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Chapter Text

ED

The blood had pooled into a shape that resembled romaine lettuce and Stede had finally stopped screaming. Which made Ed release a long exhale as he packed the towels around the other man’s foot. Stede Bonnet must’ve had excellent circulation because the wound really did keep gushing for quite a while.

“S-sorry, love,” Ed said, feeling genuinely awful as he applied pressure to the injury. This was now the fourth time it’d happened, a fact that made Ed’s shoulders droop with even more shame. “Will do a better job next time of sweeping up those splinters.”

Stede continued grimacing as he glanced in the direction of his desk where Ed had placed a row of half-finished objects, beneath which was a pile of wood shavings and the jagged-edged wood particles that’d blown across the floor. “Looks like you’ve been making a lot of progress with your whittling. Are those”—his brow furrowed—“dic… er… spoons?”

Ed frowned. Holy fuck. “They do look like dicks, don’t they?”

“No. Sort of. Maybe. Are they dicks?” Stede asked.

“No.”

“Then no! They don’t look like dicks at all! Not in the least! They’re some sort of pipes, then, aren’t they?”

Stede really was being far too considerate.

“They’re supposed to be horses,” Ed replied.

“Oh.” And then, “Have you ever seen a horse before, Ed?”

Ed shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. He knew Stede didn’t intend that question to sound so condescending. But maybe that’s what he deserved—some kind of scolding. His progress on learning this new craft was pathetic and perhaps the right amount of humiliation would inspire his hands to make better stuff.

Stede lowered himself to the floor and knelt by Ed, helping to mop up that ever-spreading blood puddle. “I was only asking because that’d be something interesting we haven’t talked about before… equestrianism. I-I imagine one doesn’t come across many horses at sea—”

“Sea horses,” Ed said, just to keep Stede from saying more and making him feel worse. “Maybe I’ll try sea horses next, and then I won’t have to bother with the legs.”

Stede cocked his head, a terribly sympathetic look on his face that made Ed feel, somehow, even more pathetic.

What was Ed even doing messing up Stede’s cabin with wood chips and splinters? He’d now caused four injuries to Stede’s lower extremities. And for what? A row of wooden objects that kept resembling genitalia.

Stede scooted closer, hands clasped earnestly between his knees. “Why have you become so passionate about this… this woodworking?”

“No reason,” Ed said, his tongue feeling dry as he watched the blood on the floor spread into the grayness of the towels. “Just something to do.”

“There’s lots one could do on a ship. Barrel-making, net-knotting… you could play an instrument.”

“I like whittling.”

“You don’t like whittling.”

That startled Ed. “How do you know I don’t like whittling?”

“Because you’ve been cursing nonstop while you do it. In fact, you’ve come up with some new, incredibly creative things to holler.”

“God’s ass shit.”

“Yes, I like that one a great deal. But you’ve also been bleeding a lot. Perhaps more than I’ve been. So why are you whittling if all it does is make you curse and bleed?”

Ed went silent, then dropped his gaze to his thumbs which were laced with scabs. He really wished Stede would stop looking at him like that—all puppy-eyed and concerned. “I like cursing and bleeding. I’m a pirate.”

Stede continued staring at him. “Does it have to do with Lucius?”

Ed felt his face heat. If Stede were still looking at him, he probably noticed Ed’s cheeks were turning the color of the Madeira wine they’d acquired on their most recent raid.

“Could it be,” Stede was clearly making an effort to sound casual, “that you noticed two of Lucius’ most beloved possessions are the finger Pete whittled for him and the shark Izzy whittled for him… and maybe…”

Ed wiped his mouth on his sleeve, hoping that would hide his growing bashfulness. This was, of course, one of the many reasons he loved Stede—how he could observe things and gently speak of them.

Ed hurried to gather the blood-soaked towels. He and Stede didn’t need to be talking about Lucius. Not now. This was a good opportunity to take these rags down to the laundry.

“Ed.” Stede stood quickly before Ed had a chance to escape through the door. “I know you want to do something for Lucius to make it all up to him, but your way doesn’t have to be Pete and Izzy’s way. It can be something different. Something that comes from your unique gifts.”

 Ed nodded, his mortification reaching exponential heights.

“Maybe tonight we can come up with some ideas together?” Stede proposed.

#

Before sunset, Ed headed to Izzy’s room, two gold doubloons jangling in his pocket.

Izzy was reclined back on his mattress, sewing up the knee of his trousers by lantern light.

“Is it ready yet?” Ed asked, trying not to sound rude.

“Available upon receipt of payment.”

Ed tossed him the doubloons and Izzy reached under his pillow and chucked him an object slightly smaller than the wood block Ed had given him that afternoon.

Ed shifted it in his hands. Looked at it.

His heart sank.

“Goddammit. Why did you carve a dick?”

Over on his bed, Izzy was cackling. “When you requested I whittle you something, I asked if there was anything specific you wanted…”

Wincing, Ed recalled the idiotic answer he’d given. Don’t care. Just make it realistic. He punched the door jam.

“Do you want something else?” Izzy asked with a smirk. “Something non-genital? That’ll be another two doubloons.”

“Fuck you Izzy.”

#

Ed stood at the bow holding the exceptionally realistic penis Izzy had carved for him. It was erect. Veiny. On one side there were balls with details indicating hair. Ed wondered if Izzy had carved this from reference or simply his imagination.

He’d come here to throw it into the sea before Stede or—holy hell—Lucius spotted it, but now that he was looking at it in the sunlight, it seemed a shame to toss such a sculpture overboard. He’d paid for it, after all. And it was a good example of craftsmanship. He could probably learn from Izzy’s approach to things.

“I see you’re still practicing your whittling.”

Ed turned with a start, tossing the wooden dick as he did.

Fuck. It was Stede. And Lucius at his side. Ed’s stomach plummeted into his shoes. What the fuck were they doing here?

Stede bent down to pick up the wood dick because of course it had bounced off the rail and landed at his feet. “You’ve achieved so much more realism in the last few hours.”

Now Ed’s face was probably as red as Stede’s blood-stained sock.

And then, because the whole universe was conspiring to plunge Ed into the deepest depths of horror and embarrassment, Stede handed the wooden phallus to Lucius.

“He’s been working on his whittling for days,” Stede said, oblivious to how Lucius was only touching the dick with the tips of his fingers. “He’s really trying.”

“Trying what exactly?” Lucius asked, nose wrinkling.

Now Ed was contemplating how quickly he could end his life by leaping overboard.

“Trying to make it up to you,” Stede offered brightly. “He’s been spending hours and hours on it—this gift for you.”

Jesus Christ.

Shifting his jaw, Lucius met Ed’s eyes. “Why’d you make me a wooden penis?”

“It’s not a penis,” Stede said, apparent pride lifting his shoulders. “It’s a horse!”

Ed scrubbed his face as though mortification could be peeled away with his own fingers.

“This is not a horse,” Lucius said blankly.

“Sure it is!” Stede smiled broadly. “I mean, it’s certainly not a penis.”

“No, it’s definitely a penis,” Ed confessed, because, clearly, Lucius was using his own eyes to see the thing, unlike Stede who was using some version of politeness mixed with imagination. “And I didn’t whittle it myself, I paid Izzy to whittle it—”

Lucius blinked. “Why did you pay Izzy to whittle me a wooden penis?”

“I paid him to whittle you something good that I could then give to you so you’d stop hating me, but I made the mistake of not specifying what I wanted whittled, so Izzy made a penis.”

Lucius brought the object up to eye level. “Is this Izzy’s penis? Did he carve it from reference?”

“I… I don’t know.” Ed pressed his knuckles deep into his eye sockets. “Probably.”

Everything went still and silent for a long time, only the cawing of the gulls contributing to the conversation. When Ed opened his eyes again, he found Stede’s cheeks to be the color of strawberry jam.

Lucius continued turning over the dick in his hands, studying it from various angles.

“We should probably toss it overboard,” Ed said finally.

“No this is… this is actually my favorite thing.” Lucius’ eyes were alight with glee.

“R-really?” Ed asked, hopeful.

“This,” Lucius gripped the shaft reverently, “this Izzy dick is definitely my favorite thing of all the things. Yes.”

Ed beamed. “D-does that mean you… you no longer hate me?”

The scribe’s grin widened. “Yes, I still hate you, Ed. Jesus! You haven’t once apologized. You’ve never attempted to find out anything about what I’ve been through. And all you care about is trying to make things go back to before, but you aren’t willing to actually do any of the emotional labor required to make anything better.”

Ed felt his lips drop open. Beyond Lucius’ shoulder, Stede was mouthing ‘Say you’re sorry. Say you’re sorry.’

“Y-you’re sorry,” Ed stammered. “I mean I’M SORRY!”

Lucius snapped his gaze back to Stede who was quickly running his fingers through his hair and trying to look casual.

“I’M SORRY LUCIUS,” Ed said louder as if that might make it mean more. “I’m sorry I pushed you off the ship and left you to die, and you had to watch another crew eat a rat terrier, and then you had to catch rats in your teeth—”

“STOP!” Lucius threw up his hands. “STOP SAYING THINGS, ED! None of them are helping! NOT AT ALL. And do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t really care! You don’t care what’s going on inside me and”—he faced Stede again—“YOU DON’T CARE EITHER! Both of you just want things to go back to normal, but you don’t care what any of it means for the person who's been through absolute shit because of you two!”

Ed glanced from his wringing hands to Stede who was looking as shamefaced as Ed felt.

Everything Lucius had said was the absolute truth.

Ed nodded. “My desire to make things normal is greater than my desire to care about you.”

Lucius squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, clutching the dick to his chest, then appearing to think the better of it, he moved it to a more normal position at his side.

Stede released a long breath, leaning back against the wall as he did. They both had to have had the same realization in that moment—that they were both, well, assholes.

“I’m sorry,” Ed said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There’s not gonna be anything I can say in the next few minutes, or days, or weeks to make things better, but I’m sorry. Truly. And I’m gonna work on being better. And I get it. Normal is no longer the goal here. The goal here is Lucius.”

By the wall, Stede was nodding. “Yes, the goal is Lucius.”

Lucius throat bobbed, the lines of his features especially severe in the lowering light. “Do you two even know what you’re saying? Or are you just saying words that sound like they mean things?”

Ed sent a searching look to Stede and noticed Stede was searching right back at him. They didn’t have the answer and neither of them seemed to know what to say next.

“All right, well, thanks for the wooden carving of Izzy’s dick,” Lucius said. “I mean, I know that sounded sarcastic, but I really do like it, so.” Turning, he escaped back through the little door.

Swallowing deeply, Ed slumped to Stede’s side and folded against him. “How does one learn how to not be an asshole… How to care about other people?”

Stede brought his arms around Ed’s shoulders, the feel of them warm and satisfying. “You care about me, right?”

Ed nodded into Stede’s neck.

“Well then,” Stede said, as if that were a response that would lead to any conclusions for Ed.

“What if I’m only capable of caring about one person, though?” Ed asked. The prospect was actually making Ed’s guts feel so painful he thought he might puke. “What if there’s something broken in me that makes it so I don’t have enough… That there’s only so much caring to go around?”

Stede’s fingers descended in rhythmic strokes through Ed’s scalp. “I think we both came from worlds that didn’t encourage us to use our hearts in the way they ought to be used. But I think we can get better at it. I think we can practice.”

Ed snuggled deeper into Stede’s chest. “When I practiced whittling, it just led to a lot of cursing and bleeding.”

“Does that mean you’re going to give up?”

He closed his arms around Stede’s waist and brought them both downward so they could rest entangled together on the deck. “I think I’m going to give up whittling.”

“But what about the other thing?”

Ed drew in a long breath. Stede smelled deeply of juniper and orange peel, the fragrance making Ed’s eyelids feel heavy, his heart full.

“I want to make Lucius the goal,” Ed said. “Even if I don’t really know what those words mean.”

“I think you do know what those words mean. Even if they’re a bit hard to translate into a streamlined explanation.”

Ed stroked Stede’s hair and kissed his cheek, the feel of his heart suddenly sun-warmed and tender. He did know what it meant—that thing about Lucius being the goal. It meant his focus was shifting, and it would be a conscious thing. It’d take time, but what mattered wasn’t Ed anymore. What mattered was making things right.

Chapter Text

STEDE

That evening’s raid of a merchant ship had been especially successful. Their plunder included Flemish and Italian oil paintings, Persian miniatures, Burma gems, and so many fabrics and furnishings. Stede’s chest filled with pride over how efficiently his crew had contained the English seamen, disabled their vessel, and transported their winnings.

After everyone brought the loot aboard, Roach had a dozen plates of maple bourbon banana pudding cake brought out to celebrate their achievement. Stede probably should’ve noticed something amiss as soon as Ed refused to take a plate—one of the best dishes Roach had ever made.

Confirmation of Ed’s distress came when Frenchie, finished with his cake, scurried over to a particularly large, chinoiserie trunk.

“I call dibs on whatevers in here!” Frenchie shouted.

Ed’s face immediately went lava-red, apparent fury contorting his features. “NO ONE CALLS DIBS ON SHIT!”

The volume of Ed’s shout made Stede’s veins go cold.

Ed stomped to the trunk and slammed his foot on it before it could be opened. “NOT UNTIL LUCIUS PICKS OUT WHAT HE WANTS!”

Stede grabbed hold of a nearby Swedish rococo bookshelf for support. What in heavens had gotten into Ed?

The rest of the crew seemed to be as struck silent as Stede. Eyes wide, they each turned from Ed to Lucius who—now wearing the Izzy dick on a holster hanging from his belt—became as frozen and still as many of the statues they’d just brought aboard.

“Lucius.” Obviously unaware of the discomfort that’d overcome the ship’s scribe, Ed opened the lid of an even larger chest, showing it to him. In it were countless doubloons, gems, and jewels.

“Just look at all these, Lucius!” Ed said with a flourish. “You could take the whole blasted thing if you want! Imagine!” He lifted handfuls of chains made of precious metals. “Wearing shit like this all day! All day like a goddamn king!”

The crew remained, thankfully, silent as Ed scooped up piles of rings, bracelets, and necklaces, bringing them to Lucius—actually filling the scribe’s pockets and forcing rings onto his fingers!

All right. This was all getting out of hand.

Archie threw down the crate she was holding. “I don’t understand why Lucius gets the good stuff. He didn’t even help out with the raid.”

Silently, Oluwande put up his palms, shushing her. Lucius was already removing the ruby bracelets from his wrists.

“We’re shushing now?” Archie asked, outraged. “I’m just asking a reasonable question.”

“LUCIUS GET’S WHATEVER HE WANTS,” Ed shouted. “AND THERE WILL BE NO ARGUMENTS!”

This was not going well at all. Demurely, Stede crept to Ed’s side and put a gentle grasp on his elbow.

Ed spun around and pointed at Frenchie. “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING THAT WAISTCOAT UNTIL LUCIUS TRIES IT ON FIRST!”

Jesus. “ED, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF MAN!”

Ed faced Stede, eyes wild.

“Captains’ meeting,” Stede said, perhaps more firmly than he intended. “In the cabin. Now.”

“No one takes Lucius’ shit,” Ed said.

Stede wanted to wring the man’s neck. “It’s not Lucius’ shit and you know it.”

“IT IS. He gets whatever he wants. These are the rules! This is what we talked about.”

Couldn’t Ed see how mortified the poor fellow looked?

“This isn’t what we talked about,” Stede said, quieter. “You know this.”

“BUT”—Ed flailed his hands—“LUCIUS IS THE GOAL!”

Buckles jangling, Izzy sauntered over, his expression a mixture of boredom and impishness. “Edward, I will ensure there is no divvying up of the plunder until your captains’ meeting is concluded. Now I suggest you take this discussion into your quarters.”

Gratitude for Izzy’s existence was a strange emotion, but Stede was slowly getting used to it. Tightening his grip on Ed’s arm, he guided his co-captain into the cabin.

#

As things usually went when emotions were heightened and privacy acquired, they ended up mostly undressed and thoroughly entangled. Ed was damp all over and panting by the time Stede had put his thoughts together.

Settling atop Ed’s chest and tucking the silver-black waves behind Ed’s ears, Stede met Ed’s heavy-lidded gaze. “We’ll give Lucius his own room. We’ll provide him with whatever he needs to furnish it. And, as we acquire more plunder, you can sneak it down to Lucius’ quarters, and that way he can decide what he wants within the privacy of his own space.”

Ed frowned. “So you’re saying I embarrassed him.”

Oh this dear, beautiful man. He clearly had a delayed reaction when it came to reading people’s emotions. Stede understood a bit about that. Figuring out the dynamics of a social situation had been something Stede was forced to learn if he was to survive upper-class society, but it hadn’t come easily.

Stede landed a light peck near Ed’s ear. “I’m saying I love your sentiment. I love your idea. I love that you want to give Lucius the world. We’re just making a slight adjustment to your plan because it probably isn’t a good idea to draw too much attention to the fact that Lucius is no longer doing any physical labor or going on raids… yet he’ll be getting whatever he wants from the loot.”

Ed worked his mouth, almost pouting as he did. “The crew should be more sympathetic to what Lucius’ been through.”

“That’s a very good point, Ed. But then again, they’ve been through a lot as well and they might be wondering when they’ll start getting the same kind of pampering Lucius is getting.”

“None of them got tossed overboard, though.”

Resting his face in the crook of Ed’s neck, Stede drew his nails down the delicious length of Ed’s torso. “They’ve faced potential death, fear, stress, and emotional dysregulation. You’ve faced that too, as a matter of fact.” Stede wasn’t sure what conclusions he was reaching. He was just finding his way through his thoughts. “Maybe we should be thinking about that. About all of them.”

“But I thought Lucius was the goal.” The frustration in Ed’s voice was growing increasingly apparent. “You agreed with me. You said Lucius was the goal too!”

“As with all piracy, the goal must be flexible.” Was that a principle of piracy? Stede wasn’t quite sure. “So yes, the goal is Lucius. And the goal is also the whole ship. All the crew. The balance.”

Ed’s face changed. He looked like a man suddenly confronted by a charging rhinoceros. “I-I have to care about more than two people now?”

Stede swallowed, regretting the fact that he’d just overwhelmed the man.

Ed tugged at his hair. “I have to care about… like… how many are on the crew anyway? What are there… five?”

“Well, thirteenish if you’re still including me and Lucius and also Swede and Buttons…”

Ed covered his face, the prospect clearly too much to process.

“If it helps any,” Stede gave Ed’s bicep a squeeze, “it’s not as though you have to think about them all the time… And, hey, I’ll be here to provide helpful reminders.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Just a minute!” Stede stumbled out of bed and pulled on his shirt.

Ed struggled to wiggle back into his own leather trousers and Stede helped him.

“You know what,” Ed said. “I’m gonna do it.”

“Do what?” Stede asked, lingering his touch along the appealing curve of Ed’s hipbone.

“I’m gonna really start caring about people,” Ed buttoned his fly. “I’m gonna care about this whole bloody crew, and every one of them is gonna know how much I care about them.”

Stede rocked back on his heels, not quite sure how he should be reacting to such a declaration. If Ed’s newfound conviction for caring about the crew was anything like his determination to care about Lucius, things would likely end up… somewhat unhinged.

Once more-or-less clothed, Stede opened the door to find Lucius standing at the threshold, the Izzy dick swinging at his hip, his hands noticeably free of bracelets and gems.

What incredible luck! They’d get this all sorted out at once. “We were just talking about you. Come right in!”

Lucius glanced to Ed who’d just seemed to realize he’d put his shirt on backward and was now shimmying his arms back into the arm holes.

“You were having sex and talking about me?” Lucius asked.

“Actually,” Ed brought his hands together. “We had sex, and then, right afterward, we started talking about you.”

Stede forced a smile. This was going perfectly. Not at all exasperating. Not at all.

Stede broadened his grin. “Ed feels awful about embarrassing you in front of the crew, but we’ve come up with a solution. You see, we both believe you should be entitled to certain things because of what you’ve been through and—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Lucius plunged his hands into his pockets and faced Stede with a newfound resolve. “I don’t need anything. Nothing at all. Especially not first dibs on the loot.”

“We’re going to give you your own room!” Stede said.

“Yeah, I don’t need that either. Look, I came here to tell you something,” Lucius went to the sofa and sat down.

Judging by the seriousness in Lucius’ face, this was all becoming a great deal more grave than Stede had anticipated. He sat across from him, Ed remaining by the mattress.

Lucius shuffled his feet on the carpet. “There’s no easy way to say this, so here it goes.”

Heavens, this was bad.

“One of Pete’s old crewmates was on that ship we raided,” Lucius said. “Says merchant shipping is bullshit and wants to get into piracy again. Says he’s been saving up a lot of money and has enough to buy some canons, re-fit that merchant ship. The plan is to dump their captain off in Florida somewhere, and then start using this merchant ship for piracy. He and Pete are old friends and Pete wants to join him, so that means… I guess… I want to join him.”

Stede’s stomach felt like it had sunk all the way to the bottom of the ocean floor. Lucius wanted to leave the Revenge? The hollow, aching despair of that prospect knotted Stede’s insides. Despite their recent conflicts, he did have such fondness for the fellow. What would life be like on the ship without him?

“But Lucius…” Stede stammered to find his words. “You’ve now been on other ships. You know how the dynamic out there can be so different than what we have here on the Revenge. Are you sure you’d be happy?”

A flicker of what looked like doubt wafted over Lucius’ expression. “Pete likes this man. I trust Pete. I want to be with Pete.”

It was almost like Lucius was trying to convince himself of something.

“Will they expect you to work?” Stede asked. “You know if you stay here, you won’t ever be expected to work.”

Lucius rose to his feet at once, startling Stede so much he nearly tumbled off the ottoman.

“I’ve actually made up my mind,” Lucius said, chin lifting despite the fact that Stede was seated beneath him. “I’m going with them. The only thing to be worked out is whether I’ll stay on their ship now while they get it operational again, or if Pete and I will meet them in the Republic of Pirates next week since that’s where they’ll be buying their canons.”

Stede put his palms together, endeavoring to level his tone and speak slowly. “Stay with us for the week and we’ll bring you and Pete to the Republic of Pirates. That’ll give us plenty of time to say goodbye.”

Lucius torso swayed slightly despite the fact that the ship remained steady. His eyes were watering.

Goodness, this evening had started off feeling so victorious, but now it was a funeral. Standing, Stede put his arms around the fellow, pulled him tight.

Lucius stiffened in his employer’s embrace.

“You mean the world to me.” If Lucius was softening, it was hard to tell. “You know that.”

“Stede, y-you smell like sex.”

“Right. Sorry.” Stede pulled away.

“Thanks for being understanding, though,” Lucius said, making his way to the door. “Most captains would just kill another captain that attempted to poach their crew. Especially after defeating them in a raid…”

 The scribe looked so terribly glum, he had to be having misgivings.

Stede put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you came to me and I hope we can make our final days with you and Pete pleasantly memorable.”

Lucius seemed to be avoiding Stede’s eyes. He wiped his face which was noticeably wet.

“Yeah, Stede. Same.”

And then the door closed and he was gone.

Spinning around to face Ed, Stede found him hunched by the mattress furiously carving into a small block of wood. Where he’d gotten the wood and the knife in such a short period of time defied Stede’s imagination.

Stede sucked in a deep breath. “We have one week to make Lucius realize leaving the Revenge would be a terrible mistake.”

Ed nodded with such enthusiasm Stede feared his head might pop off. Ed had clearly sliced his thumb at some point during his fervent whittling because the wood was turning scarlet.

“I-I fucked up by making him uncomfortable,” Ed said, his voice shaking and his knife peeling off layer and layer of wood without regard for the blood that was now streaming. “But I’ll fix this. I’ll make this right.”

Should Stede tell Ed to stop whittling? Point out that there was now a rather impressively sized burgundy puddle on the floor?

Stede opened his mouth to speak, but found his knees weakening, his body plummeting into a nearby chair. Lucius was making a terrible mistake—one he’d regret for the rest of his life. His home was here. His family was here.

More than that, Stede would miss Lucius. And the depth of Stede’s despair over that fact made him bring his hand to his heart.

“We’ll both fix this,” Stede said. “But we need to come up with a plan.”

“Anything. Whatever you say, I’ll do it.”

Steely resolve made Stede sink his fingers into his thighs, his jaw hardening with determination. “We make Lucius love us. We make him love us as much as we love him.”

Still carving the wood and maiming his thumb in the process, Ed continued nodding. “And how do we do that?”

Stede flashed his teeth, knowing he likely looked more ferocious than charming. “I know just the thing.”

“Tell me,” Ed said.

“We woo him.”

Chapter Text

ED

According to Stede, the first step in wooing someone is observing them—discovering their interests and affinities. This would help the two of them find ways to provide Lucius with the things he liked: both materially and emotionally. Necessary to entice the scribe’s fond feelings.

There in Stede’s quarters, while listening to Stede expound on his various theories of wooing and courting, Ed skin grew appealingly hot. Damp, but not in an uncomfortable way.

“Is that what you did with me?” Ed asked. “Observed me?”

“Oh, I did lots of observing of you,” Stede said, his voice dropping low. “So much observing.”

That evaporated the last Ed’s thoughts from his head.

And soon clothing was re-shed and bedcoverings re-scattered.

They didn’t get much Lucius-observing done for the rest of the day after that. By the time they finally left Stede’s quarters, the sky was dark and everyone was nearly finished with their dinner.

Luckily, Lucius and Pete were still lingering near the rigging, a sufficient distance—as always—from the sides. They had a blanket over their laps and were gazing up at the sky.

As Stede went to see if there was anything left to eat, Ed looked up to see what in the sky Lucius might find so interesting. After several minutes, he spotted no shooting stars nor any of those curious disks that occasionally crossed the horizon. Just the standard things—Polaris, Rigel, Procyon… Jupiter and Venus. Neither Lucius nor Pete had a sextant or astrolabe, so they weren’t engaged in nautical calculations.

They were just… star gazing.

Which was a pastime Ed never really understood. When you’ve seen one sparkly dot, you’ve seen them all. There had to be thousands up there. No different than grains of sand, really.

Staying out of the couple’s sightline, he leaned against the mast.

What could Lucius Spriggs possibly find so interesting about things that were as abundant as chunks of dirt?

After a few minutes, Lucius got up. “I’m gonna get us some tea. Be right back, babe.”

With a kiss to Pete’s forehead, he then bounded toward the lower decks, wood cock swinging from his belt.

Here was Ed’s chance. He could talk to Pete about Lucius. Find out what the fellow found so interesting about shiny dots. Stede would probably know what to do with that information.

The key was not to alarm Pete at all.

“Blackbeard, are you going to kill me?”

Startled, Ed straightened. How did Pete know he was behind him?

“No. Fuck. Why’d you say that?” Ed asked.

Pete turned. “Isn’t that what you used to do when someone tried to poach your crew?”

Ed shrugged. No one ever tried to poach his crew before. Before he teamed up with Stede, he didn’t usually leave enough survivors to allow the prospect of defeated seamen poaching from him. And since Pete was a member of his own crew, poaching from his own crew… Well, it’d be an overreaction to commit murder over it. Folks have a right to choose something different.

The point was that Ed needed Lucius to choose not something different. He needed Lucius to stay. Because it’d be awfully sad if Lucius went somewhere else.

“Pete,” Ed began, realizing he wasn’t going to ask about Lucius’ star-gazing after all, but instead going to get right to the point. “Why do you want to join a different ship? I thought you liked me.”

Pete rose to a crouch, cocked his head.

That was an interesting look. The man appeared like he was studying Ed… searching for some meaning in whatever expression he read on Ed’s face.

“Blackbeard.” Pete wasn’t blinking. He just kept his stare locked on Ed. “Are you upset about me joining a different ship?”

 “Of course I’m upset!” Ed said. “You’re taking Lucius.”

Pete squinted slightly, his head tilting the other direction. “So you’re not upset about me leaving? You’re upset about Lucius leaving.”

“I really like Lucius,” Ed said, which was the truth. And that was important in relationships—telling the truth. Being honest, and vulnerable. “The ship won’t be the same without him.”

Pete took a moment to swallow for some reason.

“Again,” Pete’s nostrils expanded as he drew in a long breath. “You’re not upset about me leaving. You’re upset about Lucius leaving?”

Ed blinked. Hadn’t he already made that clear? “I really fucking like Lucius. I do. He’s our bitchy little ship gremlin and he makes everyone happy.”

Pete’s eyes were red around the edges, and Ed had the inkling he’d said the wrong thing.

He put his palms together. “I meant bitchy little ship gremlin affectionately. I feel like that was appropriately conveyed by my tone.”

Clenching his jaw, Pete nodded slowly. “You conveyed it perfectly. Thank you, Blackbeard, for your honesty.”

Ed beamed. He was getting better at this! “But you didn’t answer my question, Pete. Why are you leaving this ship?”

Another difficult-to-interpret look washed over Pete’s features. His cheeks became unusually slack. His eyes steely. “I think it’s pretty clear why I’m leaving this ship.”

Ed squinted, his chest now painfully tight. He’d fucked up at some point in this conversation, but wasn’t sure where.

Goddammit. Things used to be so much easier when a confusing interaction could be ended with a quick stabbing.  “Pete, are you angry with me for some reason?”

Gazing up to the stars again, Pete released a long sigh. “I’m not angry at you, Blackbeard. I’m… I’m angry at myself.”

Which left Ed even more baffled. Why was Pete angry at himself? And what did that have to do with his decision to leave?

Stede would know just the thing to say in this situation. Stede would talk it through.

“You know, this is a space ship,” Ed said, the only thing he could think of.

Pete nodded slowly, sadly. “Exactly… exactly, Blackbeard.”

And then Pete picked up his blanket and went in the direction Lucius had gone moments ago.

 “I see you and Pete were talking…”

Ed whipped around and released a breath. Thank the gods, it was Stede. He had a tray covered in a silver lid. That must’ve been dinner.

“Ed, is something wrong?”

“It’s not my fault!” Ed couldn’t believe he was back to shouting. “Your fucking crew talks in riddles! How am I supposed to understand these people if nothing they do or say makes any sense! And what’s the point of looking up at the stars anyway? It’s not like they ever do anything!”

Stede regarded him patiently. Which was actually the fucking worst. What gave Stede the right to be so patient while Ed was losing his goddamn mind?

“You and Pete were talking about stars?” Stede asked.

They were going to lose Lucius because Ed didn’t know how to have a fucking conversation.

Stede set the platter of food down on the capstan. “How about you repeat, very slowly, everything you and Pete said to each other just now.”

Ed threw up his arms. “If Lucius wants to leave then he can just go!”

“You can’t possibly mean that, Ed.”

Of course he didn’t, but he also knew he’d fucked up somehow, and someone like Stede—who was good at not fucking up when it came to complicated conversations—would probably make him realize how much of an idiot he’d been.

“Ed, you’re upset. And you haven’t eaten in hours. Have some stew and we’ll talk about it.”

Now he was being placated. This was hell.

“Food is for fucking amateurs!”

Before he could take in Stede’s reaction to his tantrum, he stormed off.

Chapter Text

STEDE

Five minutes later, Stede had Ed eating a slice of vanilla cake, and he’d succeeded in getting Ed’s synopsis of the Pete interaction—complete with dialogue. Ed had an exceptional memory of what people said to each other. He could probably be a playwright.

Nodding as Ed reached the tale’s conclusion, Stede offered his theory.

“Pete has always thought very highly of you,” Stede explained. “And it seems like he’s feeling down about how you might not think of him in the same way.”

“Why would I think of him in the same way?” Ed asked. “I’m world-famous and highly-skilled pirate. He wears a horseshoe as a belt buckle.”

Stede set down his fork. “Sometimes a person can become hyper-focused on seeking the approval of someone. They devote their whole personality to it. No, it’s not a terribly healthy thing to do, but it’s a thing that still happens. And it can be devastating when that someone never reciprocates that admiration.”

“So Pete’s leaving with Lucius because I never admired him.”

Stede nodded, proud of Ed for connecting the pieces.

“Seems like a pretty easy fix, then,” Ed said. “I start acting like Pete is admire-able.”

Hope stirred within Stede’s chest. Despite the fact that Ed didn’t seem to have a particular fondness for Black Pete, he was creative and could use his imagination effortlessly.

“All right, let’s practice,” Stede said, standing, then meandering over to the curtains. “I’m Black Pete and I’m over here tying the rigging.” Stede began knotting and unknotting the tassels. “Walk by and say something encouraging.”

Setting aside his plate, Ed sauntered over. “Hello Pete.”

Good. Ed was smiling pleasantly. Looking cordial. Making eye-contact. A little too much eye-contact, but the intensity would probably fade with conversation.

He just needed to say something.

But judging by the crease that’d formed between his brows, that seemed to be the hard part for Ed.

“Why don’t you tell Pete something you like about him?” Stede suggested.

Ed nodded, eyes appearing unfocused, dazed.

C’mon. You can do it, Ed.

“P-Pete…” Ed crossed his arms, tilted his head. “You are…”

Oh dear.

“Pete...”

“You’ve said his name twice now. Usually just once will do.”

A deep sound simmered in Ed’s throat. “I’m trying to come up with something nice.”

Was there any reason to be thinking so hard about it? “H-he’s a good husband to Lucius. You could say something about that.”

“A good what now?”

“You have to admit that’s one of his best qualities—how he cares for Lucius.”

That deep sound in Ed’s throat turned into a grumble. “He’s taking Lucius to another ship simply because he got his own feelings hurt. That’s not good husband stuff. That’s dickhead stuff!”

Stede chewed on the inside of his cheek. Ed was making a surprisingly good point.

“Lucius can’t just join another ship.” Now Ed’s whole face was turning red, his nose wrinkling with apparent anger. “One, he’s never been a good seaman to begin with. They’d tell him to splice line and he wouldn’t know what the hell they’re talking about. Two, he has a panic attack every time he’s within five feet of the water’s edge. Has Pete even thought about this? Is another crew gonna take care of Lucius the way we do?”

That hollowness that had once taken hold of Stede’s stomach expanded again. That was Stede’s concern as well. He could easily picture Lucius being the subject of ridicule and hazing on another vessel. That simply wouldn’t do.

“Pete needs to realize good husbands don’t coerce their spouse into upending his entire life just because you’re feeling a certain way about one of the co-captains.”

Stede knotted his fingers together. Again, Ed was making excellent points. “Maybe Pete is feeling really hurt. Really, really hurt. You might sympathize with making poor choices when your emotions are raw.”

Ed’s brows lifted and Stede’s insides gave a heave.

Maybe he’d been a little too on-the-nose with that particular point, but Ed had to understand that sometimes good people had imperfect behavior, and if he could just find that one thing he had in common with Pete, then it would surely open the doors to all the other things they had in common. Perhaps a friendship could blossom. Stranger things had happened.

“I see what you mean,” Ed said.

“I think you have a natural inclination toward empathy, Ed, and perhaps you’ll now get to practice that empathy with Pete.”

Apparent newfound conviction brightening his features, Ed seized Stede by the shoulders. “Here’s what we’ll do. Your job will be wooing Lucius. And I’m gonna have a drink with Pete. He and I are gonna be friends.”

Stede forced a smile, heartened by Ed’s enthusiasm but wondering if they ought to rehearse this a bit. He took hold of Ed’s lapels. “Pete will likely say a lot of things that sound like they may not be true… And I’m sure this tendency will only increase with the consumption of alcohol. Promise me you’ll just let him tell his stories without judgment.”

“Stories?”

“These adventurous tales he claims to have taken part in are really important to him.” Despite Oluwande’s insistence that they were false, Stede still believed there was likely a morsel of truth in them. “He even claims to have saved your life when he was a member of your old crew… years ago…”

Ed squinted off toward the lantern light, a smile curving his lips. “An invisible seaman could be the most sought-after seaman there is… He does his job so efficiently, so humbly, that the captain doesn’t even know he’s there…”

Stede withdrew his hold on Ed, sensing where Ed was going with this and waiting for him to complete his thoughts.

“I should’ve known so much sooner where I recognized Pete from!” Ed’s face became animated, gleeful. It was the same sort of expression he wore when he decided to become Jeff the Accountant. “You say he claims he saved my life?”

“And then, in his story, you gave him the moniker ‘The Dread Black Pete.’”

Excitement surging, Ed cupped Stede’s cheeks. “What if we give Pete the chance to do it again? We craft a scenario where he saves my life!”

“I think that’s called trauma bonding.”

“Yes!” Ed said, nearly dancing in place. “Pete and I won’t just be friends. We’ll be trauma-bonded!”

Stede nodded slowly, shifting his jaw as he imagined Pete defending Ed in a swordfight, Pete diving into the ocean to save Ed from drowning, a mythical beast Pete could vanquish in order to help Ed flee to safety… The possibilities were endless!

“All right,” Stede said, savoring the sparkle that played over Ed’s irises. “Let’s craft some trauma.”

Chapter Text

STEDE

The hammock Stede had acquired for Lucius would be just the thing for someone who enjoyed stargazing. It was big enough for both Lucius and Pete, abundantly outfitted with quilts and pillows, then topped with a little canopy that could be utilized for either shade in the daytime or privacy at night.

Especially important for the evening’s events was the special lantern Stede placed on a hook by the drapery. It had a bright beam that, with the help of a cleverly designed reflective element, could be manipulated thanks to a nearly invisible string that descended below the deck. There was also the decorative sword hung horizontally just beneath the awning. Though the weapon, with its gilt handle and jeweled scabbard, had previously been used by some officer for ceremonial purposes, it had a sufficiently sharp blade suitable for gut-stabbing.

A familiar stomp-tap, stomp-tap, stomp-tap sounded. Though Lucius and Pete had been informed Stede had a present awaiting them, the crew was supposed to be still below decks having their evening meal.

Stomp-tap, stomp-tap, stomp-tap. Agitation descended into Stede’s loins.

Izzy.

What the hell did he want?

“Bonnet.” Leaning on his cane, Izzy took in the canopied hammock, the lantern, and the surrounding masts decorated with hanging candles. He cocked his head. “Does this little theatrical production you and Edward have planned involve you getting gut-stabbed?”

Stede narrowed his gaze. Of course it did, but that was none of the first mate’s business.

Izzy blinked slowly, not taking his eyes off Stede. “When we left port this morning, Edward stayed ashore under the guise that he planned to fence some of our plunder, but he’s not doing that, is he Bonnet? My guess he’s outfitting one of his old ships as an enemy vessel, so he can launch a fake attack.”

Stede bristled. How did Izzy know that?

“In the middle of the night there will be some sort of explosion, won’t there?” Izzy asked. “Lots of smoke, I’m sure. He’ll have you dress as a villainous assassin come to do him in, and, for some reason, Edward will be without his weapons, and that will give Pete the opportunity to defend his life by stabbing you with that fancy officer’s sword you left conveniently within his reach. You think you can turn just in time to avoid injury to the important parts.”

The heat drained from Stede’s cheeks. The realization that Izzy knew Ed was planning a fuckery was one thing. The fact that he knew it was related to Pete was… supernatural.

“I know everything about Edward,” Izzy continued. “His recent awkwardness with Pete has been made abundantly clear. Most importantly, I know the way his mind works. But what Edward consistently fails to grasp is the depth of your incompetence, Bonnet.”

Stede sneered. “What do you mean by that, Izzy?”

“You avoided death when I stabbed you, yes. But Black Pete isn’t a classically trained swordsman. What makes you think he’ll play by the rules and not spear you through the skull or sever your neck?”

Fists balled, Stede drew in a shaky breath. Dammit, he hated when Izzy’s observations were both astute and likely accurate. “Izzy, whatever you’re prattling on about isn’t making a lick of sense. Enemy vessel? Villainous assassin? I’m simply setting up this lovely hammock for Lucius and Pete so they may enjoy their stargazing. If you would please let me return to my work, I would very much appreciate it.”

Izzy released a deep sigh. That actually made Stede feel pretty miserable. After everything Izzy had been through—he’d been buried alive after all!—the fact that he was still trying to protect Stede and keep Ed more-or-less happy (barring occasional forays into well-deserved impishness) was, well, admirable.

Stede opened his mouth to begin some form of apology, but then he noticed Izzy’s cheeks becoming a shade of red that closely resembled volcano lava. His eyes were now locked on something beyond Stede’s shoulder.

“Hey Izzy.”

Stede turned to find Lucius making his approach, the scribe’s hand ever-present on the phallus dangling at his hip. Now Lucius was circling the tip with his thumb, each slow stroke making Izzy’s cheeks turn increasingly scarlet.

This had been an activity that seemed to give Lucius a great deal of delight over the past few days—the affected caressing, rubbing, and fondling of the dick that was now most-certainly a replica of Izzy’s. Lucius always made a point to do this sort of thing when he was within Izzy’s eyeline—especially during meals when he could place the cock on the table for all to see. There was no denying the seductive way Lucius lowered his eyelids and dipped his tongue through his lips. It was all so delightful—the way it made Izzy unravel before their eyes.

“Izzy, you’re looking tense. Can I give you”—Lucius moved his touch slowly over the wooden testicles—“a massage?”

Teeth closing, Izzy straightened. “Unlike some on this crew, I’ll be returning to work. Good day to you all.”

Now Pete crept up the stairs and sidled next to Lucius. “I think Izzy’s about ten seconds from pinning you against a wall.”

Lucius threw back his head in a silent scream. “Gawwwwd. It can’t happen soon enough. I’m dying over here.”

Feeling his brow pinch, Stede considered the scribe’s dramatic affectation. Even with this ornate and sumptuous hammock before him, Lucius remained focused on where Izzy had disappeared into the great cabin.

 “Lucius, are you saying you’re not just having a bit of fun, you’re intentionally trying to seduce Izzy?”

The scribe nodded, his jaw hard and needful, his eyes enraptured.

“Lucius has decided he’s obsessed with him,” Pete explained. “Before we leave this ship, he’s made it his mission to give Izzy a night he’ll never forget.”

“I must do filthy things to that man’s angry little body.” Clawing his own cheeks, Lucius swooned in a way that seemed operatic, and, well… sincere. “I need to see his orgasm face. I need it more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.”

Stede chewed the inside of his lip. This was a surprising development… Worth considering despite the uncomfortable mental images being conjured.

“Babe, it’ll happen,” Pete said, beginning at last to allow his gaze to drift over the bedding and pillows before them. “The second you two find yourselves below decks and alone in a darkened corridor, that’ll be it.”

This was all so very curious. And Stede’s prime objective was wooing Lucius… No, wooing in Stede’s case didn’t mean carnal relations, but it did mean knowing Lucius more intimately so he could figure out what would keep the fellow on this ship.

“Lucius,” Stede began, trying to sound casual. “Has this recent fascination with Izzy got anything to do with that phallus Ed gave you?”

Lucius closed his hand around his much-beloved carving. “Not really…”

“Not really?”

“It started earlier…”

“Earlier?”

The scribe nodded. “Part of me wants to say it started on Calypso’s birthday… La Vie En Rose…. But that wouldn’t be the truth. The truth is it erupted fully when Izzy died…”

Stede swallowed, surprised at how effortlessly Lucius had revealed this truth and how quickly Stede found himself thrust back in time to the memory of that terrible day.

“A lot of emotions came up for me then.” Lucius shifted his weight onto his hip, his eyes lifting toward the sky. “And then more emotions came up when he crawled out of that grave… Turned out not to be dead.”

Overhead a gull called. The sound of it was piercing enough to send a vibration straight into Stede’s throat where a gummy knot was forming. He’d once thought Lucius dead. A lot of people did. He’d never given much consideration to how both Izzy and Lucius shared such a similar experience.

Lucius straightened his knee and it gave a little pop. The air was beginning to feel as warm as gunpowder and with a few more candles and smoking incense, the hammock would be ready for its occupants.

“I crawled out of the ocean. Izzy crawled out of the earth… I don’t know what that is. Poetry… Parallels.” Lucius unhooked the phallus and brought it before him, both hands clamped around the shaft. “There’s more to Izzy than people realize. And yes, I’m being dramatic and horny over how much I want him, but also… full transparency… I want him. I want to know him. I want whatever these barriers are to not be there anymore.”

Stede gulped. He couldn’t recall Lucius ever being so open and vulnerable before. It probably had to do with the fact that in a matter of days he and Pete would be gone, and now the tender feelings were bubbling to the surface. Stede liked it—Lucius’ emotional honesty.

Pete touched Lucius’ cheeks. “Babe, I love seeing your sincere side.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sweet.” Lucius said with a scoff.

“Lucius…” It surprised Stede that he was going to say this, but it clearly needed to be said. “If you’re wanting to connect with Izzy, maybe focusing so much on his penis isn’t the best approach.”

Lucius’ mouth opened slightly, then he closed it again. He appeared about to make some snide remark—probably about the irony of getting sex advice from Stede Bonnet.

“Izzy likes being useful,” Stede offered. “And he’s a good teacher… A little caustic, but good. Ask him to show you how to do something. Get him to give you a lesson on sword fighting, whittling, delegating… I dunno, first mate stuff. And perhaps, well, put the penis away for a little while?”

Above the sails, silvery clouds drifted in front of the moon.

“Thanks, Stede,” Lucius said softly. “That’s, actually, really good advice.”

Beside Lucius, Pete had a happy gleam in his eye that made Stede feel something like gladness. It was odd. They would both be leaving the ship forever and this was one of the nicest moments of closeness they’d ever had with each other—and, of all things, they were bonding over how Lucius could go about seducing Izzy.

“So this hammock…” Lucius said, gesturing to the landscape of velvet, tassels, and drapery before them.

“Yes!” Stede was thankful for the segue. “Ed and I have it all ready for you now.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Right. I’m so sure this was Blackbeard’s idea… something for both Lucius and I.”

Lucius looked away awkwardly and there bloomed a wet shine beneath his lashes.

What could Stede say? This was the problem with complicated interpersonal conflicts—there were no easy words to make it all better.

“Pete,” Stede finally said, his voice feeling overly cautious. “E-Ed really does wish he was better at people.”

Pete poked at a dangling tassel. “Being good at people isn’t necessary when you genuinely like someone.”

Stede’s chest hurt when he drew in his next breath. See, this was why adventure and plotting were needed. Drama and action could accomplish all the things conversation couldn’t.

“It’s fine.” Pete lifted a blanket of green damask and folded into it, Lucius joining him. “When we’re on the new ship, I’ll only say good things about working for Blackbeard. There won’t be any public relations issue.”

Public relations with other pirates was all well and good, but the only pirates that mattered right now were Pete and Lucius. Though they looked cozy tucked into the pillows and coverings, the tension that prickled the air above the main deck disturbed Stede’s gut as much as his heart.

His emotions were now an entangled web, but judging by the height of the moon, it was time for him to change into his costume. With a last look to where Lucius settled against Pete’s chest, Stede made his way down toward the hold. The battle would begin in a matter of minutes. And if it worked out the way Stede had in mind, it'd solve everything.

Chapter Text

ED

Ed probably should’ve spent more time thinking things through. He needed to choreograph a fuckery in a matter of hours but couldn’t find any of his old ships or a soul to help him.

Not too long ago he’d made it his mission to build his flotilla—he’d envisioned his fleet controlling every cay and cove in the Western Ocean. At one point there’d been nearly a thousand men working under his command. So he’d assumed that after fencing the gems in Hampton, he’d easily find some of his old crew in one of the coastal pubs or brothels. A little bonus pay and they’d surely agree to help him with a fictional attack.

No luck. They were nowhere to be found.

With coins jangling in his pockets, he strolled through the streets of the Virginia Colony not recognizing a single face. Where were the pirates? Where had his old mates gone?

“You better be careful walking around dressed like that.”

Ed spun around.

A young lady regarded him from where she was leaning against the wall. Taller than Ed and about three times his size, she had a complexion as lovely as polished bronze and lowered her lashes as she took him in from head to toe.

“You’re a pirate, aren’t you,” she said, not a question.

“You fucking bet I am.” He enjoyed how her dimples darkened as he flashed her a smile.

Her full lips narrowed. “Like I said. Be careful.”

“Leather out of style in Virginia?”

“Not out of style… into jail… onto gallows,” she stepped forward, scratching the prickle of stubble that lined her well-shaped jaw. “Since Governor Spotswood paired up with Captain Maynard, they’ve made it their mission to extinguish piracy in the colonies. Would hate to see a head as lovely as yours end up inside a noose.”

“Your governor’s name is… Spots wood? And his boyfriend’s name is May nerd?

She nodded slowly.

May turd. That was the only thing to be done with that name.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Ed said, realizing this likely meant none of his old crew were about, not if things had taken such a downward turn around these parts.

She shrugged off her coat, held it out to him.

Was that really necessary?

“You’re not just a pirate with an exceptionally pretty face, you’re the Dread Pirate Blackbeard, aren’t you?”

Judging by the seriousness that laced her words, she regarded that fact with gravity.

Ed reached to take her offering, but hesitated. “Things really that dangerous?”

“For you they are,” she said, her gaze dropping to his trousers as he finally took her offered coat. “And since you’re Blackbeard, that likely means you have five doubloons to exchange for the coat.”

Oh. Helpful and enterprising.

He handed her the doubloons while he wiggled into the coat. This probably meant the coastal waters weren’t safe either. “If things are that dangerous, why hadn’t my fence mentioned anything?”

She blinked at him.

Sour alarm dripped down Ed’s esophagus. If the pirates were gone, but the fence was still there, that meant…

Reaching near his hip, Ed clenched his hilt.

His fence was compromised… and… and… His fence knew the Revenge was still in the James River! He’d told the man himself. Blast it!

“You got the face of a man who just figured out he’s been fucked over,” the young woman said.

A truer sentence had never been spoken. Heart hammering against his breastbone, Ed took off at a run. All he had was a blade, a pistol, and a dinghy against the damn British navy, but hopefully the fence was slow in executing his treachery. Hopefully, it’d take a number of hours for the Brits to find and catch up to the Revenge.

Hopefully, Stede would realize the attack was real and not a fuckery.

Hopefully…

Chapter Text

STEDE

Ed had really outdone himself. The oncoming vessel almost looked like a real British warship!

Lowering his spyglass, Stede stepped back from the gunport. It was a good thing there’d been so much chamomile tea still available to serve at dinnertime. Judging by the silence on the Revenge’s decks and the fact that no one was shouting about an approaching ship, the crew were all likely enjoying a tea-induced naptime.

Thank goodness for things going according to plan.

Stede pulled on his boots and buckled his scabbard. With his mask in place and his headscarf tight, he contemplated the perfect name for this assassin character. He wouldn’t just be a Captain, but an Admiral! Admiral Cornelius Rattlebones? No. Not Cornelius. Marmaduke? That might be just the thing! Admiral Marmaduke Rattlebones III!

Creeping up the stairs, Stede pulled the hidden cable. As expected, the gunpowder flashed and a loud but not damaging explosion sounded. Another pully sent a plume of smoke across the upper decks. Pride expanded his chest. This was all going perfectly.

Now it was just about getting the lantern beam angled properly.

A rough heavy weight careened against Stede’s shoulder. He stumbled.

“Uh sorry, Captain!” Frenchie grasped the handrail and righted himself.

Captain? Stede’s face and head were covered, his clothing completely black! How had Frenchie recognized him? Luckily, Stede had just the plan for handling interference from the Revenge’s crew.

He unsheathed his sword, lifting it to Frenchie’s chest. Frenchie immediately put up his hands, his expression startled but not terribly traumatized.

“Ahoy young seaman!” Stede kept his voice deep. Admiral Marmaduke Rattlebones III was a grizzled, world-weary buccaneer. “My men have your vessel surrounded! But we have only one objective—the head of the Dread Pirate Blackbeard! The rest of you will remain unharmed so long as you remain confined to your quarters!”

Frenchie nodded slowly. “Uh, right, Captain. I mean—"

“It’s Admiral Marmaduke Rattlebones III!”

“Admiral Marmaduke.” Now Frenchie seemed to just be humoring him. “Got it.”

Stede whipped off his mask. “How did you know it was me? I disguised my voice, covered my face…”

“I-I dunno man… The Captain Bonnet vibe just sorta comes through…”

Surely once he was near Lucius and Pete the smoke above would obscure the Captain-Bonnet-vibe, but something about Frenchie’s unbothered reaction gave Stede pause.

“Did Izzy say anything to you about this?”

Frenchie’s lips slammed together.

“He did, didn’t he!” That bastard. “If he breathed a word of this to Pete, I’ll kill him!”

“Captain…” Drawing in a long breath, Frenchie’s hands danced in the space before them. “Izzy didn’t mean to upset your plan, he just wanted to make sure the rest of us weren’t alarmed when we suddenly got attacked by another ship. He also didn’t want one of us to end up stabbing you. He didn’t want to see you hurt.”

Stede deflated. “Did he tell Pete and Lucius?”

“I’m not sure.”

Well Stede had to find out because he wasn’t about to go above deck and make a fool of himself if Pete and Lucius were onto this.

Re-sheathing his sword, Stede stomped to Izzy’s quarters.

#

“No, I didn’t tell Pete and Lucius.” Laying back on his small cot, Izzy adjusted the steaming towel over his nub. “If you and Edward want to have your fun, then have your fun. But it’s my responsibility, as First Mate, to do a little pre-emptive damage-control.”

Stede was so mad he hardly noticed the curious second explosion that sounded. Had Ed set up an additional cache of gunpowder? Stede could’ve sworn they’d only planned for one big boom.

“This isn’t about fun, Izzy! This is about saving Lucius from making the worst decision of his life!”

Izzy rolled his eyes.

Did Izzy even care about Lucius? He clearly had more concern over a little choreographed swordplay than about the fact that Lucius might end up on some strange man’s ship with a crew who didn’t love him as much as the Revenge’s crew loved him.

Stede tugged off his headscarf. “Maybe you’re annoyed by the way he’s always touching your dick, but after everything he’s been through, he deserves this ship… this crew… all of us.”

Izzy’s lids remained low, his expression hard to decipher. Was he bored?

Now Stede was thoroughly pissed. “I hope you know the reason he carries that thing around is because he genuinely fancies you, you idiot. And if you weren’t such an uptight prick you’d realize it’s not the worst thing in the world to be the object of Lucius Spriggs’ affection.”

Izzy’s eyes went strangely vacant.

Another boom sounded. Which was… odd. Why had Ed decided they needed two additional blasts?

“What do you mean Lucius”—Izzy swallowed—"fancies me?”

Stede couldn’t really blame Izzy for being confused. He himself had been taken aback when he realized Lucius’ affected dick fondling was coming from a place of genuine tenderness rather than mischief.

“Lucius said there’s more to you than people realize.” Those words, for some reason, were sounding exceptionally earnest now that Stede was repeating them. “He wants you. He wants whatever barriers are between you two to not be there anymore.”

Izzy was shaking his head. Another blast sounded (this was getting out of hand).

“Lucius Spriggs just wants to toy with me.”

“The way he looks when he talks about you, Izzy… No he doesn’t. It’s genuine.”

“He’s married to Pete.”

“He’s capable of caring about more than one person at a time… You know how things are on this ship.”

“He’s too young.”

“He’s a grown man of thirty who knows a lot more about relationships than any of us.”

 Izzy went still.

There was one more thing to be said so Stede might as well say it. “He crawled out of the sea. You crawled out of the earth. You two share experiences few others could ever begin to comprehend.” Stede’s heart was actually growing warm. Silly, really, but maybe Izzy deserved to hear this. “If that’s not destiny, well, at least it’s poetry.”

A small movement below Izzy’s jaw lifted his Adam’s apple. The veins in his eyes suddenly became more crimson and noticeable.

Two whistles were followed by a detonation. Something scraped along Stede’s cheek. He touched his face. Heat. Blood. Izzy’s eyes went wide.

There was a hole in the ceiling—splinters and dust particles floating in the moonlight.

“Are we being attacked?” Stede asked—a preposterous question from a man who was planning this sort of drama only hours ago.

Izzy wiped the soot from his face. “Unless you and Ed planned on firing actual cannon balls, I think we are.”

“Th-this must be some sort of misunderstanding…”

Izzy threw himself out of bed. “Misunderstandings rarely begin with cannon fire!”

White hot terror coursed through Stede’s arteries. Most the crew were napping! Izzy was without his prosthesis!

Stede scrambled for where Izzy’s hoof rested beside his mattress.

“Give it here and rouse the crew!” Izzy shouted as another blast rocked the ship.

Rouse the crew. Yes. Stede just needed to force his limbs to stop quaking and move.

“Count to three,” Izzy said, reading Stede’s panic and strapping his wooden limb in place. “Count to three then do what needs to be done.”

“O-one,” Stede said.

“Two.”

Stede could do this. “Three.”

“Go!” Izzy ordered.

Mustering his resolve, Stede dashed up the stairs.

Chapter Text

STEDE

Where was Ed?

That shouldn’t have been the first question on Stede’s mind. He should’ve convinced himself Ed was safe ashore and put a hundred percent of his attention into making sure each of his crew members were alive and accounted for, but as he stumbled to Jim’s room, then to the mess, he kept picturing Ed taken captive, Ed’s dinghy sunk, Ed’s body beneath the swells…

Stede tore at his collar, loosening his laces to gasp at more air. Once Jim and the others were summoned to the gun deck—'We’re under attack! Ready the artillery! Oluwande, you’re in charge down here!’—Stede clambered onto the main deck, praying Pete and Lucius weren’t injured by the blasts.

Izzy had gotten there before him. Clearly pained by the effort of such quick movement, he wore a grimace as he hauled himself up to the quarter deck where, surprisingly, Lucius and Pete already were. This wasn’t good. They were right out in the open—vulnerable to shrapnel or a direct hit from a cannonball.

Izzy waved his cane. “You two get down from there and into the dinghy!”

Judging by the manner in which Pete tugged hard on the helm along with the way Lucius was white-knuckled and helping him, they weren’t about to stop whatever they were doing.

Another cannonball tore between the masts. Covering his head, Stede slammed himself against the deck, a firm but not terribly large weight landing atop him.

Izzy.

He was… shielding Stede? Protecting him? If Stede’s ears hadn’t been ringing and his pulse hadn’t been hammering, he’d likely thought it endearing.

Pete and Lucius remained straining at the wheel, and Stede wiggled out from under Izzy and went to help them. He still wasn’t sure what the objective was, but clearly something needed doing and Pete and Lucius were doing it.

“Bonnet and I will take the wheel!” Izzy shouted, scrambling to grab hold of the spokes and turning to Pete. “You two get on the dinghy, now!”

Pete kept his hold firm. “Someone needs to lower the jib!”

“I said GET TO THE DINGHY NOW!”

Stede read the insistence in Izzy’s face and the refusal in Lucius and Pete’s. “Why the dinghy?”

“BECAUSE THE REVENGE WILL LIKELY BE SUNK IN A MATTER OF MINUTES, YOU DIMWIT!” Drops of spittle lined Izzy’s lip. “AND THESE TWO AREN’T PART OF THE CREW ANYMORE, AND I’LL BE DAMNED IF PASSENGERS ARE GETTING KILLED IN THIS MESS.”  

Another blast sent blazes of embers across the quarterdeck. Lucius yelped and Stede braced himself against the wheel which fought fiercely against his hold.

“LUCIUS!” Pete shouted, his back against Stede as they both muscled the wheel into another rotation. “LUCIUS, YOU OKAY BABE?”

“Just keep steering!” Lucius yelled.

Was this right? Were they supposed to be steering so aggressively? Where had Lucius gone? Where was Izzy for that matter? It was impossible to see anything with all this smoke.

“Pete, what’s our objective here?” Stede asked, realizing, as captain, he should probably be the one with the answers, not the questions. “How much more turning will we be doing?”

“We need to fight from the leeward gage,” Pete said, continuing to haul on the wheel. “It’s our only chance.”

Stede tried to picture what that meant. The Revenge was already tipping at a rather extreme degree. Fighting from the leeward gage would make the ship heel even more from the force of the wind on her sails. “Won’t that expose more of our hull?”

“They’ll sink us in two blasts.” Izzy’s voice rang tight and panicked. Stede still couldn’t see where he’d gone. “We have to protect our hull and fight windward.”

Pete shook his head. “They’ve got two gun decks. Their largest caliber weapons are on their lower decks. If we get them heeling at the same angle as us, they’ll have to close their lower gunports to keep from swamping their ship.”

Stede wished he could look to Izzy to confirm if any of what Pete had said made any sense. It sounded… promising. But this was Pete and though Stede yearned to believe him, he had to admit the man was prone to bluster.

A murmur that almost sounded like agreement grumbled near Stede’s shoulder. “We’ll be at a good angle to fire on their masts.” Izzy’s voice had become steady, deep. “Once we disable them, we’ll be able to get away…”

“Exactly,” Pete said. “But someone needs to lower the jib.”

The smoke had dissipated and, at last, the shape of Izzy became visible against the railing. He was holding Lucius tight against his torso, the younger fellow looking dazed with a fair amount of blood streaming from his ear.

“Pete.” Izzy’s chest was heaving. “Get Spriggs into the dinghy.”

Sweat dribbled down Pete’s temples, even as his gaze remained longingly on Lucius. “I-I need to stay on this wheel.”

“Bonnet will keep hold of the wheel,” Izzy said. “I’ll take the jib. Now get Spriggs to safety.”

With his prosthesis, how would Izzy make it up the ratlines?

Lucius shifted in Izzy’s hold. “Goddammit, I’m getting the jib.”

The scribe broke free and scrambled.

Izzy pulled Lucius back. “You’re getting in the dinghy. You and Pete both.”

Lucius’ nose was inches from the First Mate’s. “You’re not climbing the ropes and I’m not getting in the dinghy. So let’s work together and do whatever we need to do to save this ship.”

Another blast tore through the deck. Izzy stumbled and Lucius caught him, one arm around the small of his back, the other around his shoulders. Chest to chest they stared at each other, breath short and quick, limbs obviously trembling.

Pete spoke aloud the main thought in Stede’s mind. “You two are so hot right now. And we have a 50-50 chance of dying here, so you should just kiss and get it over with.”

Lucius’ lips parted slightly and Izzy’s expression softened. The First Mate cupped the scribe’s face. Izzy looked scared, desire-filled, but terrified.

“Yes please,” Lucius said, clearly not hiding the need in his voice.

Izzy closed the distance, and the two collided. Stede released the wheel for a moment to applaud as the scribe and First Mate melted into each other, Izzy’s deep kiss hungry, and Lucius’ hands eager.

“A little help?” Pete peeped, his biceps flexing.

Stede returned his grip to the wheel and they tugged with all their might. Still, Stede couldn’t help but keep his eyes on Izzy and Lucius. With all the smoke about and their fingers clenching each other’s with all their might, it was the most romantic thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“I’m gonna climb up and get that jib now,” Lucius said, parting from Izzy but still stroking the man’s hair. “I like you an awful lot, Israel Hands. I’m sorry I haven’t been clearer about that.”

Mouth still open and lips gleaming, Izzy cupped the younger fellow’s cheeks. “You be focking smart and don’t die in the next few minutes.”

Lucius smiled. “When this is all over…”

Izzy nodded, moving his thumb along Lucius’ lower lip. “When this is all over…”

Three roars vibrated through the vessel. The skies went crimson red, and Stede’s heart gave a heave.

Lucius was already making his way up the ratlines, but… oh hell… oh no…

All the air fled Stede’s lungs.  

The foremast. It was ablaze! And the flames were spreading with each flap of the sails!

“T-they’re shooting fire at us?” Stede gasped. “H-how is that possible?”

Izzy’s face became bone white.

“Izzy…” Stede pleaded, his flesh broiling from panic. “Pete… What do we do?”

Firelight reflected in the First Mate’s red-rimmed eyes. Pete’s lips were slack and hopeless as bread dough.

There must be something! After everything they’d done, they couldn’t possibly end up dead. Not like this. Not now.

“What if we just keep firing?” Stede dug his nails into the wheel’s woodgrain. “What if we get a lucky shot and sink them? Anything’s possible, right?”

“If either of you have any gods, you better start praying to them,” Izzy said, his mouth tight. Stede had never seen the man look so frightened.

More blasts sounded as Lucius descended the ropes, racing to Pete’s side and wrapping his arms around Pete’s middle.

Was this really it? The end? Of everything?

“I’m gonna pray,” Pete said firmly as he let himself be engulfed by Lucius’ hold. “I’m gonna pray Blackbeard has this figured out.”

A surge of heat pushed behind Stede’s eyes. If only Ed could be here in these last moments to hear Pete speak so admiringly of him.

The sound of Izzy’s swallow was like an anchor dropping into the swells. “Unless Edward’s on that warship, there isn’t anything he can do for us.”

“But he is,” Pete said, raising his hand and pointing. “See?”

Stede snapped his attention to the other ship, squinting at the hint of movement near the waterline not too far from the stern. Stede’s knees turned to jelly, and he nearly collapsed over the wheel.

Ed.

Dear beloved Ed.

Silver-streaked hair unfurling in the moonlight, Ed stood on his dinghy, the grappling hook he’d thrown crashing through one of the warship’s windows.

Maybe Ed’s approach wasn’t as dangerous as it looked. Perhaps the captain of that ship wasn’t in his cabin, but at the helm, and maybe Ed could board undetected.

From this far away it was impossible to tell what expression Ed wore, but Stede yearned to believe Ed was donning a confident smirk as he climbed the boarding rope. Surely Ed had a plan. Maybe he’d even done this before.

Three shots blasted through the night air, their sounds higher pitched than cannon fire.

Panic surged. Ed. He was still hanging on. Surely whoever had fired had bad aim.

The cabin on the other ship lit up once more—another series of shots.

Ed’s body went limp, his grip loosening.

Stede clutched at his own chest. Oh fuck. It’d really happened. Ed was… he was shot.

Without a sound, Ed’s body plummeted into the water, disappearing beneath the waves.

No. No no no no no. Nooo!

Heart aching like it’d never ached before, Stede screamed.

Chapter Text

ED

Salt water in a gunshot wound could hurt like a motherfucker.

Beneath the waves, Ed grit his teeth and clutched his shoulder, bubbles pummeling his face as he released another scream. If only he could get back to the surface and fill his lungs with air, but judging by the blackness all around, the force of his fall had sent him deep.

If he inhaled water, that’d be the end.

And then the Brits would sink the Revenge.

And even if Stede somehow survived, he’d be sad over Ed drowning, and Ed simply couldn’t have that.

Despite the burning, Ed clenched his mouth and used his one working arm to fight the force of the water. Fuck this was hard.

Stede. Stede. Stede. He just had to keep that man’s face at the front of his mind and not think too hard about the flames that’d engulfed the Revenge’s mast… How quickly the fire would feed off the tarred rigging… And what would happen once the fire reached the barrels of gunpowder…

Everything was so much easier back when he didn’t care about anyone and welcomed his own death.

Breaking through the surface, Ed was rewarded by an iron-hard blow to his face. Judging by the crack that reverberated through his skull, he’d definitely broken something—nose or cheekbone, it was hard to say. Everything was frigid and wet, the space between his eyes swelling to the size of eternity.

The grappling hook!

A glimpse of the rope descended beneath the waves. Ed dove for the end. Miraculouly, he seized it.

Fuck yes!

Finally something was going right!

True, the climb aboard the warship was the most among the most painful experiences of Ed’s life thanks to the bullet in his shoulder, but at least with those pricks in the captain’s cabin thinking he was dead, there was no one to stop him from climbing through the broken window, and then striding to the desk to piss on their maps and navigational charts.

That wasn’t part of the original plan, but it still made Ed happy.

Cutting the tiller rope took some time—he had to slink through the corridors and actually find the thing. Thankfully, Ed was able to slice through the hemp with no obstruction. Most of the crew were likely busy on the gun decks. That was one of the advantages of doing sabotage during a battle.

Ed tied the slack end of the rope to a nearby pipe. Eventually, someone would wonder why multiple men were unable to turn the wheel, but hopefully, by that point, everyone would be distracted by all the fire and explosions.

Creeping down more steps and praying he’d remain undetected, Ed tested the paneling for weakness. If he could slip inside the walls, then sneak to the ammunition hold without anyone spotting him, he could begin his treachery free of interference.

Two small vibrations near Ed’s left elbow sent shivers of alarm straight to his heels.

He ducked low, spun.

Knife ready, he pinned his assailant against the stairs, knocking the pistol from his grip and putting his blade to the pale man’s throat. Ed’s bullet wound was now screaming with vision-blinding agony, but at least he’d gotten hold of this fucker.

“Ah… The Dread Pirate Blackbeard. So, you are as invulnerable as they say.”

The man wore a captain’s coat and hadn’t a gray hair on him. Ed could tell by the lack of creases on his face, he was a fellow who rarely smiled or scowled—a well-trained Englishman.

“You must be May Turd.” If the captain was offended by Ed’s sobriquet, his blasted inscrutable features didn’t let on. Ed pulled the man up, keeping the knife point pressed into his neck. “You’re gonna show me where you keep your gunpowder.”

“Of course, Darling.”

But no, it could never be that easy. A small movement at the bottom of the stairs forced Ed’s muscles into action. He rose and threw his spare blade.

The blast sounded before Ed felt the impact. And when he finally did it was an excruciating burn—like an iron-hot poker straight to the flesh of his belly.

“Nice shot, Spotty!”

The man with the gun had a coat the color of over-ripe tangerines and his curly wig fell past his elbows.

Try as he might to remain upright, Ed collapsed, his chin hitting the hard edge of the stairs, his brain going black despite every effort to rise, attack… to just move.

Something heavy came down atop him. Two dozen shades of ferocity sliced through Ed’s back—just beneath the bullet wound in his shoulder. Pain dismantled his resolve. Try as he might to resist, he screamed—animal-like and desperate. Fuck these fuckers. Fuck every last one of them!

He wasn’t going to die like this. There was absolutely no fucking way.

“Finish him, Spotty.”

Still on his stomach, Ed reached for another blade.

The torment twisted, the source of such misery becoming undeniable clear. There was a cutlass in his back! By the feel of it, it’d struck bone. Ed dropped his knife.

Fucking hell, this is what the end felt like. And he wasn’t even able to come up with a wise-ass remark, not with his nerve-endings firing like they were.

This was all the fucking worst.

“Babe,” the one May Turd referred to as Spotty said, “it almost makes me sad—to be the one to end Blackbeard.”

May Turd made a little noise. “We’ll make the history books, you know that right? The captain and the governor who ended Blackbeard’s legacy.”

Not on Ed’s life was he going to be done in by these prats. He clawed for the railing, just needing to get upright… just needing to muster enough strength to stab something!

Another blast sounded—this one more metallic than the pistol’s previous discharge.

Had Ed been shot again? Was his soul leaving his body, and that’s why he wasn’t feeling another blow?

Ed’s eyes snapped into focus.

Fast moving and strangely sparkling, a blade batted the pistol out of Spots Wood’s hand as a fist belted the side of his face.

May Turd pulled the cutlass from Ed’s back—to defend himself or attack, Ed couldn’t tell from where he was laying. With a grunt and a kick, the seaman with the glittering weapon disarmed the captain, giving Ed a chance to lunge for May Turd’s cutlass.

Feeling like his guts wanted to pour out on the stairs, Ed seized the hilt, rolling onto his side to finally get a good look at the headscarf-wearing seaman who’d just saved him.

Shock nearly made Ed drop his weapon.

“Pete?”

Without stopping to acknowledge him, Pete thrust his weapon through Spots Wood’s chest, the Virginia Governor releasing a high squeak as blood poured from his lips.

Without delay, Ed swiped and slashed at May Turd, his angle making it difficult since he was half down the stairs.

A blast echoed through the corridor, and May Turd fell back, a hole in the center of his forehead.

Ed’s chest rose and fell with relief.

Pete stood stoic at the other end of the hall, holding the governor’s pistol. The red satin Pete wore on his head gave him an unusually competent appearance. Why hadn’t he worn that thing more often?

“Y-you saved my hide, Pete.” Maybe it was the pain or maybe it was the elation of being alive, but Ed felt he might cry. “I’m, like, forever in your debt.”

Pete wiped the blood from his face. “Just happy to be on the team, Blackbeard.”

“You’re on the team?” Ed asked, lungs feeling like lead—that had to mean he was losing consciousness. “You mean you’re staying with us on the Revenge?”

“Yeah. Lucius and I sort of talked about things. I realized it’d just be better if we stayed.”

“Y-you mean you and Lucius like us?”

Pete sighed. “We like the ship. We like the crew. Maybe we could, like, maybe talk with you and Stede about what could be better…”

Fuzzy dots the color of berries and gemstones filled Ed’s vision. Yes, he’d definitely lost a lot of blood. “I’m so glad to hear that, Pete. Black Pete. The Dread Black Pete. That’s what we should call you. You just helped kill a captain and a governor. That’s a big fucking deal.”

“You’re lips are really, really blue, Blackbeard. Should I pull you off those stairs?”

Warmth engulfed Ed’s body, and—worryingly—his wounds had gone numb. “Is the Revenge still on fire?”

“Yeah.” Pete crouched down and hooked Ed’s arm over his shoulder. “Let’s not think about that. Can you try to stand up? Lucius has the dinghy waiting and we gotta get you doctored.”

“The rest of this crew might attack us on the way out. Especially when they find out we killed their captain and the governor of Virginia.”

Grip tight around Ed’s waist, Pete pocketed the pistol. “I’ll keep my weapon handy, but Stede’s talking to them.”

“Talking to the crew?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty good at that—talking people out of killing us.”

“What about the fire on our ship?”

“I said I don’t wanna talk about that.”

Fuck. “Well thanks for saving me.”

“Blackbeard, you’re getting heavy. Tell me if you’re gonna faint, okay?”

Though he needed Pete for support, Ed was hobbling, managing. “I’m not gonna faint.”

“Y-you actually look like you are.”

He wouldn’t. “I’m not.”

“But—”

“I said I’m not.”

That’s when Ed’s ears stopped ringing, and everything turned black.

Chapter Text

ED

Ed woke warm, dry—naked, but thankfully covered—and in a substantial amount of pain.

Purple light streamed in through the window, and, by the sound of it, fire roared in the hearth. His nostrils filled with an acrid, bitter tang—burnt timber.

His pulse surged.

Wait. Hadn’t one of the Revenge’s masts been on fire?

He turned over and was rewarded with a sensation that felt like twisting a drill into his back. Fuck. 

“Darling, you’re awake.”

That was Stede’s voice. And now a gentle palm came to rest on his shoulder.

Ed wiped his eyes, squinting as his vision came back into focus. Bookshelves. Piano. Drapes. Yes, he was definitely back in Stede’s quarters. But how was that possible? Hadn’t the Revenge been destroyed?

“I suppose I’m getting better at seeing you injured and unconscious.” Stede had the slightest glimmer of wetness in his eyes. “I’ve had only four panic attacks since this morning.”

Ed wanted to reach for him, but was too pained to move. “How is the ship still afloat? We were on fire.”

“Izzy summoned the rest of the crew just in time.” The dressing gown Stede wore glinted golden in the beams of the setting sun, the loosely tied front revealing the chest that was rising and falling with each anxious breath. “They cut the lines, and then hacked down the mast—just chopped it at the trunk like a great big sequoia. Dumped the thing in the sea. By that time, I’d convinced the crew of the Jane to stop firing on us.” Stede’s touch became firmer. “Dear, stop trying to sit up, you’ve been stabbed and shot multiple times.”

“We only have two masts?” That sounded perilous from a sailing perspective. “And what did you do with the British crew?”

“We’re heading to the Republic of Pirates for repairs and the British seamen are all nice fellows. They’re taking up piracy now and won’t give us any more trouble.”

Ed was about to ask a thousand more questions when a joyful melody stopped him cold.

Was that…? No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

But yes it was! The sound of a particular kind of whistling out in the corridor: a tune Ed hadn’t heard in years.

“That’s Izzy,” Ed said. For some reason, the excitement of hearing that old melody made him unable to stop himself. “Bring him in here.”

Sure enough, when Stede opened the door for Izzy, the first mate glowed brighter than the golden threads of Stede’s dressing gown, and the fragrance of Bergamot and Heliotrope lingered about him like a cloud.

He continued whistling his jaunty tune as he leaned against the bookcase, his cheeks pink and rounded with glee. The First Mate’s hair lay in a neat, pomaded wave atop his head, and a knot of vibrant satin the color of citrine gemstones lay tucked into his vest.

Ed had never seen him so well-groomed, so freshly smelling, and so… undeniably… happy?

The realization froze all the remaining questions from Ed’s brain.

Izzy withdrew a violet handkerchief and polished the top of his cane. “I’ll alert the crew that you’ve survived the night, Edward. Would you like me to convey any other messages?”

“Izzy, I haven’t heard you whistle like that since we were seventeen.” And the fact that this glee came while their ship was sailing with only two masts further compounded Ed’s confusion. “What happened? Did you get to make an eight-year-old cry?”

 Izzy smiled enigmatically.

Stede leaned in. “Izzy has a date planned with Lucius this evening, and he’s clearly in a good mood about it.”

Ed’s vision went momentarily blurry. Weirdly, he could actually picture the bitchy little ship gremlin paired with the grumpy pint-sized anger goblin. Still. The fact that that was happening only hours after Ed had finally received confirmation Lucius wasn’t leaving… well, it was all so disorienting.

“Izzy,” Ed said, feeling strange about addressing his first mate while remaining on his back. “I’d like you to bring the rest of the crew in here.”

“There isn’t a message I could give to them myself?”

Stede regarded Ed with a confused, concerned expression and Ed knew he’d have to explain himself soon.

Ed sighed. “No. I’d like to meet with them all myself.”

#

Stede, of course, had plenty of reassuring words to say when Ed expounded on how he wanted to apologize to everyone… to make amends.

“It’s not like anything you’ve done to them has been knowingly malicious,” Stede countered, and then, when Ed gave him a raised eyebrow, “at least not in the months since you and I have been reunited.”

Ed shook his head. “I don’t do people the way they need to be… done. You talked the British crew out of killing us. I should at least be able to talk our own crew into…”

“Into what, darling?” Stede asked. “Because both of us have realized how complications arise when we attempt to convince people to like us.”

Yes. That was precisely why Ed needed to get this right. “I think what I’ll do is maybe less actual talking, and more…” He wasn’t sure if this was the right way to phrase it. “Well… hearing.”

Stede brightened. “Listening! Ed, that’s a marvelous idea. And to think you came up with it yourself while suffering a number of bullet and stab wounds.”

Ed beamed, pleased to have turned Stede’s anxious expression into something akin to pride.

With the crew assembled—Frenchie on the desk chair, Lucius (very noticeably) sharing the piano bench with Izzy while leaning back against Pete, and everyone else taking up various positions on the furniture—Stede, per Ed’s instructions, ensured they each had a plate of Roach’s strawberry shortcake.

Still, despite the sugar and syrup, a certain tension made the air feel heavy. Ed didn’t know exactly what he read in their faces, but it wasn’t anything close to… un-annoyed.

It was very annoyed, in fact. It was full-on irritation.

“Every one of you deserves captains who keep you safe and treat you with respect and kindness, and I haven’t done that,” Ed began, keeping his voice slow and gentle—a technique he’d learned from Stede. “I don’t have a natural affinity toward social graces, but that’s no excuse. I’ve chosen to put myself in a position of authority, and so I should do better at learning how to be a good authority.”

Stede was kneading Ed’s leg while the rest of the crew remained still, silent—their expressions once again unreadable. Ed supposed that made sense. He was their employer. They were dependent on him. But he’d also terrorized them.

“What I’m going to do is have everyone here tell us two things,” Ed said, pretty sure this would do the trick. “First, you’re going to tell us what needs to be changed on this ship. And then you’re going to tell us how we, as captains, have failed you.”

A vague, uncomfortable sound crept from Stede’s throat, but surely that was due to the fact that Ed was trying to sit up again. Stede had called this plan a marvelous idea after all! And it had been! It’d been Ed’s best idea yet! He would hear everyone’s concerns!

“Two doubloons to the first one who speaks!” Ed said. “And fifteen doubloons to anyone who has the meanest thing to say about me and Stede.”

Izzy jolted to standing, his cane wavering only slightly. “This focking ship needs a jury mast rigged up immediately. We can’t simply rely on hope that we’ll make it to the Republic of Pirates without capsizing. We also need a proper blacksmith forge, and we need someone on this crew to learn smithing to keep our hardware and weapons functional. And someone should be assigned as boatswain. Someone who can actually delegate responsibilities and put a focking schedule together. Jesus Christ, you can’t just have a bunch of folks standing around all day pretending to be working. That’s not bloody piracy! It’s lunacy!”

It seemed the man had been holding all that in for quite some time.

Ed gestured to Stede, urging him to hand Izzy the doubloons.

“Izzy,” Ed said, not failing to notice how Lucius was gazing at the First Mate in the way a dehydrated desert nomad might regard thirty-seven dripping ice sculptures. “Thank you for that. Truly.” He actually was grateful. Not at all bitter about having his authority questioned in front of everyone. Not in the least. “And now I’d like you to respond to the second part of my query.”

Izzy raised an eyebrow. “How you have failed me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that?”

Ed pressed his teeth together. Swallowed. “Yes.”

“In front of everyone?”

Ed nodded. He wasn’t going to back out now.

“I’ll need to sit down while I do this.”

“G-go right ahead,” Ed said, focusing fully on Izzy and not letting his gaze linger to the rest of the crew—their observing eyes, their attempts to restrain their smirks. “Go right ahead and take your time.”

In the end, it took Izzy over fifteen minutes to enumerate all of Ed’s crimes against him. Not just the being buried alive, the bullet that made him lose his leg, nor the many toes Ed had forced Izzy to ingest, but what came before. Here, Ed had expected Izzy to list the various times Ed had been dismissive, ungrateful, irresponsible…

Instead, Izzy said, “You tossed Spriggs into the sea, and all he ever did was try to help you. He was more patient with you than you deserved, and you nearly killed him.”

Ed wasn’t crying.

It was the dust—dust that’d been sent into the air by all the assembled crew, each one of them bringing in whatever pollen and spores had been lingering on their clothes.

Allergies. That’s why Ed’s eyes were watering. Fucking histamines.

But then he sniffed to keep his nose from running, and a trumpet-loud sob erupted from his throat.

Stede handed him a handkerchief which definitely wasn’t necessary, but Ed took it anyway because that’s what you do when your lover hands you something. It wasn’t because he needed to hide his face. His cheeks certainly weren’t boiling and crimson.

And he wasn’t blubbering like a toddler.

Not in the least.

Soon that green, embroidered linen became soaked through with snot, and Stede was patting Ed’s foot. The whole atmosphere of this meeting had become the absolute worst.    

“L-Lucius I’m so sorry,” Ed said while still definitely not crying. “I-I can’t even begin how to say how sorry I am. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I’m just so glad you’re s-staying.”

Stede handed Ed another handkerchief (the man came well-prepared), and Ed wiped more of his tears and mucus.

“Y-you deserve safety, and comfort, a-and I’ll work the rest of my days to make sure you have that. Words will never be enough, b-but I’m sorry Lucius. And I’m sorry Izzy. And I’m sorry the rest of you”—He was gonna say their names… He’d will himself to remember them all—“Frenchie, Jim, Archie, Fang… but also Pete, Oluwande, Roach, Wee John, Swede and Buttons wherever you are…”

Fang made a scrubbing sound with his feet. “Don’t forget to apologize to Ivan.”

Ed’s chest gave a strange bucking sensation, and everything went even more blurry. How did Ed’s head manage to hold this much water inside it? By the end of this evening he’d have drained the whole fucking ocean into Stede’s handkerchiefs.

Lucius stood. “If it’s all right, I’m going to go… somewhere that’s not here.”

Ed was fucking this all up again. “Y-you’re not l-leaving? Are you?”

Lucius closed his eyes. Sighed. “Look, I’m staying on this ship, I’m just”—he pointed vaguely—“going into another room that’s not this one.”

The scribe appeared upset. On the verge of tears.

“I fucked up again, didn’t I?” Ed asked.

That diamond-shaped nose of Lucius’ wrinkled. He took one slow step forward. “Respectfully, Captain. Put out a fucking suggestion box. Don’t make us assemble here and mine our pain for the sake of your salvation.”

And then Lucius was gone out the door, Izzy and Pete staring after him like they’d just witnessed Apollo descend from Mount Olympus.

Ed pressed his knuckles into his eye sockets. Christ. “Yeah. So. I’m gonna put out a suggestion box. You all can go now.”

Pete shuffled where he remained seated. “So, who’s getting the fifteen doubloons? Lucius or Izzy?”

#

In the end, Ed gave twenty doubloons to both Lucius and Izzy, and then spent the rest of the afternoon being the little spoon for Stede. The wounds occasionally twinged when Stede snuggled too close, but that was nothing compared to the guilt and confusion that clearly weren’t going away anytime soon.

“I tried to be a better person,” Ed said, resting his cheek on his hand. “But I still ended up putting the whole crew at risk, and then making everyone—including Lucius—uncomfortable again.”

“Lucius has decided to stay on the Revenge, though,” Stede said happily. “That has to count for something.”

“But nothing I did played any part in that. If anything, I just risked making it all worse.”

“But you gave Pete a chance to save you. That’ll be a story he’ll be telling for the rest of his life!”

“I’m still the same person, though. I’m no better than I was a few days ago.”

“But now you have a suggestion box! I don’t think any other pirate in the Atlantic has a suggestion box.”

“That wasn’t even my idea.”

“What matters is that you implemented the idea when it was suggested to you. I can’t think of any other pirate captain who would do something like that.”

“You would.”

“Well.”

Now Stede was blushing. Which always had a way of making it hard for Ed to come up with more things to say.

His mind drifted back to hours earlier when Stede made Izzy begrudgingly accept the twenty doubloons. When Ed watched Izzy leave Stede’s cabin, he caught a glimpse of Lucius’ silhouette waiting for Izzy in the hallway. Lucius hadn’t been waiting for his twenty doubloons—Pete had already delivered those to the scribe on Ed’s behalf. Lucius was waiting for Izzy, and Ed could see that realization wash over the First Mate—his shoulders lifted, the tension leaving his limbs. Did they touch when they met in the hallway? Talk? Ed couldn’t tell from his angle. And the door had closed so fast.

It was nice though—the two of them finding each other.

Maybe change wasn’t something that happened all at once. Maybe it started with suggestion boxes.

THE END?

<I’m going to wrap this up with an epilogue of Izzy and Lucius’ date… Any other requests? stay tuned>

Chapter Text

Submissions Made to the Revenge's Suggestion Box

Note 1:

Because you twats probably forgot everything I said, here’s my list again:

• Immediate: a jury mast
• A proper blacksmith forge
• A trained smithy
• A responsible boatswain
• A fucking work schedule

Note 2:

If ur taking suggestins for Boat Wayne, Oluwande shuld be our Boat Wayne.

Note 3:

I also think Oluwande should be the Boat’s Wane

Note 4:

Next time we’re at port, can we pick up double the whale blubber for the… uh… candle oil?

Note 5:

Oluwande for Boat Wayne!

Note 6:

Blackbeard,

I just wanted to write and say that I hope you’re doing all right after everything. I’m buying you a drink next time we’re at port. Let me know your favorite groggery at the Republic of Pirates and I’ll make us reservations.

           - Pete

Note 7:

Please don’t make me be Boatswain.

            -Oluwande

Chapter Text

Izzy’s Date with Lucius

Izzy had no idea where Roach had acquired such absurdly bright orange lilies, but they were now in Izzy’s grasp as he stood outside Lucius’ door.

He’d never before felt such a trembling in his limbs. Not when facing cannon fire. Nor when staring down the point of a sword. His palms were sweating too.

He really should’ve told Roach that he didn’t need the fucking flowers. The silk scarf and hair pomade were bad enough. What the hell was he doing making it so obvious that his whole wretched heart was wrapped up in Lucius Spriggs and whatever would happen that evening?

And what sort of pirate gives another pirate flowers?  

Before Izzy could find some blasted cubby to discard the lousy things, Spriggs’ door swung open and Izzy’s pulse surged into his throat.

Maybe it had something to do with the kiss they’d shared among the smoke and flames, but the sight of the scribe in the dim light of his bedroom made Izzy so weak he nearly wobbled on his cane.

And the fellow's mattress was right there—the one he probably shared with Pete.

When Spriggs’ had suggested they have dinner together in his room, Izzy hadn’t truly envisioned the reality of what that would mean—of how it would lead to hoping with every cell in his body that perhaps they might end up there together on that mattress, beneath those blankets.

“Hey,” Spriggs said, head tilted, fingers still grasping the door.

A thousand possible responses fluttered through Izzy’s affection-addled mind. Dry wit. Self-deprecation. He opened his mouth and took seventeen-thousand years to come up with a single word. “H-hey.”

Spriggs’ gaze dipped. Had he noticed the way Izzy shivered?

“Where’d you get flowers?” he asked.

Izzy gulped the twelve tons of saliva that’d filled his mouth. “No idea.” He handed the bouquet over, nearly collapsing when Spriggs’ fingers brushed his. “Roach got them for me. For us.”

God. Where was that blasted grave, and how soon could he rebury himself?

Spriggs smiled—a sincere-as-hell, fucking glorious smile. He hadn’t changed into anything special for the evening. Just wore the usual dusty shirt and trousers. It had to be the candlelight then that made him so goddamn enchanting.

Had Spriggs’ eyes always been that deep, velvety brown?

Maybe Izzy needed to explain why his words weren’t working, say something about how he’d never actually been on a date before nor had any idea what it meant—to spend an evening alone with the fellow he fancied.

And Spriggs was a married man—something Izzy couldn’t even begin to contemplate.

Jesus Christ. Only an hour ago he’d been whistling. Only fifteen minutes ago they’d shared a piano bench and he’d done a fair impersonation of a man who wasn’t about to jump out of his skin. Now Izzy was seconds from having an aneurysm.  

“Where’s Pete?” Izzy asked, because he was an idiot.

Spriggs gestured for Izzy to enter. “He thought we should have this time alone… to talk.” Placing the flowers in a vase—because of course Spriggs already had a vase—Spriggs faced him. “Would you rather he be here?”

There was a little table set up against the wall, two plates of dinner, wine glasses, and an arrangement of candles burning between them.

“I did want to convey to your husband that my intentions with you are pure,” Izzy said. Again, because he was an idiot.

The dimples framing Spriggs’ mouth deepened. “I don’t think Pete wishes for anyone’s intentions to ever be pure. Especially not when it comes to me.”

Izzy went to one of the chairs and sat down—partly because Spriggs was just too blindingly lovely to keep staring at much longer and partly to hide his surely blushing cheeks. Here was a young fellow who’d been spending the better part of a week sensuously rubbing the penis Izzy had carved. Izzy heated again at the thought. And to think Spriggs had meant it all flirtatiously, affectionately.

And now they’d even kissed.   

And perhaps, very soon, more would be happening.

Izzy cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is that I know in the past I’ve been a certain way.” He’d actually rehearsed this little speech a few times. It was a shame the words weren’t coming back as fluidly as they sounded in his mind. “I need you to know I’m not that man I used to be… not anymore.”

Spriggs slipped into the opposite chair. Like Izzy, he didn’t reach for his fork or wine glass, just tucked his fingers between his knees and hunched forward, a strangely innocent, expectant expression softening his features.

“Death does that, doesn’t it?” Spriggs asked. “Makes you want to be different.”

Izzy’s arms relaxed at his sides. Sure, he knew plenty of people who’d come close to death. Ed certainly had. But after experiencing it himself… And seeing the look on Spriggs’ face now... It was different than any expression he’d ever seen on another man before. It resembled wonder, but also gravity. Izzy wasn’t used to that—men who didn’t just encounter death, but who initiated conversations about its significance.

“What happened for you?” Izzy asked.

Spriggs stared into the candle flame. “I didn’t get as close to it as you did, but there were a few times …” His breathing slowed. “I saw glimpses of the other side. It’s not heaven. Not what I saw. The Christians have it wrong.”

“Everyone has it wrong,” Izzy said.

Spriggs nodded then picked up his fork.

Izzy could nearly see what it’d been like—Spriggs fighting against the swells, the water filling his mouth, the screams erupting from his throat. Izzy clenched his fingers into the leather of his trousers, once again remembering Ed’s cold declaration that the scribe was dead.

“You must’ve found something to float on.” This was probably ruining the mood—asking for specifics—but some things just warranted talking about. “There hadn’t been another ship around. Not for miles.”

“Piece of driftwood,” Spriggs said. “Floated for three days. Izzy, if you aren’t going to eat, try the wine. Roach said it was the expensive stuff.”

Izzy finally looked down at his food. Roasted winter squash, seared eggplant, and herbs of many hues. Lovely. Mouthwatering. There was cake too—vanilla with frosting and something brown and syrupy.

He tried the wine. It had a citrusy overtone and a creamy finish. Roach certainly knew how to put a romantic meal together. Was that what was on Spriggs’ mind as well—romance? Yes, they’d kissed—a wonderful, soul-tearing kiss—but what exactly was Spriggs expecting between them? Would it be just a one-time thing? A frolic and then normality resuming? Endless days afterward of pretending like nothing had happened? Izzy couldn’t handle that—stuffing the feelings back in if they were finally allowed release.

“What happened for you?” Spriggs asked. “On the other side?”

No one had ever asked Izzy about what he’d experienced before. He lifted his gaze. There was that lovely purple shadow beneath the scribe's brows. Darkness had a home in Lucius Spriggs. It looked good on him.

“It’s like when a tree drops its leaves,” Izzy said. Somehow, he knew Spriggs would understand this metaphor.

Spriggs sipped his wine. “Were you the leaf or the tree?”

“I was the dirt.”

The young fellow nodded without asking for clarification.

“The dirt sees everything,” Izzy added. “Is everything. It doesn’t mind if the tree is green and blossoming. It doesn’t mind if the leaves have fallen. It serves its purpose.”

A low murmur escaped from Spriggs’ throat. “You just explained something I had a hard time putting into words.”

Izzy held his gaze now and he wouldn’t dare look away. “How was it for you? In terms of the... erm, feelings?”

The answer came immediately. “It was the worst and best thing that ever happened to me.”

Izzy grunted. The lad was onto something there.

“I haven’t been able to talk with anyone about this,” Spriggs said. “It’s a hard thing for most folks to understand.”

“You can always talk to me,” Izzy said, without thinking.

Spriggs’ throat bobbed though he hadn’t anything in his mouth.

There was the sudden, stupid urge to rise from the table and flee. Mere humans weren’t powerful enough to endure moments like this. And to think Spriggs had already noticed how Izzy wasn’t eating anything.

“How are you, Izzy?”

“I’m—"

“Don’t say you’re well. Say anything you like, but don’t say you’re well.”

Izzy placed his palms on the table as if he could somehow summon strength from the woodgrain. “Spriggs…”

“Izzy.” Spriggs chest was rising and falling. “Tell me how you are. Tell me right now.”

There was no escape. “I’m unwell.”

“Me too.”

For some reason that reply didn’t surprise him. And now it was time to say the thing. “And I’m not going to kiss you tonight. I’m not going to touch you.”

Spriggs brows lifted. “You’re not going to…”

It took all the strength of Izzy’s will to keep his yearning in check. “No.”

“Why?” Spriggs asked.

Fuck this was hard. “I’m realizing it just now. With what you’ve been through you need someone you can talk to. I can be that. I can stay that. But if we do anything more than talk, and then it ends… and then I have to pretend like I’m not…” The right words weren’t coming to him. “It just closes the door.”

Spriggs’ lips gaped open. “Pretend like you’re not what, Izzy?”

If only Izzy could figure out some blasted thing to do with his hands. “I’m not like you, Spriggs.”

“Use my first name.”

Izzy’s heart was bursting. Dear fuck, why was Spriggs leaning so close?

“Izzy, what do you mean you’re not like me?”

A man’s chest shouldn’t hurt like this. He shouldn’t shake like this. And Christ he shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t have let anything get this far.

“What do you mean you’re not like me?” Spriggs asked again.

“I told you I’m unwell.”

“So am I.”

“You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

A sob rose into Izzy’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

“Izzy, what don’t I understand?”

“This is real for me.”

“And it’s not for me?”

Izzy shook his head. It couldn’t be. Not like this.

“Tell me,” Spriggs said.

Jaw stiffening, Izzy mustered his remaining resolve. “I said we’re going to be friends so we can talk to each other. That’s the important thing. Us talking to each other. Tonight. And then, for as long as we need to. Forever.”

Spriggs was looking at him with the most soul-filled puppy eyes Izzy had ever seen but that wouldn’t break him.

“Izzy, you say you want to talk. Fine. Then will you tell me the truth?”

Of course he would.

“Do you want to kiss me again?”

Izzy kept his breathing slow, steady. “Yes. But I won’t.”

That didn’t seem to faze him. “And do you want to spend the night with me?”

“But I won’t.”

“Because you think I don’t fancy you the way you fancy me?”

Shitting hell balls, Spriggs was going to make him say it. “I don’t fancy you, Spriggs.”

“You don’t?”

Jesus. “I fucking ache for you, I long for you, I lo—”

He stopped himself just in time.

Now Spriggs’ hands were atop his, the abyss of his gaze swallowing Izzy whole.

The entire world was crashing down around them because Izzy had to open his blasted mouth.

“My God Izzy.” The scribe’s palms were like fire on his knuckles. “You thought this was just about sex for me?”

Izzy’s mouth was dryer than a sandbox.

Spriggs drifted around the table and Izzy didn’t stop him. “I’m in love with you. Which I realize is an insane thing to say, but you were about to say it too, and if you had, it would’ve been right because you almost died and I almost died, and there’s things we know that no one else does.”

The scribe didn’t know what he was talking about.

And now Izzy’s whole body was the same temperature as the sun.

Lowering himself, Spriggs rested on Izzy’s knees and cupped his face. The fellow didn’t seem to realize that an amputation hurts like a motherfucker, but still, Spriggs’ thumbs were velvety across Izzy’s cheekbones. Which just wasn’t fair. Sensations had no business feeling this good.

“Did you hear me?” Spriggs asked. “I don’t want us to be friends.”

“You’re being a twat.”

“And I’m telling you I’m your twat.”

Izzy gulped. Wasn’t going to laugh. “Say we do this and I turn out to not be very good?”

“Then I’ll love you for being disappointing.”

Izzy closed his eyes. Breathed. He needed to stay focused. “What if you get bored with me?”

“Then I’ll love you for being boring.”

Fuck this lad was smooth. “And where will we be a month from now, Spriggs?”

“I said don’t call me Spriggs.”

“And where will we be a month from now, Lucius Alexander Spriggs, Scribe of the Revenge?”

Lucius dipped closer. “What do you want us to be doing?”

How easy it was to picture. “Holding hands.”

Spriggs braided his fingers with Izzy’s. “Then that’s what we’ll be doing.” He brushed his lips to Izzy’s knuckles—a thing that made Izzy lose the last of his mind. “And also kissing by candlelight, waking up together, talking about death…”

“You’re still being a twat.”

“But I’m your twat.”

Izzy’s lips landed on his. In all his life he’d had so few genuinely happy moments. But the feel of Lucius’ open mouth, the weight of him atop his lap… It was a thrill that surpassed even his most hard-fought nautical victories.

Yes, the leg hurt. And the parts that weren’t used to being touched screamed from the ache of old wounds. But this was what it felt like to want and be wanted back. How did normal people cope knowing something like this could exist?

Izzy clenched the fellow tighter. They couldn’t stay in this chair—not with all Izzy’s pain—but he wasn’t about to stop Lucius from doing what he was doing with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

The neck scarves came off. Izzy nearly knocked over both their wine. No one had told him how many different ways someone could be kissed, but Lucius was showing him all of them at once.

“I don’t want this to just be one night,” Izzy whispered when he had a moment to breathe.

Lucius touched Izzy’s lips. “I thought I made it clear it wouldn’t be.”

“And I’m making it clear I need repeated clarity.”

“Oh I love that,” Lucius said, kissing him again.

They ended up in bed. And Izzy hoped he hadn't been a disappointment which was a hard thing to judge when everything was fire and loveliness.

They spent the morning entangled together, and when Izzy dressed, Lucius joined him on his rounds with his arm linked with his.

Izzy hadn’t expected that hug Pete would give him, but it was actually very nice—being held by the husband of his lover.

During their meals together Pete would ask about battle tactics, and Izzy found they shared a lot of the same interests. At night the three of them would make use of the hammock and say nothing as they gazed up at the stars. To think Izzy had worried it would all end after one night, but, day after day, Lucius and Pete kept making it clear that Izzy was loved.

THE END