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Edward winces as he puts down his knee brace. He fucking hates it, but even Blackbeard needs to get a washing now and then. Besides, it's one of the rare moments Izzy will leave him alone. He's probably afraid to lose another member of his body if he'd try to get a look at Edward's naked arse, one he's more attached to than his pinkie. So whenever Blackbeard orders not to disturb his washing time, he makes himself scarce, and Edward can mourn his loss in the dignity of his loneliness.
He stares at the red silk sticking out from underneath his bedding. It's the promise of indulging in heartache it holds that makes him push down his leather pants. His knee is swollen, because of course, it is. Stede would probably have some balm for it, one that went overboard when Edward had ordered to remove all his things. Everything except Mary's lighthouse painting – a reminder of the dangers of love, Stede's nightgown – a symbol of Edward's grief, and Stede's hidden wardrobe – the only place that still smells like the man who broke his heart.
By day, Edward is Blackbeard, but his old persona doesn't fit him anymore. He's two sizes too small. Edward manages to press himself into his old skin as long as he can pull Blackbeard off once a day.
Izzy doesn't question him anymore, and the rest of the crew is still too deeply grieving to have an eye on him. He's the one who separated them from their loved ones and friends, after all.
Edward needed that, needed to surround himself with hurting people. It's a form of survival that works, miserably but effectively. A ship full of pain and fear, the Kraken choking everyone's joy, including his own. If he indulged in his grief 24/7, Edward would be long gone. He doesn't doubt that Izzy would have destroyed him otherwise. But maybe he did anyway. Edward is a shell of a man. He'd been stupid enough to follow his heart, naively believing that Stede would carefully handle it like he did his fine china.
China. What was he thinking?
Naked, Edward makes his painful way to the bathroom. He ordered Jim to fill the bathtub earlier, the steam smelling like Stede freshly washed, like lavender and soap, not his earthy natural scent that Edward misses as it's nowhere to be found on the Revenge, not even in Stede's pillow anymore. Edward fell asleep on it too often by now.
He sinks into the hot water, wincing until he has his bad knee positioned properly. He closes his eyes and hums a silly children's song Stede taught him. He wonders if Stede's mother sang it to him or if he sang it to his children. It stings, not being able to ask him that or anything. Edward doesn't know if this pain will ever go away. Maybe he doesn't want it to. The pain proves that Stede was real and Blackbeard is not.