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Stede knows that a "perfect storm" is an actual meteorological event, but he'd also use it to describe the circumstances which led him to this moment: in a cave on the banks of the Potomac River, covered in mud, with Blackbeard.
The two of them haven't exactly been on speaking terms since Stede and his gang of abandoned crew members weaseled their way back onto the Revenge because, to be quite honest, they're both furious with each other. So when he ducks into that cave to take shelter from the pelting rain and sees Blackbeard, he gets an awful sinking feeling in his stomach--a mocking reflection of swells of affection in his chest that this man used to cause.
Blackbeard is facing away from him, swearing and brushing clumps of reeds off of his leathers. When he turns around at the sound of Stede's footsteps, he sneers and says, "Of course. It had to be you."
Stede rolls his eyes as he shakes out his great coat as best as he can. "I'm not exactly thrilled, either, you know. Much rather be raiding that tollhouse upstream."
"Yeah, well, I think the squall fucked that up for us," Blackbeard says as he sits on the ground. "We'll be lucky if we get out of here before nightfall."
When they first met, Stede would have taken those words as gospel and just waited out the storm. But a part of him--a very, very stubborn part--decides to ignore it. He's Stede Bonnet, he can do anything, and he sees one of their dinghies perched on a large piece of marshland, just a quick swim away. He pulls his damp great coat around his shoulders and starts marching for the cave entrance.
Blackbeard watches him go and laughs darkly, as if to say, don't do it, stupid. But he doesn't stop Stede.
That is, until he does.
"Wait," he says, trying and failing to hide the exasperation in his voice. "Come back."
"I thought you hated my guts," Stede says, turning back but not moving.
"Yeah, well," Blackbeard says, wringing out his hair, "a damned bolt of lightning taking you out wouldn't exactly be satisfying, now would it?"
His choice of words is, to say the least, confusing. "Satisfying?"
Without even glancing in Stede's direction, Blackbeard says, "The only thing that's allowed to kill you is me."
"Oh," Stede says, trying very hard to act like that wasn't the most intimate thing anyone has ever said to him. He walks back over and sits next to Blackbeard, who all but ignores him.
They sit for a while with only the sounds of the rain and their own breathing as they pick marsh debris off of their clothes and out of their hair, before a sudden wind howls its way through the cave. Stede is relatively unaffected in his woolen outerwear, but Blackbeard is still breathing loudly and shakily after several minutes. Without a word, Stede comes up behind Blackbeard and starts to place his great coat around his shoulders.
Blackbeard bats him away. "Fuck off."
"You're shivering."
"'M not," Blackbeard says as he continues to shiver. "Anyway, I spent some time around here as a kid. Should be used to it."
"Yes, well, methinks you may have spent a bit too much time in the Caribbean, mate." Stede puts the coat on his shoulders again and then pins his arms to his sides, gently but quickly. "And anyway, just because you think you can handle it doesn't mean you need to."
Blackbeard doesn't resist this time, just pulls the coat around himself, even attempting to cover his head like a leather-clad turtle.
Stede sits next to him, close enough that he could touch his arm if he wanted.
And then, after just a few minutes, Blackbeard scoots closer to him and holds up half of the coat. "Get in."
"I'm fine," Stede says, suddenly realizing he's actually quite chilly.
"Your britches are soaked and you're just wearing a shirt," Blackbeard says, still holding the coat. "And you're from the Caribbean. Don't be fucking stupid."
The stubborn thing in him wants to resist, wants to tough it out to prove himself, but the promise of warmth is too great to overcome.
So he squeezes himself in next to Blackbeard, putting his arm through the armhole on his side. Blackbeard keeps apologizing for bumping into him, every single time they touch.
"Don't be fucking stupid," Stede says. "It's called a great coat, not an infinitely-expansive coat."
They relax into each other after that, and the combination of their body heat and the coat make both of them significantly warmer. Stede might even dare to say it's cozy in their little huddle. He shifts to get more comfortable, and sighs when he settles.
"Don't," Blackbeard says, barely above a whisper.
"I wasn't going to say anything," Stede says, truthfully.
"Yeah, but you were thinking it."
And well, yes, Stede is certainly thinking about it now. "Look, I think we both know we're going to have to sit down and talk like grownups if we have any hopes of not killing each other eventually, but I don't think a cold, damp, dark cave during a thunderstorm is the appropriate time or place to do that," he says with a huff.
Blackbeard makes a dismissive sound and pulls his side of the coat a little, forcing them closer together. Then, after a minute or so of near-silence: "I thought you were dead."
The mix of emotions Stede feels at that statement are a study in contradiction: guilt that he made Ed feel so horrible, pride that he pulled off a good enough fake death to fool the brilliant Blackbeard. "I guess news travels fast--"
Blackbeard cuts him off with a little snorting laugh. "You mean news about the most obvious fuckery I've ever heard about?" Stede can't see his face properly in these close quarters, but he swears he can hear a little smile tugging at his voice. "Nah, before that."
"So that's why you threw all my things into the sea and abandoned my crew?"
"After that. There was, like, a day when the thought just hit me that, you know, maybe you didn't show up at the dock because you...couldn't."
"But then you heard about my completely ridiculous 'death'," Stede offers.
"Yeah," Blackbeard says with a chuckle that could almost be described as fond.
"That must have been a painful day," Stede says. "I'm very sorry for that."
"Yeah, well, then I found out you weren't dead and I was angry all over again."
Stede nods to himself. "I hurt you, so you hurt me."
Blackbeard hums affirmatively.
And they could leave it at that, except that Stede had a conversation with Mary about this very thing a few weeks ago, and they found that the bud of a quite genuine friendship formed between them once they stopped. "I have to admit," Stede ventures, "being a thorn in your side is very fun sometimes, but maybe that's not exactly the most productive way to handle things."
Blackbeard laughs dismissively. "You think we can just fucking go back to the way things were? Or even start over? Yeah, no, mate, that ship sailed so long ago that it's way out in the middle of the fucking ocean."
"I was thinking more like a ceasefire," Stede says, and he can feel Blackbeard relax the tiniest bit next to him. "Not necessarily starting over but just...an end to hostilities?"
After a horribly pregnant pause, Blackbeard holds out his hand and says, "Yeah, all right. A ceasefire, I guess."
Stede shakes his hand as best as he can when they're practically on top of each other, and then a great swooping feeling goes through his body, like cresting a wave. Maybe not necessarily the affectionate swells he used to feel, but definitely something more pleasant than fiery anger or sinking dread.
"Right, well," Blackbeard says, shifting against Stede in a not unpleasant way, "I'm going to stop wasting my breath in this cold-ass cave until we can get out of it."
Stede yawns. The cold of the air and the warmth of Blackbeard's body next to him have, over the course of the last few minutes, made him very sleepy. "Probably a good idea."
Blackbeard yawns, too, and their heads gently lean into each other as they both settle down. A ceasefire, Stede thinks, isn't so bad.
--
When the crew is able to go out and look for their captains a few hours later, Frenchie is the first one to find the cave. He calls to the rest of his party (Pete, Wee John, and Jim), and as soon as they set foot inside, Jim mutters, "Fucking finally."
The other three nod, letting out a collective sigh of relief, and then they all start hauling the sleeping pair back to the mostly unscathed gunboat.
(Wee John insists on arranging them in the boat more or less the way they were in the cave: curled into each other, with Stede's woolen coat wrapped around the both of them.)