Work Text:
The entire world smelled like burning.
Ed’s eyes hurt. He wasn’t sure if it was from the smoke or how roughly he kept rubbing at them, trying to keep persistent tears at bay.
His hands hurt. He’d tried to scrape the nail polish off with a knife, and only succeeded in slicing his fingers all to hell with how hard he was shaking. He kept clenching them into fists, relishing the sting, the way the blood stuck to the leather of the full-fingered gloves he'd pulled on to hide that glittery polish, how that kept pulling the cuts back open. He deserved to bleed, a little. He couldn't believe that the nail polish had made him so happy just a few hours ago, and now it turned his stomach to look at.
His head hurt, a pounding ache, so deep he could feel pressure behind his eyes, a throbbing pain all the way into his teeth.
His throat hurt. Maybe the sobs he kept trying to push back, the way he kept shouting past the heavy lump in his throat. Every time he spoke it grated like sandpaper. The rum was like salt in a wound.
His heart hurt. God, did his heart hurt. It was a deep, all-consuming ache, throughout his chest, making him want to curl up into a ball to protect himself and sob. This pain had started to fade, but it was back in full force, now, echoing with each torturous beat of his heart. If only the stupid thing really was stone. He’d take feeling nothing over this.
And the world smelled like burning.
It was the clothes. Soft, fine fabrics that still smelled like lavender soap and clean linen and citrus-y shampoo. They were building a bonfire up on deck, and all Ed could smell was the oil they’d doused everything with, and smoke, and little bits of ash falling back down onto the deck like black, stinking rain.
He couldn’t smell Stede anymore, not at all.
Ed tried not to think about it. All he could really do was keep breathing, keep that stupid aching heart of his beating. He said what was expected, did what was appropriate. And all he could focus on was making it through to the other side. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and when this was over, as soon as he could slip away, he’d lock the captain’s cabin door, and then he could sob or have a panic attack or throw up or whatever other things kept trying to force their way up his throat.
It was not a spur-of-the-moment decision, no matter how hard Ed tried to convince himself it was.
He’d picked it carefully, lingering by one of the baskets filled with clothes as the crew carried them up to the fire on deck. And, in a tiny moment where no one was around, no eyes were on him, he’d snatched one robe from the pile.
Not an especially fancy one, relatively speaking. Looked like just a pretty plain blue one. Nothing anyone would notice missing.
Frantically, Ed folded it up, tucked it under his jacket, and ran it back to his quarters, looking over his shoulder all the while. He stuffed it into a drawer under the bed and ran back out before anyone had time to see him or ask what he was doing.
And he went through the motions.
When it was finally done, when the room where he’d first started -
(fuck, what do you call it when you fall in love with someone but they don’t love you back?)
- the room where he’d made his first friend, where he’d first started to think that maybe people like him could have a happy ending. Where he’d sat up watching Stede as he slept, and had fun for the first time in years, and signed his life away, and, just earlier, where he’d been reminded he had to come back down to reality.
A tiny little piece of the fantasy, the robe was. A secret little bit of hope that he could keep.
Ed fell to his knees next to the bed, pulling the robe out. It was nicer than he’d noticed on first glance, with a lovely soft lining, smooth as anything under his fingers. He pressed the sleeve into his face, breathing in. Like this, he could almost pretend Stede was holding him, and the smell of lavender soap and citrus shampoo blocked out the smell of burning.
When he pulled his face back, there was a smudge of greasepaint on the fabric.
Horrified, Ed tossed it away, curling himself into a ball there on the floor. His achy body hurt, like this, with the cold, hard floor underneath him, and he knew that he deserved it.
He watched the ugly smear of greasepaint blur as his eyes filled with tears, no longer feeling quite strong enough to wipe them away.
Figured, that he’d ruin even the one thing he wanted to keep.
–
A few things escaped, actually.
The model ship, objectively too cool to toss out from its place in the hall cabinet. A ring Stede had left behind, passed over when the other trinkets were tossed out and slipped secretly onto Ed’s ring finger. It didn’t fit him right; Stede had thicker fingers than he did, and he prayed no one would notice. At first, when he heard Izzy coming, he'd frantically hidden that ring in his pocket, but he didn't think that was necessary, honestly. Izzy was clueless, often, and Ed didn't think he'd notice such a little thing. He was good at not realizing anything about Ed until the second it suited him. Ed kept the lighthouse painting, too, the one that had inspired them that first night together -
Fuck, Teach, that sounded so romantic. Get a fuckin’ grip.
Ed did not get a grip.
A tiny basket under the bathroom sink, full of Stede’s favorite perfumes and soaps. If he sat in there in the bathtub, holding that lavender soap to his nose, that was between him and fucking God, alright?
A tiny scrap of ribbon, purple and soft. Ed liked to wind it around his fingers when no one was watching.
A little pearl, fallen off a button or piece of jewelry during the rush to expel all the goodness from the world. Ed put that one down inside his boot, so he’d have to feel it every step. When he nabbed a necklace of freshwater pearls on one of the endless raids, it felt like -
Fuck, how was it he was still trying to look for signs that he might be okay?
And the blue robe.
Ed had wet a cloth that first night, carefully dabbing at the greasepaint he’d gotten on it. The color was deep enough that you couldn’t tell, once he’d done his best to clean it up.
Still. He tried to limit himself to just touching it with his fingers, for a while. Tiny little indulgences, letting his fingernails catch on the fabric just to prove to himself he could still feel anything other than pain.
Sometimes - not often, but sometimes - Ed let himself back into the auxiliary wardrobe. He was not allowed in here, usually, figured he’d thrown away that right, but he kept the robe at the very back, folded carefully on a shelf.
Usually, it was after a bath. Those were among the few indulgences he was allowed. He’d never been able to abide feeling dirty, but the baths were painful, lately, so it was alright. Seeing his skin clean of black paint hurt. Running his fingers over his ribs, which looked more and more visible every time, reminded him of what he was missing. The tiniest indulgences reminded him of all the good things he was no longer allowed.
And, afterwards, shivering in the cold room and holding his arms across his chest for warmth, he’d go into the auxiliary wardrobe and he’d just touch the robe. Not put it on - that was more than he was allowed. Being a namby-pamby in a silk gown, pathetic and soft and hopeful - that was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, wasn’t it?
Nah. He couldn’t put it on. But he could hold the sleeve up to his cheek. He could smell it for lingering traces of lavender soap and citrus shampoo. When he cried, he just clutched the fabric to his chest, muffling his sobs by pressing a hand over his mouth, terrified of getting any more stains on the last good little secret he could keep.
The world still smelled like burning, most days.
But when he pressed the soft fabric to his nose, for just a few minutes, it was sweet.
–
The robe hadn’t been one of Stede’s favorites, Ed thought.
The scent on it hadn’t been strong, had faded away to nothing in just a few weeks. Some of the worst nights in his life had been spent curled up on the floor of the wardrobe, his face pressed into the robe, trying desperately to just catch even the faintest whiff of anything that reminded him of Stede so he could pretend, if only for a few seconds, that he was safe and loved and held.
Yeah. The robe had seen a lot of pain. A lot of tears, a lot of heartbreak.
But it had seen a lot of good, too, lately. Lots of laughter, and warm hugs, and soft kisses as sweet as tea with seven sugars.
“Don’t you look cozy?”
Ed perked up at the sound of the door opening, a happy hum bubbling out of his throat before he could even think about it, like a spoiled housecat getting a pat and going mrrp? Stede had been wearing a cute sunhat out, with a big fake sunflower Ed had crocheted sewn to the ribbon around it, and he hung it up on the hook by the door before plopping the grocery bags on their new kitchen table.
“Hey.” Ed wiggled down further into the couch cushions he was cuddled up in, setting the book he’d been mostly staring at, not really reading, aside so he could make grabby hands at Stede. “How was the market?”
“Pretty good.” Stede joined him on the couch, and they adjusted until Stede was laying back with Ed resting on his chest, and Ed closed his eyes, letting his head lay on Stede’s chest, so the rumble of his voice felt all around him. “Got you a surprise.”
“Yeah?” Ed wiggled happily, swaying his shoulders. “Is it -”
“No guessing!” Stede kissed his forehead. “You always guess what it is, and you ruin the surprise.”
“Chocolate-covered cherries?”
“Dammit,” Stede whined. He let his head fall dramatically against the back of the couch, and Ed giggled, and Stede’s smile belied his faux-exasperation. “What have you been up to?”
“Not much,” Ed said proudly. “Put some soup on for dinner. Just been chilling, really.”
“Good.” Stede’s hand smoothed over his back, rubbing little circles into the soft fabric of the robe. “You deserve a few quiet days. And I like this robe on you.”
“Yeah?” Ed looked up at him through his eyelashes, making sure his eyes were big and vulnerable, and Stede gave him just what he wanted. The little kiss was sweet and smooth as honey. “Sorry for stealing it.”
Stede waved a dismissive hand. “I never really wore it much. Just didn’t suit me. I’d been wondering why I even packed it when I moved onto the ship, but - it was always meant to be yours, I think. I just didn’t know for a while.”
Ed squirmed, and Stede adjusted with him, working one hand underneath the robe so his hand could rest over the bare skin of Ed’s hip, and he’d never felt so safe, so held. “I kept it because I - it was like a little piece of you, I guess. A little secret piece of you.”
“I’m sorry you had to keep it a secret,” Stede said, his smile dipping. “I wish I could -”
“No more apologies.” Ed shut him up with another kiss. “Don’t have to keep it a secret anymore, do I? And I’ve got you right here. Forever -”
“And ever -”
“And ever,” Ed finished, nodding his head in satisfaction.
Stede laughed, sweet as a song, and Ed loved him. He laced their fingers together as he started telling him the latest gossip from the shopkeepers down at the market, and Ed raised their hands to his mouth so he could kiss Stede’s fingers.
As he moved their hands back down, he pressed his face to the sleeve, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against his cheek, openly and without shame. It smelled like both of them, now, lavender soap and citrus shampoo and the coconut oil Ed put in his hair.
That suited Ed just fine.