Work Text:
Stede Bonnet is forty-seven years old when he realises he has too many things.
They get everywhere, these little knickknacks he collects. He finds precious rocks lodged between the mattress and the window, poetry books they picked up from raids stacked haphazardly on the desk. His clothes are folded, waiting to be put on proper hangers and hooks. There are forks and spoons and special little cups.
They all have their places, but their places are everywhere.
He has too many things.
Because how is he supposed to untangle them now from Edward and Izzy’s possessions?
The argument is fresh in his mind, the first proper argument that they’d all had since—well. Since they’d begun this. Since Stede had come back and the Kraken had once again descended to the depths and left only Ed (gorgeous, glorious, perfect Ed) in its place. Since Izzy had gone from antagonist to reluctant friend to needed lover.
He’s ruined it.
There is a familiar sting in the corner of his eyes that he is valiantly ignoring. It was always going to blow up of course, especially with Izzy involved. Israel Hands is brilliant, and he is an arse, and Stede knew putting him and Izzy together was flame and gunpowder.
They could only exist without exploding for so long.
Hence: the argument. Another one. About Captains, and work. An argument that ended with Izzy shouting at Edward and Edward shouting at Stede and Stede alone in this stupid room that in the past month has become theirs and which now—
He’s the Captain. But also, this is Izzy’s space, Ed’s space. There are other quarters in the ship, the first mates’ quarters even. Stede can go there for a while, perhaps forever. The thought grates. This is his ship after all. He designed it; secret passages and all. But it is also Edward’s ship. It is the crews ship. It is home to more than just him now. He promised to respect that when he came back to tell Edward how he felt.
And if Edward and Izzy remain together, but he leaves…well, two beats one. They should get to keep the bigger room.
It’s fine. It’s fine. Stede slept in a different room when he first returned to the Revenge after the whole Act of Grace and Kraken business. He can do so now (even with the knowledge of what it feels like to be wrapped in their arms, to have Izzy with an arm slung over Stede’s middle, and Edward playing octopus by the window, sprawled half on top of them both, even then, even then, even then--)
He can do this.
He must do this. What other choice does he have? They had an argument. They had an argument and this is over. The very best thing he’s ever had for himself and it’s just…gone.
And now he’s realising he has too many things.
How did he accumulate so much in just the span of a short year back on the Revenge? Even with the few bits that weren’t thrown overboard but which were left in the auxiliary wardrobe, he shouldn’t have so much. But he does. He’s like that, he supposes. Always has been. Too many things, too much him weighing everyone down around him.
There’s a small bag on the centre of the desk in the middle of the room, but it’s not big enough for it all. For the robes and the shirts and the paperweights, for his half of the petrified orange.
It’s heart-breaking. It’s all so fucking heart-breaking he can’t stand it. He nestled himself into these people and after their argument, it’s clear that he no longer belongs with them, with these two men who he needs to dearly…
It’s the little ship in a bottle sitting on one of his library shelves that really sets him off.
There are tears streaming down his face as he picks it up. It is barely bigger than his hand and its sails are a deep black but other than that it has no distinguishing features. There’s not much detail on it at all, really, but then it’s so small that the fact that it lacks detail is hardly relevant. Besides, it could be the worst-made piece in the world and Stede would adore it.
It is the first thing Izzy ever gave him.
Izzy had given it to him three weeks after their first night together with Edward, when things were still falling into place, when Stede wasn’t too sure if Izzy was putting up with him for Edward’s sake, or whether he actually wanted him. To be fair, Stede himself hadn’t been sure how he felt about the annoying little man back then, either, only that it was no longer the dismissal and hatred he’d once felt before…everything.
And then Izzy had given him this. From a raid. Said he’d found it, picked it up, pocketed it: ‘thought you’d fucking want it. The sort of useless junk you’d like’ He’d said, but there had been red on his cheeks and Stede had recalled how carefully he’d held it out to Stede, like he was holding out his whole fucking heart.
And Stede had taken it equally as gently. And things between them after that had been more secure.
Until now.
He clutched the little bottle close to his chest as he stumbled across the room to find a shirt to wrap it in so that it would be safe while he transported it away and—
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Stede stopped in place at the words. He hadn’t even noticed the door open.
Ah. He’d rather hoped to be out of their hair before either one of them had come back.
As it was, Izzy was in the doorway, “are you fucking crying, Bonnet, what—” for a moment, just a moment, his voice is soft in that way that it only ever is for them, worried even. But then Stede watches as his eyes take in the rest of the room, the mess of it, and the packed back on the table. His expression goes blank.
It's a horrible thing to watch.
“Are you fucking leaving him again?”
Stede fidgets. The ship in the bottle is still in his hand. The petrified orange that he dug up with Edward (or at least near Edward, nobody else had seemed much inclined to dig that day) is resting in the bottom of the bag somewhere.
“We had a fight,” Stede says.
“Yeah, and?”
“And…” Stede doesn’t understand why Izzy is being so obtuse. He’d half expected Izzy to…to rub his nose in it or something. It is an uncharitable assumption but— “we had a fight.”
“So what?” Izzy stalks further into the room, picking up one of Stede’s fancy shirts from the pile waiting to go in the bag, “One fight with me and Edward and you’re running back to your wife all fucking over again I fucking knew Edward was going to regret forgiving you, you fucking coward you—”
“Whoa, hey, that’s not kissing and making up,” and then Edward is in the door behind Izzy.
Stede closes his eyes. One of them he could face. Izzy he could face. He’s used to bickering with Izzy, this is just a step above that. But Edward? Edward and him don’t do anything like that. Not apart from when Stede had royally cocked everything up. And now he’d done it again. Over something so stupid as—as orders and captains and running a pirate ship and—
“Stede, sweetheart,” Edward begins and why is he calling him that, why is he making everything worse, why--? “you crying? What—”
“He’s leaving.” It is that moment, in the tone of Izzy’s voice, that Stede realises that Izzy isn’t just angry, he’s furious. That blank expression is giving way to something vile and horrid, something like the look on his face when he’d stabbed Stede on the Night of the First Great Fuckery the Revenge crew had ever pulled off.
Edward goes still.
“No. He’s not.”
“Bag packed and fucking everything,” Izzy snarls, throwing the shirt towards said bag. It hits it, tips off it and goes sprawling to the floor in a mess of red and blue, “none of us will ever fucking change, Edward, we’re all just fucking old men and he’s always going to leave you—”
“No, he’s not,” and the firmness in Edward’s voice verges on desperate now as he repeats what he said before, his hands look like they’re about to start shaking.
How is Stede messing up leaving so badly that he’s causing this whatever this is?
He wipes at his eyes, tries to explain. “We had an argument. I’m just collecting my things. I’m not leaving the ship, just down to the First Mates cabin.”
“What the fuck does that mean? We had an argument? We— we’re in a relationship,” Ed steps closer to Stede, big brown eyes imploring. He looks more vulnerable than he ever has, now, without the beard and without the kohl. He looks…scared. Stede doesn’t know why.
“But we…” Stede doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to deal with the hurt he’s apparently causing them, because he didn’t mean to. He should have been quicker, should have packed up and left before they got here. Then they wouldn’t have to deal with any of this farse.
“Don’t you—you said you loved me,” and Ed sounds broken.
It’s all Stede can do to rush to reassure, “Edward, dearheart, I—of course I love you, I—”
“So it’s me.” Izzy says, somehow both loud and quiet at the same time. He’s staring at the ground, muttering something which sounds suspiciously like it might be ‘I knew this would happen’. “Right, well. I’m the one who should fucking be leaving then, shouldn’t I? Not going to stand in the way of you two and your stupid fucking love story and—”
“Iz, don’t, wait—”
“No!” Stede interrupts. He can’t let this stand. Can’t let any of this stand. He was just trying to do the right thing but now, “Izzy, Israel, stop. I love you. I love you, too. Of course, I do, you idiot,” Stede swallows around the lump in his throat. The first time he’s ever told Izzy that, and it’s too late.
The room goes quiet.
Izzy takes a deep breath.
Stede takes one too.
Then Edward.
“Okay,” Izzy says, very, very quietly, then— “explain what’s happening then, Stede. What the fuck are you doing to us?”
Stede is helpless again, “we had a fight.”
“You said that already.”
“We…I thought you’d want me gone,” Stede stops trying to look at either of them, miserably dropping his gaze to the floor.
There are footsteps. Izzy coming across the room to stand in front of Stede, next to Edward. Stede can see their shoes in the corner of his vision.
“We’re in a relationship,” Edward says, and it’s a repeat of earlier, “we’ll have fights. Fuck, between the three of us, we’ll all have fights so much. Look at me and Iz, Stede! We’re always going at it, and not just in the fun way and…we’ll have fights. We come back.”
Stede blinks.
He—
What?
“And how was I supposed to know that?” he asks finally, looking up.
Edward lets out a surprised little laugh.
Stede flinches, uncertain what the fuck that means. Izzy is already reaching out to bat Edward’s shoulder in quiet reprimand (he’s so much more comfortable with Edward now, with touching Edward, with touching either of them).
“You’ve never fucking done this before, mate,” Edward says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“I— that’s quite unfair, we’ve talked about this, I was married, I’m not entirely inexperienced—”
Izzy rolls his eyes, “not what he meant, Bonnet. You’ve never done…you know. A proper relationship. Where you actually give a damn about the other person.”
Stede swallows. Ah. Well. No. This would be his first time doing that.
“Look,” Edward is still laughing, a little giddy with it, with- Stede realises, relief. “Look, we’re gonna fight. Me and Izzy have been fighting our whole lives. Sometimes they’re gonna be bad. But we don’t just…come back and pack up our stuff and up and leave, Stede. We love each other, right? You just said you loved Izzy and I love you both, and Iz won’t say it but he does too. ‘Course he does. Look let’s just…all take a breather, okay?”
Stede glances at the overflowing bag, glances down at the tiny precious ship in a bottle still clutched in his hands.
“You’re an idiot,” Izzy mutters, fierce, foul and fond all at once.
There are still tears in his eyes, sobs aching for release in his chest, but Stede finds it in himself to drag his gaze up to glare, “I didn’t know— when Mary and me fought, we had to stay together because of marriage, but it was clear she never wanted me there.”
“Well, we fucking do, don’t we?” Ed finally reached out, breached the space between them until a hand was on Stede’s cheek, “we want you here. And we wanna talk to you about shit, rather than have you run off. That was the fucking problem last time, you not fucking telling me your plan but deciding what was best. Talking it through, right? I mean Jeez, Stede, we’re not your wife who you never asked for.”
Stede very carefully, just in case he’d read this wrong, shifted his hand into Edward’s palm and placed a kiss in the centre.
Edward grinned. There were still tears in his eyes but…he grinned.
“No, you’re not,” Stede muttered, muffled into their hand, “thank God.”
Edward laughed again, a bright sound. Gosh, Stede would never have been able to live without that sound, without being able to hear it in the mornings when he woke up.
When Stede glanced around to find Izzy, he found him removing things from the bag that Stede had been packing into. Stede was surprised to see that he was putting things back in their correct places, where Stede had got them from. He was surprised that Izzy knew the correct places.
But then, Izzy was, if nothing else, good at keeping track of the ship. He was diligent. He was clever. Stede shouldn’t have implied he wasn’t, in their fight earlier. He shouldn’t have implied he was anything other than competent.
“This is normal, mate,” Edward pulled his attention back, resting their foreheads together. “Completely fucking normal. Bump in the fucking road, wave on the fucking ocean.”
Stede took a deep breath, and when he released it, there was a sob there, caught within it, tears spilling freely, but he still managed, “alright.”
“Alright.” Ed repeated, moving his hand to brush the tears away from Stede’s eyes, even as Stede watched some fall on his own cheeks.
Stede wasn’t sure how long he stood there, leaning his forehead against Ed’s, breathing, crying. Long enough that the tears and sobs subsided into silence, the relief of a good cry washing over him and keeping him safe and in Edward’s orbit. It wasn’t until Izzy was at his side, trying to tug the ship in a bottle from his hands that Stede looked up and realised he was entirely unpacked. Apart from this.
Stede clutched it for a moment longer, then, quietly, “be careful with it.”
Izzy nodded, something in his eyes, as Stede released the ship into his grasp.
Stede had told this man he loved him today, he realised, in a belated fashion. He’d said the words. At really the most inopportune moment. He’d have to repeat the sentiment at a better time. Izzy deserved that.
“Let’s get us to bed,” Ed pulled back, shrugging off his shirt.
It didn’t take long to sort themselves out.
It always took Stede the longest to undress, but before he could finish this evening, Izzy was there, batting his hands away from the buttons and very carefully doing it himself, unbuttoning his shirt, and helping Stede remove it.
Stede always found it somewhat amazing, the solace Izzy seemed to find in these simple acts of service. He’d been reluctant at first to let Izzy do such things, at least outside of the context of the bedroom. But Izzy he—he fucking seemed to need it sometimes. And Stede right now he needed—he needed Izzy hand’s on him, needed the assurance that they were there.
And they were there. In their little routine; Izzy with an arm slung over Stede’s middle, and Edward playing octopus by the window, sprawled half on top of them both. Stede could feel the way Izzy’s fingers were curling up and down the skin of Stede’s side, could feel Edward’s breath against his neck.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” in hindsight it…perhaps wasn’t the best thing, to be running away without warning, after last time. He’d just thought that—he’d just been certain—well, like he’d said. He’d never done this before, not properly. It could all be so overwhelming sometimes, so different from his life with Mary.
“Yeah, don’t fucking do it again,” Izzy grumbled.
“Yeah. And…we shouldn’t have said some of the shit we said before, too,” Ed muttered, “just ‘cos I have more experience, doesn’t make me the better Captain, that was shitty as fuck to say and—”
“No. But you do have more experience. I should remember that it can’t always be exactly how I picture it,” Stede gave a weak smile. He still felt a little bit fragile, but it was his rule, wasn’t it? To talk it through. They should do that, like Edward had said, “and I should remember that you’re the one who has to implement a lot of what we order Izzy. Your input is invaluable.”
Izzy pressed an absent kiss to Stede’s shoulder, “shut the fuck up, you two.”
That started enough laugh out of Edward.
Stede too.
And then, quietly, Izzy joined in.
It was cathartic, laughter, just…laughter. They clung to one another, and all this was fucking new, and bizarre, and nothing like they’d had before, was it? But they were going to fucking make it work.
They were going to make it work.
When Stede fell asleep that night, the laughter having died down, sleepy kisses exchanged, he fell asleep beside his two lovers, with the assured knowledge that he’d wake up tomorrow with them too.