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After running off to become a fisherman, here’s what Ed expected to happen:
A few months later, once he realized he was not cut out for the life of a fisherman and was just ignoring some larger realizations that needed to be had, he would sail off for the Revenge and find his family again. The whole crew— and, most importantly, Stede— would be on board, and they would have all missed him so much. Stede would have missed him so much, and he would have understood everything without Ed even needing to explain. They would have fallen into each other’s arms again, and Ed would have a pretty, flowery apology to recite, and then he would have either convinced Stede to continue sailing as a pirate or to settle down on land somewhere, maybe, so they could start their lives together.
This is what Ed dreams about after he leaves the fishing boat, while he’s searching for the Revenge. He knows he just— needs to be back together with him, and everything will be fine. If he can just explain, it’ll be fine. Ultimately, it’s all just— it’s going to be fine.
That’s what he’s expecting, anyway.
What happens is this:
Following several weeks of searching for the ship, Ed finally finds the Revenge roughly seven months after leaving. He hails them, climbs aboard, and doesn’t even see Stede before Izzy is in front of his eyes and throwing a fist towards his face.
Of everything Ed expected to happen when he found the Revenge again, Izzy fucking Hands hauling off and knocking him out in an unanticipated sprawl across the deck is probably at the bottom of the fucking list.
Because—
The thing is, Ed thought about everything he was doing on his way back to the Revenge, but he didn’t put as much thought into what the Revenge might have been up to in his absence. Or— more importantly, what the crew of the Revenge might have been up to in his absence.
He truly didn’t think about the fact that he slept with Stede and left him half a year ago. He didn’t realize the implications of doing something like that beyond the obvious, surface-level consequences of fucking off like he did.
He didn’t have even the slightest fucking notion that he might have left Stede different than he found him.
He had no idea that he left him pregnant.
He still doesn’t, actually.
“You fucking twat,” Izzy says, not for the first time since Ed’s been back on board the Revenge.
“Yeah, Iz, you fucking mentioned,” Ed spits up at him. He takes the slab of meat away from his face, prodding gently at the tender skin underneath with his fingertips. “Fuck. I think it’s gonna bruise, mate.”
“I don’t fucking care,” Izzy replies, snatching the meat back, passing it off to Roach. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Where the fuck did you go?”
“I told Stede, I got a job on a fishing boat,” Ed tells him, and doesn’t explain how awful he was at it, and doesn’t tell Izzy how the other fishermen looked down on his lack of ability, and doesn’t get into how fucking lonely his snap-decision made him, but it had been too late by the time he realized and, by then, everyone else was gone.
“That’s not a fucking explanation,” Izzy says, and—
Well, fuck. Ed thought he’d at least get to see Stede before getting thrown back off the ship, but he’s seen practically every other member of their crew and there’s still no sign of him. There’s this— space, this obvious space, the one he should be occupying, but everybody is hovering around it, his name unsaid, his presence— or lack thereof— going inexplicably unmentioned.
“Why the hell do you even care?” Ed asks, and it— it fucking hurts, because this is Izzy, and Izzy’s always supposed to care about him, and that’s fucking ruined now.
And it doesn’t make sense. Izzy being this mad at him on Stede’s behalf— that doesn’t make sense.
“I care because— because you fucked off,” Izzy tells him, his rasping voice so specifically condemning in a way Ed hasn’t heard in months. He’s not sure anybody has ever spoken to him exactly like this; it sort of chills him. “I care because of the fucking mess you left behind, Ed.”
“What mess?” Ed demands. “Because the way I see it, everyone should’ve been a lot better off without me here.”
“Yeah, but, isn’t that sort of exactly what Stede said to you?” Lucius asks, examining his nails, not even looking up at Ed. They’re all gathered up here on the deck— except Stede, of course— and Ed wishes he didn’t have an audience for this, but— then, well, the crew of the Revenge does practically everything together. He remembers that well enough, as well as if he only left yesterday. “When he fucked off, I mean. He did that whole, oh, I ruined you, you’re better off without me, and you said… what, exactly?”
Ed doesn’t answer. He remembers most things he said; they don’t reflect favorably on him now.
“I think he said that that didn’t actually matter, babe,” Pete answers Lucius on Ed’s behalf.
“Oh, right,” Lucius replies.
“I thought you were pissed with him,” Ed accuses.
Lucius half-shrugs. The unsaid something that’s painting all of them remains unspoken and yet still so heavy.
“It’s kind of hard to be pissed with him right now,” Lucius tells him, cryptic as fuck.
“Why?” Ed asks, and the crew glances at each other. The only eyes that meet his are Izzy’s, and they’re flat, hard, colder than Ed’s expecting. Unless Izzy is just mad Ed left him, which— could be entirely possible.
“Don’t you fucking mind why,” Izzy answers him. “Stay here. I’ll ask the Captain what he wants to do with you.”
He’s gone in only a few heartbeats, heading off for the quarters that were Stede’s, then Ed’s, and now Stede’s again. The rest of the crew only watches Ed warily, as if he’ll— jump overboard, or light a cannon, or something. None of this is necessarily out of the realm of possibility, either, he guesses. From what they know, anyway. But Ed—
Fuck. Ed’s tired. He's spent months trying to get back here. He doesn’t want to run anymore. He doesn’t want to fight. He doesn’t want to sail into storms, or pirate, or fish. He just wants to be.
“So…” Frenchie says into the silence. “You’re… staying?”
“Well, only if the Captain says he can,” Archie comments.
“D’you think he will?” John asks. “Because he was really sad. I don’t—” He stops himself, there, and glances at Ed before apparently deciding to be quiet.
“He’s got Izzy now,” Jim points out. Their eyes meet Ed’s for a hard moment before they say, speaking to him without addressing him, “Maybe he’s moved on. Doesn’t need this anymore.”
“Yeah, but— Wouldn’t that be sort of sad?” John asks in return. “Could be worse off, like that.”
“Don’t know how much worse off he could be,” Roach comments in an aside to Zheng and Oluwande. “After— Y’know.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Ed demands, finally unable to take— this any longer. “Is Stede okay? Is—”
Jackie snorts, asks, “Blackbeard, man, you hit it and quit it like that and you wanna know now if he’s okay?”
“At least he did come now,” Archie points out. “I don’t know how long it takes, exactly, but— Imagine if it’d been after?”
There’s a general consensus that this would’ve been worse, but Ed doesn’t even know what they’re fucking talking about. Before, after— he doesn’t know what event they’re centering all of this around, some nebulous unknown he can’t identify without more context.
“Maybe this is better,” the Swede adds. “At least there’s a bit of time.”
“Not that much,” Frenchie points out. “It’s about done, yeah?”
“Couple more weeks,” Roach corrects him. After a beat, he amends to, “Probably. Could be a month. Maybe… two months? Yeah— Actually, probably two months. Ish.”
“You don’t sound very sure,” Zheng comments, eyebrow raised.
“Well, we know when it started,” Archie says. “Can we just work up from that?”
“Ah, I don’t think it works that way?” John suggests. “I think it might be random, actually?”
“What might be random?” Ed asks, somewhere between frustration and fear. Anger eats at him; agitation claws over him; anxiety consumes him whole. “What happened to him? Is he okay?”
“You happened to him,” Lucius bites out. A few crew members shush him, John and Oluwande and Frenchie, but Lucius, aggravated, only snaps out, “Oh, what? He’s going to figure it out soon enough. It’s all his fault, anyway.”
“It’s only half his fault,” Jim suggests. “It’s not like either of them knew then.”
“Yeah, well, the other half didn’t fuck off, so,” Lucius replies.
“That’d be kinda hard, I’d think,” Frenchie comments. “I don’t think that’s an option.”
“Good point,” Archie says. To Ed, she adds, “Kinda sucks worse that you did it, then, actually.”
Ed’s stomach is sinking with dread. He doesn’t know what it is he did, or—
Well, he knows what he did. He left— he left Stede, he left the ship, he left the crew, his home, his family, after everything he did to earn them back, after apologies and probations and earning forgiveness— but he doesn’t necessarily know the consequences of that action. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about; he doesn’t know what happened after; he just doesn’t know.
“What the fuck did I do?” he asks, bewildered, afraid.
The silence is awkward but brief. It’s clear nobody on the crew actually wants to say this, to tell him, but somebody has to or he’s going to lose his fucking mind—
—Which is when Izzy pushes his way back into the room, his cane thumping on every other step, effectively cutting off their silence and freeing them from the obligation of answering. Everyone looks to him, then Ed, then away, pretending they’re not watching even while every last one of them lingers to see what’ll happen.
Izzy evaluates Ed for a long, long moment. Ed’s not sure he’s ever felt this flayed open by Izzy’s attention before, not in their— literal years of time together. He seems— angry, but he also seems sad, and Ed’s struggling to place exactly what it is that he’s feeling.
Which—
Again, is strange. Ed’s used to knowing where he stands with Izzy, and he doesn’t, anymore.
And, unless Izzy is angry that Ed left him— which, peculiarly, doesn’t seem to be the case— Stede is at the center of all this.
Ed knew they were getting closer before he left, before— everything, after Stede came back and before Ed left, but he doesn’t know what they did, what their relationship was like, how far they came. He doesn’t know what they’re like with each other; in all honesty, he didn’t think much about their relationship with each other, didn’t much consider the existence of one after everything that happened with the Act of Grace and— all that, that feels so long ago, now.
It’s obvious to him now that this has been a massive oversight.
Though Ed knows logically that time wouldn’t stand still while he’s been gone, he— didn’t really process that emotionally. In his mind, everything was crystallized, everyone in stasis, exactly as he left them.
He didn’t think about the fact that they would change. It didn’t even occur to him that he was capable of changing them, of affecting them this deeply.
None of this makes any fucking sense to him.
Finally, Izzy tells Ed, “Captain wants to see you.”
“Is that really a good idea?” Jim is the first to ask, pushing off from the rail, already done acting like they’re not paying attention. “I don’t think they should be alone.”
“They won’t be,” Izzy tells them. “Captain Bonnet requested my presence, too—”
“Call him Stede,” Ed insists, because this Captain Bonnet shit is freaking him the fuck out.
Izzy’s eyes never leave him as he says, “There’s a guest on board. I respect my captain.”
Without waiting for a response, he turns, heading for the door to the captain’s quarters. He doesn’t look back to see if Ed’s following, nor does he wait for him. It’s left to Ed to rise to his feet and follow after, feeling the eyes of every crewman following him, wondering what the fuck it is that distressed them this badly.
It can’t just be that he left, because they’re acting too fucking weird for that. He’s sure that didn’t help, but there has to be more to this, because everyone’s strange and the air is thick and something is going on with Stede. Ed just doesn’t know what.
There's a guest on board.
I respect my captain.
At the main door, Izzy pauses, then raps his knuckles on the wood. It’s something familiar, rhythmic: tap, tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap.
“Come in,” Stede’s voice says, and Ed wants to fucking dissolve. He’s just—
He’s missed him so much.
Izzy pushes the door in, steps inside with a short, “He’s right here, Captain,” and Ed hears Stede huff a half-laugh that makes his chest squeeze tight before he’s even seen him.
“You don’t have to call me that, Izzy,” Stede says, and he sounds fond.
“Yeah, well,” Izzy replies, leaves it there. He hesitates, then moves out of Ed’s way, side-stepping to allow him access— though it’s obvious he does it with extreme reluctance, practically dragging himself from the ajar doorway.
Ed comes in, and he’s not sure what he’s expecting to find. With the way everyone’s acting— Fuck, he halfway expects to find Stede on death’s door, and with the way they’re treating him, he’d probably have some— insane disease that only Ed could have given him, or something like that.
Or, possibly, Stede was affected by losing Ed as badly as Ed was affected by losing Stede. The way the crew is acting— they don’t really seem afraid of Stede, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t break. Ed didn’t think Stede would actually be that upset about him leaving, but—
…He might have. Actually.
But, Ed had been terrified, and he’d made a mistake— he’d made a series of mistakes— and he’d been gone on a fishing boat less than ten minutes after telling Stede he would, and by the time he tried to backtrack to the Republic of Pirates, really not that long after, he found the place in ruins and everyone gone and no trace of Stede or anyone else he knew.
So, Ed’s expecting Stede to potentially be dying, or maybe to have gone insane. He’s not sure what else there is that he could’ve done to him.
Of everything he’s expecting when he enters the captain’s quarters, finding Stede Bonnet pregnant is at the bottom of the list. Lower, even, than Izzy punching him. Certainly more fucking shocking.
“What…” Ed starts, more statement than question, before ending with, “…the fuck.”
And Izzy moves away from him, closer to Stede, stepping between them and facing Ed, his back to Stede.
Like he’s defending him.
Which is when it clicks.
“You fucking didn’t.” Ed’s voice comes out so tight, so pained, he hardly recognizes himself.
“Didn’t what?” Stede asks, and Ed’s eyes find him. He’s—
Fuck, he’s just how Ed keeps imagining him. Or, not just how he’s imagined him, because he’s golden and tan and shining and handsome but he’s also significantly pregnant, like— astoundingly pregnant, and Ed’s head hurts looking at him, trying to figure out how the fuck they could’ve fucked this fast—
—unless they were already sleeping together when Ed slept with Stede. Unless Izzy was sleeping with Stede the whole time and Ed was just the one-off.
It’d make fucking sense. Ed kept rejecting Stede; he couldn’t expect him to wait forever. He thought he could, but that’s— fucking whatever. It’s not like Ed didn’t do the same thing; he left Stede to be with Jack, even though it feels like that was— forever ago, now.
The crew must be pissed because Ed caused all of this, though he doesn’t understand why they’re this mad at him for it. Maybe they’re angry because they found a new balance and he showed up to ruin it? Maybe they’re protective of Stede now that he’s healed and moved on?
The idea that Stede has moved on makes something dark and angry and hurt unfurl inside Ed’s belly, and he can’t stop himself from asking, “Did you wait two fucking seconds after I was gone before hooking up, or were you already fucking when—”
“Hey,” Stede is the one to bite out, stopping him short. His eyes are burning, wet and glassy when they find Ed’s. “Ed, that is— not fair.”
“Oh, and it’s fair that you two were apparently just waiting for me to leave?” Ed argues, because, fuck, that hurts. These are the two people he thought he meant the most to, and they got along just fine without him, apparently.
“You do not get to say that,” Stede tells him, and an actual tear streaks down his face. He swipes it away angrily; Izzy glances backward at him, but a gesture from Stede stills him, and Ed— Ed can’t process when they could have made their own language together like this. “Shit, Ed. You don’t know how much it took for me to— After y— You— You are the one who said this was a mistake. Why did you even bother to come back?”
“I said what was a—” Ed starts, then stops. “Before I— Stede, I’m just— I’m sorry, about that. That’s not what I meant, but I just… I… I thought we were being fucking impulsive, and we didn’t think it through, and if you were already fucking sleeping with Izzy, then I don’t think I was wr—”
“I wasn’t,” Stede stops him.
Ed, bewildered, asks, “Then how soon after did—”
“I didn’t,” Stede insists, another tear falling. He spits, “Fuck you, Ed. This baby isn’t Izzy’s, they’re yours.”
Ed’s mind is moving so fast that coming to this moment feels like slamming into a wall without losing speed, splattering himself everywhere, unable to properly process exactly what it is he’s been told.
Into his shocked confusion, Stede continues, spilling words out to the both of them, a waterfall-pour confession of, “We slept together one time, and of course we— Of course I’m having a baby because of that one time. Why wouldn’t I be? Of course, I— And I had— I had just started trying to come to terms with— with grieving your loss, and accepting that you’d decided your life is better without me, and all of a sudden I’m— I’m pregnant and I’ve only been with you and you hate me, you— you left, Ed, and I just— I just—”
His breath catches; his hands are shaking. Ed, stunned, watches Izzy respond automatically, taking Stede by the shoulders and pivoting him towards his desk, directing him to sit down in the chair there.
“Breathe, Stede,” Izzy instructs him, more comforting than Ed’s heard him in years— except, he remembers, recently. Right before he left. He’d realized how much Izzy was growing, changing, loving— he could tell, especially after Calypso’s birthday— but he didn’t realize how far he’d come in his absence.
How far they’ve all come in his absence, and it finally makes sense, everything snapping into place. The crew being upset with him, and the way Izzy’s acting, and Stede’s strange absence, and the words not being said, and the exact consequences of what Ed’s done— everything is clicking, falling together, and Ed’s starting to lose his shit at the picture it’s all forming.
He can’t go back. He can’t fix this. Stede’s pregnant— Stede’s been pregnant— and he’s pregnant with Ed’s baby, and Ed wasn’t here.
The fishing boat seems so— insane to him right now, time wasted, months wasted, and his hands are sweating, and his vision feels like it’s fuzzing out, and he asks, heart racing, “Is— I— Really? I— Fuck—”
“Izzy,” Stede says suddenly, alarmed, and then there are hands around Ed’s upper arms, guiding him to sit, as well. He’s dragged over to the sofa, placed at the edge of a cushion, and his head is pushed down between his legs, skull lodged between his thighs.
“Breathe,” Izzy orders him, so different than the way he’s just spoken the same word to Stede. “In and out. Deeper.”
“Sorry to spring that on you like that,” Stede apologizes through the buzz in Ed’s ears. “I meant to be more tactful, if I ever saw you again.”
“Don’t fucking apologize,” Izzy tells him, talking over Ed’s head. “He’s been a fucking dick.”
“Aw, no, well— More that life’s been a dick,” Stede replies.
“He’s been gone—”
“Izzy, do you honestly think I don’t know that?” Stede bites back. Even from between his own legs, Ed recognizes the screech of Stede’s chair as he pushes to stand, crossing over to them. “You know better than anyone—”
“I know,” Izzy stops him. “Fucking— Sorry. I know.”
“It’s okay,” Stede replies, softer, and this makes even less sense. Why— Why the fuck is Stede pregnant with Ed’s baby and why does that make him best friends with Izzy, somehow?
Maybe more than best friends, based on the way they’re interacting with each other, orbiting each other. They’re like— partners.
Ed is supposed to be their partner.
He lifts his head to actually look at them. Finding Izzy examining Stede’s face like he used to study Ed’s, looking for something he can solve, something he can hold onto, it’s like the strangest kind of dream. Even stranger is that this is different, somehow, because Izzy is different, and Stede is different, and they’re different together, and that happened without him.
“Are you…” Ed starts to ask, then stops, mouth dry, heart racing. Choked, he manages, “The two of you, then?”
Stede glances to Izzy, and it’s not an immediate no, and Ed’s stomach hurts.
“It’s not like that, really,” Stede hedges after a beat. “We’re sort of… I’m not sure. Partners? Or—”
“He’s my Captain,” Izzy tells him, “and I’m his First Mate.”
Ed’s been the Captain to Izzy’s First Mate. He knows how Izzy interprets those roles— extremely broadly, to say the least. He knows how much weight Izzy places on the position of first mate. He knows how significant this is, because he knows that, to Izzy, a captain is potentially even more than a partner, because a captain requires complete devotion, unconditional love, rhythmic synchronicity. Izzy may as well have told him that he and Stede fucking eloped while he was gone.
In the face of Ed’s realizations about this, though, Stede just seems tired. Honestly— When Ed looks to him again, Stede just— sighs, and starts to say, “I just…” but he doesn’t seem to know what to say. It’s all so heavy; he sounds exhausted. Looking at him— He just looks so exhausted, and Ed wants to hold him—
—And he can’t.
“When you left again…” Stede starts, and Ed watches him lean against the desk, running his fingers back through his honey-golden hair. “Ed, I wanted to die. I really— I really thought I did. I have— never felt so alone.” He laughs once, no amusement, and tells him, “I almost did die. I might’ve, actually, but— Well, that doesn’t matter, now—”
“It matters,” Izzy says, eyes fixed on Ed. “He should hear it.” To Ed, he says, “Your actions have consequences, Blackbeard. I almost saw this man die. More than once. And I also fucking saw him fight in the Republic of Pirates to save our lives. I saw him save my life when that— royal fucking twat shot me.” Izzy gets closer, closer, until he’s right in front of Ed, their eyes met and held. “I saw him cry his fucking eyes out over you, just like you did over him. Do you remember that, Ed?”
Ed does. He does, and he knows Izzy knows that, and he knows Izzy knows he knows that.
“Yeah,” Ed breathes anyway. “Yeah, I fucking remember, Iz.”
“Good,” Izzy replies. “Because you know what else I saw?”
“Izzy,” Stede says quietly from behind him.
“What?” Ed asks him, pushing to stand, moving until he’s as close to eye-level with Izzy as he can be. “What’d you see?”
Izzy hesitates, then leans in, chin tilted up, to tell Ed, “I saw him get sick every fucking day—”
“Izzy—”
“And I saw him realize he was carrying your child,” Izzy continues, pushing in close, his lips a breath from Ed’s. “And I saw... And I saw him decide to carry on anyway, even though you never came back.”
Ed’s fingers curl up. His chest fucking hurts.
“I’m here now,” Ed tells him.
“Yeah,” Izzy replies. “You’re here now.” His eyes skim Ed’s, and he asks, “Why?”
“Izzy,” Stede says, one last time, firmer, louder, stopping them all.
The three of them go silent. The room is heavy, the air thicker than ever, and Ed doesn’t know the right thing to say, the right thing to do, because he can’t go back, and he can’t undo what he’s done, and he can’t unfuck the worst mistake he might’ve made in his life.
Looking them over, Ed realizes what’s happened while he’s been gone, truly. He recognizes the dynamic that’s developed between Stede and Izzy; he notices Izzy’s preparation to be not only at Stede’s side, but at this child’s. They rely on each other, they’ve grown together, and it’s clear they’re close, and Ed—
—Ed doesn’t know his place, here.
He’s angry, and he’s terrified, and he’s— so many emotions at once he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with them all.
But he can’t leave. He can’t.
Hesitant, Ed forces out, “I just… I missed it, here. I missed…” He looks from Izzy to Stede, confesses, “I missed you.”
Stede’s eyes are all bloodshot again, the hazel sparkling to look so brightly golden-brown with tears and sunlight through the windows. His fucking— His chin quivers, and there are more tears in his voice when he says, “I’ve missed you, too, Ed. So much.” He’s splotched all pink, flushed all over, and his voice is higher and strained when he tells him, “I am so fucking mad at you—”
“I know,” Ed says. “I know, I— Stede, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know— I— Fuck—”
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Stede says, and then he’s properly crying. Tears spill without stopping, and his voice shakes, and he pushes in close, too, crossing the room, drawing nearer and nearer to Ed, and Ed just wants him close. “I thought I would never see you again, I— You— You were gone, Ed. The last I’d seen you, you were so— happy, and then, all of a sudden, we’re a mistake, and our night together was— was a mistake, and when I—”
His hand drifts to the side of his belly; when he becomes aware of it, he snaps it away in a heartbeat, but Ed sees it. He knows what he was thinking.
“That’s— It’s not a mistake,” Ed insists. “They’re not—”
“You left and I didn’t even really get why,” Stede says. “You were just— gone, Ed, without a trace, without— anything, and I didn’t hear from you, and it took— everything to get over that.” He’s so close, now. Ed can feel his body heat through the golden robe he’s wearing, loose and yet still so obvious around the swell of his belly. He wants to touch him so badly. “When I realized I was having your baby, I— I don’t know— I don’t know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had Izzy, and the crew, I—”
Ed’s eyes burn, too, hearing this. His chest hitches, muscles tightening, and his throat is so thick, and he fights crying, a losing battle.
“I needed you,” Stede says, his voice so quiet only the three of them could possibly hear it, as close as they are right now. “And you weren’t here.” His eyes blaze into Ed’s. “But you’re here now. And— If you plan to stay, Ed, I’m— I’m happy, I am. But that— that doesn’t change the fact that they’ve been here. Izzy’s been here.”
And Ed thinks he understands.
“Okay,” he says, and he sidesteps, because he can’t be here anymore. He knows he has to be, knows he should be, but— this is killing him. He makes himself say, razors in his throat, hands shaking, “I’m— I’m happy for—” The lie sticks in his throat, and he tries again for, “I want you to be happy,” because at least it’s truer. “I can— I can leave. You can be— be a—” Fear drips through him, anger, terror, and he’s trembling. “—a happy— happy fucking family without m—”
“Ed,” Stede stops him.
“Ed,” Izzy says, nearly in the same breath. “It’s your fucking kid.”
“Izzy.” Stede’s eyes are on him, now. “They’re yours, too. I’ve made that—”
“—perfectly clear,” Izzy finishes with him, and Stede almost smiles. “Yeah, I know. You’ve made that perfectly fucking clear, too.” His eyes flick over to Ed, and he tells him, “You’re fucking lucky, you know. Your kid, and all that.” He exhales. “Lucky.”
“If he even wants to stay,” Stede reminds Izzy. He looks back to Ed, too, and he’s hesitant in asking, “Do you…? I mean, I don’t expect anything. But if you did want to stay on the ship, you can. We can figure the… the rest out. Of course, that’s only if you do want to stay, which— You do not have to, even if—”
“I’ll stay,” Ed tells him. He looks to Izzy, back to Stede, tells them both, “I want to stay.”
“Good,” Izzy says, simple, at the same time Stede shakes his head like he’s surprised, asking, “Wh— Why?”
“Why do I want to stay?” Ed asks, and Stede’s furrowing brow and red-rushing face are answer enough. “Because I— I love you, you idiot.”
“Ed,” Stede breathes. “I can’t— Right now, I— I don’t know if I can tell you th—”
“That’s okay,” Ed insists, not wanting to hear him finish that, ready to tell him everything he has been preparing to say for months. “I’ll tell you this time: I love everything about you. I love— I love you, and— And I love— Izzy, I love you, and I love— I love being here, and I want— I don’t know, I want the chance to love the— kid, the baby, our— baby, I want that chance. I love you, I—”
“Well, don’t call him an idiot,” Izzy warns him, and Stede laughs, hands coming up to cover his face as his tears keep coming. “What? That’s not the way to fucking—”
“It’s okay,” Stede tells him. He swipes at his eyes, though more tears follow to replace them. He looks to Ed, glowing and hesitant at the same time. “Do you mean that?”
“Yeah,” Ed promises, because he does. He feels it so intensely right now, overwhelming, consuming. “I swear, Stede. I love you, I want to stay.”
Stede pauses for a long beat, the gears in his head practically turning like the inside of an opened clock, before he asks Ed, “How do I know you’re still going to feel the same way tomorrow, though? Because I—” His throat chokes, and he tells him, like it’s a confession, “Ed, I’m scared.”
“He’ll prove it,” Izzy suggests.
“I will, I’ll prove it,” Ed agrees without hesitating. “I swear, I will.” He turns, tells Izzy, “To the both of you. I swear, I’m gonna prove it. I promise, I will.”
Ed expected to come back to the Revenge and find everything exactly as he left it. He thought he’d fit back into his old role, be Stede’s co-captain— and, now, he’d hoped, his lover— and have Izzy as his first mate, and— and the rest of the crew, and the ship, and their lives would’ve just fallen right back into place. They would’ve sailed together forever that way, indefinite, crystalline, undying, gliding right off into the horizon of perfect memory like two storybook figures, forever frozen in time.
What he actually came back to is the home that’s being built on the rubble he helped blow apart, before. He came back to the crew rebuilding their family, and Stede and Izzy growing into one another, and Stede apparently only a few weeks off of having his and Ed’s— and Izzy’s, now— child. He’s found a strange domestic balance, a partnership forged in fire, and he’s not sure of his place, anymore.
More than anything, Ed wants to figure this out. He wants to hear Stede tell him he loves him; he wants to hear Izzy say the same. He wants to be with them; he wants to be part of this family; he wants to fix what he can, and move forward from what he can’t. He wants what he gave Stede; he wants what he gave Izzy; he wants what they gave him; he wants what they keep giving each other, every time they hurt each other; he wants another chance.
“Are you going to stay?” Stede asks, and this isn’t anything near what Ed expected, and it still sort of feels like a dream, but he’s holding onto it with both hands. He’s not going to let it go.
“Yeah,” Ed replies. “I want to.”
Stede hesitantly reaches out, his fingertips brushing Ed’s; Ed closes the distance between them, intertwining them, their hands knotting together.
“You better,” Izzy says at his side.
Ed doesn’t miss Stede’s other hand slipping between himself and Izzy, their fingers tangling in much the same way before their hands disappear on the other side of the curve of Stede’s belly.
Where their baby is, and Ed’s head is still throbbing.
“How’s— Is the baby okay?” Ed asks. “What’s been going on? I mean— You don’t have to tell me, but I want to hear all of it. Everything.”
Stede brightens a bit, lightening up, asking, “You want to hear?” and Izzy laughs. Only once, but—
Izzy laughs.
For a moment, it’s like they’ve never hurt each other. Like Ed never hurt Stede, like he never hurt Izzy; like Stede never hurt Ed, like he never hurt Izzy; like Izzy never hurt Stede, like he never hurt Ed. They have done—
Fuck, they have hurt each other so badly. They’ve done— horrible things to each other, in turn.
And Ed loves them more than he’s ever loved anybody in his life, and he thinks they might even still love him, too.
“Here we go,” Izzy says, and releases Stede’s hand so he can head back for a comfortable-looking armchair that’s been bolted down near one of the windows. He props his unicorn-leg up on the similarly-bolted ottoman, settling in, eyes fixing on the two of them, and Stede uses his hold on Ed’s hand to guide him back to the sofa, sitting along beside him, and Ed—
Ed readies himself for what comes next, whatever that may be.