Work Text:
Four weeks before Christmas, Stede Bonnet’s life had been completely turned upside down. He had discovered his wife, Mary, was cheating on him and asked him for a divorce. And that same afternoon, he got a call from the hospital about his high school sweetheart, Mauren.
A couple of days later, he had to go to Mauren’s funeral.
Stede hadn’t gone to a funeral in ages. And certainly, he was sure that he would never get to go to this one. At least, not this soon.
Mauren Boira, his high school best friend, had died at the age of 45. Just two days before, he had been living a boring, uneventful life, and suddenly everything had happened at once.
Mauren and Stede had been inseparable during high school. They did everything together. And she was even his first time with a girl, just a few years before he met Mary. But when university began, they grew apart, and they lost contact. Stede was now in Oxford, and Mauren in Harvard.
More than 25 years later, he suddenly receives a call from Mauren’s mother, telling him his long-loved friend was on her deathbed.
Stede almost didn’t make it in time.
He rushed to the hospital, and he only had a few minutes to talk to Mauren. To look into her bright brown eyes one last time and say goodbye.
But Stede hadn’t counted on the news that would change his life forever.
He had a daughter.
He already had two children with Mary, Alma and Louis. But when he was 18, Mauren got pregnant. She gave the baby up for adoption and lost track of her until a few years ago, when their daughter graduated from university and looked for her.
Her name was Brisa. She was 27 now.
And she just lost her mother and suddenly got a father.
They hadn’t met yet. Mauren died a couple of days ago, and he was only informed of the funeral’s time; that’s all.
He had been thinking over and over where he was supposed to sit in the church. If he had to be closer to the family, or just sit at the end with the rest of the people. Should he be in the middle with the friends? Was he still considered a friend? He was notified of her imminent passing, but it was almost too late to say goodbye.
Turns out his long-lost daughter had been adopted by none other than rockstar Edward Teach, A.K.A. Blackbeard. And she worked for the Prime Minister, Azariel Spelma.
Since Stede had nowhere to stay while finalising his divorce from Mary, Brisa had conveniently invited him to stay with her at Mauren’s lake house, where she had to work for a few days with Azariel. It happened to coincide with the same weekend Edward and his manager, Izzy Hands, had decided to have a retreat to work on the new album songs.
Stede suspected it was Ed’s idea to have him here, but he accepted anyway. He could use a bit of time to disconnect and work on his new book, and everyone else would be busy, so he would probably not be interrupted.
Stede was up early that morning. He could barely sleep after eating too much pizza the night before, so he decided the best thing was to get some fresh air.
He settled on a small table near the lake as he kept working on the notes for the book. He had been writing his new manuscript in a typewriter. It helped him immerse himself in the story, as he narrated the words of a 1950s detective caught in a tense, puzzling case.
“What are you doing, mate?”
Ed’s voice startled him. Stede gasped, one hand on his chest.
“Fuck, sorry,” Ed chuckled.
“That’s okay,” Stede blinked, his racing heart turning back to normal. “Why are you awake this early?”
“I’m gonna try to write for a while. And see if I can get anything done before Izzy wakes up and yells at me.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
“Gonna make some coffee. Want one?”
“Sure, thanks,” Stede smiled.
“Alright,” Ed smiled back, leaning over the empty mug on the table above the papers. “I’ll bring this one to the—”
“No, don’t lift the mug!”
Too late.
The morning breeze blew most of the papers into the lake.
“Shit!” Stede rose from his chair. “That’s half of the book!”
“Fuck, I am so sorry!” Edward ran to the platform.
“Oh, no! Just leave them, please! They’re not important,” Stede tried to stop him. “They’re not worth it!” he left the porch awkwardly. “Shit— Stop! Stop.”
Edward stood at the end of the platform, unbuttoning his shirt as he kicked off his boots.
“It’s all just rubbish!” Stede ran towards him. “Just leave it.”
Edward stripped off his trousers too, tossing them to the side. Stede stood frozen, still a few meters away. His breath suddenly stopped.
Then Ed jumped into the lake.
“Oh, god, he is in!” Stede ran to the platform. “Right. Now he’ll think I’m a total spaz if I don’t go in too.”
He took off his jumper, and before he could continue, he tripped and fell into the water.
“Fuck, it’s freezing!” he yelled, trying to swim.
“Why the fuck did you get in?” chuckled Ed, gathering the papers.
“I don’t know,” groaned Stede, clutching some soggy pages.
“And why are you writing a novel on a typewriter anyway?” Ed laughed. “You should make copies.”
“Yeah, I know, I know,” muttered Stede, still gathering his work from the past weeks.
“Let’s get you inside, you’re gonna catch a cold,” said Ed, swimming to Stede.
“Says the man in his underwear,” teased Stede.
Edward laughed, his free hand brushing against Stede’s underwater.
You know that instant connection with someone? When you look into somebody’s eyes, and the first question that comes to your mind is: How did I survive this long without knowing you?
Ed and Stede didn’t let go of that feeling. They went all in. The four most intense weeks of their lives, barely leaving each other’s sides and having a hard time keeping their hands off one another.
Ed hosted a party every year on Christmas Eve, the night the radio announced the number one hits list (which happened to be the same night that Azariel had to deliver his first Christmas speech as Prime Minister). That year, he hosted it in Downing Street. If he won, it was a reason to celebrate and get drunk. If he lost, well, he could get drunk anyway. The purpose of this party was to get drunk.
Azariel was chatting with Brisa, both seated on a couch, probably complaining about the pressure of his first Christmas speech. He wanted it to be memorable. But they were struggling to have something original.
Stede, already a bit tipsy, approached them.
“Hey, you two,” he cheered, sitting between them. “Are you having fun?”
Azariel smiled politely, while Brisa rolled her eyes.
“Some people are having more fun than others…” she muttered.
“I think I’m gonna talk to Izzy,” Azariel said. “Be right back.”
Stede draped an arm around his daughter’s shoulder, pulling her slightly closer.
“How is my daughter doing? Nervous about her boss’ speech? I’m sure you wrote something spectacular; we got it in our genes.”
“Don’t call me that,” she winced, pulling away.
“Call you what?” Stede frowned.
“Your daughter,” her jaw clenched.
“You are my daughter,” Stede’s eyes softened.
“I might be biologically, but you haven’t been here in 27 years. So don’t try to play family now.”
“Brisa…” Stede’s voice came out thin.
“You know what?” Brisa stood abruptly. “Forget it. Fuck this party. I’m going home.”
Stede rose too quickly, his mind going fuzzy for a second. “Brisa, please—” he tried to grab her wrist, but she moved faster.
“No! Please nothing!” she spat. “You come into my fucking life after not even knowing I existed, on the day I am burying my mother! Then you stumble into her lake house and decide to start dating my adoptive father and take him away from me!” she was yelling now. “All day together, and now he doesn’t have time for his own daughter while I’m mourning and I working on a fucking Christmas speech that everybody in this fucking country will see live on TV! The only reason you got invited to this party is that you fuck the organiser! You are not my dad! You are a fucking pain in the ass, who came to destroy it all when I’m at my worst fucking moment!”
Brisa’s voice cracked. She clenched her jaw, trying to hell back her tears.
Stede stood still, frozen.
“Fuck this and fuck you,” she walked away.
Stede watched her go without saying a word.
On the other side of the room, Ed approached Izzy, who was leaning against a wall, biting his nails.
“Did Jack already give you your Christmas present?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
“Yes, he fucking did,” replied Izzy. “A fucking Johnny Mitchell CD.”
“I told him to buy it for you,” said Ed. “It was my idea.”
Izzy loved Johnny Mitchell since forever. But Jack never noticed those details.
“Fuck off…” Izzy’s jaw clenched.
“The fuck? Didn’t you like it?” Ed frowned.
Izzy’s eyes filled with angry tears. “Jack is cheating on me.”
“What the fuck?!” yelled Ed.
“Shh, shut the fuck up!” Izzy grabbed Ed by the collar.
“But how do you know?!” whispered Ed.
“He bought a golden necklace, and I thought it was for me,” Izzy held back his tears. “And then he gave me that fucking CD!”
“Oh, man, I’m going to kill that fucking bastard,” Ed clenched his fists.
“No,” Izzy grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t fucking do anything, okay? I don’t want to make things worse.”
“You should have left him years ago, he is a fucking—” Ed went silent for a second. “Azzy’s coming our way.”
“Hey, guys!” the Prime Minister cheered. “Are you having fun?”
“Sure, we are!” said Ed, forcing a smile.
“You make a better party every year, Ed,” Azariel smiled. “Oh, by the way, Izzy. What do you want for Christmas?”
“Can you send over a hitman to kill my partner?” muttered Izzy.
“What?” Azariel blinked, confused.
“Hitman,” said Ed. “Like the video game. Do you know it?”
“I-I- yes?” Azariel frowned. “I guess I can get it for you.”
The music through the speakers stopped suddenly, a voice echoing in the room.
“Welcome, everyone, to Number 1! I’m your host, Lucius Spriggs. In just a few moments, we will know who hit number one on the charts!”
The people at the party cheered.
“Azariel,” Izzy turned to the Prime Minister. “Can you show me how your campaign video is going?”
“Wh-what?” Azariel’s breath caught. “It’s not even finished. I think I won’t even post it. I—”
“Let’s go to your office,” Izzy interrupted, walking to the door. “I don’t want to be here when they announce this fucking number one. People get fucking annoying.”
“O-Okay,” Azariel walked alongside Izzy.
Edward scanned the crowd for Stede. He found his favourite blond still sitting on the couch, staring absently at a wall.
“Hey, babe,” Ed sat beside him. “Are you okay? Are you overwhelmed?”
Stede looked up. “I—”
“And we are about to guess our Number 1 hit!” Spriggs’ voice through the speakers interrupted Stede. “And it’s not a surprise for anybody that our Number 1 is: Christmas is All Around by Blackbeard!”
Edward blinked, stunned, as the applause and cheers filled the room. Stede placed a hand on his thigh, trying to fade away his thoughts from before.
“Congratulations, babe,” he said, smiling softly.
Edward leaned in for a gentle kiss. “Thank you, love.”
Izzy and Azariel walked through the empty hallways of the Prime Minister’s house, heading towards his office.
“Are you sure you want to watch the video? It’s just silly. I will delete it. Nobody has to see it,” Azariel walked a few steps behind Izzy.
“You’ve been working on the video for months. Of course I want to see it,” Izzy opened Azariel’s office door. “I’m sure there’s something you can still save.”
Izzy sat on Azariel’s chair, turning on the computer and typing the password. Azzy had given it to him a few weeks ago, when he needed to print a couple of things for Ed.
“Where is it…?” he mumbled, looking through Azariel’s folders.
“I probably named it something silly, I have a lot of work files and—”
“There’s a folder named ‘New Year’s Video Finished’. Do you think we might be on the right track?”
Azariel didn’t reply. Izzy clicked on the video, and soft music started playing.
“There we go,” he leaned back against the chair. “I told you, you can make pretty great shots with just your phone.”
Azariel looked away, not sure where to hide, wishing the earth would swallow him whole.
Izzy watched the video attentively. It had no sound beyond the music and was a compilation of behind-the-scenes moments while recording and promoting Ed’s Christmas song: Izzy preparing the mix, Izzy reading the lyrics for the dozen times, Izzy giving Ed some directions, Izzy looking at the camera and teasing Azariel by covering the lens with his hand, Izzy watching Ed while he was being interviewed on TV…
They were all shots of Izzy.
Izzy looked up from the screen towards Azariel, who was glancing down at his own feet as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
“They’re all of me,” said Izzy slowly.
“Yes,” Azariel nodded, looking up at Izzy and holding his gaze.
Izzy had never seen Azariel this tense, this sad, this… ashamed. Something in his stomach twisted.
His phone started ringing. Fuck. Jack, probably wanting him to come home.
“I-I,” Izzy stood up, phone in hand. “I should go. Jack is waiting for me at home—”
“Yes, sure,” Azariel shook his head, clearing his throat. “I have to rehearse my speech anyway, so…”
“Yeah, right. I’ll see you on the TV then.”
“Right,” Azariel nodded.
Izzy couldn’t shake away the twist in his stomach since he got home. What was all that about? Since when? Why? How?
Jack had an arm wrapped firmly around Izzy's shoulder, pulling him close as they watched yet another football match. Izzy swore he had already seen it, but mentioning it might start an argument. And Izzy wasn't in the mood.
What would be a night in with Azariel? They would definitely not watch a fucking repeated football match. He was sure Azzy liked to watch quiz shows almost every night. But he wouldn't mind it. They would dine in the living room, in silence, no loud TV on. They would speak about their day. And then they would make love before going to bed. And probably it would be delicate, loving and caring.
Izzy could imagine Azariel constantly checking on him in bed, just as he did every time they met. It was like he could hear him whispering in his ear.
Izzy blinked repeatedly, trying to shake away the thought. No man was that perfect. He was sure Azariel had to have something bad.
The doorbell rang. Izzy looked up at Jack, who didn’t even flinch.
Izzy sighed. “I’ll go get it.”
He padded to the entrance and opened the door.
Fuck off!
Azariel was standing there, holding several signs. He shushed Izzy softly and showed him the first one:
Say it’s Carol singers.
“Who the fuck is at the door?” asked Jack from inside the house.
“It’s Carol singers,” answered Izzy.
Azariel played a small radio, Silent Night filling the air, and left it on the ground. He showed him the rest of the signs without saying a word:
With any luck, by next year,
I’ll be going out with a supermodel or something.
But for now, let me say,
without hope or agenda,
Just because it’s Christmas
(and at Christmas you tell the truth)
To me you, are perfect.
And my wasted heart will love you,
until you look like this…
Izzy chuckled when he saw the picture of a mummy, the knot in his throat easing a bit.
I love you. I should have told you sooner.
And you deserved to know.
Merry Christmas.
Azariel sighed softly, without making any sound, and smiled, leaving the signs aside.
Izzy was speechless. He didn’t know what to do or how to act.
Azariel picked up the signs and waved him goodbye with his free hand, his blue eyes glimmering with sadness. He grabbed the radio and began walking down the street.
Izzy peeked outside. On the other side of the street, Azariel’s limousine and staff were waiting for him. Without thinking too much, he ran out of the house.
“Azzy,” he grabbed Azariel by the shoulder.
Azariel turned, his eyes brimming with tears.
Izzy cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer for a soft, tender kiss. He had never kissed anyone like that before. So smooth, so delicate, so full of feelings.
Two of Azariel’s tears slipped onto Izzy’s cheeks.
When they pulled apart, Azariel’s sadness had gotten deeper.
“Go inside,” he whispered, sniffing gently. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
And with that, he turned again towards the limousine and walked away.
Izzy watched him go, his heart sinking and cold tears of rage and frustration pooling in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
He didn’t move until the vehicle had turned the corner, and Azariel disappeared from his view.
Izzy walked back inside the house, locking the door behind him. He leaned against the wood, closing his eyes for a moment.
“Did the fucking Carol singers stop?” asked Jack from the living room.
Izzy cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak calmly.
“Yes, they fucking did,” he shook his head, wiping away some tears that had betrayed him. “I’m going to sleep. My head is killing me.”
“Sure, do whatever the fuck you want,” replied Jack. “But you won’t see your dear Prime Minister’s speech.”
Izzy clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to storm into the living room and strangle that fucking bastard.
“I’ll watch it in the morning,” he replied, walking upstairs.
He closed the bedroom door and walked to the bed. He opened the drawers under it and pulled out the biggest suitcase they had.
He quickly pulled all his clothes in there, not even bothering to fold them. He grabbed his backpack and filled it with smaller objects like chargers or batteries he needed for work. He grabbed everything he could, only leaving aside things that weren’t that important to him. But he did throw them into the bin or break them. There would be nothing of him left in that house.
This circle was breaking now.
Izzy opened the bedroom door carefully. He could hear Jack snoring in the living room. Probably had passed out from drinking. He tiptoed downstairs, trying not to make any sound that would wake him up. He grabbed the car keys from the entrance and left the house silently.
Azariel was rehearsing his speech for the thousandth time already. He knew it by heart, but his head was in other places and could barely join a word with the other. The cameras were already set up around him, ready to start filming when the red light would turn on.
The door opened slowly, and Brisa peeked in.
“Izzy is here,” she said. “He says he wants to talk to you.”
Azariel’s stomach flipped. He looked at his watch. He still had a few minutes.
“Let him in,” he answered.
Izzy stepped inside the room as Brisa closed the door behind him. Azariel’s breath hitched softly, all the embarrassment from what he had done weighing on him.
“Hello,” he said, standing.
Izzy walked to his side. “You’re right about what you said.”
“About what exactly?”
“You should have told me this sooner.”
Azariel looked down sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
Izzy stepped a bit closer. “Never be sorry about this.”
Azariel couldn’t resist and grabbed Izzy by the shirt, kissing him deeply. Izzy clutched to Azzy’s shirt.
A red light turned on just behind them. Azariel stood frozen.
“Izzy… I think we are live on National Television.”
“Oh fuck!” Izzy darted behind the cameras.
Azariel smiled shyly, running a hand through his hair and sitting in the armchair.
“Good night, all,” he said, forcing a smile. “Merry Christmas Eve.”
Izzy watched him from behind the cameras, trying to shake away the embarrassment from a few seconds ago.
Azariel delivered his speech, reading from the teleprompter, though he knew it by heart. By the time he reached the end, he noticed the part he and Brisa had specifically written for the closure had been erased. It only said “thank you and good night.” He knew that most of the people didn’t want to put it in because it was too corny. But erasing it without telling them?
Fuck it. He had already kissed someone on TV. Delivering this part wouldn’t be too serious.
“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around. Happy Holidays, everybody and good night.”
Azariel stepped out of the booth, red as a tomato. Ed was sitting on a couch, fidgeting with his fingers.
“You good, mate?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty good,” Azariel shook his head, his voice trembling.
“You delivered a great speech.”
“You think so?” Azariel blinked.
“Sure! You and Brisa wrote a beautiful ending for it. Congratulations.”
“I think it’s the first time a Prime Minister kisses someone on National Television,” said Azariel dryly.
“Meh, the other Prime Ministers did worse things.”
Izzy walked out of the booth, meeting Azariel’s gaze silently. They made eye contact.
“I have to go. Could you please do something that would make them forgive the beginning of my speech?” he looked at Ed with pleading eyes.
“Me?” Ed blinked, confused.
“I don’t know. Sing naked or something,” Azariel walked away. “Good luck!”
Ed watched as Azariel and Izzy left, his brain struggling to process that sentence.
He walked to the stage set up in the party room. Stede was already waiting for him.
“Quick luck kiss?” asked Ed, leaning and pouting.
Stede chuckled. “Quick luck kiss,” he pressed a soft kiss to Ed’s lips.
“Azariel has asked me to perform naked,” laughed Ed.
“I beg your pardon?” Stede’s eyes widened.
“Nah, just to top the fact that he kissed Izzy on TV,” Ed waved a dismissive hand.
“But are you going to…?”
“Kids are asleep by this time, right?”
“Ed?!”
“Ed, we need you in your mark, please,” said one of the assistants.
“Gotta go,” Ed kissed Stede’s nose. “Love you!”
Ed slid his guitar over his shoulder. He looked at Stede behind the cameras, who gave him a thumbs-up.
As Ed started performing, Brisa approached, her hands in her pockets. She stood near Stede.
“Hello,” said Stede, not really hoping for an answer.
“Hi,” answered Brisa without looking at him.
Silence settled between them, both looking at Ed’s performance in silence.
“I got you something,” Stede pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket.
Brisa looked at him, confused.
“I saw you were chatting with a girl at the party, but you didn’t ask her for her number. So I did it for you.”
“You what?!” Brisa’s eyes widened.
Stede winced for a second, not sure if her surprise was good or bad.
“Consider it my apology,” Stede handed her the paper.
Brisa took it. “You are a fucking lunatic…” she mumbled.
Stede looked down sadly.
“But I like it,” added Brisa.
Stede looked up at his daughter.
“I’m sorry too,” she said. “You didn’t deserve me yelling at you like that. I know you are just trying your best.”
“You too,” Stede smirked softly. “Lots of things are happening at the same time.”
“Yeah, I know…” she sighed, looking down.
“If there’s anything I can help you with, you can count on me,” Stede felt bold enough to place a hand on Brisa’s shoulder.
Brisa moved a bit closer, hugging Stede softly. “Thanks, Dad.”
Stede had to hold back a tear that was on the verge of falling. Instead, he patted Brisa’s back gently.
“You’re welcome.”
Both glanced back at Ed’s performance. When had he stripped his shirt? And why was he unbuttoning his trousers now?
“Tell me this is not happening,” muttered Brisa.
“Didn’t you have to make a call?” Stede stood still, watching Ed on the stage.
“Yeah, gotta go,” Brisa walked away quickly.
Once Ed finished the performance and the cameras were off, Ed let out a deep breath. One of the ADs brought him a robe.
“Thank you,” he said, sliding it in.
Stede walked to the stage, still clapping.
“Wow,” he grinned. “That was quite the show.”
Ed grinned. “Couldn’t let the Prime Minister have a brighter moment than me,” he teased.
“You certainly outdid him,” said Stede, chuckling.
“Thank you, thank you,” Ed bowed slightly and held Stede’s hand. “Now, let’s get out of this place. We have a Prime Minister waiting for us for dinner.”
Stede chuckled, walking with Ed outside the room. “Let’s get you into some clothes first.”
“By the way,” Ed stopped walking. “You haven’t told me what you want for Christmas yet. I know I’m a bit late for this question, but I will try to get you something in a few days.”
Stede smiled, cupping Ed’s cheek softly.
“All I want for Christmas is you,” he said softly.
“I think I can arrange that,” teased Ed, kissing Stede softly.
Stede and Ed walked hand in hand down the hallways of the house. Izzy and Azariel were already making out at the dining room, and Brisa waved at them when they walked in, still talking on her phone.
Stede smiled softly. Not the Christmas he thought he would have four weeks ago. But the important thing was that he was celebrating it with people he cared about.
That was the purpose of Christmas after all.