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While rowing his dinghy through open, lonely waters, Stede sees a myriad of reunions scattered throughout his mind, hundreds of them.
In one, visions of the door to his– to their –cabin slammed shut in his face and locked from within, the sound of the shattering of fine china across a battered deck. In another, maelstroms of rage and his own false promises thrown back in his face, no less than he deserves.
Even after rescuing most of his lads, after hearing the events that had led to their marooning, the ever-shifting images and possibilities continue to turn before him.
Night falls and in the stillness of his watch as they drift, there are all too many versions in which he sees all he’d built and held dear turned into a waste of blood and violence, of death, bitter and vile, of poor Frenchie and Jim in chains, and Lucius–
No, he wills, staring up at the scattered stars, No, they’ll be alright, all of them, Ivan and Fang too. And– and Ed. They have to be. They have to.
He can no longer bare to think otherwise .
Miraculously, their search– really, their downright ridiculous pursuit of a single ship in this boundless sea –lasts no more than four week’s time.
Four weeks to the day since he set out on his own after his second “death,” and the stars are only just beginning to fade as the seven of them drift closer to the dear, familiar sight.
The Revenge sits haloed only by the descending moon and a few scant lamps hung about her rigging and Stede could cry, he’s so close, his whole, thudding heart calling out one word across the velvet-dark waves.
Oh, Ed. Edward. Ed. Ed. Ed.
“This is it, lads,” he stammers, hastily scrubbing the wetness from his lashes away with his dirtied sleeve. “Stay calm. Keep your courage.”
The boys look to each other, none too subtly, even Olu reaches out from his place at the oars to pat his shoulder– the gesture itself a sweet comfort –and Stede does not have to ask. He knows they’re with him come what may. Too much have they endured together for it to be any other way. They are a crew, and he knows they are every one of them all too aware of how heavily this one last chance to make amends has weighed upon him day and night, for every moment since he found them half starving, and crazed, and marooned.
Since before then, really.
Really and truly since realizing the depths of the greatest discovery of his life, and finally, finally whispering his love’s name aloud by candlelight with a peace as such he’d never known before.
A peace he craves now, presently, more than ever.
“This’s yer moment, Cap’n,” Buttons states as he rows along, solemn as ever. “Stay true to yer course ‘n ye’ll naught falter.”
“Whatever happens, we’re here for you, Cap,” adds Wee John.
The others nod and murmur their agreement, their support, their little echoing encouragements, and oh, if he could manage to do so without capsizing them all, Stede would be up and hugging each and every last one.
Quietly as they’ve practiced, inch by agonizingly-long inch, they row their dinghy over till it rests and bobs right along the starboard side.
Their plan is simple. Climb aboard. Let Stede talk to the captain, hopefully without interruption or maiming or death involved. Then, free the rest of their crew, and, hopefully if all goes well, sail off happily together once more.
Simple. Completely straightforward.
Stede gulps, his stomach turning every which way as he watches his crew ascend up the ladder, one by one, quiet as mice.
All this, provided Izzy doesn’t shoot you all on sight, the other side of his thoughts is all too quick to remind him.
And provided E– no, provided Blackbeard even let’s you get two words out before running you through.
And provided–
“Captain?”
Stede jumps at Olu’s voice, fairly rocking them both into the water. They are the last to go, and Olu’s right hand is on the ladder, the other reaching for Stede, tentative, and Stede grasps hold of it, frantically grateful for the support.
“Oh, Oluwande,” he whispers. “Where do I even begin? What do I even tell him?”
“The truth.”
Olu’s eyes, though kind as ever, hold no room for argument as he stares pointedly into Stede’s. He sighs then, softening a bit at what he must see looking back.
“It’s what he deserves, Stede, the whole truth. Not just apologies, yeah? If you care for him as much as you’ve told us–”
“Do you care for Jim, Olu?”
“Jim’s everything,” Olu says, immediately, as if plainly stating, the sky is blue or water is wet. “Jim’s family.”
“Then trust me when I say Ed is mine. Regardless of what he’s done, regardless of who I come face to face with, I have no intention of leaving his side again.”
Olu smiles with a nod, the depths of his understanding shining warmly about him.
“Then just be sure you tell him all of it, the good and the bad. No matter what happens, he has the right to know.”
“I know,” Stede murmurs, shouldering his fears and resolve both as he stares at the dim glow coming from the captain’s cabin.
“I know,” he repeats with a nod, a true and full smile blooming for his friend. “Thank you, Oluwande. Thank you for–“
“No need, Captain,” Olu assures him, gently relinquishing his hand. “What else’s a crew for?”
With that, he turns, nimbly following the rest, as Stede’s fingers restlessly reach into his breeches’ pocket.
There, the soft, worn touch of silk glides against his fingertips, and he breathes in deep, both the salt surrounding him and the faint glimmer of hope within.
“I’m coming, Edward,” he whispers, grasping onto the ladder with both hands.
I’m coming home.
Stede feels no less pure desperation than he imagines Romeo felt ascending Juliet’s balcony or perhaps, the Prince felt battling cursed thorns to reach the Beauty asleep as he clambers up the rickety, swaying steps.
Huffing and puffing as he is, he doubts he makes half as noble a figure. But still. The thought itself is a pleasant motivator, and it spurs him on with greater speed– if barely a little grace –than he is usually capable of.
The sight awaiting him, however, is decidedly less pleasant.
He’s reached the rail, his eyes only just peaking over, when that quivering flicker of hope in his chest is almost snuffed entirely.
For a moment, he can only watch frozen as his poor men are herded together to stand near the forecastle. Cutlasses and knives and pistols surround them, all aimed reluctantly at their chests by Ivan, Fang, Jim, even Frenchie, dear God, and Izzy–
Izzy himself swaggers before the scene, sneering all awhile, as leisurely and cocksure as a lion anticipating his easy prey.
“–poor choice indeed, dogs, returning where you have no place, where you’re merely expendable.” He’s taunting, practically announcing for no one’s pleasure but his own. “What say you now, Captain? Marooning didn’t take, maybe a swim with the sharks’ll do the trick.”
“Hm? Yeah, whatever, Iz. Toss ‘em if you like, I don’t care.”
The greyed, dull voice that answers stills the breath in Stede’s lungs instantly. It forces his eyes to the sound, to the main deck as magnetically as lightning drawn to a tree in the torrent of a storm, and oh.
Oh, Ed. Oh, my Edward, what have I done?
What did I do to you?
It’s not fear that threatens to drown Stede as he takes in the lone, all too distant figure swaying drunkenly, lifeless.
It’s an unspeakable, wretched guilt.
The ache of it coursing through his veins to his pounding heart swifter than poison, at the first clear sight of what his pathetically impulsive choices, his cowardice, his silence bore from Ed’s grief.
The one Izzy calls Captain is draped entirely in pitch black alone, sweltering leather garments covering up and hiding every soft part of him, even his hands. Thick inkiness is smeared around bloodshot eyes, throughout his matted locks, and what scruff of a beard he’s grown back in their time apart.
A man who looks every bit of The Scourge of the Seven Seas, The Devil.
The Kraken.
The very beast Ed had once wept before Stede in overwhelming terror of.
And indeed, even Stede himself would be convinced of this, of the shadows Blackbeard has evidently consumed every bit of his former self in.
He would, that is, were it not for the quaver he can see in the pirate’s eyes– so deeply unhappy –the fragile tremor in the curve of his mouth, his fingers fighting to keep hold of the bottle in his clenched grasp.
That, that sight relights the faintest waver of impossible hope.
And all at once, Stede can move again, can breathe, can call out despite the knife-deep ache inside him.
“Ed, no! Edw– oomph–”
And no, that eh, that was not planned.
Tangling his boot into the nets and flailing over the rail, face-first onto the deck was decidedly not how Stede had wished reappear before Ed for the first time in four whole months.
In any case, he rights himself and rises unsteadily to see he now has the complete, undivided attention of every person crowded before him.
“You!” Izzy shrieks, looking positively violet in the face with incredulous rage.
“You.”
Stede flinches at the shatter of a bottle against hard wood and forces himself to turn, finally connecting with those eyes that have both haunted and blessed his every dream since he last saw them.
What feels like a single breath and an entire lifetime ago.
“Hello, Edward,” he says, every longing, every drop of worshipful adoration brimming to the surface of him, threatening to overflow and sink The Revenge under its weight.
The pirate before him staggers at the sound of his voice, his entire face and form trembling, quaking.
“Y-you. You’re dead,” Ed sputters, as if trying to form thoughts, to make the impossibility he sees make sense.
His hand is grasping frantically for the sword at his side, drawing it while still looking to Stede as fragile as though he were a cracked pane of glass, spider’s thread-thin breaks spreading wider and wider, threatening to shatter at any moment.
His dear face is so ghostly wan. His eyes, the honeyed-umber blaze of them once so alight, now drifting, even crazed, and–
And afraid .
Afraid as Stede has never seen him. Not in all their days side by side, not even on the day Chauncey’s soldiers aimed a dozen muskets at his chest.
His sword is drawing nearer as he does, till it is there, held some trembling inches from Stede’s heart.
And somehow, staring down the blade that could run him through at any moment, all Stede can think is how he wants nothing more than to enfold this terrifying beast of a man into his arms, never to let go again.
“A fuckery,” Stede finally says, a hapless explanation, and, heaven help him, he’s always so pathetic when it matters most, but he has to try, he must.
“Edward, I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for all of it. I want to explain, just, please– if you’d only let me tell y–“
“You’ve missed ‘Edward’ by a couple of months now, Bonnet,” Izzy interrupts, as if finally finding his voice, stalking towards them both. “It’s fuckin’ Blackbeard now, or nothing. Remember that, or it’s the depths for you. Just like that twat Lucius.”
Stede shudders, but raises his chin, his eyes never once leaving those that are still staring him down as though he might vanish at any moment.
“This is my home as it’s always been, as it has been this entire crew’s home from the start,” he calls back, loudly enough for all.
Izzy prowls closer, Stede can see him from the corner of his eye. His pistol extended, loathing written all over him, as if ready to bleed him at that very moment.
It’s only Blackbeard’s own hand raised in silent command that stills him, that forces him back to merely glower at a safe distance, near the others.
“I left to right wrongs I had done,” Stede continues, turning his focus back to the wretched– to the dear man before him. “And I’ve returned to right those I left behind me but, but if you believe anything I say, Edward, believe that before all else, I… I came back. For you.”
Stede watches the tightening of Blackbeard’s jaw at that, feels the sharpened tip press against his chest, only just, hovering, waiting. Shaking.
“Get out of here, Bonnet,” Blackbeard rasps, torment clouding his gaze once more. “You’re not wanted anymore.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Blackbeard’s cutlass swings around faster than Stede would’ve ever imagined possible, and he yelps– God, but I’m dreadfully out of practice –narrowly dodging the blade swiping straight for his chest.
Stede fumbles, somehow grasping the hilt of his own, unsheathing his blade as he scrambles backwards. Blackbeard’s comes down again and he blocks the thrust by a hair’s breath, adjusting his stance as well as he can with his opponent’s strength baring down on him at every turn.
“Final chance,” Blackbeard pants, pressing closer still. “Leave now. Won’t ask again.”
“No,” he returns, breathless. “No, not again, not ever.”
“Y’heard Iz yourself– I threw Lucius overboard, I let him drown,” Blackbeard growls as he advances, all gravel and rusted iron, and it’s– it’s everything Stede has feared for weeks and weeks thrown at him bitter and callous and– please, please, no.
The others had suspected, had warned him, Izzy had spit it at him only moments prior but still he– he had hoped– and to hear it again for the truth that it is–
Distantly, Stede can hear Black Pete’s enraged cry of anguish– oh, Pete –he can hear as some of the other crew members– Roach, he thinks, Fang too –catch him, holding him back in their arms.
He swallows, rapidly blinking away his own tears, his eyes glancing upward.
In the dawning light, he can just make out the familiar black flag wavering in the morning winds and then– he sees an addition to the pattern that seems almost hastily sewn on, and right there, beneath the end of the long spear.
A bleeding heart.
It hits him at once, it almost knocks him down, the revelation of it all. The terror in Ed’s eyes, the consuming fire of his rage, his words– and Stede remembers.
He remembers the weeping that shook Edward’s frame while he sat curled away from Stede’s assurances. He remembers the tears streaming down into his beard, the viscous shake of his head in denial when Stede insisted, I’m your friend.
The tortured disbelief in his eyes, as if he still couldn’t understand Stede’s forgiveness. As if he couldn’t bare it.
He wants me to fight back, to strike him down as– as one would a monster. He wants me to prove that he never deserved–
Dear God, how could I have been so blind?
This man has hurt and destroyed and attempted to snuff out every last bit of light around and inside himself out of fear, not hate. This man who Stede stood before under a glistening moon, for whom Stede folded into his vest pocket, a ragged, silken square of crimson. This man who gaped back at him as he did so, quiet, and so timidly wondering. And Stede couldn’t see, he was so blind as to why but now it’s all clear, the pieces finally arranged so that he can finally make sense of them.
I gave him kindness, I gave him happiness and care and– and love and then I left him. I abandoned him without cause or explanation so how– how could he ever believe, after such a thing, that he deserves anything but rejection, and disgust, and spite, and violence.
He feels his weapon, his last defense, fall and clatter onto the deck. And he sees the bewilderment startle life back into Blackbeard’s eyes that is neither fear nor fury.
Stede hears the shocked cries from his crew, hears Izzy’s scoff as he raises his hands, placating.
Not for his own sake, but for Ed’s.
“I know,” he finally admits to the confession thrown in his face. Accepting.
Blackbeard startles out of his silence, snarling back, slashing, the great steel arch now aimed directly at his stomach. Stede skirts away, his hands still extended, still reaching, only just keeping on his feet.
“Your books– all your stupid books, your frilly, soft shit– I threw it all away. I’ve worked half your crew to death, left the rest on a fuckin’ island to wither into bones–“
“I know, Ed, but just–“
“Just what? Y-you what– you think you can just stroll back in, yeah? Pour out the tea ‘n crack open the biscuits ‘n jam like it’s nothing? Fuck you!”
“Ed, please, I know, I know it’s not as simple as that but I promise you, I promise we can fix it, if we–“
“There’s no fuckin’ ‘we,’ goddamn you!” Blackbeard roars, savage and bleeding and awful. “You broke it, Stede, you broke it all! You’re a fuckin’ pirate now, it’s what you always wanted, eh? What you dreamed of and begged for, remember? So pick up your goddamn sword and do it! Fight me, run me through, end me, you fuckin’ coward!”
“No!” Stede sobs, and for a moment, both of them can only stand there, shaking.
“I know I broke it. I know,” he says, hastily wiping his eyes. “I broke everything, I tore out your heart and left it in the sand on that beach, and I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you so. But I did not come back to fight you, anymore than I came back expecting your forgiveness. I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave me.”
“Then why the fu–“
“I love you,” Stede says, the truth of it all finally spoken aloud, finally.
It’s a match struck and blazing within, the endless wonder of it.
A golden beacon burning outward from the center of his chest, stronger than his sorrow, stronger than all his hundreds upon hundreds of regrets.
He sighs a bit through his tears, the huff of air rattling as a near hysterical laugh, at the very revelation it is every time.
He’s whispered it to himself a thousand times over, dreamed it even more, and yet nothing comes close to the earth-shattering bliss of simply speaking it to the only one those words belong to.
“I love you,” he says again, louder, bolder. “I love you undeniably, ruthlessly–“
The words are a tidal wave, heated and determined, as Blackbeard charges forward once more. The length of his steel clangs viciously against the mainmast, caught fast into the wood as Stede ducks away, his strength and will renewed. Their crews shudder, some wince at the sound, though none so much as move. All is silent save the swell of the surrounding sea, the harsh panting of their breaths.
“I love you,” Stede vows.
“Shut up,” Blackbeard grinds out, grasping his knife from his belt and swiping, so close Stede can see the brief flashes of Ed returning to wells of his dark eyes.
Once again, he feels brave enough to hope. Impossibly, trembling, he smiles.
“Would you rather I lied?”
The cry that leaves Blackbeard is more the howling noise of a wounded animal, as Stede flies back and away from the slash of his blade just in the nick of time.
He finds himself trapped, backed against the forecastle mast, just enough paces away to hold some distance between them if only for a moment.
Well, a moment is all he needs to do, to say all that he must.
He draws himself up then, to look once more into the face of the man he so shamelessly adores.
There was never any true fight in him, and now, now there is only total surrender as he takes in Edward, all of him. His frayed, tired garments stained with blood and grime, the knife shaking in his white knuckled clutch, his eyes– oh, his eyes –the thick, cascading tears bleeding from them, cutting through the smoke and charcoal caked across his face.
He’s the nightmare of hundreds and Stede’s only true dream.
And if Stede is to end at his hand today, here and now, he will not die without telling Ed all he has held and sheltered just for him.
“I love you, whether you are Edward or Blackbeard or the Kraken you believe yourself to be. I love you regardless of all you’ve done to rid yourself of me, to force me to cast you aside. I loved you wholly, stupidly even then– even when I didn’t know it myself, when all I could offer you was marmalade and silks and useless, pitiful adventures. And– and I love you now, Ed. Always. I love you with nothing in my hands or pockets to give you– nothing to offer but my heart to plunge your blade into if that– if that is what you wish, what you need to be happy once more, it’s alright, I won’t stop you, I only–“
He doesn’t remember falling to his knees but suddenly here he is, looking up instead of across as the shadowed form draws closer, step after shaking step. He wishes he could see him, but with the tears flooding, clouding everything, he can only weep.
His cries are so loud and so wet and so completely unromantic, he shakes his head, laughing a bit. Then, he is there, standing right before him and what can Stede do but lean forward, his head laying only just against Blackbeard’s knee, waiting content for the final blow.
“Darling,” he whispers, sniffing, quiet and calm as the rising sun. “Darling, I… I love you so.”
There is a second metallic clatter across the deck. Then, a silence that lasts for one full pulse of his heart, then two.
And then the touch of a hand covered in leather slowly combing through his weathered, dirty locks, tracing lightly over the curve of his now whiskered jaw. Stede shudders as he leans into the warmth of it, a tender gift he doesn’t deserve, not in the slightest. Another helpless wave of tears hiccups from him and it happens so fast, like a shot from a pistol– and Ed is collapsing before him on buckled knees, pulling all of him in suddenly, violently into the stranglehold of his embrace.
Stede’s face is jostled into the curve of Ed’s shoulder, his arms equally fraught and desperate as they cling and clutch about Ed’s waist, holding on just as painfully tight as Ed’s own that are running through his hair, gliding against the back of his head, cradling and curling so close as if he can somehow mold himself into Stede, and take shelter under his ribs, somewhere warm and soft and close to his heart, by doing so.
And he’s crying– Ed is truly crying, weeping really –hot fast tears Stede can feel leaking against the side of his head, down his cheek. Harder, and harder still, so utterly distressed it breaks Stede’s heart anew.
“Shhh,” Stede whispers through his tears, rocking them both, pressing into Ed’s hold, babbling all sorts of comforting noises and ramblings– “Shh Ed– my Ed, my dear– oh sweetheart, it’s alright. It’ll be alright, I swear it will. It’s okay– I’m here, love–”
“T-thought you were dead, you bugger,” Ed chokes out, through heaving gasps. “You– you’d left, you were gone– and it was– it– it– but then we heard– some dumb merchant said that you’d– you–“
His arms continue to squeeze tighter, tighter, so tight it’s a wonder Stede’s ribs don’t cave in under the force.
Stede nestles closer, as close as he can manage, and can’t think of a better way to perish.
“You were fuckin’ dead, Stede. You were dead, and I had to live knowing I’d thrown away every scrap, every bit of you I’d had left. Had to live knowing it was pointless. All of it. Being the Kraken. Leaving our mates. Lucius–“
“NOT– DEAD– YOU– FUCKING– DICKS.”
The collective gasp across the deck could wake the dead, Stede is certain, and both he and Ed shoot to their feet as a very much alive, breathing, rancidly filthy Lucius bursts onto the deck with as much dignity his decrepit state can muster.
And then, pandemonium.
The rest, truthfully, passes in a blur of faintly discernible sights and sounds.
First, Pete’s whoop of joy as he charges straight across the deck to knock poor Lucius flat out like a cannon blast, the rest following and cheering uproariously.
There’s Olu pushing his way through the mayhem straight into Jim’s open and waiting arms. The sweet ringing of his giggling laughter as he lifts and spins them around in a whirling embrace, indistinguishable– if half-hearted –protestations being fired at him all awhile.
And, of course, Ivan and Frenchie maintain the most sense of the hoard to immediately seize a loudly protesting Izzy, and head straight for the brig with him in tow, gleefully ignoring his bellowed orders the whole way down.
It’s all more than a bit overwhelming after nearly being stabbed. Yet again.
So understandably, Stede does not resist when he feels Ed’s hand grasp his, tightly, pulling him along. He leads them both to the mainmast rigging and, side by side, they begin to climb.
They are both quiet in spite of the happy din they’ve left behind, but it is not the fearful, stifling silence of before casting leagues between them.
Stede feels his gaze drawn to Ed’s face as they ascend, once, twice, and his face– the look of him now is…
Not particularly happy, not yet, but relieved almost.
The skies are casting a marmalade-glow over them both, the seabirds cawing above, the tide churning below, and Ed looks as one who has finally awoken from the most awful of dreams. The kind that lingers even as daylight breaks over you, in spite of the core knowledge that the horror is gone, never to return.
They reach the top platform, immediately sitting side by side, shoulders pressed together, and Stede can’t help but recall that very first morning he woke up to the loveliest sight in all the world: the most handsome of pirates, his longtime hero and inspiration, curled up beside him and snoring louder than thunder, still entirely adorned in his own frivolous silks.
Ridiculous, he thinks now, not hesitating to lay his head against Ed’s sturdy, true warmth, his smile blooming and eyes falling shut at the touch that encircles about his shoulder, and tucks him in closer, before slowly tracing a repeating pattern against his arm.
Ridiculous, he thinks, How easy it is, how it always was, loving him.
So easy I almost missed it and lost this, lost him, forever.
He feels raw at the thought, roughed and battered and smoothed all over again, like seaglass thrown under by the weight of the depths against the sharpness of the ocean floor, over, and over.
And so, so tired.
Stede is crying once more, he realizes, the tears leaking steady and hot beneath his closed lids and down the side of his face.
Ed must feel him, he must feel the shuddering rattle of his weepy breaths, because he pulls him in again, closer, both their bodies pressed together at strange angles with the limiting, precarious space.
But Stede doesn’t care, he can’t, not while Ed is holding him tight with all that beautiful, greedy ferocity Stede would gratefully live out the rest of his days enveloped in.
He is so beautiful.
He is all Stede has ever wanted.
“He’ll never forgive either of us, y’know,” Ed says, and Stede pulls back just to see him staring down, fixedly with that fragile, tentatively relieved gaze, as if Stede might still melt away like a vapor, or a ghostly spirit.
Stede’s heart bleeds quietly, a slow-thudding contented ache, and he reaches up to trace feather-light against the bruise-dark shadows beneath Ed’s eyes.
Ed smiles down at him, quiet, and broken, and sorry, and it is a bruised thing too.
“Lucius, I mean,” he mutters, ducking his head slightly. “Won’t ever forgive you for leaving m– leaving us all in a state, and won’t forgive me neither for killing him.”
“For almost killing him,” Stede corrects, immediately. “Give him time, give them all time, they’ll come around.”
Ed huffs, meeting his eyes again, his look still dampened, and glossy, and pained as his hands fidget restlessly with the ends of Stede’s too-long curls.
His next words are so faint, Stede strains to hear them despite their closeness.
“How d’you do that?”
“Do what, my love?”
Ed winces, turning his head away towards the horizon. Though, thankfully, he doesn’t pull away.
“That,” he says. “How d’you just– I almost killed you today.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Not my point– just–“ Ed stares at him again, coals flared back into flames, and Stede is surprised when he actually doesn’t shake him by the shoulders. “I’m not a good person, Stede.”
“Yes, I thought we’d been over this before, dearest.”
“Clearly you weren’t paying attention so I gotta tell you twice,” he snaps back, then deflates, and he makes a move then, as if to pull back.
Stede, however, locks his hands tight at the small of Ed’s back, entrapping him there.
He will go away if Ed asks him to, he told him he would and he meant it. But he will not leave if Ed needs him, if he needs to hear him say, “I forgive you,” and “I adore you,” every day for the remainder of their days together, to make up for every moment they’ve lost.
“You say you aren’t a good person, Ed,” he begins, holding Ed’s gaze. “But what makes you believe I’m any better? I left you without word or explanation or direction, utterly alone. I returned to a wife I could never please and children I had willfully abandoned out of empty duty, expecting to be welcomed back. I nearly took out some poor fellow’s eye at an art exhibition, for Christ’s sake–“
Ed snorts at that, wetly, the blackened storm clearing from the creases in his brow, so Stede giggles back a bit, till Ed joins in, till they’re both smothering near delirious laughter into each other’s sides.
It’s better then, after that. Easier. Stede can tell in the way Ed relaxes even further, and allows his full weight to lean into Stede’s.
To be held as equally as he is holding.
“Neither of us are good people, dearest,” he murmurs, soothing as honey spooned into tea. “But we are people who are capable of goodness, always. So, you are enough to me, far more than enough, because I love you for all that you are, your good, your bad, your rage, your sadness and turmoil and loss, not in spite of it.”
He pulls back once more, just far enough to reach again for that blessed, tear-streaked face, to brush away the sweet tears beneath those kindling-warm, hooded eyes with the tips of his fingers.
Tracing and treasuring simply because he can. Because he is allowed this, finally.
Because Ed is letting him, because Ed’s hands are smoothing over him too, over and about his shoulders, down to the low curve of his back, rising back up to wisps of hair at the top of his neck, drawing him closer, closer, because , because–
“Ed, if only you knew…“
Tell him, he thinks, desperate not to abandon Ed with his silence. Not now, never again. Tell him, tell him.
“I was half alive before I met you, Ed. Just, just merely passing through, listlessly, barely there. Like, like–“
“Jus’ like that wooden boy!” Roach yells out from the deck, earning an equal amount of groans and cuffs and shushes from his mates, as Stede and Ed both nearly jump a foot high off their perch.
Ed curses, clutching Stede tighter, barely keeping both their balance, and Stede, well, he can only laugh again, loud and ringing all the way upwards towards the clouds, all while their crowd, none too quietly, can be heard aggressively shoving, and shushing each other as the patter of their footsteps quickly dwindle away below deck.
His chuckles soften and mellow as he feels Ed’s arms encircle him from behind, to cradle gently, and he falls back into him, nestling his smile into the hallow of his love’s neck.
“Yes,” he continues, turning in his hold to face him again, running his hand through his long, ragged tangled curls, “Yes, like the puppet, like the wooden boy. You brought me to life, don’t you see? More than that, you saw me and– and you chose to know me. No one had ever wanted to do that before you. I didn’t think anyone ever would. I didn’t know anyone ever could, or what it would even look like if anyone ever did. So you understand, my darling, why it took me so long to fully grasp the depths of your friendship and care, your devotion, your love? It’s no excuse, and I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my days proving to you just how much I–“
It happens in a heartbeat as it did before, and he doesn’t expect it, but it’s alright, it’s wonderful– and he’s still smiling as Ed finds his mouth with his own, and kisses him quiet.
Stede hums into it, sweet and breathless and open, and it’s so soft, so achingly tender as their first. He winds both his arms around Ed’s neck, pressing into him, loving him, loving him, loving him, pressing them both against the smooth wood of the mast, and nearly breaking away to grin at Ed’s pleased, impatient groan.
Their first kiss was a question, flitting and all too fast and tentative.
This, now, there is no hesitation, no fear.
There is only the roughened brush of Ed’s stubble dragging against his mouth and cheeks, the hold of his hands pressing hard, almost painful, into the nape of his neck as if to keep him there should he pull away, as if the thought had even crossed Stede’s mind.
And when Stede’s breaths begin to waver so fast he can’t catch them, he breaks away, but it’s alright, Ed is there, and he is caressing and insatiable and utterly wonderful, open kisses and nuzzles pressed madly to his forehead, to the new sprinkle of freckles beneath Stede’s eyes, to the lines at their corners, little hungry bites littering the curve of his jaw, the length of his throat, down, down, lower to the sharp edge of his collarbone. Stede can’t help the sounds it pulls from somewhere deep inside him, as he arches into Ed’s every touch, this fire setting to engulf them both, one he has never felt anywhere but here.
“I don’t forgive you,” Ed gasps, heavily, his open mouth against the curve of Stede’s ear. “Not yet.”
“That’s alright,” Stede says, still melting, panting, burning, burning, burning.
“Well, maybe I do.” Another biting kiss to Stede’s jawline. “A bit.” A soft press of lips between his eyebrows, to the tip of his nose. “I dunno, you being dead then popping up outta nowhere, alive again it’s uh– it’s–“
“It’s a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“Right.”
“But I want you to stay,” Ed pulls back then, cupping his face in the palms of his hands, his eyes wide and wet and rabid just for him, only him, for Stede of all people, “I nee– You’re staying this time.”
“Forever. If you’ll allow it, if you’ll have me. Till death do us–“
Stede makes a sound he has never heard before, low and raw, deep, from the back of his throat as Ed bites at his lips, his mouth open and wet and moving in sweet, slow drags against his own, silencing any other words and vows he’d been ready to lay at his feet, on bended knee.
“Not even death’ll part us, Stede,” Ed promises for them both, when they break apart, his eyes shining bright, and close, and so happy. “You’d find me there too.”
“Yes.” It’s all Stede has left in him, all he can say, and it’s enough. Blessedly, it’s enough, finally, he is enough too. “Yes.”
“Stay. Jus–“ Ed’s hands stroke his hair back from his face, his forehead pressed solid, and steady, and warm against his crown, nuzzling. “Please. Please stay.”
“Not going now unless you toss me overboard.”
Ed’s laugh croaks from him, wild and trembling, and he pulls back to tear the gloves from his hands, throwing them into the sea before turning back, and squeezing Stede to him so fiercely, all his tallness and seeming monstrosity curved to encompass, to hold, and shield, and protect as he always has since the moment they met.
As Stede knows he always will.
“Fuckin’ lighthouses…,” he says, another kiss pressed into the softness between Stede’s throat and shoulder. “Thought you’d be the end of me, love.”
“Well, if you remember what I told you about them,” Stede says, reaching to pull that familiar silken red from his pocket, pulling away to show him. Ed’s eyes stare, unblinking, and Stede can see the moment he realizes, he recognizes what he holds. “They don’t necessarily have to mean ruin. They can be havens, homes–“
“I love you, you hear me? I love you too,” Ed interrupts, blurts out, more than a bit desperate, not that Stede minds in the slightest. He feels his whole body hitch at the words, at the truth in them that has been there all along, and he nods, smiling, and Ed softens till he looks every bit that very man Stede woke up to hovering over his sickbed with large, kind eyes, so long ago now it seems.
Ed takes the tattered fabric from his hands, folding it slowly, before sliding it back into Stede’s own pocket, his smile alight as he does so.
“Always have, I reckon,” Ed adds, quiet yet so joyous, incandescent with it. “Not planning on stopping. Ever.”
“Neither am I, it seems.”
“What d’you suppose we do now, then?”
“Live, I should think,” Stede says, with a little shrug, feeling ready, feeling whole, and strong. Feeling brave. “I believe it’s far past time we both started.”
“Live, eh,” Ed’s smile is slow, and content, that familiar quirk, as his roughened, uncovered hand takes his, and his shy, happy eyes turn to look out across the waters. “Sounds like a nice change.”
And oh, how Stede loves him.
“And just think, dear,” he says, his head leant once more against his love’s shoulder. “We’ve only just begun.”