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Ed would be fucking lying if he said he hasn’t imagined this day many times over.
The day Izzy comes to find him stewing in his quarters—he’s already started his drinking for a day, despite the blistering hangover reminding him of how much he’d drank the night before—to tell him, “Boss, there’s a dinghy tailing us.”
Ed pulls his knife from where it’s strapped to his leg and stabs it into his desk, sending wood chips flying everywhere. He snaps his head in the direction of Izzy’s voice. “Did they not see the fuckin’ flag?”
Izzy’s fists are balled and he is nearly shaking with fury as he chokes the words out. “On the contrary, I think the flag is why they’re tailing us.”
Ed feels his lips pull into a vicious snarl. That could only be one fucking idiot.
Shit, his head is pounding and he didn’t realize Izzy was still talking. “...Should we blow them out of the water, boss?”
“No,” Ed says with a shake of his head. He gives Izzy a menacing glare and watches his posture go rigid. He pulls his knife out of the desk and twirls it in his hand. “I want to deal with him myself.”
Except he doesn’t deal with him.
It’s a good idea in theory, but the minute Ed sees Stede Bonnet standing on the deck of the Revenge, sun-kissed golden hair flapping in the wind, seeming underdressed in the plain white shirt that he’s wearing instead of his usual fancy shit, lips curled up into a kind, inviting smile, he freezes.
His heart is thundering in his chest, his breath is coming out in rough and ragged puffs, he’s balled his hands into fists, and he can’t fucking move.
Stede fucking Bonnet is back.
(Stede fucking Bonnet left him in the first place.)
The world is spinning around him and he’s so fucking dizzy and goddamn Stede fucking Bonnet throwing him this offkilter—or maybe, Ed thinks as his stomach lurches, that’s just the hangover.
When he finally catches his breath, calming the insane fluttering in his chest, he tears away his eyes from Stede as quickly as he fucking can and then looks at Izzy. He waves his first mate over. “Throw him in the brig.”
Izzy takes a few steps towards him, lips twisted into scowl. “Sir, let me just kill this twat once and for all.” His expression is fierce and firm. “I can end this.”
Ed shoves him away. “Brig. Now.”
Izzy opens and closes his mouth as if to say something, but then he shuts it, finally seeming to know better, finally understanding that he is the one taking orders, not giving them. He nods his head. “Yes, sir.” Izzy looks at the rest of the members of the Revenge’s former crew as they slowly climb aboard the ship and sneers. “What about the rest of Bonnet’s play things?”
Ed tilts his head, regretting it instantly when another wave of dizziness washes over him, as he ponders the thought. They’re like cockroaches, that crew, impossible to get rid of. He may as well just keep them on the ship.
In the end, his fury only extends to one person.
“They can stay.”
He hopes Izzy doesn’t fight him on this, he’s fucking tired and his head is throbbing. He wouldn’t hesitate to wrap his hand around Izzy’s neck if he doesn’t cooperate, but he doesn’t want to if it’s not necessary. He hopes the way his eyes flicker to Izzy’s foot, still wrapped in bandages, makes his point clear.
Surprisingly, Izzy doesn’t question his order, he just nods his head in submission.
Ed turns away and heads back for his quarters, not even watching to make sure that Stede is being bound and taken to the brig. He can’t even look at him without feeling sick—and no, that’s definitely the hangover.
He had expected some sort of response to seeing Stede, an intense need to make him feel pain, to make him hurt the way he had hurt for days on end. He had expected to rip his dagger from his pant leg and charge straight for Stede, baring his teeth like a feral animal, as he pressed the blade to his throat. He had expected to take delight in Stede begging for mercy, in his pleas, in his apologies.
He had not expected to feel like he needed to flee.
I.
The first time someone tries to convince him to talk to Stede can be chalked up to a complete accident.
It’s been two days since Stede reboarded the Revenge, the sun is blisteringly hot and the waves are surprisingly calm as Ed is looking out over the side of the ship through a handheld telescope. He’s hoping to spot a ship for them to loot—a ship that can fall to the reborn Blackbeard’s fury.
The ocean seems completely empty today, not a vessel in sight, and Ed is just about to give up and retire to his quarters to drown himself in rum, when his attention is drawn to the gentle strumming of a lute.
Ed lowers the telescope, collapsing it back upon itself, and cranes his head in the direction of the music.
Then suddenly, the strumming is joined in by singing.
“Oh, a pirate’s life
Not so nice
Not so nice when your captains fight
Ful-lil-lad-dee-lil-idi-o.”
When Ed hears the lyrics, his stomach sinks with dread and his heart picks up speed.
The singing continues:
“Things aren’t right
They’re filled with strife
When Captain Bonnet and Blackbeard fight
Ful-lil-lad-dee-lil-idi-o.”
The queasy feeling in his stomach is suddenly replaced with a white hot, blinding rage, fiercer than the hottest of flames.
Ed hurls the telescope onto the deck—probably breaking it, but he doesn’t care—and storms in the direction of the music.
And that’s when he spots the bard who sewed his new flag, sitting on a barrel, plucking and strumming his lute. He immediately stops and the melody fades when he looks up at Ed.
“Oh hi, sir, Blackbeard, sir—I mean—Cap’n!” Frenchie says, sounding slightly jittery. “What can I do for you today, sir?”
“What,” Ed growls, “were you singing about?”
Frenchie’s posture goes rigid and he blanches. “Oh that?” he chokes out. He lets out a nervous laugh. “Absolutely nothing important, just a silly little song I wrote to pass the time.” He plucks a few strings on his lute. “About you and, you see, Captain Bonnet.”
Ed narrows his eyes, anger continuing to surge through him fierce and primal. “What did you just say?”
“About you and Captain Bonnet, sir,” Frenchie repeats, voice continuing to shake.
“Bonnet,” Ed seethes, “is not your captain anymore.” The rage within him is only building, building, building.
“R-right,” Frenchie stammers. “Well, clearly something—” He cuts himself off with a cough. “Well, sir, clearly something happened between the two of you, something that you two should talk about?” He strums the same familiar melody on his lute and begins to sing again.
“That pirate’s life
Would be nice
If Blackbeard and Bonnet made things right
Ful-lil-lad-dee-lil-idi-o.
To reunite
Has not sufficed
Bonnet and Blackbeard must make things ri —”
Ed doesn’t even let him finish the last word of his song before he rips the instrument from Frenchie’s hands and snaps the strings. Then, for good measure, he tosses the mangled lute overboard. Frenchie looks up him, eyes blown wide with terror.
Good, Ed wants him to be terrified. He’s motherfucking Blackbeard, scourge of the seven seas, everyone should be terrified of him
“If you mention his fuckin’ name on this ship ever again, you’re going overboard just like your precious lute,” Ed spits, tone full of venom. “No one is allowed to mention his name on this ship anymore.” He leans in closer, in effort to add to the intimidation. “Got it?”
Frenchie swallows. “Got it—yup—I got it, sir. No more mentions of him, y-yup.” He fiddles with his now empty hands. “I really didn’t care about the lute anyway—can always just loot a new one.” He lets out another skittish laugh. “Get it? Loot… a lute?”
There would have been a time that joke would have amused him, especially if it were made by a certain person, but right now Ed is barely restraining himself from tossing Frenchie over the side of the ship. Drowning him just like he did that scribey boy.
He only doesn’t because he doesn’t need another ghost haunting him each night. Motherfuckin’ scribe still won’t leave him alone.
“Go swab the deck,” Ed orders.
Frenchie immediately shoots to his feet. “Y-yes, sir.” And then he runs, no, sprints as far away from Ed as he possibly can, to take that order, no doubt.
The words of Frenchie’s song were wrong. He and Stede motherfucking Bonnet have no need to make things right. No need to talk things through.
What he needs is to drown himself in rum. Numb himself to every single traitorous feeling raging through him.
So that’s exactly what he heads to his quarters to do.
II.
Ed isn’t surprised when Izzy steps into his quarters unannounced.
That’s what his first mate always does, after all, encroaches upon Ed’s personal space without a single word of warning, without any care or concern for whether he wants to see him or not.
Usually, Ed would take some interest in what Izzy says to say—there’s a reason he’s still appointed as his first mate—but he’s reapplying kohl to his face right now. He really doesn’t want to mess it up—hurts like a motherfucker when he gets some in his eyes—so he’s going to ignore him for as long as he possibly can.
“Boss,” Izzy says, trying to get his attention.
Ed hums and ignores him, painting deep, dark circles around his eyes.
“Edward,” Izzy tries again.
“Fuck off, Iz,” Ed grumbles. He drags the kohl coated brush along the stubble coating his chin and cheeks, finishing off the look.
“Edward,” Izzy repeats, more forceful this time, “I need to speak to you.”
Fine. He gives up. He’s done applying his kohl anyway.
Ed snaps his head around. “Fuck is it, man?”
Izzy clears his throat. “You,” he says, taking several steps toward him and jamming an accusatory finger toward him, “have become a shell of your former self.”
Typical Izzy. Doesn’t waste a second and gets straight to the point.
Ed scoffs. “I’m Blackbeard again.” He narrows his eyes. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No!” Izzy growls. He steps even closer to Ed, hobbling due to his missing toe. “Blackbeard would have killed Bonnet the second he stepped foot on this ship,” he spits. “Blackbeard would have shown no mercy to his pathetic crew.”
Ed snarls at him.
Izzy’s eyes are dark and soulless as he steps closer still. “Blackbeard wouldn’t need fucking closure.”
A tidal wave of fury surges through Ed and he wraps a hand around Izzy’s neck, pinning him to the wall. “Don’t fucking push it.”
He releases Izzy’s neck, slams his head against the wall, and the other man stumbles forward coughing. “Fine,” he wheezes. “Talk to Bonnet, get your fucking closure.” He sneers the final word, as if he’s disgusted to say it at all.
“No.”
Because he can’t talk to Stede, not after he left him the way he did. Not after laying himself bare in a way he never had before, handing his heart and soul to Stede on a silver platter, only to have the vital organ ripped from his chest cavity instead. Stede’s been in the former jam room-turned -brig of the Revenge for nearly a week now.
Or perhaps it’s none of that at all, it’s not that Stede left, but who Ed became after he left.
The reason Stede left makes so much sense, with who he became. A murderous, irredeemable, unworthy, unloveable monster.
Gentleman Pirate, Stede fucking Bonnet, would never want to talk to—would never love—that version of Ed.
Seeming to have learned nothing from his earlier threat, Izzy steps forward again. “I’ll happily kill that twat afterwards for you, boss,” he says with fierce conviction. Then, more earnestly, “Let me do this for you, Edward.”
Izzy’s eyes shine with a terrifying loyalty. Not that the loyalty itself is terrifying, loyalty is an asset in his line of work, but who the loyalty is directed towards. Not him—not Ed—but Blackbeard. Only Blackbeard. Ed had tried to slip the persona back on to cover-up his heartbreak, the kohl on his face a mask in its most literal form, but it no longer fit. And that meant that Izzy’s unwavering loyalty is directed toward someone who no longer exists, towards someone who died a long, long time ago.
He fixes Izzy with a menacing glare. “No,” he snarls.
“Edward,” Izzy repeats.
“I can do it,” Ed growls. He knows it’s a lie, as angry —ravenously, furiously, angry—as he is at Stede for leaving him there on that dock, he could never kill him. But he hopes the declaration is enough to get Izzy to just leave him the fuck alone. He points towards the still open door. “Now get the fuck out.”
Izzy’s expression is one of disgust, clearly he can see right through him. “Yeah,” he seethes, “because that went so well last time.”
Ed’s seconds away from throwing Izzy into the wall again, wringing his neck once more till the last breath escapes his lungs. “Watch it.”
“No, you watch it!” Izzy fires back, and when did his first mate become so bloody insubordinate?
Ed fixes Izzy with another ominous glare and bares his teeth like a rabid wild animal.
“If you don’t do the job soon,” Izzy starts. “I’ll fockin’ kill him myself.” He narrows his eyes. “And I don’t care if you kill me after, because at least then I’d die serving Blackbeard.” He spits on the floor. “Not this fockin’ imposter you’ve become.”
And with that Izzy leaves his quarters, slamming the door behind him with so much force that the entire room shakes, knocking the bottle of kohl off Ed’s desk and onto the floor.
Whoever he orders to clean it is going to be scrubbing for an awfully long time, but Ed doesn’t give a fuck about that right now.
Right now he needs to find a way to calm his rage before he stomps out of his room and murders his first mate in cold blood.
III.
A week after his confrontation with Izzy, Ed is confronted by another member of his crew.
He has barely stepped back into his quarters—he’s only just shut the door behind him—when Jim springs out of nowhere, traps him in a headlock, and holds a knife to his throat.
Ed supposes with the daggers he’s seen them shooting him with every single glare, this shouldn’t come as any sort of surprise. Jim is one to hold a grudge and clearly hasn’t forgiven Ed for kidnapping them or for marooning the rest of the crew—especially Oluwande. Even if everyone is back aboard the ship now.
“You are the worst fuckin’ pirate captain in history,” they spit. They tighten their grip on Ed’s neck, pressing the blade closer. “Felicidades, you beat Stede for the top spot.”
Just the mention of Stede’s name—not one of the idiots on his crew seems capable of following his simple rule—sends a flood of fury through Ed and he wrestles himself free from Jim’s grip. He throws several punches, pulsing with rage when they manage to dodge them, then finally pulls out his gun from where it’s tucked into his pant-leg.
“Don’t you dare say his name,” Ed says, pointing his gun straight at Jim. No one says that name on his ship, not under his command.
Jim seems unphased and smirks. “Why?” They tilt their head. “Still pining for your boyfriend?”
Ed cocks his gun. “Watch it,” he growls.
Jim doesn’t even flinch, their smirk simply blooms even wider. Then, in a blink, the gun is knocked from Ed’s hands and he’s once again trapped in another headlock, a cold metallic blade pressing against the tender skin on his neck. “On the contrary,” Jim hisses, “you should watch your fuckin’ step.”
This wouldn’t be the worst way to go, Ed reasons, and he might just deserve it after everything he’s done, so he stops fighting. He releases all the tension he’s been holding and lets his body deflate, shoulders sagging in defeat.
Jim lets out a long sigh, clearly not satisfied with what would be an easy, effortless kill. Ed isn’t surprised that they wanted a more satisfying fight. They drop the knife, which clatters violently when it hits the floor. “You are so fuckin’ lucky I like him too much to kill you,” they grit out, breath warm against the back of Ed’s neck. They finally release him from the headlock and forcefully shove him forward.
Ed contemplates reaching for his gun which is resting on the floor, but he thinks Jim would knife him before he even got close. He lets out a bitter laugh. “How do you know I’m not going to turn around and kill you instead?”
Jim shrugs their shoulders, mouth twisted into a grimace. “I don’t fuckin’ know? Intuition?” Under their breath, they spew out a string of curse words in Spanish. “Look, if either of us kill the other it’ll just be a mess, pendejo.” They cast their gaze towards the bottles of rum resting on Ed’s desk, then lift their eyes back up to Ed, irises sparkling with a challenge. “Wanna get super drunk instead?”
And this is how Ed learns that Jim has a much higher alcohol tolerance than him.
Ed knows he’s a heavyweight, but after the equivalent of 2 bottles of rum, he’s totally gone, whereas Jim seems completely unaffected—not even buzzed. S’not fair, if you ask him.
And he’s so drunk—the world is spinning and feels completely tilted off it’s fuckin’ axis—that he tells Jim everything. Fuck, alcohol is both a blessing and a curse.
He tells them of a half-confession, bright eyes shining with affection, a stolen kiss beneath the setting sun, a plan to run away to China, and how he waited on that dock all night long.
“Wow.” Jim stabs their dagger into the desk. “Stede is fuckin’ idiot,” they conclude.
“Agreed,” Ed slurs. He slaps his cheek, trying to ground himself as the world continues to spin and he feels the alcohol slosh around in his stomach.
Jim levels him with a glare. “You do realize you’re a fuckin’ idiot too, right?”
Usually, Ed would take offense to such a claim, but he’s too fuckin’ drunk. He screws his face into a pout.
“So he never showed up,” Jim continues. They toss back another shot. “Did it never occur to you to, I don’t know, look for him?” They laugh bitterly. “It’s Stede, maybe he got lost. Or maybe the British got him.”
Choosing to ignore the last part of Jim’s comment, Ed shakes his head. “Didn’ cross m’ mind.”
“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Jim grits out. “You two really are perfect for each other.” They click their tongue and quietly curse in Spanish once more. “Matched in your idiocy.”
Ed tosses back another shot of rum, and the burning sensation that erupts in his throat is comforting rather than painful.
He’s never thought of himself as a sloppy drunk, but he feels tears building, building, building in his eyes. “Just love ‘im so much,” he slurs. “Never got a chance t’ tell him.”
It’s the first time he’s ever admitted the depth of his feelings out loud. It should be more monumental, but Ed is too drunk to pay it any mind.
“He’s not dead, cabron,” Jim says, and from the angry sneer on their face, Ed knows the final word is some sort of insult. “You’ve just been keeping him in the brig.”
“Should’a told him before,” Ed hiccups. “Maybe then he wouldn’ta left me waitin’ on that dock.” Because that is his greatest regret. Maybe if he’d told Stede exactly how it was he really felt—not some vague confession that wasn’t all the way there—just maybe….
Jim pulls their dagger out of the desk only to stab into the desk with even more force, sending chips of wood flying everywhere. “Idiota! ” they curse. Then, surprisingly gently, they add, “Just talk to him.”
“Can’t.” Ed shakes his head, well aware the tears have begun to fall. “Fuckin’ can’t.” He knows he looks pathetic, and shit, drinking all this rum has made him really needs to piss.
But he can’t talk to Stede and he’s too drunk to parse out why, but he just knows he can’t. Stede… Stede is…
(Stede will never forgive him for what he’s become.)
The sympathy in Jim’s eyes vanishes, as if it was never there at all.
They pull their knife from the desk and stand on their feet in perfect coordination—not even swaying from the alcohol. Jim tucks their dagger back into their pant-leg and scoffs. “Then you’re even stupider than I thought.”
And then, without another word, they leave Ed alone in his quarters, slamming the door behind them.
He can’t talk to Stede. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
(Why can’t he?)
Head still spinning and barely able to form coherent thoughts, Ed buries his head and his hands and groans, as he tries, but fails to keep the tears at bay.
IV.
The crew members of the Revenge who Ed marooned slowly find their place on the ship again.
Several of them continue to shoot him dark, angry glances, which is fair, he never apologized for the whole leaving them on an island to die thing—but he was going through something, alright?
He’s still going through it, if he’s being honest, he’s still reapplying his kohl each and every day, trying to occupy the role of Blackbeard, but he’s mellowed in the past few days. Since his drunken confession to Jim—a conversation he remembers shockingly well for being pissed out of his mind—he’s felt a bit lighter. Plus, he really doesn’t want a member of his crew to try and kill him again .
He assigns a few members of his crew the task of visiting the brig so his prisoner doesn’t starve, because he refuses to go down there himself.
(He’s still not ready to see him .)
If Ed’s being honest, he still doesn’t know what several of the members of his crew even do, but having the bird guy back has been helpful for navigation purposes and knowing the moon phases. The latter necessary for honouring the tradition of moon glow, Ed remembers him saying.
He has a new bird perched on his head now—definitely not the same one Jack killed the night before they were captured by the English, but it looks pretty similar.
“Ey,” Ed says, snapping his fingers. “Bird guy.”
“Aye, Captain,” Buttons says. “Livy sends her regards.”
Ed furrows his brow, he never bothered to learn the names of all of the crew, but he’s pretty sure the man’s name isn’t Livy. “Livy’s the bird, yeah?”
“Aye Captain Blackbeard.”
Ed nods. “Huh.”
“You’ve good timing, Captain,” Buttons continues, “Livy and I were hopin’ to speak with youse.”
As valuable as his knowledge, particularly when it comes to navigation, is, this member of his crew is confusing . Ed scratches the side of his head. “The bird wants to speak to me?”
“Aye,” Buttons says, “quite perceptive, Livy is.”
Well. This will be interesting. He’ll humour it.
“Well go on, what did you two want to speak to me about?”
He won’t kill them. Probably. But maiming is still on the table. He loves a good maim.
“Livy misses the other captain, she does,” the strange bird guy says—Ed should really try and learn the names of the people on this ship. “Thinks you two need to talk and make up.”
Ed would be angry, but he’s far too amused by the current situation. This strange member of his crew is telling him that even a bird thinks he needs to talk to Stede.
Ed tilts his head. “She does, huh?”
“Aye.” He holds out his arm so the bird can perch on his hand opposed to his head. “Says somethin’ witchy must be afoot, since ye aren’t speakin’. Says one of ye must be cursed.”
Ed scoffs. “’m not cursed. What makes her think I’m cursed?”
(Unless that’s why Stede left him on that dock.)
“Not yet ye aren’t,” Buttons warns. “But Livy and I don’t think ye should risk it.” His tone is rather ominous and it makes Ed shudder.
It’s embarrassing, he’s motherfucking Blackbeard, why is he afraid of anything? He’s the one they should all be afraid of. But nothing seems to be able to phase this freaky bird guy.
“Always right about these sorts of things, Livy is,” Buttons adds. “While Karl had a talent for navigatin’, Livy’s in touch with spirits and understands relationships.”
A bird with a knack for curses who serves as a relationship counsellor, the Revenge will never cease to surprise him.
Ed scratches the side of his head. “Karl was the other bird, yeah?”
“That he was.” Buttons sniffles. “Gone too soon.” He uses his free hand to wipe his eyes. “May he rest in peace.”
“Huh.” Ed says as he attempts to process this entire interaction.
He turns to leave him then, not even uttering goodbye, but it doesn’t seem to matter, the bird guy’s eyes are slightly glassed over as he continues to focus his attention solely on Livy.
It’s become an annoyance at this point, how many people have told him he needs to talk to Stede. First the bard through song, then Izzy—for all the wrong reasons—then Jim, and now this weird dude and his bird.
But Ed has no interest in listening to any of them, and he’s certainly not taking advice from a bird.
Right?
V.
The scribe’s ghost won’t stop haunting him.
Whenever he tries to actually sleep, curling himself into a fetal position as he lies on Stede’s former bed, completely stripped of its linens and fine things, the scribe’s ghost emerges from that stupid auxiliary wardrobe that he couldn’t bring himself to empty and doesn’t shut up.
He knows the ghost is the most literal manifestation of his guilt for shoving the boy overboard, but god he wants to be left alone. He’s not slept well since he’s tried to reassume the identity of Blackbeard, the dark circles under his eyes hidden by the layer of kohl he applies every morning.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons he drinks so much, so much that he usually passes out, because when he’s knocked out by the alcohol he can’t be haunted.
Expecting tonight to be no exception, Ed doesn’t even try to fall asleep, he simply sits up on his bed waiting for Lucius’ ghost to appear. He’s going to try a different tactic tonight.
When Lucius appears Ed speaks before he can even get a word out.
“Hey, boy, can you help me with somethin’ real quick?”
Lucius crosses his arms over his chest. “Why the fuck would I help you? Need I remind you fucking murdered me?”
Ed scoffs. “You’re quite rude for a ghost.” He rolls his eyes. “Thought you’d have better manners.”
“Fuck you,” Lucius seethes, “There’s absolutely no reason for me to polite towards someone who, again, fucking murdered me!”
“So obsessed with the murder, get over yourself, mate.”
“I will fucking not!” Lucius snaps.
“God,” Ed groans, “you’re just always fucking here, can we please just have a productive conversation for once?”
Lucius grumbles and mutters something under his breath. He lets out a sigh. “Ugh fiiiiiiine.”
Ed sits in silence for a moment, resting his palm on his cheek in contemplation. Eventually he’s drawn out of his thoughts by Lucius, who is rather impatiently and insistently tapping his foot. “I’m waitinggggggg.”
“I’m thinking!” Ed whines. “Gotta explain it properly.”
Lucius huffs. “Oh my gooddddd.”
Finally, Ed snaps his fingers. “Okay got it.” He tilts his head. “You’re being rather difficult, you know.”
Lucius glowers at him. “Need I remind you, you fucking murder—” He cuts himself off, the words dying on his tongue. “Ugh, you know what, whatever, just fucking tell me.”
“Fine, fine.” Ed lets out a deep breath. “Right, so, imagine a hypothetical scenario where it’s been a month since someone really hurt another person—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Lucius says, cutting him off. “You’re talking about Stede.”
“No!” Ed protests. “Shut up. I’m not talking about… him…”
“Mhm. I’m pretty sure you are though.”
“I told you,” Ed insists, “this is completely fictional. Made up. Imaginary.”
Lucius rolls his eyes. “...Right.”
Goddamn the ghost of this stupid scribey person for not listening to him.
“Well,” Lucius starts, “is there more or…?”
“What—shitfuck—of course there’s more!”
If he hadn’t already thrown the boy overboard, he’d be tossing him over the side of the ship right now.
(Who is he kidding? No he wouldn’t)
Lucius says nothing—for once in his life, Ed is convinced—and instead waits for Ed to continue.
“Anyway, in this story,” he continues, “this person who got really hurt has been told multiple times, by multiple people to talk things through—”
Lucius interrupts him again. “Yup, you’re definitely talking about Stede.”
“Fuck! ’m not!”
Lucius smirks. “You definitely are.”
“Do you ever shut up?” Ed growls.
Lucius tosses his head back and forth. “When necessary.” He smiles salaciously, and Ed winces, his imagination suddenly way too vivid for his own liking.
Desperate to banish the thought, he asks, “Can I continue now or…?”
Lucius scoffs. “Fine, whatever, I’ll stop interrupting you.”
Ed grumbles. He dramatically clears his throat. “Anyway,” he says, louder than before, hoping the stupid ghost is true to word and stops fucking interrupting him. “This, definitely fictional, character thinks they may finally want to talk about things…” He turns his eyes towards his hands which are now clenched on his lap. “But they don't know how, and they’re not so sure what to do?”
Ed looks back up at Lucius and notices that his expression has changed, he suddenly seems less petty and appears almost sympathetic.
“And,” Lucius begins, tone surprisingly genuine, “does this fictional character want some advice?”
Ed nods his head, feeling traitorous tears spring to his eyes. He clears his throat. “Advice would be good, yeah.”
Lucius steps toward the bed and sits down next to Ed—who should probably be questioning why the mattress pad dips as if the ghost actually weighs something and isn’t just an exceptionally snarky puff of air conjured by his imagination.
“I think…” Lucius fiddles with the hem of his shirt sleeve, and Ed had no idea a ghost could seem so life-life. “You should talk to him.”
Ed lets out a watery chortle. “Not me, mate. Remember? Completely made up.”
Lucius seems undeterred. “ You should talk to him,” he repeats.
Ed sniffles and finally, finally lets the facade break. “But how do I talk to him when he left me behind?”
Lucius’ eyes widen. “He did what!?” He shakes his head. “My god, Stede is an idiot!” He clicks his tongue, and then says more quietly, “But I guess I knew that already.”
“We made plans to run away together,” Ed says, “to be together, but then he left me sitting on that dock like a fucking idiot.”
Lucius lets out a deep breath. “Alright, so he hurt you… quite badly, evidently, but the fact that he hurt you just means you really care about him, right?”
“Fuckin’ hate caring about people,” Ed says kicking the floor with his foot like a petulant child. “Fuckin’ sucks balls.”
“But caring about him also means he made you really happy, right?” Lucius asks. “Like, you two were always sickeningly happy when you were together.” He rolls his eyes. “It was a bit nauseating, really."
Ed feels himself smile involuntarily as the memories flash before him.
Stede tapping his shoulder to awake him and handing him a fresh-baked scone slathered with the best marmalade he’d ever tasted, the sunrise representing the birth of something precious and sacred between them.
Stede defending his honour in front of those French upper-class monsters and burning down an entire ship without lifting a finger.
Stede tucking that tatty piece of red silk into his breast pocket, features illuminated by the moonlight, eyes gleaming with an emotion he knew he was feeling, but was afraid to name.
Stede comforting him as he cried in that bathtub, holding out his hand for him, and seeing him the exact same way even after the truth had been laid bare.
Stede laughing with him and joking with him as they ate snake, his hands gentle as they pulled a piece from his beard.
(He’d said he could do anything that day, and that was certainly true as long as Stede was by his side.)
Stede kissing him back, not for long before Ed pulled away, but enough for him to know that this…whatever this was between them was real.
Stede’s eyes shining brighter than ever before, with affection and adoration and reverence as he said, voice quiet as a whisper, “You make Stede happy.”
Ed lets out a sigh and a breathy laugh, before he finally turns back to Lucius. “Yeah, he did.” Stede Bonnet makes him so fucking happy. “He does.”
“Then talk to him.” Lucius says. “That’s the only way you’ll really know what happened.”
Ed kicks at the wooden floor again. “You’re just sayin’ that cos you’re a fuckin’ manifestation of my self conscience or some shit like that.”
Lucius barks out a laugh. “I’m sorry, WHAT?”
“Yeah, I reckon you’re like a ghost.” Ed scratches the side of his head. “Or am I wrong about that…?”
“I am not a ghost!” Lucius snaps. “I’ve told you that SO many times.”
Ed blinks at him a few times. “You have?”
“Do you never listen to me or—?” Lucius stops himself and raises a hand. “Don’t answer that I know you don’t.”
Ed crosses his arms over his chest and grunts. “You know, I was finally going to apologize for murdering you since you gave me decent advice.”
“Great,” Lucius drawls. “So, you were going to apologize to me, but only because I helped you. Do you even know how apologies work?”
Ed clicks his tongue. “Not doin’ it anymore though. ’specially since you’re not dead.”
“Oh my god, you are unbelievable!” Lucius declares. “A fucking idiot, no wonder Stede is so enamoured by you!”
Ed blinks a few times. “Enamoured by me—why?”
Because Ed will never understand what someone like Stede could see in someone like him. But with the boy being alive… maybe he’s not the monster he thought.
Lucius lets out a frustrated huff. “You know what, fuck this. Just go to Stede and either talk it out or fuck it out, or do both, I really don’t care anymore.” He stands up from the bed. “Now, I’m going to reunite with the crew, and you better hope that by the time they find out what you did to me, you’ve made up with Stede, so he stops us from chucking you overboard.”
Ed cocks his head, completely unmoved by Lucius’ threat. “Petty.”
“Thank you, I take pride in that, actually,” Lucius says, smirking, only to turn around seconds later and stomp out of the room.
“I’m sorry!” Ed calls after him. “For throwing you overboard and all of that.”
“Apology not fucking accepted!”
+1
During their first spoken interaction in slightly over a month, Stede, despite the circumstances, is nothing short of himself.
At one point, Ed would have found this fact about him endearing, but right now it’s an annoyance.
The minute Stede’s thrown into Ed’s room, by Fang and Ivan, his eyes dart around landing on bare bookcases, blank walls, places that were once filled with his treasures and knickknacks empty and hollow.
“Well,” Stede starts, eyes finally meeting Ed’s, “I see you’ve done some redecorating.”
Ed knows Stede’s quip is just a way to mask any pain he is feeling right now, but he bites out the words without a second thought. “Fuck you.”
Stede shakes his head and tuts. “I mean all of my books, Edward, really?”
“Fuck off,” Ed grumbles.
Stede lifts his eyebrows and lets out an annoyed little huff. This conversation is going about as well as Ed expected.
“Some of them were collector’s additions!” Stede protests. “Might have been worth trying to sell since I completely gave up my money and acreage to come back here…” He trails off and Ed watches his throat bob as he swallows. Good, he likes that Stede is nervous. Finally, he adds, “To you.”
Ed crosses the room, so he is standing much closer to Stede, encroaching upon his space. “You did what?” he breathes.
“I gave up my money and acreage,” Stede repeats simply, not giving the admission any of the weight Ed thinks it deserves. He lets out a self deprecating laugh. “Was my way of making things up to Mary, to my children, for leaving them the first time, and for coming back and being a massive arsehole this time.”
Oh .
Of fucking course.
So when Stede left him alone on that dock, and tore his heart into a million little shreds—no, carved his heart out of his chest—he left him to go back to his wife and children. Ed burns with shame, he feels like a fuckin’ idiot. He turns his eyes away from Stede and kicks at the wooden floor beneath his feet.
(What’s to stop Stede from leaving him again?)
“But I’m never going to leave again.”
Ed’s eyes flick up and he meets Stede’s gaze. His eyes—his stupid, pretty eyes that are brown and enticing like the finest, smoothest brandy—are as earnest and sincere as his words.
It’s as if he’s read his fuckin’ mind.
It should be a shock, that Stede knows him this well, that he seems to always know exactly what’s going through his fuckin’ head. Usually, the idea of being so well known, so well understood, has Ed throwing up his walls, creating some impenetrable barrier that no one, not even Izzy, can crack. But Stede—bloody eager, bloody brilliant, bloody idiotic Stede—has always been able to break through the barricade.
“Can’t exactly go back to Bridgetown, anyway” Stede adds. “For all intents and purposes, Stede Bonnet is dead.”
Ed looks him up and down, he’s pretty sure the man in front of him is definitely alive. “What?”
Stede’s eyes light up, shining brighter than most of the stars in the sky. “Ah yes, it was quite the fuckery, if I do say so myself.” He purses his lips. “Though I do wonder now if it may have been too ostentatious…”
Ed frowns. Stede and his fancy, fancy words. “Oste—what?”
Stede furrows his brow. “Ostentatious,” he repeats. Then, to clarify, “Showy, over the top, gauche.” He sighs and waves his hand. “Nevermind that.” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you’re finally willing to talk, Edward, really. I hope you’ll give me the chance to explain everything.”
Ed’s patience is starting to wear thin. He crosses his arms. “Explain away, then.”
Stede sighs and takes a seat on the window sill. He still treats the place like home, like he never left at all.
(Ed wishes he hadn’t.)
Stede leans back and bonks his head against the window. “Where do I even start?”
“From the beginning?” Ed offers, well aware it’s a rather unhelpful suggestion.
To his surprise, Stede laughs, the sound ringing out in the air and filling the room like the chords of a goddamn sea-shanty. “I suppose,” Stede starts, “I could begin with why I came back, that’s the easiest thing to explain, after all.”
Ed steps towards the window sill and sits down right next to Stede. He clenches his hands in his lap. “Why did you?”
Ed feels one of Stede’s palms, more calloused than he remembers, gently land upon his hands. Stede gently swipes his thumb over Ed’s knuckles. “That part is quite simple, really.” Stede says, quietly.
Ed feels Stede’s fingers trying to pry his hands apart, trying to make greater contact. He lets him, loosening his grip and lets Stede’s pinky drag along his newly exposed palm.
Stede’s eyes on his are like a match, one strike igniting a fire in his soul. “I came back because I love you,” he finally says.
Ed rips his hand away as if he’s been burnt. Goddamn Stede fuckin’ Bonnet and his pretty little lies.
Stede looks at him in alarm, concern swimming in his brown eyes. “Ed, what’s wrong?”
Ed shakes his head. “Don’t say stuff that you don’t mean.” He jams his thumb at Stede’s chin. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ say something like that if you don’t mean it.”
Because Stede can’t mean it, he can’t. Not when he left him there on that dock, like a lovesick puppy dog, not when he tore his heart from his chest so cruelly and callously.
Stede’s lip trembles. “But Ed, I do mean it. I-I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it, but I do mean it.” He curls his palm around Ed’s face, cupping his cheek. “I love you,” he repeats.
Ed scoffs. “How do you know it’s love?”
Stede blinks, hand still resting on Ed’s cheek. “Pardon?”
“How do you know—fuck—the way that you feel? How do you know that feeling is love?”
Stede tilts his head, pondering the question. “I didn’t at first,” he admits, rubbing his thumb along Ed’s cheek bone. “Know what I was feeling was love, that is.” He lets out a deep breath. “All that I knew was that being with you was easier than anything else and that you made me laugh more than anyone ever had before. That everything felt wrong when I went back home, and it only righted itself when I reboarded the Revenge , even when you couldn’t even look me in the eye. That I’d spend every single morning drinking tea and every single night drinking fine brandy by your side, if you’d let me. I didn’t know what the feeling was at first, but I knew it was something I’d never felt before.”
Ed feels the air leave his lungs at Stede’s confession. But for all the raw, open honesty in his words, there’s still something missing.
“If you loved me—” Ed starts, then quickly cuts himself off. He coughs. “If you love me,” he corrects, “then why did you leave?”
Stede pulls his palm away from Ed’s face and reaches for his hand, and to Ed’s surprise, he lets Stede take it. “When you kissed me on that beach,” Stede whispers, “it was everything I ever wanted, even if I didn’t know it at the time. But then we made plans to run away to China and…” He stops, eyes flickering across empty shelves before he turns them back to meet Ed. “I couldn’t just abandon everything again.”
“Mate,” Ed says quietly. “If you didn’t want to run away to China why didn’t you say something?” He gently swipes his thumb along Stede’s palm. “Would have gone fuckin’ anywhere, long as it was with you.”
“But that was the thing, you see?” Stede blows out a breath. “I couldn’t go anywhere. My guilt was eating me alive for abandoning Mary, my children, I couldn’t just leave my crew behind too.”
Ed scoffs. “So you left me behind instead.”
Stede scrubs a hand down his face. “Less than ideal, I know, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Ed feels his lips twist into a grimace. “Why the fuck not?” he bites out.
Stede lets out a deep breath. “Remember how you told me you had a guard who would wake me?”
Ed nods his head. He does remember, he remembers everything from that night with perfect clarity, as much as he’s tried to drink it away.
“Well, Chauncey got to me first.”
The name isn’t ringing any bells. “Fuck’s that?”
“Chauncey Badminton?” Stede attempts to clarify.
Ed shakes his head. Still nothing.
Stede grimaces. “That dreadful British arsehole who captured us and wanted me dead.” He lets out a bitter, brittle laugh. “Gave it another shot, actually, pulled me from my bed with a gun to my face, dragged me into the woods.”
Stede sounds so casual, so cavalier, and the ease with which he admits that someone tried to kill him makes Ed furious. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” he growls.
The lines in Stede’s face deepen and he purses his lips. “Won’t be necessary, I’m afraid, because he’s dead.” Suddenly, the calmness with which he spoke only seconds earlier vanishes and his entire body begins to shake. “He’s dead… because of me.”
“Stede—” Ed starts, hoping his tone is comforting.
“I didn’t kill him,” Stede clarifies, and Ed assumes this is more for himself than anyone else. He’d already guessed that Stede wouldn’t have been the one to pull the trigger. “He was drunk as a boiled owl, and before he could shoot me, he tripped and his gun went off. Right through his eye…” He shudders. “Just like his brother.”
Ed surprises himself then and curls his hand around Stede’s. “S’not your fault, mate.”
“It’s not that he’s dead,” Stede says, shaking his head. “Bloody arsehole deserved it for the way he treated me growing up, but it’s what he said before he died. That’s what—” Stede swallows. “That’s what haunts me.”
Ed says nothing, he hopes the silence comes across as an invitation for Stede to continue.
“He told me I ruined things, defiled them,” Stede admits, his voice continuing to shake. “My family, his brother…” his voice trails off and he says the final word quietly. “...you.” He sniffles. “And he was right… about all of it.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Edward,” Stede says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You gave up everything for me.”
Ed still doesn’t understand what Stede is trying to tell him and he arches an eyebrow. “So…?”
“No one had ever done that before, not for me!” Stede turns his eyes away from Ed’s and glances at their joined hands. “I didn’t deserve it and it terrified me.”
“Fuck you mean you didn’t deserve it?”
Stede says the words with conviction as if they are some natural law of the universe, like the laws of motion or something like that, like it’s something ingrained into him. “Simple as that, really. I didn’t deserve it.”
“What the fuck, Stede?”
“I’m a coward, Ed,” Stede admits, his voice watery. “My father reminded me of it again and again growing up, Nigel and Chauncey too, but you… you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. I didn’t deserve your sacrifice, just like I didn’t deserve you.”
“Oh, shut up,” Ed says. He’s done with Stede’s self-deprecation, how can he still not see that he’s one of the most amazing pirates—one of the most amazing men—he knows?
“It’s true!” Stede continues. “I’m just a nothing who dragged you into my mess.” He shakes his head furiously. “Face it, I’m not a pirate, I’m just an idiot.”
Ed’s grip on Stede’s hand grows impossibly tighter. His tone is firm and unyielding. “You, Stede Bonnet, are not a coward.” He shrugs his shoulders. “You are a bit of an idiot, though.”
He knows the words are not enough to undo years and years of self-loathing, years and years or trauma and damage, but he hopes for now they will suffice.
Stede’s eyes finally meet his again. Beautiful, brown and glistening with fresh tears. “You really think so?” he whispers.
“Are you kidding me, mate? You’re so fuckin’ original!” Ed says, grip on Stede’s hand loosening only slightly. “I reckon, that makes you braver and smarter than basically any other pirate I’ve ever met.”
Stede’s lips curl up into a gentle smile. “I appreciate that, Ed.” He swallows roughly then lets out another deep breath. “I’m really sorry I left you.” He links their fingers together. “I’ll always be sorry. And I more than understand if you can’t—”
Ed cuts him off, the words tumbling out without thought. “I forgive you.”
Stede blinks at him. “Why?” He flushes, red and pink blooming downward and Ed wants to chase that flush with his lips and tongue. “I mean, that’s wonderful, Edward, but why?”
“Don’t know,” Ed admits. “Just know I do, is all.”
“I understand if you’re still mad about what happened, even if I’m forgiven.”
Ed lets out a sigh. “Mate, ’m so tired of being mad at you.”
Stede huffs out a quiet laugh.
“I’m sorry too,” Ed says, squeezing Stede’s hand. “For throwing away all your fine things, for marooning your crew, imprisoning you for a month, tossing your boy overboard.”
“Lucius?” Stede asks. He runs a hand through his hair and frowns. “Well, I didn’t know about that part.”
“He’s fine,” Ed reassures him. “Fucker’s been haunting me since I let you aboard.”
“Ah yes,” Stede agrees. He tilts his head. “He can be quite… petty when he wants to.”
A laugh bursts from Ed. His first genuine laugh in a long time, he thinks. It’s no surprise that Stede was the one to draw it from him. When he’s with Stede, laughter is as easy and natural and vital as breathing.
Stede too laughs, and the sound warms Ed, starting from his heart and radiating outwards to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’m so glad we finally had the chance to sort this out.” He smiles slyly. “That’s what we do on the Revenge , after all, we talk things through—”
Ed cuts him off and winces. “Please don’t say as a crew.”
Stede quirks an eyebrow. “Don’t be silly, I was going to say ‘me and you’.”
Ed can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across his face. “I see what you did there!” He affectionately smacks Stede’s arm. “Bloody brilliant, mate.”
Stede beams in response. “Thanks.”
Ed slugs his shoulder, revelling in the ability to just touch Stede again.
Stede licks his lips and the gesture makes desire stir in Ed’s gut. Stede clears his throat. “I know we still have a lot to work through before we can go back to… how things were, but I’d really like to, er, kiss you, if that’s alright.”
Of course, even now, Stede is still trying to be a gentleman. Ed shakes his head. “Mate, we’re never going back to the way things were.”
Stede visibly deflates, shoulders sagging and lips drooping into a frown, and only then does Ed realize that Stede has completely misunderstood what he meant. “Sorry, it was a stupid thing to say, of course we’re not, ah, alright, not after what I did, not when we—”
Ed can’t take this anymore, so he silences Stede’s silly little ramble with his lips.
It’s not a passionate kiss, just a firm press of his lips against Stede’s that he hopes conveys everything he cannot say.
Stede makes a small noise in surprise, but quickly tilts his head so their mouths meet at a better, more comfortable angle. He parts his lips, which Ed takes as a willing invitation. He presses in closer and kisses Stede more urgently, pouring all of his longing from the past month into the union between their mouths. He curls one hand around Stede’s waist and presses the other against his chest, feeling the steady, solid beat of his heart.
The way he feels when he kisses Stede is… fucking impossible to describe. He feels like he’s floating, flying, falling all at once. Like he’s trapped in an eternal sort of free fall, like being kissed by Stede Bonnet and kissing him back is its very own swan dive.
Ed can’t help the small sound of disappointment that he makes when Stede pulls away and it takes a few moments for him to open his eyes and return to reality.
When he looks into Stede’s eyes they are warm and filled with a sappy, syrupy adoration that is unfamiliar, but not even slightly unwanted. “So yeah,” Ed finally says, voice coming out low and slightly breathless. “I reckon we’re never going back to the way things were before.” He pauses to catch his breath. “Because before I didn’t get to do that.”
Stede’s eyes twinkle. “Well.” His voice is raspy. “I stand corrected, I suppose.”
His tongue darts out to wet his lips and Ed wants to kiss every inch of his stupid, adorable little face. So he does, pressing sloppy kisses to Stede’s forehead, his eyebrows, his nose, his cheeks, then finally lips once more. “I fuckin’ love you,” Ed says, when he finally pulls away. “So fuckin’ much.”
Stede’s responding grin is brighter than the full moon hanging in the sky. He cups Ed’s face in both hands, leaning in close to touch their foreheads together. “I love you too.” His warm breath washes over Ed’s lips and Ed closes the minimal distance between them once again in a searing, passionate kiss. He will never grow tired of being able to do this.
The world is spinning when he finally pulls away, but Ed decides that being drunk on Stede Bonnet—being drunk on the love and affection he feels for him—is a million times better than on any sort of drink.
Fuck, he’s becoming such a sap.
But when Stede smiles at him like that, filled with adoration and warmth and admiration and above all love, he finds he doesn’t mind at all.
Ed would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined this day, his reunion with Stede, many times over.
But this, he thinks, everything out in the open between them as they trade kisses that range from lazy and languid to passionate and ardent, this is somehow better than anything he could ever have possibly imagined.