Work Text:
“Blackbeard is himself again.”
He kills Lucius, quickly and full of both rage and disgust. He maroons the useless bits of the crew, watches them get smaller and smaller until they become nothing. He gives Izzy what he wants, what the whole world seems to want from him: the bloodthirsty, ghastly, bad omen of a man that is Blackbeard.
Watching the new flag go up, though, is a reminder to Ed that Blackbeard’s not much more than a myth.
He can play the part with ease—his love of a good fuckery stems from the fact that his putting on a good show is second nature, years of recklessness shifting slowly into boredom. He knows what he’s supposed to say, supposed to do, supposed to be, and he knows it’s believable because no one’s giving him shit anymore, not even Izzy. Hell, the longer it goes on, the more even he believes it. Maybe it’s not so bad, the easy wins and lack of true risk, banking on respect any other man would’ve long lost by now. Things are easier this way, at the very least, now that he’s not cleaning up some idiot’s mess. So he lets the myth of Blackbeard, the myth of a monster, rule over his crew. Monsters are no more real than dreams, and people still choose to fear them, don’t they?
But when he goes below deck at night, it’s to the room that he’s purposely removed from time. It’s empty, barren outside of the table and the bed because what the fuck more does a real pirate need? There are no comforts at sea, and fuck anyone who thinks otherwise. If you want to feel at home, then you should look for a fucking lighthouse.
(He should’ve thrown it out. Can still toss it, every time he looks up at the stupid painting on the wall and feel the rush of repressed emotions threatening to knock him over. He doesn’t need the reminder when he’s already got it bared to the world on his flag, and yet it remains.)
Edward Teach is dead, just like everything else The Gentleman Pirate had bared to him. He didn’t need books because he couldn’t read. He didn’t need the crew because they should’ve never been one in the first place, and it’s a miracle they’d lived as long as they did. He didn’t need fancy clothes or soft cloths because piracy is a dirty, filthy business, and he is a real fucking pirate. He didn’t need love because he already given up his heart, and it had ruined him. So Blackbeard kills Ed because if he hadn’t, Ed would’ve killed them both. And Blackbeard’s still got enough honor to go down with the ship, even if it’s not really his.
So Blackbeard is himself again, a man-made monster or whoever the fuck that he’s supposed to be. And Edward is a dream that only appears out when the rain’s coming down so hard no one can hear him cry, when the ghost of the man he’d almost given up everything for slips beside him in their bed, or when his heart stumbles at the sound of his lover’s name, the words he’d said and never say on the tip of his tongue.
And he lives with that.
—
In hindsight, Stede did not fully consider the consequences of all his actions.
He doesn’t regret going back, opening himself up to both Mary and the truth that he loves Ed, through and through. He does, however, regret not explaining this plainly to Ed, and subsequently getting most of his crew marooned (he can only hope Lucius and the others are still onboard, that this is simply just one big misunderstanding). It’s a bit harder to go about getting a ship when you’re supposed to be dead, but he thinks Ed would be proud of the way he still manages to make it happen, a grand show of teamwork on the crew’s end and a touch of manipulation mixed with passive aggression on his own. Of course, it’s nothing to the scale of the old ship—and he is a bit miffed about the loss of his library, amongst his other belongings, but he also knows that Ed’s not seen the whole picture yet, and that’s his fault.
See, if he’d been thinking more clearly that night, he could have made a brief detour to the docks to sort out his heart before he ran home. Stede might’ve not had the word for what he felt, that pull of attraction in spite of fear, the thing that made being around Ed just feel right, but he thinks he could’ve said something to assure him he would be back. Or maybe he just would’ve opened up a bit more about Mary and how they’d both wanted something the other couldn’t give, but he’d found that in Ed and maybe she deserved to know that. His kids deserved to know that the father they pretended to be pirates with went off and made something of himself, even if that something wasn’t anything as notorious as Ed’s own history.
(Even if Ed didn't technically kill people, the rumor of killing people was also not the way he wanted to make his name. His kids did not need to know how many times either of them had technically killed people. They needed to lean more into the gentleman bit, not the piracy.)
He also wanted to know whether they were really better off without him, but he’d never admit that bit aloud. Stede didn’t deserve to know that, not with the way he’d left them in the middle of the night with the expectation they’d never see him again, but he wanted to. The weight of his difference to them, the outcast even among people who were supposed to love him, had haunted him for far too long and he needed closure. He had been selfish in thinking he could make things better when he’d only seemed to make them worse, but that was okay because it’d worked out in the end.
Mary was really, truly happy now, and he knew the kids were going to be alright in an extension of that joy. There was no absence of love because while they were his family in name, he’d also chosen his crew as a family as well and they’d loved him in spite of everything all the same. He couldn’t fix all his mistakes—he couldn’t un-kill the Badmintons, but that might be for the best if he really thinks about it—but he could accept the fact that he’s going to keep making them, regardless of where it gets him. And shouldn’t that mean something, if not Ed then to himself?
Oluwande says something about “holding Ed accountable” when he mentions this, after they’ve all aired their grievances about Ed’s erratic behavior prior to their being left behind. Sure, Ed had his heart broken, but was it fair to take it out on the rest of them when they’d done nothing but try to help? It’s not like they’d told Stede he’d always been a fuck up, a plague, a defiler of beautiful things, and above all else, a monster, who should’ve never left his family to begin with. He’d been born a dreamer and he should’ve never come back, would’ve been better a corpse rather than some poor excuse of a man cheating death a third time. Or fourth. He’s honestly lost count and also the point that Oluwande was making in the first place.
But loathe as they’d all like to admit it, they’re human. They all make mistakes, some larger than others, and they could either let those mistakes tear them open or they could forgive them. Stede had already tried the first thing and it hadn’t gotten him anywhere good, he jokes, but no one laughs. Black Pete touches his shoulder and he kind of crumbles a bit, though no one mentions the embarrassing amount of tears. Not to his face, at least.
Instead, they drink and sing and dream until the night turns into day, holding onto to the hope and following any clues that can get them back to the Revenge, back to their home. Stede knows he may never get Ed’s forgiveness, and if he does it won’t be nearly as easy at it was for him to forgive Ed. But he is thankful for Ed, for his love for Ed, all the same.
And he’s okay with that.
—
Izzy tells Blackbeard they’re being followed.
“Been about two weeks of them coming in and out of sight now, so can’t be coincidence. They do manage to stay out of range for us to get a good look at who’s on there, though.” Blackbeard tucks away his spyglass, having confirmed this himself. “The lack of a flag says they’re probably nothing serious.”
“Then why the fuck haven’t we blown them to pieces yet?”
Something akin to a grin tugs at Izzy’s lips, “Well, we are close to Blind Man’s Cove. Thought we could maybe corner them, bring ‘em over and really teach them a lesson since they seem to have shit for brains, is all.”
“Sure, or we could just blow them to fucking pieces.” Blackbeard says. He can feel Ed pushing his way out at the mention of the place, and how Izzy can even speak of it without his voice wavering…well, Izzy’s given his opinion on needless emotions several times. This shouldn’t be a surprise, and it shouldn’t still fucking bother him. He scratches at his chin, through the slowly growing new beard. “You must be pretty bored to be excited for this, Hands.”
He shrugs, “Crew hasn’t seen any action in a bit, and you know how Jim gets when they’re restless.”
Blackbeard did know, with the few braver members of his crew having come to him about being maimed by Jim the first time they’d neared a month with no action. Subsequently, he’d let Jim come up with the ways they’d rid themselves of said members of the crew, which had brought a gleam to both of their eyes and taught everyone else to simply stay out of Jim’s path on stretches like this. A win-win, in terms of entertainment, he’d thought, but he can see where others may see this as more problematic. The only reason he personally hadn’t ended up on the end of Jim’s knife was probably because they knew he was the lesser of the evils between him and Izzy (though it was debatable whether Jim really feared either of them, and instead simply did not want to captain a ship themself), and maybe pity.
Regardless, he gives Izzy the all clear to pass on their new destination, hears the rowdy cheers on deck, and tries very hard not to think about his short lived claim of the Act of Grace.
This results in a very short-lived pre-fight nap, as he is awakened by the sounds of argument and the clattering of glass. He climbs the stairs ready to kill the first person he lays eyes on, but it does surprise him that they’ve all circled around Jim, who’s got a knife at the ready for anyone bold enough to lunge towards them.
“Traitor,” someone spats before they’re clattering to the floor with a blade through the eye.
“What the fuck is going on?” He pushes his way through the crowd, entering the center of the circle and locking eyes with his most combative crewmate. “Explain yourself.”
Jim scoffs, “The only thing I owe you is a quick death, same as any of these other bastards.”
“I think you should see this for yourself, Captain.” Fang passes over his spyglass. “Izzy’s ready to fire and then board on your call.”
The thing is, Blackbeard doesn’t need to see anything. Blackbeard doesn’t give a shit to why they’re halted, or why the crew’s finally at their wits end with Jim. Blackbeard doesn’t even want to be awake right now, honestly, because he can feel himself fighting off emotions with wistfulness and remorse even before he lifts the scope to his eye. He shouldn’t have taken Izzy’s bait to begin with and yet he pushed himself anyway because he can’t ever afford to look weak, not after Him.
That’s what love is, he reminds himself, a weakness and illness every man should avoid at all costs. It cost him everything to get it, experience it, and then lose it in the same breath. He can’t afford to do it again. So he rejects the mere notion of its existence, because it can’t hold the same power that fear does, that glorification does. When people hear the name Blackbeard, they think of power and chaos and cruelty, not the softness and openness attributed to something as meaningless as love. If love was ever worth a damn he wouldn’t be where he is now, running himself ragged with a performance more entertaining for the audience than the performer, alone in a ship full of people more than happy to hold his attention.
Still, Blackbeard looks. And then he says, “Shit.”
It would be funny, he thinks, if he weren’t currently being ripped down the middle seeing Stede staring at him through his own spyglass across the water. He can’t stop the thought of whether or not he should change from popping into head, nor the thought of whether he should’ve toned down the makeup. He makes himself tear away from the love of his life and look at the crew he’d left for dead, alive and still haunting him, staring at his ship— their ship in defiance. Shit, did he die in his sleep? Is this what his own personal hell is supposed to look like?
Is his hell Stede smiling unsurely, wearing the same outfit he’d left Ed in, the same outfit he’d kissed him in, as his scope lowers to his side? Surely not, considering the noticeable bags underneath his eyes and the overall tiredness in his face that contrast with the obvious care and attention this Stede’s put into his hair. Logically, these two contrasting things would signify that this Stede is very much alive, and probably nervous, and damningly reckless. This Stede, the one he’s staring at, couldn’t possibly be the Stede who abandoned him though, because that Stede did not want him and this one looks like he might. He really might, the way the smile becomes more steady and sure, the way their eyes meet and Blackbeard feels the wanting in his very soul. Is this Stede…a mirage?
The possibly real Stede waves. Izzy fires.
“Kill Hands,” Ed says, diving into the ocean.
—
Wee John knocks Ed unconscious before he can even unsheathe his blade.
“Better safe than sorry,” He shrugs, hefting him over his shoulder. “You want him tied up?”
Stede starts to say no, but remembers Oluwande’s whole accountability thing, and watches the sopping wet mess of a man be tied to a tree. Their boat had capsized not too long before Ed had made it to shore, though he was holding out hope that wouldn’t be too much of a problem, were their talks to go over well. At the very least, they’d managed to get a good amount of food off before it went completely under.
Ed comes to around the time Roach is finishing up dinner, which is not the one Stede had originally planned for their grand reunion. Naturally, this one is more in line with the potential food constraints they might face in the coming days, but it smells good and Ed doesn’t seem too upset when Stede walks it over, a reasonable but in-sight distance from where they’ve set up camp. Ed does manage to yank him close as soon as he’s in range, though, which results in the food being knocked out of his hands, and Stede being quickly reminded how dangerous the man with the handsome face he’s inches away from is.
For a moment, he mistakes Ed’s frustration for hatred—it’s hard to tell the difference, especially when he has his own doubts filling up his head—and feels his confidence dwindle. Maybe he should’ve worn something else, something less connected to the mess they’d last seen each other in and more…well, sultry’s not the word but if that helped to soften Ed up, then sure. He could do sultry. He could do just about anything if it’d make Ed stop staring at him so heatedly, wordlessly.
But then he feels Ed’s hands still gripping tightly at his sides, the warmth of them burning through his clothes. He looks past the frustration and sees the disbelief and the fear, the questions that need to have answers. He takes in the kohl stained cheeks and the tiredness they hide, takes in the beard that’s still not yet full, takes in the cravat still tied around his neck, and lets himself breathe.
“I missed you terribly,” is the thing that stumbles out of his mouth first. He can’t look at Ed while he speaks, turning his head to face the bright moon and the dark skies surrounding it. “I missed you more than I had any right to, considering, but I understand why I upset you. I…I am not a flawless man, and neither are you, but I am sorry for letting my faults affect me so much that I was thoughtless with you. I’ve had a lot of time to think about things, and us, and if you’re willing I’d really like to try things again—”
Ed closes the gap easily, like he’s trading one breath for another, and Stede can’t help the smile on his face nor the way his hands quickly go to cup Ed’s face. They both ignore the cheering from the crew (and the booing from Buttons), who’ve had to deal with far too much of Stede’s self-hatred and pining the last few months, and for a moment, there’s no one else that exists besides them.
“I owe your lot quite a few apologies,” He says, once Stede’s retrieved more food and untied him. They sit thigh to thigh near the water, close enough to think they’re still dreaming and yet remember that they’re still awake. “Actually, I…There’s something I should probably mention, before we head back. If you want to go back, that is.”
Stede glances away from him briefly, at the Revenge drawing nearer while passing through the wreckage of the last of the visible remains from their old ship. He looks back at Ed, a small laugh escaping him. “Yeah, not a lot of options with that, I’d say.”
“You have to understand that I was very upset when you didn’t show. I’m sure your crew has given you some idea into that, what with the marooning and throwing out your shit.” Ed continues, though he’s not meeting Stede’s eye. “Like, I know I haven’t really forgiven you yet so you don’t owe me it either, is what I’m saying.”
“Yeah, I meant to ask how’ve Lucius and the others been holding up?” Stede pointedly ignores that last bit. “I can’t imagine they’d meld very well with your crew given the circumstances.”
Ed looks a bit uncomfortable now, actually, Stede notes. The ship also looks like it might be getting too close to shore. He pulls out his spyglass to figure out what’s going on. “Well, Jim’s probably the most well-adjusted, but that’s mainly because I’ve kept them—er, Hands kept them busy. Frenchie, too actually, has actually been a good sport about patching people up. More of a nurse these days, really.”
“Lucius?” Stede says.
“Yeah, so, I did kill him.”
“No, he’s—wait, what are you saying? He’s right there, on the ship.” Stede offers him the scope, “Look at the wheel, he’s floundering tremendously. We’re going to have to push it into the ocean again.”
Ed seems to relax significantly at that, despite the mention of pushing the ship. “Oh, Christ, he’s behind the fucking wheel. Fucking hell.”
“Why did you say you killed him?” Stede asks.
“I pushed him overboard before I ditched your crew. He’d just seen too much of me, y’know, but he’s alive obviously, so we don’t have to really get into it about it, and fucking thanks for that.”
Stede furrows his brows, “What are you saying? We have plenty of things to sort out and obviously that’s one of them, Edward!”
“I think we can just do a joint-blanket apology and move on from this, start anew.” Ed takes one of his hands, “It’s like a miracle or something. A second chance!”
“Do you know how much work I had to do to get them to even agree to go looking for you guys again? I mean, Black Pete and Olu had reasons to want to go looking, but the rest of them? Okay, well they obviously wanted to get the family back together, but they wanted you dead!”
“Ah, so we’re all even, then!”
“In what way?”
“I mean I’m not dead even though they wanted me to be, and Lucius’s not dead even though I wanted him to be—in the moment, obviously, not now, fuck’s sake, Stede, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what? How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’re disappointed or something, but it’s all wrong. You got too much love left over in the eyes to really be threatening with it.”
“Well, sorry, kind of hard to hide that I love you.” Stede watches the amusement fade from Ed’s eyes, watches it be replaced with something softer. “Did I—I didn’t mean to say that, not yet at least, we still have too much to talk through to worry about—”
Ed chuckles, pressing his lips to one of Stede’s rings. “You really love me?”
“Yeah.” Stede says. “I really do.”
“Cool,” Ed smiles. “I really love you, too.”
“Yeah, and that’s why you killed my scribe.”
Ed groans, “He’s alive, you asshole.”
“By sheer luck, I’m sure.” He pulls Ed forward, kisses him again because he can. “It’ll be hard to keep everyone from killing you once they hear about that. What’s your plan?”
“I don’t plan shit anymore. If it happens, it happens.” Ed says. “Though I hope you’d do something before it gets too life or death.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they’ll miss all the important bits.”
(Important bits, like the right side of the body, or remains of the flag’s red cloth that’s tucked into his other pants’ pocket, or the tattooed x over Stede’s heart that’s still a bit scabby and maybe minorly infected. The Swede did say it wasn’t his best work. No matter, they’ll have time to explore the meaning behind those things later. They have time now, after all.)