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When Stede returned from hunting, Ed was in the middle of chopping firewood. He'd found a fuckload of wood just lying around on the forest floor. Free wood. Way too big for their new fireplace, though. So he was chopping it up.
Stede skipped right up to him, unafraid despite the axe still held loosely in his hand, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. With pride, he displayed to Ed his kill: A very large and very dead wild bird, dangling by its feet from a piece of twine.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Ed said, “Give it here and I'll roast it up fancy for us.” He was honing his chef skills so he'd be prepared when their inn finally got a guest. So far, they'd survived mainly on soup made of foraged greens with fish or squirrel- whatever small game they could catch, accompanied by a random assortment of discount breads from the local bakery. Ed was getting really good at it. Stede said so.
They hung the carcass from the roof of the porch and Ed slit its little throat, then its stomach to get the guts out. This was the worst part. The slice of metal through skin and muscle echoed strangely in his bones, and the familiar animal scent (like childbirth, like killing) always lingered on his hands. But he was almost getting used to it. Hardly ever found himself standing, frozen, with his hands in a warm little animal’s innards, head full of vivid images of death. It was progress.
Stede took over anyway. He knew how Ed felt about it. The feathers they plucked together with the bird between them on the floor. Stede kept saying he was sure there was a step that made this easier, but couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. It took a long time. Eventually, they were left with a slightly fluffy naked bird and two piles of feathers: one of plain brown and grey and another, smaller pile of feathers with interesting colors and patterns.
“Look at this one. It’s blue.” Ed held a feather out to Stede, who added it to his collection with an excited little flourish.
“Oh, yeah? That’s nice. It kind of matches the new curtains.”
Ed said, “We could hang them up with the sea glass,” and Stede ran off with his bundle of pretty feathers to do more decorating.
Which was how Ed ended up alone in their new ramshackle kitchen with a dead bird. The dry wood he’d brought in caught easily enough, and soon it was crackling away in the big stone fireplace. He turned around and looked at the bird, sitting innocent and pink on one of their new tables. Fuck.
He knew he’d seen this sort of thing done at some point in his youth, but it was usually outdoors. He recalled Fang cooking a duck in a pit in the ground; The carpenter from Hornigold’s ship barbecuing pig somehow on a square made of sticks. Ed couldn’t quite figure out how he got the sticks to stay like that while the meat cooked. He’d never got the nerve up to ask.
He looked up at the sky through the skylight (hole in the roof) and tried to think all the way back to his mother. He remembered one winter they’d ended up with a chicken, and she’d roasted it in the fireplace. The warm, savory scent had filled their little house, and Ed had stolen bits of crispy skin while it cooked. It had been the most wonderful thing he’d ever tasted in his whole tiny life. That was what he would make for Stede.
“I can do anything,” he told himself, and picked the creature up by its feet. There were still little downy feathers all over it. He pulled and cut at them, but it just tore the skin. Eventually, he gave up and stuck the whole thing in the flames for a few seconds to burn them off. It smelled awful, but worked better than he’d expected it to.
Ed sifted through the pile of iron objects to the left of the fireplace. An assortment of little shovels and a rusty fire poker. He found a variety of pots and pans, but they were all too small. Anyway, Ed specifically remembered his mom putting the chicken on a spit. Which was some kind of stick for cooking things on.
“What kind of bird were you?” he wondered out loud. Definitely not a seagull. Too big to be a chicken. Not one of those seabirds that never touched land, because here it was. And that was the limit of his bird knowledge. “Sorry we had to kill you.” He patted the dead thing. “But we need to eat. I’m sure you understand." He was thinking about how he’d never make it as a bird guy when a bit of shiny caught his eye.
A long piece of metal in the corner, under some stuff they’d brought from the ship. He pulled it out. One of his old swords. Whatever, that could work. He piled some stones up inside the fireplace, a stack on either side. Then he ran the bird through longwise and suspended it above the fire. Perfect.
He sat down on the hearth to watch the flames. Scrunching the velvet of his robe between his fingers, he tried to get comfy. The floor was too hard. Quick as he could, he ran to get a blanket from the other room, afraid the food might burn while he was gone. He had no idea how long something like this took.
Stede was doing something with the feathers, tying them together on little threads with shells and glass worn smooth by the sea. "I need some beads,” he said, getting up. “Is there anything you want from the market?”
"Maybe some more spices if you can find them. And those yummy rolls from the bakery," Ed said, grabbing the softest blanket from the sofa. As he went back into the kitchen, he called over his shoulder, “Be back in time for dinner!”
The money they’d brought with them was already running low. They’d spent it on blankets. And wallpaper and curtains and rugs. Cool new outfits. Nice furniture, including a new wardrobe and a solid mahogany bed frame with a down mattress. A mountain of soft, ornate pillows. It was all beautiful, but it meant that they were going to have to build the guest beds on their own. At this point Ed was thinking of weaving some hammocks, offering their guests the authentic pirate experience.
The flames licked at the skin of the bird, getting it all crispy. It smelled fucking amazing already. Ed turned it to get the other side, then sat back down happily on the blanket, ready to cook a delicious... whatever the fuck.
He watched the fire. It was nice. He turned the meat around. Some kind of vegetable would be good with this. Really bring up the fanciness level.
Ed went out to find something green. Up the path behind the house, there were wild onions and some leaves he liked. He hummed a bit of a shanty as he pulled them out of the ground, trying his best not to touch the dirt. At sea, they only had things like this when they stopped somewhere for restocking or a beach party. After picking up supplies, they’d have a nice dinner with all the new ingredients. So fresh plants made any occasion feel like a special occasion to him.
Ed brought the plants he’d gathered inside and washed them (and his hands) in the kitchen basin. He spread the leaves out on a table to dry a bit. He went back to the fire, turning the spit slowly to make sure all the sides were getting cooked evenly. He got out their new dishes and set the main table for two.
Unable to think of anything else to do, Ed sat back down by the hearth to wait. The stones were warm. He poked at the fire listlessly. His body felt heavy. The buzzing sound of dreaming filled his head.
A loud crack startled Ed awake. They were under attack. On his feet in an instant, vigilant, he gripped the fire poker tight and held it in front of him like a knife. The fire cast flickering shadows on the walls. Lacy curtains. Shelves of trinkets. Wallpaper swatches.
Wait. No. He wasn’t in danger. He was making dinner.
Ed lowered his weapon. He took a minute to breathe and let his heartbeat slow. Smoke stung his eyes and throat.
It was dark except for the amber glow of the fireplace. Inside, the skin of the bird was crackling black, much like the skin of a person trapped in a burning ship.
“No. No no no no,” he said, snatching it out of the fire. His hands let go of the red-hot blade immediately, burned, and the whole thing splatted to the floor. “Shit, shit shit.”
Tears stung his eyes with the smoke. He spun around to find a cloth he could use to pick it up.
Took a deep breath. It would be fine. It could be salvaged.
He picked up the charred bird and carried it to the silver serving tray he’d set out on the table.
At that exact moment, the door banged open. Edward flinched involuntarily. Cold terror shot through his veins, prickling his skin and freezing his blood. He spun around, smiling. It was Stede. Of course it was. Who else would it be?
“Heyy,” Ed said, trying for casual.
“Ed?” Stede’s voice was loud. Annoyed. “Why’s it so dark in here?”
The words caught in Ed’s throat and he couldn’t answer. He felt that if he spoke, he’d start sobbing. Crying like an actual baby over a burnt piece of meat. A giggle escaped. (stay between him and the table. delay it. don’t let him see) In silhouette, he watched Stede put down the groceries and go to the fireplace to light a candle. His heart beat hard. The candle lit Stede’s lovely face and Ed half expected to see anger or at least disappointment there. But there was only curiosity, turning quickly to concern.
“Edward?” Stede said, “What’s going on?” He hadn’t seen it yet. What Ed had done. Stede got closer, and the worry on his face became something like panic.
“Ed? Tell me what happened.” Too loud. Rushing toward Ed. (sudden movement. someone big and angry above him) Before he could even begin to think, Ed realized he was cowering on the floor. Hiding. Crouched half under the table.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he heard himself saying, over and over, like the words were being torn out of him. And- oh shit, his face was wet. Tears. (dangerous. can’t show weakness. hide it away next to your heart) Stede had seen him cry before, but this time felt like a matter of life or death. He backed himself further under the table without looking up from the floorboards, just in case. Couldn’t bear to see Stede's beloved face twisted with hatred. He did not want to know what that looked like. (didn’t want to see what happened when he finally ran out of patience) That image had no business in his mind, coming back to him like the others. (familiar faces full of rage. familiar hands colliding with muscle and bone hard enough to bruise.)
“Please, I’m really sorry. Please don’t- be cross- with me." He couldn’t quite breathe right. His body kept gasping without warning, interrupting him. There was noise, a chair scraping the floor (dad leaving, angry, in the middle of dinner), and then Stede was under there with him. Not crowding him. Leaving space for him to get out if he needed to. Ed was pressed into the corner, shivering.
“Ed? Ed, you’re ok. You’re safe,” Stede said, so gently that it cut through Ed’s terror. He glanced up at Stede’s face. His hands were out in front of him, close to Ed but not touching, eyes wide and frightened. Ed looked down at his own hands and remembered that they hurt. Stede sat next to him against the wall, patient, waiting for him to speak.
“Dinner’s ruined,” Ed forced out in a raspy whisper.
It was quiet for a moment, and Ed braced himself.
“...that’s all?” Stede said, and Ed was set adrift, bewildered, like he’d sailed off the edge of the map.
“I fell asleep!” his voice was small and cracked. “It- got burned and then- I dropped it on the floor. You killed something for us and I wasted it.” He looked up at Stede, who was still looking at him with such softness he felt like he was losing his mind. “It’s ok to be angry with me.”
“For making a mistake?” Stede said, and the way he said it, like it was completely ridiculous, loosened the knot in Ed’s chest. The relief unraveled him from there, tension slowly ebbing away. He let himself tip over until his head rested on Stede's shoulder. After a moment's hesitation, Stede's arm slid around his back.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned his face toward Stede's neck. Strong, warm arms held him gently.
Stede wrapped him back up in the blanket and got him sitting in a chair like a real person. Ed barely registered that he was being moved. Still drifting somewhere outside of his body, he concentrated on moving his mouth to say thank you. Vaguely, he was ashamed that Stede had to see him like this. Again.
Ed took another deep breath and ran the tips of his fingers over the blanket, trying to find his way back into his skin. He looked at the fire, but that reminded him of the cause of this whole stupid thing.
“Hey, there’s no reason to cry,” Stede said, brushing Ed’s tears away with his thumb.
“I know,” Ed said, feeling stupid. “Didn’t really think you'd hurt me.”
“Hurt you?” Stede’s face did something complicated and went pale. He backed off a little. The way he was looking at Ed was so fucked up. Ed didn’t think he could remember anyone ever having looked at him like that before.
Stede was gone for a few minutes. Ed watched the fire, an abyss unfolding in his chest. Starting with the thought that Stede must be very upset with him and ending with dying alone. In between, there was endless despair and crushing loneliness and sea creatures dragging him down to the depths.
The candle was put on the table, along with some packages wrapped in paper. Stede pulled out a chair next to Ed’s so that they were facing each other. He looked so serious. Ed didn’t think he could take any more of this. He had to look away.
“Edward. Listen to me. I never want to hurt you. And as long as I’m here, I won’t let anyone else hurt you, either.”
Ed looked back up at Stede. At his earnest, sweet face.
“I know I can be... difficult to live with," Stede continued. Ed was confused. "I’m aware that I’m bitchy at times. If I ever do anything that makes you feel unsafe, I need you to tell me. Right away. It has never been my intention to hurt you. Ever. I know that doesn’t matter as much as how my actions affected you, but-“
Ed was already shaking his head. He couldn’t understand how the conversation had ended up here. “What? No! Shut up, man. I know that,” he said. “You didn’t do anything. I don’t know what the fuck all that was about. I thought you were mad at me, and I panicked.”
“I wasn’t mad. I was scared. I was afraid something terrible had happened while I was away. But, Ed. When I do get upset with you... I'll probably just cry, honestly. Or go for a walk. You don’t need to worry about anything like that. Not here.” Stede was actually starting to look pretty angry now. But not at Ed.
“Who made you feel like you need to hide under the table over a mistake?”
Ed realized, then, that Stede didn’t know about any of it. A little bit about Hornigold, maybe, and Jack. But he didn’t know about his dad, except that he was a dick and Ed had killed him. He’d known Izzy, known he was a nightmare, but not the full extent of it. The years and years Ed had spent with him. The endless unforgivable mistakes Ed had made. When his mistakes were deadly. A single fuck-up on his part could end the lives of a hundred men at once. Probably had. It was too much. Ed couldn’t make eye contact. He shook his head.
“...you don’t want to talk about it?” Stede said, “That’s fine. But I’m always here if you find that you’re ready to.”
Ed’s throat hurt. He didn’t want to cry anymore. “Not now,” he whispered.
Stede smiled sweetly at him and went away again. Now that Ed was more in his right mind, he knew Stede wouldn’t leave him alone for long. He stroked the silky part of the blanket until the throbbing burn in his palms became too much. Then he sat with his hands in his lap and allowed the feeling to overwhelm him. (it was almost cleansing. like something he deserved)
An amount of time later, Stede sat across from him, cheerful as anything. There were bowls, the fine China, with salad in them and just one fork each. Steaming rolls on a tray with soft cheese and green onions and-
“Smoked salmon. From the market.” Stede said, then with an excited air of mischief added, “I stole it! The vendor was a horrid asshole. He was with the East India Company and...”
Ed felt very fond of Stede right at that moment.
The space between his eyebrows was wrinkling up. “Edward? Are you alright? You haven’t touched your salad?”
The roll looked good, so he grabbed it. It was warm and soft. It fucking hurt. Oh, right. He tried to recover from the awkward moment and use the tips of his fingers to pick up the knife.
Stede noticed, of course.
“Have you hurt yourself?” he asked, and reached across the table to take Ed’s hand. Ed allowed it. "Ooh, that looks quite bad.” Stede sympathetically moved his thumb over Ed’s knuckles.
“Just a burn,” Ed said. “It was stupid. I panicked.” As always. Why did he have to panic over such mundane things?
“No, not stupid. An accident. Just a sec.”
Stede came back with a jar of ointment and some clean white cloth. He sat in the chair next to Ed again and held out his hand. Ed put his hand into Stede’s. Their hands were almost exactly the same size, but Ed imagined that his were small compared to Stede’s. It made him feel secure, somehow, even though that made no sense. Maybe he liked the idea that he would be safe with Stede even if he was fragile and vulnerable. Who even knew, to be honest. Sometimes his brain just did things.
“Thank you. For being so... nice. You’re so gentle with me,” Ed said, as Stede carefully smoothed the soothing balm over his palms. It stung, but then there was cool relief.
“I learned it from you,” Stede said, which confused Ed. When had he been gentle? He was dangerous and violent and terrible. Never gentle. Couldn’t afford gentleness.
“What?”
“Yeah, you know. When we met,” Stede said, and he held Ed’s injured hand in his own so tenderly and carefully, like it was a rare, precious treasure. Something easily broken. “I don’t think anyone had ever been so nice to me before that. No one who wasn’t paid to be, anyway. Not even my mother.”
“What.” That struck Ed as horribly unfair. It almost made him angry. Stede was amazing, the sweetest and most beautiful man in the world, and no one was nice to him? For his entire fucking life? Except for Ed? Literal Blackbeard, who was still half planning to kill him at the time? What the fuck. But the anger didn’t quite rise to the surface. Instead, he felt an aching sadness about it.
“What’s wrong?” Stede was winding strips of thin cloth around Ed’s hands, one and then the other.
“I wish we’d met sooner,” Ed said quietly, as Stede finished wrapping up the burns.
Soft, sad eyes met his, and Stede kissed the back of his hand. “Me too.”
Ed’s insides went all fluttery and melty. He felt he might die if he didn’t kiss Stede right at that moment. But Stede placed Ed’s hand, ever so gently, on the table and stood up.
“May I serve you?” he asked.
Ed looked up at him. It sounded shockingly intimate, the way he said it.
“What?” Ed said again.
“Well. So you don’t- um. The burns?” Stede stuttered, off balance. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have- Obviously, you don’t need-“
“No! Um, yeah. Yes. You can. If you want. Whatever." Nice. Very casual.
“Whatever? Are you sure?” Stede asked, “I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
“Yes. Please. I mean- That sounds... nice,” Ed looked at the table. It was a beautiful, rich wood. The grain was lovely.
Stede picked up the roll and the knife. He made a little sandwich with the soft cheese and the smoked fish, like the ones Roach liked to make for them, and put it on the tiny lavender-patterned plate next to Ed’s salad.
“Thank you,” Ed said.
“Do you want me to...” Stede gestured toward the salad.
“No! Nope, I can do it,” Ed said with a pang of regret. His fingers were perfectly functional and there was no reason for it. But if he was being honest with himself, he kind of did want Stede to feed him. Even if it was weird.
Stede poured the tea and went back to his spot across the table. The candlelight flickering over his face gave him a pretty, golden, underwater vibe that Ed was very into. (mermaid, merman, merperson swimming toward him out of the dark) Ed delicately picked up his fork. When he took a bite of the salad, he realized it was made with the leaves he had gathered. At least he wasn’t totally useless today.
“What about the... um,” Ed said. He never had figured out what kind of bird it was.
“Wasn’t quite done in the middle, so...” Stede made a vague gesture.
“What the fuck? How is it not done?” Ed laughed. He couldn’t help it. “I thought I burned it.”
“Uh. Yeah, you did. But only on the outside,” Stede said, like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh too or if he was still worried about Ed.
“Cooking is harder than I thought,” Ed admitted. He refused to say he was bad at it. That would be a rude thing to say about someone who’d had no opportunity to practice. He was trying to be kind to himself.
“Yeah, I think maybe the sword was not ideal? Totally not your fault,” Stede reassured him in his cute little voice. It wasn’t that funny, but laughing about it made Ed feel so much better. Like the danger had passed. Stede smiled too, his worry diffused. "It'll make an amazing soup tomorrow."
They ate their food and chatted pleasantly about Stede’s trip to the market. Something in Ed coiled uneasily. It felt wrong, this lovely moment with nothing bad about it. The burns on his hands barely even hurt, because of the bandages and the salve.
“Hey, am I... like, is this real? We’re ok now? We’re fine?” Ed blurted out suddenly.
“Yes. I’m pretty sure this is all real. Unless I’m dreaming,” Stede said, and then, “I’m not, right?”
“No,” Ed felt silly now, “This is real. I just- it’s so... calm. Feels weird. No threat of attack. No responsibilities. I’ve never- I mean,” and then it was out of his mouth before he could think about it: “I feel like I’m falling apart.”
Stede didn’t speak, he just listened. With his concerned eyes and his lovely face.
“It’s like- there was all this pressure holding me together. And now that it's gone... I really don’t know who I even... am?”
Stede waited until it was clear Ed was done, then said, “We can find out together. I love you, no matter who you are.”
Ed’s stomach fluttered, still, every time he heard it. “No matter what? Would you love me if I was a... fish? One of those really ugly ones? From the bottom of the sea?”
“Yes,” Stede said, without hesitation. “And I would build a pond for you in the garden and decorate it with only the loveliest shells and stones.”
Ed’s chest felt almost overwhelmingly full of love, the way that too much buttercream frosting at once made his mouth ache.
“I would bring you treats every day, only the best and finest- um, grubs? For my sweet little fishy,” he continued.
“Ew, grubs? Fish-me likes lobster. And plants."
“Of course. I’ll bring you flowers, then. And that blue algae, the one that glows. That’s a plant, right?”
Anxiety forgotten, they continued talking about hypothetical fish accommodations. By the time dinner was finished, they’d drawn up three separate plans for an actual pond to keep lobsters in.
Afterward, they sat by the fire with their tea and snuggled inside their biggest blanket, skin to skin. They gazed up at the vast, glittering night sky through the hole in the ceiling. Ed lay in Stede's arms and basked in the warmth of him and of the fire.
“Sorry for freaking out on you,” he whispered.
“It’s fine, love. It worked out. No need to fret.” Stede drew Ed closer, running his hand down his back so that he shivered and felt his skin prickle with pleasant goosebumps.
When Ed opened his mouth to say more, Stede kissed him so softly he forgot what he was thinking about.
Gentle as ever, he cupped the back of Ed’s head and laid him down on the blanket. Suddenly bereft of Stede’s warmth, he tried to raise up and press their lips together again. But Stede did a ridiculous little tongue click at him and said, “You’ve worked hard enough today. Just relax and let me handle this.”
Ed's heart beat faster. He may have made an embarrassing sound. When Stede got like this, he wanted to focus solely on making Ed feel good. No expectations at all. It was amazing. He was so different from other men Ed had been with. Stede kissed his neck and down his chest. Ed felt unexpected teeth on the sensitive flesh there and gasped.
“Was that too much?”
Breathless, he whispered, "No no, it’s good. You’re doing great.” It was so nice when Stede encouraged him like that. He hoped it would make Stede feel nice too. It seemed to work. Stede smiled, pleased, and moved back up to kiss Ed’s mouth. He lost himself in the sensations.
When it was over, Ed was so sleepy and relaxed he thought he might never want to move, ever again. Stede used a soft cloth to clean up before crawling back under the covers. He was so perfect.
"Feeling better?”
“Yes,” Ed sighed. He stretched out, languid, satisfied in every way he could be. A sudden jolt of fear tried to get to him, his mind searching for the danger he knew must be lurking somewhere in the shadows. He let himself feel it and let it pass by. Nothing was allowed to ruin this moment. Stede put his hand in Ed’s hair, scritching over his scalp. That was pretty much it for him, his mind finally going quiet and peaceful.
They watched the stars drift slowly across the sky as they fell asleep in each other's arms.