Chapter Text
There’s the snap of the branch under Chauncey’s foot.
There’s the click of the gun that Stede is sure really will kill him this time. He’s been face to face with too many by now to really think he’ll get away again.
There’s the shot and the smell of gunpowder and when he screams it hasn’t caught up with him yet that he still has a mouth to scream with, a body to feel fear with. And when it does catch up with him, he screams again.
Defiler of beautiful things. Monster. Plague. Bringer of ruin.
When he opens his eyes, he sees it. The wrongness he’s felt deep at his root for all his life, just—there. Laid bare and undeniable, as visceral and true as Chauncey’s blood in the dirt. What he’d done to Mary. To his children. To his crew. Now to Ed—the person he wanted so badly not to hurt.
He’s running before he realizes he’s running. His feet are bare and the thin nightclothes they’d given him are torn and branches are whipping against his face and he feels his face dripping, and he’s not sure if it’s blood or sweat or tears.
He thinks of Mary. He thinks of Nigel. He thinks of his children. He thinks of Ed, of Ed, of Ed, and he doesn’t know where he’s running until he’s there.
“Woah, slow down mate, what’s—hey, hey, Stede?”
It takes Stede a moment to realize where he is.
Then he realizes he can hear the ocean. He can hear the knock of a dinghy against the wood pier and feel Ed’s hands firm around his wrists, even if he can’t see much in the dark.
His feet took him to Ed, thank God. Of course they did. Where else would he go?
“Stede, what’s going on? Shit, you hurt? C’mon, talk to me—”
“Let’s go.” He can hear his own voice cracking but can’t do anything to stop it. “Now. Please, please, let’s get out of here.”
Ed says nothing. Just tightens an arm around him and steers him to the dinghy. And all Stede can see for a long time is the shore as Ed rows, the trees as they slip off into the sea.
* * *
By the time the sun comes up, Stede hasn’t said another word. He’d taken up an oar for a while, but couldn’t get the rhythm right, so Ed had taken it back pretty quickly, left him to his thousand-yard stare that nothing he says or does seem to break through. Ed tries not to look at him. Tries not to let on that this wasn’t exactly the whirlwind romantic escape he’d imagined.
Ed had waited for almost an hour before Stede came crashing out of the woods and into his arms, shaken and pale and unable to do anything but beg Ed to go, to take him away from there. Like he was running away from second thoughts. Or third ones.
He really had started to think that maybe Stede just…wouldn’t come. Maybe he would just leave him there on the beach. Foolish and alone with all the kisses he was waiting to give still on his lips. So when Stede finally showed up, no matter the state he was in, Ed was too relieved to do anything but what he was asked. But now…
It’s okay, he tells himself again, it’s fine. Wasn’t really fair for him to expect Stede to just…tumble into his arms. Well, not in the more figurative way he’d been imagining, at least. This was all new for Stede, after all. Far as Ed could tell, Stede had only ever been with that wife of his (What was her name, Marjorie? Maude?) and it hadn’t seemed like the two ever got on particularly well. Could be that he still wasn’t sure about the whole “kissing a man” thing. Or maybe it was just the “kissing Ed” thing that was the problem. But at the beach it had seemed…
Ed tries not to think of the look on Stede’s face, the pleased little noise he’d made when Ed kissed him. The way he’d definitely, definitely kissed back. It was selfish to pair escape with turning their relationship into anything else. Shouldn’t make Stede choose between freedom and having a say in what they were. But still, Ed had really thought…
He shakes his head. It’s not useful, this. Obsessing about what Stede might or might not have meant or thought or wanted. Only person who knew the answer to that was Stede and he certainly wasn’t saying anything.
When they get to the little archipelago of sand bars Ed was aiming for, the sun is high and his arms are aching. He’d hoped to be a bit further along by now, but the British will have noticed they’re missing soon by now. Best to get off the water and under some cover before anyone came out looking for them. As long as they could cover their tracks, no one should think to look here. The sand bars weren’t on any map, and each one was little more than a stand of trees and a beach. Ed had stumbled across them years ago, fresh off Hornigold’s crew. Used them as hiding spots, rendezvous points, and getaways from the grind of it all. He and Jack had even been here a few times together, the bastard. Ed tries not to think about that either. The list of safe things to think about was growing smaller by the hour.
When they run aground, Ed hops out of the little boat, runs it up further ashore, getting his socks and stockings soaking wet in the process. Once they’re far enough up that Stede can get out without soaking his clothes up to the calves as well, he sits on the prow to steady it and extends a hand to Stede.
“C’mon, out you get,” he says, hoping he sounds calming. For the first time in hours, Stede’s vacant, glassy gaze sharpens as he focuses on Ed, takes his hand and clambers out awkwardly. Ed pulls the boat in a bit further, then splashes out to the stern.
“Gonna need some help with this,” he says apologetically. Stede nods and takes hold of the bow without complaint. “All the way to the trees. Gotta make sure no one can see it from the water.”
Stede doesn’t talk as they haul the dinghy up the beach. Doesn’t talk as Ed kicks sand over the shallow track it made as they dragged it. Doesn’t talk as Ed fishes out the oilcloth he’s stocked with the little bread and cheese he managed to nab from the kitchen and breaks a loaf in half for them to share. He eats a little, and stares into the woods at nothing, and Ed wonders if he hasn’t made a terrible mistake.
Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Stede to do this. Shouldn’t have demanded so much of him so quickly. Run away to China? With him? What had he been thinking? How could he have thought Stede would want that? With his fancy silks and his four-course breakfasts? Ed had been thinking like a pirate. Like the scavenger he’d always been, always had to be. The things Stede had said when Jack was around—before the British showed up, before everything reset—and the things he didn’t say, it all started coming back.
“I don’t like who you are around this guy.”
Something had been wrong from the moment Jack set foot on the ship—and yeah, sure, Jack was up to no good, he knows that now, but there was something else too. Something that Stede kept seeming to teeter on the verge of, but never quite say. And now here they were again. Next to each other and worlds apart, just like they’d been then.
When they finish eating, Ed pulls some blankets out of the sack of supplies he’d brought.
“You should get some sleep. Got a long trip ahead of us. I’ll take first watch.”
Stede looks over at him, brow furrowed, and Ed’s heart leaps when, for the first time since the dock, he speaks.
“But you’ve been up all night. Aren’t you tired?”
“Nah,” Ed lies. His eyes are itching and his arms are aching and he’s sure he looks like hell—but he’s just as sure that Stede looks worse. He looks terrified, miserable, and Ed tries to convince himself it’s just exhaustion. “I’m all amped up from the escape still. You go ahead, I’ll wake you when I get tired.”
He props himself up against a tree, so he can keep an eye on the water through the trees. Then he realizes Stede is still looking at him, eyes more focused than he’d been all day, but looking concerned.
“It’s fine, mate, really. Go on, have a rest. I’m good.”
They spend the day resting and eating. Ed manages to catch some sleep when Stede wakes up in the afternoon, then finds some coconuts and a rock hard enough to crack them open on. A nest too, with some eggs to fry up. As they eat, he outlines his plan for Stede, who’s looking better but is still uncharacteristically quiet.
“Trade ships pass by this area every three days,” Ed says, carving out a rough map in the sand with a finger, “and if I’ve timed it right, there should be one passing tomorrow afternoon. The idea is to swim aboard, stay hidden until they dock in a day or two, then sneak out at the port. From there there’ll be plenty of ships going anywhere we like. We get a job on a crew of a big ship, somewhere we can go unnoticed, and hitch a ride from there.”
Stede is nodding as he chews and that glassy stare is back—looking at Ed, but not really AT him. More like through him, at whatever he’s still running away from on that island.
“We’ll have to shave our heads,” Ed says experimentally. “Probably get some of those fancy wigs instead.”
Stede nods.
“And cut off a finger. Probably one or two each should do it. Just to make sure no one spots us.”
Stede makes a distracted noise of agreement.
“Or pop out an eye. Really throw ‘em off the scent. You do mine, I do yours? Sound good? You good with that?”
Stede is still nodding. Ed stops. Stares at him until Stede stops nodding and chewing and actually looks back.
“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?”
“I have,” Stede protests. “Swimming…to the port and then…erm. Wigs? I think?”
And suddenly Ed is annoyed. Christ, gere he was trying to plan a life for them, and where was Stede? Somewhere far away. Somewhere Ed couldn’t be.
But before Ed can say anything, Stede’s face crumples, and so does the thin ice of frustration that’s been spreading in him.
“Oh God, I’m sorry Ed, I’m…” Stede buries his face in his hands. “I’m messing this all up, aren’t I?”
Ed is at his side in a second. “Hey, hey, it’s all good! Haven’t messed up anything, mate. Look, I’m sorry, this is all probably a bit much. Shouldn’t have sprung it on you all at once. I can take care of it from here if you like. We take it one day at a time. No need to worry about the long-term stuff.”
When Stede doesn’t say anything, Ed reaches out, touches his arm gently but firmly. “Hey,” he says. “Listen, it’s all gonna be okay, yeah? I promise.”
Stede looks up at him then and his face is red and puffy, eyes streaming, nose running.
“I don’t think I can go to China with you, Ed.”
And like that, his heart breaks.
The beautiful future that had begun stretching itself out over the horizon, against his better judgement, since Stede had said yes to him on that beach, begins falling away little by little, threatening to pull him down with it. Stupid. It was stupid of him to have hoped, to have pinned so much on a wild fantasy. Stupid of him to think that Stede could ever…
Well, if that’s the way it was, then so be it. Ed tries to keep his voice steady, his face impassive as he speaks.
“Okay. Okay, that’s…fine. We don’t have to go to China. We don’t have to do any of this. That’s…Look, I mean, I’m sorry if I made you think you had to…I don’t know, stay with me. In order to get away. We can…we can get to land and go our separate ways if that’s what you want. I’ve got some old friends in New Providence. I can set you up with them, and I’ll just—"
But Stede’s eyes go wide and he’s shaking his head before Ed can even finish talking.
“No! Oh, no, Ed, it’s not like that! God, I’m doing it again.” He knocks his head back against the palm tree he’s been leaning on, eyes screwed up tight. Ed holds his breath, doesn’t quite dare to hope.
“I want to go with you,” Stede says finally. “I really do, but I’m afraid…” he hiccups another sob, “I don’t want to hurt you again. Any more than I already have.”
“Hurt me? What are you on about?”
“You left everything because of me. All of this, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. You signed over your life. Gave up your ship, your crew. I took that from you. Chauncey was right I…I destroy everything I touch. I defile beautiful things. I’m a monster, I…”
He’s babbling, not making any sense, and he’s crying again, and suddenly it clicks for Ed: whatever this is, it isn’t about him.
It isn’t about what happened on the beach or the feeling that’s been packed so tight in his throat these past few weeks he feels he might burst. And the realization is such a relief he almost cries himself.
Instead, he gently pulls Stede’s hands away, holds them firmly in his own. That seems to ground Stede a bit, give him something to hold on to. That old hurt, that old fear that rose up again with the threat of rejection, it’s still throbbing a bit. But Stede’s trembling hands made him think of the bathtub. That night when he admitted to Stede the worst of himself and Stede had stayed anyway. He’d listened. He forgave him and insisted there was nothing even to forgive. He tries to be as steady for Stede as Stede had been for him then.
“Hey, listen, listen. It’s okay. Take a breath.”
Stede does, squeezing Ed’s fingers as he inhales.
“Good. Now tell me: where is this coming from?”
Stede’s lower lip trembles as he looks up at Ed. “Chauncey is dead. I killed him. And I’m…I’m not the man you think I am.”
Ed squeezes his fingers. Doesn’t want to push too much, make it too intimate. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm him. But his response still doesn’t track. So, the bald fuck is dead—so what? All considered, the world is probably better off for it. Stede knows that as well as he does. No, there’s something else, something he isn’t saying. And it’s clear, suddenly, that in this state he isn’t going to get any further answers out of Stede.
“Mate,” he says finally, “If you’re even a teeny tiny portion of the man I think you are, you’re still the best man I’ve ever known. And I—”
Ed swallows quickly. Almost let something slip there. Something that could turn this from bad to worse. If Stede is overwhelmed with doubts already…no, wouldn’t do any good to put unnecessary pressure on him. He backtracks a bit.
“I’m your friend. No matter what, right? And whatever this is, it’s gonna be okay.”
Stede’s breathing is steadier, his trembling more under control, but his eyes are still darting around like a cornered animal. They still have that glassy, distant look, and he can’t seem to focus on anything in particular. Fuck.
Even if Stede did want to stick things out, he was in no shape for the intricate fuckeries Ed had planned to get them across the ocean. Perhaps Stede had been right to begin with: China isn’t in the cards for them. Not yet anyway.
“You know what?” he says. “You’re right. Let’s take a breather on China, yeah? Get our bearings a bit first? I bet the ship hasn’t gotten far. We can swing round and catch ‘em in no time. Izzy won’t be thrilled, but fuck him.”
Stede stills a bit, looks up at Ed like he’s really seeing him. “But, won’t the British—?”
Ed laughs. “You kidding me? The last place they’ll guess we ran away to is our own ship. They’ll never suspect.” He’s relieved to hear he sounds more confident than he feels. “We can hide out there for a while and figure out our next steps. Get some rest and have Roach make us a proper breakfast. Would you like that?”
Stede nods weakly. “Yeah. Yes, actually. If you think it’s safe.”
“Plenty safe. Come on, let’s get the dinghy going.”
As Ed had suspected, the ship isn’t more than a few kilometers due north, bobbing like a cork against the choppy evening waves. As they clamber aboard, Stede looks weary, sick and unsteady on his feet, and Ed can’t help but bracket an arm around him to guide him forward. Doesn’t actually touch him, just offers a friendly warmth. A reminder of where he is, and who’s with him, if that’s any help. And—so gentle, Ed doesn’t even know if he’s done it intentionally—Stede leans into the guidance, shoulder bumping against Ed’s chest.
The crew is up to something or other—they’re all gathered at the edge of the ship, cackling and shouting over each other. But Stede doesn’t seem to notice, and Ed can’t be bothered to look away from him as they make their way, wearily, to the captain’s quarters.
“Izzy,” he opens the door and ushers Stede inside without taking eyes off him, “we’ll take tea in our room.”