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Alma Bonnet lets the salty wind play with her neatly braided hair, the strength of it whipping into the layered skirt.
Her heart is racing, pounding against her ribcage.
She hasn't seen her father in eight years.
Her dad, yes. Doug was even offering to come along as emotional support when her mother looked green in the face at the prospect of weeks at sea. Doug, dad, is a good parent. Alma is lucky to have him. So is Louis. He was so little when their father had disappeared in the middle of the night, and he doesn't reflect much on it. To him, Doug is their dad, and that's quite all right.
Anyway, it's not like Alma feels broken, or parted in half. She doesn't feel without a dad, when she has Doug. Besides, her mother is more than enough of a parent.
Still.
Alma needs closure. She needs to know.
Two months before she's to be wed, Alma managed to convince her fiance to let her go on a journey on the sea, which was a hard earned bargain.
Her reason for doing so is officially to buy a special piece of silk for her wedding dress.
Her unofficial reason…
Years ago, back when she and Stede Bonnet had taken up a sporadic exchange of letters, he'd written an address of sorts, a port in which he usually lay anchor. The last letter is dated from one year ago. Since then, she's traced his whereabouts from there, asking the owners and the locals, getting maps and rumours.
Now here she is, not long before she's to be married off to a duke. He's only two years older than her, thankfully, and he's fun, not as uptight and sadistic as most boys their age. He's kind, and seems to trust her. Her mother made sure to find a match for her that would be best for her.
Alma's heart squeezes, longing to be home.
She eventually finds herself on an island, right outside the main port of the fishing town by the coast.
There's a ship docked by the shore - a small pier and a tiny house on the beach. There's a dinghy next to the ship, too, and it sways in the rocking of the waves.
She steps onto the pier, footsteps loud in the early morning quiet. This must be it. She must have got it right, or else these past few weeks have been a colossal waste of time. Well, not exactly a waste - the sleuthing she's been forced to do has been quite fun, in all honesty - but she's starting to feel the toll her worries have had on her.
On the deck, that's where she sees him, hauling in a net over the railing.
He's older - of course he is. His hair has become grayer, and the trimmed beard has turned red and silver. He's tanned, freckled, and his rolled up sleeves reveal old scars and a tattoo of something which is hard to make out from where she's standing. He looks up when he hears her arrive, eyes widening in recognition when he spots her. Alma swallows thickly, hearing her own pulse in her ears.
Years of anger, of longing, of disappointment, bubbling up to the surface, a juxtaposition of emotions that is hard to handle.
"Alma," her father whispers, and he's standing up, hands on his knees as if it's difficult to get up off the deck. Barely feeling herself move, she takes small steps until there's only a distance of a few feet between them. Alma doesn't know what to do, her polite upbringing clashing with the familiar feeling rising within her. At once, she wishes to yell at him, to demand that he explains to her why he left, and yet all she can do is fold her hands behind her back, standing up straight and waiting for him to say anything.
Last time they saw each other, she was but a child. His eyes are traveling all over her face, filled with wonder. She tenses under his scrutiny.
A few awkward seconds later, he opens his mouth. "I understand that this is how time generally works and I shouldn't be surprised, but," he lets out a shaky laugh, "you've really grown. Can't believe that I wouldn't even be able to carry you to your room anymore.
"Not like you did that a lot before," Alma says matter of factly before she can stop herself, then immediately regrets it when she sees her father wince.
Before she can apologize, he shrugs, a smile forming on his lips. "I deserve that. And I'm assuming that this isn't just a social call." He tilts his head towards a door, probably the cabin, and Alma follows him. "I suppose you've already had breakfast, but I really need a cup of tea. Would you like some?"
Nodding, Alma follows him into a small room that's been decorated with paintings and cushions, a lot of it feeling awfully familiar. Still, it's not the same level of intricate and overwhelming details that she's used to. This feels more practical, homey even. Like Doug's old house, which he lived in during that first year.
Stede putters about the cabinets, filling a kettle with water and placing it over a small fire in the corner. Below them, she can feel the rocking of the ocean waves.
She fiddles with the orange in her pocket. it's been waiting for its debut on her travels. When Stede finally sits down opposite her, two cups in his hands, she pulls it out and sets it carefully on the table. It's like she's ten again, small and in awe of her father, despite everything. Stede's eyes well up with tears, focused on the orange, before standing up quickly and fetching his own half from one of the shelves.
There they sit. It's hard to explain, the way Alma breathes out a sigh of relief, somehow having been sure that her father would have misplaced it or thrown it away.
"I'm sure you have lots of questions, my dear, and I'm awfully curious about what you've been up to since –"
Since he came back and nearly ruined her mother's - as well as his own - life before disappearing again, this time for good.
Stede sighs, looking older all of a sudden. "You probably understand that I had my reasons for acting the way that I did, whether it was the right way to go about it or not, and I want you to ask whatever it is that you might be wondering. Promise nothing is sacred, I'll do my best to give you proper answers." He lifts his gaze, watching her like that again. Like he can't really believe she's here. Despite it all, it feels good.
She can't get a single word past her lips. She has a list of things that she wants to know, has been working on that list for months, years, and now that she can finally get what she wanted….
"There are two chairs in here," is what she says. It's not what she planned on saying, but it's been in the back of her mind since she stepped inside. Two chairs, two sets of dinner plates from what she assumes is last night's supper. Stede huffs, amused.
"That's right. Did your mother tell you?"
Alma's head snaps up, brows furrowing. "About what?"
"About Ed, I mean."
"Who's Ed?"
Stede leans back in his chair, fingers tapping a rhythm against the wood. "I guess not. It's a pretty long story, and probably not one you might be interested to listen to right now. But yes, there are two chairs in here, and the one you're sitting on is usually reserved for him."
Him?
Alma is quiet.
Realization dawns on her. After all, life at sea, while unforgiving in many aspects, can be less restricting than life on land. Her life.
Stede gives her a small smile, carefully reaching over to grab her hand. Her fingers twitch, but she doesn't pull away.
"I'd love for you to meet him. He's heard so much about you, he feels almost like you've already met."
Alma nods.
"Are you all right, Sweetheart?" Stede asks, voice soft. He used to call her that when she was a child. She used to hate it, but secretly love it, too. Doug calls her Alma, because he wants her to know that he respects her as a young woman, and that's how she prefers it, anyway. She doesn't want Stede's use of her old pet name to mean as much as it does to her.
"Bit… bit overwhelmed, is all," she says weakly, feeling her hand tremble. Her father has so many scars and calluses on his hands. They're nothing like the way she remembered them. She closes her eyes.
"Hey, why don't you tell me about what you've been up to," Stede eventually says, bright and chipper. "I swear that Ed is going insane, what with all the repetitions I make about you and Louis. I need some new story material. How is the little squirt?"
Little? Louis isn't little. He's taller than Alma now, and broad shouldered like his father. He's got their mother's eyes, and her temper, as well. He's part of the rowing team at his school, one of the most popular teens there. He's thriving, soon ready to take over for their mother.
"He's all right," she says. "He's doing well in school, his peers like him."
Something like relief washes over Stede, who lets out a soft sigh. "Thank god for that," he mutters, smiling.
"Mother keeps telling us that he's blossoming into a fine, young man." She cringes at those words, thinking of how proud her parents are of Louis, of what he's becoming.
"Ah. I'm glad to hear it. And how is your mother and… Doug was it, right?"
Alma tells him about her mother's art, of the baby brother whose existence was announced a few months after he'd left, of their excursions to different towns for Mother's art shows. She talks about Louis' secret girlfriend and his knack for sketching, Doug's own little art studio, and soon it's been so long that her stomach is rumbling.
Stede smiles at the sound. "How about we prepare some lunch, yes? I bet Ed is just around the corner, anyway - he'll be in a dull mood until he's had some food in his stomach."
Reluctantly, Alma stands up, feeling ridiculous in her poofy dress and her pristine nails. Stede doesn't comment on any of it, asking her for a hand with the potatoes until he glances down at her gloves and seems to remember that this is not something a lady would do. Not one to be patronised, Alma peels off her gloves in what she hopes is a determined face, and stands next to him by the kitchen bench.
"And what about you?" Stede asks when they're getting into a groove. He throws the fish onto a skillet and lets it simmer. The smell of food makes Alma finally acknowledge how hungry she is.
She watches her father, thinking about the last time she'd seen him. How she'd needed his support in the past few years. Just knowing that he cared.
"What about me?"
"Well," Stede says, "You came all this way for something, right? And how did you get here? Did your mother really allow you to go travelling all over the sea?"
Alma gulps. "Yes. She knows."
"Good. Wouldn't want her to come here and kill me for kidnapping her daughter or anything."
Stede says it lightly, like it's a joke, and it twists a metaphorical knife into her heart.
"I'm to be wed in two months," she blurts, nearly cutting herself on the table knife while setting the table.
She's expecting a bright smile, a joyous laugh, something, anything, but Stede freezes, his back stiff. She waits, sitting down by the table. Stede is slowly turning around to face her, the fish momentarily forgotten. His lips are smiling but his eyes are… sad? Worried?
"Oh yeah?" He says. "Who is this man, then?"
Is he planning on giving her fiance the shovel talk?
"A duke," Alma says, her back heating up until sweat is gathering between her shoulder blades. "He's twenty years old. Likes poetry and horse riding. He's the oldest of five."
Stede lets out a low whistle. "Not bad."
"Not bad," she echoes. "Mother has spent many months looking for a potential husband for me, one who might fit me better than –"
She bites her tongue before she can say better than you were for her. Still, Stede must get it, because a wry smile spreads across his face. He turns the fish on the skillet.
"You know, me and Ed have this… acquaintance, Jackie, her name is. At one point in her life she had twenty one husbands."
Alma, who's just about to sip at her tea to collect her thoughts, spits it out, a spray of the liquid coating her spot by the table.
"Sorry," she croaks, reaching for a rag to clean it up. Stede chuckles.
"Don't sweat it, Sweetheart."
"That seems a bit excessive."
"yes, maybe. Well, she kept saying that there wouldn't be enough love to go around with just one man." He shakes his head. "What about your fiance? Do you like him?"
"Uh. Yes? I suppose I do." She hasn't given it much thought.
"And the two of you… fit?"
He makes a gesture with his hands, and Alma doesn't quite get it.
"Fit?"
Stede shakes his head. "You know, does he–"
He doesn't have time to finish that sentence, because the ship rocks and a loud thud outside breaks their conversation. A low, gravelly voice calls out, heavy footfalls on deck echoing. Alma tenses immediately. Danger.
"Can't believe this fucking shit, fifty dubloons for a fucking - Stede?"
Stede clears his throat, voice pitched higher as he calls, "In here! We've got company!"
There's a chilling silence outside, and Alma is about to open her mouth, to ask who that is, when the door suddenly bursts open and a tall man enters, weather worn and with an insane expression. He's brandishing a giant knife, looking ready to gut her like a pig. She shrieks, recoiling and subsequently falling from her chair, hitting the floor with a groan. The man in question is looking at Stede, eyes wide. Stede in turn stands up, hurrying to Alma's side to help her up.
"Ed! Honestly," he sighs. "You gave us a fright!"
Ed.
The man exhales loudly, shoulders dropping as he sheathes his knife.
"God fucking damn it, you can't say shit like that. We've got company. I thought someone was keeping you hostage or some shit." Now that immediate danger is averted, Alma stands up to observe the stranger - Ed. He's roughly her father's age, taller and darker skin. He's lean, eyes dark and expressive, with graying hair flowing down his shoulders and back.
"Sorry, my love," Stede huffs, a small smile on his face. "Didn't mean to scare you." He gets cut off when Ed pulls him closer, hands cupping his cheeks as he kisses him softly. Alma blushes, pointedly looking anywhere else but this public display of affection. Her mother and Doug show their affection to each other, too, but it's rarely in Alma or Louis's Presence. This is… a lot.
"But we do have company," Stede finally says, keeping the kiss short and relatively decent. He sweeps his hand to where Alma is standing. "Ed, meet my daughter Alma. Alma, this is Edward Teach."
Now these things, Alma knows how to handle. She curtsies, hand bowed as she recites the usual phrase, "pleasure to meet you, Mr Teach."
She's expecting Ed to laugh at her, to call her a silly, poncy idiot, but he doesn't. Instead, he falters, hands coming up to tuck strands of his hair behind his ears, and his head turns this way and that, as if he's unsure of where to look.
"Uh. Hello, miss. Uh, ma'am?"Then he backtracks, leaning forward as if he's talking to a child. "Nice to meet you."
Alma stares at him, this burly man with tattoos and unkempt beard who seems to be completely uncertain of how to deal with a kid. Next to him, Stede is biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh.
"Lunch is ready, if you'd like to join us," he says, gesturing to the table.
Ed nods, flushing. "Yeah. Sure. Great."
Alma doesn't know what to do, so she says, "don't forget to wash your hands, first."
This causes Ed to huff a loud "Hah!" and scoot between the Bonnets in order to reach the washing basin. "Like father, like daughter," he mutters to himself.
"So…" Ed says a few minutes later, once they've dug into the food. "Alma Bonnet. What're you doing here?"
Alma stops eating.
Why is she here?
She is aware that they're watching her, waiting for an answer. She chews on the fish. It's got a lot of flavours that she can't place.
"I wanted to meet you again," she finally settles on. "It's… it's been a while. And now that I'm an adult, I'm free to go on my own." For a while longer, at least. "And I needed to… to know."
Ed furrows his brows, confused, but Stede sighs, hand on his head.
"Would you like to ask the question?"
He knows. Somehow, it doesn't make it any easier for her.
Ed stands up, moving to get out of the room. "Probably should leave you to it."
"No, stay," Stede says, pleads, like he's scared. It makes something stir inside Alma. "If that's all right with you?"
Alma shrugs, eyes down on the table. It sort of feels less strained with an outsider there.
"Why did you leave us? That first time."
She hates how small her voice is. When she was a kid, her grief had turned into anger, causing her to lash out and push Stede away. Right now… she's just curious, maybe a little anxious.
Ed leans back in his seat, watching Stede. Does he know, too?
Stede drops the cutlery, rolls his shoulders and straightens up. He's not angry or upset, just quietly steeling himself, she thinks. Preparing for an explanation, the one she wants and simultaneously dreads. It's not exactly a secret that her mother was unhappy in their marriage, so it shouldn't come as a surprise to hear those words come from Stede as well.
"I've been thinking about this conversation for a long while," he says, "trying to form words that will make sense of it all."
Alma waits. She sees one of Ed's hands dropping under the table, reaching out to pat Stede's leg.
"My decision to leave wasn't caused by anything you did."
It's not what Alma expected.
"I know I wasn't a terribly present father, but I love you both dearly." His eyes are glazing over. "And I knew that I was hurting you when I left, which was why I did it the way I did, the first time. It was a cowardly thing to do, and if there's anything I regret, it's that."
Alma remembers that morning so vividly. She went down the stairs, wondering idly why her father had left so early, judging by his missing coat and shoes. Her mother was up, sitting by the kitchen table with a letter in one hand and a glass of wine in another.
Alma, Louis, I have some… difficult news to tell you.
No, you're not in trouble.
Whatever happens now, I need you two to be brave for me and know that I love you very much.
Mummy's not going anywhere.
It's about your father.
Alma shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She pokes around her plate, thinking.
"Alma, what I did had nothing to do with you. It didn't really have much to do with Mary, either. No matter what she's told you, I did like her a lot. We just didn't…" he shrugs, "fit."
"But mother didn't leave," Alma says, looking up. "She stayed, and she raised us, and you left. Even the second time, you just left one day." She inhales sharply, treacherous tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.
Stede looks conflicted, lips twisting into a grimace.
"I know. Your mother did her best in a situation that was less than ideal. She really is a remarkable person, isn't she."
Alma nods. She takes a small bite of the fish, if only to occupy herself while she thinks. Ed is quiet, observing. The silence is slowly spreading between the three of them. It's not until she's finished that she presses on.
"But why?"
"Why?" Stede frowns.
"Why did you leave?"
Ed's eyebrows rise up, and he's watching Stede expectantly. "Go on."
Stede releases a shaky breath, his hands trembling. It makes Alma want to scream. She doesn't want to feel bad for her father, she doesn't! And yet she sees his pain, his sorrow, and wants to comfort him, despite it all.
"Father, please," she whispers. Don't I deserve to hear the truth? That you were so bored of your life that you disappeared and left your family, your children, to be a pirate?
Stede is quiet, pensive, for a solid minute. He's clearly thinking. Alma waits with a lump in her throat, feeling like she might die. Eventually, he opens his mouth again.
"I know it sounds selfish, and in some ways it was, but…" Stede bites his lip, frowning. When he speaks again, it's with a tremor in his voice. "I felt like I was drowning. Not because of you, because of what my whole life had become. And it might seem like a childish thing for your middle aged father to feel, but I just didn't belong there. I never did. And though it caused me to hurt you in turn, I had to go, or I would have died."
"You would have- with all due respect, everyone feels like that, sometimes," Alma huffs, annoyed now. "I know it's not always fun, the lot we've been given, but we've fared a great deal better than most people."
"You're very right about that," Stede says, "but does that mean that we have to conform to the life chosen for us?"
Alma opens her mouth, then closes it. She wants to tell him that that sort of thinking is all well and good when you're a wealthy man, but she is only good for her money if she marries, and if she doesn't…
It's not ideal, but it's the hand we've been dealt.
Stede motions with his hand, a vague gesture around the room.
"You know, my father would have disowned me, probably even have me executed, if he'd known that this was where I was going to end up."
Alma winces. She barely remembers her grandfather - Stede never invited him unless it would be considered rude not to, but the man has left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. What she does remember is the last Christmas he spent with them, all the while arguing with her father about what he was doing wrong -which was everything. She remembers the tight lines popping up on Stede's face whenever his father came up.
"He was a bastard, wasn't he?" She adds, voice rising an octave, and it has the desired effect - Stede chuckles.
"I never, ever, wanted to make you and Louis feel as unwanted and worthless as he made me feel. And if I did, well… I'm sorry."
"I know," Alma says. "Doesn't make it better, though."
The silence returns, full force.
This was an awful idea, wasn't it? Alma never should have come here. She should have stayed in Barbados, should have prepared to marry her future husband, should have celebrated her last weeks of freedom…
"Did you feel free, then?" She forces herself to say, "Leaving it all behind? Becoming a pirate?"
To this, Ed chuckles. He reaches across the table to pick up a sugar cube from a small jar and pops it into his mouth. Stede glares at him, mouth a thin line.
"Never was a good pirate, I'm afraid," he settles on. "I think I was looking for freedom when I set sail, but I didn't find it in life as a pirate."
He lifts his hand to Ed's, holding onto it like he's something precious, and Alma's heart clenches painfully. "Out here, I found acceptance, people who were different, like me. I found someone who would look at me and find all the parts that made me me … good."
Ed rolls his eyes, but the smile he flashes Stede is soft.
There are days when Alma wishes that she could run away, begin again. Moments when she feels like screaming just for the hell of it, to see if anything would happen.
Sometimes, she wants to sneak aboard a ship and never return.
But doing so would mean leaving her mother, and Louis, and Doug. And she wouldn't be safe, would probably die within a week. She wasn't built for adventure.
But how she wishes that she was.
Oh god, how she wishes.
"I apologize if that's a bit too sentimental," Stede says, voice unsteady, "but it's the truth. I may not do much pirating anymore, but by God, am I happy."
"Aw, Darling," Ed coos with a teasing note. "You're happy with me?"
"Deliriously so," Stede adds, a smile so genuine that it takes Alma way, way back. Back to a time when Stede would read her ghost stories and play pirates. Back when he had been a dad. Doug comes to mind now. She loves Doug. He's as much of a dad to her as one can be, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
She thinks of the way her mother had blossomed, back when she had become a widow. The way she took risks and advanced her career, the way she was unapologetic in her joy.
Then Alma observes the way Stede glows when he looks at Ed. And she thinks that she understands.
–
It's late by the time that Alma takes her leave, the sun slowly setting. She is accompanied by Stede and Ed to the tavern where she and her crew are staying. It's been a nice afternoon, not very comfortable at times but… cathartic.
She got to know Ed, who had many tales to tell about Stede. She was shown around their spot on the island, and was introduced to a few of their old crewmates, who'd come by for a snack in between stops.
Her normal life was put on hold for a few hours, but now….
"Thank you for having me today," Alma says when they're about to say their goodbyes. Stede smiles, and it's a sad one. Still, he sounds ever so chipper when he tells her that she can visit anytime she wants.
"And don't misplace the address I gave you," he adds for the third time. "I want you to know that whatever you may need, I'll be here."
It's a meager apology for all the hurt that he's caused her, and anyway, it's rather pointless given how far apart they both live. Still, it means something to Alma, even if that something is scraps.
Ed says goodbye with a warm hug, which Alma accepts begrudgingly - he's warm and he smells like lavender, and yes, it turns out he gives great hugs. "Bye, Alma Bonnet. Don't be a stranger, it was fun to have you." He gives her a wink and then walks off, but not before putting a reassuring hand on Stede's shoulder.
Stede exhales. So does Alma. They both stare at the ground. Then Stede blurts,
"Look, if it'll make you feel better, you can yell at me some." Alma's head whips up, and she wonders if she really just heard him say that. He continues, "or you could, I dunno, chuck a coconut at my head. Whatever."
"Why- why would I do that?" Alma asks, half hysterical.
"I don't want you to feel like we left anything… unsaid," Stede says. "I certainly would have liked to punch me if I wasn't, you know." With this, he gestures at himself. And yes, this makes Alma actually laugh. It's not funny, it's tragic, and yet she can't help herself. When Stede laughs along with her, things start to slowly fall into place, just a little more.
"I don't want to hit you," she says, shaking her head.
"Good, because I've a low pain threshold and you look like you really could land a punch."
"Father –" Alma scoffs, and she lets Stede rattle on about the subject until she silences him with a hug. He's not very fast to return it, but it shuts him up, and eventually he wraps his arms firmly around her. She holds onto his neck, pressing her ear against his head, willing the tears not to come. He's breathing through his nose, buried in her hair.
"I'm glad I found you," she breathes, feeling Stede's arms tightening around her. It feels safe, some old part of her notes. He still smells like her father. "And that you seem at peace."
"I'm glad, too." Stede presses a kiss to her temple. "I love you so very much, my darling." Alma's breath hitches. "Don't ever forget that."
"I won't." She is scared now, scared of what this meeting will do to her once she's back on land, back in her new life with a fiance and a new responsibility. "Love you too."
When they finally let go of each other, Stede holds her face between his hands. "If anything happens, you can always write to me. Or come here." He thinks for a second. "Or ask me to come pick you up. I live on a ship, after all."
Maybe. Maybe in the future. Maybe when Alma's grown enough to know what she wants, and doesn't want. Maybe when she's ready.
For now, she takes his hand, shakes it, and bids him farewell.
For now.