Work Text:
You have so rarely been held by others. Tucked away in a secret pocket, sewed into the lining of a jacket years and years ago with sloppy, childlike enthusiasm, you have enjoyed the touch of another only a handful of times. A few lovers, one of whom laughed and did not return; a partner, who knows better than to ask questions — and a gentleman. There have been others, but you aren’t really in the business of remembering them all. And besides, they don’t come often enough. You have your favorite person. He takes you out of the little pocket and will sometimes lay you out on a table or keep you folded in the palm of one hand while he smokes. He once dropped a bit of ash on you, but it didn’t burn like he thought it would and the tantrum he threw was for nothing. But you were there, you reassured him — I won’t leave, because I can’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I’ll live here, in the place over your heart, for as long as you’ll keep me there.
This is what you want to say, in the midst of a cavalcade of heartbreak.
I won’t leave, because I can’t.
He walks onto the deck of a ship you’ve grown quite fond of.
And even if I could, I wouldn’t.
You get the sense that things are changing, and you aren’t sure how.
I’ll live here, in the place over your heart —
His grip on you is loose. You want to scream, but you can’t.
— for as long as you’ll keep me there.
The whips through his fingers and suddenly —
No. Nonononononono. No.
No!
Anything, grab anything. The wind is useless, but the ship! You try to reach for the ship but you’re whipped through the air, across this damn sea and suddenly there is nothing warm and nothing good and nothing soft. Nothing — except you. You get further and further and further away from those hands.
And then you’re gone.
You begin life as a worm.
Well — alright. It’s much more complicated than that. Offspring of the bombyx mori, raised in captivity somewhere in China, you actually began life as a prized cocoon, steamed to kill the precious creature inside, and tossed and tumbled through many other hands to eventually meet others and become thread. It’s all a bit of a blur after that, until you emerge one whole, beautiful piece of fabric, a vibrant, almost violent red.
Eventually, you’re sent very far from where you were made. You hear whispers of threats on these tumultuous seas — storms and thieves and killers. None of that really means much to you. You are connected to your brethren and tightly secured in this presumably waterproof box. You ignore them. They’re being paranoid.
Your first exposure to this new place takes several more weeks, when you wind up in the home of a very wealthy woman and her family. She is making noises at a seamstress, who carefully lifts you from the box you were delivered in and holds you in soft, careful hands. Oh, you think. This is nice. And it is. She’s very gentle, save for the moment when she produces the heavy metal shears she will use to slice you and your companions away.
She’s making a dress.
You don’t want to be a dress. You have a horrible feeling it’s for the woman who was yelling earlier, and those aren’t your sort of people. But there isn’t much you can really do except lay there and be sliced into strips and cut into patterns and sewn by, admittedly, an expert hand.
Except —
Except you are not made into a dress. You are a stray scrap on the ground snatched up when no one is looking and hastily shoved into the pocket of an apron. A thief! you think. Finally! All this talk and nothing happened on the way here, but now you’re being stolen! How exciting. You’re spirited out of the house late one evening and carried in the apron pocket along with a piece of very nice cheese given to your captor by a friend and some sort of sweet. It’s all rather nice, actually, being the victim of this particular crime.
“Here,” your captor says, finally removing you from the pocket some hours later. “Try this.”
“What is it?” A new voice. Young and bright. A boy.
“It’s a very nice cheese the cook made, she wanted you to have a bit.” She gives the boy the sweet, too, though he is gentle and urges her to take it for herself. “No, no, it’s for you, love.”
Love. Well, that’s a nice word.
Eventually she brings you out, too, in the morning. She puts you in his hands.
“Feel it, boy. The Carmody Estate is full of things like this.” Ah, so that’s where you were stolen from. Well, rescued. You’re starting to think of it as being rescued. “Beautiful things.”
“Why can’t we have things like this?”
“Well it’s not up to us, is it? It’s up to God.”
God? Who the hell is that?
“He decides who gets what.” She leans forward. “We’re just not those kind of people.”
Hmph. Well, good. You’re not very fond of those kind of people, really. They yell a lot and make demands. They ask for silk dresses while other people have to steal cheese and eat bowls of hot, tasteless mash or old fruit or whatever else they can.
“Edward—”
Edward. Alright. That’s a nice name.
“Don’t fret, love. You’re going to be something…incredible, someday. You already are.”
“How d’you know that?” he asks, still holding you in his hands.
“Because I’m your mother, and you’re my favorite person.”
You stay with Edward now. All the time. Tucked in his pocket when he goes to his job by the docks and set under his pillow when he goes to sleep at night. His life is very busy and very…violent. He fights with boys and men in the street, his father swings a hand or a fist wherever he cares, and there is nothing that can seem to be done about it.
Then, three things happen, in quick succession —
Edward kills his father. You are tucked safe in a pocket away from the rain, and you hear the choking, desperate sounds as the boy winds the rope around his father’s neck and takes the life from him. He is silent after. He drops the rope and walks home.
Then, Edward’s mother dies. She’s been very ill, and he’s been caring for her as best he can, but the doctor they can afford says there isn’t much to be done. Like her husband, she chokes to death, laying in her bed, rail thin and grasping the hands of her son.
Finally, Edward becomes a sailor.
Well — he joins a crew. He’s a bit young to be on a ship they all say, but it seems to be the life he’s been destined for. Edward loves the sea, he loves the sharp smell of salt and spray and the feeling of cold water washing over the bow and the work that goes with it. You are brought on every ship he serves, kept secret and safe, never shown to anyone. Not for a long, long time anyway.
Comparatively, you find this part of Edward’s life a bit…dull. There’s work and there’s a war on and whatever else men seem to be fascinated with, but truth be told, you’re not so sure this is the greatness Edward’s mother spoke of. Unfortunately, you can’t say anything, but you try to make him understand. Whenever he takes you from his pocket, you focus very, very hard.
And eventually, it pays off.
Piracy, you decide, is the life for you. Hoards of stolen goods, of delicious spices and gold coins, fill the ship. There is revelry and drinking and fighting and shouting. No one is ever who they say they are and it’s…exciting. Edward stops being Edward and he becomes something else. He’s grown tall, with a full, black beard and while pirates are vicious, they are by no means the most creative lot. So —
“Oy! Blackbeard!”
And when the people say it, the man his mother once called Edward turns to face them. Usually with a dagger in hand.
You love it. You were born for this life just as much as anyone else. You are the color of blood and kin to objects of desire. Your silk cousins find their way onto the ship and go for a fair amount of coin when they’re sold. You are there when Blackbeard takes his first navy ship, you’re there when he has her crew killed and takes possession of the ship itself, and you’re there when they first call him captain, tucked into the hastily sewn pocket on the inside of a jacket, watching as the world changes and changes and changes. There’s gold and women and men and violence and all the time, you are there, taking it in.
He holds you in his hands in the dark and curses God.
You are just as intrigued by this Gentleman Pirate as Edward is — and to you, he’s still Edward. You tried the Blackbeard bit and it was fun, but it doesn’t feel right. Other people call him Blackbeard, even when the beard is…not so black. He sits in his chair and he smokes his pipe and he thinks things you can’t hear, but you know. You know this life is…dull to him, now. See, the world changed and it changed and it changed, but eventually — it stopped. At least, this one. You know there’s a thousand different worlds outside the confines of this ship, being lived and lost. You think he wants to have one. You think he wants to try something new. So when the news of the Gentleman Pirates reaches you both, Edward seems intrigued. And you don’t have to do much work at all to encourage it.
“Suck eggs, huh?”
Seems like a feisty one. We like feisty ones.
“Sounds feisty.”
See? You should listen to me more often.
And as of late, it does seem like he needs you more. He will take you from the pocket when no one is around and lay you on his bad knee while he smokes or looks at a map or seems to just stare into space and think of nothing. He tucks you away when it’s time to get to work, when it’s time to leave wherever he is, when it’s time to keep moving.
You are aware that you are a connection to the past. You worry, sometimes, you’ll need to be severed. But you aren’t. And he doesn’t. And the world remains unchanged in your time, but it keeps on turning all the same.
You like Stede Bonnet. Against your better judgment, you really, really do.
He’s brash and loud and says stupid things and does stupid things. When you first met him, you thought he was a bit like that woman who wanted the silk dress in the Carmody Estate. The one who yelled and wanted everything now, now, now.
But Stede isn’t like that. Even after he figures out who Edward really is, he keeps calling him Edward. Ed, even. And it’s nice. It’s the sort of thing that’s been missing from your lives. Of course, you may be biased.
“That’s a lovely piece of silk you have there.”
Me! That’s me! I’m the lovely piece of silk!
“Oh, this tatty old thing?”
…Excuse me?
Stede laughs. “Well. Sometimes old things are the best things,” he says. And then he gestures, and you move from one hand into another for the first time in…years.
You will never begrudge the way Edward handles you. His hands are rough and dry from his years at sea. He folds you up and puts you away with a manner you’ve grown used to. It’s a pirate’s lot, to be a little rough around the edges, and then some.
Stede touches the way you first remember — with care and…and love. He smooths you out and folds you into something you’ve never been before. Nothing changes and nothing changes and suddenly, something changes. Set in a pocket, not a secret one and not hidden away, you are on display. And Edward touches you gently for the first time in years.
“See?” Stede says. “You wear fine things well.”
Oh, I am a fine thing, you think. Now kiss him. Go on, he wants to. A fine thing himself, put your hands on him, just put them there, just go on —
Nothing. No one is listening. No one ever listens to you, and they should. You have excellent ideas.
Panic.
You are…panicking.
Suddenly the change is too much. Go back, it all needs to go back. Go back to fine things and sword fights and treasure hunts.
But you can’t. No one can. In a single shout heard halfway ‘round the world, Edward changes everything. And now nothing can be the way it was.
He shaves his beard. Just as well, you think. Wasn’t really black anymore anyway.
You’re joining a war. You’re going to fight for the king. You don’t know who the king is, and frankly you’re not sure you want to know. He doesn’t seem like he’d be very fun. You’re moved from one old pocket to a new one, which is a bit scratchy on the inside and wholly unpleasant as far as you’re concerned. You, a fine thing, shouldn’t be here, but that’s beside the point.
Stede wants to run and you agree with Stede.
When they kiss, you still agree with Stede. This is good, this is very good. There’s no time to delay, and now there’s a plan. China? That’s good, that’s where you were born, so you should be okay there, right? New names, that’s just part of the life, pirates are always being someone they aren’t. You love it when Edward has a plan, it’s the perfect distillation of who he is, who he’s always been.
We just aren’t those kind of people.
No, you think. We’re different than them. We’re better.
We’re pirates.
Sometimes, the world changes.
And sometimes, the world stays the same.
People lie. People say they’ll do one thing, and then they do another.
You learned this a long time ago, and then Stede Bonnet made you think you were wrong.
But it turns out, you were just wishing things could be different.
There’s pain, and then there’s whatever this is. The longing that permeates Stede’s old cabin as you and Edward wallow. He wears one of Stede’s robes and holds you in his hand over his chest and stares at the ceiling for hours. He is lost and he is lonely and you can’t be there for him —
Because you are an old piece of silk, battered with time and worn with age, fraying along the edges and fading in the spots where his thumb yanks you from the secret pockets he’s sewn into every jacket he’s ever worn. You aren’t special, but you’re his. And that has to count for something, doesn’t it?
And you don’t mind Izzy Hands. He wasn’t fazed by your existence. You expect he has mementos of his own, but he’s a strange animal and you can’t ask him anyway. He wants Blackbeard back, and you can’t really fault him. This new part of your life is rather sad, and it was certainly more exciting when you were ravaging the seas and watching men bleed to death. But you want what Edward wants, so you remain in your place and do your best to make him understand.
I won’t leave, because I can’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I’ll live here, in the place over your heart, for as long as you’ll keep me there.
And then he stands on the deck of the ship and he lets you go.
At first, you can’t believe it. This has to have been some terrible mistake and you fight uselessly against the wind, trying to get back. Obviously he’s done this by accident. He would never let you go, you’ve been together for it all! He killed his father with you in his pocket. You were there, clutched between his hand and his mother’s as she faded from this world. It hasn’t been the same since.
Then of course, you’re angry. You’re furious. How could he do this to you? How could he just…just let go. Just because Stede touched you, just because Stede called you fine and because you were seen and understood for the beautiful thing you are — just because of Stede, you have to be the one who suffers? You can’t decide who infuriates you more, to be quite honest, as you’re snagged by a seagull in midair. Wonderful. Just what you’ve always wanted.
You try reasoning with the seagull. You give excellent directions and you have a perfect memory. You know Karl! Well, maybe bringing up Karl is a bad idea, but still! If the gull could just bring you back to the Revenge, you could explain everything to Edward and he’d take you back. He’d put you in his pocket and bring you out when he needed to be reminded of why you do it. Why you live this life. Why you have to be something better than everyone else. If you had five minutes, you could do it. That’s all you’d need.
But you can’t. And now, really, nothing else matters. Why even care where you get dropped, as the seagull releases you and the wind pulls you further and further away. Nothing matters. Nothing has ever mattered. The world didn’t stop changing — it was you. You and Edward stayed who you were while everyone else was trying to be something new and interesting. You’re not so fine or special. You’re nothing, really. You’re a scrap of fabric stolen from the floor of a house you didn’t belong in in the first place. You should have stayed a worm, become a moth, and died. That’s what you should have been. And now you’re going to get eaten by something, probably. But who even cares?
You suppose nothing good can last. And really, all things must fade. If Edward needed to let you go, there must have been a reason for it. He must have understood something important that you’ve simply missed — because you are a scrap of silk, and a lot of things actually don’t make sense. You’re just a bundle of feelings and thread and faded dye and that’s okay. Anything else you became was put on you, and it’s alright for those things to go away. You can be swallowed by a whale in peace, now.
And then —
A hand snatches you out of the air. Touch! For the first time in…well. You’re not sure. Time never did make much sense to you. But a hand! Holding you! Being careful with you and oh you know that hand. You know that touch, you know —
“Well, hello there.”
Stede Bonnet you son of a bitch.
“You’re a little far from your other half, aren’t you?”
If I was any bigger, I’d wrap myself around your neck and throttle you.
“Come on. Let’s get you back.”
Wait, back? We’re going back? Oh, you beautiful bastard, we’re going back!
Stede smiles and tucks you gently into a pocket. He’s out at sea, in a dingy of all things, but you have incredible faith that he will follow through, though there is a precedent for the opposite. But that can be discussed later. Right now, you’re going back.
You’re going home.
You miss a lot of the big drama of Stede’s return. There’s a great deal of yelling and shouting and swords clanging about. Izzy Hands has a great deal of opinions on the matter, and so does most of Stede’s crew, who seem to be about where you are on the spectrum of I’d love to kill you, but then that means you’d be dead. And Stede shouldn’t be dead. He should be alive.
Because Edward loves him.
You can hear him, cursing Stede’s name and causing a ruckus. He’s drunk, which you hate when he is, but it’s sort of understandable, all things considered. Now that you’re back on the ship, you’d like to be back in Edward’s pocket, please. That’s where you belong, that’s —
And then Stede is looking for something, and he pulls you out of his pocket — and everything stops.
Everything stops.
“...How did—”
“Look, Ed, I just want to show you—”
“Shut up.” Edward closes the distance between them — and he grabs you. He grabs you and he holds you in his oil-stained fingers and you behold what he has become and the words come back to you, spilled out in the candlelight that fateful night in the tub —
The Kraken.
“I threw this away.”
“Well…yes. But it…it made its way to me.”
“Could be fake,” Edward murmurs, turning you over in his hands. But he knows you. He knows you best. He knows every single wrinkle and stain and faded line that has become part of who you are, ever since his mother snatched you off the floor and made a home for you in her son’s heart.
“Ed…”
“I waited for you. For hours I waited.”
“I know, there was—”
“The other one, yeah, I heard he got shot. Someone said it was you.”
“Well he…he tripped, and—”
“He tripped? He bloody tripped and blew his own fuckin’ brains out?”
“...Yes.”
Better than he deserved, you think.
Edward snorts. “Better than he deserved.”
See? This is why we belong together.
“Ed. I shouldn’t have left you. It was wrong, and I…I was a coward. Afraid of everything. I can’t say that’s really changed, but I know one thing.” Stede steps closer, putting one hand over you and Edward’s hand and bringing you both to his chest. “Of everything I’ve ever been afraid of, you’re the first I’ve truly overcome.”
“You were afraid of me?”
“Yes,” Stede says. “Petrified.”
“S’bit stupid, isn’t it?”
“Oh, very stupid. In fact, you’ll find I’m absolutely lousy with stupid. Coming out of every bit of me.”
“That’s weird, mate. That’s very weird.”
Stede laughs. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I like it. And I…I was scared of you, too. But I’m not, anymore. I’m not.”
Kiss him, you fool.
Stede sighs. “Kiss me, Ed.”
Edward grins. “With pleasure.”
“You know, there really are a lot of things you can do with this,” Stede says. He’s holding you in his hands over breakfast. Nude breakfast, from what you understand. The cabin door is locked and Edward is still in bed. Stede brings you and some orange slices to him.
As happy as you are that they’re happy, you’d really like to be left out of most of the celebrations.
“You’re trying to dress me up?”
“I’m trying to be creative!”
“Why don’t you put that away and come up here be creative with some other things, hm?”
You and the oranges fall to the ground and you have never wished for the ability to crawl away more than right now, but that’s alright. There’s a line of sunlight that begins making its way through the cabin, and for a while, you can bask in it. You know that silk shines, and that’s something that’s always made you feel a little special, so you simply let yourself be.
You are what you were in the beginning, a scrap of fabric, discarded on the floor, waiting for someone to pick you up.
And when he does, when he lifts you between his fingers and finally puts you back in that secret pocket, you don’t feel the same as you did before. The world is changing and changing and despite your best efforts, you’re changing too.
Edward — Ed — touches the spot over his heart where you live and live and live and smiles.
“Good to have you back,” he murmurs. “Sorry I ever let you go.”
You’re not getting rid of me that easy.
“I guess you’re both here to stay.”
You think about Stede and you think about sunshine and you think about cocoons and you think about Krakens and you think about the sea — and you are content.
Yes, you think. I guess we are.