#stede knocked out drooling all over the pillow

[perpetualcontrolleddrowning]

Blackbonnet Soulmate AU - Part 23

The Nettles in the Garden Don't Go Away

JRaylin441

Summary: We start to try to communicate. A little bit. Maybe. If we're lucky.

Content Warnings: panic attack, dissociation, negative self-talk, most of the usual stuff. The only thing other than that is some real minimization of personal traumatic experiences

Read it on AO3 (x)

Read Part 22 here (x)

Stede wakes up cozy and comfortable and supported.

It takes him a while to realize just what it is that he's feeling. There's something wrapped around him, warm and heavy, and he thought it was just the blanket and pillows, when he was still in that hazy space between dreams and waking.

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.

"Yeah, okay," says Ed. And his voice is small and hopeful too.

[buumbaby]

whats he looking at?

[leupagus]

PLEEEASE any sort of modern AU, PARTICULARLY washed up rocker Ed. There are a few fics in this vein but not enough. THANK YOU ETERNALLY.

Getting Louis to sleep is fairly straightforward: a few chapters from the latest Wings of Fire book and he's out like a light, drooling trustingly into his pillow. Alva, who selects and reads her own books, ta ever so, usually needs an argument or two before she can lay her weary head to rest. Divorce is the theme for this evening, though not quite in the way Stede's been dreading for the past few months.

"Why didn't you get divorced sooner?" she demands, shoving her seventeen different Pusheens into a vaguely better arrangement so that she can sleep amongst them and suffer only mild hypoxia. "Doug is so cool, he took us to the museum and we got to paint our own versions of the portraits. And he has a cat."

"Well, if your mother and I had gotten divorced sooner," Stede points out as he settles her blanket over her shoulders, "Then your mother wouldn't have taken that art class in January, and hence wouldn't have met Doug, since he only moved here from the States in December."

Alva is only temporarily stymied by this, pointing out that perhaps Mum would've found someone even better, like someone with a dog. Stede meekly agrees, and pinky-swears that anyone he himself falls in love ought to at least have a convertible or a pony or a swimming pool.

Mary and Doug are back by nine, slightly wine-flushed and trying to tell Stede about the Lyft driver's cologne while they pull out the various desserts they'd nicked from Mary's gallery opening. "Sort of a rotted cinnamon? Flavor? I can still taste it," Mary says, dropping an absent-minded kiss on the top of Stede's head as she passes his chair on the way to the kitchen. Stede collects the essays into a haphazard pile — Frenchie's the only one getting an A thus far, with a somewhat bewildering theory about colonialism and split infinitives that is oddly compelling — and opens the boxes.

"It did kind of get into your respiratory system," Doug admits, setting out the plates quietly — any louder and the kids will be up in a flash demanding that they share, and none of them want that. "How was everything on the home front?"

"We watched Moana again, and Alva wanted to know when Disney was going to make a movie about the Heartman. I told her that's probably not a family-friendly sort of story, which she took offense at, since the Heartman only carves out bad children's hearts and there are apparently a few of her classmates whose deaths could be very funny. At which point Louis asked what the Heartman was and the evening got a bit away from us."

"Oh Christ, he's going to have so many nightmares," Mary sighs, plunking some silverware down on the table. "Stede—"

"It's not my fault! Besides, it's part of his heritage!"

"Just because we were born in Barbados doesn't—"

"You should try this chocolate cake pop," Doug says, waving it between Stede and Mary like someone in a dinghy, desperately flapping a white flag between two battleships. "Has a raspberry center that'll really knock your socks off."

Stede frowns, but he takes the cake pop. It really is delicious. "Anyway, it's fine, he got much more traumatized by what happened with Luna and the Othermind in the latest chapter."

"Spoilers!" Doug says, cheerful, as he digs into a tiny cheesecake. Stede fights back a smile, which fails completely when he catches Mary's eye. They all sit down and grab more treats, and Stede gets to tell them about his insane new client. Or Oluwande's insane old client — but until he comes back from paternity leave, it's up to Stede not to mess things up.

"So this weirdo musician offered you a job helping him write lyrics," Mary says, "And invited you to his exclusive performance tonight? And then you watered his plastic plant?"

"Please don't say that like it's a euphemism," Stede sighs. "It was a very realistic-looking fichus."

"I'm sure it was." She taps her fingers absently against her thumb as she stares into the middle distance, the way she always does when she's thinking. It used to worry him, before — about what she might be working out, what she might be trying to fix or change or realize. Now, he's startled to discover it's… cute. "If he's paying someone to mind his fucking plants, he's got to have money, right? So was he not offering enough?"

"I know I'm a mere adjunct professor right now," says Stede, sniffing a bit, "But it wasn't the money that was the issue."

"Who is this guy, anyway?" Doug asks, snagging a coconut ball. "Country music star or something? One of the Mumford sons?"

"Mmm, no, no one I've ever heard of. An Edward Teach? Used to be in a band called—"

"Blackbeard?" Doug shoots out of his chair so fast it clatters to the ground; from down the hallway Stede can hear the telltale double-thumps of small children alerted to adults having fun without them. "Ed Teach from Blackbeard invited you to an exclusive concert tonight?"

"…yes?" Stede says, glancing from Dough's round eyes to Mary's covered ones. "Should be starting in a bit, actually."

"Honey, I love you, me and your ex-husband have to go," Doug says, and drags Stede out of his chair just as Louis comes round the corner, demanding to know if there's any biscuits.