#ofmd ed

He remembers now, even though he was fairly drunk last night, just what happened. He knows that he and Ed ended up in the same bed. They were on opposite sides. That is definitely no longer the case. Sometime in the night, they've moved toward each other. Stede is sprawled on his back, and there is a grounding weight on his chest. There is hair in his mouth. There's a cheek resting soft on his breast.

Because, sometime in the night, Ed seems to have wiggled his way up on top of Stede, burrowed his face under Stede's chin. Ed's arm is wedged beneath Stede's lower back and that has to be putting it fully to sleep. Stede's arms have come up, entirely without his permission, and wrapped tightly behind Ed's shoulder blades, holding him close enough that he would have no chance of sneaking away in the night.

Their legs are a mixed up shuffle between them, lower on the bed. Wedged in and out and around each other. And, well, it's morning. The way they're laying. The warm stretch where Ed's hip transitions into his side is pressed tight to Stede's pelvis.

And

Well

Stede's hard. He knows that this is supposed to be normal. In a way, it is. He's lived quite a few decades at this point, and he knows that anyone in possession of a phallus has experienced early-morning arousal. He knows, from listening to the way that other men have talked around him, that it's sometimes even more significant when you wake up all wrapped up in the warm physicality of another person.

It's not uncommon to wake up aroused. It's not uncommon to wake up in bed with another individual.

But Stede has never woken up all cuddled up with someone else, before. Much more than that, he has never woken up in bed with someone he is actually physically attracted to before.

And, as it turns out, that makes all the difference. There are heady, zinging sparks running up and down his spine, emanating from the place where he can feel Ed's body. The little sleeping shifts and breaths are enough to knock the wind out of Stede. There is a strange potential energy in his hips. They want to twitch and jerk and press further into that heat. Stede is holding them back.

It's. Honestly, it's a lot. Stede is not at all a young man. He has been married for over two decades. He has two children. He has had sex before.

Stede knew he wasn't attracted to women. Okay, well, he didn't really figure that out until a few weeks ago, but he knows now. He knew he was attracted to Ed (also, as of a few weeks ago). But this is the first time they've been anywhere near to this close to each other since he came to that realization, aside from that one disaster of a kiss. It's staggering, to be bludgeoned over the head with just how much Stede has been missing out on, over the years, in his tragic little box.

Stede isn't sure that he's ready for this. Thank God Ed is asleep. And he is asleep. The steady snores he's producing, along with the slowly growing puddle of drool on Stede's chest, make it quite clear that Ed is still down for the count.

If Ed were awake right now. Stede would. He doesn't even know what he would do. There's so much desire thrumming through him, so much of a push toward movement, but even Stede's imagination is stumbling over the barriers of his own ignorance. If Ed were awake, Stede would probably get swept up in all of this and throw himself at Ed and fuck it all up. He's never once succeeded in satisfying someone sexually. Just because he's finally gone and found the deeply buried vein of his libido doesn't mean that he'll suddenly become competent.

Thank God Ed is asleep. Stede doesn't have to know what to do yet.

Ed is drooling and the sun is coming through the windows that make up the walls of the nook. That was a perfectly brilliant little piece of interior design, if it means that Stede gets to wake up and see something like this. What a wonderful benefit he never could have anticipated.

Ed is asleep and the sunlight is catching in the silver hairs sprawled around him. It burnishes the skin of his face. Stede knows just how it would pool and glimmer in the deep brown of his eyes if they were open, and oh, he's been looking since the second they met, hasn't he?

This is a precious moment. Something about it is sticking in Stede's throat. It aches, deep in his chest, all the welling, bubbling, burning affection he holds for this man who is laying atop him. There are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. One rebellious tear streaks its way down into the hair at Stede's temple, even as he laughs at himself for how ridiculous this all is.

How did he get here? Blackbeard in his bed, asleep on top of him and pinning him in place. Here in this bed. Here in this moment. Here in this body. There is not a trace of snow to be seen. Stede is here.

Another tear escapes, but that's fine. No one is awake to see it happen.

Ed's hair is glorious and glowing and curled and tangled up and stuck to him. It's caught on his eyelashes, in Stede's mouth, stuck to his neck with sleep-sweat. Stede reaches out to fix it and his hand is shaking. There is something holy here. Something worshipful that could knock gravity clear out from under him and leave him drifting. He's still hard and it's burning his organs to a char. There are tears in his eyes and the most beautiful man he has ever seen is asleep in his bed.

His hair is soft against Stede's fingers, just like it was that night that he styled it for the party. Just like it was that night when he climbed onto Ed's lap at Spanish Jackie'z and did everything he could to merge their bodies into one.

There should be music. Some kind of angelic chorus. Something delicate and fragile and glass-blown is here between them. Stede is so so so careful with it. He doesn't know how he got here or what it would take to shatter it at his feet. He can't lose it, now that he's found it.

That one strand of hair caught on Ed's eyelashes. Stede's fingers are thick and clumsy, but he focuses, holds his breath, pulls the hair loose and around to join the rest down Ed's back. Ed sleeps on, snuffles a little, nuzzles just that much closer. Stede's heart cracks open in his chest, bleeds lifeblood out all over, sinking into the mattress and wood of this place, staining it forever.

After that, it's a little easier to continue, now that he knows Ed won't wake up at the slightest little touch. Stede carefully pulls several strands of Ed's hair out of his mouth. Not that the hair was really bothering him that much. Is that strange? Almost definitely yes. But something about that strange, uncomfortable counterpoint made all of this feel more real. It has to be happening, because Stede would never think to add a little detail like that if he were dreaming. If he were hallucinating this.

The curling strands of Ed's hair peel away gently from his neck, his cheeks, the top of his shoulders where they've been stuck with dried sweat. Stede's got all of his hair freed from the various places it went in the night, but now he's even more aware of the tangles, and it's not like he can go anywhere else, with the way that Ed's got him pinned down.

So, feeling more of his soul leave his body with every movement, Stede begins the careful and adoring process of picking through each of the tangles in Ed's hair with his fingers. He works through it section by section until it is a sleek and soft river down Ed's spine. Something Stede can wrap around his hand and squeeze tight.

It's slow going. It's the only thing Stede wants to do for the rest of his life. What a simple, perfect life that would be. He can't help thinking of old emperors, lounging on a throne while attendants catered to their every physical need.

Stede could do that. He would let Ed luxuriate on some gaudy throne while Stede fanned him with leaves, fed him grapes from his hand, combed his hair.

This kind of fantasizing is not helping with the whole arousal situation.

And Stede really needs to figure out what he wants to do about that. He knows that he wants Ed. There's no way to hide from that now. He's in love with Ed. He'll take anything and everything Ed is willing to give him, at this point.

He knows that Ed, at one point in time, wanted him back. He knows that Ed kissed him and offered to run away to China with him. He knows that, when Stede ran off like a coward, Ed went off and destroyed his crew and the ship and himself.

That's not the sort of thing Ed would do unless Stede matters to him. Or, at least, mattered to him.

The argument from last night plays again in Stede's mind. Ed had been so upset. He had demanded an explanation for Stede leaving him alone on that deck when the plan was to run off together. It hits Stede all over again: the sudden and inescapable conclusion that Stede's departure had hurt Ed.

Stede's not used to having the ability to hurt people. You have to matter, in order to make something like that happen. Stede's never really mattered enough to anyone, for them to give much of a shit one way or another if he suddenly ran off.

Or, well, that's not all of it, is it? Stede is trying to take more responsibility for himself. It's not just that he's never mattered to people. It's also that he's never before allowed himself to matter to anyone this much. He'd never gone out looking for someone who he might get along with. He'd never spent the time with someone to build a proper relationship. More than that, he'd never poked his head out of the snow long enough for anyone to even get to know him.

A vicious cycle. Rejected by everyone he'd ever met for reasons he couldn't understand, beyond the fact that there is something broken inside him that everyone else can see and he can't. Why ever bother trying to get close to someone, when everyone in the world had rejected him? And then, of course, no one ever got close, because Stede wasn't willing to risk letting it happen. And the cycle continued.

Ed had been an accident. Stede had snapped and run off and started to build connections, but those were careful and intentional. A slow and cautious deconstruction of all the walls around his true personality. Stede's early relationship with his crew involved relentless self-monitoring and experimentation. Allowing this part to peek through and watching the reaction to decide if it would ever be allowed to come out again. And he's been getting better with them. Somehow, some miraculous way, Stede managed to find a crew full of people who he can be himself around. And he usually is, at least 80% himself.

Ed, though. He burst into Stede's life in a blazing flare of color and adrenaline and joy. He saved Stede from dying there on the deck of a Spanish ship. He sat with Stede and talked with him when he was recovering from the gut stab.

And, somehow, something in him called to Stede. Maybe there actually is something to this whole soulmate thing. Because all those walls around Stede's personality blew open the moment Ed shook his hand. Defenses fucking gone. Stede still doesn't know how that happened. What secret Ed was carrying with him that made it possible for Stede to jump past all of his reservations, all the intricate rituals he usually goes through when speaking to a new person.

There wasn't a secret trick. It was just...Ed. Ed was warm and kind and good and funny and smart and encouraging and beautiful and everything about him made Stede want nothing more than to rip open his ribcage, put his organs on display, and let Ed do as he wanted. Critique, take, repair. Anything.

But this is the first time that Stede has really allowed himself to consider that Ed might have felt something kind of similar toward him. Possibly.

It's unfathomable. No one sees good things in Stede. He's been alive more than long enough to figure that out. Stede is a bad influence. A weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy. Baby Bonnet.

That's where he usually stops with this stuff. An open and shut case. No one could ever see something good in Stede, so obviously no one has. Stede sticks around as long as he can stand, slowly watching the patience for him drain from the eyes of the people he interacts with. Slowly watching as everyone else comes to realize the rotten, broken, awful thing at the center of him. When he can no longer stand the expressions on their faces, he leaves. And he knows it's fine, because there's nothing good in him. Nothing worth missing.

Except.

Well, Ed did miss him. He said so, last night. Something had really fucked him up for the past few weeks, and everything about the conversation last night would lead Stede to think that it had been him. He was the one who left, and Ed was upset about it, and it caused a lot of these problems. He left, and it hurt Ed. He left and it hurt the children. Even if they're better now, they were upset. And now he's back here, another place he left, and it's a thousand times worse. Ed is not better now. He didn't bounce back and discover that he was better off.

Which means, well, it means that there are at least some people in this world who Stede has managed to trick into properly caring about him. Whether or not it's all a smoke screen hiding the real Stede from their sight. People actually care about him. They're upset when he's not there.

It should be a joyful thing. It probably will be in a minute, but in this moment the realization slams down, a weight across Stede's shoulders.

He realizes, all at once, just how much easier it was to go through life disconnected from everyone. Nothing all that bad could ever really happen. Up until this very moment, Stede had always sort of felt like he could do whatever he wanted, because at the very worst he would die, and that wasn't too bad of an outcome for anyone. He has always been able to run away, start a new life, blow it all up behind him. Nothing mattered. The only person who might have ended up suffering was him.

Of course it was lonely. Of course he craved connection.

But this is nothing like what Stede has spent his whole life practicing. It matters, now, to people that Stede cares about, what happens to Stede.

Which means he now has some kind of responsibility to them. It's a heavier thing than he ever would have expected. It's dragging at his every step even now. It doesn't feel fair. He didn't know he was signing up for this. This doesn't just impact him anymore. This matters to other people. This matters.

It matters, and it's terrifying, and there is still so much good in this moment.

Stede runs his hand softly through Ed's hair, and it matters that he's choosing to be here. Stede hums low under his breath, watches Ed shift in his sleep, cuddle in cozier, and it matters that they're so close right now. Stede holds on tight and allows the honeyed, syrupy sweetness of the morning draw him back under, and it matters that he came back.

*~*~*

Ed wakes up to the scream of his bladder, but that's nothing new after the habit he's made of pickling himself every night. That's the price of the fucking habit. Same as the headache lancing through his temples like an ice pick. There's something awful and fuzzy that curled up and died on the back of his tongue. He's got that icy, sticky, alcohol sweat all over him.

He's so wrapped up in the bad sensations that he doesn't even think to look beyond that, for a good long, groaning moment. He pushes strong against the nest of pillows and blankets, wherever he's managed to collapse during the night. It still smells like fucking Stede because all of his shit has smelled like Stede for the past few weeks.

It doesn't come rushing in like a blow to the head. Instead, each detail of his situation creeps its way into his awareness, piece by piece.

There's another body in the bed. Shit, he's kinda all cuddled up to it, too. Which, you know, is the risk of sleeping in the same bed as someone else. Ed's always been more octopus than man when he's asleep, and he'll hold onto anything warm, crawl across any distance of open bed to get there.

He wouldn't have hooked up with anyone last night, though, because they weren't in port. Also because he hasn't brought anyone back to a proper bed in ages. It's all quickies in a storage room or an alleyway and then moving on with the next self-destructive thing he can get his hands on.

He didn't hook up with a stranger or anyone else last night, because this is Stede. It's Stede in bed with him, because they were talking and drunk and it was late and Ed couldn't handle the thought of Stede walking away from him again. He remembers now.

Which means, fuck, but that means that it's Stede's chest he's all cuddled up on. Not that he hasn't wanted to get a faceful of Stede's tits since basically the first time he saw them (and that had only been like ten minutes into their very first meeting, given the gut stab and unconsciousness and pining by the sickbed of it all). It's just that this isn't really the context that he was imagining.

It's nice, is the thing. Ed's slept with people before, sure. He's even fallen asleep in the same bed as someone else without fucking them the night before. And, because of the aforementioned octopus tendencies, he will wake up wrapped around them too. This is different, though.

The most obvious part is definitely just the quality of the bed. Ed couldn't figure out a way to remove the mattress from the nook, since it's been kind of built-in to the nook itself, and so he just left it there and slept on the floor. But this was a mattress created when Stede was designing this ridiculous ship, which means that it's made from nothing less than the finest materials available. That, on top of the fact that he's wrapped in blankets and surrounded by pillows that were sent his way by Stede, with less money but no less taste, there is the undeniable fact that this is the nicest bed he's ever slept in.

On top of that, Stede's chest is the perfect pillow. He's warm and solid and soft under Ed's cheek. Stede runs hot, it seems, because he's warmed Ed all the way through, chasing away a chill Ed hadn't even realized he was feeling. He's got a thin cotton shirt on, but it gapes open at the chest and the sleeping version of Ed had wasted no time nestling in tight with the prickly chest hair and soft resting place of Stede's tits.

Ed wants to lick them.

It wouldn't take much. He could just stick out his tongue and then it would happen. He could maybe even brush it off as licking his lips as he wakes up, or some fucking thing like that.

But, of course, Stede is already awake too. Ed's known that and has been avoiding thinking about it this whole time. Because that would mean confronting several other details of this sun-drenched morning.

The details Ed has been trying to avoid thinking about (a fucking difficult task while his brain is actively screaming the fucking information directly into his ears) are as follows:

First of all, one of Stede's hands is sitting heavy and hot against Ed's hip. Usually Ed is wearing his leather jacket, and it means that he doesn't feel much sensation other than that on his torso. But, he took that off to get into bed, because it's a bitch to sleep in, and it's left just a thin shirt between him and the burning paw on his hip now. It's just sitting there. Resting. Simmering. It's a fucking spike though his side. He can feel it in every single one of his nerves. In every inch of his skin. It's all radiating out from there.

Second of all, and this one is dangerous, Stede's other hand seems to have made its way up to Ed's hair. It's not stroking through it or anything. It seems like, at some point earlier in the morning, Stede had, fucking, gathered all of Ed's hair together. He can feel it, laying nicely at the back of his head. There are fingers resting gently against his scalp, because Stede seems to have gotten himself a proper fucking handful of Ed's hair. In fact, it seems like he's wrapped the hair around his palm and clenched it all together in a fist, close to the nape of his neck. Ed's caught and fucking held here. Couldn't move his head even if he wanted to.

Third and most damning of all, is the warm arousal that Ed can feel pressing into his hip, along with his own burning erection in reply.

Because of course he's fucking turned on. He's made absolutely no fucking secret of the fact that he's been trying to get railed by Stede fucking Bonnet for as long as he's known him. Just because he's still absolutely furious with him and also confused and also not even sure what the man wants, doesn't mean that the raw, devastating draw of him has suddenly gone away. That shit is practically wired into Ed's bones by now.

Ed is currently being held in place with one hand on his hip and one in his hair, as if this isn't the exact situation he's spent months trying to get into. It's so fucking exhausting to be Blackbeard, and he's been learning this about himself more and more as he gets to know Stede: all the ways that he wants to be held down and taken care of rather than having to do all the hard work himself.

He's got morning wood, because that tends to happen when you're Blackbeard and you wake up full-body pressed against a warm someone else. It's also not in any rush to go away, because Ed's body is soaking up Stede's touch like dry desert earth in the rain. (Fucking, presumably. He heard a crewmate talk about it one time, and it feels like the way he described it. Ed's never been to the fucking desert before.)

And, now that he's not ignoring the situation, and because Stede is also awake, Ed has to figure out what he's going to do about all of this.

There are still ways to avoid the whole interaction. Act like he's just waking up now, stumble out of bed with the same waking movement, and make his way over to the bathroom. Rub one out and take a piss while he's in there. Presumably, Stede would stay behind. In the room. Potentially giving himself some time to calm down. Potentially taking care of himself in other ways that Ed cannot think about too long while he's still trying to decide what to do about this whole morning wood situation. Stede jerking himself off, wrapped in the sheets they both slept in. Ed needs to change his thoughts fast or he's not going to give himself much choice about what he does. Or-

He could do something about it. Stede's physically interested, at least. All it would take would be one slow, dirty grind and they could potentially be off to the fucking races. 

Or. 

Stede would flinch back, pull away, reject Ed. Again. Yeah, no, he's not fucking doing that shit again. Ed's not even sure if he wants to do anything about it. Cause, obviously, yeah it would be fucking great in the moment. But also he's not sure he could come back from that in any way whatsoever, if they fucked and then Stede went right back to ignoring him like he has been. And there's no way to run away properly right now, since they still technically are running away from the English and don't have time to stop and kick Stede and his merry band of obnoxious motherfuckers off the ship. So. Not this option.

"Ed," Stede whispers, and it's so gentle, like he's checking in. Like he's not sure whether Ed's awake yet. Like he's giving him an out to continue to pretend to be asleep. But, well, he also sounds fucking soft or some shit, like he's cautiously happy to see Ed. And that's too fucking much.

Ed makes a muffled grunt and shoves his face a little closer into Stede's chest. Awake but mad about it. Stede, the absolute bastard, rumbles this deep, sleep-graveled laugh and loosens his grip on Ed's hair to start petting it lightly in a way that sends shivers zinging up and down Ed's spine.

"Ah, I see." Stede starts humming something quietly. He taps a little rhythm with his hand on Ed's hip. It's like he doesn't even notice the position they woke up in. Bullshit. It would be impossible not to notice.

Ed could just...ignore it. Just talk to Stede and follow his lead, as if the two of them aren't pressed and wanting into each other. As if he isn't simultaneously gagging for it and terrified at even the thought of taking another step further.

"Too bright." Ed grumbles, because his head still hurts from the drinking of the past...weeks. And it's easier to complain about that than talk about anything else.

"Ah, well. I always appreciate a natural light when I'm sleeping. Didn't actually put much thought into how you could cover these windows." Stede is shifting a little bit, looking around at the wall of windows that makes up his nook, as if he's already planning some kind of curtain installation. Like the lunatic Ed's always known that he is.

"Could always pick up some curtains from the next ship we raid," Ed says, because he can't fucking help himself from joining in the lunacy whenever Stede talks to him. Ed shifts to rest his hands on Stede's chest, his chin stacked on top of them. Stede pauses in his evaluation of the architecture to shoot a warm grin down at Ed. He's gotta look straight down to do it, in a way that makes all the skin around his neck crumple over on itself. Ed tries really fucking hard not to think about what else might have him seeing Stede from this angle. It doesn't work.

"Could work, though we'd need to have someone alter them. These are custom-made windows. Not a very common dimension. Maybe I'll ask Wee John."

"The big one?" Ed asks, because he's never been good at taking the time to learn people's names. Especially not when there's someone else around who he's much more interested in getting to know.

"Yes, with the lovely star tattoos. He used to sew dresses with his mother."

"No shit." You really never know what pirates have been up to before this. "Would have thought Frenchie could fix it up for us. He's the one that made the flag."

"Ah, yes. That flag of yours." And, oh, Ed suddenly remembers that they haven't been getting along. "It's an...interesting design."

"Yeah, well," and actually, Ed isn't really feeling up to this whole cuddling thing they've been doing this morning. It took all the prickly parts of him a little longer to wake up, but they're fucking here now, at that condescending little pause, and that warm golden glow that was coursing through him is draining away in an awful, sucking pull. "Had to keep up with the legends and shit." Ed pulls back, sits up and shuffles his way out of Stede's reach, leaning against an opposite wall. He pulls a leg up to his chest as a barrier between them, just a little more distance. Doesn't even need it to hide the erection, because that's flagging faster than he thought it could.

This is so stupid. He can't believe he forgot for a second, that he's so fucking mad at Stede.

"I did hear some of those legends, in The Republic of Pirates." Stede's hedging around the topic, but he's gone and made himself sit up too, opposite Ed. He's got one hand kind of stretched out, though. In a way that wouldn't be natural and is probably fucking intentional. "Something about you not having a heart?"

And he's got his fucking careful voice on, and those soft fucking eyes, and that fucking hand still stretched out between them, like Ed's some fragile wounded pet instead of the scourge of the seas who ripped his fucking still-beating heart out of his own chest just to crush it under his boot. He's treating Ed with kid gloves, as if he hadn't already done the worst possible thing he could do to him.

"Yeah, well, you know how it goes. I'm fucking Blackbeard. People want a good story."

"So you told them you ripped your own heart out of your chest? Where's the story there?" Stede's voice is curious but Ed's too fucking prickly for this conversation.

"It's a scary fucking story, man. I ripped my own heart out of my chest and traded it to the devil."

"Traded it to the devil?" Stede is scandalized and horrified, and Ed's braced to defend himself, but not from the right fucking concern. "What were you trading it to the devil for? That's not what people were saying when they were telling the story. They said you kept it in a box so no one could be a weakness to you."

"Okay?" Ed snaps. "So? That's fucking cool as shit too."

"Right, but where's the consistency? Or the story behind it? How are you supposed to still be alive if you don't have a heart?" Stede's getting invested in the conversation now but Ed's just getting fucking even more pissed. The point isn't the fucking story. The point is that he shattered his own heart so that his flaky, inconsistent fucking soulmate wouldn't have time to come back and do it for him.

"It doesn't fucking matter, man. People don't give a shit about this kind of thing. It's a cool fucking legend, and the flag matches, and now everyone's talking about it." He's curling up further and further onto himself, knees to his chest. This is all such bullshit.

"It is a good story!" Stede says, like he can walk back all his fucking critique now, like his voice hasn't been getting louder over the course of this conversation. Ed is going to fucking leave. He can't believe this day started out with him almost falling right back into the soft, defenses-down mindfuck that always happens around Stede. Thank fuck nothing happened. He can't fucking stand this man. "I thought we could workshop it a bit, make sure it has some consistency." Ed scoffs under his breath, and that seems to be the thing that snaps through Stede's earnestness too. "I don't understand why we're arguing right now!"

"Don't know why we're arguing?" And Ed knows that people fucking hate it when he takes this mocking tone, which is why he's fucking doing it. "Uh, I don't know, maybe because you showed back up, out of the blue, after running away like a coward, and expected me to want to talk to you. And now you're acting like you could tell me how to be a good pirate. As if I'm not fucking Blackbeard."

He knows it's going to hurt Stede. He said it because he was trying to hurt Stede, pulling rank and insulting his ability at piracy. Even so, Ed can see the words as they fucking land. The way Stede goes from frustrated and confused to furious and sitting up straight. He takes his stupid fucking outstretched hand back over to his side where it belongs. They're as far from each other as they can get in this tiny nook, and it's fucking claustrophobic. Feels like a fucking bar brawl. Stede's leaning in and Ed's leaning in and they're both fucking shouting. There's the fucking fight Ed's been spoiling for. There it fucking is.

"Yes! I'm a coward! I told you that last night! I'm trying to do something different! And you may be the better pirate between us, but I don't think that's why you changed the flag." Stede whips those words out, but Ed can see the way he pauses afterward, takes a deep breath, tries to pull himself back under control a little bit. And that's not fucking happening. Ed's not fucking done having this fight. "You changed the flag because I hurt you, Ed." Those damn fucking soft eyes again. "And I don't want to make you feel like you have to rip out your own heart."

Too close. Too fucking close to the motherfucking rotten, aching center of it all. How fucking dare he say any of that fucking shit? The rage has been building, but the beast is suddenly awake again and ready to fuck shit up even further. All this screaming got through its hibernation.

Ed snorts derisively. No more legs to his chest, he's fucking spread out and leaning forward. Spits off to the side of the bed, because that's the only way he can think of to make it clear just how much he's over this whole fucking conversation.

"This had nothing to fucking do with you, mate." The words are smooth and quiet now, and that's the most obvious tell there is that Ed is done fucking playing.

"You're wrong." Stede says, like he can make something true just by speaking it. "I thought it wasn't about me for the longest time, but I hurt you. I know that now. You're trying to run away from this conversation. Ed, I hurt you, and I'm trying to fix it, but you won't even let me!"

"On what fucking planet do you think you could hurt me? I don't even have a heart for you to hurt."

"You can't just make up a story and suddenly act like it's true! I certainly hope you still have your heart. I hope I didn't hurt you that badly. Because I'm in love with you and-"

"Ha!" It's a laugh but also it's really fucking not, because it rips its way out from his chest in the kind of primal shouting scream that only the beast can produce. It's a laugh but also it's really just the loudest noise Ed can make right now, because he needs to do whatever the fuck he can to make Stede shut the fuck up right this fucking second. Ed's sure Stede had something he was planning to say, but none of it fucking matters because he can't fucking be here anymore.

Because I'm in love with you.

It's ringing through Ed's ears, the way his ears ring right after someone fires a shot too close to them. The way his ears rang when he was still just a kid and manning the cannons during a firefight, the blasting explosion right there against his eardrum. The way his ears ring right after someone's clocked him with a wide swing right to the side of his fucking face, laid out on the ground and fucking reeling with it.

Because I'm in love with you.

It keeps repeating and repeating and echoing and Ed is going to lose his fucking mind right the fuck now. He knows the kind of cruelty and destruction he is capable of in his rage, but these are heights that he's never fucking reached before and he doesn't even know what comes after this, because what the fuck gives Stede fucking Bonnet the motherfucking right to come back and say shit like that? As if Ed didn't already leave it all on the table, sign his fucking life away to the motherfucking British, who would rather sell him off to the highest bidder or parade him around like a dog on a fucking leash than look him in the eye, and even fucking so Ed fucking signed their fucking papers. He was all fucking in and Stede was the motherfucking coward who couldn't handle the commitment of it all and the fact that he's come back here now, put them both on the run, and has the motherfucking balls to look Ed in the eye and beg for him to talk to him and say he loves Ed as if that was ever something anyone has ever fucking said ever before as if that's not the kind of bullshit that makes Ed want to wrap both his hands around Stede's throat and squeeze until all the breath leaves him and he can't ever say such damning, hopeful shit like that ever a-fucking-gain.

Because I'm in love with you.

Ed picks up the nearest thing he can find that's got any kind of weight behind it. Some fucking metal bauble he snatched at some raid and dropped on the floor of Stede's old quarters rather than look at it for another fucking second. Some gold fucking paperweight statue compass thing that doesn't matter for anything but the heft of it in Ed's hand as he slings it through the fucking window behind where he had just been sitting.

The sound of breaking glass. A shattered hole in the wall of windows lining the little bed nook. Stede's eyes blow wide as the glass shards tumble down into the ocean below.

"This conversation is over." The words are viciously smooth and silent. Ed's used to speaking into the shattered silence that comes after one of his outbursts. Sometimes it's the only way to get everyone to shut up and listen. He wishes this felt as good at it usually does.

Stede's not moving. He's still frozen, and staring at Ed with a kind of wounded shock that Ed refuses to read into any further.

There's nothing more to say. Stede doesn't get to say shit like that anymore, and so Ed shut him the fuck up. And it's Ed's room they're in but it's also kind of Stede's room and even if Ed put in the effort it would take to win the fight over who had the right to stay, he can't be here anymore anyway.

Ed spins on his heel. He's not sure when he stood up. Doesn't matter. He shoves his way out of the nook and out of this whole fucking room.

Stede stays behind, unmoving.

Not that Ed was expecting him to do anything else.

*~*~*

Stede isn't sure what to do with all of that. He wants to be mad. He thinks he is mad. He certainly was while Ed was shouting at him. Some kind of awful, panicked, and frustrated anger. The feeling that he's messed up somewhere, again, and he's still not quite sure where that was, but he knows that the person he's talking to isn't going to slow down and allow him the time to figure it out before they run away with their anger.

Stede knows that not everyone he interacts with is his father. He is slowly learning that the people he's been lucky enough to surround himself with are, in fact, nothing at all like his father. And that it goes worse for him and for them when he assumes that they think about things and want Stede to speak to them the same way his father did.

He knows that. Intellectually. Sort of. He's figuring it out. But the fact of the matter is, when he's in a conversation like this, it's a lot harder to remember. Something about the feeling of someone important to him being very angry with him while he scrambles around in the dark for the right thing to say makes him feel like he's right back at the old family dining room table, staring all the way across the wood to his father on the other side.

It's not that. That's not what's happening right now. That's almost definitely not what's happening. Stede's father is dead. So, not what's happening.

Stede needs to get up. Start moving. Because if he just keeps sitting here then he's not going to be able to think of anything other than the look on Ed's face when he threw that paperweight through the window.

There's a hole in the window. They're on a ship. That's not a good thing. Water could get in.

That's something to do.

Stede hefts himself to his feet. He could go after Ed, he supposes, except Ed's the one who left. He didn't look like he wanted to be followed, either. It would be a bad idea to follow, probably. He probably wants space, or else he wouldn't have left. Sometimes people leave but they want you to follow, though. Stede's never been good at telling when it's one case versus the other.

And this whole conversation has made it clear that Stede still struggles to communicate, even when he's doing his very best.

So. Follow Ed? Try to talk to him about what just happened? Or give him space and try to fix the window?

Stede goes looking for something to fix the window. He tries to reassure himself that he is not being a coward. He's doing this because he thinks it's what Ed needs right now, not because he's running away from the conversation. He's at least 70% sure that's true.

What does he need to cover up a window? He had the windows custom made for the shape of the nook, and he doesn't have the money to get something like that replaced, anymore. This window is, luckily, all the way up in the captain's quarters, so it doesn't usually get hit with waves, except for when there's a big storm. It won't need the best repair job ever.

He's got a little bit of time to think, and it seems like it was probably the "I love you" that really pushed Ed over the edge. He didn't seem happy to remember any of the difficult parts of their history, and he definitely didn't like the parts where Stede was pushing to challenge Ed's stories, but it was the confession that really set him off.

God, what was Stede thinking? He just fully came to terms with the fact that he had properly hurt Ed. He got so swept away in the intoxicating warmth and joy of the morning that he forgot that he's actually terrible at having deep, vulnerable conversations. And also that it's not his place to start the conversation, because Ed is the injured party here, not Stede. So, Stede woke him up, started a conversation about the time that he hurt Ed, pushed back on everything Ed tried to say, and then confessed that he was in love with him, as if that was something Ed would want to hear right now. God. He's such a fucking idiot.

How is he even supposed to attach whatever it is he uses to fix the window? There's no window sealant or anything like it on the ship. They have tar, for the hull, but that's probably not right. Almost definitely not right.

Maybe he could get a board and hammer it over the hole, into the window frame on either side? Is that feasible? It's usually...someone else on the crew that handles the repairs. Stede knows there's an official position and title for that on most ships, but he thought it wasn't fair for one person to always be fixing things, so they had everyone's name written on slips of paper and would just pull one every time something broke, to see who would be in charge of fixing it. And, if they couldn't, Stede would just pay for someone to fix or replace it at the next port.

Stede never put his name in the bowl, since he is the captain. Was the captain. He's not sure if Ed has someone on his crew who is in charge of all that, of if they kept the more democratic model. Because, if so, Stede is part of the crew now. He really should be part of the rotation. He can probably figure out a way to fix a hole in the window.

He's going to have to find a way to fix the hole in the window, because there is no way in hell that he's going to reach out to anyone else on the ship for help with this. There's a hole in the window in Ed's room, where Stede just happened to be. People might assume things that didn't happen happened. People might assume things that did happen happened. Stede can't handle either of those things right now.

How is he supposed to be fixing any of this with Ed? Stede's never had to properly make up with someone before. Usually, people were hurting him on purpose, and there was nothing that needed to be done but weather it. He likely should have apologized to the children, but Stede had never managed it until the end, when he was leaving anyway. And Mary, well, she was tied to him by the promises they had made to each other in front of all their family and the church. He didn't really need to do any repairing, because she wasn't going to leave.

He's never had to apologize to someone while he's trying to maintain and rebuild a relationship. This has weight to it. Stede fucked up, no way to argue against that. He wants to fix it. He keeps trying to explain himself or move past it or argue back once Ed has him swept up in all of their shared hurt feelings.

Stede needs to stay calm. He needs to let Ed be mad and lash out and shout all he wants. He deserves that, the chance to talk it through. And Stede needs to stay calm anyway. He needs to be sober, as well, for this conversation. Stupid of him to try to have it the other night, when neither of them were in their right mind.

There is nothing on the ship that is labeled as a kind of window sealant. He's going to just...make do. Stede has made his way to the closet where they tend to store all the tools and such. There is no sealant, but there is the tar, and he's seen the other members of the crew use that to patch up the cracks between boards of wood. He's seen the way that it hardens until it's tough as stone.

Stede takes the tar. He makes his way back to the captain's quarters. Still empty, and he tries to convince himself that's a good thing. More time to do some repairs before Ed gets back.

If Ed is even going to talk to him again. Stede has made a terrible showing of conversation so far. He doesn't know what else he can do. Ed starts talking and all the logic flies right out of Stede's head.

What does Stede even want, here? Does he even know what the fucking goal is, or is he just fumbling around in the dark like usual?

He wants Ed to stop hurting. He wants him to feel loved. He wants him to understand why it all happened, and why he doesn't have to worry about it happening ever again.

Is any of that possible?

Ed is hurting. Stede's the one who caused that. He's not sure there's anything he could say at this point that would make that different.

Ed may or may not feel loved in general, but he has made it quite clear that he has no interest in hearing about love from Stede at this point in time. That's off the table. Stede is going to learn how to listen to and respect Ed even if it takes him the rest of his life to actually manage it.

As for understanding it all, Ed definitely doesn't understand why Stede left. Because Stede hasn't managed to tell him. Because Ed hasn't been in a listening mood. Because it doesn't actually matter why it happened. Stede is starting to get to know himself. He runs away. Chauncey may have kicked it off this time, but he was already on the fence, already thinking all of those things before Chauncey said any of them out loud. It was a ticking time bomb in his chest, invisibly counting down the seconds until Stede self-destructed and ran away.

Ed doesn't understand why it all happened because it doesn't matter beyond the fact that Stede hurt him. A betrayal like that, running away from him like that, there shouldn't be anything that would push Stede to it. If he's agreeing to run away with someone, if he's in love with someone, he should be able to stand by his promises no matter what happens. Instead, Stede ran at the very first challenge.

Ed doesn't understand why it all happened because Stede still doesn't understand exactly why it all happened. Worse than that, Stede still doesn't know how to promise that it will never happen again. It happened once, out of nowhere. How can he try to fix things and repair this, now that he knows there's a part of him that might do it again?

Stede doesn't know. He doesn't know how to fix any of this. He has a plan, and that plan pretty much just amounts to listen to Ed when he's talking and keep a handle on yourself for once in your life, you selfish coward. Who knows if it will actually make any progress, or just be another way that Stede fucks up.

The window is going to be fixed. Or, well, not fixed, but at least there won't be any rain or waves that get through.

It won't be a window anymore. That's far beyond any of Stede's abilities right now. But he can stop it up, until they one day have the money to actually go about replacing it.

He uses the tar and an old shirt of his that he had accidentally sent over the soulbond a few weeks ago and that seems to be living wadded up in the corner of the room now. He rips a solid swathe of it away, cringing at the loss of one of the few articles of clothing that actually fits him, on this ship. He paints the edges of the hole in the window with the tar, presses the ragged edges of the shirt over it, so that the thick, black ooze wells up through the gaps between threads, properly integrating it into the tar until there would be no way to remove this shirt without removing the whole window. He paints over the rest of the shirt as well, caking the thick tar into every space of visible blue fabric.

If he had just left the shirt stuck there without painting over it, the water still would have been able to soak through, when the storms got going or the waves properly hit. This way, even if it's ugly and some horrifying patchwork mess, the tar should harden. There shouldn't be any way for the water to get through. It'll be awful to look at, but it'll do the job more than the hole that was there before, and that's about the limit of what Stede knows how to do.

He could probably have asked for help. But, well, he's not sure he wants the rest of the crew to know just how badly he's been messing this up, to upset Ed this much. Even more than that, he's not sure that Ed wants the crew to know all about his business, and Stede is officially not the only one involved in this story anymore, so it really wouldn't be fair to go around telling everyone without Ed's agreement too.

The window is awful, and ugly, but it's fixed. There's nothing more that Stede can do other than wait for the tar to solidify on its own.

He makes his way out of the room, leaving it all to dry.

*~*~*

There is nowhere to fucking go on this fucking ship, if you need some privacy. Stede designed it with a bunch of communal fucking rooms, and it means that Ed storms out of his room, onto the deck, and realizes that he has no idea what to do next.

There are people on deck. They turn to look at him when the door slams closed: Frenchie and Wee John and that bald one. It looks like one of them wants to ask him what's going on. Probably try to talk to him about the expression on his face right now, whatever it is. Not fucking likely.

The beast is still out, and it wants nothing more than to make its way to the galley and nab another bottle of whatever liquor is first in his grasp. It would be perfect, to numb out all this bullshit in his head. Because I'm in love with you. But Ed also knows himself well enough to know that, if he drinks right now, he'll probably find himself right back at Stede's door in an hour, spoiling to continue the fight. He's not sure he'll survive opening all that shit back up again.

He doesn't have a whole lot else, though. When he feels like this, when it's all so fucking much that he can't even think through it, he usually goes for weed or alcohol. Forces it all to quiet down. When that's not to hand, he'll go for violence. Some bar fight or raid or something. Hitting someone hard enough that it puts him back in his body.

If that's all he's got, then that's all he's got. He makes his way down to the fucking recreation room, or whatever the fuck Stede called it. Fang is there, talking quietly with that blond one from Stede's crew. It looks like they're doing some sort of ridiculous craft or something, but all it takes is one furious snarl from Ed before Fang is scrambling to his feet and hustling the other guy out of the room. Fucking good.

He's just standing in the middle of this ridiculous empty room. The silence rings in his ears, a fucking riot of noise. There are lines painted on the floor, and there's a net bisecting the whole space. A cabinet that used to have all kinds of...objects and tools in it. Things to be used for some kind of fancy games that no one else on the ship would know how to play and Stede never had the chance to teach Ed.

There isn't anything here that looks useful for what he needs right now. Ed gives it up as lost and makes his way over to the wall instead. The one opposite the jam room, rather than something on the exterior of the ship. He's not that fucking stupid, even when he's this fucking mad.

And then, well, he just takes out his knife and lets himself have a fucking moment. Really goes after the wall, stabbing and slashing and jamming the knife as deep as he can before he has to work at getting it free again. It's gonna fuck up the edge on his knife, but that's good too, another thing for him to do before he has to go talk to anyone else on this fucking ship.

He started this because it was the only thing he could think of, other than dragging someone out onto the deck and whipping them until they were feeling half as much as Ed is. There wouldn't have been a point. He's kind of over all that shit these days. Doesn't really feel like anything. There's no fucking relief in it.

He started this because it was the only option, but it's actually kind of fucking satisfying. Ed loses himself in the wall for a little bit. Maybe a few hours. Just the animal strength of his arm while he destroys something that doesn't want to be destroyed. The slash and jab and cut of it all. His arm is straining, hurting from the relentless exercise. There is sweat dripping down his temples, catching in the swathe of his hair that he hasn't bothered to tie back.

It's so fucking stupid. It's all so fucking stupid. He can't get any of the words Stede has said to him in the past few days out of his head. I'll miss you, Edward and I'm sorry. That's what I was trying to say and because I'm in love with you.

He's going to carve them all into the wall with his knife and burn the ship down around him. It's all so fucking much. He doesn't know how to do this. Ed fucks shit up and runs away, and he never fucking looks back. That, or he finds other people who are just as prone to fucking shit up as him and then they all fuck each other up and no one talks about it or apologizes or anything.

Stede isn't like that. He used to like that about him. He thinks he maybe still does. It was nice, to have someone around who would actually try to be kind and, like, work shit out. Nothing lingering under the rug or anything. All of it just fucking...out there.

That's what Stede's been trying to do, today. That's kind of what Ed's been trying to fucking do, even if he's absolutely shit at it. He can't keep himself calm for more than a second, when he's looking at Stede's face, after all the shit he put both of them through. How is he supposed to have any of these conversations?

But, fuck, like, talk it through as a crew and shit. That's what Stede always said, and he seems to be better at this healthy relationship shit than Ed is.

Although, only kind of, really, if you're thinking about it while you're throwing your arms out with a knife against a wall. Stede talks a big game and shit, and Ed has seen him fucking work with the crew to make them talk through all their bullshit, but when was the last time Stede actually let anyone know what was going on inside his fucking head?

In fact, now that Ed's thinking about it, he doesn't really know what Stede is thinking. Ever. He's not sure he ever has. That was, kind of, the whole fucking deal when they were sailing together before. Ed was throwing himself at Stede and waiting for any kind of signal of what he was actually thinking or wanting.

This whole abandoning him on the dock to wait there until sunrise with his dick in his hand bullshit came out of fucking nowhere. Because Stede never actually once let Ed in on what he was thinking.

So, yeah, maybe Ed's got to learn how to keep a fucking lid on his anger. He's working on it right now. But it's about fucking time Stede started to share his thoughts, if he wants them to have any fucking chance of talking it through as a motherfucking crew.

He's going to destroy this fucking wall, though, first.

When he comes back to himself, he's still alone in the recreation room, but there's a mug of water set on the floor, closer to the door frame. Set there, just out of his line of sight, who knows how long ago. Waiting for when he was done with his whole destructive tantrum shit. Stede can't even bring himself to stop leaving Ed shit to deal with when they're both conscious.

Still, so much of the rage and anger of it all has drained out of him now. He's actually feeling kind of fucking zen about all of it, right now. There's a small break in the constant, screaming anger that's been fueling him since a few minutes after he woke up and for days before this, and it's just enough space for a flicker of warmth that's taking its place. He's exhausted, and sweaty, and he needs this water, and Stede seemed to know that without any help from the soulbond.

Ed drinks the water. He used to be able to hide smiles in his beard, but the mug works just as well.

*~*~*

How does one go about starting a difficult conversation with Blackbeard, after fucking up a conversation so badly that it saw him throwing things, storming off, and not speaking to Stede for a full day?

Well, that's a good question. Someone will have to let Stede know, if they figure it out. Because he's still standing in the hall outside Ed's door, and he can't bring himself to actually knock. He knows Ed is back in the captain's quarters, because he's been keeping vague tabs on him since seeing him slashing terrible gouges into the wall in the rec room.

And then, well, it doesn't matter as much, because the door flies open on its own, and Ed is standing there, on the other side. He's moving quickly, seemingly with some clear goal.

And, oh. Lord but he's beautiful. It hits Stede in the chest again for the first time, every time he sees him. How did he not know this about himself? His hair is tumbling down in this gorgeous starlight spill and Stede isn't sure he's strong enough to keep his hands out of it. Ed is in the leathers, because he has been since they reunited, as far as Stede is aware (aside from the other night when he took off the jacket before curling up in the same bed as Stede and they woke up pressed warm and lazy against each other and no matter what Stede's been doing since then, there is always just a little part of him that is still living in that moment).

"Shit," Ed swears, because he seems to have been just as caught off guard as Stede is right now, a hand slamming out to brace himself against the door frame and halt some of that forward momentum. "Fuck, hey, Stede." On top of looking like the only thing that Stede wants to see for the rest of his life, Ed looks a lot...softer than he has for the past few days. Stede has mostly been trying to give him space, but when they've bumped into each other, Ed's had all of his spines up and flared, ready to lash out at the slightest touch. Stede hadn't even realized how much that was happening until now, seeing Ed standing more confidently and grounded than he's seen him since that day at the beach.

"Ed," Stede gets out, and then he stalls for a second, but he has to keep going or he's never going to say any of this. "Do you have a second?"

Ed kind of flounders in the doorway, clearly not sure what to do with his hands or his posture, now that his forward momentum has been all disrupted. Stede would relate to that, if he hadn't taken the time to already extensively consider what he wanted to do with his hands and posture, while he was stalling for time.

"Uh, yeah, sure. What's up?" He seems to have settled on leaning his shoulder into the door and crossing his arms over his chest. It makes the muscles in his tattooed, exposed arm flex and pull. Stede wants to lick it. He wants to bite into the skin until he leaves red marks behind.

That is not the point of this conversation.

"I was hoping we could..." Why is it so hard to get these words out "talk?" The last word tips up into a hesitant question. At least it's out there. And, miracle of all miracles, Ed doesn't tense up or go all prickly again. He just stays leaning against that door, and he smiles a little, something so much closer to that more open smile that Stede hasn't seen in ages, and he opens the door a little bit wider.

*~*~*

Ed is going to keep a fucking lid on it. As best as he can. And he's going to make Stede actually fucking talk about his shit, because he hasn't done that in the entire time Ed's known him, not really, and it took this fucking long for him to actually notice it, but he's got Stede's fucking number now, and he's not getting away with that shit anymore.

Stede comes in and stands kind of awkwardly in the middle of the room, his arms slightly raised at his sides, like he's about to jump into the air and take flight. Ed doesn't help him out with that, because Stede is the one who came here and said they needed to talk, and so he's going to let him actually say what he came here to say.

It's easy for Ed to sit with that conviction for all of two seconds, before it starts to strain under the fact that Stede isn't fucking saying anything. He came into the room, closed the door, and now he's just kind of staring at Ed with his mouth half-open, looking panicked.

"Well, fuck, Stede. Can't wait to hear what it is you're going to say." Shit. That sounded kind of like the passive aggression that Stede taught him how to notice, even though he isn't even trying to be a dick right now. He genuinely does want to know what Stede has to say. He doesn't know how to say that out loud without sounding like he's lying.

"Ah, yes. Um. So. I thought maybe, you might have some more things you wanted to say?" Dickfuck. This is so fucking stupid. Neither of them are any good at this at all. Before Ed can point out just how stupid every part of that sentence is, Stede keeps going on his own. It's like all that silence was holding something stoppered inside him. "I realized that, I may have, ah, I may have been spending a lot of our previous conversations trying to argue with you rather than actually listening to what you've been trying to tell me." Stede is fiddling with his hands and looking down like a child being scolded. "So, I mostly wanted to give you a chance to say your piece. Without interruption."

"Well that's stupid."

Ed can't help that that's what he said. Sure, he was just going on about keeping calm and stuff, and he is calm, but he's still going to call a spade a spade.

"Fuck, Ed, is that all you've got to say?" He's looking devastated already, like he's given up on any conversation at all, and that's stupid too. It's all so stupid.

"Yeah, no, I'm still going to talk to you and shit. But, fuck, Stede, it's not going to be story time with Blackbeard. Cause I've been fucking thinking too, and you know what I realized?" He steps closer and Stede doesn't flinch, but he goes still and frozen. Which. Fuck. Yeah, sure, okay. Fucking. Fine. Ed gets closer, but he doesn't get all the way within touching distance of Stede. Leans forward and talks quieter. "I realized that you, the Gentleman Fucking Pirate, never actually tell me anything you're thinking either. If one of us is going to be spilling all their guts all over the place, then both of us are. Because you never actually talk it through as a crew either, Stede. If we're doing this, we're fucking doing this."

He's trying to be reassuring. Sort of. You know, aggressively reassuring. So that Stede knows that Ed's been thinking about shit and is trying to get better too and is reflecting on what's been going on and not just attacking a wall for hours. Well. He's been attacking a wall and doing that. He can fucking multitask.

The point is: fucking reassuring. He's expecting Stede to smile and look happy and shit. Not the prickly, defensive sputtering that he starts up as soon as Ed is halfway through his sentence.

"What, ha. Not sure what you mean by that." He's got his nose wrinkled up and he's kind of tilting his head so that he's looking, offended, at Ed from the side.

"I mean that you never actually tell me anything that you're thinking about and I never know what the fuck you want, Stede." Stede scoffs again, turns his head the other way.

"I talk about my feelings all the time. It's part of my people-positive management style. It's important to be open about the things that you're thinking, so that the team knows how to collaborate more effectively." He's talking quickly and all academically, like he thinks that's enough to prove his point to Ed. As if it doesn't give away just how much he doesn't want to talk about the way that he is actually thinking and feeling right now. Like Ed said, he's got his fucking number now. It's fucking over for you, Stede Bonnet.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, actually, Ed. I don't know what you're-"

"Where did you go, when you left?" It's ripped out of him, not the question he meant to ask, not the thing he wanted to say. But, then again, if he's trying to prove that Stede doesn't like to talk about his feelings, then that's about the fastest way to fucking do it, isn't it?

"Ah." Stede goes quiet. He glances around the room, as if there's anything to fucking see after Ed cleared it all out. Anything other than the window, which has a huge dark patch over the place where Ed shattered it earlier.

"Right." Ed is going to keep a lid on his shit. He really is. But he can't stop being furious at Stede just because of that. So, he's calm, but he knows his voice is still pissed-off and bitchy. "So, we done with our conversation, then?"

"No, actually." Ah yes. Stede can be bitchy too. Stede can out-bitch just about anyone here. Never forget that. "I'm just looking for a comfortable place to sit." He moves further into the room, stepping a wide berth around Ed. It takes him several minutes of uselessly fiddling with the messes that have piled up in the corners of the room before Stede clearly settles for two cushions set on the floor, facing each other. He doesn't look thrilled about it. Ed's just shocked that he's still here. "Well, sit down then."

Ed sits.

Then they just stare at each other, for a while.

"Alright. You've proved your point." Stede snaps. "I'm really more of a go-with-the-flow kind of person. Not someone who just sits around talking about feelings all the time."

"Right. So, you gonna answer my fucking question, yet, Stede?"

"It just doesn't seem like the kind of thing that we were planning to talk about, and it doesn't really seem relevant."

"Hey, Stede," Ed murmurs, using the soft, dangerous voice that he uses to show that he's thisclose to something violent. He waits for Stede to actually look up from his knees and make eye contact before he continues. "We're not talking about anything else until you answer my question."

"Right." Stede isn't the type of man to fidget, but there's a kind of restless fiddling he does with the cuffs of his sleeves that shows when he wants to. "Well. Ah. Yes. You want to know where I was, when I didn't meet you at the dock."

"Literally all I'm waiting for, mate." He spreads his arms out. Look how patiently he's waiting. Look how long he can sit here waiting.

"Well. Yes. So." Stede pauses again, clears his throat like the words are all tangling up in his chest. "Ah. You probably won't be...happy."

"Won't fucking know until you say something."

"Right. Yes. The dock. I was supposed to meet you at the dock where you were waiting with the dinghy."

"Yup."

"And I didn't do that."

"Right."

"Because I went back to Barbados."

And there it fucking is. The first fucking test to not flip every single part of his shit. Barbados. Barbados, where he used to live. Barbados, the place that Stede literally never shut up about being the place he didn't fit in, where the wife and kids he left were, where he was feeling like he was treading water and waiting to drown.

"Mary?" Ed checks, because he needs to know exactly how pissed the fuck off he needs to be.

Stede doesn't even speak. He just nods once, jerkily, staring off to the side of the room like he can't even look at Ed. And that's a good fucking thing, because then he can't see the way that Ed's entire face twists up into a snarl. He stands from the stupid fucking cushion, throws it against the wall, brings out his knife when that isn't enough. Slashes at the wall a few more times. He can feel the burn in his muscles from doing this for so long earlier, and it brings him down after a few slashes. Still. He's breathing hard and furious.

At least he's not breaking more shit.

Ed picks the motherfucking cushion back up, throws it in a generally correct direction, slams himself into a seated position and stares dead at Stede.

"Fucking all right. So you left me to go back to your wife."

"Well it wasn't just th-" Stede seems to jump on the defensive, like the words are crawling their way up his throat, and then suddenly he's silent. Words cut off at the source. Ed is fucking watching it happen, as the distance between them suddenly yawns large and Stede becomes un-fucking-reachable. He had his hands raised to gesture with them, but they snap back down to sit loose and open on his bent knees. The horrified defensive expression on his face smooths out, like someone took an iron to his wrinkles. His voice, when it comes again, is flat as a becalmed sea. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that I did."

"Okay, so fuck you, that's the fucking bullshit I was talking about. This kind of shit, where you don't tell me any fucking thing about what you're thinking, even when you're clearly fucking thinking something." Ed is waving in the air wildly, like he can shock Stede back into being present in this important fucking conversation.

"There isn't anything else to say. I left you for Mary. It was a mistake and I hurt you. There is no excuse."

Ed wants to snap at him, push him to the breaking point until Stede tumbles over it and all the fucking thoughts and feelings that he never fucking shares with anyone come spilling out onto the floor like a gory murder scene. He wants to poke and prod and torture him until there's nothing left for Stede to hide behind. He almost does, too. Almost snaps out that same fucking line that he did the night before, about how it doesn't fucking matter if there's an excuse or not. He just wants a fucking explanation so that some part of this starts to make sense and he doesn't feel like he's just sitting in the fucking silent dark, waiting for the next strike to hit him out of fucking nowhere.

But. Fuck. Okay. Keeping a lid on it. He's staying fucking calm. He just went over and slashed up the wall, and he can stay fucking calm in the face of literally all the hypocrisy he was trying to point out to Stede earlier.

And, when he really focuses on that, on calming back down, he starts to realize something else. Because, okay, yeah, Stede never fucking tells him any fucking thing. But that doesn't mean that Ed hasn't been watching and trying to learn anyway. And, if he can actually manage to calm the fuck down a little bit, he's starting to see a new side of this.

Stede's waiting the same way he has been before, a hesitant and guarded look in his eye. It twists the air around him like a man bracing for a slap.

All those months ago, when things were still lovely and soft and unbroken between them, and they spent so much time sharing the things they liked with each other. It's that same thing, when Stede would clam up and go silent as soon as he was about to finally start saying all the interesting shit. Back then, when Ed was swept up in his own obsession with him and unable to ever consider that it might be something that would bother him, he had found it endearing. He had learned how to ask gentle, probing questions, make little noises of interest, pry Stede back open to get to the good shit. Insightful and ridiculous and kind of brilliant.

It's different. It's a completely different situation. But, also, is it?

Ed is keeping a fucking lid on it. He's managing the Kraken. It's going to be fucking okay. He holds himself so, so, so steady and calm. He wants to snap his questions, but that will just put them right back where they keep ending up in these conversations, and so he's not going to fucking do that.

"Seems like it kind of came out of nowhere, man." There. Fucking. Vulnerable, and shit. Ed's pulling his fucking weight here.

"Not nowhere," Stede corrects, which sucks, because it means that he was thinking about leaving Ed before he even left him. He's calm. He's so fucking calm. He's doing all he can to keep being calm while waiting for Stede to keep talking. It looks like Stede is ripping each word out of himself. Maybe he's pulling his fucking weight too. "I felt... frequently, ah. There have been many moments in my life. Hm. I thought... you might be better off... without me."

Ed scoffs a laugh before he can help himself, because that's the dumbest fucking shit that he has ever heard in his entire miserable life. It's got to be a fucking joke. But, then Stede doesn't laugh. Then, Stede looks back down at the floor, flinches at the sound, clenches his hands in the fabric of his pants. Shit.

"Wait, fuck, mate you can't be serious about that. In what fucking world was I going to be better off without you? I was literally fucking begging you to run away to China with me! I told you that was the most fun I'd had at sea in ages!" He's not screaming or shouting, which is a good fucking start, but he's also not just talking. This is so fucking ridiculous that's it's spinning him fucking sideways.

"Well," Stede says, smiling in that self-punishing way that he has. And that's what it is, Ed is realizing. Self-fucking-punishing. What the fuck. He's supposed to be the fucked up one in this room. Where the fuck is all of this coming from?

"Shit, Stede. Wait, you have shit too? I already told you all my shit! You didn't tell me any of yours."

"Not quite sure what you mean, Ed." His voice is clipped. He still isn't looking at Ed.

"I mean, like, the shit with my dad and everything. And Blackbeard and Hornigold and shit. Like, I've told you about all the fucked up shit. You're some fancy upper-class white guy and you never fucking said anything but you've got shit too. You gotta fucking say that shit or I'm never gonna fucking know about it."

"Right. Yes. All the fucked up shit." It's around this time that Ed realizes that, while he's been having all these grand revelations, Stede has fully fucking checked out from the building. Like, shit, not really fucking here at all. His breathing is fast and shallow and his eyes are fixed on something that's not in the fucking room and his face is paler than Ed's ever seen it. "If you'll excuse me for a moment."

Stede rises to his feet, and Ed doesn't stop him because he wasn't prepared for him to be fucking going anywhere when he looks like that. He's halfway to the door leading off to the bathroom before Ed realizes just how fucked all of this is and jumps up to grab him by the wrist.

"Wait, fuck, Stede, what the fuck." Stede pulls to a stop like a doll. He stops because Ed stopped him. There's nothing behind his eyes. "Shit, okay, wait, just, sit back down for a second man." He starts to tug Stede over to the bed in the nook, because it's the only fucking soft and comfortable place left in this fucking room. Stede follows, even as his voice drifts out of him, faint and overly-polite.

"I'll just step out for a moment. Just need to get my head on straight."

This is fucked. This is so fucking fucked. Ed was walking across the solid deck of the ship only for the ground to crumble right out from under him, wood rotted through. He didn't even know that he needed to be careful about shit, that Stede could get freaked out like this.

Stede sits on the bed because Ed moves him there, and then he just...sits there. His arms are loose at his sides and his eyes are looking into nothing at all and his breathing is quick and light. After a moment of just sitting there, a tear streaks down the side of his face, and Ed loses his damn mind.

Stede doesn't react to any touch beyond just going where he's told. He doesn't seem to be super fucking present here either, and so there's probably nothing that Ed can say right now to be any help, not that he would even have the fucking words for it anyway. Shit. This is so fucked. What the fuck is he supposed to do right now? There's nothing to do to help and he's never been in this situation before.

He gets up, off the bed in the nook, frantic just for the opportunity to move. He doesn't even know what he's going to do. He needs to fucking do something.

*~*~*

When Stede starts to notice his surroundings again, after the most ridiculous panic spiral ever, it takes a moment to really register what he's seeing. It's dark, darker than it should be considering that it's still light outside and considering the amount of natural light he incorporated into the design of the quarters.

He's surrounded by soft things. All on the ground and the walls and the ceiling very close above him.

He's in a blanket fort.

He hasn't been in a blanket fort since Alma decided that they were stupid and Louis followed her lead. He loves them. Loves building them and figuring out the best way to set one up. Loves how close and quiet and cozy they are, when it's all done. How much it feels like a secret hideout from the rest of the world.

He's alone in the blanket fort.

Which seems a bit odd, considering the fact that he most definitely is not the one who made it. That thought lasts only a moment, though, because one of the cushions moves to the side and Ed comes shimmying in, ass first, balancing some kind of tray carefully in his arms and still spilling things all over one of the blankets.

It's a tray.

A tray of food.

And there's orange marmalade on it.

Stede's been swept up in a fucking blizzard for the last however long and Ed made him a blanket fort and brought him snacks and Stede is so helplessly in love with him that the world could stop spinning and he wouldn't notice it.

When he feels like this, whenever he's felt like this, the many many many times it has happened in the past, Stede has a routine. He will go off by himself somewhere, squeeze himself into the smallest space he can find, and wait for the screaming panic to shake its way through his bones. Afterward, he will wash his face with cold water so no one can see that he's been crying and then he will wrap himself in something soft and go back to whatever it was he needed to do that set it all off in the first place. Mary definitely knew about this routine and was more than happy to let him carry it out when he needed to. Probably enjoyed the fact that it gave her a break from the dramatics.

The fact of his situation right now blindsides him like a firework-white strike to the temple. Ed didn't leave him alone. Ed stayed and tried to make it better and waited. And, suddenly, all those messy feelings that the panic came in to shout over and cover in snow, crack back open and come pouring down his cheeks, and then he's really crying for the first time in so long he can't remember.

"Shit, fuck, okay, yeah, that's fine." Ed starts to scramble, setting down the tray and sort of fluttering his hands through the air to adjust several cushions that don't need adjusting. "Shit, I thought it was getting better. Okay, fuck."

There is something hungry and reaching inside Stede. He doesn't want to be alone. He always wants to be alone when he's crying and he doesn't want to be alone right now and he wants Ed but he's not sure if he's allowed to want Ed right now.

"Ed," and the word comes out strangled and choked and ridiculous. He sounds ridiculous. Still, Ed whips around at the sound and scooches closer.

"Yeah? Stede, man, you okay?" Stede can't answer that. He doesn't have any more words in him. He can't believe this beautiful man exists in the world. He doesn't know if he's allowed to reach out to him right now. He wants to be held. The confusion of it all comes out in a strangled, horrifying little whimper that he's embarrassed to hear himself make.

And then, miraculously, Ed seems to figure it out anyway, because he's reaching out and pulling Stede into a tight hug. It's kind of a manly hug, the sort of thing that Stede has seen but never actually been a part of before. Ed's arm is a steel bar across his back and presses in a way that makes him feel more present in his body. Stede's nose is smashed into the crook between his shoulder and neck and it smells so good here. Sweat and leather. He misses the beard. He misses the beard oil. But this is good, it's so good. It's everything his skin has been craving since the moment he met Ed, even if he didn't know how to understand it.

He stays there, in the warmth of Ed's arms, in the warmth of the blanket fort, in the warmth of the ship, until all the awful, rotting things that he hasn't ever looked at are done trying to escape through his eyes. And Ed just sits with him, for all of it.

"You built a blanket fort." The words come out wet and ragged.

"Oh, yeah. Thought it would be cozy or something. Might have panicked."

And then, another miracle, Stede feels himself choking on something shaped like a laugh. And, when the laugh spills all jagged from his lips, Ed joins in a little, chuckling in a way that Stede can feel it reverberating through him.

"It is cozy." Stede pulls back a little bit from Ed's hold, because his face is absolutely disgusting and he needs to wipe it on something that isn't Ed. "Very structurally sound, too."

"Oh yeah? Nice. I'm pretty much a blanket fort building professional, so that makes sense."

Is this weird? They haven't joked together like this since Stede left. It should be weirder than this. He never thought he would have this again, even if it's strained and weird and awkward.

"You even brought snacks."

"Huh? Oh, shit, yeah. Marmalade and bread, cause, you know. Anyway. Not sure if you want to eat right now but, yeah." He waves his hand in the direction of the tray. And you know what? Stede is actually ravenous right now.

"Bread and marmalade sounds incredible." And Ed is smiling and Stede hands him some of the bread and takes a bite of his own. They're here, together, and he never thought he would get to have this, and it's a miracle.

It's quiet for a bit, beyond both of them catching each other's eyes and making various facial expressions about how silly every part of this is and also how delicious the marmalade is. Stede was fairly sure, just from looking at it, that it was leftover from the stores of orange marmalade he kept on the ship. After tasting it, he's absolutely sure, and he doesn't know how to hold onto that fact being true. That this much of him stayed on the ship even when Ed was clearly trying to remove every single trace.

Eventually, though, after some of the sugar and bread starts to fizzle in his head and clears away some of the fog that always comes from crying like that, the silence starts to get uncomfortable.

Because Ed was right. He was right, sort of, that Stede doesn't usually talk about what he's thinking or what's motivating him. In his own defense, Stede really does believe that it doesn't matter why he did a lot of the things that he did. The fact is that, regardless, he did do it and it hurt Ed and he needs to not do it again. What does the reasoning matter in the face of that truth? But, sure, if Ed wants to know what was going through Stede's head, if he wants to hear about all the places he falls short as a romantic partner or even just a human, what can Stede do but put those things on display?

These are the worst parts of him. The parts of him that are childish and hurting and immature and he doesn't know how to tell Ed that he doesn't need to worry about them, because he's working on making sure they never get the chance to determine his actions ever again. He doesn't know how to make that clear.

And it doesn't matter. None of what he was thinking or feeling actually matters, in the wake of what he did. But, the discomfort he's feeling right now doesn't matter either, in the wake of what he did. Ed wants to know and Stede owes Ed every breath that he takes. Ed is the reason he was willing to throw it all away and come back. He's the reason Stede's been brave enough to keep on trying and living even when everything is so incredibly hard every single day.

So, if Ed wants to know, then Stede is going to tell him.

"Ed." It's embarrassing, the way that his voice is so clogged up with tears and snot. Stede takes a moment to clear his throat and refocus. Ed turned to give him his full attention at the sound of his name, and Stede can't think about that for too long either or he'll never go through with sharing all the things that will ruin it. They're in a soft, cozy blanket fort and Stede is going to bring out all the rotting, ridiculous things that live at the center of him. "You have questions."

"I mean," Ed flops down next to him, sprawled out on the blanket. This is the most comfortable Stede has seen him be since they reunited. "I think you just have a lot of shit you haven't told me. Not sure what questions you want me to ask. You haven't even given me a good place to start."

"It's really not," God but every single word of this is a razor blade up his throat. "It's really not that much. It's not like what you've told me about your father or Hornigold. Nothing like that. I've been fortunate, quite privileged really."

Ed makes a raspberry noise. "Um, yeah, sure. And that's why you just did all that."

"That's just something that happens sometimes." Stede doesn't know how to make him understand any of this. The tender, bruised, fragile center of him that's always been there. No one put it there. He just wasn't built for the world. "It doesn't mean that I've been mentally devastated or anything like that. Sometimes I just can't handle the world, and I have to take a moment to get my head back on right."

"Okay, fuck, then, Stede. Why did you leave me on that dock? Was it just that you panicked like that and had to go off to put your head on straight?" And well, fuck, but that sort of is what happened, isn't it? Another one of Baby Bonnet's little breakdowns. He hadn't even put that into words for himself yet, but he can feel the blood draining from his face as he confronts it now. "See, no, fuck you. Don't make that fucking face, fuck, Stede." Ed heaves a deep breath, breathing it out slowly. "Shit, man, I'm trying to keep fucking calm and actually listen to you and shit right now. But don't clam up. What happened?"

"I was planning to meet you." It's important that Ed knows that. Knows it wasn't a lie.

"Yeah, I know that. You told me earlier that day. But then you didn't."

"Right, ah, well, I was planning to leave with you and was waiting for your man to wake me up, but it seems that our friend Chauncy had a little bit of another idea."

"Who the fuck is Chauncy?" Ed's voice is bewildered, and how strange it is, that this man who tormented him for years in his childhood, brought the English to capture them, chased Stede away from what might have been his one shot at happiness, barely even registered for Ed. Ed, so much better at dealing with things than Stede could ever hope to be. "Oh, shit, wait that English guy? Mr. Wavyblade?"

"Ha." Stede's laugh is dead in his mouth. "I suppose that is when you would have seen the most of him."

"Wait, the fuck was he doing there that night?"

"Ah, yes. Well." Again, the words are vicious, clinging, clawing things that do not want to be drawn up out of his mouth. Stede doesn't know who he is going to be, when Ed finally sees all the insufficient explanations for the hurt he's caused. "It seems that our friend Mr. Wavyblade took...exception to me. He woke me up and brought me to the forest. He, ah, yes. Chauncy was planning to kill me." And he can say this next part. Nothing bad even happened to Stede. He was just around when he died. "He tripped, though." The words are deaddeaddead. "Shot himself in the head."

And it's suddenly a little easier to talk, because his brain has had enough of Stede pushing himself beyond any resistance. He finds himself quite suddenly shoved into a snowbank, absent and floating while his mouth continues to answer the questions asked of him.

"Fucking what, Stede? What the fuck do you mean? How did he get you out in the woods?"

"I was being held at gunpoint."

"The fuck was this guy's problem? Stede, man, what the hell? Why was he freaking out so much?"

"Not sure." He is not here. It's easier to find the words when he isn't the one saying them. "He's never liked me. He was a cruel, awful little schoolboy, when we were young. And then I killed his brother. And I think he wanted to kill me before I could ruin anyone else."

It takes Stede a moment, through all the snow, to realize that Ed is having a wildly out-of-proportion reaction to this news. He's sort of gaping, flailing, shoving himself up so that he's kneeling with his eyes just a few inches away from Stede's. Oh. He seems like he's upset. Stede can't figure out what would be upsetting about what he just said.

"Stede. Man. This is the shit I'm talking about. What the fuck, man? You got held at gunpoint and then a guy offed himself in front of you and you didn't think that would be important for me to know? That's the fucking context, man."

The anger that Stede feels at this is distant and low-burning, but still there. Because what does Ed know about any of this?

"And why would that matter?" He's furious. He's somewhere else entirely. The words come out calm and distant. "Nothing happened to me. I left you."

Ed grabs him by the shoulders, shakes him a little, shakes a little of the snow loose. Stede doesn't want to be in this conversation. He doesn't want to be here. He can feel the panic and the anger all building to roaring heights in the corners of him. If he comes back, they'll take him again, and it's ridiculous that he can't even have a fucking conversation. He's weak-hearted. Lily-livered.

"Fucking hell. Stede, I don't have the fucking words for this shit, man. That's you. You're supposed to be the one who knows how to talk about all this shit. I don't know what, shit. I don't know what I'm supposed to say here."

He looks so upset. He looks panicked and scared and hurt. Stede did that to him.

"It's okay." He reaches a hand out to hold the side of Ed's face gently, tries to bring himself back to this place enough to comfort Ed. "It's okay, Ed. He was right. About all of it."

"Fucking stop it, man," Ed growls. And then, as if the incredibly tight leash that he had kept on his temper all this time has finally snapped, he leans forward and shoves Stede back into the pillows behind him, pins his shoulders down. "Tell me what the fuck he said and I'll tell you if he was right."

"It doesn't-"

"If you say that it doesn't fucking matter one more fucking time." His voice is quiet and coaxing, in a way that Stede immediately understands is Ed at his most dangerous. And, somehow, he still feels safe. "I will fucking. I'll fucking leave, Stede. Tell me what the fuck he said and I'll be the fucking judge of whether or not it matters."

And.

Oh.

Stede is caught and pinned like a butterfly against black velvet. He feels just as closely examined as a butterfly probably would, too. And it's kind of peaceful, is the thing. It's kind of nice, for his head to be floating like this and for Ed to tell him that he doesn't have to agonize over what's right and what's not.

If Ed wants to know, then he can know. It's already too late to hide any of these awful parts of him.

"He said that Stede Bonnet is not a human. He said that I am a monster and a plague." And it's not easy, it's still not easy to talk. It's still so fucking hard to say any part of this, but Ed is asking and he's got nothing left to lose, so why not put his entire fucking life on display for Ed's critique. "That I defile beautiful things. That I fucked up his brother, my family, even you. And then he died."

There. It's fucking out. Ed can do whatever he wants with it now. It's out there and he can see all the awful terrible parts of Stede now.

"Stede." The word is hushed and crumpled up in Ed's mouth. Stede tunes back in just far enough to realize that Ed is watching him with some kind of horrified terror. His hands are clenching and releasing in their grip on Stede's shoulders. "Stede, man, you have to know that's all bullshit, right?"

Stede can't help the way that he stares back at Ed. He doesn't need to say anything. All the evidence for the truth of Chauncy's words is already out and existing in the world. Nigel is dead. His family is better off without him. Ed is only speaking to him kindly again for the first time in months right now.

"Stede. Fuck, man, say something. Come on." That confident anger has completely left Ed. He wasn't prepared for the kind of anemic, pathetic excuse for a sad story that Stede had to offer. He looks flustered again. Not sure what to say. He cuffs Stede on the shoulder in another one of those manly gestures that Stede has never been on the receiving end of before.

It's souring the air between them. It was close and cozy and safe here in the blanket fort. Then, it wasn't safe but it didn't matter because Stede was distant and removed from all of it. Then, it was scary but he was trusting Ed to hold it for him.

And Ed doesn't know how to hold it. He asked for it, but he clearly doesn't know what to do with it, now that Stede's put all of himself out there. It's turning things cold and strained, and Stede levers himself up to a seated position. The motion forces Ed to shift away, pulling back to a more appropriate distance for the way that they've been interacting since they found each other again.

"It's fine," Stede says, clipped, because it has to be. Because he's bundling all those ruined parts of himself back up into his chest where they belong, caged away from where anyone else would ever have to deal with them.

"No, shit, stop, Stede." He didn't even realize he was moving toward the exit of the blanket fort until Ed reaches out and tugs at the hem of his shirt, pulling him back. "Give me a fucking second, man. I don't know how to do shit like this. And that's all such bullshit, anyway. You know that. You have to tell me you know that, man, this is all bullshit."

"Thank you for your input, Ed."

"Don't get fucking passive aggressive again. Fucking sit back down and let me fucking try to do this." And he's not yelling or pulling Stede back particularly hard, but the words are still enough to convince Stede to sit right the fuck back down and listen. Not even because he's afraid. Just because the man he's in love with is telling him to do something. He sits, and he listens, even though Ed doesn't seem to know what it is he even wants to say.

"You gotta just, know, man. That's not fucking true at all. You don't ruin shit. What the fuck, man, that's such fucking bullshit. Defile beautiful things? Man, what the fuck, that's such fucking bullshit."

It doesn't seem like Ed has a whole lot of strong arguments against this whole thing, other than just saying that it's bullshit over and over again. Which, it's sweet and everything, that he's putting in this effort, but it's also not actually any kind of persuasive thing to say. It's just the same word over and over again, and nothing for his brain to hold onto to convince itself that this is not something that he should listen to.

"Okay, Ed."

"No, you're not fucking- fuck, you're not fucking listening, Stede. You don't defile beautiful things. You didn't fuck me up. I'm the one who decided to go with you and sign on with the English. Stede. Stede, fucking hell, are you fucking listening?"

"I'm listening, Ed." He's not. Or, well, he is listening, but it doesn't matter at all, because Ed isn't saying anything, and also because there's nothing that he could say that would change Stede's mind.

"No, I don't think you fucking are, man. Shit. Like, do you even know what I'm saying? You don't defile beautiful things. You fucking, Stede, you make things beautiful."

And that's. That's not the sort of thing anyone has ever said about Stede. That's not the sort of thing that he was braced for at all.

"Wait, what?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean I make things beautiful?" The words are sticking in Stede's throat again, because he cannot even fathom that anyone would say something like that about him. That anyone could even think something like that about him.

"Just, shit, I don't fucking know, Stede. I mean that you don't ruin shit, right? You have a fucking ship out in the middle of the sea with a fireplace and a library and a crew of absolute idiots and it's a fucking place people want to stay. You got Captain Blackbeard all dressed up for a fancy party with fancy manners. You made that fucking rag of a handkerchief I had into a fucking pocket square." He's got his hands in his hair and clenched tight, as if he still doesn't feel like the words he's saying are the right ones and he doesn't know how to fix it. "You're fucking surrounded by beautiful things, Stede. The fuck do you mean you defile them?"

And it's strange, to hear someone else share a perspective that is so overwhelmingly and categorically different from anything Stede would ever dare to say about himself. So different from anything anyone has ever said about Stede.

"I left you, Ed," Stede says, because how can he be saying any of this when that fact is still true and still one of the ugliest things Stede has ever done?

"Yeah, mate, and I'm still furious about that. But, also, I don't know, man. Sure, yeah, I'm still pissed. But you make things beautiful. Do you get what I'm fucking saying here?"

And it's absurd. Stede still absolutely and completely does not understand what Ed is saying. It makes no sense in the context of all the millions of ways Stede has ruined the beautiful thing that was growing between them, all those months ago. There should be no chance of him ever coming back from that.

But Stede is working on this. On listening to what Ed has to say, rather than trying to argue over it with his own points. Stede is trying to understand that he matters enough to Ed that he was able to hurt him in the first place. It's ridiculous. It's the most ridiculous thought he has ever tried to think, and Stede has experienced a truly uncountable number of ridiculous thoughts.

He matters to Ed. Enough that he could hurt Ed. Enough, maybe, that Ed could still tell him good things even when he's hurt and angry. Stede is realizing that no one in his life has ever cared about him to that extent. It was always a matter of Stede being a raging, incompetent disappointment. That disappointment took up so much space in everyone's mind (his father's, Mary's, the boys at school's) that there was never any space for anything fond or good to grow.

To think. To think that Ed cared about him. And that his care was strong enough that, even once Stede went off and fucked it up, it has somehow managed to survive it.

It doesn't make any sense. Stede doesn't get what Ed is fucking saying here, because this goes against the very foundational tenants of how he understands himself in relationship to others and the world. But, even if it doesn't make sense, maybe he can see that Ed seems to believe it.

It's hurting Ed. If he pays attention right now, it's hurting Ed, to hear that Stede is saying all of these things about himself. Maybe it's also hurting Ed that Stede isn't trying to fix anything between them, if all those positive feelings are still somehow, miraculously, alive in him. It would hurt, for someone to come back and just ignore you.

Stede's been trying to give Ed space. Making himself as small as possible. Because he fucked up and they both know that he fucked up and there is no evidence in all of the world that someone can keep on caring about Stede Bonnet after he disappoints them so thoroughly and horribly. So, he's been trying to take his space away from Ed. And Ed is hurting. Ed is trying to tell him that he's mad and disappointed and, some-fucking-how, still waiting for Stede to come back and talk to him.

And that's. That's a fucking sunrise over a calm sea. That's a fucking shining light in the center of Stede's chest. That's a miracle he never would have even dared to wish for in the silence of his own mind on the darkest night of the year.

"Go on a date with me," Stede says, suddenly. "Ed, let me take you on a date. Tomorrow."

Ed, who has not been privy to the revelation that is shaking in the marrow of Stede's bones, looks appropriately shocked and confused by the sudden turn of the conversation.

"We're still on the run from the English, man. Not exactly the time for a pit stop."

"On the ship, then!" There is something terrifying and hopeful at the core of Stede. Something he's never felt before, and it makes him want to move. "You're angry with me, Ed. And you have every right to be. So, let me start making it up to you. Let me take you on a date and start fixing it."

He has no idea how he's going to make this happen. It doesn't matter. He has the chance to fix things with another person. This is all so new and he wants it more than air in his lungs.

And now, here they are, stuck on this ship together, still speeding full-sail away from where the British had planned their ambush. It's full dark, now. Which means it's been at least several hours since they left the Republic of Pirates.

Stede has spent all of that time in the crows nest while the rest of his crew helped to get them far away from their pursuers. While he's been up here, he's been able to hear Blackbeard's shouts and commands to the crew, echoing up to him over the cracking of the wind in the sails.

He's such a brilliant tactician. So utterly unmatched at sea. Of course he would be able to string together a plan from a mismatched crew and get them well outside the range of a country's navy. It was a joy just to hear him make it happen, the confidence in his voice and competence in his orders as they made their escape.

Stede remembers listening to that, watching the sun start to set, watching the naval ship get smaller and smaller on the horizon. He knows he felt safer and calmer than he had in months. That must have been when he fell asleep, then. He supposes it makes sense.

No matter how it happened, Stede has found himself exactly where he most wants to be. Back on The Revenge, with his crew, with Blackbeard. It would be a dream come true if it weren't for all the ugly, hidden pieces of it.

The ship is, at its bones, still the ship that Stede designed and had built. But that's just at its bones. Every room has been stripped to its base parts. Stede knows that all of his things were thrown overboard. The crew told him ages ago, in their misguided efforts to convince Stede that he shouldn't want to go back to Blackbeard. But it's more than just the empty rooms. The paint at the edge of the deck has been scraped and scratched and stained with blood. The wall decorations have been torn down. The curtains are ripped to shreds, those that are still hanging at all.

This wasn't just an orderly removal of all that Stede brought. Not like moving out of a home, or something like that. Certainly, Blackbeard had the crew throw out Stede's things, down to the very last article of clothing in the secret closet. But that wasn't the only purging. There is evidence all over this ship of thorough, repeated, and violent destruction of anything that Stede might have contributed.

If it were just that, it would be fine. Honestly. Is it strange that Stede is actually kind of happy to see it in such a state of destruction, even all of these weeks later? Of course it aches, to think of Blackbeard in that much of a state.

But, well, when Stede came back after leaving his family, it wasn't anything like this. There was no evidence of emotion. No exit wound. Stede had been cleanly and expertly replaced in every facet of his old life, to the point that anyone looking in now would assume that was the way it had always been. It was better, even, than it had ever been while Stede was there. And that was fine. It hurt, yes, but Mary deserved that. She deserves to be able to start a proper life without Stede drowning next to her, clinging to try and make her keep them both afloat. Clearly, thankfully, it didn't seem to take much effort from Mary at all, to remove Stede and build her better life.

If it had been like that with Blackbeard, Stede isn't sure he would have been able to handle it.

But it's not like that at all. If Mary had made the house into a painted-over portrait, then Blackbeard had turned the Revenge into nothing but an exit wound. The bloody aftermath of something awful. No one could look at the empty bookshelves, the slashed paintings, the shredded curtains and not know that something had happened.

Stede's not going to run around assuming that, just because the ship looks like this, Blackbeard wants to reconcile. This isn't even necessarily because he missed Stede. It may just be how he responds to being left by anyone. Or just how he treats a ship when he's on a bender.

The important thing is that it doesn't look like nothing. Something happened. And it's ugly, but that's not the problem that Stede keeps coming back to.

The problem.

Blackbeard asked Stede to leave him alone. Twice. He said that when they ran into each other on accident and he was intoxicated to the point of disorientation. And then he came back to say it again, stone cold sober and on purpose. Twice, he told Stede that he did not want to have to see him or think about him.

And now they are stuck in a tiny little living space with no foreseeable escape coming up.

Is Stede supposed to simply make a home up here in the crows nest? Maybe he could rig up that pulley system again, from the night when they were a lighthouse, and have the crew bring him all the essentials. He'll never have to set foot on the deck and Blackbeard can pretend he doesn't exist and Stede won't ever again have to feel that awful shattering feeling of hearing Blackbeard say he doesn't want anything from their soulbond.

He can't live up in the crows nest. He would burn to a crisp from the sun, not to mention there would be no way to maintain any kind of personal hygiene. Stede can't stomach the idea of allowing himself to completely stop taking care of himself. Not when he's sharing a ship with Blackbeard. What if he ever changes his mind? What if he wanted to come up to the crows nest to talk to Stede and just found a sizzling corpse when he arrived?

So, Stede is going to have to make his way down to the actual deck. Rejoin the crew.

It will put him in Blackbeard's line of sight, but Stede is good at blocking out painful things.

Blackbeard has made his boundaries and requests quite clear. Stede isn't going to push it.

If Blackbeard wants to be left alone, then Stede is going to do his level best to make that happen.

It'll kill his heart in the process, but that's nothing new.

*~*~*

It's good that Stede is ignoring him.

Ed told him to leave him alone, right before the motherfucking English came along and pushed them into hiding on this one motherfucking boat together. The boat where they met in the first place. A boat built for a small crew. Which means that there is no way to live on it without running into literally every person at all times.

That fucking lunatic didn't even build a proper crew quarters. There isn't some stinking, dark backroom lined with stacks of hammocks. No, instead, this fucking ship has a jam room and a library and a fucking recreation room.

Stede is sleeping on the deck, where almost all the rest of the crew sleeps. Presumably. Not that Ed has been paying attention to any of that. But because he is presumably sleeping on the deck, that means that Ed has had to severely limit his nighttime wanderings and restless pacing.

He's slowing down on the drinking too, since he apparently has to be keeping his head on a motherfucking swivel again, now that Stede Bonnet could be around literally any fucking corner.

And he is. Around the corner. Every fucking corner. You would think, on a ship with so many fucking side rooms and secret fucking passages, Ed would be able to walk into a room without accidentally running into the literal bane of his existence. But, no. Not so. He's always fucking there.

And then! Stede doesn't even have the fucking strength of his motherfucking convictions to stick around when they bump into each other. He usually just ducks his head, murmurs a quiet apology, leaves as quickly as he can. As if Ed hasn't watched him go long enough to see the sad, wet-eyed look he'll shoot behind him on his way out. It's not like Ed's fucking dragging him out of the room by his hair. Stede's the one choosing to leave.

Although. Ed would, if that audacious motherfucker ever tried to stick around. Fucking drag him out of the room by his hair. Because there's no fucking way Ed can handle being in the same room as him for any longer a length of time without chewing his own hand off.

"It'd be one thing if I could just get a fucking second of breathing room," Ed snarls, lounging back on the ratty nest of blankets and pillows on the floor that he still hasn't moved out of. "But we can't even slow down or dock with the English on our fucking trail like this. So we're just, fucking, stuck."

"Yeah, awful stuff. I should probably get back to the deck though, right?" Frenchie goes to make his flinching, over-eager way out of the room, but they left the Republic of Pirates so quickly that Izzy got left behind, so Ed needed to find someone else he could corner and trap into listening to him talk.

"It's just like, fuck, it's like the mistake is just getting rubbed in my face over and over again, you know?" 

"Oh-kay, so I'm staying a bit then." Frenchie mutters it under his breath and perches uncomfortably at the edge of a chair. Doesn't fucking matter. No one ever wants to listen to Ed talk anyway.

"Cause, like, the English have always hated me. I'm fucking Blackbeard. But now we've both got these fucking bounties on our heads and it's just because of that fucking Act of Grace." Ed keeps picturing himself as a dog, face ground into shit on the floor as a punishment and a reminder of his fuck-ups. "Which I wouldn't have ever even needed to sign if it weren't for Stede, and we all know how that worked out."

Frenchie makes some kind of vague affirmative noise. Sure. Good enough. Let a little of the pressure off. Let the monster rant for just a minute or two. And then it's back to the fucking grindstone. Ed waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, scoffs a little, and Frenchie is out the door before he can blink.

Ed knows that Frenchie isn't always like that. He wasn't this twitchy, anxious mess when they were on raids. He isn't like this when he's talking and joking around with Stede's crew. In those times, he's so blatantly comfortable and joyful and open.

It's just Ed that gets him all put on edge like that.

Good.

Sure.

Fine.

What the fuck ever.

It's what he fucking wanted, what he was asking for when he let the Kraken take over again. He didn't want all his vulnerable wounds on display, so he fucking took care of it. You can't trust fucking anyone, so better not to build relationships at all.

This is what that looks like. This is what he wanted. He did this on purpose.

Ed needs to take a fucking walk.

Except he can't.

Because Stede is out there.

*~*~*

Stede is staying calm. He is. And he will continue to.

It's fine, that he woke up weeks ago realizing that he was capable of feeling romantic love for the first time. Feeling attraction. And that the object of his love and attraction doesn't want to see him or have literally anything at all to do with him. And that he is currently stuck on a ship with said object of love and attraction.

It's fine. Great, even. Because it gives Stede an excuse to learn from the rest of the crew, the things it actually takes to sail a ship. He's wanted to be a pirate for so long. It's about time that he puts his money where his mouth is.

It's fine, that Stede realized earlier today that Lucius is still missing. He's gone missing somewhere in the shake up between all the different separations and combinations of the crews. Black Pete made it clear early on in their reunion that Lucius hadn't been with them when Blackbeard sailed away with parts of the crew. And Lucius wasn't here when they reunited, but Izzy was left behind in The Republic of Pirates, considering how fast they had to depart. Stede was assuming Lucius was left there, until Pete started to ask around. It turns out he's been missing this whole time and no one is quite sure what happened.

It's fine, that Stede is spending the entirety of every day climbing in the rigging, learning to tie knots, learning how to trim the sails and swab the deck and every other part of this grand adventure. What a lovely thing, to finally have the time to focus in and learn these skills that he's wanted to develop for his whole life.

"Just coming up to check on our progress today. Good to see the whole crew working together." It's Blackbeard's cheerful, fake tone that he always takes when he's trying to be charming in front of a group. Stede is trying to not feel anything about the fact that he's never had to hear it from this side of things before.

Blackbeard makes his way between every member of the crew. Checking their work, providing praise, slapping them hard on the shoulder and squeezing in a friendly way. He is, in theory, very good at managing people. The words that he's saying are all the exact right thing. Stede can still see the way that each member flinches at his voice and watches him like a feral predator in their midst.

Izzy used to be the one to manage the crew. Blackbeard would be able to hang out with Stede and do whatever they wanted together and they could trust that Izzy would handle whatever needed to happen back on the ship.

Not to say that Stede misses Izzy, considering what a miserable little pissant he is. But it was nice to have him to run all the logistics. It also meant that Stede never really got to see just how good Blackbeard is at leading a crew. It's awful that he's still not really getting to see what Blackbeard is like at his best.

Blackbeard moves from person to person. He's so bright and kind and lovely, even when they are all scared of him. And then he comes up near to where Stede is working. He looks at Stede, one long and silent look. It stretches between them like taffy. And then, even though he's been going up to literally every person here, Blackbeard blinks once, long and slow, and turns to keep walking away.

It's okay. It's okay. It's all okay. Stede is going to ignore all of this. And that's okay. It's fine that he's stuck on the ship like this. He just needs a moment, to shift his perspective, get himself together.

Blackbeard doesn't want anything to do with him anymore. He stated that quite clearly. Stede is in love with him, achingly and awfully. He would drag himself over burning coals for one more minute around Blackbeard. But, more important than anything Stede could possibly want for himself, Blackbeard asked to be left alone. He does not want to see Stede.

If they hadn't been forced onto this ship together, Stede probably never would have seen him again.

He would drag himself across burning coals to get to Blackbeard, but he won't. He'll lay here, right in the middle of the burning coals, let them sizzle his skin to a crisp before he pushes against that boundary that Blackbeard set. Again.

Blackbeard's life is Blackbeard's business. And Stede is going to do one fucking thing right by him, if he can't do anything else, and that is to give him as much space as he possibly can, considering the circumstances they have found themselves in. He's destroyed Blackbeard's trust in every other way he could. Every other request Blackbeard has extended to him has been something Stede stepped all over just in his own pursuit of his own absolute disaster of a life.

He's going to listen. He's going to fucking listen.

Although, even when he's managed to keep quiet despite all the things he would like to say to Blackbeard, he can't bring himself to stop looking.

Stede realized recently that he can feel physical attraction toward someone. Has been feeling it for a while. The things that he missed, buried so deep in the snow. He wants to mourn it all, the lost years, the chances that may have existed that he wouldn't have even been able to notice as they passed by.

Instead, he lets his eyes wander toward Blackbeard. Toward the way that the black leather clings. To Blackbeard's ass. To his chest. To his arms. He's always got that sliver of stomach on display too, still, whenever he stretches his arms or twists to one side. Stede can feel the feral animal part of himself that wants to bite it until he's left a permanent mark there. The line of Ed's neck is made of trouble. The sort of thing Stede is finding he could stare at for hours. And then fantasize about for hours more after he's out of Stede's line of sight. He wants to run his tongue up that tendon that flexes up toward the new growth of Ed's beard.

And the beard. God. The beard. Stede has, in the past few days of shared ship space, come to the realization that he may have been obsessed with the beard from the moment he first saw it. There's something about Ed's face. About a beard. The way it is so undeniably different from anything he's been told he should want. The way that he wants to bury his nose into it until the smell of Ed's beard oil is ingrained in him forever. He wants to nuzzle in even closer, huff deep breaths, hold it inside of himself. Let the scratch of facial hair scrape against the sensitive skin of Stede's cheeks. Let it leave a rash, rub him raw.

God, but Mary used to complain if Stede allowed his facial hair to grow even to the point of prickling. Her skin could be so easily irritated by it, those red marks.

Stede wants them everywhere.

What a thought.

The mark of Ed's mouth having been near his face, his neck, his chest and stomach and thighs. There is heat down every one of Stede's limbs. It's boiling up from low in his stomach. It's high summer and there is work to be done and Stede is leaning against the gunwale of a ship that used to be his while a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face.

He is staggeringly aware of his own inexperience and ignorance. Stede rarely paid much attention to the technicalities of sex beyond what would be necessary to produce an heir to the Bonnet and Allamby names. There had been no need. No real interest or desire. And such limited information on interacting with another man in that way.

Well. Stede wasn't a fool. He went to an English boarding school for much of his adolescence. He knows what some of the boys would get up to with each other.

Stede had never had friends in school. Had never been invited to any sort of social event. Certainly not to anything that may have resulted in an impulsive fumble. Stede was a pariah, and he was gawky, and he didn't know how to fit into his own skin. No one would have bothered to interact with him in that way, not at the risk of the way it could have utterly destroyed their reputation with the other boys.

And, if Stede feels like being truly honest with himself, he never once risked what it would mean to pursue that with another boy. He never once sought something like that.

Stede found out that he was engaged when he was fourteen years old. He was still at the cusp of puberty, when he cupped close the candle in his heart and blew it out. Allowed the snow to come. Welcomed it, even. In those moments, those decisions, Stede took a cold, harsh look at the kind of person that he was. He accepted the fact that every single thing he had ever desired, every natural trait, every effortless interaction was something to be abhorred and rejected. The person he was was not something that anyone wanted to see or know.

Living in a box hurts.

It's easier when you stop feeling.

So, he did.

And so, no, Stede truly did not know that he could be attracted to men. He hadn't realized that his feelings for Ed were beyond that of friendship, because it was his first time feeling anything in years. And it was the first time he had ever allowed himself to build that close a bond to someone. For all he knew, that's just how everyone feels about their best friends.

How was he to know that it was different, to feel that creeping warmth in each of his limbs when he thinks about Ed? To want to climb inside of Ed's rib cage and curl up in a little ball, live there so that they don't ever have to go somewhere alone. To notice the movement of every breath in his chest. Memorize the ways he moves his hands when he talks or the way each emotion translates into the way he walks or how he shifts his eyes.

Maybe this is just what it's like to feel. Maybe this is how emotions are.

But it's not. It's not it's not it's not. Piracy and his crew and Ed all exploded their way into Stede's life and he hasn't been able to stop feeling and he may be learning slowly but he'll put in the fucking work. He'll figure this out years behind everyone else, but he'll figure it out.

It's love. That's what he's feeling, when he wants nothing more than to become the clothes that Ed is wearing, so that he can be wrapped around him, bring him comfort, protect him from the sun and the elements and anyone who might try to harm him. So he can touch him.

And he does want that. To touch him. Not just for protection and warmth, though he always wants those things for Ed, but also just for the simple desire to touch. To find out what it means to press his own body against the bared skin of the man he's in love with, when both of them know that they want that.

His head is a mess.

Stede wants to be near Ed at all times. He wants to press him up against a wall, press himself in close, figure out what happens next. Figure out what it means to touch someone when you can actually feel it.

It's been this, just thoughts like this, over and over again for the past few days, kick started all over again whenever Blackbeard makes his way up on deck. Or when someone on the crew mentions him. Or when he sees something on the ship that reminds him of Blackbeard. Which is everything.

*~*~*

Ed is going to lose his fucking mind. Right now. He's fucking losing it. Here he fucking goes, losing his fucking mind.

Because it's been three days and Stede still won't fucking talk to him.

Which Ed doesn't want, obviously. But Stede clearly wants it. So Ed figures he should just let him get it over with and then the whole crew can move on with their lives without all of this weird tension in the air.

If only Stede would actually go through with it. The coward. Sure, they're still sailing at a pretty good clip and have been for days, but you can't just sprint for days on end. The wind doesn't work like that. And a ship doesn't need constant maintenance from every member of the crew all at the same time.

What Ed's trying to say here is that there are gaps of time in the day when Stede would be able to come find Ed and talk to him. He's clearly just running away from it. Like he does with everything else. Ed doesn't even know why he's surprised.

Still. He's not going to let Stede get away with that shit. He's a crew member on Captain Blackbeard's ship. Ed's the fucking captain.

He stomps his way up to the deck in his big fuckoff boots, because Ed can go wherever the fuck he wants on this ship and he hasn't been avoiding the places Stede might be, actually.

And then, well, then he's on the deck. He can never bet on where Stede is going to be, because he's been moving between basically every job on the ship, obviously as a masterful avoidance tactic. Too fucking bad. He's standing up at the wheel with Buttons right now, and that's a prime fucking location for an ambush.

Ed's not an idiot. He's a master tactician, actually. So he knows better than to go right up to Stede and start talking. Not that he wants to talk to him anyway.

(Stede wasn't planning to run off on this ship with Ed, and he didn't bring any clothes to change into. There also weren't any left on the ship, since Ed made sure that every single piece was thrown fucking overboard and good fucking riddance. Well, there are a few articles of clothing down in the rats nest Ed has created on the floor of the captains quarters over the past few months. Some of them are, presumably, about Stede's size. Ed has elected not to mention this fact.

Which means that Stede has been making do with borrowing clothes from other members of the crew. Right now this means that Stede is wearing a pair of pants clearly borrowed from Ivan, cinched tight around his waist, along with one of Fang's shirts. The shirt is large enough on him to dip low in the front and expose the scruff of his chest hair, red-gold of his skin in the sun, sweat on the hollow of his neck in this heat.

Ed is not looking. But, if he were, he would point out that it looks ridiculous. And also that he's never seen Stede dress in colors that dark before.)

He goes up to Buttons, instead. Places his body like a wedge between them, where Stede was clearly leaning over to listen to something Buttons was saying. As soon as Ed has inserted himself, Buttons straightens up, stares off into the middle distance somewhere over Ed's shoulder. He's clearly waiting for instructions from his captain, and it's about fucking time someone on Stede's crew showed the proper level of respect. Ed would look over his shoulder to make sure Stede is watching except he doesn't care.

"Captain," Buttons states, in a way that Ed is going to assume was intended to be a question.

"I'll take over this for a bit, Buttons. You can take a break." Ed steps up to the wheel with the self-assurance that gets him what he wants in the majority of situations. And it does. Buttons sends an incredibly blatant look of confusion and suspicion over Ed's shoulder, where Stede is presumably standing, before stepping to the side and walking down the steps and back over to where other members of the crew seem to have stopped what they were doing to watch.

And then, Ed simply takes hold of the wheel and stares out over the prow. Out in the direction they were already sailing. It's just him and the wide open sea and wherever he chooses to steer. No one else here. Obviously. He may as well be completely alone and silent.

He can feel Stede at his back. His every sense is tuning in to try and figure out what he could possibly be doing in reaction to this. He must be confused. He must be fuming. He may be opening and closing his mouth as he struggles to find just the right passive aggressive words to level at Ed.

Ed's heart isn't beating faster. Shut up. It isn't. No part of him is anxiously awaiting Stede's reaction, because he doesn't give a shit about Stede anymore. He dragged him along with him onto this ship in the first place because he was operating on his natural instincts as a longtime ship captain and leader of men. That's what a captain does when under cannon fire. Grabs the nearest crew member and makes sure everyone is headed for safety.

He would have done the exact same thing if anyone else had happened to be standing right next to him. At least if it had been someone else, he wouldn't be having to go through this whole painful avoidance cowardice routine. Fuck, but he's about fucking done with every part of it.

He's giving Stede a fucking opening. Just the two of them on the quarter deck. No one close enough to overhear. If he's about ready to get it over with and air out all this awkward shit that keeps him running away, now's the perfect fucking time. Not like Ed cares at all.

They stand there in silence for several more seconds. Ed wants to break it but he refuses to be the first one to speak. He has nothing to fucking say. As far as he's concerned, it's all fucking resolved.

He doesn't know what Stede is doing there, just out of his line of sight. And that's fine. He couldn't give a shit.

And, when Stede heaves the quietest sigh, almost impossible to hear over the snapping of the sails in the wind, the creaking of the ropes, the smash of the waves, and walks away from Ed without a word, he doesn't give a shit about that. Doesn't matter. None of it does.

He doesn't know why he was expecting Stede to do anything other than walk away without a word. That's all he's been doing from the moment they fucking met.

*~*~*

Roach was happy to have the galley back for himself, and whoever had been cooking for them previously was, apparently, quite happy to let him take over. Stede doesn't get to have the extravagant meals he used to request, but that's what happens when you're on the run and also no longer the captain and also no longer in charge of communicating meal plans.

All this to say, Stede has started picking up his meals in the galley at the same time as the rest of the crew, from whatever delicious common meal Roach makes. And then, well, to be honest, he stands in the little entryway between the galley, the exit, and the tables that the rest of the crew like to gather around while they eat.

It's hard, see, to adjust to all of these shifting routines. Stede knows that his crew probably wants to be a part of his crew. Almost definitely. Because they stuck with him even after he left them to be stranded in the middle of an island by Blackbeard, and then none of them left to join another crew even while they were working on land for several months, on an island entirely populated by pirates who may have been willing to hire them.

Does that mean that they like having Stede as a captain? Unclear. They definitely like some part of this, whether that's The Revenge or Stede or the chance to meet Captain Blackbeard again or the companionship between the other members of the crew. They were willing to stay, and for that Stede would genuinely and unhesitatingly lay down his life for every single one of them. He loves them so much more than he has any kind of words for.

And they, at least, tolerate him. They let him hang around while he tries to learn all the ways to be a member of a pirate crew. Some of them even take the time to explain what they are doing. That means they don't hate him. They used to hang out in his quarters, back when he had them, and that means they at least liked some combination of him and his quarters enough to put up with all of Stede's...Stede-ness.

It's different, now. All the routines have changed. The power dynamics have shifted. And now they don't have Stede as a captain but as a crewmate, and all of Stede's careful calculations in how he interacts with each and every one of them have been shattered on the ground.

Can he sit at the table and eat with them? Or would it make them uncomfortable, to have someone they may still see as an authority figure there with them? Or would they not want him there because they all need a bit of break after interacting with Stede all day? Do they think it's weird that he's just been eating all of his meals standing up and hovering awkwardly in the corner?

"Just come over here and sit down," Wee John suddenly sighs out, like he's continuing a longstanding conversation. "It's worse for you to just stand there."

"Yeah, come on over captain. There's room if we all cuddle up." Frenchie is the one who starts shifting and shoving into Fang to make enough room for Stede to squeeze in.

"Thank you, Frenchie. I didn't want to make any of you uncomfortable, considering I used to be your captain," Stede explains, because he always feels like he needs to explain every thought that goes through his head, once people start calling him out on out-of-place behavior.

"Yeah, but you're not really the captain anymore," Black Pete is quick to add. "Cause...Blackbeard's our captain and you're just kind of, like, a stowaway." Stede does his best to ignore the snorts of laughter from where Jim and Olu are sitting close together.

"Hey, come on, you're not a stowaway," Olu eventually corrects. "You're a member of the crew, just like the rest of us!"

"Yeah, captain," Frenchie adds. "You'll pick up the skills of it soon enough. Don't worry about it too much." He bumps his shoulder into Stede's shoulder and jostles him a bit. Just that is going to bring tears to Stede's eyes. This is all so much. He's never been the type of person who gets to sit crammed in with a large group at a table while they all talk to him and say nice things. Stede loves his crew. He loves his crew. He thinks they might like him too.

"Oh yeah. We won't leave you all alone when your soulmate won't even talk to you." The Swede leans over the table to say it, earnest focus and eye contact and, suddenly, the entire table has gone silent. Stede blinks once, hard, waiting to wake up from this sudden turn into nightmare territory. It doesn't happen. This is real, and somehow his whole crew seems to know who his soulmate is and just how bad Stede fucked it up. And they're all looking at him.

The thing is, Stede only ever really told one person about the soulmate thing. And that was Oluwande, on that one night when they stayed up drinking and talking about Blackbeard and Jim, after both of them had left. I have a soulmate and it's Ed and he's gone.

Stede turns to look at Oluwande. Oluwande looks back, wide-eyed and caught out. The rest of the crew also turns to look at Oluwande.

"Okay, so," Olu starts, and he's clearly scrambling to jump from word to word as he finds them, "I may have told another crew member or two about you and Captain Blackbeard being soulmates. Because I wanted them to be able to, you know, be there for you. While you're going through this, hard, time." The last few words trail off into a whisper. Olu is frantically looking around, and must catch Frenchie's eye, because he's the next to eagerly pipe up.

"Right. We needed to come together as a crew, captain. You've been having a rough time, and that's why we all planned to have a party tonight." There is a surprised murmur around the table. "To, you know, lift your spirits a little. It was all Oluwande's idea really, and he was trying to put it all together on his own, but we wouldn't let him do it without telling us why he wanted to. So, we forced it out of him, really." Frenchie smiles the smile Stede has seen from him several times at this point, when he's really trying to sell someone on one of his bald-faced lies.

Stede wants to be mad about all of this, but he can't bring himself to be. He met each member of his crew when they all were meeting each other for the first time, for the most part. And now look at them. All sitting together at one too-small table, telling each other all their secrets, planning a party as a group just to help cover for someone else's slip-up. How can Stede even care about his secrets getting out, when it's clear that it hasn't changed the way that they treat him? How can he care, when this is the crew that he gets to have?

"Yeah, plus it's been real good entertainment, to watch him try to get you to talk to him."

And that's. Huh. That's Ivan. One of Blackbeard's crew that's been seamlessly integrated with the rest of Stede's bunch since the last time they all sailed together. But that's Ivan, who's been sailing with Blackbeard for years at this point. Stede would brush it off if it weren't for the fact that Ivan has been able to observe him for years and also wouldn't have much of a reason to be protecting Stede's feelings.

Stede doesn't have time to think about it, though, because the rest of the crew is quick to jump in and agree that it has been fun for them to watch Stede and Blackbeard avoid any interactions with each other, and Stede is trying to remember that he loves these people, that he cares about them, and it isn't even that hard because somehow, despite all of it, despite the desperate, aching pain at the center of him every time he sees Blackbeard, he still has this. And there is still a fire burning warm and bright and glowing at the center of him, no matter what happens with Blackbeard.

Stede takes another bite of his meal, and it's good. It's so good.

*~*~*

Ed was planning on staying in tonight, actually. He had broken out the mystery liquor around the time the sun was starting to think about setting, and he'd been drinking steadily for a few hours. Because he's still stuck on a fucking boat with Stede fucking Bonnet. Because the English have been chasing them for days and the winds haven't been strong enough to properly lose them, and it's just reminding him over and over and over again that he wouldn't be in this situation if he hadn't taken a losing bet on Stede fucking Bonnet. Because Stede fucking Bonnet still won't talk to him.

Ed gets into a mood like this and it straps anchors to each of his limbs until he can do little more than lay in his pile on the floor while tears slowly eek their way out of his eyes. Not even really crying, just kind of dripping.

This is when he would usually call Izzy in, make him sit somewhere in the room and listen while Ed rambled on and on and fucking on about all the things that were pissing him off and making it impossible to get off the floor. Izzy would pass him alcohol and Ed would make him drink it too until both of them were drunk and melancholy and pissed off together.

He would call Frenchie in, since he's been making him do that sometimes now, but he can't find the motherfucker and also he couldn't be bothered to look for very long.

And so, Ed drinks. At least it numbs out all the pressing, directionless dread. Who cares if he's alone alone alone? He has rum. He has whiskey. He can drink until none of it matters anymore.

And then, of course, before he can get to the point that he can't walk in a straight line, Fang makes his way into Ed's quarters, begs him to take over the wheel for an hour or two, says the rest of the crew has something important to do.

Sure. What the fuck ever. It's the middle of the fucking night, and the wind is barely blowing. They're not in any danger at the moment, just need someone to keep a general lookout.

So, Ed finds himself on the quarter deck again, not long after he was here trying to beg for Stede's attention. The sea is so flat right now and the stars are a dizzy, whirling light show above and below him. He feels like he's sailing through an endless abyss full of stars. It's honestly kind of beautiful, even through the vague nausea that he's feeling at the sensation.

There's music drifting through the air around him, and it takes Ed a minute or two to figure out where it's coming from. The jam room. Some of the grating on the deck looks right down into it, and there is warm, rosy light leaking out from between those holes too, mixing in with all the starlight.

Music is drifting up from that opening. It's quiet and halting at first, someone plucking strings here and there on a lute and humming in between strums. Then, the music starts to become more consistent, and Ed can recognize Frenchie's pleasant voice as it starts up. The sound of footsteps, laughter, conversation. It sounds like the whole crew is down there, in the jam room.

Ed can't go look, because he's up on the quarter deck, holding tight to the wheel. From this angle, though, he can kind of see the distant corner of the jam room, and the shifting movement of his crew down there. All of them, together, laughing and talking and singing. Soon, he can even hear the stomps and steps of dancing. Frenchie starts up a shanty that everyone on the ship knows, and they're all singing along, and it's loud and drifting out to where Ed is standing, out over the water, mixing in with the stars.

And Ed is standing up on the quarter deck. Amongst the stars and the sea and nothing else.

When this all started, when he was first left behind by Stede Bonnet, Ed knows that he went fully fucking crazy with it. He knows that he was unpredictable and violent and horrible to his crew. The ones he managed to keep. He pushed them further and further and further, until they were running a raid a day or more. They were ragged and exhausted and starving and blood-stained and furious with him.

He knows that. He knows the only reason they didn't mutiny was that he was keeping them too exhausted and too terrified. He knows that.

It all kind of culminated in that fucking bender on the Republic of Pirates, all those weeks ago. Ed giving the crew a break and setting himself loose on the island to terrorize them for a little bit instead. Let the crew decide if they would even want to come back afterward.

When he woke up back on the ship after all of that, no memory of the past few days, though, things had shifted. He was being haunted by Stede. He was hungover and exhausted. He had pushed and pushed and pushed himself to the very edges of his own endurance, along with the rest of the crew.

He had just, fucking, given up. He was still giving up. What's the point? He can rage at the world. He can burn down every ship that dares to cross his path. Surround himself with beautiful fucking things. Rob every single rich fucking white man he finds blind and leave him crying for everything he doesn't know how to live without.

Ed has it all. He's got more treasure than he knows what to do with. Islands of it. And what's the fucking point? It didn't do shit for him, in the end. Surrounded by treasure so he could keep laying on the floor and drinking himself to sleep every night.

He's shocked the crew even came back after the way he was treating them, before. For the past few weeks, though, he hasn't really done much of anything. There's been a raid here and there, when they come across a ship, because they're fucking pirates and that's what they do. But, for the most part, Ed's been letting them all do what they want and leaving Izzy to manage the whole captaining thing.

He hasn't talked to anyone else on the crew in weeks, really. Maybe months. He'll throw out an order or two, corner Frenchie into listening while he rambles at thin air, but that's not a conversation and he fucking knows it.

The Kraken is gone. It did its job. It pushed everyone so far away that they won't bother to look at Ed. Won't see all the hairline fractures running through him. Too fucking scared of the feral monster to bother wondering what he does with his free time.

Or maybe they know. Maybe they all know. Ed certainly cries loud enough, some nights. Maybe they all fucking know. Who would risk going to talk to him? Who would bother to try and comfort someone who had been terrorizing them for so long?

So Ed is left having to be in control of his own fucking body again, while the beast sleeps off its bacchanal and leaves Ed to clean up all the wreckage it left behind.

It's just Ed. Ed and the sleeping beast and the spinning, dizzying abyss of stars around him. Here on the deck of the ship, steering off into infinity, while the rest of the crew gathers together below, laughing and singing and dancing and talking and drinking.

And no wonder, honestly. It's nothing less than exactly what Ed built for himself. Even if he had been invited, he might have banished himself out here.

Let the crew have their party. Let them celebrate the fact that they've survived. Let them spend the night together. Ed will stand here and guide them on to the next place safely. He will keep himself right the fuck where he belongs.

Ed holds steady to the wheel. He steers them into the abyss. The sea is calm and flat and the sky is bright and lovely and Ed is scrubbed clean and numb inside.

Good. Good.

*~*~*

Stede knows that his crew was lying to him, when they said that they were planning a party. He wasn't expecting anything from them. But, after that conversation, they all seemed to get sort of swept up in the idea of it, and since they'd decided that they were throwing it for Stede, he wasn't even allowed to help set it all up. Instead, the crew relegated Buttons and Stede to permanent ship maintenance and then rotated themselves out between the bare minimum required jobs and setting up some kind of celebration below deck.

It's kind of nice. Okay, it's way more than just kind of nice. Stede can't actually think of a time when he had a party thrown for him. When he was very, very young, his parents would sometimes celebrate his birthday, but that was generally a time for them to invite all of their important friends over to the estate and have networking conversations while Stede stood stiff and uncomfortable in whatever clothes he hadn't been allowed to pick out and tried his best to avoid the children all his parents' friends had brought with them.

He knows it's all silly and pointless and spur-of-the-moment. And maybe it's stupid, but that actually just makes it even more touching? They don't have any reason or obligation for this. They just decided to.

Stede has been trying not to make his pining after the captain of his ship into his entire personality over the past few days. He knows his crew deserves more from him than just relentless conversation about Blackbeard. He's trying to consider others and what they might want. He's tried to listen and learn from them and hear about their days. Stede wants to be a good crewmate. He wants to know what the rest of the crew is thinking and doing.

The fact that they noticed anyway, the way that Stede has been drowning and gasping for breath with the last of his strength under the force of his own longing. Stede went his entire life drowning without a single person noticing or acting like it was strange.

So, Stede feels like he can be excused for the way that tears gather unavoidably in the corners of his eyes as he steps into the jam room to see what incredible thing his crew has managed to pull off in the last few hours.

They have moved all the little music stands and stools and chairs and desks out of the jam room, presumably over to the recreation room, since it's right across the hall. It looks like they found some of the old crafting materials that Stede had kept in the cabinet behind the galley. Blackbeard must not have looked there when he purged the ship of all of Stede's other things. There are hand-made streamers dangling from the boards and ceiling beams and the holes in the grating leading up to the top of the deck.

Frenchie is in the corner with his lute, plucking a cheerful tune and singing along with that lovely voice of his. It looks like one or two of the desks actually stayed, because Stede can see them now, shoved over into the corner with a red curtain draped over like a tablecloth and several bottles of cheap rum piled on top. There are candles in all corners of the room, a definite fire hazard, especially considering the fact that it looks like Fang and the Swede and Oluwande are starting to dance to the music, right there in the middle of the room, dodging around the candles as they go.

It's a mess. A total disaster. The kind of thing that his father would have sneered at and his mother, while she was alive, would have wrinkled her nose at and turned away from. Stede can feel tears tracing their way down his face and he doesn't even bother trying to brush them away. He hopes his crew sees. He hopes they can tell from the look on his face just how much this means to him.

"Your drink, captain," Ivan declares grandly, bowing and holding out a cup with some kind of alcohol in it. Stede takes it cheerfully and smiles back.

"Why, thank you very much, Ivan. Although, not really your captain anymore."

"Yeah, sure thing, captain." Ivan winks once and then heads back over to the desk with the drinks, presumably to get more for someone else. Stede doesn't know what to do with that interaction. He doesn't know what to do with all the love burning inside him and pouring light out of him. Maybe he doesn't have to do anything. Maybe this is just how he's going to feel from now on, if he keeps spending time with people like this.

Stede makes his way over to where a few people are dancing, because he's pretty sure that's what you're supposed to do when you're overcome with emotion like this. Oluwande smiles in welcome. He's been trying to convince Jim to come dance with him too, but they are leaning against one of the walls, slowly sipping their way through a drink at the moment. They've got an exasperated smile on their face, though, so Stede imagines they'll find their way over here, eventually.

Stede used to practice dancing, alone in his room. He loved the scripted, smooth, beautiful movements of it. Some of his old roommates in school noticed once. Holy shit, do you have any idea how fucking awkward that is? What the fuck is this? He stopped practicing at school, but would practice when he was home. When everyone else was asleep. Before he was married.

This should be awkward. There are so few of them, and not even the majority are dancing. But, when Stede walks up, Oluwande smiles and busts out a fancy little shimmy of his hips. Fang reaches out a hand and twirls Stede in a lovely little spin before pulling him in close to sway. And it's all just warm and silly and good and soft and safe in a way that Stede has never actually felt.

He's crying again. Because this is what he was looking for, when the very first seeds of piracy were planted in his mind, as such a young child. The idea of finding a group of people who felt warm and safe and accepting. A place where Stede could just be and not worry about the mocking judgement and backlash.

He hasn't spent much time talking to Fang, honestly. It should be strange, to be standing this close to him, almost in an embrace. Instead, Fang is smiling down at Stede and, once he notices that Stede is crying, Fang starts to cry too, and then they're both just swaying and laughing and crying. He's so much taller and older and wider than Stede, and Stede can't remember the last time he felt small.

And then Fang reaches out a hand, keeps a hold of Stede's hand with the other, and twirls Oluwande too. They're all dancing together, Fang leading and Oluwande and Stede following in a sort of lopsided triangle. It's a dance that Stede has never learned before, but it's fairly easy to pick up with the basic step seeming to just be a shuffling march in time with Frenchie's music.

To Oluwande's joy, Jim cuts in at that point, and then Stede is dancing with Roach while Fang pulls Black Pete into the dance next. People are filling cups with the liquor on the table, passing them around for people to hold and drink from and share depending on whoever has a free hand at the moment.

It's everyone on the ship, except for Edward, and as the night goes on and more cups are passed around, everyone makes their way into the center of the room, shifts the candles to the outside. Stede dances with everyone, even Buttons, although Buttons has been lurking at the edge and doing his own sort of independent dance that involves standing with arms straight at his sides and doing a sort of bobbing sway. When Stede joins him in it, a few others look around, and then there's a whole song where they all just try to learn how to do the dance as well as Buttons does it. He's smiling fiercely and keeps letting out long, hooting notes that harmonize with Frenchie.

Frenchie's in it too, somehow able to wiggle his way around the dance floor while still maintaining a rhythm and song. There are a few maracas being passed around with the drinks and Jim pulls out a set of claves that they can play pretty well, rolling their eyes the whole time. The Swede is wearing a long skirt that he seems to have made by tying several shirts around his waist, and he keeps spinning in circles to watch it twirl.

The night wears on and Frenchie starts to pull out these horribly raunchy sea shanties that everyone but Stede seems to know the words to. There are giddy, stomping and twirling dances that go along with some of them, and it's nothing that Stede has ever rehearsed, and usually that would stop him but he's tipsy and giddy and overflowing with love and there is nothing to stop him from throwing himself in headfirst.

So he does.

Stede learns the words, learns to belt them out with the rest, stomp his feet on beat, lock elbows and spin so fast that they fall over. The candles are flickering in everyone's eyes and it's more than he ever thought he could have.

And he knows his friends did this for him because they wanted him to be able to spend a fun night not thinking about Blackbeard, but it's doing just the opposite. He's happy. He's so incredibly fucking happy right now. But he can't stop thinking about how much fun Ed would be having too, if he were here. He keeps wondering what he's up to, what he would look like here in the candlelight.

It's such a good night. Maybe the best night of Stede's life. He can't believe he gets to have any of this.

Joy and Ed are so closely tied together. He can't have one without thinking of the other. This is what his life has become, since the first time he spoke to Ed. Now, whenever he has a moment of happiness or excitement, the first thing he wants to do is find Ed and tell him. He wants him there next to him, sharing in the joy.

It's so wonderful that it aches. And Ed isn't here, and that aches.

Frenchie starts up a song he's already done, one they taught Stede the words to, and a cheer of recognition goes up. Jim locks eyes with Stede, competitive in their body language, and they spin Stede around faster than anyone else on the floor.

It's all just so fucking good.

*~*~*

Ed jerks awake for the fifth time to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. His head has been bobbing up and down, eyes slipping closed on their own for the past half hour or so. He needs to stay fucking awake, since he's the only person actually steering the ship right now.

He doesn't know how long the party went on, but it feels like it's been hours. He'd brought a bottle of rum with him and has been slowly knocking it back while he sails in his lonely abyss of stars and listens to the rest of the crew having fun without him. Maybe he's drunk at this point. Who the fuck cares? It's a calm night, they have a fair distance on any of the English ships they were worried about. Ed can slump his weight against the wheel and let his eyes drift...closed...for just a...second

But no, he can't. He jerks himself back awake as several of the crew emerge from their gathering below deck. Presumably, they've finally finished up their fancy little party.

And then. Ed fucking notices. That there is a fucking cup in his fucking hand.

Not the bottle he was holding earlier. That's empty and on the ground next to him. This is a cup just like the ones scattered all over the galley below decks. Probably exactly the kind of cup that they were using down in that fucking party.

Ed is not the kind of person to sleep through the approach of someone else. Especially not if that person was touching him for long enough to put something in his hand. He's a paranoid, jumpy motherfucker. He would wake up.

Which means that it wasn't something physically placed there. It was his stupid fucking soulmate, sending something over the soulbond even after they specifically had a conversation about how this was unacceptable.

Ed sniffs the cup, some kind of strong liquor, and he doesn't try to figure anything else out before he knocks it back, throws the cup over the side of the ship.

Buttons and Black Pete come up to the deck, bickering quietly between themselves, and Ed gestures for Buttons to come take the wheel from him. Thank God it's Buttons. Man almost never talks to anyone and Ed can't handle the idea of a conversation right now with someone other than Stede.

With Stede, of course, it's also not going to be a fucking conversation as much as it's going to be Ed reminding him of his fucking place. The place he chose to have in Ed's life. So he better fucking stay there.

He stomps over toward the stairs, swaying a little, trying to over-correct for the motion of a ship that isn't there when the sea is so still like this. Maybe also swaying a bit from the amount of alcohol he has consumed throughout the night. No one could say for sure.

The walls are his friend, providing stable support for him to lean on. It's easy to track all the sound and laughter and light over to the fucking "jam room," where it seems like some people still haven't finished with their little party. Even though Ed has been listening to the festivities for the past few hours, he isn't prepared for the sight of it. Almost all of the crew, still, crammed into this one room, warm and rosy with drink and dance and happiness. The music has slowed down and they're all in that strange little in-between phase, where they're starting to say goodnight and move toward the outside of the room and pairing off into smaller groups. Still, the atmosphere is warm and friendly.

Ed wishes he hadn't thrown the cup overboard, just so he could smash it to the floor now and get everyone's attention.

Instead, he clears his throat loudly. The music stutters and stumbles to a halt as Frenchie notices his captain in the doorway. Ed smiles sharply into the awkward silence that spreads throughout the room. Lets it really hang there, make everyone else feel as uncomfortable as he has been feeling this whole fucking night.

He takes his time. There is a strained meeting of eyes that's bouncing around the room. Good. Let them panic for a little bit. Wonder about what he might do next, when they've been down here all night and he's been up on deck alone.

"Stede," he hisses, and it's the snapping of the increasing tension, the last thread of a worn rope giving way. "Got a second?"

He's been avoiding look at Stede.

He's been trying not to look at him for the past few days, but especially right now. As soon as he walked into this fucking room, saw what they'd been up to, he knew that it would ruin him.

And sure enough. Stede is fucking glowing. Of course he is. It's like someone lit him up inside or something. He's been smiling for hours, to the point that his smile lines are pulled into sharp relief. It's dropped a little bit with the scene that Ed is putting on, but it's still so fucking beautiful. The candlelight is torturous, brushing across his cheekbones, the red fire in his hair, the dark, warm tones of his eyes. It flickers in the gold of the earrings lining his ears. He's sweaty and it's darkened the red-blond to something rich and fucking real. He's got a fucking beard now, because of course he does, and there are drops of sweat caught in that too, and it's going to kill Ed where he stands.

Stede has clearly been having the time of his fucking life, down here and out of breath and surrounded by everyone but Ed. Sure. Fine. Ed doesn't give a shit.

But Stede crossed the boundary that Ed set, that Stede agreed to follow, and that's something concrete to hold onto. No one can argue whether or not that happened. And Ed's going to make Stede sit down and talk about it. Get some of this shit out into the air.

"Of course, Blackbeard," Stede murmurs, and it should be a completely harmless statement but the fuuucking candlelight and his fucking tone. He's not talking like they're standing and having a confrontation in front of the whole crew. He's talking like they're alone in a dark room, heads on two pillows and staring across at each other.

It's also clear, from all of this, the tone, the way he stumbles his way across the room on the steady floor, that Stede is pretty properly intoxicated. Good. That makes two of them.

Ed pretends not to notice several members of his fucking crew clapping Stede on the back, giving him thumbs-up, cheering him on as he passes. As if Stede is the one who needs encouragement here. Don't they fucking know that Stede is the one that left? Ed was all-fucking-in, and it was Stede motherfucking Bonnet who decided that they were better off apart. Where's his fucking clap on the back? Where's his thumbs up and encouragement?

Whatever. Shouldn't expect anything different. He's the fucking Kraken. This is how that goes. This is what that means.

They make it to the hallway, after Stede's gone down his own little receiving line, and Ed turns to lead the way to his quarters without a word, because if he talks about any of this, it's all going to come pouring out, and he doesn't know what that will look like. Better to be behind a closed door.

"You don't need to fucking call me Blackbeard, mate," he snarks, as soon as the door closes. Stede is paused just past the threshold, looking around at the mess Ed has made of his quarters. The tears in the wall, the barren shelves, the ratty nest on the floor and the unused bed. What the fuck ever. Ed can do whatever he wants with this room. It's his fucking room.

Stede is sloppy with drink. Ed is sloppy with drink. Stede makes his way over to where the library once was and slumps to the floor, back to the shelves. Ed keeps standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, and then eventually makes his way over too, back against an opposing shelf.

"I didn't want to push your boundaries. Wasn't sure if I was allowed to call you that, anymore."

"Bullshit you care about boundaries," Ed snaps. "After what you pulled tonight."

Stede straightens up at those words, wrinkles his nose in that offended, bitchy way that Ed loves and wishes he didn't. "I would say that I care quite a bit about boundaries. I've certainly been doing my best to follow yours, no matter how ridiculous it feels on a ship this size."

"Bullshit," Ed says again, because he can't think of a better word. He grabs a bottle off the floor near him and kind of throw-rolls it toward Stede, so that it clinks solidly against his leg. It's hard to hold his head up straight, so Ed lets it loll back onto the bookshelf behind him. "You, fucking, sent one of those fucking soulmate gifts. Earlier tonight. When you said you wouldn't."

He's waiting for Stede to snap something bitchy back, but he's dead silent. When Ed pulls his muscles together and lifts his head to look, Stede is frozen like a man before a firing squad. His eyes are so wide and dark that they have their own fucking gravitational pull.

"Fucking what, mate?"

"That's the first time I've heard you say the word. Soulmate." Stede laughs the word out, but it's not a happy fucking laugh. "I wasn't even sure if you knew until you asked me to stop."

"'Course I knew. Hard not to with the kind of shit you're always sending." Are they talking about this? Ed can't believe they're talking about this. It was one thing to yell it out over the dock in his effort to make Stede stop haunting his ass, but this is different. "All that fancy shit."

"Right!" Stede laughs again, that same awful laugh. "Of course you knew. Any chance you're going to tell me how long you've know for?"

Ed watches Stede from the corner of his eyes, like Stede won't notice him if he does that, even if he's looking directly back. He's still sweaty, and looks like he might be getting cold, sitting here in the dark. There is a trap here. A wrong and a right answer. Ed doesn't know what they are though, or how to avoid fucking this up. He also doesn't know why he's so worried about fucking it up, when Stede already made it crystal fucking clear that there is nothing between them. So, might as well just tell the fucking truth. Easier than keeping track of some lie.

"Since the first day we met, man. You were holding that fancy fucking knife when I found you on the deck of the Spanish ship. And then you kept stealing shit from me while you were unconscious. It was kind of hard to miss."

"Hard to miss," Stede repeats faintly, before tilting his head back to thump hard against the bookshelf. "Right." That laugh that Ed is already sick of, hysterical, claws its way up Stede's throat. And then he mutters "Should have known," as if that makes any sense at all. There's this awful, distant look on his face, like he's a million miles away from this conversation.

"The fuck does that mean?" Ed's drunk, and he's confused, and he's still kind of pissed the fuck off.

"It doesn't matter, clearly," Stede snaps back, and suddenly the energy between them is switching. The lazy drunkenness is sizzling and evaporating against the force of the sudden anger in the room.

"You're on my fucking ship. Tell me what it means."

"Oh, I am very aware that it's your ship. And what a masterpiece you've made of it. You'll have to give me the name of your interior designer."

"Are you being fucking passive aggressive at me right now? I know what the fuck you're doing. You fucking taught me, Stede, what the fuck is this?" Stede goes to respond, but Ed's seeing fucking red and it's not even the fucking Kraken here, it's still Ed who's about ready to burn this whole fucking ship down around the both of them. He starts talking louder, partly to say his point but mostly just because he isn't fucking ready for it to be Stede's turn to talk yet. Because fuck him. "You've been a fucking coward for days and now you can't even talk to me straight when you're right in fucking front of me."

Stede scoffs derisively and condescendingly, in that way that Ed hates because it makes him feel so fucking small and stupid. "Oh, please tell me how I'm the one who's been a coward in all of this, when you're the one who keeps telling me to go away."

"Uh, I don't know, maybe it's the way that you haven't talked to me fucking once since we got on this ship days ago. Or," and Ed's screaming, he knows he's screaming, "maybe it's the time that you left me on that fucking dock."

That shuts Stede right the fuck up. That hits somewhere vulnerable. Ed watches it land, revels in his victory while some other part of him is yelling for him to stop.

"I didn't mean to do that." Stede's voice is small and quiet. He's not looking at Ed, body all twisted up in a ball.

"That's fucking hilarious, man, because I didn't know it was possible to accidentally not run away with someone when they are literally standing at the end of a fucking dock waiting for you. I had a fucking guide for you."

"I got scared." Stede looks up from his hunched position, and there is suddenly something new behind his eyes. Something Ed's only caught quick glimpses of before. "It was-" and then he cuts himself off, laughs that laugh that Ed is about ready to choke out of his throat so he never hears it again, shakes his head. "I don't have an excuse." And he says it in this dead fucking voice. Like the words he was going to say are fucking grave dirt on his tongue.

"Well damn, Stede, I hope you've at least got a motherfucking explanation for me or I'm going to throw you off this fucking ship tonight and let the English find you in the morning."

"I don't have an explanation!" Stede bursts out. "I ran away because I couldn't handle it, because I don't know how to have a good thing without needing to get it as far away from me as possible. You're right, I'm a coward. Are you happy?"

Stede shoves himself to his feet and starts walking toward the door. Ed's not fucking happy. Ed is so mad that he could fucking spit, he almost does, there on the ground at Stede's feet, just so he can see what Ed thinks of his motherfucking explanation.

"In what fucking world am I coming away from this conversation fucking happy, Stede? Cause that doesn't sound like a fucking explanation. It sounds like you fucking taking all the blame and walking away from this conversation without giving me any new information." Stede had stood up earlier, but he's stopped moving. He's standing utterly still, stark white and stricken. "You're so fucking big on talk it through as a crew, well let's fucking talk it through, mate, or are you going to run away from this too?"

"Real mature." Stede's voice is muted and flat and empty. He shoves himself back into movement, jerky like a puppet on strings. "I'm not doing this with you right now. We're both drunk."

"If you're waiting for me to be sober, you're going to be waiting a long damn time, Stede, or did you forget what it's like to sail with the terrible Captain Blackbeard?" There are tears welling up in Ed's eyes, and he's so fucking mad about it, but the Kraken is still quiet and sleeping, for some fucking reason, and it's just fucking Ed right now, alone in this conversation and defenseless and fucking furious about it.

"I don't believe that." And the mood is fucking flipping again. Ed's landed enough blows, apparently, because Stede's turned back around and instead of that infuriating, calm emptiness, he's open and present again. His eyes are wet, and he's finally fucking looking at Ed.

"What's not to believe?" Ed's always been the type to pick up on the energy other people are bringing. Stede goes quiet, and he feels the fight draining out of him as well. There's just the bitter, hurt blood all over the floor of the room. Stede's most of the way toward the door and Ed's still sitting over here by the library. His throat hurts. He's been shouting.

"I don't believe that you're terrible. And you're not drunk all the time, or at least you weren't, when we were sailing together." Stede's got that blown-open look on his face still, and Ed was so wrong, he's not a coward, because he's starting to step back toward Ed, even after all the awful things he just said to him. "I think," and Stede cuts himself off again, stumbles over the words, clearly forces himself to keep going. "I think maybe I hurt you. Badly. When I ran away."

"Oh, really, yeah you're a real master of understanding people." Ed hates when his voice gets like this, all grumpy and pouty and childish. It makes him want to hide deep in the beard that he doesn't have anymore.

"I'm not." Stede's whispering now, and when did he get so close again? "Ed, I'm not at all." He reaches a hand out, puts it back down. Ed wishes he hadn't. "I can't read people. I never know what you or anyone else is thinking. I'm lost in the dark all the time. I've been a failure my whole life. I honestly thought it wouldn't matter."

Ed feels the flare of his anger, dampened but not fucking gone, at that. Stede must see it in his eyes, because some of that panicked reassurance comes back.

"Not like that! I just- I thought it wouldn't matter. Do you get what I'm trying to say?"

He's so blown open and vulnerable here that it's putting Ed's guard back down, but he's drunk and Stede's drunk and maybe (just possibly, not that he'd ever say it) Stede might have been right that now is not the time for this conversation.

"You're making no fucking sense, mate." He manages to say it calmly, thank fucking God, so Stede just softens more instead of going empty again, thank fucking God.

"This is a mess." Stede laughs dryly, scrubs his hands over his face, and when he pulls them away, he looks fucking exhausted. Like it's been the longest day on earth. Maybe even a bunch of the longest days on earth in a row. Ed knows the fucking feeling. "Maybe we just need to go to sleep. Try again tomorrow."

Ed grunts in agreement, starting to slouch his way over to the side table where Fang has been leaving waterskins when he thinks Ed won't notice. He pops the cork, takes a long, deep pull of the first intentional hydration he's taken in...too fucking long.

When he turns around, he sees that Stede is making his way back out of the room again. Which. Right. They don't share the captain's quarters anymore, because they're not co-captains anymore. Blackbeard's the captain. Stede's just...crew. Not even official crew. A refugee from the English.

It's late, and Ed's drunk, and Stede's back on the ship and he's about to leave even though they just had this awful fight, and Ed is pretty sure he will explode the moment the door actually closes behind Stede.

"Stede," he coughs, wishing again for a beard that he could scrunch down into. He shakes his head, lets his hair fall into his face, a little bit of a shield from putting himself out there, again, like an idiot. Because it went so well the last time. "You could always, fuckin, stay here. Get some sleep away from all the snoring."

Ed's watching Stede's reaction through a curtain of hair, so he has only a partial view of the sunrise of a smile that comes over Stede's face at that. Good thing, too, because he'd probably be fucking blind otherwise.

"Are you sure?"

"Fucking said it, didn't I?"

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, of course, Ed. I'll take anything you're comfortable offering." Stede makes his way back to stand next to Ed, close enough that there's no good excuse for the hair anymore and he has to move it back out of his face. Close enough that they're almost touching, but not quite, and the potential energy of it hums like static between their bodies.

"Hmm," Stede hums thoughtfully. Ed realizes that Stede is looking at the terrible hoard of pillows and blankets that Ed has made into his nest on the floor for the past...several months. Fuck. It's been fucking up his back and his knee the whole time, but that was fine before. He can't let Stede sleep there. And there's no fucking furniture because he had the crew throw it all over the fucking side. "It's certainly a...creative use of the space." Ed makes a scoffing grunt and hands the waterskin to Stede. Stede takes it and drinks deeply himself, likely even more dehydrated than Ed after that party. Ed doesn't think about the fact that their lips just touched the same place. He's literally kissed Stede before. This is nothing.

While Stede drinks (mouth where Ed's mouth was), Ed makes his way over to the pile, gathers up as big an armful as he can manage, and starts to make his way over to the bed in the nook, blankets dragging behind him.

It's been unused, all this time, even though it's a properly big bed. Fitting of a captain. Perfectly capable of fitting a pair of co-captains. There's dust on it, and it gusts and scatters into the air when Ed throws down his bounty. Stede comes up behind him, another armful of comfortable things (most of them gifts through the soulbond, and there's no way that Stede hasn't noticed that, considering he's the fucking one who sent them), and drops that down too.

They silently move to different ends, passing each other the edges of blankets and spreading out the pillows evenly. It should be sillier than this, more lighthearted. If this was a few months ago, they would be laughing and making some kind of game out of it. They're not back there yet. Ed's not sure if they're ever going to be. But this is more than he thought he was ever going to have again and, when he's standing next to Stede, he leans over to jostle into him a little bit, and Stede leans over to jostle him back. And that's not fucking nothing.

It should be awkward. It kind of is awkward. It would be even more awkward if it weren't for the fact that they're both still drunk and it's so fucking late and it's been a long day of outrunning the English and manning the helm and vicious arguments and (apparently) belowdeck parties. The exhaustion is palpable in the way both of them move with weights on their limbs. Ed steps to the side, shucks off the leather jacket. He doesn't usually sleep in the leather pants, usually just strips them off and lets himself sleep in nothing but his underwear.

That is, obviously, not on the table tonight. He's slept in his leather pants a whole fucking bunch of times in the past few weeks, with the whole self-destructive spiral he's been on. He can make it work again.

Stede seems to just be standing there, and that's not how Ed ever pictured this, back when he was picturing domestic fucking shit like this, but that was back when Stede was always wearing like seventeen layers of frippery. He's really just got the one layer, top and bottom, these days. Does he like that? Does he miss the finery?

It's awkward. It should be more awkward than this. They clamber into the nook, one after the other, and they haven't made a proper bed out of it, so there are pillows all over and they've each got a blanket or two to themselves. They're not even properly touching or anything. It's fine. This doesn't mean anything. Ed needs to keep remembering that this doesn't mean anything.

It's dark out. Stede must have blown out the candles. Ed didn't even notice that happening. Still, there's enough light from the moon off the waves through the window for him to see the liquid reflection of Stede's eyes, the glint of a soft smile. They're both laying down and facing each other and Ed is aching with it.

"I guess, what I wanted to say, Ed, is that I'm sorry. That's what I was trying to say."

Ed doesn't accept the apology. He can't yet. But even just hearing it, even while he's drunk and dizzy with exhaustion, it still soothes something he didn't know was hurting.

"I'm sorry too. You're not a coward."

"I am, though. You were right." That flash of a white smile again, light in the dark. "But I'm working on it."

"Brave enough to come back. I could have killed you dead the second I saw you again."

"You could have," Stede agrees, and what the fuck kind of man is he, to just agree with something like that. They drift into silence. The waves slap against the hull. Ed is laying somewhere more comfortable than he has in months.

"Hey Ed."

"Yeah, Stede."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"Yeah," he says. "Me too."

“Stede, Ed, Izzy, you in here? I was told you wanted to see me” you call as you open the door to the cabin, you don’t knock anymore, not since they became your partners. Some nights you all share the bed, it’s a bit of a squeeze but it’s worth it to fall asleep surrounded by the people you love most, you’re used to sharing anyway, having spent many a night curled up with your friends on deck. At first glance there’s no sign of any of your partners, but they must be nearby as there’s lit candles on nearly every available surface.

“Ah you’re here” You turn around at the sound of Stede’s voice, eyes immediately drawn to the gold robe that’s loosely tied around him, you’re pretty sure there’s nothing underneath. You’re stopped in your tracks by his beauty, you can’t wait to untie that robe and reveal the delicious present underneath. Run your tongue along the sharp collarbones that are peeking from his robe, run your hands over the curve of his belly.

You approach him slowly, taking in every inch of him as you get closer, reaching out as soon as you close the distance, your hand gripping the collar of his robe and pulling him towards you until your lips meet. You delight in the little noises he makes from the small touches and you can’t wait to get more noises from him.

You push him backwards onto the nearby sofa, your lips still connected as you straddle his lap, hand moving to the tie on his robe, you’re so distracted by his presence that you don’t even notice your other partners entering the room.

“Room for two more?” Ed’s sultry voice booms from behind you causing you to break the kiss to turn your attention to your other partners. They’re both also wearing Stede’s robes, well Izzy’s kinda drowning in his.

“Iz you look-“

“Stupid”

“I think you look cute” Stede interjects which earns him a scowl.

“I agree” you add, earning you a middle finger which you reciprocate with a grin.

“Well I did intend for this to be a group activity” Stede says

“You’d planned this?” you ask, turning your attention back to Stede.

“Yes dear, for you” he replies, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“Huh, why?” looking between Stede and your other partners who have now moved further into the room.

“We just thought you deserved a little treat, you’ve been working so hard recently and it’s time for you to relax” his hand gently rubbing up and down your arm as he talks.

You look over to Ed and Izzy who nod in agreement “yeah let us take care of you babe” Ed adds, giving you those eyes that you can’t say no to, not that you really want to say no.

You return to kissing Stede, still straddling his lap as he undoes the buttons on your shirt, the unmistakable look of pure heat in his eyes.

Eventually he breaks the kiss, “how about we take this to the bed? A little more roomy for us all” You nod in agreement allowing yourself to be guided over to the bed by Stede, Ed and Izzy already there waiting for you both.

“Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable with these off” Izzy purrs, fingers already fiddling with the top button of your trousers just waiting for your say so. You nod, heartbeat increasing as he undoes the buttons and starts to pull them down over your thighs, raising your hips slightly to help get them off. Your underwear quickly follows leaving you fully exposed, you note how Izzy’s eyes widen with hunger as they rake over your now naked form.

Soon his lips are on yours, kissing you eagerly with a desire you easily reciprocate. His tongue quickly seeks entry which you grant willingly, allowing him to lick into your mouth with a passion that causes a heat deep inside you. Soon his hand finds its way between your thighs, your breath hitching slightly as his fingers run along the folds before gently grazing against your sensitive clit. He gradually inserts two fingers, slowly pumping them inside of you as you moan into his mouth.

He begins to pick up the pace, his fingers curling inside you as he continues to work you towards orgasm. His mouth is warm on yours and the fingers inside of you are filling you with an intense pleasure that runs all the way through you. You let out a low moan as his finger starts to encircle your clit sending jolts of pleasure through you, and it isn’t long until you reach orgasm, grinding against his fingers to find maximum pleasure.

As you finally stop kissing, Izzy looks particularly pleased with himself and the slight mess he’s turned you into. But before either of you have the chance to say anything you feel a hand running through your hair, turning your head to find a very affected Ed looking at you both with awe.

But right now his attention is on you, he gently pulls you towards him, his lips instantly on yours, it’s different to kissing Izzy but just as good. “Don’t think you’re finished yet love” he whispers before flipping you onto your back on the soft mattress splayed out for your lovers to see. Soon Ed’s lips were all over you as if he had a need to taste every part of you, starting from the soft flesh of your thighs, briefly brushing past your still throbbing cunt before moving his attention to the curve of your stomach. You couldn’t help but shiver under each small piece of contact, heart warming at the gentle care he’s taking as he works his way up to your neck, marking you wherever he could, making sure that Izzy wasn’t the only one to claim you.

Ed’s hands hold onto your hips as he kisses you reverently, fingers digging in slightly as if he never wanted to let you go “so good for us, so beautiful” he praises between kisses. He continues to cover every inch of you, his warm breath coasting over your skin causing you to shiver slightly. You’re practically vibrating with anticipation by the time he makes his way back to your cunt, moaning with relief when his tongue finally makes contact. Ed expertly licks and sucks at your soaking cunt, sending jolts of pleasure through your entire being, every nerve ending on fire.

His tongue is gentle but determined, a man starving yet wanting to savour his meal. He knows you, knows what you like, how to make you a squirming mess below him. You could barely think as he continued to lick and suck, occasionally nipping lightly at the delicate folds, his tongue swirling over your clit as he brings you closer to completion. The feeling of his hands and mouth is almost overwhelming, your cunt throbbing around his tongue as he works you through your orgasm.

As Ed emerges he’s grinning from ear to ear, obviously delighted with himself as he licks his lips, relishing the leftover taste of you. You could say he looks smug with how easily he turned you into this gooey mess below him. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, you love how eager your partners are to pleasure you, as you are about them, but right now this was clearly about you and you were more than okay with that.

You were just starting to wonder if they were finished when Stede appears in your field of vision, delicately brushing sweaty strands of hair out of your face. “There’s my beautiful y/n”

“Mmf” was all you could manage back, not that Stede minded, he could talk enough for the both of you, all four of you even.

“Think you can manage a third?”

You nod eagerly in response, excited to see what he has in store. You tug gently at the robe he still has on, deciding that you don’t want any fabric between you for whatever is about to happen. “off”

Stede silently obliges, confirming your early suspicion that there was in fact nothing underneath that robe. Your hand reaches out, desperate to run through the golden hair on his chest decorating those beautiful tits of his. “Mm thar feels good, you always know just what I like” he moans. “I’d like to make you feel good now too, if you’re amenable?”

“Please”

You watch as he takes the small vial of oil, rubbing some over his prick, you can feel your cunt twitching in anticipation. He kisses you deeply and passionately, his hands roaming your body like the explorer he is. Your breath hitches slightly as enters you, his length filling you well, oh how you love how he feels inside of you. “You’re doing so well darling, taking me so well” his praise never failed to make you blush.

Pleasure courses through you as his hips start to shift in a steady rhythm, eyes fixed on yours with a deep hunger “look at you, so pretty laid there just for me.” As he continues to rock his hips you become overwhelmed with emotion as he hits that sweet spot, that along with the sweet words he keeps peppering in is almost enough to send you over the edge.

“Fuck I’m so close” he exclaims, echoing your sentiments. After a couple more shifts he’s spilling inside of you as you go through your own orgasm, your cunt clenching around his prick. He collapses onto you, the weight comforting as you go through the aftershock.

As you come back to yourself you feel a sense of warmth and love for your partners, how treasured they make you feel. A calmness washes over you, it’s as if a warm blanket has been put over your very soul.

After some amount of time, Stede’s voice drifts through the post orgasmic haze that’s clouding your mind. “How about a couple more and then we’ll make you a lovely bath?” he asks as he strokes your hair with tenderness.

Ed is too fucked up for this. He forgot that he gets paranoid, sometimes, when he's mixed too much shit together in his blood. He's drunk and high and the crossfade is sweeping the rug out from under his emotions. He can feel tears gathering in his eyes, as if that's not the stupidest and least helpful thing that could possibly be happening right now.

He kissed Stede. That was actually fucking Stede. Right? Maybe? Was that him? Did they kiss? He's almost sure they did.

God, but he can't find his way through this absolute shithole of a town. Can't see his feet.

Wait.

Wall there.

Shit, where is he? He wasn't watching where he was running.

He's just got to make his way back to the boat.

His shoulder hurts. Is that from where he just ran into the wall? He did hit the wall, right? Yes. That happened.

There's supposed to be panic. And he's feeling the panic, the creeping, devastating paranoia that's starting to overwhelm him. Is that someone watching him in the alley over there? Is that because he's Blackbeard or because Stede paid them to keep an eye out for him?

He was going somewhere.

Where is he going?

Fuck, Stede is chasing him. He's fairly sure. Mostly sure that's happening. There's somewhere he's trying to get to, where he could be safe. Yes? Yes. That's happening. Where is he going?

He can hear footsteps behind him. Ed pulls himself off the main road he's on, huddles in the shadow of an alleyway, waits for the person following to show themselves.

And then he'll. What? He'll attack them? He could maybe fight, if he needed to. He's been in fights more off his tits than this. But, like, he's not sure if he can feel any of his limbs and also his face and also there's a fuzzy tingly feeling in his chest. The odds are not good.

Fuck.

*~*~*

Stede stands paralyzed in the middle of Spanish Jackie'z for just another second before he sees Black Pete, Oluwande, and Roach. They're all frantically gesturing him toward the door from wherever they'd hidden themselves during his and Edward's disastrous interaction. And then, as if his crew has managed to shatter through the crust of ice desperately trying to surround him, he finds himself able to move again.

Stede flies out the door to the bar, sprinting after the last little flicker he can see of Ed's hair around a corner.

And then, well, it's not actually that hard to keep up. It rapidly becomes obvious that Edward is incredibly intoxicated. He's moving with some sort of painful, stumbling shuffle, even as it's very clear that he is trying to flee. Stede finds himself in a quick-paced walk behind Ed as he moves down the road, hugging the wall and bumping into it more often than not.

Even as Stede watches, Ed's hair is catching on rough and rotten brick. He is starting to realize several things about the kiss that they just had, with all this time to walk and think.

Because, see, while it was happening, Stede was mostly just surprised and happy to go along with it. He hadn't slowed down to think, hello, does Edward understand who I am? Is he able to understand what he is doing right now? Am I comfortable with this?

It was the warm press of lips and skin and that was all that Stede could make himself notice.

Now, though, he certainly has the time to think through those things. And the answers are not looking good. Stede has always been something of a romantic. He enjoys the idea of someone loving him so much they can't breathe with it. Of loving someone else with that same level of passion and intensity.

Ed, it is rapidly becoming clear, was not pursuing that kiss out of love, or missing Stede, or some desperate joy at being reunited. It is quite clear, at this point, that he didn't even realize that he was kissing Stede in the first place. (Does that mean that he's been going around kissing anyone that moves? Stede isn't going to hold that against him. Ed's past is Ed's business, and all that. But it does make him wonder if Ed felt for Stede even one tenth of what he feels for Ed, back when they kissed the first time. Does this mean that Stede was just an impulsive kiss, the kind of thing that Ed would be happy to do with anyone? Or does it mean that he's now scrambling to recover from the ways that Stede has hurt him and is kissing a thousand other people to get over it? Which is better? The idea that he hurt Ed so terribly or the thought that it didn't mean anything at all to him?)

Stede shouldn't have kissed him back. He should have gently pushed Ed away, brought him a cup of water and something filling to eat. Waited with him until he could get enough sleep and they could talk.

Stede was overcome by this raging, overwhelming hunger that he has just discovered within himself, and he had no reason to think that Edward would be this out of his own mind, when he never seemed even a third as intoxicated as this in the whole time Stede has known him.

This is something to remember. Stede has never needed to learn how to control his own lustful urges. He honestly didn't think he had "lustful urges" in the first place. He's going to have to be vigilant, now that he is starting to understand this new fact about himself.

Edward makes it down the road and spins gracelessly off into an alleyway. Stede follows and spots him immediately, crouched in clear line of sight, sort of off to the side a little bit.

And

Well

Stede still won't be so prideful as to claim that Edward is sick for pining after his departed soulmate and true love and everything else. There's no way to know if that's true, and Stede knows better than to ever assume he understands how someone else is feeling or what they might be thinking.

That doesn't matter.

What matters is that, no matter what it was, something has happened since the last time he saw Ed. Something has hurt him very deeply. Ed is hunched off to the side. He's not wearing his knee brace, even though Stede is sure that holding a position like that has to be wreaking hell on him. His face is smudged with kohl and charcoal and grime and even under all that, it's easy to see the deep creases at the corners of his eyes, the heavy bags underneath them, the bloodshot exhaustion in the whites.

Ed has lost weight, but it's more than that. He's holding himself different. In the bar, it was lazy confidence, which was dizzily distracting even while it was out of character. This, though. Ed has the look of a frightened animal. His eyes are rolling in the way that the chicken's eyes used to roll when his father grabbed one by the neck and carried it over to the chopping block. The look of cornered prey that has resigned itself to disaster.

Stede doesn't want to be the cause of a look like that in Ed's eyes. He doesn't know how to make it stop. He's already chased him down. Maybe that wasn't the move. But, he can't exactly leave Edward alone while he's in this state, either. Really, what he wants to do is to simply go back in time to the moment Ed walked into the bar and do it all over again, make different choices, fix it.

It's too late for that now. There are tears on Ed's face.

Stede moves his way into the alley, just a little, just to get out of the endless flow of foot traffic on one of the main roads in The Republic of Pirates. Ed is clearly watching his every move, and he thrusts out a hand in between them when Stede enters the alley. Stede does his best to stay out of reach and to sit with his back against the opposite wall.

Ed shoots him a suspicious look before flopping back against his own wall, legs sprawled out in front of him, finally unbending his knee from that terrible angle. Stede tries to match his pose.

And then, well, they sit in silence. Stede watches as the feral, panicked light starts to slowly leave Edward's eyes. He moves from chaotic mania into an exhausted heap against the wall. This is another side of him that Stede has never seen, one that he's not sure he's happy to see, beyond the fact that he'll always be happy to see another aspect of Edward.

He doesn't know how to start this conversation.

*~*~*

Ed doesn't know how to start this conversation.

The paranoia is passing, and Ed isn't sure if it was the weed or some other substance he took without asking two bars ago. Or the alcohol. Or some fun interaction between all three of them.

He's coming back a little bit.

Just a little bit.

But the world is shifting like it always does when he's been on land for too long. It's twisting his stomach, trying to bring up nausea, but Edward will be damned to hell before the day that he vomits in front of Stede fucking Bonnet.

He can sit in silence for years. Better to keep his mouth closed anyway, considering.

*~*~*

Ed is clearly not going to be the first one to talk. Stede isn't sure if he should be, either, considering that he's not sure he can trust Edward to put together any kind of coherent sentence right now. It doesn't seem fair to have this conversation. He's not sure he'll ever get to have it, if he doesn't try to have it right now.

This is all so new. He keeps thinking of those boys back in boarding school, fresh with adolescence and agonizing over what to say in every moment toward the women they wanted to court. Stede had felt himself so far above them. So superior, in his ability to focus on duty and academics and everything else rather than wasting his time with romantic pursuits.

He had no idea. He would take it all back, looking at the mess he's made of himself now. He wishes he could have practiced this part, the talking to someone you're desperately in love with part, back when everyone else was awful at it and trying to learn how to do it.

He's a middle aged man. Everyone else learned how to do this decades ago. And here he is, paralyzed like a fourteen year old, not sure whether to pursue the conversation or leave it alone.

"Jus'-" The word slurs its way out from Ed's side of the alley, and Stede feels all of his tragically-sober attention fixate. "Jus' leave me 'lone."

One small, very distant part of Stede registers that he has suddenly been overcome by that same urge someone might have when confronted with an injured baby animal. That overwhelming need to coddle and coo and fix it. Stede wishes that was all that this was. If he could just feel and live in that right now, that would be great.

But a much larger, much louder part is in a full tailspin. He thought that, if he could just manage to get Ed alone, just manage to show him that he came back, Ed might come running into his arms.

This is not that. Edward's defenses are down but, well, in vino veritas and all that. He is intoxicated and begging Stede to leave. When he saw that Stede was following him, he hunched down in the back of the alleyway like a cornered animal.

When he realized that it was Stede he was kissing, he ran.

He slurred the words quietly, but they still land. It’s a lance to the heart. Stede is struck on the head with an ax and sharply cleaved in two. The two pieces of him fall to the grimy ground, rocking stupidly on the rough cobblestone.

“Oh,” says the part of Stede that is slowly bleeding to death on the ground near Ed's feet. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

He can't make this about him. He can't make this about him. Because Stede is the one who left. He left without word or warning and Edward was left behind to pick up the pieces of the escape plan they had made together. Ed is hurting and ruining himself. Not just because of his level of intoxication and disorientation right now, but the clear carvings of self-destruction on his body.

Should Stede even say anything? What's the point?

"Don't worry about it, Edward." He forces himself to his feet, feels the aching groan of his own limbs, reminding him once again that he is not a young man. "It's fine. I get it."

Edward is sitting in silence, staring at the wall rather than look in Stede's direction. He's got a furious, flushed pout on his face. Stede wants to lean over, press a soft kiss to his lips, or even just his forehead. Do or say something that could leave a lasting imprint of his regard.

There's no point. Ed has made it very clear that he wants to be left alone. Anything Stede does would be a crossing of that boundary. If Ed was even able to clearly remember it for himself in the morning. No point.

He pushes away from the alleyway, starts to make his way into the foot traffic of the main road.

Looks back one more time.

Ed is sitting there, legs splayed in front of him like a toddler, head leaned up and back against the brick wall behind him. His hair is almost entirely pulled loose from that messy bun. Parts of it are sticking to his skin with a clammy sweat. He looks wrecked and exhausted and so incredibly alone.

Edward very clearly asked Stede to leave him alone. And Stede is going to. But he's looking at the figure that Ed makes, small in the alley, and his heart is yawning out of his own chest in an effort to get to him, wrap around him in love and comfort and warmth. That same part of him that wants to swaddle and spoil and secure.

He will leave. But right now, looking at Edward, doing the best that he can to guess what he might be feeling, Stede wants nothing more than to bring him a glass of water. A warm washrag. A slice of bread. He wants to give that to Ed. He wants Ed to know that he has that, even if he's pushing Stede away.

And, well. Stede has been working. He has been saving up the pittance that Jackie pays them so that he can one day sail off to find and declare his love for Ed. But Ed is here, and he's telling Stede to leave. Which means that he really doesn't have any use left for all this money. The money that he keeps on him, rather than trust any storage he could find on this island.

Stede moves just a block or two down the road, into one of the more reputable bars, in a place full to the brim with disreputable people. He's got the coin for it, and it doesn't take long.

He comes back to the alley. Ed is leaned against the wall still. He's started to rock back and forth slowly, to a rhythm that might just match the waves of the ocean. There's a puddle of vomit on the cobblestones just a few feet from him. Stede's heart is winging its way up his chest and trying to leap from his throat to the pavement below.

There's nothing he can do.

Stede sets the water and bread down. He presses the warm, wet rag to the clammy sweat on Ed's brow.

He takes one moment, just to look at the scene before him, to wish he could do more.

He walks away.

Stede walks all the way back to Spanish Jackie'z. He knows that it isn't far, considering the state Ed was in while he was running, but it feels as though it takes months.

When he walks through the door, Stede starts scanning the room. There's no way he isn't here. There's no way he would be so foolish as to leave Ed as well.

And, sure enough, there. Over in the corner, leaning against the wall and scowling at the proceedings of the bar.

"I must say, Bonnet. I didn't think you could look more pathetic, but you've found a step down."

"I didn't find myself asking your opinion on fashion, Iggy. You've made it quite obvious you don't know the first thing about it."

There's a vicious, petty silence that stretches between them. Izzy is smiling, saccharine and mocking. Stede can feel the way his entire face has contorted from having to take the time to speak to this furious little man.

If he could handle this himself, he would in a heartbeat. It's killing him, having to do it this way. He can't get the words out at first. Can't bring himself to fully accept what it means about this situation, to have to go to Israel Hands for help.

"What do you want, Bonnet," Izzy rasps, breaking the awful silence.

"Ed is-"

"Captain Blackbeard," Izzy snaps, furiously shouting over whatever Stede was trying to say.

"Ed," Stede says, just getting louder, because that's how Ed introduced himself and he hasn't taken it back yet, so there's not a chance in hell that Stede is going to give it back. Not until he's asked. "Needs help."

The change in Izzy is immediate. He snaps to his full height (still significantly below Stede). His eyes are laser focused.

"Where?"

And Stede.

Stede leads the way.

He walks in focused silence next to Izzy Hands.

He takes Izzy to the last place he saw Ed.

And Ed is still there, passed out against the wall.

Izzy rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation.

"You can get out of here, Bonnet. You've done enough. Let his crew handle it from here."

Izzy bends down to begin the long, arduous process of levering a completely limp Edward off the ground.

And Stede.

Walks away.

Leaves him alone.

Leaves his heart there on the ground behind him.

*~*~*

The first thing Ed is aware of when he wakes up is the fact that someone has exploded his brains. The crawling, dehydrated ache is worse than maybe any headache that he's ever had before.

What the fuck did he do last night? He can't remember any of it. Well, that's not completely true. He remembers enough to know that he doesn't just need to be concerned about last night, does he? It's more a question of what he's been doing for the past several days. He's pretty sure he never actually stopped to think or eat or drink water. It's been days of alcohol and weed and any other substance he can get his hands on and fights and back alley fumbles.

There is the rotten taste of vomit on the back of his tongue. He must have been sick, then. Fucking perfect. Great. Love that.

He can barely put two thoughts together. It's like thinking through the thick, sticky mud at the bottom of a river.

His head hurts. Fuck. It's bad. He cracked his eyes for a second when he woke up, but the midday sun was an ice pick through to the center of his brain, and he slammed them closed again in a second. Ed hasn't opened his eyes again. Hasn't even looked around.

It's obvious that he's back in the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor of his room on The Revenge. The stink of old sweat surrounds him in a way that makes his stomach roll.

He's old. Too fucking old for these multiple-day-long tavern crawls. His body can't do this shit anymore.

Ed should get up and drink several gallons of water.

He turns over, pulls one of the blankets over his head, goes back to sleep instead.

*~*~*

Stede hasn't told the crew, yet. He knows that he should say something. The crew is still working so hard, dedicated to their efforts to get a ship and set off to find the rest of them. Stede is going to tell them. He will.

He just needs a little bit of time to regroup. Adjust his expectations. He can do any terrible, awful thing in this fucking world if he just gets enough time to adjust his expectations.

They're going to have to keep going, aren't they?

The rest of the crew still wants to be pirates. Stede is sure that, somewhere deep down, he probably also still wants to be a pirate. They certainly can't keep working for Jackie for the rest of their lives.

They still need a ship. They should probably still go after the rest of the missing crew.

Just no Ed. No more search for Ed. Everyone else can have what they want, and Stede is going to have to put all of his deepest desires back in the snow that is always so willing to fall.

He can live with this. This is still so much more than he ever thought he would get to have.

What does it matter that he has been given the chance to take one single taste of the life he never even knew he was craving? There are parts of himself that have been sleeping from the moment he was born and that woke up in the last few months alone. It would have been so much easier, in a way, if he had just kept on living in the snow. It's exhausting, having to learn all of these things about himself in his late forties.

He built so much of himself around this idea of who he was, and only now is he starting to realize just how wrong it was.

He's thankful. He is. What a privilege to get to learn all of this. And yet, it's so much work. It doesn't feel fair that he has to put in all this work to pull apart the pieces of himself, look into the corners, when it seems like everyone else just got to learn these things as they aged.

Not the point. None of it is the point.

The point is that Stede is alone in the shared bunk room that he and the rest of his crew have been using, staring at a back wall, adjusting his expectations. This is fine. He can still find joy as a pirate. Hell, he was feeling that joy, before he ever met Ed. It's possible to find it again. He's going to help his crew earn the money that they need to buy their own ship, and he's going to step up as the captain, as long as they'll still have him.

And then.

Well.

Then that'll be his life. And he will find joy in it. He thinks of the crew as his friends, and he's pretty sure at least some of the crew sees him as their friend as well. He'll be on the high seas. He won't have to pretend to be anyone he isn't. He'll be able to live as his true self. All of this is so staggeringly much more than nothing.

He will be in love with Ed for as long as he lives.

It feels stupid and naive to be so sure of that fact, but there it is. Stede has gone this long without feeling even a flicker of what he feels for Ed for another person. He will never love someone else the way that he loves Ed. He will never meet another person who will understand him so well, and he just has to be okay with that.

He had Ed for weeks, and it was lovely. Stede is the one that fucked it all up. He has no right to be anything other than grateful for the little bit of time he got to have. He'll have to hold it close in his memory, since those are the only memories he'll get.

Ed. Stede can't get the last image of him out of his head. Ed, slumped over in an alleyway, intoxicated into insensibility while Izzy tugged at his limp body until it was somewhat stable on his shoulder. The rag Stede had gotten him had fallen to the ground almost immediately. There's not a chance that Izzy or Ed bothered to bring the bread or the water with them.

They probably just sat there, on the cobblestones, until someone else in need of them came along and took them.

Stede should be grateful it went to a good cause. Instead, that fire within him roars to consuming, crucible heat levels at the thought of someone else having the things he brought to Ed when Ed was in need of them. At the thought of Ed having gone back to the ship without any food or water.

He likely woke up with a terrible headache. If he's even woken up yet.

Stede wishes he were there. If he were, he could pull the curtains closed to block out some of the light. He could bring Ed more water and some kind of terribly greasy food he requested from Roach. He would wrap him in warm blankets and help to block out all the noise and terrible strain from the world around him and the damage done from his nights on the island.

If Ed is feeling even one third as terrible as Stede is imagining he might be, he would be in need of some taking care of. No one else on that ship is going to do it. There's not a chance that Ed would allow them to, even if they thought to try.

Stede wants to be there. He wants to be bringing Ed water, and food, and soft things to surround himself with.

He doesn't have the kind of finery he once did. If he had a ship, he would go out and steal it. Rob the world blind just so he could bring more treasures back to Ed's side. Fine teas and coffees and delicacies and silks and plush furniture. Stede would build a palace with his own two hands and the wealth of people who would never know how to appreciate it the way Ed would.

Stede doesn't have that kind of finery. Stede doesn't have a ship to go and obtain that finery. Stede is not even allowed to talk to Ed.

He still wants to bring him something. All he has in the room with him is some tepid water that's really just a very thin beer, almost all that anyone drinks on this island or the ships. All he has is a plate of a pork and potato hash that one of Jackie's husbands cooked up almost a day ago. If Ed were here, Stede would share any of this with him that he wanted. And if he didn't want any of it, Stede would go out and hold up one of the other taverns on this island until they brought out their finest options.

He just wants Ed to be warm and comfortable. Is that too much to ask? Ed doesn't even have to look at him. He really doesn't. Stede will live in the walls and come out when Ed is asleep. He'll give him anything he wants in the whole world. Surely Ed wouldn't protest that?

Stede would give everything he has to Ed. In this moment specifically, Stede would give him food and water. Maybe something to make him more comfortable. He would.

*~*~*

Ed wakes again. He doesn't know how much later in the day it is, but he immediately knows something is wrong. Something is different. Because the pillow he's resting his head on doesn't smell right.

All the other mess of this nest smell like stale sweat and tears and snot. That that's not what his pillow smells like.

It smells...not clean. That's not quite right.

It smells like Stede.

Not in the clear, obvious way. Stede likes to use lavender soap. He got Ed on board with it too, while they were sailing together. He usually mostly just smells clean and like lavender.

The pillow doesn't smell like lavender. It doesn't smell like any specific thing from the world around him. It's deeper than that. More instinctual. It doesn't smell like the same kind of things that Stede smells like. It just smells like Stede. There's something warm and masculine and wonderful about it, and the second Ed gets a whiff of it, his whole body curls up like a contented cat.

And then, of course, that falls to pieces. He moves his body and the pain spears like a lance from one of his temples to the other, nailing him to the floor. Every single one of his muscles aches. He knows that, when he woke up earlier, his mouth tasted like vomit. Now that he's slept on it even longer, that has festered into something truly horrifying and, somehow, kind of fuzzy.

Ed cracks his eyes open. There is a clay cup next to him on the ground, and he doesn't think before picking it up and swigging whatever's inside. Anything is better than this. And, fucking lucky bet, it turns out to be room temperature beer, the kind they use for water on their ships, which is probably the only thing his stomach could have handled without spewing everywhere.

He swishes the liquid around, tries to eradicate every bit of the taste in his mouth. It won't really be gone until he finds a rag and some charcoal and is able to properly scrub. For now, though, Ed spits the liquid onto the floor away from where he's laying.

There's food too. Some kind of meat and potato thing. It looks like the kind of food that will make him throw up right now and that will help to settle his stomach after a couple of bites in a few hours. For now, Ed throws back what drink he can stomach and then slinks back into his makeshift bed. 

He knows that he is probably going to feel something about this. He will. Soon.

*~*~*

Stede is losing his mind, actually. Thank you so much for checking in. Holy shit. He was just sitting there, thinking about how much he wanted Ed to be comfortable and happy and fed and warm and hydrated. And then, before his own eyes, his food and water completely disappeared. Vanished. Without a sound or a shimmer or anything. They were there and then they were gone.

It's not like Stede hasn't seen this happen before. He's had this soulbond for the past few decades and, in that time, has watched his possessions disappear before his eyes.

The difference, this time, is that he was thinking right then about how much he wanted Ed to have those things.

It wasn't intentional. But also. It wasn't not intentional.

He sits in shocked silence for a moment. Because he's already thought through this. It shouldn't matter that he wanted to give Ed something. He already determined that simply wanting to send something doesn't make it happen. He has sent a thousand things without thinking about Ed or wanting to give them away. It can't be that sending something requires thinking of the person or wanting to send it.

What was different this time? Was it just a coincidence? Stede tries to trace back through the thought patterns he went down a few minutes ago.

He was thinking about Ed. About how he might not ever get to see him again. About living in his walls. About giving him everything that he had and robbing the world until he had even more to give.

Stede stares at his pillow, waiting for one of these thoughts to work and send it over too. He wants Ed to be comfortable. Surely this would qualify.

He's already thought some of this through. Something in the desires of the person receiving the gifts. Less to do with the desires of the person sending the gift. Maybe the thing the recipient needs but doesn't know that they need.

The thing the recipient needs but doesn't know that they need.

The thing Stede wanted to send. He was thinking, earlier, about how Ed must be feeling. He must be incredibly hungover. He must be thirsty. Stede had been thinking about how Ed was feeling, what he might need. Stede didn't actually, specifically, think about wanting to send his food and water over the soulbond. He was just thinking about how he wanted to help Ed.

So maybe that's it. Not specifically the wants of the sender. Just the needs of the recipient and what the sender can provide to meet those. Or maybe, what the sender wants to provide, to meet that need. Stede assumes there are infinite things that could meet a need. Infinite things that he has that might meet that need. But he was thinking about wanting to give Ed his food and then the food vanished. Presumably to travel to Ed.

Stede is going to figure this out. He thinks about what Ed might be feeling right now. The state he might be in. Probably in discomfort and pain. Probably a headache and nausea and exhaustion. He thinks about what else Ed might need, that Stede would want to provide, in an effort to meet some of those needs. He wants Ed to be warm and fed and comfortable and hydrated. He wants him to be comfortable.

The pillow.

That would be lovely, wouldn't it? Something soft and comfortable for him to rest his head on. Just in case he doesn't have any pillows he likes. As if this one in some back room on the Republic of Pirates would be any better than that.

No.

Can't think like that.

The pillow is remaining stubbornly before Stede. Probably because he's having trouble convincing even himself that he's trying to send it. He needs to focus.

Ed is probably sleeping. Stede wants him to be comfortable. He wants him to have something that will remind him of Stede and be warm and comforting, now that Stede isn't allowed to be near him.

Ed is probably in need of comfort.

Stede wants to send him his pillow.

Ed is sad and in pain.

Stede is going to give him a pillow about that.

And then

The pillow

Vanishes

And Stede is left, still alone in this room, realizing that he just sent the only pillow he has to some unknown location, to someone who might not even want it.

But none of that matters. Because he figured it out. He's, at least, pretty fucking sure that he figured out how the soulbond works. And that's incredible.

Stede Bonnet. A soulmate. That can't be right.

But it is right. He has a soulmate and their soulbond allows them to send each other what the other person might be in need of.

The soulbond, as far as Stede has worked it out in the last few minutes, looks at what you are feeling and sends you what your soulmate would want you to have, if they knew you felt that way.

It's a completely new perspective on every part of this. The scraps of fabric after everything that happened with James. The baubles and treasures from far away adventures, when Stede was so covered in snow that he couldn't even let himself look at them. The things Ed would have wanted him to have, if he had known Stede was feeling that way.

And there, Stede's crying. He's not sure when he started, but it doesn't feel bad. It feels clean, like he's been building to this for a long time. He leans back against the wall and lets it happen.

*~*~*

Ed is being haunted.

He sleeps some more, wakes up a few hours later, drinks more of the water and picks at the food on the ground until the nausea calms and hunger wakes slavering within him. It's been a long fucking time since he last actually ate something, now that he thinks about it. Not that he can remember the last several hours or days of his bender. But, knowing himself after all these years, they did not include food.

The pillow he's laying on smells like Stede. There are residual images from his hungover dreams clinging like spiderweb. Stede, heavy and flushed on top of him, fingers deep in his hair and tongue down his throat. A proper handful of a lush ass, something to sink his teeth into. The press of warmth, of blood, of body.

Ed always has some fucked up vivid dreams when he's coming down from days of raging and a hangover. They're always the sort of things that make no sense but get tangled up with his memories so that he's picking through them for days afterward, trying to figure out what happened and what didn't.

This didn't happen.

Obviously.

But, clearly, he's been giving his brain too much fucking leeway, because it went ahead all on its own and made some dreamscape fuckfest starring Stede fucking Bonnet and left him to deal with all the motherfucking shrapnel of the aftermath.

Ed stumbles his way out of his quarters and toward the galley to throw back several gallons of water and some hot tea. The touch of his lips to the tea cup. Stede's lips to his throat.

He walks on deck to show Izzy that he survived and let him rant and rave until he's moved on past the whole experience. The wind blows his hair every which way. Stede's finger's in his hair.

He takes the time to actually care for his leathers, for the first time in a while, since there's nothing else to do and it got pretty fucked up in his little quest to forget every fucking thing Stede Bonnet ever said. When he puts it back on, the weight thumps comfortably on him. Stede's weight on his lap.

And then, he lays back down, on a fucking pillow. A fucking pillow that smells like Stede fucking Bonnet, because he's his soulmate and he sent the fucking pillow, on purpose or not. And it's not like Ed's going to throw the fucking thing out, when all that it is is a perfectly good pillow, but it means that he falls asleep each night able to smell that smell he didn't even realize he had been memorizing over the past few months.

So. Like he said. Fucking haunted.

He lays on the floor of his quarters. Sees the strange bright colors of paint lining the baseboards of the room. Stede.

He swings by the galley to get something to eat and the ship's cook has loaded it up with orange marmalade, since there were huge stores of it in the back room of the ship. Stede.

He goes to use the head and there's a huge fucking brass bathtub in there, since it can't fit out through any doorway or window and they couldn't find a way to throw it over the side. Which means, some-fucking-how, the ship must have been built around the ridiculous fucking bathtub. Stede.

And it would almost be manageable, if that was all that it was. Ed learned early on in life how to shoulder through the shit and rot of the world and just keep fucking fighting. It's exhausting, and he's about fucking done with it, but he can do it.

If he was just having to see this shit every day, he could destroy it. He could cover it up. He could close his eyes. He could get over it. He could forget. He could continue to stay so drunk that he doesn't think anything at all.

If it was just that.

Instead, Stede seems to have somehow managed to fucking pry open the floodgates in the soulbond. Ed wakes up every fucking morning, before he's managed to have a single drop of alcohol to drink, still hazy from the intoxicating dreams his brain won't leave alone, guard fucking down. And then he has to look around him to see just what fuckery Stede has pulled in the night.

Water. Food. Blankets. Pillows. Soft robes.

It's all simple things. Basic animal comforts and shit. But. It's Every. Fucking. Morning.

He's being haunted by a ghost that does not want to be banished and it's making it really fucking hard to retreat back into that self-destructive Kraken that everyone else wants him to be. That self-destructive Kraken that seems to have tired itself out so much on that multi-day bender that it's left to go hibernate, leaving Ed without anything to lash out with.

It goes on for fucking weeks. Ed can't get this rich fucking white man out of his head. This ridiculous soulmate. Stupid Stede fucking Bonnet.

He's going to scream. Tear out his hair. Rip off his own skin.

He burns down a ship in a raid instead.

But still. This has to stop. He's going to make Stede stop.

*~*~*

It's a fairly routine life, working for Jackie in the Republic of Pirates. That fire that was driving Stede's every move is suddenly...snuffed out. He's still working. His crew is relying on him to help them save up for a ship, and he will help however he can. But all of his inner drive has died.

Well. Not all of it. He knows that he's not allowed to see Ed again. Ed set a boundary, and Stede is going to follow it. He's going to leave him alone. Ed won't have to see him.

But, well, Stede can't help it if the soulbond keeps sending things to Ed. There's nothing to be done about that. It would be sending things anyway. All Stede is doing is picking and choosing which specific things.

All this to say, Stede is starting to become incredibly acquainted with the market stalls of the Republic of Pirates. He still dedicates the majority of his small paycheck from Jackie to the group fund for their ship, but all the leftovers he keeps and spends on things Ed might want. Might need, given the way he could potentially be feeling.

It's hard when Stede tries to get too specific with it, since he can't know for sure exactly what Ed is feeling. He's purchased necklaces and rings and things for Ed's hair, but that doesn't usually send. He has to have at least an inkling of what Ed might need, or else the soulbond just chooses its own thing to send based on what Ed is actually feeling, rather than whatever Stede had purchased.

It helps that Stede doesn't own that many things for the soulbond to choose from anymore. As long as he keeps it general and broad strokes and focuses on one of the few things he owns, he's managing to send them over to Ed more nights than not. Or, more mornings than not. Ed doesn't seem to ever be asleep by the time Stede goes to sleep, so he has to wait until he wakes up in the morning before he can try.

It also helps if he just assumes that Ed's feeling lonely and sad. Stede still isn't sure if that means that's actually what he's feeling, or if it's just close enough that the gifts always send at that point, but it aches in Stede's chest either way.

Not that this is the right time to be thinking about any of this. Time and place, Stede.

"I promise, I promise I can get Jackie the money! You just have to give me a few more days and I'll have it."

"Yeah, but that could be kind of hard, since you owe her, like, four hundred doubloons," Wee John challenges, dramatically checking against the scroll in his hands, having dutifully memorized the amount she owed before they arranged for her to come over in a tender. Stede and Oluwande are flanking him with their weapons drawn and pointed toward the ground. A passive threat, rather than active. They've been doing Jackie's dirty work for long enough that she's lent them a ship to go out and find some of the people who have taken to avoiding the Republic of Pirates, due to the aforementioned debts. When Stede had brought up the fact that they were pirates and very clearly capable of stealing Jackie's ship and running off to sea, she had pointed out that they are all now very aware of what Jackie does to the people who owe her a debt. And, well, that was a very good point.

"No, no, no," Red Benny is frantic with it, rushing through her words with her hands held out in front of her. It would look like they're putting a bunch of scare tactics on some poor innocent woman, if it weren't for the several obvious bloodstains on the cuffs of her sleeves and the frankly staggering amount of debt she had managed to wrack up with Jackie. "I can get it. I can. Didn't you hear? The English are supposed to be running some kind of search and invasion around the Republic of Pirates tomorrow. I'm planning a counter-attack on them with some of my guys. We should have the money this time tomorrow."

"That would be nice," Oluwande speaks up, "if we haven't heard people say that almost every day for the past three months. Plus, if you die trying to steal from the English, then Jackie isn't going to get any of her money." He always sounds so reasonable and calm during these things. It's something Stede truly admires about him.

Red Benny doesn't seem nearly as impressed.

"Look, guys, I don't have the money. I can give it to you in two days or not at all."

"We accept payment plans!" Stede finally pipes up, quite proud of the parts of this he has worked to create.

"Wait a second," Red Benny squints at him, "aren't you that Gentleman Pirate guy?"

"Steve Edwards," Stede says, stepping forward to shake her hand genially, "no relation to the Gentleman Pirate, though I've heard he's quite handsome." Stede raises his hand to his beard that has, over the past few weeks, grown to the point that it is no longer patchy and could actually be identified as something he intentionally grew. Not that it seems to be helpful at all in keeping people from identifying him.

"The fuck's a payment plan?"

"So glad you asked," Stede demurs. "It means that, if you can't pay your entire debt right now, then Jackie will allow you to pay what you have now and then we'll come back in two days for the rest of it."

"That actually sounds really reasonable," Red Benny says, and Stede can feel himself beaming in pride.

"Yeah, the captain comes up with all sorts of stuff like that," Oluwande adds, because he's Stede's favorite member of the crew.

"Let me just go get that, then."

Stede, Oluwande, and Wee John wait on the deck of the tiny little ship that Jackie lent them and watch as Red Benny rows her way back over the ship they hailed down. They wait for almost five minutes before they see the sails unfurl and begin to fill with the wind.

"So she definitely just-" Wee John starts.

"Yup," Oluwande finishes.

Stede doesn't stick around long enough for either of them to finish their critique of his methods. They have a runner to chase down.

*~*~*

"Izzy."

"Yes, Blackbeard?" Izzy is standing at the wheel, and Ed had honestly been hoping to startle him, but that's pretty much impossible to do.

"I need your help." Ed almost never goes to him for things. Izzy's the one who brings things to Ed. Ed may or may not be intentionally taking advantage of this fact.

"'Course." Izzy mutters, still staring off into the distance over the wheel, but every particle of him turned toward Ed in complete attention. Maybe it's because he respects Ed so much. Maybe it's because he's such a dedicated first mate. Maybe it's because Ed has been flying fully off the rails worse than he ever has before and Izzy is keeping himself on guard rather than risk an unpredictable change in Ed's temper.

Who can say.

"I need to find Stede Bonnet."

Izzy chokes for a minute, on his spit, and hacks a few coughs into his elbow before he can bring himself to look at Ed again. That's okay. Ed's fucking waiting. He's being haunted. He's going to do whatever it will fucking take to make this stop.

"Back to the Republic of Pirates, then?"

"Is that where he is? How do you know that?" Ed's surprised by the way the sudden, frenetic, violent intensity takes him over. How does Izzy know that? Or is he just guessing? Ed is trying excise Stede Bonnet from his life, so why does any of this matter for even a second?

Except it does, and Ed is willing to choke that information out of Izzy if he doesn't answer soon. Izzy is staring at him, a calculating look in his eye. He knows something. He better fucking say something soon. This bitter, passive aggressive silence approach that he's been taking ever since they took the Revenge and left everything Stede Bonnet stood for behind is bullshit.

It's too fucking bad, if he's been unhappy with the way that Ed is running the ship. This is what he fucking asked for. This is what he fucking gets.

"Just thought that would be a good place to start, since we don't know where he is."

"I know you're hiding something, Izzy," Ed sings, but he can't actually make him speak and the interest that swept over him just a second before is pulling out like the tide, leaving him shaken up and cold in the aftermath. He realizes, all at once, that none of it fucking matters and he doesn't actually give a shit. "Whatever, never mind, just get us there, yeah?"

And it's clear that Izzy is going to say something, but he takes it back when Ed says that last bit, nods his head sharply once. And fine. Sure. What the fuck ever. Ed couldn't give a fuck.

He's going to the Republic of Pirates. He's going to find a way to find Stede.

He's not sure what he's going to do once he's found Stede. Maybe he'll grab him by the neck and slam him to the ground, choke him out until he can't breathe and his heart stops beating and he can be a proper ghost to haunt Ed, rather than this fucking still-living-haunting-nightmare he's been living in right now.

Maybe he'll pin him down and kiss him until he can suck the soul out of his body through his mouth. Through his dick. Through fucking something, until Ed has the soul inside him instead and then the soulbond can shut the fuck up and leave him alone for long enough to drown himself in his own sad sack misery. Die alone in a puddle of his own piss.

Maybe he'll fall down to his knees and grab ahold of Stede's legs like a child. So that he can't take even a single step away from Ed without him coming with him. He'll cry until all this awful rot inside of him comes oozing out of his eyes. He'll hide his tears into Stede's leg and press into it so closely that he can't see all the awful black ichor of Ed's tears. He'll beg. He'll plead. He would walk across hot coals to spend one more minute near Stede Bonnet. For even the chance that he might take him back.

What will he do when he sees Stede Bonnet again? Probably douse himself in gasoline and set himself on fire, just so Stede will look at him for another second.

He'll do whatever it takes, as long as things are different afterward. As long as he stops feeling like this, like he can't escape the haunting thought of Stede's lips on his, Stede's weight against him, Stede's hands in his hair. As long as he stops waking up every fucking morning surrounded by all the beautiful fucking things that have been cast off onto him. He can't take it anymore, waking up surrounded by all of Stede's castoffs. Just a relentless reminder of everything he put on the line and all the ways it was thrown back into his face.

He can't wake up every morning for the rest of his life. He'll do whatever it takes to make that stop. He'll kill Stede. He'll steal his soul. He'll pull Stede's heart out of Stede's chest and sew the two of them together with thick stitches, so he'll drop dead if he ever even fucking thinks of taking a step away.

He'll figure it out. He's sure it'll come to him in the moment.

*~*~*

Stede is working hard for Jackie. He wants to help his crew and he wants to be back out on the ocean without having to work a customer service job. Every day of this work is reminding him again just how special and wonderful his crew is. It is not that Stede suddenly became able to interact with others and win people over. It's that he was lucky enough to meet a very select group of individuals who are willing to put up with him and who at least try to listen when he talks.

He is still no good at all at interacting with the general public, and there is nothing better at reminding you of that fact than having to travel all over an island, constantly meeting new people, and having to convince them to do something for you that they really don't want to do.

Stede has a crew that he loves, because they listen to him and put up with all the strange, bizarre, and embarrassing things he's always doing.

That's not the same as Ed, though. With Ed, it had never felt like he was just putting up with Stede. It felt like he was in on the joke. Like he genuinely wanted to be there. Like he was silly and bizarre and embarrassing too, and just as happy to find someone like Stede as Stede was to find someone like Ed.

Stede sits alone in the room he shares with the rest of the crew. He is starting to realize that they have a tendency to head out into the bar area for breakfast early every morning, just to give him a little time alone in here, and that's a little too much for him to handle thinking about right now, if he's being completely honest.

It's all a little too much for him to think about right now, but here he still is. Thinking about it.

Because Stede has to focus all day. On keeping it together in front of his crew. On making sure he's paying attention to the facial expression he's making when he's talking to their bounties. On his tone. On the words that he's choosing. Can't jump into the point too directly. Need to make small talk. Can't speak too flowery or spend too long on the details. Need to stay on task. He needs to make money because his crew needs a ship. This job with Jackie is the only method he can think of for a man with a considerable bounty on his head.

So Stede goes through his day with his nose to the grindstone. He doesn't let himself get bogged down with relentless thoughts of Ed, because then he would never even get out of bed in the first place, and he can't let down his crew like that.

But, early in the morning, before Stede has to put on his mask for the day, the crew gives him a little bit of space. Stede has time to take out the gift he purchased last night that he's going to try and send Ed's way. And Stede is happy to take advantage of that, because he needs a second. Just a second. To sit alone and let himself fall to pieces.

Ed. Edward. He misses him like a hole cut through him with rusty scissors. The kind of pain that aches and stings and infects. It's a messy, grotesque wound full of yellow puss and crusty, infected scabs and red, irritated skin. It aches all day and then, at night, while the rest of the crew sleeps, Stede lays alone and silent in the dark and picks and picks and picks at it. And then, when he wakes up, he picks some more.

Reminds himself of that moment on the beach. Ed was so close. Both hands on Stede's knees. His lips against Stede's lips, and Stede never even properly kissed him back then. Hasn't had the chance to properly kiss him in a way he's proud of.

He was so close and he invited Stede to run away with him. To China. Start a new life together, just the two of them.

How long did it take, for Ed to realize that Stede wasn't going to come? How long did he wait at their meeting place, before he decided to leave without Stede? Was it right away, when Stede didn't show up at the scheduled time, or was it a slow and agonizing realization of betrayal?

If Stede could go back, change it, he would in half a heartbeat. He would leave Chauncey dead on the forest floor and go find Ed. Let them come up with a plan together.

He can't go back. He can't change it.

Stede has a clay mug of water and a fresh baked loaf of bread to send to Ed this morning. In the chest next to his bed, he has a gaudy golden ring. A heavy pendant on a silver chain. Seventeen love letters that he's tried again and again to send.

They don't send.

They don't send because the soulbond doesn't care about the desires of the sender. It worries about the way the recipient is feeling and what they need and what the sender would give in that situation.

They don't send because Ed doesn't need a love letter from Stede. He doesn't want one. When Stede takes into account the way that Ed is likely feeling, a love letter would do nothing but make that worse. They are selfish, self-centered gifts that are meant as a way for Stede to share his feelings. Explain. Apologize. Ed doesn't need any of that. That's all Stede, trying desperately to justify himself. Let off some of this awful, burning steam locked in his chest.

And so Stede writes the love letters, and then he locks them up in the chest next to his bed. He buys Edward lovely, wonderful things that he would shower him in if he were here, and they go into the chest as well. He holds the red handkerchief close to himself, smells Ed on it, tries not to get any tears on it, and then he puts that into the chest too.

And then Stede refocuses on the fresh baked bread and water. The basic needs, removed from any soft, sentimental, selfish feelings.

At least he can provide something.

And isn't that an honor? To still be allowed just this? To be able to take care of Ed when he might not be feeling his best?

How could Stede ever have the nerve to ask for more?

*~*~*

The Kraken has been quieter, ever since Ed's most recent bender. Now that he's being haunted by Stede, it doesn't seem to want to have anything to do with his life. Ed still isn't sure what he thinks of all of this. The Kraken is exhausting. It's all the parts of him that he absolutely despises. But it's also so much easier than trying to get through the day while actually feeling his feelings, instead of throwing them all out into the world for everyone else to suffer with.

When he holds them inside, actually lets himself experience them, it's fucking shit. Really.

The Kraken doesn't allow for it often, which means that Ed still doesn't quite know how to feel feelings. They all hit with the same overwhelming mass of physical sensations and drag him under. He can't pick apart if he's pissed the fuck off or happy or scared or sad or some fucked up combination of all of it. He doesn't know how to tell. Something broke in him long ago, probably, and now it's all too much of a mess to untangle.

There's no clarity. Ed just knows he's feeling fucking something and it hits in waves. The pulsing, overwhelming drag of the ocean at high tide when there's a storm brewing. The kind that knocks you clean off your feet, slams your head into the sand, fills your mouth with water and doesn't even let you come up for breath before you're pulled back under.

He doesn't know what he's feeling but it's a lot and it comes in pulses so that the tears just flow out of his eyes, stop, flow again. He lays on the floor of his room on a pillow that smells like Stede Bonnet, that smells like his fucking soulmate, and even that wasn't enough to make him stay.

It's all a fucking joke. No wonder Stede didn't stay. This is all Ed is capable of: dizzy, shaking tears on the floor of his room while he can't even put words to what he's feeling or even what exactly is making him fucking cry.

God, his whole fucking life is a joke.

No wonder.

No fucking wonder.

*~*~*

Stede and the rest of his crew make their way into the dock as the sun is setting. Jackie was benevolent enough to allow Stede the use of his old crew, in exchange for just a minor fee. She has strictly forbidden them from trying to run any raids on ships, since she doesn't want to pay for the repairs and, for some reason, doesn't trust Stede's crew to make enough money on a raid to make up for it.

He can't understand where she got that idea from, but it's been impossible to dissuade her, and Stede hasn't been offered a good chance yet to prove her wrong.

The point is, it's been a long day of trying to convince people to give them money when they are, historically, not the kind of people who like to pay the money they owe. Black Pete and Roach are leading the way, hustling along ahead of the rest of them after they complained all day about not eating enough before they left.

Stede watches them walk into Spanish Jackie'z, happy to linger at the back and chat with Buttons about his day. Or, more accurately, listen to Buttons celebrate the fact that they're getting to sail at all again and bemoan the loss of the sea for the night.

And then, suddenly, Roach and Black Pete are very much back in their space, hustling away from the entrance to the bar with the whites of their eyes showing in panic.

"Guys, what's going on?" But they're already in Stede's space. Black Pete is standing, arms straight at his sides, unmoving and clearly scrambling for the right words to say to make Stede stop. Roach, on the other hand, slinks his way up to Stede's side and drapes an arm over his shoulders.

"Captain, why don't we go eat somewhere else tonight? Don't you want to shake things up a little bit? Change the routine?" He's using his grip on Stede's shoulders to steer him away, not particularly subtly, and there are two parts of Stede. One of them is the defiant part, that is so fucking sick of following what everyone else has told him to do his whole life that it immediately bucks and rebels at any hint of outside influence. The other, much louder and stronger part of himself, the part that he tries very hard to listen to, loves his crew and wants their opinions and perspectives to be valued and validated.

Stede allows Roach to move him.

They make it three steps.

"Stede Bonnet." And Stede freezes, because he knows that voice. He knows what it means, if he's hearing that voice.

Stede turns around, and there he is. Israel Hands. Spitting with impotent fury in the entrance to Spanish Jackie'z. When he sees Stede see him, Izzy doesn't do a damn thing. He just stands there, clearly waiting for Stede to make his way back.

Stede hates Izzy. He hates him probably more than the odious little man even deserves, honestly. He hates the way he feels when he's around him and the fact that Izzy was the one terrible dissenting voice in the middle of the best few weeks of Stede's life. He usually does everything he can to ignore Izzy, keep moving as if his words are bouncing off a brick wall.

If Izzy is here, then there's a chance that Ed is here as well.

Stede walks toward Spanish Jackie'z.

*~*~*

Blackbeard doesn't actually go to the Republic of Pirates often. He has more important, secret clubs that he's a part of, where he can go to get drunk and party in ways the rest of these dickheads could never imagine. He's a man of mystery and shit and he could never be here when he's too busy hiding his treasure in far-off secret places and drinking late into the night with the Devil himself.

He does come here, but usually only once every few years, like a few weeks ago, when he's on a proper self-destructive tour of the bars and looking for the fastest way to get himself fucked up and kicked out of a location. Even that's legendary. He's never here and, when he is, it's for a bacchanal lasting several days. He acquires an entourage of people he's never met before and won't remember when he's sober again. It's a whole thing.

So, maybe Blackbeard does go to the Republic of Pirates, but never like this. Sober and calm and with a clear goal in his mind. When that's the case, he usually sends Izzy and waits for him to come back with everything he needs and seventeen rants about the state of piracy these days.

When he walks into Spanish Jackie'z, he watches her head jerk up. He can see her bracing herself for the avalanche of rowdy customers to follow and the testing of her patience until it snaps and she sends him on his ass right out onto the street.

But he's sober, and his beard slowly growing back, and he's got a charming smile on for her.

"Spanish Jackie, my favorite informant. How is Nassau treating you?" Jackie's smart. She can recognize a conversation like this from a mile off. She's holding court at a table near the bar, but comes shmoozing over to Ed when he speaks.

"Mother fucking Blackbeard." She offers him a cigar from her case and Ed accepts. "What the fuck are you doing on this shit heap sober?"

Ed leans into her space a little bit, not touching, and notices how she does the same. It's a dramatic play. All the patrons in the bar are watching them, but they won't be able to hear. Ed's doing her a favor with all this drama and intrigue. He needs to be on her good side. She's watching him, because she can tell that he needs to be on her good side.

Ed misses the days when he could hide every movement of his lips with his beard. It's so much harder to speak secretly with it this short.

"What's it going to take for you to tell me where I can find Stede Bonnet?"

Jackie was taking a deep drag from her cigar when he spoke, and she takes a long fucking time to hold it in. When she breathes it out, it's into a cloud surrounding Ed's face. He knows a delay tactic when he sees one. She fucking knows where Stede is. Izzy seemed like he might too. Maybe every-fucking-one except for Ed does.

"Now what," she sighs out again and Ed is getting tired of this, "could you possibly want that whiny motherfucker for?" There's some kind of commotion over by the entrance to the bar, but Ed doesn't give it even a moment of his attention. He's too focused on making sure his face is all Blackbeard and not giving a single fucking thing away.

"Kill him, pay him, what the fuck ever. I'm not offering you a story, Jackie. I'm asking if you know where Stede Bonnet is, and I think you should be thankful I'm asking this calmly."

"Yeah, alright," Jackie sniffs. "Jackie knows where that motherfucker is. But why should Jackie tell you?"

Ed's about ready to take out his gun and show Jackie just how patient he's been up to this point. He's fucking Blackbeard. He ripped his still-beating heart out of his chest. He can make her talk and they both fucking know whose side this island will be on.

"Stede Bonnet," Izzy snaps, from his place back at the door, and suddenly Ed is fucking frozen. Fuck. Izzy said that the way he says things when he's trying to get someone's attention, not when he's just talking about them.

Ed shoots a vicious, poisonous look at Jackie, for clearly trying to milk a bribe out of him when she knew that Stede Bonnet was on the island. Potentially even knew that he was coming here.

Jackie grins back, unrepentant, and blows some more smoke into Ed's face. If he weren't frozen, he might swing on her. As is, there's nothing for him to do but stand stock-still and watch the door while he sees Jackie saunter back over to her table in his periphery.

And then Stede walks in.

And.

Fuck

Fuck

He's still so fucking beautiful that Ed feels a staggering thump in the gaping hole where his heart used to be. He's such a beautiful fucking thing. We're just not those kind of people.

He's changed, in the months since they've seen each other. To a staggering amount, really. Ed is used to the fabulous frippery. The summer linens and rather exquisite cashmere. Stede was always dressed up like flowers in springtime. His hair was curled and coifed and elegantly managed. He looked every inch the clothes horse he had claimed to be. Stede had taught Ed every step of his morning and evening preparation.

Stede has changed.

He's dressed in darker colors, ones that blend in better with the rest of the crowd around here. Navy and brown in just one layer. It's simpler and makes his hair gleam like burnished gold in the candlelight. And, while Ed's on the topic of his hair, that's different too. Stede's hair was long and meticulously groomed, but that's not true anymore. It's shorter, quite a bit shorter, and falling around his face in loose, messy curls that Ed wants to feel. He's gone and grown something of a beard, trying to steal Blackbeard's whole brand. It's short and fluffy, but he's clearly been working to grow it for a while now, and the combination of hair and beard almost makes him look like a fucking lion, fierce and majestic. He's got an earring too, dangling jauntily from his right ear, and Ed wants to tug on it with his teeth, see how well it's healed.

There's some mess to him. A layer of sweat and grime and dirt that is truly unavoidable if you've been in the Republic of Pirates for any length of time. He's got an eye patch on. Is that because he's injured his eye? Or he's preparing for a night trip? Or just because he liked the way it looked?

Below all of that surface level shit, though, there's something much deeper that's different. Stede doesn't just look different, he is different. Stede walks into the bar with his shoulders squared and his stance loose and confident. That was never the case, for as long as Ed has known him. Stede either walked with the bitchy confidence of someone who was about to fuck shit up or the forced cheer of someone who had no idea what they were doing but wasn't going to let that stop them for even a second. Ed had admired both. Extensively. But there's something now that has Stede looking much more settled and...content.

He looks like Stede Bonnet.

He looks like the most beautiful thing Ed has seen in weeks.

He looks like a pirate. Just a regular pirate. With regular hair and clothing and jewelry and the confident swagger of his walk. He looks like he belongs here, in this town, in this bar. There's a knife at his side.

And that's the worst way that he could possibly look. Because that's what Ed was trying to offer him. Ed offered to run away with him to China and live a life of carousing piracy on the high seas. Stede could have cut his hair, grown a beard, gotten his ear pierced, changed his clothes, picked up some mess. Ed would have let Stede do literally anything he wanted for the rest of their lives forever. Stede could have had all of this with Ed.

And this means that Stede didn't run away from a life of piracy. He ran away from Ed. Very specifically Ed. Because he has stuck around and seems to be settled and content in this fucking town and breathing the fucking sea air as if it never even crossed his fucking mind that Ed threw all of his belongings overboard and sewed his own bleeding heart to the flag of his ship rather than having to live with it inside his chest for even another second.

And, suddenly, Ed can't fucking do this, actually. He just really can't. What did he think he was going to do? Stand in front of Stede Bonnet and demand that he stop sending him soulmate gifts, as if that wasn't the single bright spot in any one of Ed's days?

Stede's happy. He's settled and confident and content. Whatever he'd been looking for out on the sea, it's obvious that he found it. And he found it somewhere far away from Ed.

Sure. Fine. Whatever. He literally couldn't give a shit, other than the way that every particle of his body is ripping itself to shreds and he might bleed to death right here on the floor of Spanish fucking Jackie'z in the middle of the motherfucking Republic of fucking Pirates.

Ed stares at Stede head on. He starts walking toward him. Stede's eyes widen at the sight, as if he's given even a single thought toward Ed in the past few weeks.

Ed walks toward him, and then he walks right the fuck past him, out onto the street. He slams his shoulder into Stede as he passes too. Let him feel that. Let that pain stick around, since Ed sure fucking won't.

And then Ed walks the fuck away.

*~*~*

It's so confusing to see Ed again. Is Stede still supposed to be leaving him alone? Ed didn't have to come back to the last place he saw Stede. Does that mean that he wants to talk? Is Stede supposed to follow him? Or was this all an accident, and he didn't think Stede was going to be here?

Ed's here. Stede kept his distance, but Ed is the one who showed up. Stede isn't going to let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers, just because he was too confused to step out the doorway.

Stede's shoulder hurts. It doesn't matter. All that matters is catching back up to Ed.

He pushes out of Spanish Jackie'z, stumbles onto the streets of the Republic of Pirates. There's an overwhelming sense of deja vu to all of this. Is this what Stede's life will be from now on? Daily grunt work interrupted by unexpected visits from Ed and Stede sprinting down the street to chase him for just a moment of conversation?

Just like last time, Ed's headed back toward the docks. Unlike last time, he's sober and has been able to make considerable headway. Stede's advantage now is Ed's relentless awareness of his reputation. He's fucking Blackbeard, man. He can't be seen sprinting in fear down the street. Instead, he's walking with great speed and determination.

Stede, on the other hand, could not give a single flying fuck about his reputation, if it means he has the chance to see Ed. He's never once been positively viewed by the general public. Why let that be the cause for even a moment of hesitation?

All this to say, Stede sprints down the street, and Ed is walking, and so Stede catches him just before he's had the chance to make it to the actual docks and back onto his ship. Stede's ship. Their ship. The Revenge. Whatever, shut up, not the point.

The point is that Stede catches him. Ed, bless him, doesn't make Stede do something ridiculous like throw himself to the ground before him or tackle him. Stede would, but before it becomes necessary, Ed jerks to a rigid stop and whirls to face him.

"Ed," Stede gasps, trying not to hunch over with his hands on his knees and heave for breath. "So lovely to see you. What brought you around to Jackie'z?"

"Doesn't matter." Ed's voice is clipped and gruff. Impossible for Stede to get a read. "Just stopped in for a drink. You know. Pirate shit."

"Well, don't let me stop you!" A drink! Stede can make a drink happen! Anything to get Ed to stick around for just a little bit longer. "I've managed to find the bearable beverages at Jackie'z. Be happy to show you, if you wanted." Ignore the feeling of pulling his rib cage apart and putting all of his organs on display for Ed to do with as he will. It doesn't matter. None of it matters more than the chance to spend even another second around Ed.

"I'm not going to go get a fucking drink with you, Stede."

He won't even look at Stede. That's the part that's killing him, in this moment. Every part of Ed's body language is closed off and prickly and he's staring past Stede at the road he just made his way down. If Stede could just get him to slow down, tune in, look at him, then he could find a way to explain it all.

Stede turns around to see if there is anything behind him that's so worth watching. For a moment, his eyes catch on the rest of his crew, who seem to have followed him when he took off and are now hanging around just outside of hearing range. But that's not where Ed is looking. There is nothing remarkable about the place Ed is looking, other than the fact that it isn't Stede.

"Why not? It's just a drink. You don't have to agree to anything else." Stede is pleading. He knows he's pleading. It's on purpose.

"It's not just a fucking drink, Stede, fuck." Ed hisses the words out and it's terrifying to be able to see this much of his face, learn the way it twists with fury when he can see the movement of his mouth. "I'm saying no because I don't want to fucking see you."

Stede clears his throat. His organs are dripping blood and viscera onto the pavement below.

"Then why did you even come back to Jackie'z? If you didn't want to see me. Why bother coming back at all?"

"Well I didn't fucking know you'd be there, did I? Am I supposed to just not go anywhere, then, just in case you might be there too? I knew you were the kind of person to only think about your own feelings but fucking shit, Stede, I'm not going to just stay at home forever and pine over some rich bastard who's not worth my time."

A blade right to the tender, vulnerable center of it all. Stede knows he's hurt and defensive and that's where all this anger is coming from. He wishes that was enough to stop him from saying the awful things he can feel bubbling up in his chest.

"You knew where I was, Ed, and it's cruel to yell at me for not giving you space and then come right to my doorstep." Ed goes to respond, but Stede isn't fucking done talking, and he's not going to give him the space for it yet. "In fact, you could go literally anywhere else on this planet, even on this island, but you came back to Jackie'z. I've been trying to respect your requests and give you distance but I wish you wouldn't come visit like this if you're just going to shout at me."

Whatever Ed was planning to say earlier, the confusion on his face is wiped clean with the last sentence Stede says and he chokes out a sarcastic, mocking laugh that makes Stede want to strangle him.

"You have not been fucking leaving me alone, mate, unless you want to explain all the fucking pillows and food and water some other way."

And

Oh

Ed's voice is scathing and furious.

This is the first time either of them has talked about the soulbond to each other.

Stede doesn't know why he felt like it was...off-limits or something. Like they could be furious at each other, but neither of them would go that far. To hate the bond between them. To wield it like a weapon.

And, suddenly, without any warning, Stede is trillions of miles away from this conversation. Deep in a snowbank. All that anger and hurt and upset is just...dead.

Ed is his soulmate.

Stede has a soulmate, and it's Ed, and he doesn't want it.

He knows, and he doesn't want it.

Stede Bonnet? A soulmate? That can't be right.

"Oh," and his voice is just as flat as he's sure his expression is, but Ed still isn't looking, so it doesn't matter. "I didn't realize that would bother you." Nights spent saving his carefully earned money picking out just the gift he thought would be what Ed needs right now. Practicing and practicing until he's able to send things reliably. He's never had to worry about earning money, affording things before. It shifts your priorities. "But, I guess you did ask to be left alone."

Stupid of Stede, to think that the soulbond would be some kind of exception to that rule. Of course Ed already knew. Of course he had never mentioned it to Stede. Of course he would be including that as well, when he pushed Stede away. Stupid Baby Bonnet, for thinking it would be anything other than that. As if he deserves anything like that, after Ed offered him the world on a platter and Stede walked away. Ed has every right to want to reject him now.

Ed isn't talking. He still isn't looking at Stede.

"I guess I'll just...go, then." Stede murmurs, awkward until the very end. At least he doesn't hold out his hand for a fucking handshake this time. He has learned exactly one thing about relationships over the course of his entire life, and it's one tip on making the rejection a little bit easier. "I'll miss you, Edward." And just a little bit of his feelings peek through the snow, at that last word, because he can't say Ed's name with anything less than every piece of the love that lives in his heart, and he can't leave without at least letting Ed know that he was wanted. Is wanted. Will be wanted, for as long as Stede is alive on this planet.

Ed doesn't speak. Just shifts his head in a small, jerky nod. He still isn't looking at Stede. Not that Stede has ever done a single thing to deserve his attention.

And Stede turns to walk away, because that's all he can do at this point, the only thing he can do for Ed anymore is make sure he's giving him the space he asked for. Leaving him alone.

Stede makes it two steps before he hears the first blast of cannon fire.

Almost every person out and about on the dock and the streets flinches and crouches to the ground, long before anyone takes the time to pause and figure out what's going on. They've all been shot at enough.

Once he's down, though, Stede has enough time to look around and, ha, well would you look at that. Red Benny was actually onto something, because there are two English ships in the bay and people in red coats are emerging from hiding places throughout the island, rifles out. There actually is a raid on the Republic of Pirates by the English. He supposes that he wishes her luck with her counter-attack.

Stede should probably be panicking. He does, historically, when there is a raid going on. But, well, he's deeper in the snow than he ever has been during his life of piracy. And he's rapidly losing track of the reasons to keep going in the first place.

There are pirates all over this island, and many of them are running toward the bars, the brothels, the docks in any effort to escape. Stede is sure several of them are planning to make their way out to the bay and fight back. This is not the type of island to go quietly.

Stede crouched down when the cannon went off, but now he settles himself fully to the ground, sitting on the scummy cobblestone while residents of the island rush past in every possible direction.

He shouldn't stay here. Not only are the English raiding, but Stede specifically has a high bounty on his head from his recent betrayal of the English navy. He has been forced to confront, repeatedly, that his "disguise" is anything but. It will not be hard for some young upstart to recognize him, take him in custody, receive a hearty commendation.

Stede should get up. He needs to move. Keep moving. He will. Probably. Just as soon as he can think of a reason why it matters.

And then Stede, who had turned back the way he came in order to make his way to Jackie'z, sees his crew. His crew who followed him to watch this conversation with Blackbeard. And they're still hunched and looking around in panic while the island rushes past them. They're disorganized. Because their leader, the person who is meant to take charge in a crisis, is sitting on the ground and lost in the snow.

Who cares what's happening to Stede? He can't let anything happen to his crew. He loves his crew. That's a reason to keep going. He can't keep forgetting this.

Stede starts to shove himself back to his feet. His legs are numb, his body is numb, but that doesn't matter.

"Hey, guys!" he calls out, and they orient to his voice so quickly. His loyal, wonderful crew. Stede gestures them toward him, because he doesn't know what he's going to do but he's sure someone will have a helpful and constructive suggestion once he can hear them.

And then. A warm grasp on his arm, tugging and turning Stede around on the spot.

Blackbeard. Right in his space, eyes wide like they were when he pulled off the blindfold after they pleaded for an Act of Grace. Worried. Stede is noticing all of this from so far away.

Blackbeard looks him right in the eye, the first time since they've run into each other today. His grip slides from Stede's arm to his wrist, grasps on so tight, and then they are running for the docks. For The Revenge.

Blackbeard doesn't look at Stede again throughout their escape, but he lets him board the ship. The rest of the crew follows, because they were already following Stede when he took off running, and Blackbeard allows them onto the ship too.

They weigh anchor and drop the sails. Several members of Blackbeard's crew have come to the deck at the sound of fighting. Jim! Stede can see Jim out of the corner of his eye and the tight embrace they share with Oluwande before sprinting off and up the rigging. Frenchie is there too, and Stede should want to weep at the sight of the missing members of his crew, he knows he should, but he still can't feel a single thing.

There's no time for reunions. Stede's crew divides among the remaining dregs of Blackbeard's crew and take over the ship like the well-oiled machine they very rarely are. As they pull away from the Republic of Pirates, Stede can see one of the English warships pulling away as well, clearly locked onto The Revenge and turning to chase after them.

There's no time for any of it. Stede makes his way up to the crows nest, to keep watch and because he's useless at just about every other part of running a ship, when he's not the captain in charge of managing everyone else's expertise.

And then, well, they set sail, the English hot on their heels.