Chapter Text
Barbados, 1708
The day that Alma Bonnet was born was the scariest day of Stede's life (up to that point).
Stede paced up and down the hallway outside of his and Mary's bedroom, wringing his hands together and wincing each time he heard Mary's pained cries from inside. The midwife had told him that the husband shouldn't be in the room during the birthing process, for which Stede was sort of guiltily relieved. He'd been indulging in drink more than he probably should have been these last few weeks (mostly borne of anxiety from the prospect of impending fatherhood), and he doubted he'd be of any real help to Mary in her state to begin with. But still, every pained wail that reached him stabbed him with a terrible combination of dread and guilt. And the fact that he couldn't see what was happening, left on his own without any news, made it all the worse.
Stede sank into an ornamental chair beside the bedroom door that he was sure no one had ever sat in before—a useless bit of purely decorative furniture (sort of like him). He bent forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands as he tried to will himself to sober up, or man up, or otherwise for his heart to stop beating like it was getting ready to explode.
He couldn't help but feel panic. He wasn't ready to be a father. What kind of role model could he be? He barely had the respect of civilized society (and any respect that he did have was due to his wealth and not at all because of his charm or social graces. It didn’t exactly feel earned). He cared more about picking flowers and strange insects than he did about climbing the social ladder, and most people found his fawning love of clothes and books ridiculous. What wisdom did he have that was worthy of passing on to a child?
His own father's voice rattled in his mind, sending shooting pains behind his eyes: soft, lily-livered little rich boy!
Not much to model his own parenting on. At the very least, Stede knew that he would not be so cruel to his own child.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, slumped in that uncomfortable chair. When the midwife shook him awake, it was dark outside. She quietly told him that all was well with Mary and the child. Mary was asleep. He was a father. The child was a girl. And for a terrible moment, Stede thought about how disappointed his father would be to hear that, but fuck him.
Mary had named her Alma.
There was a complicated mass of emotions swirling in Stede's gut at having missed so much—again guilty for his absence, sad that he hadn't been needed, but also a bit glad that it was all over and done with. The emotions butted heads and told him he was already failing, but above all else was a feeling of complete exhaustion (and maybe a bit of a hangover).
In a bit of a daze, Stede let the midwife lead him into the bedroom. Mary was sleeping soundly in the center of their bed. Stede was glad she was okay. She deserved some rest. He knew the midwife and their housekeeping staff must have changed the linens, as they were crisp and white, all evidence of the birth swept away.
They had a whole other set of rooms in the house dedicated to being a nursery, but for now, there was a crib set up in the bedroom so the midwife could monitor both the child and the mother for the night. Stede observed in a sort of glazed-over way as the midwife leaned over the edge of the crib and scooped up a small bundle, smiling and cooing at it when it tried to squirm in protest for being removed from its warm, comfortable nest. Distantly, he understood that this must be his child, but part of him felt like he was still dreaming, limbs numb, letting the scene wash over him as the midwife introduced him to the baby.
Stede was utterly unprepared when the bundle was placed in his arms, suddenly feeling thrust back into the present after having a somewhat out-of-body experience. He cradled the baby in his arms instinctively, trying to be as gentle as he could be as the midwife went to check on Mary. If its head wasn’t so wobbly, Stede probably would have held the baby as far away from himself as possible, but its fragile composition almost demanded that he cradle it close (Stede wondered if that wasn’t some sort of trick of evolution to encourage parental bonding).
Stede looked at it in pure fascination. He realized that he'd never seen a baby so... fresh. It was all red and purple, wrinkly and strange looking, completely fragile and tinier than he ever thought a baby could be. It almost seemed like another creature to him—except look at that! A little button nose, and wisps of fine blonde hair. So strange indeed that this could come from another person. A bit of a miracle, he supposed.
The baby started fussing, making tiny upset sounds, squirming enough that it got an arm out of its loose swaddle of blankets.
"Shh, shh, it's alright," Stede said quietly, in a tone that suggested he was trying to convince the both of them of that fact. "It's okay."
Stede tried to tuck the chubby little arm back into its blanket, only for a tiny hand to grasp his pinky, squeezing tighter than Stede ever thought something so small could muster. It was rather, well... cute. He stopped for a moment, frozen as he really let himself look and feel.
Oh.
The baby's whole fist only covered one knuckle on his whole pinky, and yet it—no—she squeezed enough that the tip of his finger was turning pink. She made more of those fussy little noises, shaking Stede's finger. It was like she was stubbornly proclaiming that she was here, that she would be heard, that she wanted, even if she didn't know what it was that she wanted, and Stede would have to give it to her whether he was ready or not. For better or worse, Stede’s life was now forever different, and her life was tied to his. And that was... that was...
Stede's heart kicked in his chest. He felt a bit wobbly all of a sudden.
Alma.
Stede was terrified of her, and he loved her, and he suddenly felt as though he might burst.
He cooed at her when her fussing grew louder, gently bouncing her up and down as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It's alright. You're alright, Alma. You're so strong. You're going to be amazing." And he hoped that whatever his faults, they would never hurt her.
***
The Revenge, 1721
It wasn't entirely unusual for Buttons to be convinced that the ship was being haunted by a "filthy phantom". However, it was unusual for Ed to wonder if he was right.
The night they left Barbados from their most recent visit with Stede's family, Buttons claimed he saw the shadow of a malevolent spirit creeping about the upper decks, somehow immune to his hexes. Ed didn't pay him much mind. He'd been in this profession long enough to know that pirates, generally, were a superstitious lot, who thoughtany shadow in the water was a vengeful spirit or bloodthirsty mermaid if given the room to panic (more often than not, it turned out to be a fucking manatee).
But then things started going missing.
It had started with Jim's hat. There was a lot of careful mediation and temporarily confiscated throwing knives to get them to calm down enough to accept that someone from the crew hadn't stolen it and that it was probably just lost somewhere.
Then it was Izzy's pillow. And what a shitstorm of a night that had been. Izzy wouldn't let anyone go to sleep until he had thoroughly questioned everyone (which really just meant shouting threats to keelhaul anyone he thought might be guilty). It didn't stop until Stede snapped at him and threw one of the cushions from his couch for Izzy to use. Ed wouldn't have been surprised if someone was just pulling a prank at Izzy's expense (Izzy was particularly susceptible to pranking due to 1: being a complete hard-ass as a boss and 2: always giving an explosive reaction upon being pranked), and would probably return the pillow when they thought they wouldn't get caught. But the pillow remained missing.
Then it was the Swede's blanket, Pete's playing cards,Lucius' best drawing pencils, Wee John's sharpest sewing needle, Izzy's favorite black shirt, Izzy's cutlass, and Izzy's spare boots (Izzy really did get the worst of it). And worst of all (according to Stede), several of Stede's favorite books.
As a result, half the crew was extremely suspicious of each other, becoming territorial and hiding their things on the ship, which of course only resulted in more misplaced items when hidey-holes were inevitably forgotten (Ed was reminded of an entry in one of Stede's nature encyclopedias of a kind of squirrel that liked to hide its acorns and nuts and things for later, but was too stupid to remember where it left most of them, unintentionally planting hundreds of new trees).
The other half of the crew had begun joining Buttons in his nightly poltergeist-banishment dances.
Overall, not great for morale.
Talking to the crew about the missing items didn't go quite as well as they had hoped. Generally, for things like this, Ed and Stede took up a strategy of "Good-Captain, Bad-Captain" wherein Stede would encourage the crew to come forward to them, and Ed would be generally menacing and threatening enough to make confessing to Stede seem like a good idea.
It eventually came down to Stede, Ed, and Izzy taking alibis. Which was annoying, since it wasn't like the punishment was even going to be that bad to begin with, and now it was becoming a whole thing.
No one came forward, though there were plenty of accusations thrown.
(Except by Buttons, who again swore up and down that he had often seen a "ghostly shadow" sneaking around deck in the night while he was manning the helm.)
Izzy was partial to blaming Lucius (as he seemed to do for everything), to which Lucius merely smirked and said, "You know exactly where I've been at night" which caused Izzy to turn a shade of red that Ed did not want to examine.
There was a moment where it seemed like the Swede was the only one without an alibi, but he had just been stuck in his barrel for a few days (only discovered and freed during a brief intermission in interrogations when they realized they had no idea where he was), so was unable to give one until liberated from his cramped, wooden prison. Though he did confirm that he had heard Buttons singing old shanties all through the night at the helm.
So sure, Ed wasn't one to believe in superstitious nonsense, but he knew enough to know that this was stranger than one of the crew suddenly developing sticky fingers. So it was almost a relief when Roach and Izzy came forward with an alternative explanation.
"Captains!"
Ed and Stede both simultaneously jumped, then froze in place as Roach barged into their cabin wielding a butcher knife and a burlap sack, Izzy hot on his heels. "We have a problem!"
When Roach worked himself into a mad frenzy like this, the best thing to do was generally to stay out of his way as he became fixated on the source of his ire. But in this case, it rather worked in their favor, as Roach didn't even seem to notice that Ed and Stede were in the middle of a minuet, dressed in some of the most ridiculous fancy clothing from their shared closet.
(It was a game that Ed had suggested, since Stede so rarely had the opportunity to wear his nicest clothes anymore, and Ed loved to find any excuse for Stede to dress him up, but he hadn't accounted for anyone walking in on them in their admittedly silly state. Generally, the crew knew to leave the captains to their own devices when the doors to their shared quarters were closed, lest they see something that would be burned into the backs of their eyelids forever.
Izzy had learned that lesson the hard way after the two captains had spent an illuminating afternoon discovering that sailing knots could have many recreational uses when applied to silk ropes. Ed wasn't sure Izzy had ever been able to look at a bowline the same way again. Which is likely why he now entered their cabin with his hand covering his eyes, peeking between his fingers.)
Ed and Stede sprang apart when the door slammed open, and now Ed tried to put on an air of cool unaffectedness as he leaned his hip against the edge of the desk and crossed his arms. "What's the problem, mate?" he asked Roach.
Stede stood beside him, fidgeting and straightening his clothes. "I'm sure whatever it is, we can all discuss it calmly, so no need to— ROACH, NO!"
Stede screeched as Roach drove the blade of the butcher knife into the top of the desk with a wild look in his eyes. "RATS!" Roach ignored Stede's cries of protest about how the desk was made from a very expensive walnut wood. He held up the half-empty sack of potatoes which had clearly been nibbled through at one corner. "We have rats!"
Izzy (having decided it was safe to remove the hand from his eyes) glared at Roach. "Who gives a fuck about the rats? That's not even the important part—"
Roach glared at Izzy. “I’ll make sure to give you the rations they’ve nibbled on, then.”
Ed frowned. "Mate, it's a ship. There's gonna be fuckin' rats." It was an unpleasant reality of life at sea. Rodents and pests got onto ships when they were at port sometimes. The Revenge was by far the least infested ship Ed had ever sailed on. Ed had seen things that still turned his stomach if he thought about them too long—especially when he was just a simple deckhand in his youth, relegated to sleeping on the worst bedrolls where the pests could nibble on his toes at night. It made him all the more grateful for the pillowy mattress, silk sheets, and clean quarters he shared with Stede each night.
Roach shook his head. "Not in my kitchen. I make sure the rats don't get the wrong idea." Ed had no bloody idea what that was supposed to mean, but Roach yanked the knife out of the desk when he said it, so Ed wasn't about to argue.
Stede, however, was fucking mental, and clearly still miffed about the desk. "Well, clearly they have! You probably just left some food out or something," Stede flapped his hands dismissively. "Honestly, Roach, I don't know why you needed to bother us about this!"
Roach glared at Stede, nostrils flaring as he fingered the handle of his knife. "Because, Captain, I just took stock of our stores, and we're short on rations."
Ed frowned and made a mental note to keep one eye open while he and Stede slept. "But we just left Barbados two weeks ago." Rats alone couldn't have made that much of a dent in that time. They had restocked the ship while Stede visited his family.
Roach slammed the knife into the desktop again. Stede covered his eyes with his hands as Roach yanked it out again. "Someone on this damned crew is sneaking extra rations, and making a mess while they do it, trailing crumbs all over the place and leading the rats right into my pantry!"
Stede pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Okay, okay. Christ. Just, uh, do what you need to do to get rid of the rats and we'll have a chat with the crew about the consequences if they're caught taking extra rations."
Roach nodded. "Right. I'll form an elite strike force to guard the kitchen." He held the knife up, ready to wield it again. "I'm prepared to start taking fingers in interrogations, Captain, just say the word and I'll—"
"NO, no, no!" Stede yelled in a panic before the knife could lodge itself in the desktop again. "You're not taking anyone's fingers! Let Ed and I sort out who's taking the rations. You just focus on the rat problem. And Roach, this is important: Do not use knives of any kind on the rats! I won't have rat guts all over the galley." Stede shivered a bit, as though the very idea disturbed him.
In the years they had been together, Ed had never quite got a handle on what things made Stede squeamish. Once, when they were in a particularly bloody raid, he heard Stede say, “Oh! Now would you look at that? And just my size!” and turned around to find him stealing the shoes off of a presumably dead body. But "rat guts" was too far over the line, apparently.
Ed loved him so much.
Roach looked rather put out, like he had been quite looking forward to some rat murder. "What am I supposed to do, then?"
Stede flapped his hands again. "Just—use some glue or tar or something to make some traps! Then you can throw them over the side!"
That put an even bigger smile on Roach's face. "Oh, I see. A little psychological torture before we kill them," he said, tapping his finger against his temple. "I like that, man. Use them as an example so the other rats know not to fuck with us."
Stede sputtered. "That's not exactly what I—"
"You're a little bit of a freak, Captain," Roach said, eyes glittering with unrestrained glee as he turned on his heel to leave. "Don't worry, I'm on it!"
Izzy cleared his throat when the door closed behind Roach. He had been uncharacteristically quiet during Roach's tirade, but perhaps decided it was wise to stay out of the way of his butcher knife. "Captains, I don't think any of the crew is responsible for the shortage of rations. Or the rash of missing items." He said it almost begrudgingly, like he'd been raring to punish someone for it.
Ed raised a brow. "Don't tell me Buttons got to you about this ghost problem, Iz," he teased, clicking his tongue.
"Shut up," Izzy said between gritted teeth. "He's fucking barmy, but what if he actually saw something? Not a ghost, but a stowaway."
Stede looked skeptical. "A stowaway? Really? Don't you think we would have noticed by now? It's been two weeks since we made port at Barbados."
Izzy raised an annoyed brow. "You tell me. Do you think a stowaway could hide for a while in the bloody labyrinth of secret passages you've put in this ship?"
Ed could see Stede winding up for a particularly bitchy comeback to that, so he cut him off before he could get there. "It's a theory worth investigating. Izzy, I'm putting you in charge of it then."
"What, you want me to go searching through the walls of this place?"
Ed shrugged. "Nah, just stake out the galley. If there is a stowaway, they'll have to eat eventually."
Izzy gave a bereft sigh. "Oh, Edward, can't the boys just do it?"
"Oh no, if you're so sure, then I want this done right. Plus, I'm not ruling out that any of the crew might have been working together on this. I trust you to capture the culprit on this, Iz."
Izzy ground his jaw, clearly annoyed that he was in charge of solving such an inane problem. "Fine."
***
Stede loved the bed that he and Ed shared.
Sure, it was definitely too narrow for two grown men to share comfortably, and the morning light always pierced through the window nook far too early for his tastes—but the person he was squished up against, caught in a tight embrace, was Ed, and the face that was illuminated each morning, all fluttering eyelashes and parted lips and tangled silver hair, was Ed's, and that actually made it perfect. He wouldn't change a thing.
What Stede did not care for was being awoken by a commotion on deck.
Stede groaned, rolling on his back. He had just been enjoying a particularly good dream wherein he and Ed had been feeding each other marmalade in a field of purple flowers. Ed grunted, patting Stede's chest in sympathy.
There were many voices shouting over each other, but Stede could hear Izzy yelling, and Buttons shrieking something about evil spirits being pulled through the veil, and Stede very decidedly did not want to deal with it. He wanted to stay wrapped up in his warm cocoon of blankets with the love of his life. "Any chance they won't need us?" Stede asked around a yawn.
Ed propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Not bloody likely."
Sure enough, moments later, Lucius pounded on the door, saying that the Captains' presence was urgently needed. "Especially Stede, and please be fast!"
Stede and Ed shared a curious look before quickly dressing. While Stede liked to think that he had long earned the respect of the crew, he would be hard-pressed to think of some kind of emergency situation where his particular set of skills would be more useful than Ed's.
He and Ed walked onto the main deck to find one of the strangest scenes Stede had ever seen. The entire crew was gathered around an unfamiliar, bearded figure. (The stowaway?) Most of the crew just looked on curiously, but Izzy was covered in several of the glue traps that Roach had made for the galley (they were stuck all over his chest, arms, legs, and the bottoms of his shoes, and there was one stuck to the back of his head that Stede suspected would leave a particularly nasty bald patch). Izzy was red from his neck to the roots of his hair, shouting at Jim, who had a firm, almost protective hand on the shoulder of the surprisingly short intruder, scowling and refusing to get out of Izzy's way.
Stede was quickly able to deduce from the scattered arguments (and environmental evidence) that Izzy had spotted the stowaway sneaking food from the galley and gave chase, tried and failed to tackle the intruder, getting himself covered in the rat traps spread about. From what Stede could tell, Jim was the one to actually capture the stowaway afterwards, though it was unclear to him why they were taking such a protective stance over them.
(Stede briefly caught sight of Lucius scribbling in his sketchbook as the captains moved to get a closer look at the source of the commotion. Lucius seemed to be drawing an interpretation of what Izzy would look like if caught in a man-sized glue trap. Or perhaps Izzy was meant to be rat-sized? It was hard to tell. Stede made a mental note to ask him about it later and perhaps give the boy some tips about proportions.)
"What is going on here?" Stede shouted above the din, Ed scowling with arms-crossed beside him.
A hush fell over the deck, all watching Stede with an apprehension that Stede couldn't make heads or tails of. Izzy stepped forward.
"Caught our stowaway stealing from the pantry," Izzy spat, yanking at one of the glue strips that was attached to his shirt.
"Yes, I gathered that much..." Stede said. What he couldn't figure out was why Izzy was using such an accusatory tone, but then again, Izzy had blamed him for much more ridiculous things.
Stede stepped closer to the stowaway to get a better look at the stowaway, waving at Jim to tell them to stand down.
The stowaway also seemed to be a victim of the glue traps, though they didn't have nearly as many stuck to them as Izzy did—just one stuck to one hand, and another to the bottom of their boot. They were short and slight, the top of their head only reaching Jim's shoulder. Stede supposed their smaller size would make hiding in dark corners of the ship easier, allowing them to stay unnoticed for this long. They were positively swimming in their clothes, like they'd taken them from a bigger person, and had hastily sewn them so they weren't tripping over their own trousers. Their dark trousers and black shirt (which Stede was fairly certain were both stolen from Izzy and then mangled into shape to fit the theif) were unassuming enough, but the black waistcoat they wore looked finely made (if a bit dirty and rumpled), and oddly familiar in a way that tickled something in the back of Stede's mind.
Stede's eyes tracked back up to the stowaway's face, which they seemed to be purposefully averting, hiding under the shadow of their (Jim's) wide-brimmed cap. Stede squinted, that little voice in the back of his mind growing louder when he noticed the stranger's obviously fake beard.
The stowaway finally cut a nervous glance Stede's way. Their eyes were wide and guilty... and hazel and familiar.
Stede's mouth fell open on a gasp, dumbfounded, snatching the stowaway's hat and beard in a single swipe to reveal a very familiar face indeed. Stede heard Ed curse right behind him.
"Alma?!"
Alma looked up at him, giving him the same feeble, guilty smile she'd given him years ago after breaking his favorite set of crystal glasses.
"Hi, Dad..."
"What on Earth are you doing here?" Stede asked, in utter shock.
"Oh, you know... just wanted to see what this whole pirate thing was about," she said, clearly trying to sound casual. "So I just... hitched a ride before you left home."
The Revenge had departed Barbados at dawn, which meant that Alma must have snuck onto the ship at some point in the middle of the night, while Mary and Doug still slept.
"Oh no..." Stede ran a hand down his face. "That was nearly two weeks ago! Have you even thought about what this little stunt will do to your mother? She must be worried sick!"
Alma rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "It's fine! I left a note."
“‘A note?’" Stede repeated in disbelief. “‘A note?’ Darling, you can't just run away from home in the middle of the night, leaving your mother with nothing more than a note, to hide away on a pirate ship!"
"You did!" Alma shouted, defensive.
"I didn't— you can't just— that's besides the point!" Stede sputtered, face heating. "And you shouldn't do what I do! I'm a criminal."
"So am I. I stole this from the pantry," Alma said, smugly producing an orange from a pocket in her oversized trousers. "And I stole mom's waistcoat," she said, yanking on the dark fabric. "And his shirt, and your books—"
"The apple doesn’t fall far, eh?," Ed muttered from somewhere behind Stede.
Stede threw him a warning glare before turning his attention back to Alma. "God help me if you end up like me."
Alma's face twisted for a moment in an expression that Stede couldn't quite decipher before quickly morphing to one of anger. "Whatever." She moved to slip away from the crowd of pirates. Where exactly she planned to go, Stede had no idea, but he wasn't done with this conversation by a long shot.
"Not so fast, missy!" Stede gestured for Wee John to step in her path. Alma looked back at Stede indignantly as she suddenly found a giant wall of a man in her way. "Oluwande, Jim, would you please escort Alma to the Captain's cabin, please? And make sure she stays put."
"What, am I your prisoner now?" Alma shouted, which Stede felt was a bit over-dramatic, given the circumstances.
Stede put his hands on his hips, hoping he looked authoritative. "No, but you are grounded."
"Dad!"
"Don't fight with me, Alma. You are going to wait in my quarters and think about what you did while we figure out a way to get you back home to your mother."
"Home? But Dad—!"
"No ‘buts’! A pirate ship is no place for a child."
"I'm not a child! I'm 13 years old!"
"Alma..." Stede put as much of a warning in his voice as he could muster.
Alma's jaw set, eyes blazing with anger. "Screw this."
"Language!"
But she had already turned on her heel, stomping behind Oluwande and Jim to the Captain's quarters. She slammed the door hard enough to make Stede wince.
The rest of the crew stared at him, quiet and unsure. “Well, go on! Show’s over!” Stede shouted to the crew, snippy. “Don’t you all have work to do?” They all dispersed, talking amongst themselves.
"Teenagers are terrifying," Lucius said sympathetically, patting Stede on the back before joining Pete. Stede couldn't disagree with that.
Stede felt Ed's gloved palm slide into his, and Stede slumped against his shoulder. "Oh, Mary is going to try to murder me. Again."
Ed's fingers slipped into his hair, petting gently. "It's okay. We'll get this whole thing sorted."
"I just can't believe she did this! It was so reckless of her. I thought she was smarter than that."
"She's her father's daughter. Can't blame her for that."
Stede pouted at him, ready to say that he could blame her, and himself, for a lot, actually, but was cut off by Izzy.
"We cannot have a fuckin' child on this ship," Izzy growled, arms crossed.
Stede straightened, trying to get a handle on his frayed nerves by smoothing out his clothes. "I completely agree. That's why we're going to set a course to the nearest port to resupply, and then back to Barbados." Stede looked to his co-captain, his love, to make sure that was okay. Ed gave him a firm nod, letting him make the call, for which Stede was extremely grateful.
"That will take us weeks off-course," Izzy argued.
"Well I don't know what you expect me to do!" Stede snapped. "For fuck’s sake, I'm not leaving my daughter in the middle of the bloody Caribbean alone to find her own way home."
Izzy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Stede knew that was about as close as he would get to acquiescing. "Fine. Fuck, maybe we can pick off some merchant ships in raids on the way there."
Stede exchanged winces with Ed, thinking about Alma caught up in the chaos of a raid.
"Maybe we avoid raids for now, Iz," Ed said, scrunching his nose.
"The kid could just hide in your big, bloody closet or something!"
"Perhaps we'll keep that in mind as a backup plan, in case of emergency," Stede said diplomatically. "But for now, let's not seek out trouble."
And though Izzy certainly didn't look happy about it, he grunted in agreement.
***
Barbados 1718 - 1721
The first time Ed had ever visited the Bonnets with Stede, it had been a decidedly awkward affair. The last time they had seen Stede, he had faked his death to leave them in peace and get back to Ed, but after a few letters exchanged between him and Mary, they decided that the occasional visit (with some very strict ground rules) would be good for the children, who Stede dearly missed, without becoming the obtrusive nuisance he had been when he ran back to them before.
It had taken them a while to figure out where exactly Stede could fit in with their lives when he would only be a temporary fixture at any given time, but over the years the entire family seemed to warm to each other. Mary and Stede got on like old friends, rather than ex-spouses who had either faked death or attempted murder to get away from each other. In fact, it seemed like they rather bonded over it. Made Ed wonder if maybe all rich folks were just lunatics.
Ed thought Mary was a riot, especially when she had a few drinks. Doug was a little harder to get a read on, but he seemed nice enough, and supportive of Mary and the kids. The kids were bright for their age, curious, bold, though Ed found himself quiet around them with no real idea how to act around children.
Alma and Louis each presented unique challenges. The first time Stede had come to visit them in Barbados, Louis had seemed more astonished than anything, like he didn't quite understand who Stede was, before loudly asking "I thought you were dead?" Ed had wanted to sink through the floor at the awkward silence that had created.
Alma seemed much more guarded. She kept her distance, arms crossed, brow furrowed in an expression that reminded Ed so thoroughly of Stede when he was upset it was almost jarring. When Stede tried to coax her into conversation, she had snapped that she didn't know why Stede was trying to talk to her when he obviously didn't care and was just going to leave again anyways.
That's when Ed realized that kids could be fucking ruthless.
After that, Ed sort of hoped the kids wouldn't really notice him—not least because he had no idea how to talk to children—but it was Alma who took a strange interest in him:
"You're my dad's friend, right?"
"Yeah."
"But you're like, more than a friend."
"Uh... I reckon so, yeah."
"He's never had a friend before."
"Good thing I'm around, then."
"I guess so. You're why he left before, right?"
"Uh..."
"Cuz I don't get why he's back again! Does he want to be here or not?"
"Well, that's sort of a complicated question—"
"Anyway, I want to punch my dad."
"I get that. I killed my dad."
Ed immediately bit his tongue, cursing himself as he realized that was definitely a wildly inappropriate thing to say, but Alma didn’t seem phased by it. She simply sighed and said: "Well, I don't think I want to do that." And even though that was a mad fucking way to respond to a murder confession, he and Alma chatted for a while after that.
Stede had told Ed before that Alma was like her mother, and Ed could definitely see that in her wit, her brilliance at her young age, her creative flair, her need for independence. But Ed couldn't help but think she really was her father's daughter—strange and curious and unafraid.
Throughout their conversation, Alma rolled her half of the petrified orange between her hands thoughtfully—the one Ed knew that she had split so Stede could have the other half.
When Ed spoke to Stede later that night (at that point, Stede’s pride was wounded in different ways by each of his children's reactions) Ed told him to keep trying.
And keep trying Stede did. They visited Barbados for a few days at a time whenever it was in their sailing path, which was often, and after a few years, both of Stede's children warmed to him as they started to realize that he would be coming back, proving himself to be more consistent than he had ever been. He tried to bring them gifts, and they looked forward to his (highly edited) exciting tales of adventure on the high seas.
The first time the children ran into Stede's arms to greet him, Stede started sobbing so hard that it was impossible to tell what he was saying. Ed definitely did not tear up at all—not even a little bit—not even when Alma led Stede by the hand into the house to get him a calming tea.
In fact, things were going so well with Stede's kids, that when they were in Barbados two weeks ago celebrating Alma's 13th birthday, she asked when she would be allowed to go on an adventure with them. Stede had glanced nervously at Mary, who was giving him a warning glare that seemed to say "This is why I asked you not to play pirates with them" and evasively said they could discuss it when she was older.
***
Ed could tell that Stede needed some time to cool down—he was pacing up and down the upper decks with a purposeful click, click, click of his boots against the boards, shouting orders for the crew to prepare to change course for the nearest port—so Ed was the first one to find Alma in their quarters. He dismissed Oluwande and Jim from their guard (which mostly seemed to consist of lounging on the chaise, chattering together quietly in Spanish).
The sheer curtains of the bed nook were drawn closed, and Ed could make out the vague silhouette of Alma sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mattress. He could imagine her pouting, likely a twin expression for the one her father wore right now.
Ed brushed his fingers along the edge of the curtain. "Alma—"
"You can't come in," she said, voice slightly muffled.
Ed withdrew his hand. "No? Is there a password?" he teased.
"Yes. You don't know it."
"Damn." Ed pulled a chair out and sat, kicking his legs out. "Guess I'll have to wait out here for you then."
"Yes, you will," she said, petulant.
"So, what was your plan, then?" Ed asked, feigning casualness by picking at his nails. "Hitch a ride on the ship and hop off at the next port? Run away?" That's what Ed had done when he was only a bit older than her, unable to stay in the same place where his father's ghost lurked around every corner. He'd scraped by as a pickpocket for a while, until he made the mistake of trying to slip into the pocket of Captain Benjamin Hornigold. He was lucky the pirate captain didn't take his hand, and rather conscripted him onto his crew. Ed rarely stepped foot on land from then on out.
Ed heard Alma scoff. "Of course not. I didn't want to run away. I'm just..."
"You're just...?" Ed prodded.
"I'm so bored!" she finally burst out. "Every day I have to sit with my tutor, or do my needlework, or walk around the garden, or talk to the other girls in town, or sit down at some fancy dinner where all the adults are talking about boring business things, or read books about people doing more exciting things than me! And I'm not even allowed to wear trousers in public!" Alma's silhouette shifted and there was a loud thump, as though she had dramatically thrown herself down against the mattress.
"You are absolutely your father's daughter," Ed mumbled, which earned him a whiney, miserable sound that he suspected only a person on the cusp of becoming a teen could make. "Okay, so you were bored and wanted a bit of adventure, is that it? I don't see how hiding away in the walls with the rats is much better."
"I actually made myself a very comfortably-furnished crate, thank you very much."
Ed huffed a laugh. He made a mental note to check on the larger storage crates later. He had a feeling he would find a little nest of stolen items there. "Still, you had to know we would take you back as soon as we found you. I don't think you thought this through."
"I had a plan! I was going to join in on a raid and save everyone. You would have seen how good of a pirate I am!"
Ed's heart lurched violently as he imagined Alma caught in the violent, bloody crossfire of a raid, and had to tamp down the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake. "That is not a plan," he said, voice unsteady. "You would have scared your dad and I half to death."
Christ, when did Blackbeard start saying things like that?
There were several beats of silence before she spoke again, her voice somehow smaller. "I thought... I thought he would be happy to see me."
Ed hesitated. He knew that Stede's relationship to his kids was complicated, but it wasn't for lack of loving them. There were strange little contradictions in Stede's behavior with them that Ed had never really been able to crack. Like how Stede got so excited when they were about to go to Barbados for a visit, ecstatic to see his children again, but he seemed to try to keep the visits as short as possible—only two or three days at most—but then when they left again there was a sort of melancholy about him. Ed was never really sure what to make of it, other than maybe revisiting parts of Stede's old life was painful for him.
Either way, Ed didn't want to (and didn't know how to) speak for Stede's feelings, about whether he was happy to see his daughter or not.
Ed sighed. "It's not about that, kid," he tried. Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this. "Your dad loves you... And I don't think he's even mad, really. But it isn't safe for you here. We don't want you hurt."
Another one of those long silences, that inexplicably frayed Ed's nerves, lingered between them.
Ed had faced off with the British Navy and the fiercest pirates in the world, and none of those encounters had put him on edge quite like waiting for the approval of this tween girl.
"The password is fruitcake," Alma finally mumbled.
Ed stood and pulled aside the curtain, and suddenly he was being hugged very tightly.
Oh. Alright, then.
Ed hugged back awkwardly, patting her on the back. Even with her most recent growth spurt, she felt so small in his arms. Not knowing what to make of it, he pulled away quickly, grasping her shoulders instead. "It's okay. We're gonna stop at port, and then we're gonna get you back home."
Alma groaned. "Mom is gonna kill me."
"Probably a little bit," Ed admitted. "But before all that, your dad and I are gonna make you up a nice bath, because you seriously stink."
***
Stede didn't find the courage to face his daughter until that evening. He had run himself into the ground working that day, getting them prepared to head to the nearest port. The wind was in their favor, and Buttons thought they could make it to Nassau the next day.
Not ideal to take your 13-year-old daughter to the Republic of Pirates, but needs must.
He hadn't let himself stop moving for long enough to think about the fact that Alma was holed up in his quarters. Ed had told him about the conversation he and Alma had had earlier, and it left Stede with a knot of anxiety in his gut. Not the kind where he feared for Alma's safety (though perhaps that should have been his primary concern, given the circumstances), but the kind of wiggly, uncomfortable anxiety that made him worry if he was doing the best thing for her.
It was that anxiety that made him putter about for far longer than necessary outside the door to his ensuite, even though he was sure Alma had had enough time to bathe thoroughly.
He took a deep breath, gathering the courage to rap on the door. "Alma, dear?" There was no answer, and Stede had to keep himself from wringing the bundle of fabric in his hands. "I brought you some things to change into."
A pause, then the sound of light footsteps moving towards the door. The door opened just a crack, Alma standing out of the way so Stede couldn't see her. He passed a clean nightgown and one of his favorite robes (a soft, warm thing in a rich teal brocade) through the opening, and a hand snatched them away, closing the door again.
Stede waited a few minutes before he knocked again. "Alma? Are you dressed? Can I come in, honey?" He pressed his ear to the door as he waited for a response. "Erm... fruitcake?"
The door swung open suddenly, and Stede had to brace a hand against the frame to keep himself from falling in. Alma stood there, arms crossed, hair wet and tangled all over her shoulders. Stede's clothes were far too big for her, dragging along the floor.
"Ed told you the password." She pouted.
Stede tried for a small smile that he worried was more of a grimace. "I hope you won't be too terribly upset at him for it."
Alma shrugged, sullen, not quite meeting his eye, and Stede's heart strained painfully.
I don't know what to do.
Stede placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I realized I need to apologize to you for something," he tried.
That, at least, made Alma look at him, brows scrunching together in confusion. "You do?"
Stede nodded. "I realized I was so shocked to see you before, that I forgot to hug you hello." Stede opened his arms, trying for another smile he hoped was more successful. "So sorry about that. Can I have a do-over?"
Alma's mouth gaped open, then shut again, and then she hugged him so hard that Stede's breath was punched out of his lungs with a quiet "oof!"
Stede wrapped his arms around Alma, patting her damp hair, thankful and relieved that she accepted his olive branch. "It's so good to see you, sweetheart."
Alma squeezed him tighter around the middle for a moment before letting go and stepping back. "Am I really grounded?" she asked, almost sheepish.
Stede chuckled, plucking a clean, fluffy towel from the stack near the tub and went to work drying Alma's hair, even as she groaned with annoyance at the way the movement made her head bobble.
"No. I don't even really know what that would mean in this context," Stede admitted. He had never really been the disciplinarian with his children—a fact that had been a point of contention in his marriage. He didn't really know how to do it. His own father had been so strict, so unforgiving, and yet Stede had never quite developed a backbone with his children. But before Alma could look too relieved about that and get into her head that she was getting away with something, Stede pointed a stern finger at her. "But you have to give back everyone's things and apologize to them each individually."
"But you said the pirate's code was ‘finders keepers’!" Alma protested.
"Not when it comes to your fellow crew," Stede corrected. "Though, if I could tell you a secret?" He made a show of looking around, as though to make sure they weren't overheard, before leaning in conspiratorially. "Your capers have been quite impressive."
Alma's whole face lit up. "Really?"
"Don't tell your mother I said so. But any person who pulls one over on Izzy Hands so many times is a brave one indeed." He paused in his hair drying for a moment, frowning. "Why did you steal so many of Izzy's things, anyway?" Stede was only slightly offended. He had much nicer clothes, after all.
Alma shrugged. "He seemed closest to my size."
Stede utterly failed to contain a laugh.
***
Ed was in the middle of preparing their bed for Alma to sleep in when she and Stede finally emerged from the ensuite. They had already agreed earlier she would take their bed, at least for tonight, considering she had apparently been sleeping in a wooden crate this whole time. They would relegate her to the couch tomorrow night.
Ed had already changed the linens and was in the middle of fluffing the pillows. (Well, if Ed was honest, it was more like he was punching the pillows, and if the look Stede gave him was any indication, Stede had several thoughts about Ed's technique, though he very graciously kept himself from nitpicking). Ed had also laid out some blankets and pillows on the couch for Stede to sleep on.
As they settled in, Alma sat cross-legged on top of the covers while Ed sat behind her, carefully brushing through her hair. (Stede had tried with the brush first, though quickly found himself frustrated by all of the accumulated tangles that even the bath hadn't been able to fix, leading him to snipe: "You couldn't have stolen a brush in all that time as a stowaway?" and Alma to complain that he was being too rough. Ed commandeered the brush, having dealt with a fair few tangles of his own in his life, and everyone was happier for it.) Stede sat at the edge of the bed and read Gulliver's Travels aloud, his elbow bumping against Ed's each time he turned the page.
"My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire: I was the third of five sons. He sent me to Emanuel College in Cambridge at fourteen years old, where I resided three years, and applied myself close to my studies..."
It all felt so overwhelmingly domestic in a way that Ed didn't really know how to handle. It felt different than the times he had come with Stede on visits to his children. He wasn't sure he knew how to do this. It wasn't something he'd ever experienced before—and certainly not when he was a child. His mother had done her best, but his father...
Detangling Alma's hair took much longer than it should have. Ed tried his best to be gentle, and he had precious little experience being gentle. But he refused to cause Alma any discomfort or pain.
By the time Ed finished weaving her hair into a long, loose braid, her eyelids were flagging. Ed and Stede got off the mattress and Stede pulled the covers up to her chin.
Alma's brows pinched together in a frown, though she could hardly keep her eyes open long enough to protest: "Dad, 'm too old to get tucked in."
"Yes, of course, darling," Stede said, patting her head while Ed busied himself putting out the candles in the room.
Stede settled himself on the couch, fussing with the blankets and pillows. Ed looked to the bed nook to find Alma already fast asleep, chest moving up and down steadily, mouth open slightly, face relaxed. She looked even younger like this, even more innocent and vulnerable, and Ed's stomach twisted.
"Ed," Stede whispered to get Ed's attention where he still stood in the middle of the sitting area. "There's not much room, but maybe we could lay on opposite ends? Or cuddle close like we do when we read together?"
Ed smiled, but shook his head, lowering himself into a wide armchair and propping his feet up on the ottoman. "I'm alright. I think I'm gonna stay up for a while."
Stede frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked, a touch of concern in his voice.
"Yeah. It's okay. Get some sleep, love."
"Okay... Well, shove me over if you have to when you're ready to sleep." Stede shimmied down into the blankets to get himself comfortable.
"Will do."
Ed listened to Stede's breaths even out into familiar, gentle snores as Ed kept his vigil, staring at the door to their cabin, wondering why he felt the need to stand guard over Alma.
He didn't know what he thought would happen. The odds that anyone would attack them were low—they were in a particularly rocky area, and any nearby ships would be anchored for the night. He trusted the crew enough to know none of them would ever try to harm her (though he did worry whether Buttons truly understood that she was a real living girl, and not a poltergeist).
He just couldn't help but feel like there was something he needed to be watching out for, like a persistent unease that itched at his skin.
He'd had to learn how to be vigilant like this when he was a kid. He could do it for Alma too.
Ed kept up his watch for as long as he possibly could, but when his eyelids felt so heavy he could hardly force them open anymore, he took a blanket and pillow from the couch and spread it out on the floor beside the bed nook—a physical barrier between Alma and any danger. The floor was hard and uncomfortable, but Ed fell asleep in minutes.
When Ed woke again in the early hours of dawn, Stede was tucked up against his back, his arms around him, Stede's nose brushing the nape of his neck. Ed snuggled closer, closing his eyes for a few more minutes, allowing Stede to protect him from the outside world for the time being.