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Stede wasn’t positive what he was going to find when he started heading back out to find his ship, but Lucius stranded alone on a tiny island was not the first thing he expected.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Lucius shouts with loud relief when he sees it’s Stede in the rowboat. “Oh, thank— Thank fuck it’s you!”
Stede lowers his arm. He’d started waving, once he saw him, but had been met with only Lucius’ shouting and red-faced delirium. It’s not that he was expecting him to be excited, exactly. It’s just that he was expecting his return was going to be a little different, and that he’s also got a sinking feeling about why he might be finding Lucius here like this, burnt and frantic and not on the ship.
“What the hell happened to you?” Stede shouts back to him. He sets himself back on the task of rowing, pushing in double-time, as fast as he can move to get to Lucius’ tiny little island. “Is this a bit?”
“Is this a— No, this is not a bit,” Lucius screams at him. “Will you— Please, just, row faster, I want to get off this fucking rock—”
“I’m coming, just— Hold on!” Stede assures him. He keeps up the pace as Lucius keeps screaming towards him. The entire time, his mind is racing, trying to figure out what the fuck— and, more specifically, why the fuck— but he can’t come up with any satisfactory answers. At least, not any that he likes.
By the time he actually gets to the island, if it could even be called that, Lucius is scrambling to get in his boat with him.
“What happened to you?” Stede demands. Or, well, he means to demand it, but it doesn’t come out as a demand. It comes out nervous, and dreadful, and wary, and afraid, and angry.
“Your fucking boyfriend happened to me,” Lucius spits. He’s already digging through Stede’s things; when he finds a cloak, he pulls it over himself, concealing his burnt skin from the sun. Almost immediately, he’s sighing, then digging again in a search for water. “He pushed me over the side of your fucking ship— And where the fuck were you, by the way? Hm? Because you left a fucking shitstorm behind you—”
“I went home,” Stede tells him, bewildered. He’s also, tragically, mortified, because he’s unexpectedly flushed and wasn’t really expecting a confrontation, really, even if he knew he’d have to explain himself. “Only— Well, I realized it’s not home so much, anymore.”
“Oh, well, goody for you,” Lucius snaps. He finally finds his water, nearly breaking the cap trying to twist it off the mouth. When he’s drank half of it, he turns back to Stede, streaked with water. “So, what? Fucked off back to your wife, then, is that it?”
Stede stares at him.
“I almost died,” he says, and Lucius stares back, brow furrowing, bewildered.
After a beat, he replies, “Me, too,” and returns to drinking the water. Around a mouthful, he informs Stede, “You’re not special.”
While Stede sets back to the task of rowing, Lucius informs him of what happened in his absence. Hearing about Ed in his absence has his skin crawling, heart racing, fear coursing through him at the dawning understanding of what must have happened here. He’d thought— Well, not that it matters what he thought, because he thinks lots of things that he consequently completely bungles, but he’d thought that Ed would be better off without him.
Everyone else was right, Stede had thought, at the time. He brought history’s greatest pirate to ruin, and for what? So he could— could selfishly keep him for himself? So he could keep the person he loved with him, even if they weren’t happy there?
Stede tells Lucius all of it. Every second, from— from Ed asking him to leave with him, all the way through his faking his own death and returning to the sea.
“At the time,” Stede tries to explain when he’s told him everything he can think of to say, when they’re in the middle of nowhere and see nothing but open ocean, “I thought it made quite a bit of sense. I’ll remove myself from Ed’s equation, make things a lot better for him, and just— pop on back home to be the father I’m supposed to be.”
Lucius evaluates him from underneath his stolen hood. “Didn’t pan out that way, I’m figuring?”
“No,” Stede answers. “No, it did not. Turns out I’m not very much good to anyone at all, no matter where I am.”
They sit in silence, for a bit. Stede keeps rowing. He’s learned enough from his time on the seas— he has been very dedicated, after all— and he keeps them navigating steadily forwards, where he thinks the ship should have been, if not be now.
“And yet,” Lucius eventually comments. “Here you are.”
“Yes,” Stede replies. “Here I am.” He keeps his focus forwards on the sea, tells him, “Well, logically, I have to be somewhere. And I’m happiest out here. I thought I’d be finding Ed, but— If he doesn’t want me, I suppose that’s fair. Just because I love him doesn’t mean he should—”
He stops when his voice grows unexpectedly strained, choking him off a bit. He’s embarrassed again, swallowing back the lump in his throat and fighting against the burn in his eyes, the prickle in the back of his nose.
“Well,” Stede repeats, stopping himself. “That’s why I left, then, isn’t it? So he could be exactly who he wanted and do exactly what he wanted.”
“Based on the story you’ve just told me,” Lucius replies, “in which your beloved fucking madman asked you to run away with him, it sort of sounds like he already knew who he wanted to be and what he wanted to do. And maybe this sounds like it has a bit more to do with your own little… self-esteem problems, or dilemmas about yourself, or what have you, but I don’t think he cares a bit about any of that, to be honest with you. It seems like he only wants you. And that you might have underestimated your own impact on him just a— a tiny bit.” Lucius leans back where he’s already half-reclining in the boat, studying Stede like he hasn’t just flayed him open. “Correct me if I’m wrong, though.”
“He doesn’t know what he wants,” Stede tells him without conviction, a little rattled.
“Oh, and that’s yours to decide?” Lucius asks. “Sounds like pretty much the opposite of what you’ve always told us, if you ask me.” At Stede’s confused expression, brow furrowed, Lucius clarifies, “Do what makes you happiest? Choose your own fate? You’re the master of your own life? Take your pick, any of the nonsense things you’ve always told us.”
“They’re not nonsense,” Stede argues automatically.
“Funny,” Lucius says. “You’ve been acting like it’s all nonsense.”
The two of them look at each other, again. Stede can feel his heart racing.
“I think I’ve fucked up,” Stede confesses.
“Yeah,” Lucius tells him, “but don’t take it too hard. I might’ve fucked up, too, if somebody dragged me out of bed to tell me I’d ruined their family, and my own, and destroyed the love of my life’s entire legacy, and then, like— blew their own whole fucking head off. Like, that— I get that, Cap’n. That makes sense.”
Stede nods, keeping his eyes forward. After a beat, he can’t maintain the calm, and he needs the human connection, turning back to look at Lucius. He actually spills over, then, eyes burning.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Lucius comments, but Stede is already carefully standing up so he can bend and hug Lucius without capsizing their vessel. “Ahh— Alright. There, there. Neither of us is dead, so. Not much more we can do than this.”
Stede holds him for another long, tight moment, taking a deep breath before he lets him go, separating them. Scrubbing at his face, reclaiming his seat, Stede steadies himself.
“Well,” he says, clapping his hands down on his thighs. “Here’s the plan. We find the ship, undo— Whatever’s been done, and everything will be right as rain.”
Lucius does not agree with him. Instead, he only pulls his lower lip between his teeth, then turns away, looking out over the ocean.
“Lucius?” Stede asks.
“Ahh— Maybe,” he replies, once prompted. “I don’t know, though.” Glancing back at Stede’s devastated expression, he hurries to tell him, “He was really upset when you left. Like, heartbroken. It was kind of fucked up to see. Like watching a puppy cry. It’s sick.”
Stede’s own heart feels like it’s splintering apart just hearing that. It makes his hands sweat, as he takes the paddle back in his palms, pulling to keep shoving them through the waves.
“I’ll fix this,” Stede says firmly.
There’s really no other choice, in his mind; he’ll fix this, or die trying. That’s why he came back out here, anyway. He already knew the risks. Either Ed will kill him, or he won’t. Being away from him is as good as being dead by now.
“Oh, that motherfucker,” Lucius unexpectedly spits.
Stede’s head snaps up, and he twists to look back at him, asking, “What? I promise, I’ll figure something ou—”
“No, God, not you,” Lucius says, waving him off. His attention is focused on the horizon, and he’s already standing up, leaning forward to get a better look at something. Stede whirls, too, and finds yet another rock in the middle of the ocean, with yet another stranded pirate on it.
Or— not just one. There’s at least half a dozen, by his count from this distance.
“Oh, fuck,” Stede curses.
He lets go of his paddle, climbing to his feet along with Lucius, waving to the figure waving back at him. It’s with a burst that he realizes it’s Oluwande, and the sinking feeling deepens even further.
“Look,” Lucius exclaims excitedly, grabbing Stede by the upper arm, nearly capsizing them as he points forward at the other men on the island. “It’s Pete, look!”
“I see him,” Stede says. There’s no small amount of anxiety in him now, even as he’s overwhelmed with this crashing relief that it’s him who found his crew first, and not some other pirate captain’s ship, or the Navy, or Death. He’s terrified as to why he’d find his crew here— and terrified as to why it’s only most of his crew. By his count, he’s still missing a couple of people, including Ed.
Not that Ed is his— his crew, really, but— He’s— He was still anticipating him, is all, and this is growing less and less promising by the second.
Lucius actually helps row, now, using his hands while Stede actually uses the paddle to bring them into the island. When they’re actually there, Stede’s able to count off not only Oluwande and Black Pete, but also Wee John, and— he thinks— Buttons, and the Swede, and Roach, all sprinting for their dinghy.
Wee John collides with Stede, hugging him tightly. He automatically returns the embrace, looking at Oluwande over his shoulder.
“What happened?” Stede asks breathlessly.
“The Kraken left us here,” Buttons says, gathering his things up.
“He means the Captain,” Oluwande explains. “Well— The other Captain.”
Stede’s going to ask another question, at that, but he’s stopped when Lucius jumps out of the boat and nearly knocks Black Pete flat on his back in the sand in the process.
“Oh, my God, you’re alive,” Black Pete is all but crying, and he brings Lucius’ face to his, knocking them together in his rush to kiss him, the force of it too much for anything gentle. “Oh, fuck, I thought you were dead, I thought— Izzy fucking—”
“I thought you’d be dead by now,” Lucius says over him. In the next second, he’s slamming them together again, shoving himself further into Black Pete’s arms. “Fuck, I love you—”
“I love you,” Black Pete echoes in a rush.
It makes Stede hurt. It makes him ache, to see them reuniting, to feel joy for them as he feels horror at the necessity of their reunion. It hurts to know he won’t be getting this same reunion with Ed. The pain sharpens all the worse when Oluwande is staring down at the sand, eyes red, pretending he wasn’t looking for Jim in that dinghy with him.
“I’m sorry,” Stede tells him— tells all of them, really. He tightens his own grip on Wee John, who still hasn’t let him go, and lets himself fall into the embrace, a little bit. “I made a very— a very, very terrible mistake. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. It’s— Very.”
“Tell us on the boat,” Roach replies, already starting to climb into Stede’s dinghy.
“We are not all going to fit in this,” the Swede comments. He’s examining it from the side. “Ahh— Hmm. Well, maybe if a couple of us sit in each other’s laps.”
“Don’t mind that,” Buttons says. He’s already sitting, and pats his lap. The Swede evaluates him for a beat, then sighs, going to join him.
Stede has to go through his entire story again with them while they prepare his little boat to head back out to sea, this time with the goddamn eight of them on board, which will take no less than a literal absolute miracle to survive. Luckily for them, Stede has been subsisting on nothing but miracles lately, so he’s fairly confident this will work.
Besides— If it doesn’t, they’ll all just die a little sooner than they would’ve anyway. When the stakes are this insane, the strangest things do and don’t matter.
Inexplicably, at the end of Stede’s whole explanation, Buttons reaches over to pat him on the knee. Stede’s still rowing, determined to see this through; he only briefly breaks pace to glance up at him.
“You’ve done the best you can in every moment you’ve had,” he tells him. “At least you’re learning.”
Stede frowns slightly, feeling— rather undeserving of a kindness like that. All the same, he wants to encourage this sort of behavior in his men, and he replies, “Thank you.”
“Just sayin’,” Buttons replies, and returns to trying to help paddle with his hands.
For what it’s worth, the moment Lucius’ part of the story comes out, the rest of the crew seems to forget about Stede’s role in all of this to begin with. Black Pete, in particular, nearly pitchpoles them— if there were a pole to pitch over on this tiny boat— when he hears what Ed’s done.
“Now, we don’t know it was on purpose,” Wee John tries to argue. It’s an unnecessary defense, or maybe just an optimistic play at being the Devil’s advocate, as— as it were. “He might’ve stumbled, maybe. Or a stray sail hit you and— knocked y’over? Maybe?”
Based on the looks the rest of the crew are giving him, and the fact that Stede himself is remaining silent, Wee John acquiesces, returning to his own quiet assistance in rowing their little boat instead.
“I’ll kill him,” Black Pete spits. “Second I see him, I’ll wring his neck for—” His voice breaks, and he cracks out, “Fuck,” before he’s pulling Lucius in closer again.
They’ve elected to share a seat, as well, tangled up in each other. They’re not rowing; nobody’s asked them to, or is intending to ask them to.
With his face buried in Lucius’ hair, his arms wound around him, Black Pete says, muffled and choked, “I’m going to fucking kill him. With my bare hands, I’m gonna kill him for what he did—”
“You can’t,” Stede finally says.
Nobody else in the boat speaks. Stede doesn’t look at Black Pete for a long second before he has to make himself do it, glancing up at him where he’s lifted his eyes from Lucius’ hair.
“He nearly killed Lucius,” Black Pete snaps, as if Stede doesn’t know that, as if that knowledge isn’t tearing his stomach up out through his mouth right now. “He would’ve, if he had his way.”
“And that’s my fault,” Stede tells him. “I take responsibility for that, you— You can kill me for it instead,” he says, in a jolting burst of impulse. It’s just about the stupidest thing he could have said right now. He didn’t even build up to it. He could’ve offered to— to duel him, or something. Whatever pirates should do in this circumstance, if he’s— defending Ed’s honor, or taking the responsibility he believes he should be shouldering, or whatever this technically is.
Black Pete just stares at him. The rest of the crew stares at him, too, all silent. Stede can’t read their silence, can’t tell if it’s good or bad.
He’s just about resolved that they’re about to throw him overboard and rightfully take control of his dinghy before Black Pete asks him, “You’d want me to kill you instead of him? Fu— Why?”
Stede frowns. “It’s my fault.”
“It isn’t,” Roach argues.
“He did leave,” the Swede comments.
“The Captain was really upset,” Wee John adds. “The other Captain, I mean. Like, I mean heartbroken. Sorry, Captain.”
Stede nods once, looking down at his hands as he draws to a stop, the paddle stilling in the water. The other men stop, too, all of them watching him and Black Pete, waiting for their next moves.
“If I hadn’t’ve left,” Stede explains, “he never would’ve done this. I should’ve— I should’ve explained. Or told him, or— Done it better. I broke his heart, and that’s my fault, and I— I ruined him.”
“Oh, no, that’s—” Lucius starts to try and stop him, but Stede’s already too wound up. He’s been at sea for days, and the love of his life is losing his mind, and he’s still missing some of his crew, and the crew he does have is going to kill him, and he’s finally falling apart. He’s just— he’s falling apart.
“I ruined him,” Stede repeats tearfully. He shakes his head, then confesses, “I’ve only fucked it up since I started. I’ve made— horrible mistakes. I nearly got you all killed m— more than once. Like, a few times, and it’s— I shouldn’t be putting your lives at risk. I shouldn’t. I never should’ve. And then I was finally— Oh, fuck, I finally had everything, we were going to— We were going to leave together.” He can’t bring himself to care that he’s crying in front of them. At this point, he’s fairly certain all of them have seen him cry at least once, anyway, and if he can’t cry when he’s confessing his worst sins before he’s killed by his own crew, when can he truly cry? “Oh, fuck, we were going to leave together, and I didn’t go— Oh, God— And now— Now, he’s going to— Oh, God, he’s going to kill— Oh, fuck—”
A hand lands on his shoulder. Stede sucks in a ragged breath, just as Oluwande says, “Breathe, Cap.”
Stede nods shakily, then drops his face down into his hands, giving in and starting to sob.
None of the men speak. Oluwande’s hand remains firmly on his shoulder, for a long moment, where Stede doesn’t even try to get ahold of himself. He thought this was going to go differently, and it’s all falling apart, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t, not anymore.
He jumps, a little, when another hand lands on his knee. Lifting his head slightly, he finds that Lucius has reached out, leaning out of Black Pete’s lap slightly to grip him.
“It’s going to be okay,” Lucius tells him, his voice low. His own face is splotched with red, and he smiles without humor, a mournful expression before he squeezes Stede’s knee. “It will.”
Stede puts his hand over Lucius’; the other one crosses up to cover Oluwande’s.
In the next beat, Buttons’ hand lands on his other shoulder, and then Wee John’s, in the center of his back. The Swede reaches to grip his other knee; Roach puts his hand on his thigh, hand overlapping Lucius’.
“It’ll be alright, Cap’n,” Wee John says.
“We’ll figure it out,” Roach agrees. “Nothing a good apology can’t fix, I’m sure.”
Stede huffs a wet laugh, shaking his head as he briefly turns sideways into Oluwande’s hand. He exhales shakily, then lifts his eyes, meeting Black Pete’s.
He’s unsurprised to find his face splotched-red, too, and his eyes bloodshot. His gaze is burning through Stede.
“I understand if you want to kill me,” Stede says. “If someone tried to kill Ed, I— I would, too. I’d want to kill them.”
The men are silent again, after his confession. It was unexpected, even for him, and in the quiet that follows, he seeks out Black Pete’s understanding, before he does this, if not his forgiveness.
“I just had to try,” Stede tells him. “To give him a better life, without me— I had to try.”
Black Pete blinks, and tears slip down his face, and he rolls his eyes upwards, cursing, “Fuck.”
Stede nods, even though they’re not looking at each other anymore. Dropping his eyes down, he nods again, then says, “You can kill me. Do it. Just— If you don’t mind, don’t tell me, because then I’ll panic and it’ll be—”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Black Pete cuts him off.
Stede exhales shakily. “What?”
“I’m not going to kill you, Captain, Jesus fuck,” Black Pete says. “It’s not your goddamn fault.”
“I can’t let you kill—”
“I won’t kill him,” Black Pete says, even though it seems like it’s dragging knives up out of his throat just to say the words. “But you have to let me— Fight him. Fuck him up. He’s got to pay, y’know that, right? Like— You understand that?”
“I should pay,” Stede insists. “It should be me, it’s my—”
“Oh, shit,” Oluwande abruptly comments.
“Would you look at that?” Buttons agrees, and all of them swivel to look in the same direction as them. With the sun starting to set lower— and Stede’s nerves starting to lift higher with it— the darkening sky casts the ship before them in bright lights, lit up all over almost like it’s on fire. It’s only lanterns, though, and people, and sails, and the effect of the setting sunlight playing off the water in the burning sky.
“That’s my ship,” Stede says, recognizing her instantly, heart in his throat at the realization.
Not only that, but he recognizes the figure at the helm, leaning over the wheel, staring him down even from this distance. They’re set in darkness, what looks like kohl smudged around his eyes, and now Stede thinks he understands what Buttons might’ve meant earlier by The Kraken. Ed— He’s not just the nightmare-Fuckery of Blackbeard, now, and definitely not just Ed, but something unholy and enraged and broken and new altogether, something Stede’s not sure he’s ever seen, or anyone’s ever seen.
Across the sea, slowly drifting closer and closer to one another, Stede and Ed make eye contact again for the first time. From this distance, Stede doesn’t know what Ed’s doing, but he knows he’s already starting to cry.
“I’m sorry!” Stede shouts, before he can do or think or conceive of anything else at all. “Ed! Fuck, sorry—” He stumbles, staggering up to his feet, getting his arms up over his head. His heart’s pounding with the urge to be closer already, to have Ed here. Raising his voice as loud as he can, he calls again, “I love you! I’m coming— Ed, I’m sorry!”
Ed keeps just staring at him, unmoving, eyes burning out at him. Someone has taken up rowing, their little boat drawing closer and closer to the Revenge, but Stede doesn’t look down to see who it is. He can’t look away from Ed, locked onto him.
The closer they get, the more tense Stede becomes, preparing to climb up. He really thought Ed would’ve done— something, moved below deck to avoid him or drawn closer to meet him, but he doesn’t do anything. Instead, he just keeps standing there, studying them, unmoving. The only part of him that does shift is his eyes, to track him, never once breaking their contact there.
When their little dinghy nearly cracks against the side of the Revenge, Stede wants to be the first one to climb up, but he isn’t. Nobody up on deck offers down a ladder, so the first person to get up on deck is Black Pete, and he doesn’t wait for any ladder.
Instead, he starts climbing directly up the side of the ship, moving so quickly Stede almost doesn’t believe it. He scales the wood and hoists himself right up over the railing.
“Oh, fuck,” Stede says, once he actually realizes, then scrambles to follow.
He can hear the other men following behind, though he’s not sure who’s right at his back. What he does know is that, up on deck, he hears Jim call, “Oluwande,” at the top of their lungs, and he’s so goddamned relieved to realize they’re alive that he almost accidentally lets go of the ship when he looks up to find them.
What he finds is Jim helping haul Black Pete over the side, which must have been when they spotted Oluwande behind him, but Stede is watching Black Pete hurtle upwards and hurdle over the rail.
Stede clambers up the side with significantly less grace, but he actually makes it to Jim before Black Pete gets very far. Jim yanks him up and over the side, already mostly ignoring him in favor of reaching for Oluwande right behind him, dragging him in to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“I’m so fucking glad you’re okay,” Oluwande tells them fast, a rush of words that almost becomes one continuous sound with how quick he is. “Oh, fuck, I think I— Oh, shit—”
Jim kisses him again, tugging him in, even halfway over the rail as he is. “I thought you were dead,” they tell him, eyes red before they’re kissing him again.
“I thought—” Oluwande starts, but he can’t finish. He frames Jim’s face between his hands, and then, to Stede’s surprise, he laughs, this glowing, incredulous, breathless sound. He crouches slightly and picks Jim up, tightening them into an embrace, and Stede— he hurts, he’s reaching for them and wants to tell Jim he’s so glad they’re okay, but his attention is snatched a moment later.
“Hey!” Black Pete’s shouting down the deck, and Stede whirls, refocuses, already running after the noise before he fully processes it. “You! Dickhead! You think you can kill my fucking boyfriend, that it? You get your stupid fucking heart broken, you push mine into the fucking sea?”
“Oh, no,” Stede says. “No, no, no—”
“Yes!” Frenchie exclaims up on deck. He’s just by the helm, and if he’s excited when he sees Black Pete, he’s twice as overjoyed to see Stede, throwing both fists in the air. “Oh, fuck yes!”
Stede can’t focus on him right now, though it helps to know that his entire crew’s made it, that everybody he had here is accounted for. At this point, he couldn’t give a single goddamned shit about Izzy fucking Hands, though he’s hoping he might feel more sympathetic, perhaps, later on, if the man’s even still around himself.
When Stede sees Ed, it’s like nobody else is there. They’ve been so far apart, just— so, so far apart, and part of Stede was still terrified that he never would actually see Ed again. The ocean is a big place, and the world’s an even bigger one, and the both of them have their fair share of enemies, now, and Ed even moreso than Stede. There was a part of him that still held onto the fear that they’d never meet again, but now—
Now.
Now, they’re close again. They’re nearly within arm’s length of one another, so close and yet still so far away. Stede is aching worse— so, so much worse than before— when he sees him, because— Fuck, this isn’t his Ed.
This Ed is tear-stained, and kohl-smudged, and exhausted. His hair is hanging in his face, uncombed and unwashed; his clothes are much the same, hanging off of his body, all dark leathers and strapped-on weapons and sprawling tattoos covering all that visible bare skin, gleaming in the setting sunlight. His beard’s started growing back in in earnest, dark and streaked through with silver like his lank hair as he studies Stede from those red, bloodshot eyes, set in the ruddy, crumpling mess of his face. Stede watches him fight to remain stoic, and fail, his lips parting for a beat.
“I’m so sorry,” Stede tells Ed, just as Black Pete collides with him from the side, socking him square across the jaw.
The entire crew is instantly in an uproar. Not just Stede’s crew, but Ed’s, as well, and the places where both crews appear to now slightly overlap. Stede’s own men hurry to hold Ed’s back, fighting them off, giving Black Pete space. Lucius himself is the one who grabs Stede’s shoulders, then his wrists, jerking him backwards.
“What are you doing?” Stede demands incredulously backwards. “I am on your crew.”
“My crew,” Lucius says, “but his side,” and jerks his chin in Ed’s direction as he’s reeling back upright, clutching his cheek in his hand. It looks like he cracks his jaw back into place, rubbing at the line of it as he turns back up. “Sorry, Cap.”
“Please don’t do this,” Stede says quickly towards Black Pete, as loudly as he can. “You said—”
“I said I wouldn’t kill him,” Black Pete snaps backward, his fingers curling up into a fist as he circles Ed. Stede’s heart is in his throat, and he wants— He wants Ed to fight back, or to do something, to use his words and explain or apologize or— or something, anything except this, just— taking it, and then standing there, hunched, silent.
“Kick his ass!” Frenchie calls from the crowd, Ivan’s arm held tight in his hand.
Ed’s eyes find Stede’s again, in the moment before Black Pete hits him again, and this time he goes stumbling backwards, his back colliding with the helm. He catches himself against it, keeps himself upright, eyes swinging to meet Black Pete’s.
“I fucking trusted you,” Black Pete snaps at him, drawing in closer to him. He fits his legs around Ed’s, grabs onto the loose leather of his top, reels him in. “I— I fucking idolized you, do you know that? I guess not. Or— Fuck, you might’ve and not even cared.”
Black Pete scowls up at him, eyes red-rimmed. Ed just keeps— staring back at him, not breaking their eye contact, now. Stede’s heart is in his throat, and Lucius still won’t release him. Across this small bubble of space the crew’s created for Black Pete and Ed, he sees Izzy, still very much alive and being held back by Jim, their knife drawn with the bare blade pressed snug against his throat.
For a beat, Stede and Izzy look at each other, and he thinks they might even be on the same side.
He can’t help looking at Black Pete, though, when the man continues, “We all liked you, man. You were like family to us. We loved you. He,” Black Pete points backwards at Stede, “loves you, you fucking— God. I can’t even— God!” He lets Ed go, then paces away. It’s then he meets Lucius’ eye, and it only takes that second before he’s reeling back towards Ed, turning on him again. “You tried to kill us! You— And we loved you, man!”
Ed actually inhales a shuddering breath. He says, “You shouldn’t’ve.”
Black Pete points backwards at Stede. “Tell him that.”
With one hand still holding Ed’s shirt, Black Pete pulls back to hit him again, knocking his nose loose. Izzy tries to wrench out of Jim’s hands, but all he succeeds in doing is digging their blade further into his throat.
“Fuck him up, babe!” Lucius shouts. Then, lower, “Sorry, just— Y’know. He did push me overboard.”
Stede can’t even find it in himself to pay attention to Lucius’ words, right now. He’s only focused downward on Ed, at the way he’s putting his hands on either side of his nose and shoving it back into place. He’s still not fighting back, still, and it’s killing something inside of Stede, to see him like this. He should be fighting back. This isn’t him.
“Stop!” Stede shouts. “I— Fu— Stop, I j—”
His mind is racing, trying to come up with something, anything, and then he remembers the thought he’d had earlier.
Quickly, Stede calls to Black Pete, “I challenge you to a duel!”
The crew— or, crews— largely quiet down, at his words. Black Pete and Ed both stop to look over at him; Black Pete looks genuinely surprised, taken aback for a moment, and Ed— Ed’s burning. Ed’s burning.
“I accept,” he says, and it shouldn’t surprise Stede that it’s not Black Pete who says it, but Ed, shoving himself back upright, not letting his eyes leave Stede’s.
Stede is about to say, ‘That wasn’t for you,’ but he realizes that’s not true. This is, technically, for Ed. This is all for Ed.
And, like he said earlier— if he dies, he dies. It would happen without Ed, anyway. If it’s going to happen at all, it may as well be at Ed’s hand, which is a— relatively tragic thought, as well as a poetic one, but Stede can’t even appreciate the romanticism of it right now.
Lucius releases Stede’s arms. They come snapping forward, the tension in his shoulders all relaxing at once, but his muscles are already pulling back up.
Izzy and Jim have finally separated themselves, and Izzy hands over his sword the second he sees Ed heading for him. Ed actually studies his weapon, for a second, before he pushes it back into his hands.
“‘M’gonna use mine,” Ed murmurs to him, drawing away without meeting Izzy’s eyes.
Hearing Ed speak again is— It’s— The feeling is indescribable. It sends a rattle through to Stede’s core, a shock like he’s been struck by lightning all the way down his spine, like his head might actually, genuinely explode. His chest is crushed inwards, all bent around his broken heart, already knowing how this is going to end.
Stede follows suit. He denies the sword that Jim tries to offer him, instead pulling his own from his hip. It’s not much to write home about at all, but it’s his sword, and he’s going to use his sword when he fights Ed to the death.
He could never kill Ed. He already knows how this is going to end.
Adjusting the weight of his sword in his hand, his fingers curling around to start warming it under his grip, he says to Ed, “I’m so sorry,” because it’s the most important thing to say, he thinks.
Ed just keeps staring at him. He doesn’t speak, but he does keep circling him, with the predatory, slow, tracking, looping grace of a warrior creature. His eyes are dark, unmoving from Stede’s, keeping close tabs on him. Ed never releases him, which— He never has before, gripped as tight as Stede is, so why start now?
“I love you,” Stede tells him, because that’s important, too. “I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving.”
“Fuck you,” Ed spits automatically.
“Yes,” Stede agrees quickly. “Absolutely, yes, fuck— Fuck me, I absolutely— I am the worst, I am so, so sorry, Ed, I—”
“Stop calling me that,” Ed snaps at him.
Stede pauses, then says again, a little slower this time, “I love you. I didn’t want to ruin you any further than I already had, so I left, but I shouldn’t’ve— I— That wasn’t right of me, E— Darling, I should have talked to you. Right?”
Ed’s hard stare isn’t just burning, now, but blazing. The smoldering embers inside him are sparking into flames, and he’s getting heat inside him, and passion, and he’s waking up, coming to life here as the sun sets and the moon rises and the crew watches, waiting to see which captain they’ll have come morning, and which they’ll have to toss over into the sea.
His dark eyes are bloodshot, red-strained, and he stares at Stede, unspeaking. Stumbling over his words, his grip on his sword deeply unsure, he keeps up with Ed’s circling pace, trying to match him so they don’t trip into each other.
“I missed you,” Stede tells him. He drops his voice to try and keep it closer to them, at least. “I have a lot to tell you, if you’d let me, but— If I only have this moment right here before you actually finally just do me in, I just want to make sure you know this much: I always loved you, and I never stopped, and I would’ve died at sea before I stopped trying to find you, Ed, I swear to you.”
Ed stares at him, his circling coming to a thoughtless halt. His boots clunk down on the wood, and then cease moving altogether; his body wavers for a moment, as if the momentum of movement continues for a beat before he actually properly stops.
Then, Ed turns his shoulders, squaring them towards him. Stede recognizes this position, and understands even further when Ed lowers himself, the fighting stance familiar and obvious.
Stede echoes the movements. Nobody speaks as the two of them shift into place, swords drawn and aimed towards one another.
Ed takes the first step. The blood that had streamed down his nose from one of Black Pete’s hits has stopped, and it’s starting to dry black down his lips, over his chin. With his sword pointed forward, he draws nearer to Stede, advancing on him with slow ease.
At first, Stede doesn’t move. Then, when Ed’s brow furrows slightly, he steps forward. If this is the game he has to play, for Ed’s sake, he’ll do it.
The point of Ed’s sword seems— impossibly sharp, actually, and his breath is starting to wheeze out quicker. His heart seizes, but it’s nothing, nothing compared to how he feels when he actually looks at Ed again, meeting the heat in his eyes, once so warm and now dark and endless and lost, and Stede wants to fucking cry again just looking at him.
“I love you,” Stede tells him, because he can’t not.
Ed exhales again, his lips parting as the breath comes out as if he’s been hit by another blow. His eyes flutter, and then he presses in again, his sword coming down towards Stede’s chest, and further.
Stede follows suit, drawing his own sword down. His only difference is he pushes out, intending to glide just past Ed if he even mistakenly gets close to him. He’s not going to hurt him, he can’t. Seeing Ed just surrender himself to Black Pete, refusing to fight back, he just— He knows there’s only one way this can end. When he thought Ed might die, he knew it wasn’t an option, so that just leaves one last one.
It’s not unexpected when Ed pushes in on him. He lowers his sword, and steadies his hand, and drives forward.
Stede’s expecting the pain that explodes in his side. What he isn’t expecting is the jolt of tension in the muscles of his shoulder as Ed grabs the flat of his blade and snaps it inward. It cuts straight across his palm in the instant before it pushes into his own abdomen, the both of them being split open over scar tissue, their swords each missing everything important before they’ve both run each other through and met in the middle.
Their hands nearly touch, each held in close, still gripping the swords locked into each other’s bodies. Stede laughs breathlessly, reaching up with his other hand to wrap his hand up in Ed’s hair, drawing him in until he can knock their foreheads together. Ed— lets him, his eyes fluttering shut as he smiles himself, leaning into Stede.
Ed’s other hand comes to his hip, grabs onto him, and it’s so unexpected that Stede’s head jerks up. His chin nearly catches Ed’s nose and dislocates a second time, but they miss at the last moment.
Still impaled on each other’s swords, Ed tips his own chin up, then steals Stede in a kiss, teeth dragging along his bottom lip. For a moment, it’s firm and close-mouthed, and then his lips are parting, spreading him open, the heavy taste of blood and salt and Ed filling Stede’s mouth. He laughs around him, breathless with the kiss and the pain blooming inside him.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Stede tells him. It’s his only regret, that Ed’s hurting, too, but it also only feels right, that they do this this way. "Your side—”
Ed’s hand drags sharply up Stede’s side to wind in his hair in response, dragging blood through it. “Had to,” Ed says. “Thought you were already dead, so I was gonna die anyway. If we’re gonna do it this way, ‘s’pretty much the same, don’t you think, love?”
It’s Stede that starts to give first, then, his knees buckling under the pain. Only then does Ed swiftly withdraw his sword, tossing it aside with a clatter on the deck. Stede uses the last of his waning strength to pull his own sword from Ed’s body. It joins Ed’s on the wood below, blood catching the moonlight in the instant before Stede tears his eyes back up to meet Ed’s again.
His own side hurts, but his stupid head just thinks, that means Ed’s side must hurt, and he reaches out to put his hand over Ed’s wound instead of his own.
“I love you,” Stede tells him again. “Ed, I’m sorry. And if— If I live, I’ll tell you again, alright? And tell you everything you wanna know, I swear.”
Ed reaches out and grabs him before Stede’s vision can black out. “You’ll tell me now.”
Stede blinks, trying to hang onto consciousness. His knees finally actually give, surrendering, and he falls downward. Ed tries to catch him, almost succeeds, but they end up falling into each other instead, meeting the deck together in a blur of blood and pain and— for Stede, he knows, at least— a tremendous amount of love, and relief, because he’s here with him again, and that’s all he wanted, really.
“Who won?” someone calls overhead, though Stede can’t pick out whose voice it is over the roar of blood in his ears.
“Does it look like that fucking matters?” somebody else insists. “Fucking hell, help me, let’s get them below—”
There are hands on Stede, then, and he tries to shove at them, though his body and his mind are both becoming bleary. All he really understands right now is that they’re trying to take Ed away, and he’s not going to have that. Not again, and he fights against the pull, trying to keep his hold on Ed.
They manage to keep their hands connected, Ed’s fingers laced with his. It’s— Stede doesn’t even know if Ed wants this, but he hangs on all the same, when he’s not dropped or brushed away.
It— The world, that is— moves in fits and starts around him, and Stede just clings to Ed. He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but he knows that Ed’s there. He gets the bed under his back, and he gets the tugging of the wound in his side as Frenchie stitches him up after he’s finished with Ed, and he gets the murmuring of strained voices around him, though he can’t actually do anything about any of them.
People are there, and then they aren’t, and then they are, and then they aren’t, and then—
And then, it’s dark.
Stede’s still holding Ed’s hand, he knows that much. He tightens his grip, finding Ed’s fingers tangled in his, and exhales shakily in relief. It feels like he might have been asleep, or drifting, at least; the pain is his side remains very present, but slightly lesser, and his mind drifts.
He’s horizontal, he realizes, and turns his head, opens his eyes.
He meets Ed’s eyes, open beside him in bed, staring right at him. Their hands are pulled up between their faces, and Ed is curled up on his side, knees drawn near to his chest. It has to hurt the wound in his stomach, but he doesn’t seem to care, just keeping his eyes open and fixed upwards on Stede.
For a long moment, neither of them speaks, just staring at each other in that shadowed, empty quiet. They must be in his quarters— or, what used to be his quarters, he figures. They must be Ed’s now, and it feels as though he’s taken Stede’s blankets and pillows out of it.
Ed’s fingertips dig into the back of Stede’s hand, a bit.
“I’m sorry,” Stede tells him, his voice low in the darkness and silence. There’s moonlight outside, the room in black and blue and silver-white, shining in Ed’s dark eyes.
“Why?” Ed whispers.
“Because I made a terrible mistake,” Stede says, “and I hurt you, and I didn’t want—”
“No,” Ed cuts him off. “Why did you leave?”
Stede stops, words breaking off around a breath, and his eyes flicker between Ed’s. Clenching his hand harder, drawing it nearer to his throat, he tells Ed, “I killed Admiral Badminton. Or— Admiral Badminton killed himself in front of me. And he s— He said,” Stede says, voice cracking, “I— That I ruined you, Ed. And I did.”
Ed keeps staring at him, his eyes starting to grow red-rimmed, his skin around them still kohl-stained. He doesn’t speak, just— staring, glassy water growing across his eyes until they have a sheen.
“I’m so sorry, Ed,” Stede whispers to him. “I ruined you. And then I made it so, so much worse. You deserve much better than the way I handled things, Ed, I mean that. I made a terrible mistake. But I— You have to understand, Ed, I thought— I ruined you,” and he wants to say more, but the words build up in his throat until he’s choked off, and then he’s crying again.
He’s met with Ed’s flickering eyes, his eyelashes damp as tears blink free, streaming sideways downward towards the mattress beneath them. He still doesn’t speak, though he takes a shaky breath in, a trembling inhale. His hand in Stede’s tightens, just a bit.
“I love you,” Stede promises him, because it’s the truth. “I’m sorry I ruined you, I’m sorry— I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stay away and stop ruining you. I don’t know what’s worse.”
Stede drags Ed’s hand up so he can press a desperate kiss to the back of it. There’s a lot more he wants to say, but he can’t say it right now, just trying to breathe through the tears that are spreading up faster than he can stop them. He presses another kiss to Ed’s hand, and then another, pushing their joined knuckles into one eye, chest hitching.
Only inches from him, Ed’s breath matches his, shaking, and Stede reaches out with their tangled hands to draw him closer. He drags their hands along Ed’s cheek, tugs him in for a kiss. It hurts, to shove in closer, but Stede does it. When he tangles their ankles, Ed pushes in, too, fits their knees together.
“I missed you,” Ed finally says, a confession that pours out of him like it hurts, and then he’s crying in earnest, too. It breaks Stede’s heart, and he knocks their foreheads together, trying to get as close as he can in bed like this. “Oh, fuck, I missed you so much— God—”
Ed starts falling apart under him, rocketing into tears that become uncontrollable, and Stede just presses his forehead to his, and kisses his cheek, and clutches his hand, and says, “I’m here. Love, I’m right here,” and doesn’t let go.
“You can’t leave,” Ed demands. “You— You can’t— This— You— We have to—”
“We’ll figure it out,” Stede promises him. Ed shakes his head slightly, but Stede insists, “We will. I swear. It seems impossible now, but— I promise I’ll figure it all out for you in— in the morning. It’ll all feel better then, and— and we’ll talk, and it’ll all be right. You’ll see.”
Ed’s eyes flicker over Stede’s again, from close-up. They haven’t talked about anything, really, and Stede has so many questions, but there’s nothing to question about the way they’re holding each other like this, right now. It’s the clawing, desperate flip side of the coin Mary had discussed with him. Love, and all the joy and fulfillment it brings, can also bring with it the risk of this staggering pain when it’s lost, and the jagged, yawning determination to rebuild, even when it seems entirely impossible.
Loving Ed means fighting for him, and himself, and this, for this inside them.
“It doesn’t matter what they do,” Stede tells Ed, just to be sure he knows. “If they decide they’re going to anchor me and drop me to the bottom of the sea, you just— You know I loved you.”
“Stede—”
“And,” Stede continues, though the sound of Ed saying his name— his name, his fucking name, fuck— has him burning inside, “I— If they decide they’re going to make you walk, I’ll walk with you. And if you want to leave— I’ll leave. I will, Ed, I’ll still go. We can go anywhere you want, anywhere. If you wanted to leave now I’d put you in the boat and sail you off, but— I don’t think we’d make it far with these holes, but I would— I’d figure it out. I’d keep you alive, Ed, and I’ll— I’d row us to an island, and build you a house there, and we could live there forever, Ed. You and me, right?”
Ed keeps staring at him from so close, unwilling to let him go. Their hands are still knotted together, and Ed drops in slightly to kiss Stede’s hand over his. The sensation sends Stede’s heart rocketing upwards into his throat, exploding behind his eyes, his chest crinkling up, stomach as numb as his hands.
“Right,” Ed says, voice scratching, and Stede tips in for another kiss from him, though it’s not really proper when he can’t stop the tears that bleed into it. “We— You’re sure, though? You—”
“Surer than I’ve been of anything,” Stede promises him.
He drags their hands downward, then, pushing Ed’s knuckles in towards the wound in Stede's abdomen. It jolts him with pain, a burst of agony, and he winches; Ed jerks back, but Stede keeps him close, doesn’t let him withdraw.
“I thought you were going to kill me,” Stede tells him, “and I still let you. I’m not going anywhere, Ed. I promise you that, I’m not going anywhere.”
Ed’s eyes are fixed downward on his wound for a long moment before they drag back up, over the pound of his heart in his chest to find the burn of Stede’s eyes fixed on him, this time, waiting for them to meet again.
“I love you,” Ed whispers to him, and Stede laughs, a wet, breathless, crying sort of laugh.
“I can’t—” Stede starts to reply. He can’t believe how lucky he is; he can’t understand how Ed can forgive him; he can’t begin to think what they have to do first; he can’t process what’s happening with them right now; he can’t love Ed any more than he does right now.
He can, though. And he will, to all of it; he will.
“I love you,” Stede tells him in return.
The ship is rocking under them, still shifting, moving forward, and Stede fits them closer, as close as they can get. They both ignore the pain; it hurts so much less than the pain of being apart, and soothing that agony is far, far more important to the both of them than flesh wounds in their sides.
Reaching up with their joined hands, Stede sweeps his thumb under Ed’s eye, using the slick spread of his tears to clean a bit of the smeared kohl away. Ed chases his hand, when he draws away, and kisses the side of it before they can actually separate.
The chasm inside of Stede is finally filling up, relief soaring through him now that Ed’s finally back here. No matter how far they have to go, they have— each other, which means literally absolutely nothing else matters. Stede couldn’t give a single— a single fuck what happens, as long as he has Ed here with him. Like he said— bottom of the sea, marooned on an island, dead with sword wounds through their guts, retired and living happily ever after, it doesn’t matter.
Ed wriggles in closer, and Stede pushes their foreheads in again, kissing the space beside his nose. He wants to say, I love you, again, and he’s holding back, but he’s— he’s spent enough time holding back from Ed.
“I love you,” he repeats, because he has to. He needs Ed to know. “I love you. I love you—”
“I know,” Ed says, and Stede really, really hopes he does. He’ll make sure he does. “I love you,” with the same conviction, like he’s going to do the same. “Wel—” He swallows, then murmurs, “Welcome home,” and kisses the corner of his mouth, sharing his air, blood and salt and Ed, not releasing him, either.