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It’s so unfair, is the thing. So horribly cruel. So downright fucking tragic that this—this, of all bloody things—is the way he’d go. Ed’s been at sea for… Fuck. Sometimes it feels like it’s been centuries. He’s gone through so much, fought so many battles, earned so many scars and had so many days where he’s just barely made it through with his life. Pushed right the fuck through the worst kinds of hell. Suffered and lived and suffered again. Very nearly lost it all.
And then, just when he thought he might finally, fully throw in the towel, he found himself pulled back from the brink. Found himself still wanted, and because of that, he learned how to live once again. He reacquainted himself with sunrises and soft touches and sweet words, and one morning he realized that he was no longer just getting through the days—he was actually enjoying them. Finally—again—he wasn’t alone. He was loved—adored, even—and there was a place for him in the family of things. Life, for the first time in what felt like eons, was pretty fucking good.
But this is where all that ends, apparently.
Shit.
There’s still so much he had wanted to do! He’d still wanted to see China! Still wanted to see a fucking volcano! (No longer wanted to jump into one, though, which is a considerable improvement.)
And then there’s Stede, of course. Fuck. Stede.
It’s never enough, is it? Getting to spend time with the ones you love? Could spend every moment of every day with them and still not have enough. They were supposed to go on so many adventures together, sail every inch of ocean side by side, retire to some quaint little beach hut someday. Grow old together, and love forever.
Ed squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry. At least he’d told Stede he loved him the last time he saw him. Had even given him a parting kiss too, just before he’d let Stede scamper off to fetch them another jar of marmalade. He can still taste the orange tang of it, alongside the rich, flaky scones Roach had made for breakfast. That’s a small relief, he supposes—he’ll die with something good on his tongue, and the ghost of Stede’s lips against his own. Maybe if he thinks hard enough about it, he can even conjure the sound of Stede’s voice, so it’ll be the last thing he hears before he—
“Ah, here we are! Got the marmalade, darling—just give me a moment and I’ll fix you up another scone. Let me just—”
“SHH!”
When Ed opens his eyes again, he sees Stede standing in the cabin doorway, his mouth hanging open. His brow is furrowed too, presumably because of the way Ed’s currently got himself plastered to the far wall, frozen against the wood.
“Ed?” Stede says, taking a step into the room. “What—”
“I said shush!” Ed hisses. “And move slow.”
Stede’s eyes widen a little, but he obeys—he closes his mouth and approaches on tiptoe. As soon as they’re next to each other, he presses right against Ed’s side and reaches for Ed’s hand, braiding their fingers together and rubbing his thumb over Ed’s knuckles. If Ed wasn’t currently terrified out of his fucking skull, he might swoon at the gesture.
“What happened?” Stede asks in a whisper.
Ed tries to take a few calming breaths, but they don’t do him much good—his voice still wavers when he says, “I—I left the table to put on a robe, and when I was walking back, I looked up and I saw—I saw—” Ed swallows and squeezes Stede’s hand, and when Stede squeezes back, it gives him just enough courage to continue. “I saw that,” he says, and he raises a trembling finger and points toward the breakfast table.
Jesus, it’s a fucking monster—fat brown body, spindly legs, probably has fangs that are dripping with deadly poison. Maybe the worst thing about it is that it’s just sitting there on the tablecloth, most likely planning its horrible attack. Would also be no good if it was running around, of course, but the way it’s just waiting… Fucking diabolical, man. Horrifyingly sinister. The devil is real, and it’s currently sitting next to their bowl of blueberries. Man, he was gonna eat those. Probably should burn ’em now, though, along with the rest of the table. Cleanse the room of this unspeakable evil.
Stede tuts. “Oh, heavens,” he murmurs. “That’s no good at all, is it?” Stede doesn’t mind spiders, of course, but he knows—well—how much Ed does.
“No, it’s fucking not. Where did it even come from? We’re out on the ocean, for fuck’s sake. Didn’t think these bastards could swim.”
“I didn’t think so either. Bugger.”
For another moment, they just stand there; then Stede exhales in that short, determined way he does when he gets his mind on something and is gonna make whatever it is happen, come hell or high water. He kisses Ed’s cheek.
“Don’t you worry about a single thing, my love,” Stede says, in a voice so warm and certain that Ed’s brain fizzes a bit. “I’ll take care of this.”
The last thing Ed wants to do is let Stede go, but he also refuses to let this thing remain in his presence any longer, so eventually he reluctantly releases Stede’s hand. It’s with bated breath and a pounding heart that he watches what comes next: Stede creeps toward the table, not taking his eyes off it the whole time. He sets the jar of marmalade down gently before he grabs one of their half-drunk glasses of juice, drains it (woof, the bob of that throat, though), and flips it so he’s holding it upside down. Still moving slowly, he brings it closer and closer to the table, bit by bit, until he’s hovering just a few inches over it. There, with a look of utter determination on his face, he holds his position.
Ed takes one breath. Two. Three. His knees start to shake. His stomach is writhing like a pit of snakes. C’mon, Stede, c’mon—do it, do it, just fucking do it, what are you waiting for—
In a blink, Stede brings the glass down on the table, trapping that nightmarish spider beneath it.
Ed sags against the wall, breath whooshing out of him. He’s so relieved that he feels dizzy with it. “Oh, thank fuck,” he moans, dragging his hands over his face. “Thank fucking fuck. Thought I was gonna die here. Thought that was gonna be the end.”
The grip of fingers on Ed’s arms takes him by surprise, on account of him still hiding his face behind his hands. When he peeks past them, he sees Stede’s standing before him. He looks so heroic—there’s a proud glint in his eyes, and his smile is wide and sure of itself.
“Well, no need to worry anymore—you’re safe now, angel,” he says. “Nothing’s going to hurt you as long as I’m around.”
Ed’s heart wobbles violently in his chest, and not just because it makes him feel all tipped sideways when Stede calls him “angel.” No, there’s something else to it too, because y’see, here’s the thing: He knows he’s being a bit dramatic. Don’t get him wrong—he fucking hates spiders. Spawn of Satan and all that shit. Still, he (kinda) knows that this one (probably) wouldn’t have killed him. He (most likely) would’ve been fine if it had gotten near him (although the mere thought makes him shudder).
It’s not just him that knows he’s being a bit dramatic, though: Stede undoubtedly knows it too, because that’s just something they do together—they ham it up, and they make mountains out of harmless molehills, and they do it because it’s fucking fun. Ed didn’t realize he’d been craving someone to play around with until he met Stede. And as it turns out, Stede had been craving the very same thing. So now that they’ve got each other, they’re… Well, even Ed can admit they’re a bit much. But he admits it gleefully, because it makes him so fucking happy. And how could it not? He’s got a love who takes him entirely seriously when he delivers an exaggerated (but still note-perfect) performance of absolute terror, and swoops in to save him with all the chivalry of a prince protecting his princess. And then, on top of that, said prince promises his permanent safety.
Fuck’s sake. How the hell did he get so lucky?
Heart still all a-quiver, Ed throws his arms around Stede, burying his face in Stede’s neck. Pleased goosebumps ripple down his spine when Stede’s arms come around him in return, strong and steadying, and then when Stede hums, rocking him gently side to side and petting his hair where it spills down his back, he melts.
“I know,” Stede says, soft and sympathetic. “I know, darling. Must’ve been just awful. I’m so sorry you had to wait alone for me to come back.”
“Yeah,” Ed agrees. He tries to press himself even closer to Stede, tries to dig his face into the spot beneath the corner of Stede’s jaw and get their legs all tangled together even though they’re standing up. “Don’t ever leave me again, yeah?”
“Oh, of course not,” Stede says, “wouldn’t dream of it,” and the vow in his voice makes Ed’s knees weak all over again.
They stand there for another few moments, still clutching each other. Stede doesn’t stop stroking Ed’s hair until Ed eventually pulls back a bit, just enough to be able to look at Stede’s face. He takes in the familiar sight of it, lingering on Stede’s broad nose, the pretty hazel of his eyes, his strong chin. Man, he really is a prince, isn’t he? Ed reaches up to cup Stede’s cheek, and his throat goes tight when Stede leans into the touch.
“You’re my hero, y’know that?” Ed says.
He’s not being dramatic anymore—he means it, with every cell of his body. And Stede must hear that, because he flushes pink. Pink like spring’s best flowers, pink like the strawberry taffy they picked up at the last port they stopped in; pink like how Ed’s whole everything feels whenever he’s got his Gentleman Pirate in his arms. Prettier than any painting Ed’s ever seen.
“I am?” Stede says, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a grin. It’s cute, the way he can still be surprised by this kinda stuff. He’s blossomed into quite the confident man—and quite the flirt himself—but Ed still manages to get him by surprise every so often, and it’s a goddamn delight every time.
Ed nods. “Uh-huh. My big, strong hero. Came in here all handsome, saved my skin like something out of a storybook, and had all the most romantic things to say—”
Ed’s cut off by a kiss, Stede’s fingers catching in the collar of his shirt and keeping him close; he doesn’t even hesitate before he parts his lips and lets Stede in, kissing him back messy and eager. Then Stede gets him pressed against the wall, coaxes a whine out of him with a hand pressed protectively to the small of his back, and after that, Ed loses track of time.
When they finally separate, Ed feels thoroughly seen-to—his shirt’s rumpled and his lips are tingling, and he can feel how his hair’s all messed about and finger-teased. As he catches his breath, Stede keeps dropping kisses over his face, tender, lingering things pressed to his temples and his cheeks and his jaw. He’s thoroughly enjoying it until his eyes flutter open and happen to land on something that gives him a jolt of surprise: That glass is still overturned on the breakfast table.
“What is it, dearest?” Stede asks, because of course he would notice Ed’s shiver, even as he’s engrossed in tending to every inch of Ed’s face.
Ed sighs. “It’s the—mmm— There’s the—ah, shit— Fuckin’ glass,” he finally manages to say.
Stede looks over his shoulder, and when he sees the glass in question, he wrinkles his nose. “Damn. Suppose I should take care of that, hm?” He turns back to Ed and gives him one final forehead kiss. “You just wait here. Be back in a flash.” Then he’s off—after he grabs a sheet of paper from their desk, he slips it beneath the glass, and he carries the whole thing triumphantly out of the room. And true to his word, he’s back about a minute later. He holds up his hands as he enters, as if to make it clear that they’re empty.
“The enemy has been disposed of!” he says. “Good thing we hadn’t raised anchor yet—Pete volunteered to hop in the dinghy and row back to the island to drop it off.”
“Thanks, babe,” Ed says with a grin, feeling all sorts of fond and cared for. Then he pauses. “Should we set the island on fire before we leave? Make sure it can never come back?”
“Wee John suggested that, actually. Archie and Roach were on board too. But I told them it would be quite a shame, seeing as it’s such a lovely place. What if we want to come back one day? We had such a nice vacation this week. So no arson today, I’m afraid.” Stede sounds genuinely apologetic, and when he frowns, it’s deep and sincere.
Ed sighs, although he knows it’s probably the right decision to make. After all, he is kinda trying to genuinely mellow out a bit. He feels like spiders should be an exception to that rule, though. Nevertheless, he walks over to Stede and kisses him again. “Alright, alright,” he says. “No arson. Guess I can live with that. As long as that fucker gets abandoned on the opposite side of the island from us.”
“Oh, I made Pete promise he’d dig it a big hole and leave it at the bottom,” Stede says brightly. “By the time it gets out, we’ll be far, far away. I told you, darling—nothing’s going to hurt you as long as I’m around.”
Ed’s grin comes back full force, and he looks at Stede in wonder. This man is so ridiculous, and so perfect, and Ed can’t believe he’s all his. “Music to my ears, man. You’re incredible.”
Stede’s cheeks go pink again. “Oh, go on,” he says, shoving gently at Ed’s shoulder and sounding pleased as punch. He gives Ed another kiss of his own, and then he takes his hand and starts walking them to the table. “Now, I believe we were interrupted earlier—I was going to marmalade you another scone?”
They resume their seats, and as Ed pours Stede a fresh glass of juice, Stede does indeed marmalade him another scone, smearing it on thick and end-to-end, just the way he likes it. As Ed bites into it, savors the twin tastes of citrus and butter—simultaneously sharp and soft, both bright and warm—he takes Stede’s hand and squeezes it tight.
He’ll live to see another day, then. Lucky him. Lucky, lucky him.