Two pirates attempt to have some tea and a long overdue conversation.
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N/A
They’d been in San Francisco going on a month now with no end in sight or way back to their time. 1717 felt so far away and Stede had begun to grow quite fond of all the modern aspects of being, for lack of a better term, trapped in this place. He’d started learning his way around using the stove and oven, his first real foray into cooking, along with all of the other appliances and amenities — running water, machines that washed your clothes, the television! It was all so…
Well, it was a lot, truthfully. But he was getting the hang of it, slowly.
What he wasn’t quite getting the hang of was Ed’s shifting moods and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to deal with them. Did Stede think he deserved it? At first, yes, but the longer it went on with no real change between them despite the close living quarters, the more Stede was growing convinced that Ed really did hate him.
And that was a terrible, bitter pill to swallow. It was a pill he didn’t want to swallow. So he didn’t. He kept on, dealing with his erratic moods and simply being there. Being present. Quietly trying to remind Ed that he had no intention of going anywhere — not now and not ever again. Not unless he told him to.
Stede shifted a little in his spot as he came back to the moment, realizing his mind had been wandering and he’d been staring at the same page in his book for the better part of ten minutes. “Hm,” he mused quietly, biting back a sigh as he marked his spot and closed the book before glancing over to where Ed was sitting. “What— what should we do for supper, do you think? I’ve been looking through this recipe book I found at the library and there’s a dish in there called a ‘meatloaf’ that I was thinking we should try.”
It truly would have been easier if Edward did hate Stede. Back on the Revenge, when Blackbeard had rid the ship of nearly every trace of Stede–why couldn’t he let go of that damned lighthouse painting?–when he had smudged kohl across his eyes and jaw and fell back into the habit of being hard and empty, he had wanted to hate the man who had provoked such a state. Perhaps at times, he even thought he did. But seeing Stede again, with his apologies and his declarations and his stupid fucking expressive face, had stirred something inside of Ed that wasn’t just the dangerous and destructive part of himself that sprang into action whenever he needed protection.
No, he still cared about Stede, and perhaps, he hated that.
And himself.
In the past month that they had been cohabitating again, Edward was not purposefully cruel–aside from a few pointed jabs meant only to scratch, not cut–but were Lucius there and not at the bottom of the Atlantic, he might have pointed out that Ed’s mercurial moods were the result of his own self-loathing and tendency to exist in a constant state of survival mode. At any given moment, he might find himself enjoying a future luxury or the company of Stede, and into his mind would creep a thought about the crew he marooned, the scribe he murdered, and what what had precipitated it, and his softening edges would become rough again. It was a vicious cycle, and one that he was entirely unaware of. But he had been leaving ruin in his wake long before he met Stede.
At the moment, his mood was teetering on a knife’s edge. He lay sprawled across the sofa in the living room they shared, phone in hand, laughing at a YouTube compilation video of funny cats. Eyes still fixed to his screen, he gave an unenthusiastic grunt. “Meatloaf? Sounds like something you pinch off after a meal. Who names these things anyway? Probably isn’t even made out of meat.” Ed was still baffled by the whole hot dog reveal.
“Mm, I’m not sure. I did a bit of research and it seems to be something that was first established during the 1870’s, however it seems to have been a very popular dish during the 1950’s. That and something called… um, oh! Jell-O Salad? I’m not positive what that is, though.” Stede lets out a quiet snort, amusing himself at the recollection as he sat his book aside and climbed out of his seat in a nearby oversized chair.
He moved toward the kitchen and grabbed the recipe book in question, opening the page to where the meatloaf lie. “Says it’s made with ground beef, egg, onion, salt, pepper, and bread crumbs. Oh! Maybe it’s something like a scotched egg, though it doesn’t look like one.”
Stede brought the book over to where Ed was sprawled and turned it around to show him the page, with a picture of what the finished product looked like right on top. “What do you think? I think it looks rather easy and honestly, it makes me think of something that Roach might’ve enjoyed trying his hand at if he were– well, here.”
Ed listened to Stede prattle on about his food discoveries with a sigh. Of all the things to take an interest in from this new century they found themselves in, food was toward the bottom of the list in Ed’s regard. He looked at the book with disinterest and shrugged. The mention of Roach, however, touched an ever-fraying nerve. He slowly sat up and rolled his shoulders, carefully avoiding making any eye contact with Stede. “Make whatever the fuck you want.” While there was no bite to his words–more of a hollowness, really–gone was the man who had only moments before been laughing at a cat going berserk over a cucumber. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table. “I need a drink.”
Stede frowned at the sudden shift in demeanor from Ed. It wasn’t the first time – far from it, in fact – and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. Yet he couldn’t help feeling that he’d said or done something wrong. Which felt like the case every single time it happened. He shifted on his feet, taking a step back from Ed as he sat up, but never let his gaze waver from him. The urge to ask what it was that he’d said weighed heavy on his tongue in the beats of quiet between them, but instead he slowly closed the book and set it down on the table beside his phone. “I’d be happy to make you a tea with a splash of brandy in it, if you’d like?” he offered, his tone quiet, though his voice wavered a little as he tried to swallow down the guilt that was always simmering under the surface.
It was becoming increasingly more difficult seeing Ed like this, him happy and laughing and himself one minute and then the brooding, despondent version he could be the next. It broke Stede’s heart all over again every time and he couldn’t help feeling as if this was just to be their new normal.
By the time Stede made his offer, Ed was already on his feet and headed into the kitchen. There was a bottle of rum sitting on the counter, the companion of a second bottle that had already been sacrificed on the altar of trying something called a “rum and coke” the other night. Ed caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shining surface of the microwave and grit his teeth. His fingers itched to punch a hole through the picture of himself, but he managed to fight back against the urge and grab the bottle instead. He removed the stopper, threw back his head, and took a long, sloppy drag from the bottle.
Ed cleared his burning throat noisily and returned the bottle to the counter with a careless slam. “Better make it two splashes.”
Stede watched as Ed moved from the couch to the kitchen, his heart aching the entire time. A frown was trying to pull at the corners of his mouth, but he fought it, despite his eyebrows winning the battle of furrowing themselves sadly as he looked at him and the guilt pressed on his chest heavily.
The slam made him wince, snapping him out of the moment, and he gave a small nod. “Two splashes,” he conceded, though he wasn’t sure Ed really needed it. He supposed that wasn’t his place to say. He quietly made his way toward the kitchen and eased himself past Ed, though he hesitated and briefly rest his hand against his back between his shoulder blades – a way of touching him and also allowing him to know he was there.
“May I ask you something?” he questioned, moving to the stove top and turning the (electric!) kettle on before setting about to grab everything needed while he waited for the water to boil.
Ed made no attempt to move out of the way. He was useless in the kitchen, useless just about everywhere else too. When Stede placed his hand on his back, Ed experienced a warm feeling grow in the pit of his stomach, but before the Kraken had the chance to interfere, the other man had moved on to busy himself at the stove. Ed rolled his shoulders again a few times, attempting to rid himself of the feeling of Stede’s touch.
In answer to Stede’s question, Ed let out an ineloquent grunt meant to signify a yes.
As he pulled tea cups down from the cupboards and ladled some tea leaves into the ceramic tea pot he’d recently found at a local shop, his brain busied itself with thoughts of self-doubt and disgust and many other things he was beginning to feel like he needed clarification on. So, it was always better to get the answer straight from the horse’s mouth, wasn’t it?
Stede swallowed a lump that formed in his throat but kept his gaze on the work in front of him, despite his hands shaking just a little. “Would… would you like to talk about… things?” Things was a very loose term for everything that had happened, he knew it. He paused, breathed out a quiet sigh, and went on.
“I mean, us. What happened when I was gone. All of that? I feel– well, I feel as though I’m having to tread precariously. You’ll appear to be fine one minute and then I’ll say something off hand and–” he turned just a little, waving a hand in a loose gesture at Ed, and meeting his eye only briefly before he looked back at the tea kettle expectantly. “I know you hate me, but I feel like I’m losing my mind a bit with all of this and I don’t know what to do, Ed.”
There had been a time when Edward would have killed a man for voicing the kinds of thoughts that were passing through Stede’s head. As it were, he was unaware of them, and even if he weren’t, Ed was not in a place to counter them, with his own mind drowning in similarly dark waters.
Us. It was amazing, really, that they had managed to skirt that issue for so long after their initial conversation. Ed had emerged from the bedroom the next morning, resigned to Stede’s presence, and the two had merely resumed living with one another, getting used to their new surroundings, the new century, but never really getting used to one another. Stede’s declaration hovered constantly over Ed like a cloud, begging to be acknowledged, but there was a part of him that did not believe it–could not believe it. That said more about Ed than it did about Stede, but maybe he was punishing the other man a little for it.
No, he did not want to talk about things.Things would only inevitably lead to Stede truly understanding the kind of person Ed was, the kind of person he tried to warn Stede about that night he was meant to kill him. He was not a good person, and if they talked about things, Stede would finally know it to be true. He would know he was right to have left.
Stede’s description of Ed’s behavior was not a revelation. In fact, it was the sort of conduct that had earned Blackbeard his fearsome reputation. Izzy would have been pleased. But that last bit… “I don’t hate you.”
The kettle had come to a rapid boil while Stede waited for Ed to speak – to say anything – and he’d just pulled it from its base to pour into the teapot when those words fell from Ed’s lips.
I don’t hate you.
Hearing that hit Stede in his core and he nearly dropped the entire kettle in genuine shock, but instead he simply managed to pour a splash of boiling hot water right onto his hand. “Fuck, bugger!” he yelped, setting the kettle down to reach for a tea towel instinctively, pressing it to his reddening skin while he let out a moan of pain.
Gritting his teeth, he inhaled a shaky breath and pulled the towel away to look at the injury. “Well, that’s going to leave a mark, I imagine,” he mumbled.
While Stede might have been surprised by Ed’s words, Edward was equally as startled by what came after them. At the commotion, his eyes widened while his brow furrowed, but once Stede had settled down, Ed reached out wordlessly to take the towel. He moved away for a moment in order to run cool water from the sink over the cloth, and then returned to Stede. Without asking, he reached for Stede’s hand and placed the cool, wet towel gently upon his scalded skin. “You have to keep it cool,” he told him, the voice of experience. He held onto Stede’s hand for a moment longer before dropping his own to his side.
Stede swallowed and watched as Ed ran water over the towel before pressing it to the burned area. Which, admittedly, hurt. But that wasn’t the reason he felt his throat tightening with emotion and his eyes growing damp with tears that simply welled, which he of course did his best to blink back. Still, his gaze never left Ed’s face and he just watched as he did what he could to ease the pain on his hand.
When he let go of his hand, Stede glanced down and covered the towel with his free hand, pressing the coolness to the wound, while the quiet moment that had just happened between them sank in further. “You don’t hate me?” he finally asked, his voice hushed.
Perhaps there was more that could be done in this new century to heal a burn. Edward had seen and tended to worse–and on a much less gracious patient. He expected the cool cloth would help ease the sharpness of the pain.
“No, I don’t hate you,” he replied, equally as hushed. When he allowed himself a brief glance toward Stede, his head started to swim a little. “I hate myself.” It was an easy admission, but one that he could only ever have made to Stede, even with everything that had passed between them. Still, he had to look away.
The pain from the burn was beginning to ease, though it still stung some, and Stede set the cloth aside to allow the cooler air of the room to help. He held Ed’s gaze as brief as it was before glancing down at the floor. Then he stepped back to what he’d been doing previously and carefully poured the water into the teapot to allow the leaves to steep.
“I think it’s safe to say we’ve both done things that we regret,” he answered finally after a moment of quiet. He reached for the sugar canister with his good hand, just to have it near. Then he turned to look at Ed again, giving him his full attention. “Why do you hate yourself? Because, for whatever it’s worth, I don’t hate you either. I don’t think I could ever hate you.” Not that he expected that to help much at all, but he still thought it needed to be said.
When Stede removed the compress and continued to make tea, Ed allowed himself to watch Stede as he worked. Part of him wanted to argue with the other man to forget the fucking tea, but he held his tongue. At least until Stede put forward his question and its accompanying bit of encouragement. It did not have the reassuring effect that Stede had likely intended. “You don’t think,” Edward repeated miserably. “How about we find out? That’s what you’re after, is it?” There was no harshness to his tone. If anything, there was a sense of sorry resignation. He had, of course, no reason to think that Stede hated him at present, but every reason to expect that he would, once Ed detailed his actions just prior to their arrival in this time and place, what he had done in Stede’s name.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion when Ed repeated his own words back to him. Stede wouldn’t necessarily be the first to admit or even see that sometimes he said rather stupid, thoughtless things that hurt others – but in this specific moment, he realized it. And the guilt washed over him.
“Oh, Ed, no,” he murmured, trying to muster up some conviction behind his words. “That’s not what I’m after at all. I’m worried about you.” And then without another thought, he reached a hand up and gently pressed it to the outer part of Ed’s upper arm, giving it a squeeze. “If you’ve been angry with yourself over everything that happened, then we ought to talk about it, yeah? Talk it through as a crew and all that.”
“You say that, but you never follow through.” It was an accusation, but not said accusingly. Maybe Ed was still hung up on whatever it was that had sent Stede running back to his wife, even if he claimed it had been a mistake. If he’d had doubts, there had been time to voice them on that beach and even more before then, but Stede had said nothing. Ed pulled his arm away and reached for the rum bottle again, but did not actually move to take a drink from it.
“What if you don’t want to hear what I have to say?” What he was really asking was, What if what I have to say changes the way you feel about me?
Stede left his hand where it was until he couldn’t. When Ed pulled his arm away, he pulled his hand back and then slowly lowered it back down to his side, a hint of a frown on his lips. At least he’d been allowed that much and who was he to want more?
And to be told, point blank, that he never followed through… well–
“You’re right. I– I don’t follow through on that, do I?” he offered, voice quiet as he thought on it. The words were something he had always encouraged his crew to do from day one, yet it was something he, himself, had always struggled with. Not practicing what he preached, so to speak. “Suppose now’s as good a time as any, if not a better one, to adjust that particular personality trait of mine.”
Stede gave a brief, solemn shake of his head, the frown deepening a little as Ed went on. “I do want to hear what you have to say, though. Truly.” Because to him, there wasn’t a thing Ed could say that would have him seeing Ed in a different light.
Ed offered up an unconvinced, “Hmmm,” that could have applied to either one of Stede’s points. Mostly he meant it in regards to the latter. He could recall, without even trying, the way fear and repulsion and disappointment looked on Stede’s face. It had been fun to be the cause of it when he revealed himself to be Blackbeard or barked out orders that sent a French asshole down to Davy Jones. But the way Stede had looked at him when he confessed to planning his murder, or that whole day with Calico Jack, those moments gnawed at his own fears and self-loathing, and clouded his mind to any other possibility but utter rejection.
“Okay,” he conceded, grabbing the bottle of rum and heading back toward the living room, “Let’s get this over with.” He stopped short though, and returned to the kitchen to rewet the compress and hand it back to Stede. “Seriously, man, you have to keep it cool.” Despite the gravity of the situation that was unfolding, Ed’s forehead was knit together in exasperation as he looked at Stede.
Stede’s brows pinched together slightly at the way Ed responded, and he could see the fact that he was unconvinced there, clear as day on his face. Well, he’d just have to prove him wrong then, wouldn’t he?
But then he was coming back and rewetting the cloth, offering it to him to hold against his hand. “Yes, alright,” he mumbled quietly as he took the cold cloth. “I’ll– be right there, hm?” He gave Ed a gentle smile before he turned to grab a tray he’d purchased, for just such an occasion. It was easier than carrying each piece to the living room, one by one.
After a minute, he followed him to the living room with the tea pot and two tea cups and saucers, along with a bit of milk and sugar on the side to use. He set it down on the coffee table and took his cold compress that he’d had sitting on the tray as well, and sat down, immediately covering his burn with it and turning his attention to Ed fully.
Administering aid and then leaving the rest of the tea preparations up to Stede was definitely a move, but Edward took the rum and settled back in on the sofa, taking a pull from the bottle while Stede arrived with the tea. Ed abandoned the rum on the table and turned his attention to the tea, adding the milk and seven sugars he required. The brandy, rendered unnecessary by the rum, had been forgotten, but Ed stared into his teacup anyway. He could feel Stede’s eyes on him, and the longer they stayed there, the harder it was for Ed to find the courage to begin.
“Suppose I made a mess of things.” That was putting it rather mildly, but it was a start. “Remember how I was gonna burn off your face and take your identity?” He glanced up from the tea for an instant, but only for an instant. “When you didn’t come back, I sort of tried that second part.”
Once the rag had warmed again, leaving little relief to his burned skin, he set it aside and leaned over to fix his own tea while they sat there. The quiet between them was palpable, but brief, thankfully. Stede looked up from his own tea cup and frowned just a little in concern at what Ed was telling him.
“What do you mean? You tried to take my identity?” he asked, voice sincere. He hadn’t burned his face off – that much was obvious, considering he’d been nowhere near Ed at the time. “But how?” Maybe it was a stupid question, but he knew next to nothing about his time away or what had happened before his return. The only thing he’d been able to suss out was that his crew had been left on a remote island near where the ship had previously been anchored.
When everything had felt like it was ending, when Ed very nearly felt like he wanted to, Lucius had convinced him that instead, he might start over–that his life could just begin again. He had taken the scribe’s advice, and emerged from his depression (and his pillow fort) in the guise of Stede in all but name. “Yeah, I tried the nurturing mother hen, sharing your feelings thing after moping around for a while.” He attempted to sound casual about it, even as his face was particularly drawn. “It didn’t go over well.” He took a sip from his tea. “Blackbeard is all I’m ever gonna be.”
This place could have been an escape from all that. The reset that Ed had been looking for with Stede. But Blackbeard had followed him here, the creation that comes back to haunt its maker. Edward felt he would never be truly rid of him.
Stede listened intently, quiet as he finished making his own tea before sitting back, cup and saucer in his good hand. He settled into the cushions and even crossed his legs at the knee before taking a careful sip. Testing the temperature and taste, as it were, which he was still adjusting to his liking with all of the new ways that tea could be made.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he murmured thoughtfully, setting his teacup down again with a light sound of ceramic on ceramic, while keeping his other hand on the handle. “It’s not all you’re ever going to be. You’re still Ed, too.” He glanced over and gave Ed a soft, brief smile. “They’re both parts of who you are and that’s… okay, isn’t it? To be both Blackbeard and Ed?”
You’re still Ed, too. Stede was really the only one to truly know him in that way, to see the person behind all the masks he wore. ‘Ed’ had eventually come to mean the freer side of himself, the kind of person a man like Stede could love. Then came that day spent with Jack, and while Edward had been playing a part to some extent then too, Stede’s rejection of Jack and the part of Ed he represented had been a crushing blow. So too had been the way Stede had looked at him after his beard had been shaven, the way he had seemed so uncertain by Edward’s composure in the face of leaving the name Blackbeard and all that it meant behind. There was still a sense of inadequacy in being just Ed, even after Stede’s explanation of his behavior at the academy. It was hard to shake the idea that Edward hadn’t been good enough for Stede or for Izzy, that Blackbeard was the only one who was worth a damn to anyone. He had taken on the name again, and it had been back to treading water, waiting to drown– hoping for it.
Ed stared into his teacup and finally set it aside, the dishes clattering dramatically as they made contact with the coffee table. “Is it?” he asked, truly unsure. “Been fucking miserable as both.”
Stede watched as Ed clearly was considering what he’d just say, thinking it over and deciding how best he wanted to proceed. In the meantime, he took another quiet sip of his tea while it was still hot. But the sudden sound of Ed setting his own cup and saucer down made Stede frown slightly and he glanced down into his drink before resigning himself to that, perhaps, he wouldn’t get to finish it after all. And that was fine.
Ed was more important. Always. He leaned over and carefully set his own down onto the table.
“And that’s okay too, I think? In the sense that if they both make you miserable, then it’s just– I suppose, a matter of figuring out who you are.” Stede was quiet for a moment and he shifted again in his seat, turning to face Ed. “I’d like to think it goes without saying, but I don’t want you to be miserable if you don’t have to be and you don’t have to be. Especially not here.”
Stede spoke as if Ed had a choice, as if he could stop hating how he had been vanquished by the Kraken, by his own fear, and stop feeling guilty for marooning his old crew–their crew. It wasn’t the act that he was sorry for. He had forsaken many a man on a deserted island, and for less serious infractions than witnessing a side of himself he wished to erase. The real reason for his guilt was that he had also done it to spite Stede.
“I killed your crew,” Ed stated bluntly. Then, without leaving a moment for that bit of information to sink in, he added, “Suppose some of them could still be alive. My money’s on Buttons.” He was sat forward in his seat, a great big ball of tension, but once he spoke, he settled back into the sofa, his eyes focused on the bottle of rum rather than Stede. Now it was out there. Part of it anyway.
Ah, there it was. Or what Stede assumed ‘it was’, anyway. Not that he anticipated that confession to be what came out of Ed’s mouth, but the fact that it did seemed to show that it was what was causing Ed so much distress, at least in part.
“Well,” Stede replied, his tone unchanged and his voice still gentle. It seemed like the admission of that hadn’t phased him at all. “You may have tried – I was wondering why they were all on that island when I went back to find the Revenge. Hadn’t a chance to ask before I found myself here, though, but I did at least see them from a distance.” Stede inhaled a deep breath and then let it out in a slow exhale. He’d marooned them on purpose and that news didn’t… well, it sat uncomfortably inside Stede’s chest. “Suppose that answers that question, at least. Buttons was chasing the Swede around though, so you might’ve been right about that. Him living. The man’s got strange survival skills.”
Stede paused and glanced over at Ed again. “So, you can at least… try to not let that weigh on you as much. They’re alive, as far as I know.”
Ed’s eyes darted back toward Stede. They were alive? “Didn’t see that fucking coming,” he commented, more to himself than to Stede. Nor had he expected such a cavalier attitude about the whole thing. “Threw out all your books,” he continued without thinking. It was as if a part of him wanted to be punished, wanted to know that his actions had hurt Stede, wanted to feel justified in letting his past actions haunt him. Truthfully, it was a lot to sort out, and Ed wasn’t sure he could, or even if he wanted to. This is why he drank. He reached for the bottle of rum and took a swig.
Well, that answered another question Stede didn’t even realize he had. A brief look of disappointment flickered across his features, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “That’s a shame,” he responded gently, pursing his lips in thought as he turned to reach for his teacup again.
“Though I suppose it– doesn’t particularly matter right now, does it? We’re here. My books aren’t. Besides, they’re just material. And I’d read damn near all of them at least three times simply out of boredom, so you may have actually done me a favor,” he added, perhaps with a hint of a chuckle under the words as he took a sip. Then he glanced at Ed again, features softening. “Suppose you threw out my wardrobes, too?”
Ed merely nodded, wholly taken aback by Stede’s lack of reaction to any of this news. Though, of course, that last bit wasn’t entirely true. Blackbeard had rid himself of visible reminders of Stede and yet kept at least two private ones for himself, one of which was still wrapped around Ed’s neck–Stede’s cravat from the day they met. He cleared his throat, his head beginning to swim a bit more. “And the scribe. He was the first to go overboard.” The first sacrifice on the altar of Stede Bonnet. No, the second. Ed’s heart had been the first.
That one, admittedly, gave Stede pause. At first he gave Ed a look, determined to think the other man was (hopefully) joking, but within seconds his expression had molded into something a little more despondent. You threw Lucius overboard? he wanted to ask, but the words felt strange in his mouth, so he tensed his jaw momentarily and gave something of a stiff upper lip instead.
“Lucius is incredibly talented at many things for someone his age. I’m sure the boy can swim just fine, hm?” Besides, what else was there to do? He could be mad about it, or he could… well, he didn’t know. Lucius was either dead or he wasn’t, but Stede had no way of knowing the truth of it.
When Stede gave Ed the look, he thought maybe he finally broke through, that the other man would finally give in, give Ed the fight he thought he deserved–the fight that he so desperately craved a month ago. But then Stede gave in.
“Christ, man, won’t you fight for anything?” Ed growled. His eyes had been clear of the kohl for weeks now, but in that moment, they looked as dark as ever. But the anger wasn’t necessarily directed at Stede, just out into the universe, however vast it might be. He couldn’t understand how Stede could just shrug off his losses without even a word of protest.
There was a brief moment, a flicker of it, where Stede perhaps resembled a kicked puppy. He hadn’t meant to anger Ed and the question seemed wholly unfair, in his opinion.
“I’ll fight for you,” he answered, the words spilling from his lips before he’d had much chance to think about them. Yet – he knew them to be honest words. His gaze lifted from his tea to the other man, eyebrows lifted hopefully. “Every day, Ed. I’ll fight for you. To– to be with you, if you’d have me. I know you need time, and I would never dream of trying to pressure you into anything, but know my words are true.”
It could have been a touching moment. It probably should have been. But all Edward’s rum-coated, self-loathing mind could muster in response was, “Why?”
He had not forgotten the conversation they had begun upon their arrival in this place, how Stede had professed to harboring feelings for Ed that had once been reciprocated before grief soured them. But Edward had not yet allowed himself to really consider them, to accept them, to return them. There was a barrier there, one that he evidently could not break down alone.
“Because I love you.” The answer was relatively simple and yet not. Stede’s expression softened, and he took a moment to set his tea back down before turning toward Ed again, fully. “I love everything about you, Ed,” he continued in soft, affectionate words. “I love being with you, being near you, breathing– the same air as you. Fixing tea for you,” he added, with a glance to the tea cups. “Even if I do manage to burn myself in the process. It’s… you’re worth it to me.”
Ed was not aware that he was crying until one tear and then another splashed onto his hand, still clutching the bottle of rum in his lap. Though it was no secret that it was love that had made Stede leave his family for a second time to seek Ed out, hearing it out loud so adamantly, so earnestly, somehow made it feel real in a way that it hadn’t before. Stede loved him. Because of him. In spite of him. And Edward truly could not wrap his head around it. “We’re just not those kinds of people”, his mother had convinced him as a boy. The kind who get to have fine things like libraries and frilly shirts and summer linens and love. But with Stede, these things were possible. These things were possible because of Stede.
“Why?” he asked again, but this time it was clear that something had fallen into place for him. His wet eyes looked imploringly into Stede’s.
Perhaps the admission was something Stede ought to have been more nervous about voicing. Love was this Huge, Scary Thing for most folks, wasn’t it? Or maybe it just was in the books, because it had seemed so– easy for Mary. Like it was the most natural thing in the world and that, truly, had been something Stede could relate to when he thought about Ed.
His features softened further when he saw the tears brimming in his love’s eyes and he reached a hand over, fingertips brushing against the back of Ed’s in a hopefully soothing motion.
“Because you make me happy, Ed,” he answered gently. “I’ve never been happier in my life than I am when I’m with you. And being with you– it’s so easy. The conversation, the laughter. It’s… it’s like breathing, I think. I never really understood what love was outside of books, but I– I never once stopped thinking about you. I missed you more than I’ve ever missed anyone. Felt like I’d cut off my own damned limb, honestly.”
Clearly this applied primarily to their time together on the Revenge and not the past month. This whole conversation had been precipitated by the fact that Ed had been making Stede miserable. Still, as Stede’s fingers trailed against Ed’s skin, he knew it did not matter. For some lunatic reason, nothing seemed to matter to Stede except Ed. Not his ship, not his crew, not his carefully cultivated library. It didn’t make sense, but for the first time, Edward did not doubt it.
What damned fools they were. Each one expecting hatred from the other, when all there had ever been was love. Without thinking, he set the bottle of rum on the coffee table and reached out to claw at the fabric of Stede’s shirt, yanking him forward so that he could meet the other man’s lips with his own. The last time Ed kissed Stede, it had been with certainty–foolish certainty, as it turned out–and now he did so again, safe in the assurance of Stede’s multiple declarations. Maybe this was foolish too. Time would tell.
The yank of his shirt pulled a noise of surprise from his throat that was promptly, and gratefully, muffled by the press of their lips together. Stede’s eyes drifted shut at the kiss and he easily melted into it without hesitation. No, this time, he knew what he wanted. He knew what this kiss meant and it made his heart swell.
Stede’s good hand came up, fingertips brushing at the scruff on Ed’s jawline before slipping to cradle it fully, holding his face as the kiss lingered. The urge to lean in was there, to deepen it and show the other man how badly he wanted this – him. Always. But he was going to do this at Edward’s pace and however long he needed, Stede would always be there.
“Oh, my love,” he breathed into his lips when the kiss broke a beat later with a smile.
Edward brought his forehead to rest against Stede’s, not ready to relinquish the other man’s proximity just yet. His hand had disentangled from Stede’s shirt and now lay gently on his chest. His other hand reached up to find Stede’s face, a calloused thumb brushing against his jawline while his fingers sought out the skin along the hairline at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.” Simple words, but ones with actual care behind them–a true apology. Maybe one that could have been expounded upon, but the I’m sorry for what I did when I was heartsick part was sort of implied.
Stede had no intention of moving away from Ed’s touch, relishing in the closeness, the press of their foreheads and the way his hand cradled his cheek. His head canted, leaning into the touch just a little, chasing it.
The apology was – as far as Stede was concerned – unnecessary, but he could hear the weight in the words, the grief and the sincerity. He offered a gentle smile and tilted his head slowly so that he could press a soft kiss to the other man’s face, lips landing gently somewhere on his cheek. “I’m sorry, too,” he whispered, not wanting to fracture the moment. For hurting you, for losing your trust, for making you heartsick in the first place.
Stede had already apologized, numerous times, but Ed had not been able to truly receive it until now. He was still angry. He was still hurt. But more than that, he was in love. And Stede loved him too, and that meant more than all of the rage and resentment and grief that he had let consume him until he was a miserable wreck of a man.
Edward turned his neck a little, his forehead still pressed against Stede’s, but now with a view of the abandoned tea on the table. “The tea’s gone cold.” He turned away from it again, eyes looking back into Stede’s.
And yet, Stede’s gaze never left Edward’s face, despite the proximity. He couldn’t get enough of looking at him and he tilted his chin, brushing his lips to the corner of his mouth.
“Leave it. We can fix more later. All I want to do is hold you, if you’ll let me. Perhaps we can order supper?” He chuckled softly and finally pulled his head back, barely a couple of inches but enough to properly look at Ed’s face again as he cradled his cheek, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind his ear.
His heart felt… fuller than it had since arriving, his patience finally having seemed to pay off.