It’s only about a month before Stede and the rest of the crew catch up to Blackbeard. He expects it to be more of a fight than it actually is, but the ship they purloined is nimble and quick. Also the Revenge is terribly short-handed and there’s much less gunpowder than anybody expected. (If he gets his ship back, Stede must get more. He’s lucky it worked out in his favor this time.)
After the formerly marooned crew board, Jim runs over to Oluwande and hugs him tightly, burying their face in his shoulder. Frenchie is welcomed back into the fold with backslaps and noogies. Lucius (who they found floating near where the ship used to be anchored) gives Blackbeard a too-sweet smile and flips him the bird.
Stede approaches the main deck, where Blackbeard is currently standing, watching impassively. Izzy hovers by his side. As usual, the first mate looks like he’s ready to spit nails, but he remains silent.
“Wonderful! The whole gang’s back together again!” Stede claps his hands together and grins brightly with a cheeriness he does not feel.
“A word, Mr. Bonnet, if you please.” Blackbeard strides towards the captain’s quarters. Izzy makes to follow but he holds up a hand. Of course Izzy is not pleased about this, but he will not disobey a direct order.
“I hope he guts you like a fish and throws your fucking intestines to the sharks,” Izzy says as he stalks away.
“Lovely to see you too, Izzy!” Stede calls. He thinks he might hear an aggravated grunt.
He pauses before the door to the cabin. When he puts his hand to the knob, it’s shaking.
Well. That’s an understandable reaction. It is entirely possible he won’t walk out of there. He doesn’t know if it’s more poetic or ironic he may die here, in this suite of rooms where he has spent so much time with Ed. They have been the happiest hours of his life and he will treasure them for as long as he lives, whether that is minutes or (hopefully) decades.
Stede looks behind him. The crew has begun preparing for bed, laying out blankets and selecting spots for the night. Oluwande rests his head on Jim’s shoulder, his contentment visible even from across the deck. Black Pete and Lucius nestle in the lee of a pile of boxes. Pete’s arm is curled around Lucius, like he never intends on letting him go again. Frenchie plays something low and gentle, the sound drifting towards Stede, and something in his chest loosens.
They are together again. That’s his next to last obligation taken care of. Time for the final one.
—
The cabin is emptier than he remembers. The books are gone, as are most of the rugs and furniture. The windows are shrouded in dark curtains that let only bits of light in, barely enough to see. Bottles litter the floor, clinking quietly as he moves past. The only things that look untouched are the painting and the bed.
Ed sits on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest. His red dressing gown, the one with the birds, is draped over the foot. It’s now he sees Ed is growing out his beard again. It was difficult to see against the kohl that smears his face, but closer up it looks like it will be handsome and full in no time. Stede clenches his fist as to not reach out, touch the side of Ed’s face, feel how the bristles would rasp under his fingers and palm. That is not something he is permitted now. And may never be.
“Ed.” If he heard Stede, there is no indication. He’s looking out the window at the last bits of the sunset, the sky preparing for dark. His posture speaks of exhaustion, poor sleep. The kohl by his eyes is smeared, like he’s been rubbing against it. There are smudges of black on his fingers.
“Oh, Edward,” he breathes. Stede doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until he’s fixed with a glare, quick and sharp as a knife to the throat.
“Don’t fucking call me that.” His voice is hoarse, a little cracked, like he doesn’t talk much anymore.
“Apologies.” Stede can’t bring himself to say the name. “Captain.”
He grunts, goes back to looking out the window. Somehow this is worse than any of the scenarios Stede had envisioned. Sadness, rage, even violence would be understandable. He dismissed hope for anything like forgiveness or a tearful reunion. He was not at all prepared for indifference.
He stands there for what could be a few minutes or an hour. The only sounds are the creak of the ship and the occasional raised voice from outside. Stede doesn’t know if this is some sort of test or a petty annoyance, something Blackbeard is doing simply because he can. The quiet pushes in, oppressive and unwanted.
“I admit, this is not going at all as I anticipated,” he says when he can’t endure the silence anymore.
“And what did you expect? That you would grovel on your knees until I took you back? Fling myself into your arms and leave the talking for after a joyous, emotional reunion?” There’s a snarl he’s never heard in Ed’s voice before, not even when intimidating captives. This isn’t Ed, a little voice insists, panicky and frantic. It’s Blackbeard. The Kraken.
“I’m a coward, not a bloody fool,” he snaps. “I thought maybe raised voices. Crying, perhaps, on both our parts." Despite his fear, Stede feels a little insulted the other man thinks he would have been forgiven so easily. That’s not quite fair. If your roles were reversed, you would have welcomed him back without a word.
“Truthfully, I expected you would have run me through by now. Not that I want you to, but nobody, not even myself, can say I don’t deserve it.” Stede has no idea where any of this is going, but honesty is probably wisest.
The Captain smirks. “You’re not wrong. But where’s the fun in doing the expected?”
Stede feels a small prickle of hope. “So you’re not going to kill me.”
“Not right now, no.”
He tries not to show his relief. Maybe that means there’s still a part of Ed he can reach.
“I thank you for your grace and mercy, Captain.” Stede nods his head.
He grunts. “I expect you want to clean up, given how long you’ve been out there.”
Stede’s eyebrows raise and he hopes the cabin is too dark to show his surprise. “That’s very kind of you, and I shall take my leave to do so.”
When he gets into the ensuite he closes the door and leans against it, taking a breath. It could be a trap, but then he’s no worse off than he expected when he set foot back on the Revenge. Regardless. He probably won’t have time to draw a bath, but it would be heavenly to at least change into something he hasn’t worn days in a row. If his clothes haven’t all been thrown out.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the shaving vanity's mirror. Good heavens, he looks terrible. Nothing can be done about his sunburned and wind-chapped skin at the moment, alas. The facial hair situation, unfortunately, might be even more dire than his complexion. It’s patchy and scraggly, reminiscent of the stray dogs wandering around the Republic of Pirates. The clothes can wait, he decides.
The razor is still where he left it, he's glad to see. He flips it open and pulls out the strop, but his hands are shaking too much to even hone the blade. Blast. In this state, he's likely to slash his own throat as actually clean himself up.
Stede opens the door.
The Captain looks up at the sound. “Thought you would have spent the rest of the night in there.”
“That’s the issue, I’m afraid. I was going to shave off this mess, but it’s been a long few weeks. I don’t trust my hands.” He puts one out, far enough they can both see it tremble.
“You could let it grow out. I’m told some people find that sort of thing dashing.”
Stede laughs, although there’s not much humor in it. “Those people have never seen how patchy it grows in without great care and patience. Easiest to make sure it never becomes an issue at all.”
“So what, you want me to shave you like a fucking valet? Shall I help you into your stockings and breeches afterwards?” That snarl again, the one that reminds him this is not Ed.
He takes a breath, lets it out. “I am asking, as a man in need of assistance. I suppose I could find Lucius, but I think he’s earned himself a night off.” At the mention of Lucius the Captain’s expression changes, just a bit. There’s not enough light to see what it changes to, but it’s something.
“I could kill you.” Stede can’t tell if it’s a threat or a mere statement of fact.
“You certainly could. And I would not be surprised or remorseful about my decision if you did.” He holds the Captain’s eye, longer than he expected he could. The Captain is the first to look away.
“You really are genuinely fucking insane.” There is a note of incredulity in it, perhaps even grudging respect.
“So does that mean you’re going to help me?”
He climbs off the bed, stretching out his knee. “‘S not going to be fancy.”
“I don’t care. I just want it gone.”
He closes the door behind Stede and it is a little nerve-wracking, being in a small room with Blackbeard. Much like he probably should have felt with the leopard.
There was no soap in the vanity when he looked, but the Captain rummages through a box, pulling out something that smells of warm spices and bergamot. It’s definitely not Stede’s (he prefers lighter floral scents), and he wonders where it might have come from. Did they sack a merchant vessel or a navy ship, perhaps encountering an officer with refined taste? And even if they’d taken it as part of the loot, why is it in here and not in the hold?
He splashes some water from a pitcher on the soap, lathering it up the best he can without a brush. He jerks his head, indicating Stede should sit down on the stool in front of the vanity. He smears soap all over his beard, working it in with his fingers. Under his chin, close to his neck, the other man presses into his windpipe. Not hard, just enough to massage the soap into the roots, but Stede is extremely aware what an incredibly vulnerable position he’s put himself in. He swallows, tries not to be horribly obvious about it, but there’s no way the Captain could miss it.
“Having second thoughts?” The voice above him is amused, and sounds so much like Ed he has to take a moment.
“It would be rather silly to back out this far into the process, wouldn’t you agree?” Stede tries to project as much confidence and assurance as he can.
“S’pose so.” Hands leave his face, and he hears the snick of the razor. A finger under his chin turns his head. Glancing up there’s no expression on the Captain’s face, seemingly concentrating only on dragging the blade against the bristles at his cheek. He wipes the razor off on a rag.
“I very nearly didn’t make it back here, you know.”
The Captain scoffs. “Lose your nerve again? Seems like you do that a lot.”
At this he does jerk away, sharp blade be damned.
“If you must know, Chauncey Badminton marched me out of my bunk at gunpoint. Dripped a load of poison in my ear that I was foolish enough to believe. And he would have killed me if he hadn’t tripped on his own gun. So yes, I lost my nerve. Men like him made me afraid my entire life. But I came back, because I will not let them dictate how I feel anymore.”
For a while there is only the scrape of the blade against his skin. He tries to calm his breathing.
“Almost finished. Here.” His chin is tilted up, exposing his neck to get the last bit. There is nothing cruel or hurtful about how he’s being handled, but it is brisk, impersonal.
Stede is so tired. He’s being touched by a man who looks so much like Ed but doesn’t feel like him at all; a jarring contrast to his last memory of being held like something not just precious but wanted. Everything about this feels wrong suddenly, but that’s not the fault of the man in front of him. It’s his, and his alone.
“All right, then? You got all stiff.” There might be a note of concern in the Captain’s voice.
“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” he says as graciously as he can.
“That’s it. You’re done.” He throws Stede a towel.
After Stede finishes wiping his face he notices the Captain staring at him. He fusses with the cloth so he doesn’t have to meet his eye.
“That was a shit thing I said.” It’s not an apology, really, but it is an acknowledgement.
“I can hardly blame you for thinking badly of me, after what I did.” Even thinking about it makes him feel like scraping over gravel. Stede wonders if he will ever get used to it.
“I don’t. Well, I didn’t then. I thought it might have been me.” The Captain’s voice is quiet.
Stede looks up in horror. “Oh Ed, dearest, no!” Now he feels even more terrible than he did before. “Why would you ever think that?”
There’s a flash of something in the Captain’s eyes, but it’s gone before Stede can figure out what it might have been. “People say lots of things ‘til it comes time to carry out the decision. And sometimes they decide they can’t do it after all, and go back to what they know. Where it’s safe. Thought you got cold feet.”
“I said you made me happy! Does that count for anything at all?” Stede loathes how pleading it sounds, especially in a conversation that really should not be about him.
The Captain looks at him, condescending in a way Ed’s never been. “Happiness is for people who’ve gotten all their other needs covered. Your money’s going to run out at some point. And what will you do when it’s no longer fun to play pirates?”
“It’s not a phase! I was miserable in my old life. You know that.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve also had a lot of time to think about all the things I don’t know about you.” His voice is flat, like he’s trying to take the emotion out of it.
“Do you hate me, then?” His voice actually wobbles, and he wants to sink into the floor. Can’t even ask a simple question without spilling his guts out.
The Captain sighs. It sounds exhausted. “It would be so much easier if I did.”
Stede is flooded with both relief and shame at this admission. Of course he doesn't want Ed to hate him, but if he did, he wouldn't have been surprised. Because you deserve it.
He wants to throw himself at Ed’s feet, grasp his hand in both of his and tip his forehead against it. Try and show his remorse—no, penitence. He broke something he didn’t know was sacred until he saw it shattered around him, and it’s a thing he doesn’t know if he can fix. "You are better than I deserve, and always have been."
Ed looks absolutely gutted, and it’s just—it feels so wrong. He is certainly not blameless, but Stede drove him to do those terrible things.
"I threw the boy off the boat." There’s a challenge in the statement, one he will not meet.
"So he told me. Neither of us are exactly thrilled about that, but that is a discussion for another time."
"I marooned most of your crew."
"Again, a rather contentious action we all need to talk about. I don't expect it to be fixed in a single or even multiple sessions, but I'm confident we can come to an understanding that makes us all stronger."
"You are absolutely mental, you know that?" It’s possible Stede is imagining things, but he thinks there might be a note of fondness in the statement.
"Well. I broke a promise, was a coward, and hurt someone incredibly dear to me very badly. I don't know if he can or will ever forgive me." He looks at a distant spot on the wall.
A shift of leather. "We both fucked things up real spectacular-like."
“In many regards,” Stede confirms.
“I’m still pissed at you.” There’s no real heat in the admission, only a reminder this is the start of a long journey.
“You hurt my—our crew. I am very angry about that, and will probably remain so for a while.”
“‘S not going to be easy.”
“Things that are worth it very rarely are.”
Ed opens the door, gestures for Stede to go ahead of him. He’s about to step through, but Ed presses against his shoulder. “Wait,” he says.
“What?”
He brushes a smear of soap off Stede’s face, right near his jaw. His thumb is warm.
“You missed a spot.”