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In Stede’s experience, Christmas is less a holiday and more of a performance.
The festivities of his childhood in Barbados felt like a series of dance numbers, the steps seemingly choreographed long before Stede was born and executed without question each December. Decorations were hung for the week and no longer, strategically placed in areas only seen by company. The clothes you wore to the church service were different from the clothes you wore for dinner. You smiled and said thank you for the gifts you received from people you saw twice a year. You ate the food that was set in front of you, because even if you hated ham the other 364 days of the year, you were expected to eat it on Christmas. And if you were lucky, which Stede rarely was, you were allowed a few extra cookies before bed as a reward for not screwing it up this year. So the performance went, all through his childhood and young adulthood and into his marriage.
In the short but eventful time at sea, Stede had learned his experience of the holiday season was not universal. Sure, everyone had their fair share of familial trauma, but his crew all seemed to have such joyful stories of that time of year, no matter what their childhoods had been like. Even in hard times, someone could always recall a favorite meal, or a beautiful decoration, or a lovely song. It made Stede start to wonder if even the times he got Christmas right, he was getting Christmas wrong.
Stede’s somewhat relieved that Ed didn’t have high opinions on the holiday season either; he’d spent most Christmases at work with his mother, cleaning the kind of houses Stede had spent most of his life living in. But in their time living together, they’re starting to learn that maybe it wasn’t too late to find a bit of happiness. Plus, much as they adore each other’s company, the two of them are always happiest when their inn is full of people. And so the first (hopefully) annual Revenge Christmas Party is planned.
Finally, Stede is going to get Christmas right.
In the weeks leading up to the party, Ed and Stede receive several messages via seagull (who they’ve never confirmed for certain is Mr. Buttons but they’ve never been able to disprove this theory either) that the crew are pillaging their hearts out to acquire all the food and gifts and decorations the ship can carry.
Stede makes list after list, budgets accordingly, reaching back through his memory to make sure they gather all the right things. He’s going to be happy about this, damn it! He’s spent way too much of his life being miserable!
Ed has learned to keep a reasonable distance when Stede goes into Planning Mode. He’s more than happy to buy and fix and hang and organize whatever Stede needs, for which Stede is eternally grateful. But he must notice the tension that’s started living in Stede’s shoulders, the worry lines around his eyes getting deeper, the way he curses more than usual when he can't mop up the ink blots on his letters.
“You know parties are supposed to be fun, love,” Ed says on December 20th when Stede is sitting at the kitchen table writing yet another letter to Frenchie checking on the status of the garland. He stands behind Stede’s chair, rubbing the knots in Stede’s shoulders.
Stede lets out a long sigh, leaning his head back into Ed’s waiting arms. “The only fun party I’ve ever been to was Calypso’s, and even that involved a fair bit of torture in the end.”
Ed hums thoughtfully, leans down to plant a kiss on Stede’s forehead. “Well how ‘bout this. We see what the crew bring, we enjoy what we’ve got, and we have fun with our friends.”
“What, just have Christmas on a whim?” Stede asks. After a lifetime of planning and failing? After trying so hard to rid himself of his whims and go slow?
“Maybe the best way to get through the holidays is just to let them happen.”
It sounds a bit outrageous, but Ed has never lied to him before, so what would make him start now?
So Stede crumples up his to-do list. He kisses his boyfriend. He resolves to let the holidays happen.
On December 24th, Ed and Stede look out their front window and see the Revenge on the horizon. By the time they scramble down the beach to meet her, the crew are already stumbling ashore, arms laden with boxes. There’s enough food and booze to keep them going for at least a week, decorations and clothes and trinkets from around the world.
The evening passes in a blur of light and music. Stede can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, the last time he danced until he was breathless. Everyone is trading recipes and songs and traditions, taking each new thing in stride. Sometime around midnight, Stede tries to clear away some of the dirty dishes and cups to make room for more. He’s a smidge unsteady on his feet, spills some of the dregs on his way to the sink, but he’s pleasantly warm and his mind is full of bubbles and any mess can be Tomorrow Stede’s problem!
When Stede turns around, he freezes, taking in the scene before him.
There’s Lucius and Pete, giggling as they reposition some of the ornaments on the great pine tree. There’s Archie and Jim kneeling by the table, cracking open hot chestnuts and flicking the shells toward a grinning Olu and Zheng. There’s Wee John and Roach cross-legged on the floor bestie them braiding two strands of garland together to string up later. And Frenchie’s lounging on the sofa, plucking a new tune on his lute, singing about how from now on all their troubles will be out of sight. There’s Fang kneeling by the fire with the popcorn pan, plucking out still-hot kernels to feed May-or-May-Not-Be Buttons the seagull. Jackie and the Swede man the bar, pouring out enough mugs of eggnog spiked hot chocolate for everyone.
And there’s Ed. The love of his life. Leaning against the door frame opposite him, shadows of firelight dancing across his face, smiling in Stede’s direction. And he’s standing right beneath a sprig of mistletoe. Like he’s just waiting for Stede to notice him, like there is nowhere else in the world he wants to be.
This is what Christmas is supposed to be, Stede decides. This feeling of love, burning so bright in him that he wants to put it in bottles and sell it to everyone he meets. And it’s so easy to feel these things. Why did everyone in his life make it so hard before now?
With new purpose, Stede abandons the cups on the table and crosses the room, stepping over bodies and plates until he lands before Ed in the doorway.
Ed cocks his head curiously when he approaches. “What’s up ba- mmph!” Stede kisses the question off his lips. He pulls Ed flush against him, capturing his face in his hands and drinking him in. He wonders if it will ever get old, the satisfaction of being the only one who gets to love Edward Teach this fully.
“Well hello,” Ed purrs when Stede finally releases him. Stede guides his head forward so their foreheads rests together, grinning so wide his cheeks are starting to ache.
“Let’s leave all the decorations up till January,” Stede proclaims, planting another irresistible kiss on Ed’s lips. “No, actually, let’s leave them up forever. Let’s have it always be Christmas.”
“How much eggnog have you had?” Ed chuckles. But Stede just kisses him on the nose and squeezes him tighter.
“We make the rules here. Let’s make it always feel this good.”
“Deal. It’ll always feel like this.” Ed leans back against the door frame, regarding him with such fondness Stede feels warm all over. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too.” And who can fucking blame Stede for leaning in against to kiss Ed senseless?
“Oi!” comes a call from the couch after a few minutes. “Will you two get a room already?”
They ruefully pull apart to find the entire party has stopped to jeer at their public display of affection.
“All filled up actually,” Stede sighs dramatically, dropping his head onto Ed’s shoulder. “No room at the inn on Christmas Eve, imagine that.”
There’s a chorus of boos and eyerolls, but Ed waves a hand to silence them.
“I’ll have you know,” Stede announces to his waiting audience. “It is a most time-honored tradition to kiss one’s beloved underneath a sprig of mistletoe.”
“You’re definitely making that up,” Jim deadpans, but Archie yanks them to their feet.
“Works for me!” she exclaims, darting to the doorframe and planting a fat, wet kiss on Jim’s lips that makes Jim go redder than the holly garland around their neck. “Merry Christmas, babe.”
It’s the cue the rest of the party needs. Suddenly everyone is on their feet, dragging one another to the door frame for their own mistletoe Christmas kisses. Ed and Stede wind up stumbling back into the hall to give them room, laughing at the delightfully chaotic tangle of limbs.
This is my family, Stede thinks. This is what it’s like to spend Christmas with your family.
From behind him, Ed snakes his arms around his waist, letting his head come to rest on Stede’s shoulder. “I’d say this has been a pretty good Christmas, what about you babe?"
Stede lets his eyes slip shut. Ed’s warmth surrounds him, and for the first time in god knows how long, he feels completely at peace. He brings Ed’s hand to his lips and kisses the tops of his fingers, and everything feels just right.
“It’s absolutely perfect.”