of course. Head on straight. Very important. You do that. Er, how much time do you think - ”
Ed yanks the knife out of the wood and leaves, his heavy footsteps echoing down the narrow port hallway.
Fang pokes his head in, looking hopeful. “Well?”
“I dunno, you tell me. He said he needed time.”
“Well, better than stabbing you,” says Ivan, and Stede groans.
The sea is calm but there are turbulent waters within. We made landfall in Montego Bay earlier today, and as chance would have it, we have arrived in port at the same time as the Revenge. Members of its current crew who shall remain nameless orchestrated a meeting between myself and Blackbeard. Tensions ran high, as you may imagine - and yet, what a relief it was to see his dear face.
Reader, I love him.
4.
Ed paces in his room (their room? Oh, god) for about twenty minutes alone before he caves.
“Fang! Ivan!” he hisses up the stairs, and the two of them scramble below decks before Izzy returns to check on their progress hauling munitions.
“We thought it would help!” Fang shouts as soon as they’re in the door, and Ivan elbows him, hard. “What? I’m just advocating for us!”
“We’re very sorry for meddling, Captain,” Ivan says, looking down at his feet. Doubtless worried about the toes he might lose.
“Oh, shut up, I’m not angry with you,” Blackbeard says, locking the door behind them. “I need your help, all right?”
Fang’s eyes light up. “Oh! Oh, of course.”
“Captain Bonnet has returned, along with the rest of his crew.” He fills them in on the whole story, from when they were removed from the ship by the English to when Blackbeard returned alone, and the conversation he’d had with Stede today.
“Wow,” Ivan breathes once it’s all out.
Fang sniffles a bit. “Such a tragic story. So romantic.”
“How is it romantic? He fucking jilted me!”
“To be fair, it was quite a lot of pressure on him,” Ivan says.
“Pressure? The fuck do you mean?” asks Ed.
Fang chimes in. “Well, you just went through this harrowing ordeal - ”
“Quite harrowing - ”
“ - and he’s found out his family declared him dead, so he’s trying, you know, to come to terms with it all. Then you kiss him once and immediately ask him to commit to faking an entire new life together, without any of his crew? In China?”
Ed rolls his eyes. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds awfully dramatic.”
“Is there another way to put it?” Fang asks, and Ed doesn’t really have an answer.
“Shit, you’re right.”
He flops down on the couch with a frustrated groan. “I just - I knew exactly what I wanted, and he didn’t. Fine, fuck him. I got used to that. And now - what, am I supposed to just forget about it, go back to how things were?”
“Well, no,” Ivan says, sitting down in the overstuffed chintz armchair opposite him. “You can’t go back. You can only go forward, right?”
Fang joins Ed on the couch, patting his leg. “Right. It’s a chance to start again, and be honest with each other about how you feel.”
“Fuck off, you two sound like Lucius,” Ed mutters, and then gasps. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck balls fuck. He’s going to be so mad about Lucius.” He punches the couch and covers his face, muffling his words. “I shoved him overboard. That was so dramatic, too. Am I dramatic?”
Fang shoots Ivan a can you believe this? look, and rubs Ed’s ankle comfortingly. “Well, yes, captain.” He hastens to add, “But that’s okay! It’s not a bad thing. It makes you very good at fuckery, and piracy. And Captain Bonnet is quite, um, theatrical himself. So it’s nice you have that in common.”
“He is, he’s so good at pageantry and things,” mumbles Ed from behind his hands.
Ivan leans forward. “Don’t worry about Lucius either, alright?”
“Don’t worry? I killed him!”
“Shh!” Ivan leans over to check there’s no Izzy-shaped shadow lurking in the doorway, and lowers his voice. “He’s not dead. We found him in one of the hidden passageways last week, Jim had been sneaking him rations. Told us a mermaid saved him, but he’s just fucking with us.”
“Is not,” Fang loudly whispers.
“Is too!”
“Is not - ”
“I need him,” Ed says, sitting up. “Bring him to me.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, now! I need to start again, so I’m starting again. But he has to help.”
“Uh, I don’t know if he’s going to want to help you after the whole, you know, overboard incident,” says Fang.
“Well, I’m going to fucking apologize, aren’t I? Shit happens between pirates. Come on, I have an idea.”
Lucius is duly summoned, and shuffles into the room looking pale and resentful.
“Oh. It’s you,” he says, his voice flat.
“Yeah, well, I heard you weren’t dead. Which is good.”
Lucius somehow manages to shift his face to look even more unimpressed. “Oh, yes, I’m quite a big fan of not being dead myself. Well done everyone.”
“Look - ” Ed sighs, trying not to get defensive. It was unforgivably rude of him. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry I did that. Pushed you overboard, I mean. Uh, I was - I was in a bit of a state, you know, and I did some things I regret - ”
“Great, thanks,” Lucius snaps. “What do you need from me? I was summoned - ” he rolls his eyes “ - urgently.”
Ed is very impressed with himself for not being a dick right back. “I need to write a letter. To Captain Bonnet.”
At this, Lucius perks up. “Is he back? No! What happened?”
“He’s in harbour here. Look, I just need to write a message, and then you can deliver it yourself, and everyone’s happy, yeah?”
“Well, this is very exciting,” Lucius says with an air of delight, crossing to sit at the oversized walnut desk.
“Please, tell me all the juicy things you’d like to write to him.” He dips a quill in ink and winks. “Ready when you are.”
Ed crosses his arms and starts slowly pacing. “Alright, um, Dear - no, To Captain Stede Bonnet. Uh, what next - Here is one of your crew as a gesture of good will. Sorry I tried to drown him a bit, I didn’t mean it.”
He pauses, and Lucius gestures for him to go on. “Outstanding start, great hook for the reader.”
“Right. Um, I appreciated the things you said to me today. Please come over for tea tomorrow morning. That’s it, I guess. How do you sign off one of these things?”
Lucius peers up from where he seems to be scribbling an awful lot for the short sentences Ed gave him. “Yours truly? Fondest regards? How do you usually sign off?”
“With an X, or maybe a skull drawn with blood, you know, something menacing.”
“Alright, we’ll go with fondest regards.” Lucius writes another line, then blows gently on the page to dry the ink. “Perfect.”
Dear Captain Bonnet,
This is Lucius. Blackbeard is dictating a letter to you and thinks I’m writing it. What the hell happened? He was so pathetically broken-hearted when he came back that he made me take down sad song lyrics. He was eating marmalade out of the jar and wearing your robe, it was sickening. Then he moved into his black eyeshadow angry phase and literally PUSHED ME OFF the ship (which I think he genuinely regrets but I’m going to make him feel bad about for a while). He’s been SUCH a dick. Please work this out for the good of literally everyone around you who has to deal with this chaos. He wants you to come over for tea in the morning. THIS MAN IS IN LOVE WITH YOU.
Fondest regards ☠☠☠
5.
Ed barely sleeps that night, which is ridiculous because a) he spent last month having tea with Stede every morning and b) he’s fucking Blackbeard. So this is nothing at all to be nervous about.
He turns over and punches the poor maligned pillow for about the eighteenth time, squeezing his eyes shut. Christ, this is ridiculous. Why -
Then the penny drops. Last time he asked Stede to meet him, he got left behind on a sad little dock with his sad little dinghy. “Ah, fuck,” he murmurs into the bedsheets, halfheartedly attempting to smother himself with no success.
The thing is: Ed’s been alive on borrowed time for years, always one misadventure or wrong step away from gruesome death, and he did it by being Blackbeard. These days, he’s still trying, but he’s not the Blackbeard he used to be. Not before Stede saw right through him, looked at him and saw Edward instead of a caricature (one that bears similarities to his father he’d rather not think about).
There are parts of Ed that feel at home in the Blackbeard mythos: parts that are cutthroat and aggressive, that live for ridiculous thrills and dangerous adventures. But there are also parts of him that surfaced on the Revenge after long years buried at sea. The abysmal yearning for fine things, for soft things, for beautiful things. The love of simple pleasures that don’t leave him hungover or bleeding. The part of him that hums melodies and thinks of some words to go with them; the part that might like to learn to read or tend a garden or do that thing with the flowers in his hair again.
All the parts that want to be loved; that are tired, so tired, of hiding from himself and everyone around him.
Stede saw him. And then he turned away.
It’s why Ed can’t sleep, because he doesn’t think he’ll survive it again.
He dozes off and on till the first shades of violet and pink start to rise on the horizon, and then he gets up. Dresses carefully, letting himself choose based on what feels best instead of what might be most intimidating, and lands on something simple: leather trousers, the cravat that hasn’t left his neck in weeks, and a thin shirt that matches the colour of the sky. Stede told him he looked good in jewel tones once, whatever the fuck that meant.
Up on deck, Ed climbs as high as he can to sit in the crow’s nest. It’s his favourite place on the ship, better even than the luxurious captain’s quarters or the prow where if you stand at the right angle, it feels like you’re flying over the surface of the sea. Up here, he can see everything from where he sits, snug against the cool wood. Including -
Ed pulls out his telescope and raises it to his eye. Something in his stomach leaps gracelessly, half taking his breath away, when he confirms that glint of blonde hair is indeed real. Stede, in the crow’s nest of his own ship, sitting against the wood. He’s wearing light blue. He’s lovely. Ed is up on his feet in a moment, waving at the tiny figure. It takes a minute, but then he spies Stede pulling out his own telescope to look closer, and the bright smile that unfolds on his faraway face when he sees Ed. Stede waves back.
In about twenty minutes, Stede is there, looking up at Ed in the crow’s nest.
“Can I come up?”
“Yeah, come on,” Ed calls, and watches him climb. Feels like he’s about to float away. Stede gets up and settles himself there against the wood, now warming in the sun, close enough in the cramped space that they almost touch.
“You came,” says Ed, and he really wanted to be a bit less obvious about it, but he can hear the relief in his own voice.
“Of course I did. Not a mistake I’ll repeat ever again, if I can help it.”
Ed can’t look away. Here in the early sun, in the place where Stede woke him with breakfast for the first time, on the ship where he fell in love, Ed cannot bring himself to hide. Doesn’t have it in him.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, and Stede smiles at him, so handsome Ed could shout it to the whole port.
“Neither could I,” Stede says. “I was up there watching the sun rise. Waiting till it seemed like a polite enough time to come.”
“I’ll make you tea,” Ed offers.
“That would be lovely. But can we stay up here for a little longer? I do like this part of the ship. Fond memories.”
“Of course.”
They sit quietly, watching the clouds, for a few minutes. Ed isn’t sure what to say or where to start. I’m in love with you too. I haven’t hurt like that since I was a boy, and I hate you for it. Do you see that cloud? Tell me what it looks like to you. Tell me what’s in your heart. Tell me you love me again. I’m frightened you’ll stay and hurt me again but I’m more frightened you’ll leave. Don’t leave.
Stede starts it for them.
“There’s so much I want to tell you, but I don’t know what you’ll want to hear from me.” Stede looks at him. “Where should I start?”
Ed looks back. “Tell me something. A good story.”
“I know just the thing. There was a leopard named Ned, you see, and that gave me an idea - oh, I thought of you the whole time it was happening, Ed, you would have loved it - there was so much fake blood, and everyone put in such a good effort to pull it off…”
It’s such a comfort to hear Stede’s voice, to hear him saying Ed in that fond, excited tone, that Ed could cry. He doesn’t, though, he just listens to this silly, strange, brilliant man tell him about a three-act fuckery that would make Shakespeare weep, and slowly edges his hand closer to cover Stede’s smallest finger with his own.
“…and so I swapped the corpses and I was off! Mary drafted a very rousing speech for after the piano. The whole thing was quite satisfying. Of course, I have to credit you with the inspiration that began it all.”
Stede edges his hand closer, too, just a little.
“That’s, honestly, that’s really fucking cool, mate. Absolute lunacy. So elaborate. I love it.”
Ed’s hand fully covers Stede’s, now, and he gently squeezes.
“Will you tell me something? A good story?”
“Oh, well, I haven’t done anything quite as exciting as that lately. But there was the time we raided a ship and let them think they killed me, and then my ghost was haunting them.”
“No!” Stede exclaims with genuine delight. “How?”
Ed tells the story, embellishing just a little to emphasize the drama, but in truth he probably doesn’t need to. Stede has turned his hand up and is gently stroking Ed’s skin with his thumb, hanging on his every word, laughing and gasping at all the right moments.
Is this what it feels like?
“Stede,” he starts, after the story has concluded. “Yesterday - did you mean it? What you said?”
“Well, yes, I meant all of it, but which part do you mean?”
Ed looks out onto the water because he can’t quite bear to watch Stede’s face when he answers. “The part where you said that you were in love with me.”
“Oh. Oh, Ed, of course I meant it. I adore you. Can I say that now? Is that too much?”
The horizon blurs a little and Ed blinks, clears his throat. It’s not too much.
“No, it’s, uh, it’s okay.”
Ed’s never been this terrified and this happy. Not even on the beach. That moment echoes into this one, but now there’s something different about both of them, something more careful and yet more certain. Stede doesn’t pause or couch his words in I think, I think this time. He’s sure.
“I’ll say it as much as you let me, then.”
Ed fidgets, looking down at his hands. “We can’t, you know, just go back to how it was.”
“No,” Stede agrees. “But we could start again. If you wanted.”
“We could?”
Stede smiles, warm as anything. “I could, if you could.”
“I think - ” Ed swallows, and looks at Stede, the sun making him look like a fucking angel or something. “I think I might like that.”
“I would love that,” Stede says, and Ed believes him.
6.
Eventually, they make their way down to the captain’s quarters, where Ed will serve them tea in the few mismatched cups he didn’t throw overboard. Before that, though, he backs Stede up against the wall and kisses him for the second time.
It’s meant to be a short moment, but it doesn’t end up that way. Not when Stede is making tiny little sounds in his throat as he cups Edward’s face, touches his hair, tries to press closer. Ed puts a little more weight into holding him there and Stede moans, his tongue in Ed’s mouth. He smells like lavender and salt water, his hair soft against Ed’s cheek. When the time is right, Ed is going to take him to bed and not let him leave for a week.
Ed gentles their kisses, slowly pulls away, and leads them over to the table.
He’s going to have tea with Stede Bonnet this morning, before anything else.
7.
Reader -
I write today aboard my own familiar vessel once more, the Revenge. What a journey it has been! But now a path lies clear before us: our dreaded vengeful pirate horde captained by the terrifying Gentleman Pirate and the infamous Blackbeard himself, roaming the seas leaving mayhem and mischief in our wake.
Earlier this same week, the renowned pirates Blackbeard and Hands met personally to strike a deal. This was a historic agreement, and the two emerged from this lengthy meeting to bid one another farewell with an embrace. The two have long sailed together, and whether the rumours of one or both shedding a tear are true, I cannot say for sure. I do know the Antelope will be capably sailed by Captain Hands, and his crew shall be fearsome indeed.
Reader, I am lucky indeed. To have not one, but two chances to lead this life at sea seems more than enough, and yet I have more to be thankful for: a crew I call not only employees but, indeed, friends; and a co-captain with whom I plan to spend the rest of my days.
To those days ahead. Onward!