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Edward Teach is not a man who has ever slept well. As a child, a rumbling stomach and a drunken father stumbling home at erratic hours robbed him of that. After his transition to a life at sea, blisters and sun burns and wounds and, if he's honest with himself, a faint but ever-present phantom of guilt had made sleep uneasy and unfulfilling. You'd think with the monotony his pirating had fallen into he'd be able to finally sleep, but then it was disturbed by restlessness and frustrating questions of his own worth. Now aboard The Revenge, despite the new sense of life that's been breathed into him, it's much the same. Only now, he also has to contend with strangely insistent thoughts of the ship's captain. While not disruptive in and of themselves, Ed finds himself frustrated and a little confused by how much he thinks of Stede Bonnet. Adding it to the pile of 'Reasons Blackbeard Can't Get Some Goddamn Shut Eye' doesn't really matter much in the grand scheme of things, but, damn, why is the specter of Stede always in the corner of his mind?
At least on The Revenge he has a bit more flexibility in what he can do while he's not sleeping since no one cares overly much about what he's doing, outside of Izzy. Though he's been given quarters, every night he wanders up to the deck to look at the stars instead of sleeping and, ideally, to not think of Stede. Buttons is often the only one awake, keeping watch on the opposite end of the ship, silent and generous in his ignoring of Edward's presence. It's quiet and serene, waves lapping gently against the hull, and yet, still, Blackbeard is restless and agitated. Lying back slightly against a barrel, hands behind his head, he lets out an irritated sigh, glaring at the faint outline of the new moon.
"Ed?"
He jumps, hand on his knife, nearly on his feet because the voice is so close, and how could he have missed someone sneaking up on him? But he sees Stede in some ridiculous, luxurious robe, eyes wide and hands up in the air, already surrendering to nothing. Edward sighs, hand dropping from his undrawn knife, as he falls back against the barrel again.
"I knew you were there, I just wanted to give you a fright," Ed says, half grumble, tired and maybe a little embarrassed.
"Well, you did a good job. Nearly jumped out of my skin, there!"
He's not sure if the other man is just humoring him, but he'll take it, because regardless Stede is well-meaning. He turns his eyes to the sky again, face a little hot but any flush hidden by low light and his beard. Feeling Stede settle down next to him, touching him only with wayward folds of his robe (satin, embroidered, impractical and likely to get ruined from sitting on the deck of a ship), Ed refuses to look at him until his heart rate lowers and he feels less stupid.
"I was having a bit of a hard time sleeping," Stede says, almost melancholic. "You must have been too, hm? I always find that coming out here helps, when I can't sleep. Reminds me of where I am - out at sea, doing what I love."
Initially, Edward just grunts, not wanting to engage with one of the causes of his insomnia, but Stede is so genuine and the steady, dull radiation of warmth from him is hard to ignore. He looks over to the other man, whose face has since turned skyward. His eyes trace his dimly lit silhouette. His heart rate, which had been evening out, is almost racing again. He wants to reach out and touch his jaw, run up its length, curl a ringlet around his finger.
"It's nice out here at night," Edward finally concedes, and his companion pulls his gaze down from the stars to look at him, and he smiles brilliantly, as if he's just been given a gift. Surely just responding like that wasn't a gift, and yet…
"Do you look at the constellations much, Ed?"
"I look at the stars to navigate, but constellations aren't much use. Don't know many of 'em, anyway."
Stede once again looks up and, lifting a hand, begins to trace lines in the sky.
"Oh, I'm sure you know some of them. Do you know Orion the hunter? He's always a good one to find. Got that fine belt of his, and a nice club there. See?"
Edward squints a little, following the pattern of Stede's finger as he traces again, reaching up to follow along.
"...I don't see shit."
"Come on now, one more try." Stede, as he says this, reaches to take Edward's forearm gently to guide his tracing, and the other man's fingers feel both hot and cold on his skin. "Down the club, that there's his body, his belt… this is a lion's pelt or a shield, depending on who you talk to. Or even a bow. Isn't that neat?"
Edward, admittedly, has been too distracted by Stede's touch to really make total sense of this stupid constellation. But at least he gets the belt. Then, with a little more focus, he sees him, Orion. Brilliant and strong and… holding some shit.
"Sure, but seems like a mess that no one can agree what this stick figure's actually got on him." He sighs, but seeing the still animated expression on Stede's face despite his own lack of energy, he looks up again and asks, "Where's another one?"
Stede gently pivots them both, Edward's finger remaining pointed into the heavens, guided by the other man's touch. "Over here we have Ursa Major, or the Great Bear. You've got the head… some nice little legs here… and the tail, of course."
This one is so much worse, but even so, he can see it, Stede's steady movements tracing a lone bear in the sky. His touch is soothing. Maybe he can have this for a little longer, if he lies. Times like this won't last forever, after all.
"It's just sticks, mate."
"Not if you use your imagination, like the Greeks did all those years ago!" Edward glances at Stede, whose face remains mostly hidden in shadow, but even so he can see the enthusiasm in his expression, his head tilted in a way that looks almost wistful. Edward shifts to look up again, tilting his head as well, which incidentally has him leaning a bit more into his companion. Just incidentally, of course.
"And here we have the Seven Sisters. That's an easy one - each star is a sister; no line connecting necessary. And here, five of their half sisters."
"What are they all doing up there?" It's a silly question, he knows, but it just sort of tumbles out of him, a way to get Stede to talk more.
"Well, each one has a different story of course." Stede's hand falls away from Edward's arm, and with a slightly disappointed grunt, Edward lets his arm drop to his side again. As if to make up for the loss of contact Stede shifts a little closer, his body now pressed to Edward's side, giving him the chance to properly lean back on the other man - only with half his body, though. The rest remains supported by the barrel behind him, plausible deniability if Izzy happens around and wants to give him shit. Stede does not seem to mind.
"You've forgotten, haven't you?" Edward challenges, an unwanted smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
Stede laughs a little, and Edward can feel his breath fluttering his hair. "Some of them, yes. But I do remember something about these four constellations in particular. You see, they were all on Achilles' shield. Have you ever read the Iliad, Ed?"
And oh, Edward can't help but tilt his head to give Stede a look, and Stede laughs again, sheepish, his breath now tickling Edward's beard. Ed wriggles down, just a bit, so that his head rests more on Stede's chest, and then turns his gaze skyward again.
"Well, anyway, the Iliad is a Greek story about a war, and all sorts of things happen. But I've always been drawn in particular to Achilles and this shield, which was made for him by a god during the Trojan War. You see, the description of this shield is one of the first-"
"Wait, wait, he showed up to a war without a shield? I assume they all had shields in general for fighting, didn't they? Was he an idiot?"
Stede goes surprisingly quiet, and Edward isn't sure how to interpret this. Had his line of questioning somehow hurt his feelings? Before he can really assess what's going on, though, Stede has begun speaking again.
"Achilles is a rather tragic figure. He had a set of armor and weaponry and all that, which he had lent to his lover Patroclus; he went out to fight and was killed, leaving Achilles without armor and, more importantly, without Patroclus. He was beside himself when he died, consumed by grief and rage, and he needed to avenge him. So he got this shield as a part of his replacement set, so that he could go out and kill the man that had killed his love."
A sad story, to be sure, made sadder by the tone of Stede's voice. How is he so deeply affected by this? Edward's eyes trace a border around the four constellations, trying to envision a shield in the heavens, borne by a devastated man, his shoulders curled, head bowed, in anguish.
"What were they like?" Ed asks somewhat sleepily, wanting to flesh out this vision despite his fatigue.
"Achilles and Patroclus? Well, they were childhood friends. Achilles was beautiful - reddish blonde hair I believe, strong, a practiced soldier. Patroclus I always imagine with dark hair. Surely beautiful too, and loyal, and the two were so deeply linked to one another." Stede sighs softly, shifting, cradling Edward's head now a little to give it better support. It's appreciated - his eyes are now locked on the heavens, even though they're partially lidded, a vision of Achilles further taking shape.
Young, muscular, and though he'd expected more flaxen hair given Stede's description, it is instead dark and untamed. As he tries to sort out Achilles's face he squints, and it slowly comes into focus; he realizes it's much like his own, just as sun-worn but far too youthful. Still, yes, it is him, almost unrecognizable with how short his locks are shorn and without his beard. His brows are knit, his expression serious. Pained. As Edward watches the sky, he sees this young Achilles who is him, shield in hand, bowed before his fallen lover's body, shaking, inconsolable.
Patroclus looks youthful as well and, though dead, wonderfully peaceful. There's a dagger through his heart, though Ed supposes he doesn't know how he really died. His hair… well, his hair is Stede's hair. His face is Stede's face. This fallen young man that his alter ego curls around is a younger, only slightly unfamiliar Stede Bonnet. While the real Stede is not anywhere near a spry Grecian soldier, covered in muscle and glistening in the moonlight as Patroclus is, the comparison doesn't seem so strange right now. Stede seems so familiar with Achilles and Patroclus, as though he had truly known them, or been one of them, in a past life. So is it so odd to see his face in the heavens on this slain young man? Yes, Patroclus is the captain of The Revenge, and Edward-Achilles cradles his body, a mirror of how actual Stede cradles him now. As Achilles heaves what is probably a sob it's clear that he has a matching dagger to his lover, protruding from his left lower abdomen, where Edward has been stabbed countless times. The spot on his own body throbs, sympathetic to the nightsky version of himself. Because now, that's truly who's there. Him and Stede, no longer young and Grecian. Just Edward Teach and Stede Bonnet, one bereft and one dead.
Edward starts awake, and while he's certain the other man had been talking the entire time as he'd dozed off, he finds that Stede is now totally silent - he's fallen asleep as well. He sits up, careful to stop himself from groaning, even though he's sore from how he'd slept. It's still the middle of the night, but he's certain it's been at least an hour or two, the most fitful hours of sleep he's had in a long time despite his unsettling dream. He looks at Stede, shifts a bit, moving to touch him. His fingers run lightly through his hair. Patroculs's hair. He wraps a curl around his finger like he'd wanted to do earlier, contemplative, before he gets to his feet and heaves the other man over his shoulder; he'll likely wake him, but hopefully he'll remain groggy enough to settle back into sleep quickly once he's in his bed.
"Ed?" comes Stede's sleepy voice; he's woken without any fear in him, even though he's being hauled off. A pirate should really be more vigilant, but he doesn't feel like scolding him right now.
"Time for you to get to bed, Captain."
"But I didn't finish telling you about Greek things," he yawns, and Edward can feel him pressing his face into him, breath warm through his shirt.
"I've heard enough Greek things for the night."
Stede mumbles something incomprehensible into his shoulder as Ed slides him down a bit to duck through the door into the other man's room. The boat shifts a little under his feet as he does so, the unevenness grounding for him. He's going to put Stede to sleep, and then he's going to sit up on the deck again. Maybe trace some constellations.
Ed leans down to set Stede in his bed as gently as he can, finding his companion pliable in his tiredness and, perhaps, in his trust of him. Stupid. He goes to pull off his boots and finds only slippers, which makes him scoff a little.
"Ah, you know, that's where the term Achilles heel comes from," Stede quietly says, rotating his foot a little as Ed removes one slipper and then the other.
"Hm? From that guy in the story?"
"Yes, his only weak point was on his foot, where his mother, when dipping him in a protective river, was holding him. It was the only place an arrow could pierce. And that's how he died, you know, after avenging Patroclus. An arrow shot straight into his heel. His one weakness, undoing such a great soldier with one blow." Stede's tone is melancholy again as he finishes this story, his frame slow to wiggle itself comfortable under his covers. Ed leans to assist, pulling the blankets up around the other man's chin.
"Just one arrow, huh?"
"Just the one. The weakest part of him. And, you know, everyone has that Achilles heel somewhere in them. A weakest part. I wonder what mine is."
Despite knowing that he should take his leave, Ed instead sits on the edge of Stede's bed, the other captain happily making room for him, his eyes half closed.
"I know what it is," Ed comments, and before Stede can even ask, he leans forward and presses his hand over the other man's heart. His softness is going to get him killed one of these days, and Ed knows it. Even Stede's crew knows it. It makes him clench his jaw, just a little bit, but Stede reaches up to take a hold of his hand with a soft, sleepy smile, and the tension in Ed's jaw lessens some.
"My impeccable fashion sense? You think that's going to get me in trouble, Ed, if all my clothes are ruined?" Stede says, trying his best to keep a straight face but failing miserably with how tired he is, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips.
Edward feels like humoring him, if only to avoid confronting the fact that Stede truly has a dangerous flaw, in his mind. And the longer he's around him, the longer he dislikes the thought of him dying.
"I'll throw all your nice jackets overboard while you sleep and see how you fare tomorrow," he jokes before absently leaning to kiss Stede on the forehead as he stands. He's not sure why he does it, but it brings such a soft smile to the other man's lips that it's hard to feel like it's wrong.
"What do you think yours is, Ed?"
"Fuck if I know," he responds, voice oddly soft. "Probably being too much of a badass or something. Get some rest, Captain. I'm going to make you do some real work tomorrow."
Stede laughs softly into the blankets gathered around his face, finally shutting his eyes fully and curling up on his side.
"Good night, Ed."
"Good night, Stede."
Edward leaves and shuts Stede's door gently as he makes his way out and back up to the deck, feeling as though the pit of his stomach has dropped out. As he'd been standing there, lips still tingling with the ghost of the other man's forehead, he'd realized his own Achilles heel. The heavens had even screamed it at him - how the hell was he supposed to kill Stede Bonnet now? Stupid fucking Greeks.