Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I was waiting

Waiting for anything to happen

Waiting for love

I was just waiting for this not to hurt

–Sadboy // Wolf Alice

“Hey, I’m Edward Teach. Born on a beach. And this is, uh–we’re The Kraken.”

And then it started again, same as it ever was. Jim on drums, Frenchie on guitar, Ed singing his lungs out with his fist gripped tight around the microphone, leather gloves and earrings and eyeliner and his fingernails polished black and a tattoo of a tentacle winding its way up his arm.

But it was different tonight, it was different in Jackie’s Bar. Ed felt the shift in the energy, he opened his eyes and flitted his gaze across the crowd. He could barely see with the lights shining so harsh in his eyes, but he tried to make out faces.

He spotted Izzy Hands in the front, his arms folded over his chest and that star-shaped tattoo on his cheek. His time in prison marked so clearly upon him, he wore it like a badge. But he wasn’t the person Ed was looking for, the sight of him rang in Ed’s chest like a miserable normal. Where…?

Another face snagged hopelessly at Ed’s attention, Frenchie’s platonic life partner John. John with his sketchbook, John designing costumes for a mythical stage show of epic proportions.

Ed’s gaze found a pair of unfamiliar eyes, he locked with them for a moment and his voice slipped.

There was a man sitting at a table near the stage, immaculate angelic curls of hair and a soft cherubic face.

A grin spread over Ed’s face, they threw a saucy wink in the man’s direction. They grasped at the shirt, the shirt that was beginning to cling to them as sweat poured in the heat of the lights.

He tugged the shirt over his head, revealing the purple bralette he had on under it. He tossed the shirt into the crowd, he saw hands raise to grasp for it automatically.

The man with the golden hair took it, he grabbed Ed’s shirt out of the air and held it to his chest.

Stede Bonnet was a project. A project that Lucius Spriggs took on eagerly.

Recently divorced, mid forties, struggling to deal with his repressed queerness and that it was likely to blame for the implosion of his marriage. Very much a project. And Lucius was quite interested in a challenge when he could get his hands on it, so why not?

And on top of everything, Stede had decided that his life goal was to open a cafe. A cafe in the middle of a small town, a place he had never visited or heard of before he spotted it on a map. And for some reason, he’d decided to call it The Revenge.

Lucius wasn’t sure about the cafe, but it was another project. An intrinsically Stede Bonnet kind of project. The man was really just made of projects, he was like one of those fix-up houses. Peeling paint, dangerous wiring, ghosts behind the windows. But there was a confident handsome gay man under all that.

Stede was hungry for new experiences, so it was unsurprising that he would drag Lucius to Jackie’s Bar for a taste of live music.

“Hi all!”

Lucius flinched at Stede’s enthusiastic greeting of the patrons. Stede had been in town for less than two months, he had the energy of a man who was recently divorced and going through a midlife crisis. Perhaps it was better that he was making this known upfront.

Several heads turned to look directly at Stede. He seemed unbothered by the attention, which was fortunate. Fortunate because he’d likely be getting a lot of it. He was wearing an oversized white cable-knit sweater and stockings, his matching white shoes had little square heels on them.

Stede had been out of the closet for roughly a year and he was finally alive. The beautiful intricate breaking of Stede Bonnet had been swift and scary, he’d cracked along the edges like an expensive vase and through the cracks there had come half-buried memories of late nights at university, of shameful self-pleasure, of the word “queer” being a filthy jab spat from his father’s mouth or whispered through the hallways of the expensive and constrained schools he’d attended.

The man on stage introduced himself as “Edward Teach” and his little band as “The Kraken”.

Stede sat forward in his seat, the music came washing into him. The song was untitled, held together by poignant illustrative lyrics and surreal verbal imagery. Stede watched as this man–this Edward Teach–laid himself entirely bare for the audience, the strains of guitar rocked gently over the crowd. And Edward’s voice too, sultry from his throat and chest.

Edward made eye contact with Stede, Stede felt like someone was sticking their fingers into his chest and unspooling him like a cassette tape.

He would later describe the experience as “ethereal”, a word he found quite useful to sum up anything Edward Teach chose to do. There were parts of Ed that felt like ghosts, disconnected and floating up towards the ceiling. And there were parts of him that felt like anchors, dragged to the bottom and holding him in place. But it was all Ed, these components of a whole.

They would meet again at a later date, a week after this show. At a record store in the same town.

But Stede didn’t know that. He was holding Ed’s thrown shirt against his chest and gazing up into the face of this extraordinary man and the other two people on stage didn’t even exist for Stede. It was all Edward Teach, bright as the moon could be.

In service of new experiences, Stede walked into that record store. Queen Anne Records, proclaimed by the sign outside.

He was in search of a rare vinyl record for his collection and Lucius had recommended the place. If it wasn’t in there, Lucius was out of ideas for where Stede could look. Stede’s group of collectors had let him down, the Internet had done him an enormous disservice for his material wants.

Stede made eye contact with the man behind the counter and it was instant, they knew each other like an old lullaby. That night from a week ago, Jackie’s Bar smelling of alcohol and a thick fog of cigarette smoke. Stede was dressed different, he was wearing a blue floral print vest over a white shirt and pants that matched the vest.

“It’s you,” said Stede “From the other night.”

The man behind the counter–Edward Teach–raised his eyebrows. He was about Stede’s height, his hair long and tied up in a half-bun. Both of his arms were covered in tattoos and the light dusting of a beard.

“Golden Boy,” he said. “With your…hair.”

Stede put on his best smile, his gaze flitted to Edward’s tattoos. The tentacle. There were others of course, various abstract depictions of marine life that Stede recognized and what appeared to be a vintage pirate ship. Stede found himself staring openly at that one, he was trying to puzzle out what kind of ship it was. He hadn’t even thought to ask why he was “Golden Boy”.

“You were wonderful,” said Stede. “Your music, it–it really spoke to me, you know.”

Edward tilted her head a little. She wasn’t caught unawares, she was often told that her music spoke to people. But…well, from Stede–or Golden Boy as she’d come to think of him–she actually believed it, she believed that he’d pulled something out of her music.

“You’re new in town, aren’t you?” said Edward. “Haven’t seen you around. Is that cafe yours? The one down the street?”

He’d spotted the sign out front and Jim had mentioned something about “a bizarre little man” who had taken over the space. Wealthy, by the looks of him.

Stede leaned back slightly and folded his hands over his waist, he was staring at the pirate ship tattoo still.

“Er, yes?” said Stede. “That’s, uh–me.”

Edward put their hand on the counter, they grinned.

“Really?” he said. “That’s fucking brilliant, mate.”

Stede visibly relaxed. The Revenge was a labor of love….but also a last minute decision he made while scrambling to get his life together after the other time he made a split second decision. The divorce. The divorce, weighing so heavy on his mind despite everything having been sorted out over a year ago. And then straight into this cafe business. Stede hadn’t even formally asked for the divorce at first, he was too enormous of a coward to look Mary in the eye and tell her the truth.“Our marriage, it was never going to work out. I know we have two beautiful children together. And I am sorry, they’re lovely and you’re lovely and I wish I could have realized all of this sooner.” He’d left the house in the middle of the night with a suitcase full of his belongings, he’d checked into a cheap motel, he’d sent Mary a cautious email telling her that he believed a separation might be in order. Stede didn’t blame Mary for wanting the kids and to never see his face again. Mary’s restraint had been astronomical.

And Stede was keeping in contact with the kids, he’d email a few times a month to ask about how school was going and sometimes they even responded, polite two-sentence replies. They’d stopped calling him “Dad”, Stede had noted. And that cord of guilt in his chest coiled itself tighter.

“You–you mean that?” said Stede. “You think it’s…brilliant?”

The man nodded, leaning across the counter. He was wearing the tightest pair of leather pants that Stede had ever seen. Stede had never quite met a person like Ed, Stede had grown up in a place of fences and expensive houses and talk of “those people” done in conspiratorial whispers through the local bar. It had never been fully clarified to Stede who “those people” were or why they were such a common topic of conversation, although he could guess.

“Fucking of course it is,” Edward said. “Everything else in this place is so fucking boring. But you? You’re doing something new. I like that.”

He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Ed, by the way,” he said.

His voice was deep and sultry, Stede was sure it hadn’t been that deep a minute ago.

Stede hesitated for a second, he reached out to shake Ed’s offered hand. His heart did a small leap at Ed’s touch, Ed’s hand was soft and smelling of peaches.

“Nice to meet you, Ed,” said Stede.

He pulled his hand away and rested it on the counter, trying his absolute hardest to not stare like some kind of pervert at Ed’s….everything. Their nails polished pink, the beard, her beautiful hair, the rings on his fingers. There was no wedding ring, Stede couldn’t spot a mark where one might have been. Not that it was any of his business, Ed could have been married and simply not the type to wear a ring. Or divorced.

Ed put his other hand on the counter, he placed it very close to where Stede’s was resting.

“After something in particular?” he said.

“Oh, uh–right,” said Stede.

He didn’t move his hand away. He normally would have, but he didn’t.

“So this is, er–your place?” said Stede. “Your record store? It’s–it’s rather quaint.”

Ed had zero clue what the fuck that meant, what Stede was getting at with “quaint”, but she took it as a compliment. It wasn’t anything to write home about, the record store. Posters for bands and stage shows all over the walls, shelves and shelves of records sorted by genre, a listening station. And this one shelf labeled “Ed’s Picks”, that one was mostly David Bowie and Queen.

“Thanks, mate,” said Ed. “Your cafe’s nice. Very cute. You do all that yourself?”

He was talking about the sign outside and the fancy plate glass window and everything. It looked more like a dollhouse than any cafe he’d ever seen. So much pink.

“Oh, no,” said Stede. “I, er, had the sign commissioned. There’s this lovely man in town, John something or other. He did the sign and the rest was–well, the rest was a bit of a chore.”

As it turned out, furnishing a cafe was not easy. Especially when he had to get most of the furniture custom-made and imported. Lucius took care of the hard details and the ordering and making Stede’s vision come to life, he was really a godsend.

“The record…?” Ed prompted.

Stede’s cheeks warmed, he was reminded of that night a week ago. The lights so harsh, yet they shone on Ed’s face in a way that made him unearthly, angelic.

“Oh, yes!” said Stede. “The, um–yes.”

He rattled off the name, his expression going slightly dreamy.

“Act of Grace by Blackbeard,” he said.

The third and final album that Blackbeard ever released. And almost impossible to find, good condition or otherwise. That record was a ghost. If Stede hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would have thought it didn’t exist. But he had seen it, he’d taken it into his hands. A few decades back, when Blackbeard was all his silly little brain could think about. Before he trashed most of his Blackbeard stuff, a small act of letting go.

Ed raised his eyebrows.

“Blackbeard, huh?” said Ed. “Into that sort of thing, are you?”

Stede nervously wrung his hands. He wasn’t sure what sort of thing he was meant to be into. Blackbeard was still a big deal, wasn’t he? People still talked about him and he featured on several Top Ten Greatest Music Artists of All Time lists.

“It’s for my collection,” said Stede, as if that explained everything.

Ed propped up his hands on the counter and grinned.

“I’ll have to check in the back,” said Ed. “Come by in a few days. I’ll have found it by then, I reckon. I won’t even charge you for it.”

Stede took a step away from the counter. He glanced quickly at the tattoo on Ed’s bicep, the pirate ship. He was itching to ask Ed exactly what kind of ship it was, he had some ideas. But there would be no asking today, locating that record had been Stede’s morning detour. He really needed to be at the cafe, Lucius got a bit riled up when Stede wasn’t there to supervise.

“Good heavens,” said Stede. “I’ve, er–got to get going. Sorry. Business stuff, you know? Looking forward to seeing you again.”

Ed winked.

“Sure,” said Ed. “Maybe you’ll buy me a drink? Even it out? You know, for the record?”

Stede smiled heartily.

“Oh, yes, I’d love that,” said Stede. “A drink, maybe some food. There’s a lovely little bistro that I’ve been dying to try and–”

He stopped, he blushed. Oh dear. He was doing that thing Lucius had warned him away from, he was being too forward. But…surely that was alright, Ed was smiling at him still.

“Or–or maybe just a drink to start with?” said Stede.

Ed’s eyebrows darted up her forehead, he laughed.

“Maybe a drink to start with, yeah,” said Ed.

Stede left the record store and bid Ed a joyful goodbye, he tripped on his way out and nearly tumbled over. The lyrics from Ed’s final song of the night were bouncing around his head still, he didn’t seem able to stop them. They had really struck something, all the surreal repitition about not being able to go home–Stede certainly couldn’t–and the wasteland of poor decisions. Stede had made a few of those.

Stede’s favorite song off the album–as best he could remember it–was Silk Dressing Gown, a thoughtful rumination on love, heartbreak, and the creative process. It was a haunting final piece, quite unlike anything Blackbeard had ever performed. Stede had been caught unawares by the clarity of Blackbeard’s voice, the slightly escalating quiver towards the final lines. A sky tinted lavender, waiting at the dock, a love gone away.

Or maybe it was Stede’s misremembering again, he hadn’t listened to it since he first held it in his hands decades ago. Act of Grace had shifted something in him, Stede wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t a driving force in finally getting him to accept his sexuality decades after the fact. Silk Dressing Gown just had so many things to say, and Stede felt like it was all for him. A love letter.

Stede was curious, he wanted to see. Surely The Kraken would benefit from more exposure, a wider audience to appreciate its unique charms that brought back so many shuttered university memories? He decided to give them a quick peek on social media, he wanted to see about them playing a show at his cafe. He’d talked to Lucius about live music, they had a stage set up on the other side of the room. Stede was thinking of a talent show rotation, maybe he could find someone to do comedy on the weekends and they’d have a band every Friday.

The Kraken was primarily absent from social media. But Ed’s Instagram account was live and well, Lucius found it in under two minutes. Rarely-used, far more concerned with promoting shows than Edward Teach’s personal life. Another mystery attached to the man.

Ed had a motorcycle–an older model from the seventies–and they frequently posted photos of themself with it. Fixing it, posing next to it, and talking about it. So he was handy. Stede filed that away.

Ed had the genderqueer pride flag in their Instagram bio along with their pronouns and “God is a woman”. Stede also filed that away, he made a mental note to ask Lucius what “genderqueer” meant.

There was a semi-recent picture of him wearing eyeshadow. The caption read “Got this new eyeshadow. Feeling incredibly sexy. So–you’re welcome”.

“Find anything?” said Stede.

He was pacing around their shared apartment with a glass of wine in one hand. He hadn’t quite processed it before, but he was feeling like quite the snoop. And a little bit of a creep, just looking up this person he’d met hours ago. Stede told himself that he had only the most normal interest in Ed, it was the band was he was after. So why was Stede letting Lucius scroll through Ed’s Instagram feed?

Lucius shook his head, continuing to scroll. Good news! He had zero evidence to suggest that Ed was a serial killer or anything like that. Plenty of evidence to suggest that Ed liked tattoos and motorcycles and fancy eyeshadow and painting their nails, but nothing about him wanting to chop Stede into bits. So that was promising. Not that Lucius thought Ed was a serial killer, but…they’d literally just met, him and Stede. And it would be just like Stede, inviting a serial killer out for a drink.

“I think he’s–wait,” said Lucius.

He squinted at his phone screen, scrolling back up to take another look. He hadn’t been paying a lot of attention, idly going through some of Ed’s older posts. But something had caught his eye and now Lucius needed to look at it again. He needed to be sure.

Lucius sat up, his phone gripped tight in his hand.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Stede sprinted over, putting his glass of wine down on a nearby table. He had realized that what he’d proposed to Ed sounded a bit like a date and now there was another coil of stress inside of him. He hadn’t dated since university and he wasn’t even sure the thing he had with Mary counted. So there wasn’t too much dating experience in Stede’s head, it was sitting in his dorm room and talking about ships while Mary listened. It was driving to a secluded spot, Mary’s hands folded in her lap as she stared out the window and listened to Stede talk about the social dynamics of dolphins instead of what she’d…anticipated. It was almost adorable, his confusion as Mary heaved out a frustrated sigh and asked if they were going to do something other than talk about dolphins. And then Stede blushing, Stede explaining that he just really wanted to talk about dolphins and he had no plans for anything else.

“What?” said Stede. “Is he….married? He is, isn’t he? Or…straight? Is he straight?”

He was now rotating that nightmare scenario in his head, convinced that he’d asked a straight married man out on a date without realizing it.

Lucius sighed. Stede was the only person on the planet who could encounter a person with such potent queer vibes and then proceed to freak out about the possibility of them somehow being straight and married.

“No, I think they might be–Blackbeard?” said Lucius.

He showed Stede the photo he was looking at, the photo he’d pulled up for comparison with another he’d spotted.

Stede swallowed, staring at the screen in complete shock.

“Wait, that’s–that can’t be right,” said Stede. “He’s not–”

But the photo was telling him a completely different story. A story that Stede wasn’t sure he was ready to hear.

Everyone knew who Blackbeard was. You’d have to be living under a rock not to. Or just not into the music scene, which Stede very much had been in university. He’d listened to all the best bands of the era a dozen times. And among the greatest, there stood a man who called himself “Blackbeard”. An absolute lightning rod of the rock music scene. And now apparently…owning a record store? And playing with a completely new band called The Kraken?

Blackbeard had dropped off the radar. He’d just…disappeared. He stopped making music, stopped doing shows. Most people assumed he’d overdosed or gotten himself into some bad trouble with the wrong people.

The photo was of Blackbeard in his very early days, from back when his hair was slightly shorter. Yes, that was most definitely Ed. The eyes, the hair, everything. He didn’t quite have his iconic black beard anymore, which was why Stede hadn’t recognized him. And her aesthetic had shifted, it was no longer bleak and gothic. And the person Stede had seen on stage, the person who’d tossed his shirt into the crowd, this Edward Teach. He’d been…brighter, the misery of his later tracks hadn’t been roiling inside him like smoldering coals.

“Well, that’s–,” said Stede.

He picked up his wine glass and took a very long sip, a dazed look on his face. Stede had most of Blackbeard’s old albums. Cassette tapes and CDs and of course the vinyl records that he’d bought god-knows-when for a sinful amount of money. Stede was only missing that one record, Blackbeard’s final album. And beyond that, Stede had that magazine with Blackbeard’s face on the cover, a blurb about “up and comers in the rock scene” circled in marker. And inside was a picture of Blackbeard with smoke billowing out of his beard and those tight leather pants and his eyes glowing red. The photo was clearly altered, some kind of fancy camera work and editing. Stede had stared at that photo for maybe hours, he’d made copies of it to put up on the walls of his dorm room. A completely straight and heterosexual thing to do. Or at least that was what Stede had thought at the time as he bit his lip and stared in wonder at Blackbeard’s tight leather pants and wondered if he should buy some tight leather pants. At that point in his life, Stede wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be Blackbeard or…something else.

Who wouldn’t want to be Blackbeard? Leather pants, doing whatever the fuck he wanted, having the time of his life on stage. Blackbeard wasn’t some sad little nerd in university who liked to talk about ships and marine life, Blackbeard was probably fun at parties. He was everything a young and confused Stede could have ever wanted to be.

And Stede had asked him out for a drink. He’d asked fucking Blackbeard out for a drink.

Lucius continued to scroll through Ed’s feed. Well, that was certainly a development. Good? Bad? Lucius wasn’t even sure yet. What was the standard protocol for any of this?

“Okay, so–oh,” said Lucius.

He stopped scrolling, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Stede’s heart jumped into his throat.

“What?” he said. “Is he married?”

Lucius shook his head.

“Um, no,” said Lucius. “I just–er–this video–from two years ago.”

He showed it to Stede, a short video of The Kraken performing at some kind of unnamed venue. It was hardly decent footage, the person holding the camera shook uncertainly and the swaying crowd moved to obscure. But the music burst through like an angel singing out it’s praises, there was nothing that could have stopped it. Ed’s voice, crowing out sweetly into a crowd that roared with drunken appreciation.

Stede felt a sharp crack in his breath. And he was there, he was standing with the crowd and staring up into Ed’s face and Ed was singing to him, Ed had found Stede in the audience and every word he sang plucked a newborn string in Stede’s ringing chest.

Silk Dressing Gown. A cover, except not a cover because Ed had written and performed the fucking thing. The crowd had no idea, they saw a mildly-successful musical act twisting Blackbeard’s sacred creation into their own design. And it was miraculous, what Ed had taken out of the lyrics and what he’d put back in. They were fresh, Stede barely recognized the melancholy. He was lying in his dorm room, his gaze pointed at the ceiling and the tears rolling down his cheeks…but Ed was reaching now, reaching out through Stede’s expensive stereo to brush soft fingers over Stede’s cheeks and catch the sobs out of him. “It will all be okay,” Ed’s voice fluttered against Stede’s ears. “You don’t need to cry.”

Stede dragged a hand across his face, he scrubbed at the tears on his cheeks. Oh. When had he done that, when had he started to cry? He wasn’t a university student anymore, he was a man in his mid-forties with a soon-to-be-famous cafe to his name. And Edward Teach wasn’t Blackbeard anymore, even as he wrenched through the interior of Silk Dressing Gownand rebirthed it like a phoenix from flame.

Lucius played his fingers along the screen.

“They’re really–good,” said Lucius.

He was underselling it, he was trying not to give away his thoughts. Those first frantic months of being out, the bullying, the threats from his mother, being ejected from his home, those several years between that Lucius didn’t like to think about. And before that, the sneaking around and the fumbling and the scares.

The video stopped. It left a hole where the music should have been.

Stede took another long sip of wine. He was having a day.

Ed leaned a little off the couch, his phone in one hand and a bottle of lemonade in the other.

Ed knew he recognized that guy from somewhere. The hair was a dead giveaway.

Gentleman_Stede. This guy that Ed had been following on Instagram for quite some time now. A few weeks. Who could blame him? This guy was fascinating.

He had a boat. A fucking boat. And he read multiple books per week, compiled them in a neat little list and then reviewed every single one in extreme detail. He loved aquariums and the ocean. He frequently posted photos of himself in the most bizarrely colorful outfits Ed had ever seen in his entire life and there was never any rhyme or reason to them. One day he’d be dressed like an eighteenth-century pirate and then the next day he’d be dressed like a seventies glam rocker and then the next day he’d be some combination of the two. And the suits. So many fucking suits. How many suits did one man need, how many floral patterns? He posted a photo of his shoe collection and some of them had little bows. Fascinating.

Izzy Hands leaned over the back of the couch, smoothing his hair into place. He was wearing a tight Black Sabbath shirt, matching black pants. Leather boots, cross earrings, a pentagram necklace. He was maybe a bit too old to be dressing the same way he did as a teenager, but Izzy didn’t give a shit. Izzy was goth before it turned into another expensive aesthetic.

“He looks fucking rich,” said Izzy. “How much do you bet those shoes cost?”

Ed ignored Izzy’s riveting commentary. Of course the guy was wealthy, he’d have to be. So what was he doing in this town, this place so far off the map that Ed had chosen for this purpose? No one knew them here, or at least no one would have recognized Edward Teach as Blackbeard.

“What’s he doing asking me out for drinks?” said Ed.

If he was asking Ed out. Now Ed wasn’t so sure. After all, why the hell would some rich guy have an interest in Edward Teach? The only people who’d ever taken an interest in any form–his friend Jack, his manager Benjamin Hornigold–were people who were enamored with Blackbeard. And what was Blackbeard, other than a smoke screen and a collection of elaborate fuckeries for Ed’s amusement? You couldn’t love a persona built to entertain.

Izzy’s eyebrows darted up his forehead.

“Probably a creep,” said Izzy. “Or a fucking murderer.”

The three of them–Jack, Izzy, and Ed–had always needed to be wary, each for different reasons. They’d learned not to trust. And they’d all been different. Izzy had been called “Elizabeth”, “Lizzy” to Jack. But to Edward Teach, he’d always been “Iz”. Iz, Jack, and Ed. Izzy Hands, Calico Jack, Blackbeard.

Ed blinked as a notification popped up, Stede had posted something on his feed. A thirty second video clip.

He watched it, he wanted to learn more about this man who called himself Gentleman Stede and wore such intricate outfits for what seemed to be photoshoots. He looked like a model, he acted like an eccentric wealthy man, his eyes were full of starbeams. Golden Boy.

The video was another side of Stede, it was so stripped of the starbeam eyes and the golden hair and everything that Ed had come to view as Stede in his whole unbroken form. The colors were muted, but perhaps that was a trick of the camera. It made an impression, it left Ed wanting to know if this muted version of Stede was even real.

It was an old video, very old. A younger Stede, alone in his bedroom with a video camera. A guitar balanced precariously in his lap, his smile was nervous and his teeth seemed unnaturally icy white. He wasn’t good at the guitar, his strumming was clumsy and yet…earnest. He worked his way–awkward, shaking, but smiling–through a cover of Silk Dressing Gown. He fumbled. But there was an honesty to that, Stede’s messing up of the last song Blackbeard ever wrote. It was like he’d made it his own, this thing that Ed had held so tight to his chest before he was convinced to record it.

“What the fuck was that?” said Izzy.

Ed heaved a sigh.

“Emotions, Iz,” said Ed. “Tried having some?”

He pivoted his attention back to Stede’s Instagram feed, he wondered what had prompted the posting of this video clip. That show the other night maybe? Or had he seen that photo from about two years ago, the one that looked like one of Ed’s old album covers? Had Stede realized, did he know?

Ed raised her eyebrows. Fascinating. And it was a good photo, Ed knew he looked hot. Ed with his hair tied back and leaning against the front door of Queen Anne Records, a cigarette between his lips–he was trying to quit now, keywordtrying–and wearing a plain black shirt with his iconic leather pants. Izzy took that picture, always “Iz” and “Izzy” to him and never “Lizzy” or “Elizabeth”.

“Interesting,” said Ed out loud to himself.

Izzy rolled his eyes, turning to leave the apartment. It was so fucking typical for Ed to get like this. But over that guy? Over Gentleman Stede with his fancy shoes and his cotton candy drinks and his cafe?

But Ed would come to his senses soon enough. He always did.

The cafe was so unbearably pink. Pastel pink. Cute little chairs in yellow and white, fucking fairy lights hung along the ceiling, pink and white checkerboard pattern tables. It was like a dollhouse.

Pink was okay. Jim could handle pink. There was nothing inherently wrong with pink. They could stand a little pink in their life.

It was the guy who owned it. What was his name? “Stede” something? “Bonny”? Stede Bonny? “Bonnet”? Obviously loaded, just by the look of him. And for some reason he was opening up his fancy pastel pink cafe in the middle of a town that barely anyone knew about.

“I don’t trust him.”

That was Jim’s official opinion, as expressed over coffee. They put down their cup and stared at Oluwande across the table, they waited for his balanced diagnosis of the situation.

Oluwande played with his teal earring, holding his coffee in the other hand.

“Yeah, you don’t do trust, do you?” said Oluwande.

Jim laughed, slinging their arm over the back of their chair. Oluwande had a point. Although they wished he could make it without using his therapist voice.

“I trust you,” said Jim. “I trust Roach. I trust Frenchie. I just don’t trust some rich guy.”

Oluwande nodded, he understood where Jim was coming from.

“He doesn’t seem…bad,” said Oluwande. “Just a bit–eccentric?”

Jim raised their eyebrow. “Eccentric” was Oluwande being generous. “A fucking weirdo” was what they were both thinking.

“I don’t trust him,” said Jim again.

Oluwande sighed.

“Please don’t go all stabby, Jim,” said Oluwande. “Remember Jackie’s husband? Remember how that turned out?”

Jim leaned back in their seat. They wished Oluwande would stop bringing that up every fucking time. He was like a broken record. So what if Jim stabbed a guy? It wasn’t like they killed him. And the bastard had it coming.

“It was one time,” said Jim. “And who even cares? She’s got, like, a bunch of husbands. She’s fine.”

Oluwande rubbed the back of his neck. No, Jackie was not fine. She was very upset still, the only thing saving their asses was Oluwande assuring Jackie–lying–that it had been an accident. A permanent ban from Jackie’s bar seemed like a fair punishment. Jim hadn’t even told Oluwande why they stabbed that guy.

“Jim–,” said Oluwande.

Jim leaned forward and put their hand on the table.

“Relax, Olu,” said Jim. “I’m not actually going to stab him. Promise. Unless he, like, looks at me funny.”

And they meant it. If Stede kept in his lane and didn’t piss them off too much, they weren’t going to put a knife through his gut.

“How’s the song coming?” said Oluwande, changing the subject.

Jim looked away, they sort of wished he hadn’t changed the subject. They told Ed they could do it, songwriting. How hard could it be? It wasn’t fair, Frenchie getting all the credit and all Jim could do was pound away at their drum set.

“It’s–going,” said Jim.

Their gaze flitted towards Oluwande’s earring, they wouldn’t say anything more about it.

Working title: “Teal Oranges”. Or “The Man with the Teal Earring”, if Jim was feeling sentimental. And they barely ever were, Oluwande had known that about them from the start. Just like Jim had known Oluwande to wear that teal earring almost every day and they’d never gotten up the courage to ask him why.

In real life, Oluwande was Jim’s roommate and a therapist and very much just a person. It was only in Jim’s music that he became The Man with the Teal Earring.

Chapter Text

You can feign your surprise, give me those doe eyes

But I know I wanna love you

Yes I do

We can dance to the beat while I tap my feet

On the stars, you’re gonna like me

Yes you are

–Moonbeam // Lord Huron

“Golden Boy”. It was a stupid joke, Frenchie said it first. Teasing, light and friendly. “Whose the golden boy?” he’d asked, referring to the man Ed had tossed his shirt at during the show. Golden Boy.

Ed wondered what Stede would call him, if Stede thought to call him anything that wasn’t “Ed” or “Edward”. He had a few ideas.

Stede had a lot of time to think. A long shower and he had a better grasp of the situation he’d bumbled into. And maybe what to do about it? Maybe. Possibly. Stede wasn’t sure, this was all new to him.

It hadn’t struck him before, just how strange it all was. He’d been introduced to Mary at some kind of work party thing hosted by his father’s company. And then they’d been together all throughout university, married directly after they finished school. Stede had assumed it was like that for most people. He’d never been pressed to do any asking, his future had been forced on him and now he’d rolled backwards away from it into something indescribable.

He poked his head out of the bathroom, holding a towel firmly against his lower half and the steam evaporating out past him. Well, if he was going to ask someone on a date–especially the rock legend Blackbeard–he wanted to do it properly this time.

“Do you think he likes me?” said Stede.

Lucius slid a pile of cubed tomatoes to the other side of the cutting board, a kitchen knife held tightly in one hand. He looked up from what he was doing, cocking his hip to the side and his eyebrow darting up his forehead.

“He gave you his shirt, so…,” said Lucius.

Stede retreated back into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack. But that shirt hadn’t been for him, had it? It had been for…Golden Boy, whoever the fuck that was meant to be. It had maybe been for the awkward fumbling university student with his guitar, singing his own story into the melancholy lyrics of Silk Dressing Gown. The glimpses of him that still lived frantically at the back of Stede’s throat when he laughed.

“I don’t know what to do, Lucius,” said Stede. “How would you handle this?”

Lucius considered. Well, he wasn’t clear which parts of this needed handling. Stede knowing Ed’s past identity as Blackbeard? Or perhaps the fact that Stede had been listening to The Kraken’s music with a frightful obsession for the past day? Or maybe simply that he hadn’t gotten back to Ed about that drink?

“Do you even like this guy?” said Lucius.

Stede opened the bathroom door a bit wider and stuck his head out. Did he like Ed? Of course he did, what a strange question! Who couldn’t like Ed, his voice coming over in trembling waves of honey-sweet and their smile that pushed the ghosts so far back into those doe-like eyes of his?

“I–I think so,” said Stede. “They seem very nice.”

Lucius wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t looking at a classic case of infatuation. Lucius had been there. He’d fallen for motorcycles and fast cars and tattoos. And mostly it was fine. But sometimes it wasn’t. And the times it wasn’t were the most devastating.

“Okay, so what do you want to do?” said Lucius.

Stede furrowed his brow, slowly receding back into the bathroom.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Lucius sighed, he had mango salad to prepare for a side dish and Stede’s feelings to wrangle. Well, that was very unhelpful. He needed a bit of runway here, a starting point he could launch himself off from. At least he knew where they stood now, which was a vast improvement on what he’d been working with before. He had to remind himself that this was a passion project, a labor of love. Although if someone had offered Lucius a considerable amount of money for his services, he wouldn’t have turned it down. He should have been getting paid by the hour.

Stede buttoned up his shirt. He wanted to do this properly, he wanted to do this the Stede way. Ed deserved that much, he was such a vision.

Stede walked into Queen Anne Records, the biggest smile on his face. Practically glowing, a living halo in a yellow turtleneck, a pearl necklace, blue shorts, and black tights.

He was doing this. He was asking Ed out on a date. And he wasn’t feeling bad about it or wrong about it or any of those other things. He was just doing it, as if it was the most natural thing to him and he completely wasn’t a ball of nerves over the idea. And he looked divine, of course. The dressing up part–choosing the outfit and all–had done wonders to calm him down.

Lucius had explained to him what “genderqueer” meant. And Stede didn’t entirely understand it, but he didn’t care about whether it made sense to him or not. It made sense to Ed and Stede thought he could take Ed in almost any form they gave themself.

Stede flipped up his sunglasses and approached the counter.

Ed quirked his eyebrow, his gaze traveling up from Stede’s waist. That was…quite an outfit. Very…Golden Boy. And it surprised Ed for a moment, it surprised her to see this vision of a man in his forties who’d outlived that awkward stumbling university student from that thirty second video.

Stede was holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and he had some kind of box tied with a ribbon tucked under his other arm.

Before Ed could say anything, Stede offered him the bouquet of flowers.

Ed blinked at the bouquet, gently taking it out of Stede’s grip.

“These are…for me?” they said.

Stede nodded enthusiastically, putting down the box. He’d gone back and forth with what kind of flowers to get. Lilacs? No, too depressing. Roses? No, that was maybe coming on a bit too strong. Tulips? Sunflowers? Daffodils?

“They’re peonies,” said Stede.

Ed put the bouquet up to his nose and sniffed. Peonies. He knew a bit about flower languge, what peonies meant. It was pink for romance, wasn’t it? Romance between strangers? Rather cheeky of Stede, bold. But they were very pretty, the flowers. And Stede got those for him? No one had ever brought Ed flowers before. A new leather jacket from Izzy, a bottle of black nail polish also from Izzy, a brand new weed pipe from Frenchie. But flowers?

“Peonies,” said Ed.

She tapped the box on the counter.

“What’s this?” he said.

Stede cleared his throat.

“Oh, it’s, er–something I had made special,” said Stede.

Ed carefully untied the ribbon, a smile breaking out on their face. He couldn’t believe Stede was serious. Bringing him flowers and…a present? And they’d only known each other in person for a few days, this was their second ever conversation. What an absolute maniac Stede was.

“Special?” said Ed. “For me? Holy fuck, mate. You’re unreal.”

He flipped the box open. He had thoughts about Stede, thoughts that fell on an unlikely scale. Ed wasn’t the sort of person that people were friendly towards immediately, he’d tried to be and he’d quickly realized that hardly anyone fucking liked her. They liked Blackbeard, that intricate fuckery of a persona. Edward Teach was…mortal.

It was…a cake. An orange cake topped with frosting and orange glaze and orange slices.

Ed stared at it for a whole minute, he was a little blown away. More like blown into the fucking stratosphere, if they were being honest. He’d expected pastries, the fancy kind with the jam inside and complicated patterns.

“You’re–you’re giving me a cake?” said Ed.

Stede nodded, playing with the collar of his turtleneck. He hadn’t been sure what kind of cake, because what did he know about Ed and his cake preferences? Stede had to go with his gut instinct. And his gut instinct told him that Ed couldn’t possibly have anything against oranges.

There was a little folded card in the box. Ed picked up the card and opened it.

“No one’s ever given me a cake before,” said Ed.

Stede jumped slightly, squeezing his collar. Oh god. Did he do something wrong? Was this…not how he was supposed to do this? Should he have gone with muffins? Cupcakes? A baguette maybe? Croissants? Scones? He just wanted this to be…special. He wanted to give Ed back the feelings that Silk Dressing Gown had planted in his head like tulip bulbs, sweet as oranges.

Ed skimmed the card, raising his eyebrow. The card was handwritten, because of course it would be.

“To Ed: Stede Bonnet cordially invites you to have coffee with him at your earliest convinence. If this proposal interests you, please reply posthaste. Yours forever, Stede Bonnet.”

Ed blinked, flipping the card shut. Did…did Stede bring her an entire fucking cake and a bouquet of peonies just to ask him out for coffee? He couldn’t have texted? Or even just sent someone around to ask for him? This was…elaborate. Fascinating.And far removed from the drink Stede had proposed before.

Stede leaned forward, putting his elbows on the counter.

“So what do you think?” said Stede. “My treat, of course. Consider it my thanks for the record.”

Ed shoved the card back into the box, his head spinning. He hadn’t even gotten the record out yet, had he? It was way back in storage, it was gathering up dust with all of their other Blackbeard stuff. Ed could have sold it all, he was only really keeping it around for Izzy’s sake. And maybe a little bit for his own selfish reasons, Ed couldn’t lie to himself. Those had been some of the most chaotic years of his life, it was hard to accept that he’d just settled.

“Sure, I’d love to,” said Ed. “How’s tomorrow sound? Afternoon?”

Stede’s heart did a little nervous flutter. Oh thank god. It wasn’t too much, Ed was looking at him kindly still. It seemed as if Stede was always too much for everyone, he’d even been too much when he was an excitable little bird of a young man in university. Perhaps it had been the marine life and ship talk, he was the death of any party and eventually the invites stopped coming.

“That sounds lovely,” said Stede.

He gave Ed a little wave, wiggling his fingers.

“Well, I’d better be going,” said Stede. “I’ve got to open the cafe and…and all that. It’s quite demanding, isn’t it? Running a business? Nose to the grind.”

He turned and walked out of the record store, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Izzy appeared next to Ed, a frown on his face as he watched Stede leave.

“What the fuck?” said Izzy.

Ed grabbed the box off the counter and shoved it into Izzy’s arms. “If you want to do music again, why not just be Blackbeard?” Izzy had asked, rolling down the sleeve of his shirt. And Ed hadn’t explained it to him, he couldn’t be frank with Izzy because Izzy wasn’t going to get it. But Izzy wasn’t required to get it, this was Ed’s fucking life.

“Pop this in the fridge, won’t you, Iz?” said Ed.

Izzy blinked, holding the box firmly.

“Edward–,” he started.

Ed picked up the bouquet of flowers and gave it another sniff. Peonies. She was starting to think she loved peonies.

“Yeah?” said Ed.

Izzy headed off, turning his back on Ed. Was it worth it? No, it fucking wasn’t. It never was. Not with how Ed had been lately.

“It’s nothing,” said Izzy.

He left Ed at the counter. Ed with his nose in a bouquet of peonies and the most radiant smile Izzy had ever seen on their face.

“You gave him flowers and a fucking cake?”

Lucius’s mouth was hanging open, his phone held limply in one hand as he gawked at Stede across the table.

Stede’s eyes darted away and back nervously, playing with his fingers. He’d been expecting more…fanfare? Lucius patting him on the back and all that, telling him he’d finally cracked the dating code and he was going to get a passing grade in how to date and make friends.

“Yes, Lucius, flowers,” said Stede.

Lucius took his time answering, weighing the look on Stede’s face against his intense desire to be honest. If Ed was into it…but if Ed was just being polite…but if Ed was into it…

Lucius sighed, perhaps it was better to just change the subject entirely. He was glad that Stede was putting himself out there, that Stede was leaning himself fully into this bizarre spin of the wheel.

“So are we going to be, uh–opening the cafe today?” said Lucius. “It’s just–Pete and Roach and Sven are getting kind of anxious about…all that.”

Stede jumped out of his chair, enthusiastically clapping his hands together.

“Yes, the cafe!” said Stede. “The cafe! Yes! Er, just give me a second to–to change and we’ll–yes, we’re opening today. Of course we are. We’re all businessmen here and that’s what people do when they’re, er…running a business.”

Lucius pursed his lips.

“I mean, technically I’m running the business?” said Lucius. “I’ve kind of been….doing most of the books and the ordering stuff and the finding music acts and actual…business, so…”

Stede was already turning away from the table. He had a date. A date with Edward Teach. Wasn’t that something? Wasn’t that music to Stede’s ears, the softest siren song?

“Yes, yes, we’re all so good at business,” said Stede.

Lucius sighed and got out of his seat.

“Guess I’d better tell Pete to–okay,” said Lucius.

He interuppted himself, realizing that Stede wasn’t listening to a single word out of his mouth. Stede was walking away with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and Lucius would have been sad to inform him that he did not. Lucius hadn’t even gone to school for any of this, he was acting off the cuff. And killing it, mind you.

Pete sidled up to stand next to Lucius, his hands on his hips.

“So are we actually opening today or…?” he said.

He didn’t actually care either way. Stede had promised all of them a hefty paycheck whether the cafe was in operation or not.

Lucius let out another sigh. Between his back pain and everything with Stede, Lucius was in serious need of a spa day. The wall he kept slamming headfirst into was that he cared about Stede, that bizarre little man with his bizarrely magnetic personality.

“I suppose we are,” said Lucius.

Pete tugged on his collar.

“Do we seriously have to wear this thing?” he said.

He’d been griping about it for days, Stede had designed the uniforms himself because he thought the cafe would benefit from a little extra flair. But why the fuck did they have to be so girly? Pete felt like he was catering a wedding, Stede had assured him there was nothing girly about a pink frilly apron over his white pants and a white shirt. Or the pink bowtie, which Stede insisted was necessary to the overall cohesion of the uniform. Roach wore bowties occasionally and he made them look pretty tough, Stede had unhelpfully pointed out. Pete felt as if Stede was badly missing the point.

“If you want to get paid,” said Lucius.

He reached over and adjusted Pete’s bowtie. He wasn’t thrilled about the uniforms either, he thought they were a bit over the top in a very Stede way. But Stede had been excited about them, he showed Lucius the designs and gushed about the apron and the cafe logo–it was a cat–and the custom name tags and the cute little apron pocket. And then Lucius ran to John and Frenchie because both of them knew about designing.

“You look handsome,” said Lucius.

Pete turned away, he still hated those uniforms and he was regretting taking this job. But…he was trying not to grin over Lucius’s compliment.

“Are we still on for drinks tonight?” said Pete.

Lucius considered his dubious work-life balance, he’d really been doing so much and his need to unwind was getting urgent. Drinks with Pete sounded perfect for that….and of course everyone else would be there, it wouldn’t just be Lucius and Pete. Unfortunately.

“Yeah, definitely on,” said Lucius.

He gave Pete a playful poke on the shoulder, he turned and left. Maybe Lucius could convince Stede to make some slightalterations to the uniforms? Mostly for Pete’s sake, Roach was neutral about the whole thing and Sven was ecstastic. At least Lucius talked Stede out of the cat ears, that would have been a disaster and Pete would have quit.

Pete rubbed the front of his shirt, he frowned. Handsome. Lucius called him handsome.

Frenchie and John had only been in the apartment a few weeks.

It was actually more of a closet. A closet with one bathroom, a tiny kitchen, and an even tinier bedroom off from the main room. It was all they could really afford and it was still so fucking expensive.

But John called it “cozy”. Their very first apartment together. Their own personal space after decades of living with family or various roommates.

Frenchie joined The Kraken because Ed asked, because Ed made it seem like an offer Frenchie couldn’t refuse. It wasn’treally, Frenchie had been trying to make it on his own in the music scene and he was running in place. The Kraken gave him mobility, a team. Even though it was really just Frenchie, Jim, and Ed.

“You know what we need?” said John.

He cranked up the sound system, increasing the volume of the music.

Frenchie looked up from the art book he was flipping through. But that was why he stayed, the intimacy of it just being the three of them. He wrote most of their songs, his music was halting and bleak.

“What?” he said.

John carefully moved Frenchie’s guitar out of the way, an enduring acoustic that had seen better days.

“A reading nook,” he said.

Frenchie put down the book. “Reading nook”? Like a…nook for reading? Was that something people had?

“Yeah, that’s not bad,” said Frenchie. “And a breakfast nook. We could just have multiple nooks really. For everything.”

John nodded excitedly, he sat down heavily on the couch.

“And a bookcase,” said John.

Frenchie grinned, he put his feet up on the battered old coffee table. He was just thinking about how they needed a bookcase. Somewhere to store all of John’s sketchbooks and Frenchie’s notebooks. Probably more suitable than the bunk beds, the bottom bunk of which was currently being used as a makeshift bookcase/desk space. John slept on the top bunk and Frenchie fell asleep on the couch most nights.

“And a coat rack,” said Frenchie. “In case we have guests.”

John frowned.

“Wait, what guests?” said John.

Frenchie considered it for a minute. He thought the guest list part of it would be easy. It was a small town.

“Oluwande?” said Frenchie. “I bet he’d come by. And Jim too? Roach maybe. We could all get together. Have a party with…wine and cheese? Always wanted one of those.”

John put his arm on the back of the couch.

“I thought you didn’t like them,” said John. “Parties.”

Frenchie rubbed the back of his neck.

“Nah, parties are alright,” said Frenchie. “Just didn’t like it much when I was doing catering. It’ll be different if we’re the ones throwing it. It’ll be fun.”

Frenchie slid his legs off the coffee table. He remembered back in high school, learning that “dates” were apparently something people did when they were romantically interested in each other and not a fun friend activity. Which was stupid, in his opinion. Who didn’t want to put on nice clothes and go out for a fancy dinner with their best friend? Or go to a movie? Or cloud-watching? Fortunately, he’d met someone who wanted to do all those things with him. Date nights and movie nights with John.

“Don’t really need anyone else, do we?” said Frenchie.

There was a noise and Frenchie looked down. His cat–he had affectionately named her “Starman” after the David Bowie song–was looking up at him with her big dark eyes. She meowed at him again.

“Up to mischief again?” said Frenchie.

He picked up Starman up and settled her into his lap. She curled up with her three legs under her, she was purring. She’d been missing a leg ever since Frenchie found her, he wasn’t sure what could have happened to it.

John darted a glance at Starman.

“Thought you hated cats,” said John. “Aren’t you all superstitious about them?”

Frenchie shrugged, stroking along Starman’s back. He’d found her in the walls a few months ago. No collar or anything like that. He’d asked around and no one seemed to be looking for their cat.

“Some cats are alright, I guess,” said Frenchie.

Taking the cat had been John’s idea at first and Frenchie had finally given in. He didn’t expect the stupid cat to bond with him, sitting in his lap unprompted and sleeping on the couch near him and bringing him presents.

Frenchie had awakened on the couch one night to find Starman purring on his chest, her head resting gently near his top surgery scars. They were inseperable after that, Frenchie just couldn’t imagine a life without Starman. She was his good luck charm.

“Do you think anyone will want to come?” said John. “To the parties?”

Frenchie gave another shrug, scratching behind Starman’s ears.

“Go with the flow, babe,” said Frenchie. “What I always say.”

Frenchie had a cat in his lap and he was dreaming up new music and their tiny shitty apartment smelled amazing. His flowseemed pretty good.

Teal Oranges was meant to be a story and Jim wasn’t good at telling stories. Not about people and places they wished they could be. Holding themself hard against the lyrics like a physical being, drinking in the smell of…oranges. And Oluwande’s teal earring, bobbing slightly when he walked in front of them and it was all Jim could look at. It filled up their vision and the hurt softened in their chest for a moment.

They tore the page out of their notebook, they crumpled it up in their fist and threw it away. Try again. Better this time. Less personal. They repeated it like a mantra.

Chapter Text

You touched my hand and you smiled

All the way back, you held out your hand

But I hope, and if I pray

Ooh, it might work out someday

If I live to see the Seven Wonders

I’ll make a path to the rainbow’s end

I’ll never live to match the beauty again

–Seven Wonders // Fleetwood Mac

Ed was stressing a little. Just a little.

First dates were supposed to be casual, right? And it wasn’t like Stede said this was a date. So it was actually extra super casual, wasn’t it?

Ed tossed another shirt onto their bed. It was just….well, Stede was so fancy and he always dressed in these wonderful outfits and Ed was maybe slightly intimidated. How was Ed supposed to compete with that, cool and laid-back? Ed didn’t have shoes with fucking bows on them or satin shirts or fucking…solid gold cuff links or whatever. What he had were various band shirts, a variety of soft comfy sweaters, leggings, jeans, leather pants, that sort of thing. And those had never let him down before.

He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. Alright, she needed to get herself gathered. Stede didn’t walk into the record store looking for Mr. Fancy. He walked into that record store looking for Ed. Ed with his leather and his band shirts. He wasn’t going to be disappointed if Ed showed up looking like himself.

“You know you have a store to run, right?” said Izzy.

He was standing in the doorway. Ed didn’t know how long he’d been there, Izzy had this unnerving habit of creeping around like a cat. It didn’t help, the dressing almost entirely in black and gray and being used to getting along unseen. Izzy could have been invisible if he wanted, Ed sometimes wished he would be. Getting on with everything instead of pestering Ed.

“You’ve got Ivan and Fang, haven’t you?” said Ed. “Get them to do their fucking jobs. Can’t always be breathing down your neck, Iz. Take some initiative.”

Izzy sighed in frustration, they’d had the initiative talk before and it always turned out sour. He knew he should have been taking more of it, trying to manage. But how the fuck was Izzy meant to manage without raising his voice? That just sounded like an invitation to get walked over, Fang and Ivan already thought he was an enormous prick anyway.

“Right,” said Izzy. “While you’re out doing fuck-all, I’ll be here taking initiative.”

Ed nodded, only half-listening.

“That’s the spirit, Iz,” said Ed.

He took another shirt out of his closet and looked it over. Yes, that would do nicely. Something casual. Effortless.

They met outside the cafe.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” said Ed. “Had to clear some things up with Izzy.”

He always worried about leaving the store in Izzy’s hands, considering Izzy’s tendency to be an absolute twat at every possible moment of every possible day. But it was just for an hour or two, wasn’t it? And then Ed would materialize just in time to field complaints and prevent Ivan or Fang from quitting. Again. Ed needed to have a serious talk with Izzy about him yanking on Fang’s beard when he needed something and it wasn’t getting done fast enough.

Stede was…a vision. A rose print blazer over a white shirt with pants to match. A head of hair that looked invitingly soft, the kind Ed wanted to drag his fingers through. His stance was anxious and unsure, his hands folded close to his stomach. Manicured fingernails. An exotic species of bird in human form.

Ed’s breath caught in his throat. Fuck. Maybe he should have…dressed up more? They had on a fucking My Chemical Romance shirt with the sleeves ripped off and leather pants and leather boots. Great, not exactly making the best impression next to Stede’s rose print blazer.

“I’ve got something for you,” said Ed.

He opened his bag and pulled out the vinyl record. He’d been thinking about it, talking it over with…himself mostly, Izzy would have told her that she was being stupid because her Blackbeard stuff was worth a sinful amount of money if she ever wanted to sell it and why would she just be giving it away to some guy like Stede?

Act of Grace. Blackbeard’s last album. There were less than a dozen copies of it, Ed wasn’t surprised that Stede couldn’t find one. Maybe he should have….signed the cover or something, made it even more special? Ed felt like he was handing over a piece of himself.

Stede took the album and just held it, he stared at the mildly faded cover art and something lit up in his chest. It took him back, that image of Blackbeard with his head turned away and one spear-shaped earring glinting. Tentacles writhed threateningly from the bottom of the image.

Ed had designed that cover himself, they’d poured all the colors of their living self into Act of Grace and come out empty on the other side. He wouldn’t have passed it over to just anyone.

“Oh, Ed,” said Stede. “Thank you.”

He gripped the album to his chest, his nose crinkled up with a radiant smile.

Ed grinned. “Ed”. Not “Blackbeard”. “Ed”. Stede called them “Ed”. Why did that make them so fucking happy?

They walked to the coffee shop together, Ed wished he had more to say than the standard social script. “How are you?” “Oh, I’m alright. You?” “Feeling good, mate.” “Looks like rain.” “Hope not, haven’t got an umbrella.” “Oh really? You could borrow mine.” “Thanks.”

Stede ordered a hot chocolate. Ed got some kind of strawberry monstrosity, it was basically just sugary syrup and whipped cream and coffee.

Ed pulled his drink towards him and raised his eyebrow at Stede. Neither of them had said a word since they sat down, they’d fallen off the social script because who fucking needed it? Ed apparently did, Ed had been waiting for Stede to kickstart the converstion and he felt like Stede had been waiting for Ed to say something.

“Everything alright, mate?” said Ed.

Stede looked down at his hands. Ed was…obviously very very queer. And Stede was alright with that, he thought it was amazing. But…he did feel kind of inadequate sitting in his rose print blazer and shirt and his pants. Had Ed ever been in the closet? Stede was too dense to have realized, but maybe the guy with eyeliner and a crop top who sang about finding his identity and occasionally used she/her pronouns in reference to herself in her songs had always been just a tiny bit queer.

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Stede. “I’m just very, er–new to this.”

Ed tilted his head to the side, he studied Stede like he was a fascinating species of moth. Was Stede…nervous? Nervous in front of the person who was wearing a fucking My Chemical Romance shirt to their coffee date?

“New to dating or new to being gay?” said Ed.

Stede’s hands started to shake, he was sweaty and pale and maybe he was coming down with something. Oh god. Oh fuck.This was a mistake. This whole thing was a mistake. The cake–a bad idea from the start probably–and the flowers–flowers–and thinking he could act normal around Ed. Ed with their earrings and their painted nails and their way of looking at Stede that made the butterflies swarm. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, oh god, oh god, I can’t–

Ed reached across the table, they gently placed their hand over Stede’s. The shaking stopped almost immediately, Stede directed his stare into Ed’s gorgeous brown eyes…they were so deep, how could one person’s eyes be so kind and their hands so soft and their smile so heartfelt? Even when Stede was making the biggest dumbest most disgusting fool of himself.

“Alright there?” said Ed. “Need something? Want to go outside for a minute, get some fresh air?”

Stede swallowed and gave a small shake of his head. He’d done such a good job of not making an idiot himself in front of Ed, hadn’t he? And now this, he was fucking up again just like he always fucked up. It was of absolutely no surprise that Stede barely had any friends throughout his school days.

Ed rubbed Stede’s hand.

“You’ve got a lot of rings,” said Ed. “Very pretty. Want to tell me about them? What’s this big red one?”

Stede breathed heavily, he tried to keep his thoughts all together. Ed was touching him, Ed’s hand felt nice, Ed was like a haunted house. Spirits behind the windows, but the architecture was beautiful.

“Oh, I got that one at a lovely little department store in the city,” said Stede. “It’s a garnet, I think? I had it custom-made. Little birthday present for myself. It really is quite beautiful.”

Ed nodded, his hand placed firmly over Stede’s. He could hardly imagine getting a custom-made ring for himself as a birthday present.

“Blue one’s nice,” said Ed. “Another birthday present?”

Stede’s head was clearing a little, he was focused on Ed’s eyes and Ed’s touch and just…Ed. He wasn’t getting laughed at, he wasn’t getting made fun of. Stede wasn’t bad at being queer, it wasn’t a competition and he wasn’t losing.

“Oh, um–no,” said Stede. “That one belonged to my late mother.”

Ed ran his thumb over Stede’s ring, touching the smooth blue gem at its center. Strange. He barely had anything of his mother’s, maybe it was better that way. But he couldn’t say that out loud, Stede didn’t really need to know any of that.

“Alright now?” said Ed.

Stede cleared his throat. He was alright, although he must have looked like shit. He didn’t get any sleep last night, he’d gotten ready in kind of a hurry which wasn’t like him at all, he’d just been excited at the prospect that someone like Blackbeard could know him and still want to go out for coffee with him.

He swallowed thickly, he tried not to stare too hard at Ed’s hand. Ed’s touch was buzzing through him, it was electric warm on his skin.

He took Ed’s hand in both of his and turned it over, studying Ed’s palm. Ed clearly took care of themself. Manicured fingernails polished pink, his skin was soft. He smelled like coconut-scented body wash.

“Oh, Ed, your fingers are lovely,” said Stede.

Ed grinned. That might have been the weirdest compliment he’d ever gotten. And that was such a deranged thing to tell someone on a first date. Deeply interesting, the most fascinating man Ed had ever met.

Stede’s gaze traveled up from Ed’s palm to his arm.

“I like your tattoos,” said Stede.

Ed blinked, caught off guard by the pivot of the conversation. But he was relaxed by Stede’s touch. Stede was looking at his tattoos, admiring them. Stede thought they were cool.

“What’s that one mean?” said Stede.

He was staring at the tentacle winding itself up Ed’s arm. He’d thought it was a snake at first, when he’d first laid eyes on it. But it was clearly the tentacle of a sea beast, Stede wondered what would motivate someone to get that tattooed on their arm. Coiled up and twisted and wrapping around Ed’s rather…interesting bicep that Stede was trying very hard not to gawk at, but…holy fuck, Ed’s arms were nice and Stede kind of wanted to lay his head down on them.

Ed traced the tattoo with her fingers, feeling out the trajectory of it.

“Oh, it’s–I guess it’s a reminder?” said Ed. “Of, uh, the sea. Grew up in a little seaside town sort of like this one.”

Stede’s entire face lit up, he put his palms on the table and crossed his legs.

“Do you like boats, Ed?” he said.

Ed picked up his coffee, he put his hand on the table and thought about it. Did he…like boats? It would probably be pretty rude to say no, wouldn’t it? Stede owned a boat…or maybe used to own one? Ed wasn’t clear. And Ed did kind of like boats, it was pretty difficult to hate them.

“I–I suppose I do,” said Ed.

Stede eagerly leaned forward.

“Did you know that Talwar-class frigates are a kind of stealth-guided missile frigate built for the Indian Navy by the Russian government?” said Stede.

Ed stared, their cup of coffee halfway to their mouth. What?

“Er, no, I–I didn’t know that?” said Ed.

Stede nodded enthusiastically, he was talking faster and he looked very much like he was about to uncoil himself like a spring out of his chair.

“Of course they were preceded by Brahmaputra-class frigates, which I think are far better designed,” said Stede.

Ed took a very long sip of his coffee. He wondered why the hell they were talking about frigates suddenly. And then he realized he didn’t care why, because Stede had this brightness in his eyes that Ed had never seen before and his voice was coiling itself gently into Ed’s chest. So…frigates. Fucking frigates.

“Oh yeah?” said Ed.

Stede sucked in a deep breath. Good heavens. Ed was actually letting him talk about frigates. When was the last time anyone let him talk about frigates? Mary certainly didn’t, she hated the ocean and everything associated with it.

“But of course this was an improvement over the Godavari class, as to be expected,” said Stede.

He talked about frigates for the next hour. Ed would occasionally chime in with questions and Stede would answer happily. No one had ever taken such an active interest in his ship talk. Usually if he roped Lucius into listening for more than fifteen minutes, Lucius’s eyes would glaze over after the first five and he’d be reaching for a phone-shaped distraction.

Ed’s phone buzzed and he picked it up. As he’d anticipated, it was a message from Fang. Apparently Izzy was ranting about something and also maybe about to get into a physical altercation with a customer? Again? The third time this month.

Stede was in the middle of describing a British warship in great detail when Ed finally interruppted him.

“Sorry, mate,” said Ed. “Izzy’s being a dick again. Better go take care of it, yeah?”

Stede gripped the edge of the table with both hands, he was breathing a little heavy and slightly lightheaded from talking so much. And his hot chocolate was cold. Stede hadn’t talked about ships for that long in ages.

“Oh, uh–alright,” said Stede. “This was….nice. I’d quite like to do it again.”

Ed grinned and stood up. He hadn’t zoned out, he’d taken in every word out of Stede’s mouth and he could have repeated it back. Stede made naval vessels sound so…interesting. He made Ed want to pick up a book and read about them, he wanted to get himself better informed before they talked again.

“Maybe I’ll stop by your cafe?” said Ed.

Stede shook his head, his cheeks warmed.

“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that,” said Stede. “It’s not, er–”

Ed leaned over, reaching across the table to touch Stede’s hand again. Stede’s heart fluttered, he stopped talking and just drank in Ed’s touch.

“I’ll fucking love it, I bet,” said Ed. “You’ve got scones?”

Stede nodded, his hand up against his chest.

“The best scones,” said Stede.

They exchanged phone numbers. And email addresses, even though no one had sent Ed an email that wasn’t business-related in over ten years.

“How’d it go?”

Izzy and Ed asked each other the same question at the same time, Izzy standing near the counter with his arms crossed and Ed walking through the front door.

Ed let out a hefty sigh, scanning her precious store for damages. This was why he couldn’t leave Izzy Hands in charge for more than an hour at a time. Could Izzy go more than sixty minutes without starting a fight? Ed didn’t think it was possible. He definitely hadn’t seen it.

The table in front of the listening station was knocked over. Very mild compared to the usual carnage. At least there was no spilled blood to be mopped up, Izzy hadn’t bitten off someone’s ear. Although despite Izzy’s many faults, Ed had never seen Izzy bite off someone’s ear unless they really really deserved it.

“What the fuck did you do, Iz?” said Ed.

Izzy bristled. What did he do? It wasn’t like he was starting fights on purpose. His time in prison had taught him not to take shit from anyone. And he’d also learned a bit about himself on the inside, the last pieces of his gender had fallen into place. Elizabeth had gone in, angry and scared. And Izzy Hands had come out, hardened from his time. 

“He was yelling at me, called me some nasty names,” said Izzy.

Ed sighed again, he picked up the knocked-over table.

“Then you should have taken him outside and then punched his fucking lights out,” said Ed. “No fights in my store, yeah? Bad for business. You know that, Iz.”

They couldn’t believe this needed to be explained again. They had a fucking policy for this kind of thing. Izzy could start any number of fights with customers, just not in the store.

Izzy put his hand on the counter. He knew the store policy. But what he was supposed to do when a twenty-something cornered him and started calling him names? Just let him? Izzy got quite enough of that when he was a teen and well into his adult life.

They’d all been under Hornigold’s thumb then, he managed the band and he’d never treated Izzy with any sort of respect. He’d never treated any of them with respect, he’d called them worse things than strangers on the street ever did.

“So how’d it go with Bonnet?” said Izzy.

Ed shrugged his shoulders.

“We talked about frigates,” he said.

Izzy blinked.

“Frigates?” said Izzy.

Ed nodded, a slightly dazed look on his face. They did, didn’t they? For a fucking hour. And Stede was the most adorable man on the planet, his eyes all lit up with glee as he talked about fucking frigates.

“Frigates,” said Ed.

He studied his right hand, he looked at his perfectly manicured nails and smiled.

They climbed up to the roof of the abandoned tire place, Jim and Ed.

Ed felt like she was sixteen again, he wanted to have all those experiences without the pain of everything that came before and after.

Ed sat on the edge, they hung their legs off. He came up there with Jim to smoke weed, it was their special place where the world couldn’t get at them. He’d needed those more when he was a teenager, but it was alright to have them now that he was middle-aged and the world had chipped so much of him away.

There was no weed-smoking today, Ed just needed to get away from Izzy and away from…thoughts. His first date in over twenty years and it actually went alright, he wasn’t quite off the high of that.

“How’d it go?” said Jim.

Ed kicked his legs, he shrugged.

“Ships,” said Ed. “I…think I need to start reading about ships.”

He already had some books picked out, he wanted to learn everything.

“How’s your boyfriend?” said Ed.

Jim snorted, they turned away and stuck their leg out over the edge. They’d been listening to a lot of Daryl Hall and John Oates lately, trying to ignite their inspiration. They weren’t a fan, but Oluwande liked them and that…meant something. It meant something for The Man with the Teal Earring taking on a life of his own, coming alive in the lyrics of Jim’s song that remained woefully unfinished.

“He’s not my–he’s fine,” said Jim. “He’s always fine.”

Were they really doing the “He’s not my boyfriend” thing at their age? Yes, yes they were. If Ed kept saying it, Jim was going to keep denying it. It was none of his business anyway, he just liked getting Jim riled up about it.

Jim reached into the cooler–they dragged that thing up there themself and they’d be damned if they weren’t getting some use out of it–and pulled out a can of beer. They offered it to Ed, he looked like he could use one.

Ed took the offered beer, she popped the tab. This wasn’t going to last, whatever the fuck it ended up being. This thing with Stede, this brand new thing that was making her blush.

“Sorry, I’m bad at this.”

Pete looked away for a minute, rubbing the back of his neck.

Lucius had been surprised, he wasn’t expecting Pete to just…show up at his apartment. Least of all because he didn’t think Pete knew where he lived. Lucius had told Pete where he lived, he just didn’t think Pete was paying attention.

“Uh, about that text you sent–,” he started.

Lucius blinked a few times. Oh fuck. He assumed Pete had deleted that and they were not talking about it. That was how it–thankfully–always seemed to go.

“I am so sorry,” said Lucius. “I was drunk. Very very drunk. And maybe thinking a little too much about, um–Stede and this new thing he has going on.”

Pete looked into Lucius’s face, struggling to make direct eye contact.

“Oh,” he said. “I–I kind of thought you were serious? That’s totally my bad. I get it.”

Lucius raised his eyebrow. Wait. Was Pete…not there to tell Lucius off, to give the standard “I’m flattered, but no thanks”and then everything would just be extremely awkward for the rest of their lives?

“Well,” said Lucius.

He playfully touched Pete’s sleeve, a big flirty smile on his face.

“I’m sure I could see about having something whittled,” said Lucius. “And I’m always in the mood to get some wood carved.”

Those were the worst pickup lines in history–Lucius wasn’t sure what that first one even meant–but Pete’s entire face lit up.

“How about we talk more over drinks?” said Lucius. “Tonight?”

Pete nodded enthusiastically, his mouth firmly shut as he tried extremely hard to not fuck this up by saying something stupid.

Lucius waved goodbye and gently shut the door, a big grin on his face. He fucking knew it. He’d seen the way Pete looked at him, those little glances. Of course all it took was a drunk text to tip Pete over the edge. Although in Lucius’s defense, he would have sent the exact same text if he was sober. Just with less spelling mistakes.

Stede sent Ed a text.

Are you awake?

Ed’s reply was almost instant, of course he hadn’t been sleeping.

Yeah.

Marvelous!

Stede texted him a picture of a ship. A seventeenth-century British vessel, by the looks of it.

Another quick reply from Ed.

Wow. That’s a nice one.

I know! Isn’t it beautiful?

It was a beautiful ship, Ed couldn’t deny that.

Gorgeous. Having filthy thoughts about it.

I would LOVE to ride on that thing! Wouldn’t you?

Ed grinned, he sat up in bed with the phone in his hands.

Bit of an expert on riding.

It took Stede a little bit longer to reply this time, Ed frowned. Fuck. Was that too much? Just…a little too vulgar? And out of nowhere too, Ed hadn’t really been thinking. They’d mostly been texting about ships, occasionally he’d drop song lyrics and Stede would guess the title.

Stede texted him a picture, a plate of food.

Lucius is teaching me how to cook!

Ed relaxed slightly.

Oh really? Looks delicious, mate.

Oh, that’s not mine. Pete made that.

Another picture of food, Ed stared at it for a few seconds before he replied.

Oh. That’s less good, yeah.

I’m sure it tastes alright! I followed the recipe.

There was a short pause.

Ed? Are you there?

Yeah.

Did I say something wrong?

Ed frowned, he bit his lip. Fuck. He really shouldn’t have said that. What the hell was wrong with him? What was he doing?

No, you’re fine. Look, I’m sorry.

About what?

The riding joke. I don’t know why I said it. I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable, yeah?

He waited anxiously, staring at his phone screen. When Stede’s reply came through, he felt that coil of fear in his chest untwist itself slightly.

Oh, you didn’t make me uncomfortable.

Really? You promise?

For that split second between typing his reply and sending it off, Ed had forgotten who Stede was. He’d forgotten that Stede wasn’t Izzy or Fang or Ivan or Jim or any of the other people Ed texted, the people he exchanged dirty jokes with. This probably wasn’t what Stede had been expecting or wanting out of a text conversation with Ed.

Really? You’re sure?

Yes! I was just a little surprised.

The coil of fear in Ed’s chest untwisted itself fully, he could breathe again.

I’ll try to stop.

No, it’s alright. You didn’t do anything.

And then–bizarrely–Stede sent him a picture of a dinghy.

Ed took a moment to formulate a reply, he was thrown off. Texting with Stede was…mildly chaotic.

Mate, that’s a dinghy. A small one.

A lovely little dinghy. It’s not the size that matters.

Ed blinked, it took him a second to realize that Stede had just made a fucking sex joke. A silly one, but definitely Stede’s try at a dirty joke.

Hilarious. You sent me a picture of a fucking dinghy just so you could make a dick joke?

It’s a good dinghy. Haven’t seen one like that, have you?

Ed hesitated, he wondered how far he could go with this. But technically Stede started it, he was just playing off what Stedewas doing.

I’ve seen quite a few dinghies actually.

Nice ones?

Ed read through Stede’s reply a few times, he wasn’t sure what Stede was getting at. He had some ideas about what Stede was getting at, he just wasn’t clear about whether or not he could run with them.

Most of them, yeah. That was an awful joke, by the way. The thing you said before.

I thought it was good! And you laughed!

Ed grinned. He did laugh, Stede was right about that.

Yeah, guess I did.

There was another long stretch of silence. Followed by another picture of food.

Ed replied quickly, he’d been about to ask if Stede had fallen asleep.

Did Lucius make that?

Yes!

Looks good. Do you think he’d make some for me if I came over?

I’m sure he’d love to! So you’re coming over then?

For Lucius’s cooking? Fuck yes. Ed had never sent a reply faster.

I’ll be there in twenty.

See you soon!

There was a short pause before Stede’s next message appeared.

Oh.

What?

Lucius. He said “It’s three in the fucking morning, I’m not cooking food”.

Ed let out a sigh. He should have seen that coming.

That’s unfortunate.

You can still come over! I’ll make hot chocolate!

Sounds good. Be there in twenty.

What about work? Don’t you have to open the record store today?

Haven’t you got a cafe to run?

Right.

A long pause before another message from Stede came through.

Hot chocolate then? With marshmallows and whipped cream.

Read my fucking mind.

Chapter Text

I’ve heard

Since I was younger

That oil and water don’t mix

They’re polar opposites

With a molecular rift you can’t fix

But I swear with all your burnt bridges

You could leech what’s caustic and find

A rudimentary lye

Some kinda miraculous bind

–Soap // The Oh Hellos

Ed stepped into The Revenge, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

He didn’t think he’d ever been in there before. Even when it was a clothing place or whatever the fuck it was before Stede turned it into a cafe. He’d passed it plenty of times, enough to notice when it was abandoned and then notice again when it had a pretty pink chalkboard sign out front. A chalkboard sign that mentioned scones. Well, The Revenge was in luck. Edward Teach loved scones.

Lucius came rushing up to Ed, a menu in his hands as he rattled off the usual greeting.

“Good morning sir and/or madam and/or other,” said Lucius. “Welcome to The Revenge. May I interest you in some–holy shit.”

Lucius interrupted himself, his mouth dropping open. He hadn’t really noticed the leather jacket or the hair at first. He just hadn’t expected to see Edward Teach in their pastel pink cafe. And only a few days after the coffee date, the coffee date that somehow went well.

Ed walked past Lucius and sat down at one of the tables, taking it all in. This place was fascinating. Everything was so cutesy and full to bursting with color. So much pink in one little cafe. And were those fucking fairy lights? A bulletin board with motivational quotes and drawings pinned up on it behind the counter? And a photo of a lighthouse?

Lucius plopped the menu down on the table. This was maybe good or maybe bad, depending on if Stede could keep it together.

Stede and Ed had been texting for a few days. Their text conversations mostly consisted of Stede talking about ships and Ed asking questions that spiraled into more ship talk and then eventually they’d both put their phones down at around three in the morning. Ed was losing sleep, but it was fucking worth it.

Stede appeared from the back. He’d been talking to Roach about some new recipes, he’d discovered this wonderful thing called “tarte tatin” and he was wondering if Roach could recreate it in their kitchen. Roach was up for the challenge, Stede was up for making their menu a little more French.

“Oh, Lucius, can you please–Ed?!” said Stede.

He walked quickly over to Ed’s table, his little white shoes with the square heels clacking against the floor.

Lucius rolled his eyes. So not keeping it together then?

Ed’s confidence cracked a bit down the middle, he wondered if perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. He did want to spend time with Stede, he really did, but…Stede flew at him with all the heat and energy of a freshly-birthed star, he thought his fingertips might scorch if he reached out to touch Stede’s face.

“Earrings?” he said.

Stede blushed. Ed had noticed. The gorgeous blue gemstones hanging from his ears. He got them off some kind of online shop that Lucius recommended, they were just too pretty for him to pass up. But they must have looked silly, Stede thought.

“I thought yours were pretty cool,” said Stede.

Ed motioned Stede closer.

“Can I…?” he said.

Stede moved his head closer to Ed’s face, turning to the side. A thrill went through his body when Ed’s hand brushed against the earring.

“You look fucking beautiful,” said Ed.

Too beautiful for someone like me, Ed added to herself. Too beautiful for me to even touch.

Stede smiled nervously, he knew Ed was just saying that to make him feel better.

“Oh, no, they look stupid,” said Stede.

Ed traced their finger down the side of Stede’s face. Fuck, Stede looked like an angel. With his hair and his clothes and now those earrings and…fuck. They’d literally done nothing but text back and forth about ships last night. And now Ed thought she was in love with frigates, knowing so much about them. And he was introducing Stede to a broader spectrum of musical artists, they were exchanging album titles.

“No they don’t,” said Ed. “I would have said.”

Stede backed away, patting both his cheeks. That was easy for Ed to say. Ed with his sexy leather pants and wonderful hair and his eyes like tide pools. Ed could pull off anything.

“Um, we have scones, if you want them,” said Stede.

He had Lucius bring out a plate of freshly-baked blueberry scones and a cup of coffee.

Ed picked up a scone, his eyebrows jumping up his forehead as he turned it over in his hand. What even was all this? The scones smelled like heaven and the coffee was in some kind of fancy cup that looked like it was from the eighteenth-century.

“What’s this?” said Ed.

He was holding up the cup of coffee.

Stede sat down across from Ed. The Revenge was still in its experimental phase, despite having been open for weeks. He was getting the menu sorted out, Lucius kept telling him that French wasn’t really in the vibe of this place. But Stede wanted a varied menu, he wanted French and Japanese and Indian and…everything.

“That’s a café au lait,” said Stede. “Very French.”

Ed took a small little sip of his coffee. Café au lait. French. Fascinating Stede Bonnet and his fucking French coffee.

“How is it?” said Stede.

Ed put the cup down on the table, feeling very much like they got knocked into space. How was Stede doing this? He was wonderful, Stede was absolutely wonderful. Why was Stede being so nice to him?

“I love it,” said Ed. “Everything about it. You’re a fucking genius, mate. Fucking genius.”

Ed had never seen a person glow before. Stede looked like he was in serious danger of combusting with happiness. Ed wondered if he should be concerned that Stede was almost melting into Ed’s words as if no one had ever said anything like that to him before. Stede probably got compliments all the time. Real compliments, not the kind of stuff that people threw at Ed when they were drunk-flirting with him. She was really only worth drunk-flirting, Ed thought.

Ed bit into the scone to distract himself. Looking at Stede’s face made him a little too happy and he was afraid he might start grinning.

Lucius was pretending to wipe down the counter, not-so-discreetly watching Stede and Ed’s awkward middle-aged flirting.

Roach was walking by with a tray of pastries. Lucius reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, his eyes still trained on Ed and Stede.

“Please tell me you’re seeing this,” said Lucius.

Stede was talking about dolphins. Barely pausing to take a breath as he rattled off the most obscure bits of dolphin anatomy. And Ed was running his fingers down Stede’s arm, visibly enamored and caught on every single word out of Stede’s mouth.

“Should we be…doing something?” said Roach. “Or is this a let it happen kind of situation?”

Lucius leaned over the counter, propping up his head on his fists.

“Let’s just see where this goes,” said Lucius.

Stede continued on his long tangent.

“…….which is why they’re known as bottle-nosed,” he was saying.

He took a very deep breath and coughed. Good heavens. He was getting lightheaded. Was the room supposed to be…spinning? No, probably not.

Ed touched Stede’s wrist, his face filled with concern.

“Breathe, mate,” said Ed.

Stede coughed again. Oh. Right. He forgot to breathe for a minute there, so entranced with what he was saying.

“Oh dear,” said Stede. “How long was that?”

Ed shrugged his shoulders.

“About two hours?” said Ed.

Stede blushed. Oh god. Had they really been sitting there for two hours, eating scones and drinking their coffee and talking about dolphins? Well, Stede had been talking about dolphins. Ed had been nodding and listening and asking questions.

“I’m sorry,” said Stede. “I didn’t even ask about your day.”

He stared at his lap, biting his bottom lip. He did it again, didn’t he? The thing Lucius told him he absolutely musn’t do. Two fucking hours. And Ed had been sitting there politely for that entire time, listening to a bunch of stuff about dolphins they probably didn’t even care about.

Ed laughed, swiping a loose strand of hair out of her face. He’d read through all those books about ships, he thought he knew more about maritime history than he should have. But he preferred having Stede talk to him and text him about it.

“I could tell you all about it, if you’d like,” said Ed. “Over drinks maybe? I know a place.”

Stede clasped his hands together, smiling radiantly.

“Oh, I’d like that,” said Stede. “I’ll have Lucius close up early. And we can go out and get…drinks. Yes, drinks. Lovely.”

He shoved his chair back and stood up, trying to play it cool. Oh god. What was he going to wear? What did people wear when they went out for drinks?

Ed–also trying to play it cool–stood up and nodded.

“See you tonight then,” said Ed. “For drinks.”

He turned and left, waving goodbye over his shoulder. He was already having ideas about what he was going to change into. Something perfect. Something beautiful. Something that was going to blow Stede’s mind.

Stede waited until the door swung shut. Then he took a deep breath, whirled around, and sprinted over to the counter.

“He wants to get drinks,” said Stede.

Lucius blinked, circling the cloth in his hand around one spot on the counter. That spot must have been extremely filthy, given that he’d been scrubbing it for the past ten minutes.

“Okay?” said Lucius.

Stede grabbed the counter, his eyes filled with panic. Ed had introduced him to this new band–new to him–called My Chemical Romance and Stede had been listening to one of their albums non-stop. He was feeling very much like a teenager, the music and the feelings of intense stress over going places with Ed.

“Good heavens, what should I wear?” said Stede.

Lucius sighed. Nothing could ever be easy with Stede, could it?

“I don’t think it matters really,” said Lucius. “We went out for drinks last night and it wasn’t anything special. We didn’t get dressed up.”

Stede frowned, his palms on the counter.

“We?” he said.

Lucius started scrubbing another random spot on the counter. Oh fuck. Why did he say that? Pete was going to be pissed at him, probably Roach too.

“Pete, Roach, Sven, and me,” said Lucius.

Stede leaned back slightly, his hands still on the counter and his brow furrowed.

“Why, um–why wasn’t I invited?” said Stede.

Lucius looked away and played with the scarf around his neck. In his defense, he’d asked. He’d asked if Stede could maybe come. He’d tried, no one could say he didn’t try. It was just…Stede was their boss. And that sounded super fucking awkward, didn’t it? Drinking with their boss, him and Pete and Roach and Sven. But it was a tradition, going out for drinks after work at least once a week. Going to Jackie’s together, having a good time.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have liked it,” said Lucius. “It was very, uh–dirty. Just the bar place we were in. Filthy. And there were, uh, bugs. Lots of bugs and…things.”

He was very much lying, Jackie kept one of the cleanest bars in town. Dingy and kind of morose, but clean.

Stede nodded.

“Maybe next time?” said Stede.

Lucius thought about what absolute dicks Pete and Roach were going to be if Lucius went over their heads about this. And if Lucius was being honest, having their boss out with them was going to drag down the whole vibe. Half of their conversations were complaining about Stede. That stupid vintage coffee machine that Stede insisted on buying, it had caught on fire at least five times in the last week. Stede asking if they could put up a fucking chandelier and completely ignoring Lucius when he told him they absolutely could not. Stede wanting to write “Delicious authentic cream pies served here!” on the sign outside and Lucius having to explain why that was absolutely not what they should be advertising. There were cream pies–the actual dessert–on the menu, another thing that Lucius had been skeptical about and Stede had just ignored him. Again.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Lucius.

Stede walked away, wringing his hands and thinking intensely about which of his shirts just screamed “casual fun”.

“This is so fucking stupid.”

Ed sighed. Apparently Izzy’s new job was dispensing useless commentary on every little thing he did. Maybe he should just stop telling Izzy things? Would that make his life easier?

“You’ll like him, Iz,” said Ed.

Ed was in front of the record store waiting for Stede. Izzy was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.

Izzy leaned against the door frame.

“Do I look okay?” said Ed.

Izzy struggled for a second, his eyes flitting over every detail of Ed’s outfit and hair. Back in the day, he’d given Ed a box full of his old clothes. It kind of hurt still seeing Ed wear them. Not the clothes themselves–Izzy had gotten over that a long time ago–but just seeing Ed in them. He looked better than Izzy ever had.

“It’s alright, I suppose,” said Izzy. “Suits you.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. It was going to be a long depressing night at Queen Anne Records. Izzy wondered why Ed kept doing this, why Ed kept…leaving him.

The ridiculous man himself arrived a few minutes later, rushing and breathless.

“So sorry!” said Stede. “I’m quite late, aren’t I?”

Izzy stared, his eyebrows darting up his forehead. Late? He was surprised Stede had arrived at all, running in those little cutesy shoes of his. And was he wearing a fucking…white shirt with rainbow suspenders and a pink bowtie? Or was Izzy hallucinating?

“What the fuck?” said Izzy.

Stede swiveled his attention over to Izzy, scrunching up his nose in annoyance and bristling at the tone of Izzy’s voice.

“Who is this guy?” said Stede.

Izzy narrowed his eyes, not quite sure why Stede was staring at him like that. Sure, Izzy was dressed in all black and he had on his boots and various piercings in his ears, but that was hardly stare-worthy. Had Stede never seen a goth before, was that it?

“Izzy,” said Ed. “He did drums for me back in the day. Helps me run things at the store. He wanted to meet you.”

Stede was about to ask why in god’s name Ed would agree to that, but he was distracted by what Ed was wearing. He hadn’t noticed it at first, too caught up in being late and Ed possibly deciding he didn’t want anything to do with Stede anymore after their two hour talk.

Ed was wearing a dress. A bright ankle-length bubblegum pink tulle gown. His fingernails were polished purple and he had on a pair of black lace-up boots to complete the look.

“Ed, you look stunning,” said Stede.

Ed reached over and ran his fingers down Stede’s arm. Well, if she was going to feel her love life cut and bleeding again….and what else could it be? Stede was a fine thing and Ed wasn’t meant for fine things, he might break apart like a porcelain cup if Ed touched him enough. But if they were both going to shatter in each others’ arms, Ed at least wanted to look gorgeous. She wanted her shards to sparkle hot like diamonds. She wanted this night to be remembered.

“Thanks,” said Ed. “You look fucking amazing.”

Izzy rolled his eyes. He couldn’t fathom how Ed was falling for this. Hadn’t they met enough rich pricks back in the day? Hadn’t they learned their lesson? Hadn’t Ed especially learned, he’d gotten stabbed–metaphorically and literally–enough times?

Ed and Stede left together, Stede holding onto Ed’s arm as they walked away.

Lucius walked into the record store, rubbing his arms to warm up. He was wearing a mesh shirt he grabbed out of Stede’s closet, because when was Stede ever going to wear a fucking mesh shirt and why did he even have one?

Fortunately, the record store wasn’t closed yet. Five minutes. In and out. Lucius promised Pete he’d be back quick and they’d continue what they were doing.

Izzy walked out of the back room with a box of records in his arms, grumbling to himself. For fuck’s sake, why did Ed have to be off tonight? They had orders to deal with and cleaning to do and about five hundred other fucking things that Izzy could not handle on his own. Ivan and Fang were there, but Izzy wanted Edward.

Lucius raised his eyebrow at the fifty-something goth with crosses hanging from his ears, multiple eyebrow piercings, black eyeshadow. Gray shirt with trumpeted sleeves, black vest with silver buttons, gray pants.

“Cheerful,” said Lucius. “Is that just…your whole vibe you’ve got going on?”

Izzy stopped, dropping the box onto a shelf and shooting a look of annoyance at Lucius.

“What the fuck do you want?” said Izzy.

Of course he knew Lucius. Lucius worked at the cafe with that rich twat Stede. But from what Izzy could tell, Lucius wasn’t a rich twat. Slightly well-off family maybe. So just a regular twat.

“Oh, I was–,” Lucius started.

Izzy picked up the box and shoved it into Lucius’s arms. Honestly? He didn’t care. He was swamped to hell and back, he had a splitting headache. Ivan and Fang were pulling their weight as best they could, but they hardly ever listened to Izzy. Ed said it was because Izzy was too harsh, because he yelled a lot. But what was Izzy supposed to do if not yell?

“Make yourself fucking useful,” said Izzy.

Lucius held the box against his chest, blinking in confusion.

“Um, I was actually, uh–getting something?” said Lucius. “For, uh, Pete? He’s got this album on hold and–”

Izzy was already walking away, shouting at Ivan and Fang about something.

Lucius delicately placed the box on the nearest shelf, nudging it into place and backing away from it like it might be radioactive. Izzy was clearly in some kind of mood and Lucius wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about it.

He walked into the back room, shaking his head. Lucius didn’t have time to speculate about who had pissed in Izzy’s coffee. He knew Ed kept everything on hold in an unlocked glass cabinet in the back. It wasn’t stealing if Lucius left money and a note behind.

Lucius opened up the cabinet and grabbed the record. Of course Pete was a massive White Stripes fan. It was the second thing he ever brought up about himself, directly after he mentioned playing bass for Blackbeard.

“What are you doing in here?”

Lucius turned around quickly, holding the record up against his chest. Oh crap.

Fang was standing in the doorway with an empty box and a confused expression. He was moderately less goth than Izzy, but he was dressed like he shopped exclusively at stores frequented by edgy teenagers. Loose-fitting black shirt with the sleeves torn off, a glittery belt looped through his ripped black jeans.

Lucius put on his most charming smile, leaning forward slightly and holding the record tighter.

“So sorry,” said Lucius. “I was just, uh–getting something. Out of the cabinet. But I guess I’ll be, er–leaving.”

Fang was still in the doorway. And he looked like he was about to call Izzy over, which was absolutely not in Lucius’s best interest. Izzy was going to be a dick about this, just like he was a dick about everything else and Lucius was probably going to get shouted at over something that wasn’t even a big deal.

Lucius tilted his head to the side, he gave Fang a quick study.

“Have you ever been photographed?” said Lucius.

Fang blushed, caught off guard by the question.

“Me?” he said.

Lucius put the record down on a nearby table. Well, he had some time to spare. And he was sorry to be missing out on his evening plans, which included drinking wine while Pete put together a bookcase for him and then watching history documentaries until they both fell asleep on the couch.

The lighting wasn’t bad, Lucius thought to himself as opened his camera bag and started getting everything set up. A bit moody, but Lucius could work with that.

Fang was a receptive model. Hesitant and shy at first, but he warmed up to the lens very fast. He took Lucius’s instruction easily, leaning up against the table and just being his natural self.

Exhausted and angry, Izzy emerged into the main area to find the only other employees very much not working and an abandoned box of records waiting to be sorted. It was bad enough that Ed was off on a date with some wealthy prick, but now this?

Ed had told Izzy that he absolutely was not allowed to fire people, but Izzy was thinking of doing it anyway. But if he fired Ivan and Fang, he’d be left alone while Ed was spent time with his new fixation.

Lucius was in the back room with Fang, taking some rather suggestive fully clothed photos while Ivan stood by the door and watched. Izzy’s sudden arrival brought all of that to a screeching halt, Lucius holding his camera and Fang leaning up against the table.

“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you useless fuckers?” Izzy shouted.

Ivan and Fang scampered out of the room, Ivan reaching to grab Fang’s shoulder as they both fled. Ed had this store policy about not being rude to his employees, even when they weren’t doing their jobs correctly. It was Izzy who always yelled, Izzy who broke Ed’s rules.

Lucius shoved his camera back into his bag. About time for him to get going, wasn’t it?

Izzy was blocking the doorway. Lucius always thought goths were cool under all that makeup and dark clothing, but apparently that didn’t apply to Izzy Hands.

“I’d better be going,” said Lucius. “Urgent, uh–cafe stuff.”

Izzy stepped further into the room, putting himself in Lucius’s personal space. He was about a head shorter than Lucius and far less intimidating than he wanted to be. Maybe because Lucius could tell Izzy wasn’t actually pissed about what was happening in the store? Izzy was clearly angry about Ed’s little date with Stede and he was taking it out on everyone.

“Do you think you’re being cute, Spriggs?” he said.

Lucius picked up his phone and slipped it into his pocket, shrugging his shoulders.

“I think I’m a five out of ten,” said Lucius. “And Fang seems to like me, so…”

Izzy didn’t take the time to process what Lucius said and he didn’t care either way. This was his fucking store. Or at least when Ed wasn’t around. Lucius wasn’t allowed to just come waltzing in and with his mesh shirt and his shorts and his fancy-pants camera.

“When Edward finds out–,” Izzy started.

Lucius smiled. Izzy was close to him and he was trying so fucking hard to make Lucius afraid and it just wasn’t working out. Lucius had dealt with bullies before. His whole life had been dealing with bullies.

“Oh, Izzy,” said Lucius. “Edward’s not going to care. And you’re not my boss.”

Izzy sucked his teeth. Lucius was right, because when did Ed ever give a care about this kind of thing? Ed had no love for rules, he was an active planner and his head was always somewhere.

Lucius tilted his head to the side and gave Izzy’s face a study. From certain angles, Izzy looked like an old painting of a Victorian-era headmaster or a seventeenth-century vampire. And he was attractive in an old man kind of way, although clearly a miserable old bastard under all that goth. And misery was always in lust, always searching for company. Surely it was taking Izzy from the inside, this rot?

“Have you ever thought about modeling?” said Lucius.

Izzy blinked, glancing at Lucius’s lips for a split second. He inhaled a slightly sharp breath that quivered.

“Fuck off,” he said.

He turned and left the room.

Lucius grinned. So that was a big no on the modeling thing? An absolute waste. Izzy seemed like the kind of person who really could have found himself behind Lucius’s lens.

Stede was drunk. He had to be, because he’d inhaled more alcohol in the past hour than he ever had in probably his entire life. Completely his own fault. The place just kept having cocktails and he kept having to try them, because what was the point of a cocktail menu if you didn’t give every single one an experimental sip?

There’d been a band playing at Jackie’s tonight, some kind of musical act. Far removed from The Kraken, but the music was swimming joyful laps around Stede’s head.

Stede was leaning against Ed’s side as they walked. Ed wasn’t sure whose place they were going to. His? Probably his. It was closer.

“You’re a fucking maniac,” said Ed.

Stede blinked a few stars out of his eyes, patting Ed’s hand.

“You’re so pretty, Ed,” said Stede. “Like an eighteenth-century warship.”

Ed laughed, unsure what the hell that was supposed to mean. But coming from Stede, it had to be a compliment. Stede had been saying wonderfully nice things to him all night and Ed wasn’t sure how to take any of it. Stede couldn’t be serious, he couldn’t mean any of that. Ed was letting his hopes lift, he really needed to get control over that.

“You don’t mean that,” said Ed.

Stede stopped in his tracks, reaching over to grab Ed’s hand in both of his.

“Oh, I do!” said Stede. “I’ve been thinking about you more than ships, Ed. Isn’t that strange? I don’t think I’ve ever thought about anyone more than ships.”

Ed stared, caught off guard. He wasn’t prepared for the sincerity in Stede’s voice when he made that shocking proclamation, the way Stede was looking at him like he was some kind of unearthly beauty. But he was probably just drunk. They both were, Stede five times more than Ed.

“That’s–something,” said Ed.

Stede held Ed’s hand up to his face and kissed his knuckle.

“Oh, Ed,” said Stede. “I always wanted to be a pirate. Have I told you that? I suppose that’s why I like ships and marine life so much.”

Ed was barely listening, a little distracted by the fact that Stede had just kissed his knuckle and was now talking about ships and being a pirate as if nothing had happened. This man was going to be the death of Edward Teach.

Stede sighed, squeezing Ed’s hand.

“I wish I was like you,” said Stede. “A dress. A pink dress. You’re so brave and confident and hot and–oh, it’s really not fair. I’d give anything to be like that.”

It was university all over again, pining over his picture of Blackbeard. He bought himself a pair of leather pants, he got his ears pierced, he even thought of growing his hair out. But he looked in the mirror and saw how ridiculous the pants looked, how out of place those silver studs in his ears felt, how his shapely angelic hair didn’t fit with the image. He’d never be Blackbeard, he’d always be sad little Baby Bonnet.

“Hey,” said Ed. “Want to do something really weird?”

Stede nodded enthusiastically, still holding onto Ed’s hand.

They were both a little too drunk and they probably should have been heading home to sleep it off. But Ed had a better idea and nothing was going to stop her.

They ducked behind a building and swapped clothes, Stede putting on Ed’s pink dress and Ed changing into Stede’s shirt and pants. Plus the bowtie and suspenders, couldn’t forget those.

Ed put their hands on the front of Stede’s shirt, feeling the material. It was more comfortable than he thought it would be.

Stede buried his hands in the texture of Ed’s dress. He’d expected to feel…different. Guilty maybe? Mortified, because what was he doing in a fucking dress as if that was a normal and okay thing? His father would have been furious. There were several things about this situation that would have raised his late father’s blood pressure. And to be perfectly honest, Stede didn’t care. He hoped his homophoic transphobic racist father was combusting in his grave about his one and only son wearing a fucking pink dress and being on a date with Edward Teach.

“Are you alright?” said Ed.

Stede’s lower lip trembled. He wanted to cry and he didn’t even know why.

“Can we go to the beach?” said Stede. “It’s so beautiful at night and I–I feel like going.”

Ed recognized that home was where they needed to be, both wearing each others’ clothes. But Stede was looking at him in that way only Stede could look and Ed realized he was completely fucked. If Stede had asked Ed to run away and become pirates with him, Ed would have done it in a heartbeat. What the hell is happening? Ed found himself wondering. What’s he done to me?

They went to the beach, stumbling and laughing and Stede holding onto Ed for support.

To Stede’s credit, it was beautiful. And walking along the beach was helping clear Ed’s mind.

“Do you have any dreams, Ed?” said Stede.

Ed glanced at Stede and wondered if it was a little too early to start talking about dreams. Wasn’t that usually a third or fourth date kind of thing?

“I don’t know,” said Ed. “Being Blackbeard was my dream, but it got so fucking boring. I was some kind of legend and bored out of my fucking skull.”

Stede hiccupped. Oh. Well…that was a little bit shocking. All those magazine interviews made it sound as if Blackbeard was thriving. And fuck, Stede wished he could say the same about himself. School had been miserable. Plodding through classes, business and some kind of fucking theater degree that he was never going to use.

“Surely you’ve had other dreams though?” said Stede.

Ed wrapped their arm around Stede’s shoulders.

“Oh, loads,” said Ed. “I wanted to be a pirate, if you can believe that.”

Stede let out a delighted gasp, leaning into Ed’s side.

“You too?” said Stede. “I hadn’t pegged you for a pirate person, Ed. We’re both people of adventure, aren’t we? Yearning for the open sea.”

Ed sighed. He hadn’t been yearning for the open sea. She was yearning to escape her shitty life and becoming a pirate seemed like the best option. He’d just been born a few centuries too late for that.

“We could have been pirates together,” said Ed. “Just you and me. We could have built a ship, had a crew. Plundered and pillaged.”

Why did the thought of having their own ship and sailing the open seas make him so fucking happy? If it was with Stede, if he was plundering and pillaging with Stede. He could have pulled himself into Stede’s touch and just lived there.

Stede leaned his head against Ed’s shoulder.

“While we’re on the topic of ships,” said Stede.

And because Stede was never too drunk to not ramble about ships, he spent the next forty minutes talking about eighteenth-century warships while Ed listened intently.

Stede woke up sprawled out on his couch. He was still wearing Ed’s pink dress and his skull was splitting in two with a throbbing headache.

Lucius walked past, a cup of coffee in his hand and a grin on his face.

“Fun night?” he said.

Stede rubbed his temple, his hand bunched up in the silky material of Ed’s dress. He had some blurry memories of Ed taking him home, of Ed practically carrying Stede into the apartment, of Ed settling him on the couch and then leaving.

“Oh fuck,” said Stede. “An eighteenth-century warship.”

Lucius raised his eyebrow, sipping his coffee. Was that a…euphemism? Lucius decided not to ask.

Chapter Text

I’m sure in her you’ll find

The sanctuary

And the world

The world turns around

And the world, and the world

The world drags me down

–She Sells Sanctuary // The Cults

“Stepping out for a while. That alright, Iz?”

Izzy blinked, holding an empty record case in his hands. No, that was not alright. It was the middle of the fucking day and they had customers and Izzy knew exactly where Ed was going and…

Ed was already out the door, heading for The Revenge and cheerfully oblivious to the look of hopeless rage on Izzy’s face. Not that Ed would have cared. Nothing was going to stop him from being insufferable about Stede today.

They’d texted back and forth all last night, Stede quizzing Ed about marine life and Ed quizzing Stede about David Bowie lyrics. They were both running in first place in those respective topics, Ed knew quite a few obscure facts about the ocean and Stede had listened to almost every David Bowie album in quick succession at Ed’s request.

Stede was standing behind the counter, he was wearing a blue cardigan and matching blue pants.

“Ed!” said Stede.

He waved excitedly in Ed’s direction. He’d been hoping Ed would stop by. It had been a few days since the drinking incident. He hadn’t gotten drunk like that since the night he left his family and torpedoed his own marriage with one of the least sensitive emails he had ever composed in his entire life. And Stede had sent many insensitive texts.

Stede’s smile vanished, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Good heavens, Ed,” said Stede. “What happened to your hand?”

Ed glanced at his hand and blinked. Oh. The reason he’d been in such a hurry to leave before Izzy could open his mouth and say anything about it. It wasn’t that Ed thought Izzy would be pissed. Mostly because Izzy was in a perpetual state of pissed and Ed couldn’t have done too much about it.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Ed.

Stede gently took Ed’s hand in his own, he winced at the damage.

“You’re all cut up,” said Stede.

He took Ed into the kitchen to get him patched up. They had medical supplies on hand, Roach injured himself and other people in the kitchen quite frequently.

Stede knelt in front of Ed, he rolled a bandage around Ed’s hand. He’d never done this before, getting a wound patched up. And he was quite squeamish about blood, but he was holding together for Ed’s sake.

“Really, Ed, you need to be more careful,” said Stede.

Ed blinked. He…actually didn’t think of that. They didn’t think for a second that Stede would be upset about something happening to them. Because Ed wasn’t Blackbeard anymore and everyone had only ever cared about what happened to Blackbeard. They cared about him falling off stage and fucking up his knee because it was Blackbeard’s body he was fucking up. No one gave a damn about Ed’s knee or Ed’s headache.

“It’s alright,” said Ed. “It’s just been a while since I had a knife fight. Bit rusty, yeah?”

Stede nodded in agreement, taking a moment to process what Ed had just said.

“I’m sorry?” he said. “A knife fight?”

Ed raised her eyebrows. Wait, did they not have knife fights back in….wherever Stede was from?

“Yeah?” said Ed. “It’s..a fight. With knives.”

He let out a heavy sigh. Jim had come into the record store earlier and asked if he was up for knife fighting, they hadn’t done it in ages. And Ed couldn’t say no because what kind of fucking person turned down a knife fight? It was a nice break in the monotony, probably more mentally stimulating than smoking weed on the roof of the tire place or settling workplace disputes.

“Oh,” said Stede. “Is that–is that safe? Fighting with knives? Don’t you get, uh..stabbed?”

Ed shrugged. Well, that was inevitable. Who hadn’t gotten near-fatally stabbed at least once in their life?

“A little bit, yeah,” said Ed.

Stede stood up, he held the roll of bandages in one hand.

“And these, er–knife fights,” said Stede. “Where do they happen? Is there a, uh..knife fighting place?”

Ed stared at his palm, rubbing his finger along the bandage. Stede had patched him up carefully, hardly anyone was carefulwith Edward Teach. Jack had liked to throw him, to shove his back against the wall almost hard enough to crack. He’d left rivets in Ed’s skin, his fingernails dug in to leave marks on Ed’s shoulders. No tenderness, no romance, just taking. Teeth and fingernails and wild abandon. And fighting with knives.

“Behind the record store mostly,” said Ed. “That’s where me and Jim like to do it.”

Stede put the roll of bandages down.

“I would love to attend,” said Stede. “It sounds delightful. I mean, if you’re into it, it must be.”

Ed’s eyebrows darted up his forehead. Was Stede…inviting himself to watch Ed knife fight? And why the hell was Ed getting a little hot and bothered about it, as if that was the sexiest thing they’d ever heard?

“If you want to,” said Ed.

Jim twirled the knife in their hand.

Ed wanted a rematch. And a rematch he was going to get, because Jim never backed down from a challenge. If Ed was so eager to lose a finger, Jim was more than happy to provide.

Jim just didn’t understand why Stede had to be there. They were okay with Pete and Roach and Izzy, but Stede? The guy was wearing a frilly pink shirt to a fucking knife fight. Jim had never bullied anyone in their life, yet they so badly wanted to stuff Stede into a locker.

Izzy had his arms crossed. Izzy had puzzled out what was going on by himself and he was only allowing it because he had no earthly right to intervene. And…he wasn’t just talking about the knife fight, he couldn’t have really cared about the knife fight. The three of them used to knife fight all the time when they were kids, Izzy and Jack and Ed.

Ed spun the knife in her hand.

“Standard rules,” said Ed. “No below the belt, alright? No stabbing me in the balls.”

Jim rolled their eyes. Of course no below the belt, they’d both learned a lesson about that early on. There needed to be guidelines.

“Okay, fine,” said Jim. “Ready?”

Ed glanced at Izzy, then looked at Stede.

Stede did a little wave in Ed’s direction. He wasn’t big on the stabbing part, but he’d come there to support Ed and that was what he was going to do.

“Ready?” said Jim again.

Ed nodded, he was more than ready.

Ed’s first lunge was clumsy and Jim deflected it easily. But they kept their guard up, circling with their knife poised. Jim wasn’t going easy just because Ed clearly wanted to impress his fucking boyfriend.

Ed’s next attempt was more serious and she almost grazed Jim’s shoulder.

Jim dodged expertly and counter-attacked, cutting the underside of Ed’s arm.

Ed sucked in a sharp breath. Fuck. Sure, she was rusty but….fucking hell. That hurt. And it had only been about five minutes, she was already in serious danger of tapping out.

Jim laughed, spinning their knife around. Of course Ed was rusty, Jim did this almost every fucking day. It was a nice break from their day job at the hairdressing place. There wasn’t a lot of stabbing to be done in that, Jim hardly ever brandished their scissors for anything except a quick trim. And song-writing, sometimes writing songs made Jim want to go out and stab a tree just to feel like themself again.

“Done?” said Jim.

Ed shook her head. Sorry, not getting off that easy.

“I’m fine,” said Ed. “Barely felt it.”

Stede leaned towards Roach, a concerned look on his face.

“Is this, er–normal for a knife fight?” he said.

Roach had his eyes on Jim and Ed, watching them circle each other. He was meant to be helping John and Frenchie plan a dinner party, he’d canceled because this was more important. And his specific skills might be needed, Roach was again having regrets about dropping out of medical school and also euphoria that he could put what he learned to good use.

“They’re usually bleeding all over the place by now,” he said.

Stede shot his gaze back over to Ed and Jim.

“Oh, well–that’s–that’s not good,” said Stede.

Another attempt from Ed, this time getting results. He slashed one of Jim’s fingers, almost grazed their knuckle. He grinned at Jim’s outraged hiss of breath.

“Done?” he said.

Jim rubbed where the knife had cut them. They thought Ed might loosen up a little. But in typical Ed fashion, he didn’t know when to quit.

“Barely felt it,” they said.

The two of them did an exchange for a few minutes, Jim leaving brand new cuts across Ed’s arms and hands and Ed leaving brand new cuts along Jim’s fingers. They were playing with each other, holding until one or the other tapped out. Of course Jim wasn’t tapping out because they would rather get stabbed to death than admit defeat. And Ed wasn’t tapping out because they didn’t want to make an idiot of themself in front of Stede.

Ed clutched his hand to his chest and hissed out a pained breath. Alright, maybe some tapping out was in order. Fuck, that hurt.

“Draw?” he said.

Jim narrowed their eyes, holding onto their own bleeding hand. Oluwande was going to be annoyed. Jim needed to think up a good excuse and their head wasn’t in the best place for that.

“Fine,” said Jim. “Draw.”

Stede clapped his hands together.

“Wonderful!” said Stede. “Good work, you two! Good work with the, uh–stabbing each other. Love a good stabbing.”

Ed was slightly woozy from being stabbed repeatedly, but they were grinning. A technical win was still a win.

Stede stepped forward.

“I’d like to give it a try,” said Stede.

Pete and Roach glanced at each other. Both of them had done knife fights before, neither of them had ever bested Jim.

“Are you, uh–sure about that?” said Roach.

Stede flapped his hand at Roach impatiently.

“It can’t be that tough,” said Stede. “I believe I’ve got the basics down.”

Jim gave Stede a quick study. He was surprisingly built under those clothes, but that didn’t really matter in a fucking knife fight. And had he ever stabbed anyone? Jim was sure Stede had never stabbed anyone.

Izzy stepped forward. He’d been quiet on the sidelines, watching the fight play out and biting his tongue so hard he was afraid he might rip it off with his teeth.

“I’ll take him,” said Izzy.

He took the knife out of Jim’s hand. He was getting completely sick of Stede fucking Bonnet. Maybe stabbing him would alleviate some of that frustration? And maybe also knock some sense into Ed?

Jim moved to the sidelines. They weren’t sure what kind of weird thing was happening between Stede, Ed, and Izzy, but they wanted no part in it. Between Jim, Frenchie, Ed, and Izzy, it was only the four of them. The only trans people in town, as far as any of them knew. Jim tolerated Izzy, keeping him at spear’s length and not quite understanding why Ed put up with him.

Ed held up his hand, standing between Izzy and Stede. She was having a flashback, she was recalling thrown plates and her mother screaming and sometimes Ed thought she looked like her mother when she shaved her face and…

“Izzy, you are not–,” he started.

But Stede was gently taking the knife out of Ed’s hand, his gaze focused on Izzy. He’d had quite enough of Izzy Hands and his judgmental stare, the stare of a man who’d never seen someone in a flamingo-pink suit bringing his…friend a box of fresh-baked scones in the middle of the workday. And what was so flabbergasting about that? Who didn’t want scones and a cup of coffee in the middle of the day, hand-delivered by their…friend?

“It’s alright, Ed,” said Stede. “I think I’ve got it down.”

Ed had some strong doubts about that, but this seemed to be happening either way. He retreated to the sidelines, standing with Pete and Roach and Jim. He wasn’t going to make a scene or anything about it, but he was going to step in and tell Izzy to chill the fuck out if he tried to actually hurt Stede.

“Stab him in the kidney!” Pete yelled.

Roach frowned.

“Actually, he should probably aim for the shoulder,” he suggested.

Izzy snorted. Stede would be lucky if he didn’t put one of his eyes out, flailing around with that knife.

“Ready?” said Stede.

Izzy pointed his knife at Stede. He was going to win without even fucking trying, and that pissed him off more than if he just won.

“Ready,” he said.

Stede’s first attack was so wild and uncoordinated that Izzy didn’t even know what was happening at first. But he dodged it easily enough.

Ed was half-turned to the side and rocking back and forth a bit on their feet, one hand holding onto the wall behind him like an anchor. He thought he could watch, he thought he could stand it. But…he couldn’t, he just didn’t have it in him.Please let him be okay, please let him be okay. Fuck, he can’t be hurt. He can’t be hurt because of me.

Screaming, a plate crashing against the wall, shattered glass, screaming, sobbing, screaming, so much screaming and it wouldn’t stop even after the sound went away into whimpers and she–his mother–was always trying to get him away from all that…and Ed so small, so tiny, so unable to do anything and shrinking against the wall and feeling screams balled up inside her chest and stuck in her throat as she went unnoticed. Or sometimes she’d be in her bedroom, headphones over her ears, a Walkman to drown out the sounds of breaking glass and chairs getting knocked over from the other room.

Despite having no faith that their useless excuse for a boss could beat anyone at anything, Roach and Pete were chanting Stede’s name in encouragement.

Izzy was weaving around desperately. Stede wasn’t good at knife-fighting. He was the worst Izzy had ever seen. But Izzy was having trouble. He was having trouble because Stede was just so unpredictable. He was flailing around with the knife and Izzy was dodging for his life, scared that this maniac might actually kill him.

Seeing an opening, Izzy thrust forward with his own knife. He wanted to draw a little blood and hopefully get this over with.

Ed jolted away from where he was standing, jumping directly towards Izzy and Stede.

“Stede–!” he yelled.

Stede’s mouth was open. He brought his hand down to touch his side, to touch the spot where Izzy had stabbed him. His fingers touched the knife that was…sticking out of him.

“Oh,” he said.

Ed rushed up, grabbing Stede’s shoulder with one hand and staring at the knife stuck in him. Oh fuck. Stede got hurt. Stede got hurt and it was all his fucking fault. What were they thinking, taking Stede to a knife fight? Why, why, why, why?

Izzy took a step back, smile wiped clean. That…wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to have deflected Stede’s attack and then given his knuckle a poke with the knife. His knuckle. But the fucking idiot was dodging and running around so much, hopping back and forth out of Izzy’s range.

“Oh shit,” said Jim.

Pete sucked in air through his teeth and Roach covered his eyes.

Stede waved a hand, the color slowly draining from his face. Well, that certainly hurt. A bit more than he’d been expecting. It wasn’t pleasant, this getting stabbed business. Would not recommend.

“I’m alright,” said Stede.

Ed was shaking, they were holding on tight to Stede’s shoulder like they thought Stede might dissipate.

“You’ve got a fucking knife in you, mate,” said Ed.

Stede closed his eyes, trying very very hard to not think about the knife that was currently lodged inside him. The trouble was that he could really only focus on that, because he felt like someone had shoved a fire poker into him and out the other side.

“Really, it’s okay,” said Stede. “Merely a flesh wound, as they say.”

He turned his attention to Izzy, Izzy who was gawking at what he’d done.

“I believe I’ve won,” said Stede

Izzy stared at Stede as if he’d completely lost his mind. Was he…talking about the fucking knife fight? With a fucking knife stuck in him? And he was smiling. The pained smile of a man who was in absolute agony, but smiling.

“You’ve what?” said Izzy.

Roach stepped forward.

“He’s right,” said Roach. “You can’t really keep knife-fighting if your knife is…stuck.”

Stede shot Izzy a grin that made Izzy want to punch him.

“I see we’re all in agreement,” said Stede. “I win, you lose.”

Izzy opened and closed his mouth, trying to say something. But nothing he said could possibly sum up the warring factions of shock, rage, and confusion in his brain.

“Fuck you,” was what finally tumbled out of his mouth.

He turned and stormed back into the record store, Pete and Roach were openly laughing at him.

Jim gave Stede a pat on the back, making him wince. Perhaps they’d underestimated him.

Ed squeezed Stede’s shoulder, a big grin on his face. He wasn’t sure whether to be proud or concerned or both.

“Are you sure you don’t want a hospital?”

Ed was helping Stede into his apartment, Stede leaning heavily against his side with his arm looped around Ed’s shoulders.

Stede had his hand pressed up against where the knife had been, his face scrunched up. The knife hadn’t gone in that deep actually. Jim and Roach had done a marvelous team effort extracting it, Ed holding onto Stede’s hand and Stede groaning and Pete trying not to vomit. There had been less blood and carnage than they were expecting. That didn’t prevent Stede from nearly passing out when the knife was finally pulled free. Jim probably wouldn’t be wanting it back.

“I’m fine, Ed,” said Stede. “Just a flesh wound.”

His head lolled forward. Oh god. Was the room supposed to be spinning?

Ed swallowed, pivoting into a whole new genre of thoughts. This was the first time they’d ever been inside Stede’s apartment.

It was….not what Ed was expecting. But was anything ever what he expected with Stede? It wasn’t and Ed loved that. He needed more of it in his life, his life which had been so fucking boring ever since he quit his Blackbeard gig. It got boring before she quit, when the crowds started to look the same and he was struggling to write new material because everyone just wanted his old material for the millionth time and she was bloody sick of it.

Ships. Plastic model ships. Stede’s bedroom was filled with them, there were shelves lining multiple walls. And knickknacks.So many knickknacks. There was an entire shelf that was just porcelain figurines.

Ed settled Stede into bed, his gaze darting all over the room. Had Stede…bought all of this? For himself, by himself?

“Look at this,” he said. “Look at all this stuff.”

Stede coughed. He was sorry to report that the agony of his stab wound had not lessened at all in the past several minutes. Maybe if he took a little nap for…two or three days?

“Oh, it’s just my little collection,” said Stede.

Ed walked over to one of the shelves, his eyes practically glowing with joy.

“I’ve never seen so much stuff,” said Ed. “Is this all yours?”

He picked up a porcelain rabbit and turned it over in his hand, impressed by the craftsmanship. What kind of absolute maniac would buy something like that, something so mundane and useless and yet wonderful in how mundane and useless it was?

Stede hesitated. He didn’t think Ed was mocking him. He was pretty sure. But…it was just stuff. Surely everyone had stuff.And Mary had always been so tired of Stede’s stuff-collecting, rolling her eyes at every trinket he picked up and complaining about all the space he was wasting in their house. But Ed almost seemed…excited?

“Want to see something really nice?” said Stede.

He was badly injured and probably should have been resting, but Stede had never wasted an opportunity to show off. And Ed wanted to see.

Stede took Ed into his walk-in closet.

Ed stared at the shirts lining the walls, the shelves and shelves and shelves of shoes, the hats and the scarves and the coats and the pants.

“What the fuck?” he mouthed to himself.

Ed touched one of the shirts hanging up, rubbing the material between her fingers. Silk. A fucking silk shirt in Stede’s fancy walk-in closet. They didn’t even know what to say.

Stede smiled and winced slightly, holding his side as he stood in the doorway.

“It’s all arranged by fabric and color of course,” said Stede.

Ed rubbed their fingers across another silk shirt, a dazed look on their face. They’d noticed, and they were trying not to look. The shirt from that night weeks ago, from the concert where they’d first seen Stede’s face. It was hung up in Stede’s closet, hung up with everything else as if it was…special. Another part of Edward Teach that Stede had taken freely, displayed.

“Of course,” he said.

Lucius rushed into Stede’s bedroom, his phone in his hand. Pete had texted him several minutes ago, informing him about Stede’s little stabbing incident. Lucius had closed the cafe and sprinted back to the apartment, asking Pete over text why the hell they just let Stede go home after Izzy stuck a fucking knife in him. He hadn’t yet received a reply.

“Stede,” said Lucius.

Stede turned around in the doorway, holding onto the frame with one hand and covering up his wound with the other.

“Lucius?” he said. “Is everything okay at The Revenge?”

Lucius’s hands were shaking and he was trying to keep his eyes away from the stab wound.

“Okay, so–we’re going to the hospital,” said Lucius. “Yes, that is what we’re doing. Hospital.”

Stede coughed again, closing his eyes for a minute. Good heavens, why did Lucius have to be so dramatic?

“It’s fine, Lucius,” he said. “I feel right as–”

He would have finished that sentence, but Stede’s body chose that unfortunate moment to stop working. He toppled forward and passed out, his hand still pressed against his side.

Oluwande clicked his tongue, looping bandages around Jim’s hand. He was sitting on the bed with them, getting them patched up.

“What have I told you about knives?” he said.

Jim rolled their eyes, leaning back on their bed. They knew Oluwande was going to make a big deal out of this. He always did. And he was using his therapist voice.

“Were you always such a nerd?” said Jim.

Oluwande sighed. He didn’t want Jim to stop playing with knives. He just wished they’d chill out a little with the stabbing.This wasn’t the first time Jim had come home with cuts all over their hands and spouting some ridiculous story about having been attacked by a wild animal.

“Jim, you can’t just go around stabbing people,” said Oluwande.

He’d dropped the therapist voice and was fully making eye contact now.

Jim touched their bandaged hand. Fuck, Oluwande was worried. Sure, why wouldn’t he be? He was becoming more like the fictional–or perhaps not, perhaps never fictional–man in the song that Jim was still wrestling to finish, The Man in the Teal Earring. Every time Jim looked at him, they saw another dimension of their own music reflected back and it made them a little afraid.

“Hey, I didn’t stab anyone this time,” said Jim. “It was that stupid little Izzy fuck.”

Oluwande stared at the bandages he’d applied so carefully, at the aftermath of Jim’s wounds. How many times had he patched them up like this? More than he was willing to count. And how many times had Jim thanked him? Zero, unless he counted the oranges as thanks. And Oluwande didn’t even know where the oranges came from, he didn’t know why Jim got so many crates of them every single month. Add that to the big heaping pile of mysteries about Jim.

“It’s just…I get worried,” said Oluwande. “You’re out playing with knives and getting fucking stabbed all over the place and then you come home all bleeding and…”

Jim’s expression shifted, softened. The Man with the Teal Earring and the Killing Machine. They were workshopping that title for The Kraken’s next album, if Ed would allow.

“Relax,” said Jim. “I’m not getting all stabbed up and bleeding to death in an alley.”

Oluwande put his hand over Jim’s.

“I know you’re not,” said Oluwande. “Just…can you please be more careful? After what happened with Jackie’s husband…”

Jim pulled their hand away, one eyebrow darting up their forehead.

“Hey, that was a long time ago,” they said.

Oluwande rubbed the back of his neck.

“You never really told me, uh, why you stabbed him?” said Oluwande.

The official story? The guy pissed them off, so Jim stabbed him in the gut and he almost died. Almost. If he had, Jim would have been in serious trouble. It was only by the grace of some unnamed deity that Jim wasn’t in prison.

“Does it matter?” said Jim.

Everyone in town knew about it. Well, they knew bits and pieces. Not counting their knife fights, Jackie’s husband was the only person Jim had really stabbed.

“It kind of does, yeah,” said Oluwande. “Did he have it coming?”

Jim rubbed their bandaged hand, a grim expression on their face. They’d never really asked why Oluwande was on their side about this.

“Yeah, he did,” said Jim.

And that was all they would say about it. It was more information than Oluwande had ever gotten out of Jim. He thought it was trauma at first, that Jim just didn’t like bringing it up because it made them feel uncomfortable. But although that was definitely part of it, Jim was really just the most private person Oluwande had ever met.

Jim looked into Oluwande’s eyes, touching the hand he’d bandaged so gently. He’d put on music, Miracle Cure by Sea Wolf. Jim was pulling truth out of the lyrics, the chorus about being found.

“Why’d you defend me?” said Jim. “At Jackie’s? I fucking stabbed someone. Didn’t that scare the shit out of you?”

They’d never thought to ask Oluwande before and they weren’t sure why they were asking now. Maybe they were a little too high tonight. And exhilerated from the knife fight.

Oluwande shrugged, it had come down between Jackie and Jim and he just…chose Jim.

“It did, a little,” said Oluwande. “But I thought…if Jim stabbed this guy, he probably deserved it.”

Jim blinked. Wow. That was more credit than anyone had ever given them in their entire life. And Oluwande was right,which made the whole thing more impressive.

They patted Oluwande’s cheek.

“I’m feeling sushi tonight,” they said.

They slid off the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching their arms over their head. Sushi. That sounded like the best palette cleanser for the day they’d had. Sushi and horror movies.

“I promise I won’t stab anyone on my way home, okay?” said Jim.

Oluwande barely trusted Jim to keep that promise, but he could always hope.

Oluwande watched Jim walk out of the bedroom. He put his hand up to his cheek, chasing the ghost of Jim’s touch.

Chapter Text

Hello, my old heart

It’s been so long

Since I’ve given you away

And every day, I add another stone

To the walls I built around you

To keep you safe

Oh, don’t leave me here alone

Don’t tell me that we’ve grown

For having loved a little while

Oh, I don’t wanna be alone

I wanna find a home

And I wanna share it with you

–Hello My Old Heart // The Oh Hellos

Stede was in the hospital for a week. And then bed rest for three weeks.

Ed visited the apartment every single day, bringing Stede food and listening to him talk about ships and singing him to sleep and anything else he needed. Partially to take some of the load off Lucius and partially because of how Stede’s face lit up at the sight of Edward Teach.

Stede loved Ed’s music, Ed didn’t think he was very good at singing and yet Stede took his shaky renditions of David Bowie and Queen as soothing lullabies.

It would have been the perfect arrangement if Ed didn’t insist on popping over to Stede’s place at three in the fucking morning because Stede texted him about wanting muffins and Ed found the one bakery that was open at an ungodly hour and then woke Lucius up by knocking on the door and Lucius in his half-asleep state almost panicked because he thought Ed was a burglar and then realized that burglars didn’t usually knock on doors and when he answered of course it was just Ed with fucking muffins at three in the morning.

At that point, Lucius suggested that maybe Stede should give Ed a key. If Ed was coming by whenever the hell he wanted, there was no sense in Lucius being woken up in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn to answer the door.

Ed started crashing on Stede and Lucius’s couch, often staying overnight. Well, if he had a key, why shouldn’t he take a load off and sleep there? Just in case Stede needed something.

Stede had never slept in a place without at least one other person. Ed brought a certain amount of comfort, giving Stede peace on those rare nights without Lucius.

On Stede’s first day back at the cafe, Ed stopped by with a care package.

It was actually a cloth basket filled with stuff Ed had collected from various people in town because they didn’t quite know what kind of things Stede would want. So he just asked for whatever anyone could spare. John had knitted the basket himself. He had dozens of them and he was more than eager to give Ed one.

“Oh, Ed, you didn’t need to go to so much trouble,” said Stede.

Ed chuckled, putting his arms on the counter. Trouble? Stede got fucking stabbed a few weeks ago. This seemed like more than enough trouble.

Stede eagerly dug through the contents of the basket. Sure, he said Ed didn’t need to go to so much trouble. But if he wasn’t expected to return any of it…well, why would he? It was such a wonderful gesture. Ed’s gesture, Ed did this for him.

There was some kind of greeting card from Izzy. It said “Get Well Soon”, except that had been crossed out and replaced with “Sorry I stabbed you” and that had also been crossed out and replaced with “FUCK” in all capital letters for some reason. Stede appreciated the…apology?

The cloth basket itself was from John of course. Frenchie had stuck one of his rose quartz energy crystals inside, because you could never have enough energy crystals and Frenchie was certain Stede didn’t have any.

Stede picked up a taxidermy squirrel, holding it carefully in his hand. That had to be from Roach.

There was a little wooden doll with a painted face from Sven, a rock with a hole in it from Buttons, a Hall and Oates CD from Oluwande, and a book about fishing from Pete.

“This is all very, er–thoughtful,” said Stede.

Oluwande had been in the cafe earlier with a whole crate of oranges. “From Jim,” he’d explained. Jim was always getting sent oranges and it was a pain getting rid of them, because there was barely any room in their apartment for all their cool stuff plus crates and crates and crates of oranges. They normally would have just given the extras to Roach and Frenchie, but Oluwande thought Stede might appreciate the gesture.

Stede took something small out of the basket and held it up.

“Nail polish?” he said.

Ed blushed. He’d been stressing a little about putting that in there. She wasn’t quite sure if Stede was into that sort of thing. He’d thought about jewelry, but he didn’t have anything Stede might potentially wear and he didn’t want to buy something that Stede also might not potentially wear. The nail polish was his last resort.

Stede turned the bottle of nail polish around in his hand. Sky blue. It was sky blue. A lovely color.

“I’ve never worn nail polish before,” said Stede.

Slightly panicking, Ed put their hand on the counter. Oh fuck. Did Stede think…something? Ed wasn’t sure what Stede couldbe thinking, it was maddening to not know and also realize it might not be good. Ed had never stressed about experimenting with stuff like that, she didn’t really see it as feminine or masculine or…anything. It was cool, she liked making her nails pretty. But Stede was different, he’d grown up in a totally different world where things like that probably weren’t okay.

“If you don’t want it…,” he said.

Stede smiled, reaching out to touch Ed’s hand. Didn’t want it? It was a gift from Ed. Of fucking course he wanted it.

“It’s alright,” said Stede. “I’ve just, er–never thought about it before. I don’t really know how to, uh…”

He looked at his manicured nails.

Ed tapped his fingers on the counter. His own fingernails were polished purple today, he was wearing a leather miniskirt and black stockings. Because Ed was feeling hot as fuck today and she needed the entire world to know it.

“If you’d like, I could–I could put it on for you,” said Ed.

Stede put the bottle of nail polish down on the counter. He thought he’d be more put off by Ed’s nail polish and his skirts and his dresses, but….he actually liked those things about Ed. He just didn’t have nearly enough confidence to give any of it a try.

“Marvelous!” said Stede.

It was near closing time anyway, so the two of them sat down at one of the tables.

Ed opened the bottle. He’d chosen sky blue because he thought Stede would love it, sky blue was a beautiful color and Stede loved beautiful colors. And he thought it would look good on him. He was even more certain of this when he got a better look at Stede’s nails.

“Relax,” said Ed.

Stede laid his hand on the table, smiling nervously. He wasn’t scared of getting his nails painted…mostly. There was still that part of him, this ball of guilt in his chest that refused to go away. The boys he remembered from high school would have laughed and thrown things at him if they saw him like this, dressed up in fancy clothes and getting his nails painted.They would have shoved his head into the toilet and…

Ed reached out to take Stede’s hand.

“Read any good books lately?” said Ed.

Stede put his hand on his chest, his breathing slowing back to normal. He wasn’t in school anymore, was he? He was there with Ed, Ed gently holding his hand and looking at him with eyes that were never judgmental. And asking him about books.

“I just finished this marvelous book about narwhals,” said Stede.

He started talking about it, his previous anxiety completely forgotten as he submerged himself in the topic at hand.

Ed had never painted anyone’s nails before, but they took Stede’s hand in their own and started out slow. Stede’s nails were beautiful and it was a shame this was the first time anyone had offered to paint them. Fuck, why was Stede so pretty and why couldn’t Ed stop thinking about Stede being pretty? He needed to keep it together.

Stede stopped talking to catch his breath, his heart pounding rather quickly.

Something about Ed holding onto his hand like that, tenderly painting his nails with the concentration of someone performing a very important task. Ed’s head bent over slightly, his long hair tied back to keep it out of his face. A few errant strands of it coming loose to frame his cheeks.

Ed looked up in surprise. Stede hardly ever stopped talking on his own, he needed to be gently told.

“Are you okay?” said Ed.

Stede breathed out. He’d never asked Ed about any of the specifics, Ed was just…Ed. He was beautiful, they were beautiful, she was beautiful. Ed.

“You’re so pretty, Ed,” he said.

Ed stared, they gripped Stede’s hand and their cheeks warmed.

“I’m alright, I guess,” said Ed.

He continued painting Stede’s nails and tried not to get too happy about Stede’s compliment. When was the last time anyone called him “beautiful”? Blackbeard was sexy, Blackbeard wore messy eyeliner and painted his nails. Ed also did those things, they just weren’t a Blackbeard exclusive anymore. Blackbeard had given Ed the space to experiment with his expression. She didn’t really consider herself much of anything except herself. 

Stede didn’t say anything. He was considering all the times he’d been mocked for being soft, how his father had cursed his only son for being such a disgrace to the family line, how Stede had desperately wanted Blackbeard’s leather pants and confidence. But instead of either, he ended up picking flowers and singing along to songs on the radio and drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows and reading books about ships. He wasn’t cool, he wasn’t tough. He wasn’t the type of person Blackbeard would like.

But here was the actual Blackbeard, head bent over as they painted Stede’s nails, holding Stede’s hand with a tenderness that should have made Stede recoil. And listening to Stede talk about narwhals.

Ed finished painting the nails on Stede’s right hand. He smiled at his own handiwork. Pretty good for a first try. And they were right. That sky blue color looked amazing on Stede.

“Want me to do the other one?” said Ed.

Stede studied his freshly-painted nails. That ball of guilt in his chest had evaporated and he was feeling a bit more whole.

“I’d like that,” said Stede.

Ed took hold of Stede’s other hand and Stede started talking about ships.

Lucius caved gently into Pete’s side, his other hand reaching out to take hold of Fang’s.

Pete was explaining this thing to him, Lucius was mostly listening and mostly not listening and squeezing Fang’s hand. Lucius didn’t intend to not be listening, he was just thinking a little too hard about the photos he wanted to take and it was easy to get distracted.

Mini golf. Pete was explaining mini golf, they were all going out to play together. Fang and Lucius had never been before, they’d never even heard of it. But Pete apparently loved it to pieces, he thought it was the greatest thing ever and Lucius was trying very hard to agree. Fang didn’t need too much persuasion, he was mesmerized by Pete’s detailed descriptions.

“Shouldn’t we be, uh–getting going?” said Lucius.

He hated to interrupt Pete when he was getting excited like that, but Lucius had just remembered that Stede expected him home early. They had some cafe stuff to discuss–Lucius was dreading it, more of Stede’s hilariously impractical ideas–and something about hair?

Pete took the car keys out of his pocket.

“Yeah, just–oh,” he said.

He’d felt something else in his pocket. Oh. Right. The…thing. Fuck. He needed to just give it to Lucius at some point, didn’t he? And Lucius was going to laugh probably, it was such a dumb thing and Pete had spent so little time on it. Fucking stupid, it was so fucking stupid of him.

Fang was walking towards Pete’s car, his head humming with thoughts of mini golf and ice cream sundaes. And falling asleep on the couch after, tucked up under a blanket together and watching that new cooking show.

Pete rubbed the back of his neck, he took a small box out of his pocket.

“I–I, uh–I guess this is for you?” said Pete.

Lucius raised his eyebrow, he took the box from Pete. A fucking present? For him? When was the last time Pete bought him something? Not that Lucius was ungrateful, he liked buying stuff for his boyfriends and they didn’t need to return the favor. And he liked taking photos of them, even if Pete was nervous behind the lens and kept insisting he wasn’t worthy of being photographed.

He flipped open the box.

Lucius wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but a ring wasn’t anywhere on the list. And was it…made out of wood? A wooden ring? Hand-carved. Pete had made it himself, he’d used his wood-carving skills for such a silly little thing.

Lucius took the ring out of the box and flipped it over in his hand, he was getting slightly choked up looking at it. Fuck. Pete made this. Pete with his whittling and his wood-carving and his…making things. Lucius didn’t think anyone had ever made him something.

Pete looked away. Oh god. He hated it, didn’t he? No, of fucking course Lucius hated it. Lucius with his sugary syrupy coffee drinks and his pretty clothes.

“You–you don’t have to wear it,” said Pete. “It’s just….you buy stuff for me all the time and pay for my food and everything and I thought–I thought I should make you something. It’s dumb.”

Lucius slipped the ring on his finger, it fit perfectly. How did Pete know his ring size? Did Lucius even care, was that even relevant? No, it wasn’t. His boyfriend made him a very simple and very cool wooden ring and Lucius was going to wear it every day.

He put his hand up against Pete’s cheek and kissed him, Pete tasted like mint and he smelled like that strawberry-scented body wash Lucius bought him.

“It’s not dumb,” said Lucius. “I love it.”

Fang waved at them from where he was standing.

The wooden ring snug–and only slightly uncomfortable–on Lucius’s finger, he took Pete’s hand and led him to the car. It was a beautiful night, perfect for mini-golfing with his boyfriends.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Jim leaned out of the freezer, holding a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream in their hands. They didn’t understand why Oluwande loved that stuff so much, it tasted like fucking toothpaste. But it was Oluwande’s night to choose what movie they watched and that came with elevated snack privileges.

Jim squinted at Oluwande, shutting the freezer door. They were just picking up the snacks before they headed to Frenchie and John’s place, Roach was already there.

“What?” they said.

Oluwande shrugged, he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t…know Jim. He’d never really asked to know them, he knew being known wasn’t a…Jim thing. But…how long had they been living together, for fuck’s sake? Two years? They’d moved in so quickly after Jim got fired from Jackie’s bar for the whole stabbing incident, Oluwande just liked having Jim there.

“I know you’ve got this whole mysterious past thing going on,” said Oluwande. “But it’s like you don’t trust me, like we’re not…friends.”

Jim snorted. What? Of course they were friends. Roommates even. Olu knew that, why was he being such a drama queen?

“So what’s your favorite color?” said Oluwande.

Jim glanced at the seashell necklace around Oluwande’s neck, his beanie, his earrings. They didn’t have a favorite color, who the fuck had a favorite color? Why would anyone…?

“Teal,” Jim said. “My favorite color’s teal.”

They started walking away, holding the tub of mint chocolate chip.

Oluwande touched his earring, he rushed to catch up with Jim.

“Wait, is it actually?” said Oluwande. “Jim? Jim?”

Jim refused to answer, they just kept walking. They hoped Oluwande couldn’t see it, the smile on Jim’s face as they picked up speed.

Chapter Text

Shake your hair, have some fun

Forget our mothers and past lovers, forget everyone

Oh, I’m so lucky, you are my best friend

Oh, there’s no one, there’s no one that knows me like you do

Are your lights on?

Are your lights still on?

I’ll keep you safe

You keep me strong.

–Bros // Wolf Alice

Breakfast together had become a weekly thing. Ed would swing by the cafe in the morning, they’d sit and chat and eat a lovely meal prepared by Roach.

Stede patted his hair, he anxiously crossed his legs.

“You–you don’t hate it?” he said.

Ed slathered a generous amount of orange marmalade on a slice of bread. He apparently had a thing for orange marmalade, he just couldn’t get enough of the stuff. And of course Stede had gifted him about ten jars of it already, the fucking lunatic.

Ed was wearing one of Stede’s shirts today, he’d taken it out of Stede’s closet. They were practically sharing a wardrobe now, Stede had said nothing about it. But Ed loved the silk, he loved the vintage aesthetic and how it matched with his own style.

“It suits you,” said Ed.

Stede blushed, he touched his newly-dyed hair. This was a bit more than the earrings, wasn’t it? And more than the nail polish and more than Stede had ever done and…it was fine. It was all fine. He had the right, he’d given himself permission and who the hell was going to stop him? And he might have been a little…inspired by that dress Ed wore all those weeks ago, that tulle gown.

“It’s rather, er–bold, isn’t it?” said Stede.

Pink. Bubblegum pink. He’d deliberated on it for quite a while, he’d flipped through his options and decided on…pink. Ed was so brave, he had his piercings and he wore whatever the fuck he wanted. Stede could try that, couldn’t he? He could try being brave.

Ed gripped the butter knife in one hand. He didn’t think of himself as bold, he thought of himself as…tired. No one ever told Blackbeard what to wear, but Blackbeard had an image. Blackbeard had his leather pants and his eyeliner. And Ed loved the leather pants, he loved the eyeliner. But sometimes she just wanted to drag a pink dress out of her closet and wear that, she wanted to put her hair up and put on a fucking purple bralette and a miniskirt and…be Ed. And then suddenly they were staring down the barrel of their forties and they couldn’t give a shit anymore.

“Bold looks good on you,” said Ed.

Stede smiled and looked away, flustered and patting his cheek with one hand. He’d given painting his nails a try, they were polished pink to match his hair. He’d always felt more at home in pink, he’d just never had the courage to wear it.

“Oh, that’s–uh–,” he said.

Stede picked up his knife and fork, he started cutting into his omelet. He wanted to start talking about ships, but there was a more pressing matter gnawing at his mind.

“Ed, when did you know you, er–liked men?” said Stede.

Ed paused, he put down the butter knife. Strange. No one had ever asked him that before, it felt like the sort of question someone should have asked him. Izzy maybe. Or Jack. But…the three of them had always been the three of them, if that made any sense. It was hard to give a damn about what they liked, their lives were too frantic and it was really only a problem when other people tried to give them shit for it. He still remembered it, that time someone yelled a transphobic slur at Izzy, he remembered Jack leaping into the audience with his fists swinging and giving the bastard a broken nose. And the stuff people would shout at the three of them on the street, Ed especially.

Their manager–Benjamin Hornigold–was only slightly better than the people who did those things. Slightly. Working them half to death because he thought they could be something. And they were, the three of them. Ed was definitely something,Jack and Izzy a bit less but riding Ed’s Blackbeard persona into the sunset.

“I don’t know,” said Ed. “Haven’t really thought about it. I just…knew, I guess.”

Stede stared at his omelet, a feeling rose up in his chest.

“Yes, of course,” said Stede. “You…just knew.”

Of course not everyone went through a tremendous journey of fucking up their life with a doomed marriage, not everyone plodded through university lusting after men in leather pants and somehow didn’t realize. Not everyone listened to Silk Dressing Gown and didn’t grasp the deep symbolism behind it, the will and want to break out of a box. Had Ed ever been in a box of her own design? Or had they always stuck their foot outside whenever they could, defiant? Ed’s music crowing out the truth of him.

Ed shrugged, he reached for the jar of marmalade.

“It’s different for everyone,” said Ed.

Stede sighed. He’d been quite sure Ed was going to say that, that was why he didn’t want to bring it up.

“I wish it had been different for me,” said Stede.

Ed laughed, he reached across the table and touched Stede’s hand.

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” said Ed. “And you’re fucking wonderful.”

Stede turned to stare out the window, he let out a small thoughtful hum. Was he…wonderful? Or was he still grasping at his identity, still unsure?

Blackbeard’s final album on vinyl sat at the back of Stede’s closet, untouched. He hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to play it.

Fang liked Nirvana and The White Stripes.

Ivan only listened to movie soundtracks.

And Pete…

Lucius put on Nirvana. He chose the album randomly, the track even more randomly. This was about getting opened up, explored, exposed. And he wanted comfort, but he also wanted there to be agony. Rocking softly into the lyrics of the song.

Come as you are, as you were

As I want you to be

As a friend, as a friend

As an old enemy

Pete reached back and pulled the sheet Lucius had given him tighter around his shoulders.

Lucius was getting his equipment set up. He wasn’t planning to coax and prod, he wanted Pete to come out naturally. He wanted Pete to undress himself in front of the lens. And if Lucius found something there, he wanted it documented.

Pete tilted his head back, the lyrics rocked into him again.

Come doused in mud, soaked in bleach

As I want you to be

As a trend, as a friend

Oluwande was cooking in the kitchen. Orange custard. Jim–drunk or high probably–had said something about liking it as a kid, about their nana making it for them when they lived at the orchard. Nana. Orchard. Oluwande rotated those two facts about Jim in his head, he smiled to himself as his portrait of Jim’s life grew a bit larger.

Jim swung their arm over the back of their chair. In their head, a brand new chorus for The Man with the Teal Earringcame into being. They tried to ignore it, they were watching Oluwande cook.

Where are you? Somewhere warm, I hope.

Stede huddled under the covers, staring at his phone. Was that too…forward? No, there was no possible way that Ed could read anything into that. There wasn’t anything to read into, Stede was simply asking a question.

Ed replied a few seconds later.

I’m alright. Staying with Frenchie and John for the night. Brainstorming for The Kraken’s next show. Playing cards. That sort of thing.

A strange feeling hummed in Stede’s chest. Staying with Frenchie and John for the night. So Ed wasn’t at home. And Stede was alone in his apartment for the night, Lucius was at Pete’s.

Oh! I was just going to pop over, maybe say hello. But if you’re not at your apartment, I suppose it would be rather a waste!

I thought we could make hot chocolate and watch more of that show we’ve been binging. Stede added that last part to himself, he didn’t think Ed needed to feel as if he’d done something. He hadn’t, Stede just wasn’t used to nights alone again. It was….quiet.

Ed’s response time was slower than usual, he must have been having fun at Frenchie’s place.

No worries. We’ll see each other tomorrow.

Oh, yes! Of course we will. Tomorrow.

I wish you were here. I wish we were lying next to each other and I was talking about ships and you were falling asleep. Stede started to type all of that out, he quickly erased it. What the hell was he doing, what the hell was he saying? Ed didn’t want…

Have a good night. Be thinking of you, yeah?

“Thinking of you”. “Thinking of you”. Edward Teach, born on a beach. Edward Teach thinking of him, thinking of Stede.

Stede’s breath quivered, he smiled, his heart thumped a rather frantic beat in his chest. “Thinking of you”.

Good night, Ed!

I’ll be thinking of you. I’m always thinking about you.

Chapter Text

Love, hunt me down

I can’t stand to be so dead behind the eyes

And feed me, spark me up

A creature in my bloodstream chews me up

So I can feel something

So I can feel something

Give me touch

‘Cause I’ve been missing it

–Touch // Daughter

Ed couldn’t sleep, his brain was being a dickfuck again.

He thought Stede’s couch would help, it usually did. But not tonight, there was something seriously wrong with their head and Stede’s enormously comfortable couch wasn’t doing them any favors. It was just giving him new thoughts to spin around in his head, he was getting a bit dizzy from it and he badly wished his brain would just shut the fuck up.

What do you want, Ed? He sent the question spiraling through his skull and realized he didn’t have a good answer. She wanted the record store, but she wanted it in about the same way she’d wanted to be Blackbeard. In other words, Ed was fucking bored. They’d been bored before, that was why they abandoned the whole Blackbeard thing and then they were tossing themself headfirst into this record store. And now what was he meant to do, what the hell was he meant to do?

Ed sighed, he folded his arms over his chest. Die probably, that was what he was meant to do. Just…curl up and die. That was the one thing he hadn’t tried yet. Eaten by tigers, massaged to death by mermaids.

She stood up off the couch. Well, he definitely wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. But there was a cure for that, there was always a cure for that. He just needed to fucking find it.

Ed walked into Stede’s bedroom, they took hold of the door frame.

“Stede?” they said.

Stede lifted his head off the pillow, he slid off his sleeping mask. He was wearing Ed’s shirt–the one he’d thrown into the crowd at Jackie’s all those weeks ago–to bed, he quite liked the…touch of it. Ed tried not to think too hard about that, about Stede lying in bed with his shirt–Ed’s shirt–and his underwear and a sleeping mask and his gently puzzled expression.

“Ed?” he said. “Is…is everything alright?”

Ed shrugged, standing awkwardly in the doorway. He’d been on Stede’s couch almost every night that week, he liked it better than his apartment above the record store. He loved his apartment, but Izzy was being insufferable and Ed couldn’t take it. Better for Ed to just get away, better for both of them.

“Can’t sleep,” said Ed.

Stede sat up a little in bed, he pressed his palms against the sheets.

“Would you like to, um–sleep in here?” said Stede. “Would that help, do you think?”

Ed approached the bed, they shrugged their shoulders again.

“Might help, yeah,” said Ed.

He hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since his shitty apartment with Jack and Izzy. And that was hardly a bed, that filthy mattress on the floor. The three of them curled up on it, holding each other tight. Jack snoring right in his ear, Izzy muttering in his sleep, Ed squashed in between the two of them.

Ed curled up next to Stede, lying on top of the bedsheets. Fucking silk bedsheets. Of course silk bedsheets, couldn’t have expected anything less from Stede.

“Ed?”

Ed opened his eyes. They were facing each other, Ed couldn’t quite make out Stede’s face in the darkness. Her mind was keeping the details filled in. That adorable nose scrunch when Stede smiled, his hair like fluffy clouds of gold. Golden Boy.

“Yeah?” said Ed.

Stede swallowed, he’d wanted to ask this for a long time and he just…didn’t. Never got around to it, it felt like too much. But everything was too much with Ed, Stede meant that in the best way possible. The nail polish, skirts, dresses, eyeliner, the parts of Ed that pooled into Stede like warm rivers of sunshine and lit his heart up.

“What made you give up Blackbeard?” said Stede.

Ed hesitated, he wondered if any of this was worth sharing. But Stede was asking. And he’d never told anyone the full thing, Jack got bits and Izzy got pieces. They both thought he just burned out, that he just didn’t want to fucking do it anymore. And they were right, but that wasn’t the whole story.

“I got bored with it,” said Ed. “And…”

They considered, they didn’t know which parts they should hold back.

“I didn’t have the best time of it, growing up,” said Ed. “My, uh–my dad was a dick. Put us through hell, me and my mom. And then he died and everything just…fell apart for me. Ran away from home, ended up in foster care. That’s where I met them, Jack and Izzy.”

He could still see their faces, Izzy’s trademark frown and Jack looking fragile enough to topple over. They got into so much trouble, the three of them. Fighting, because Jack couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut for five seconds and Izzy craved conflict. And Ed got her arm twisted into it, she’d end up with a bloody nose or a broken wrist because of something Izzy did or Jack said.

“It was an escape,” said Ed. “The whole Blackbeard thing. And it was great, the best fucking thing in the world. But….it got so boring. I guess that’s me now, I’m fucking boring.”

It didn’t seem fair, Ed fizzing out like a dying star while Izzy and Jack gripped him so tight. Jack was off doing his own thing now, they’d separated and lost touch.

Ed breathed out, they tried to uncoil that tense knot inside their belly. Fuck. Stede wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

Stede was trying to find more of Ed’s features in the darkness, he was mapping what he could remember of Ed’s face.Strong jawline, long gorgeous hair.

“I don’t think you’re boring,” said Stede.

Ed blinked, she took hold of the bedsheet–silk–and gave the material a squeeze. She never had stuff like that growing up. His mother told him the Teaches just weren’t those kinds of people, the people that deserved nice fancy things like silk sheets. God decided that apparently. But God wasn’t what they thought she was, Ed wasn’t what they thought she was.

“I don’t think you’re boring. I don’t think you’re boring.” The words looped in Ed’s brain, a smile pulled at his lips. Stede had this way of saying things, Ed didn’t quite know how to describe it. Electric. That was the best word Ed could find for it, the way Stede’s words made him feel. Electric. Unstoppable. Fireflies in his chest.

“You’re a good friend, Stede,” said Ed.

A spark in Stede’s chest. Friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. He repeated the word to himself, he tangled his fingers into it. Friend. Friend. Friend.

“Can I…talk about ships?” said Stede.

Ed closed his eyes, he smiled.

“Go for it, mate,” said Ed.

Stede talked about ships, he talked until his breathing slowed and his eyes fluttered shut and they both fell asleep in Stede’s warm soft bed.

Lucius poured himself a glass of wine, he walked out into the living room.

Pete and Fang were both sitting on the couch, Fang already had a glass of wine and Pete was drinking beer. The three of them were about to watch the latest season of Queer Eye. Lucius wasn’t particularly into the show, but Pete and Fang loved it. Fang introduced it to Pete, Pete fell in love immediately.

Lucius grinned. He might have had a type, now that he was thinking about it. “Grizzled old men who come off painfully heterosexual to the casual observer” perhaps?

He worried a little, being away from the apartment so many nights in a row. Stede was an adult, he could take care of himself. But…Lucius felt strangely responsible for Stede sometimes, the poor man was useless about certain things and he was always in need of Lucius’s elder gay guidance. Lucius felt as if Stede’s new post-closet life was being held together by threads.

Lucius shrugged, he sat down between Fang and Pete. Tonight was about Lucius, Fang, Pete, Queer Eye, and wine.

What’s your favorite food?

Jim sighed, they were deeply regretting opening up to Oluwande. It just…came out of them. These little details about their life that they’d been keeping so close and still, these parts of themself that weren’t made for anyone else to see.

It was this song-writing thing, Jim thought. But it would be done soon, they were almost finished with The Man with the Teal Earring. They’d show it to Ed and Frenchie.

Don’t have one.

Jim was lying with that reply, but why would anyone need to know their favorite food? They could eat almost anything, it didn’t fucking matter.

Oluwande was getting bold, his response came through with only a tiny bit of hesitation.

What’s your favorite movie?

Jim actually rolled that question around their head a few times. Favorite movie? That one was easier, they hadn’t watched a lot of movies. Too busy having a shitty childhood and then a shitty adulthood and then stabbing a guy.

Nightmare on Elm Street.

They waited for Oluwande to be snarky, some kind of jab or a teasing comment.

So why did you stab that guy?

Jim stared at their phone screen. They hated nights like this, Oluwande staying late at his office and Jim lying in bed with their phone. Texting, wishing they could hear Oluwande snoring in his bedroom. It helped them sleep, hearing Oluwande.

This late, all they had was music. Touch by Daughter, the volume turned down low.

They let out a long sigh. Oluwande wasn’t letting this go, was he? Two years living together and they’d fallen into this…routine.

Jim typed out their reply quickly, they sent it without letting themself think.

He insulted you.

And…there it was. It was just out there, Jim had broken whatever carefully-balanced normal they had going on with Oluwande.

Oluwande took a minute to reply, he was processing that fact that Jim actually answered.

That’s why you stabbed him? Seriously?

Jim hesitated. Well, okay, it wasn’t entirely why they stabbed the bastard. The guy had been saying a lot of things, he was half-drunk and bold because his wife owned the place. Jim was taking it pretty well at first, the guy didn’t know enough about them or their family situation to really grind their nerves. But then he started saying stuff about Oluwande and…well, Jim wasn’t letting him get away with that. Their knife was out before they could think about what they were doing, they were shoving the blade into the guy’s gut and watching the fear get wrenched out of him.

Yeah.

Their response was simple, straight to the point. What else could they say? The guy was being a dick about Oluwande, Jim stabbed the bastard.

Oluwande’s reply came slow this time, Jim wondered if he was too busy at the office to be texting them.

Thanks.

The straightforward one-word reply caught Jim off guard, they sat up a little in bed and stared at their phone screen.

After several minutes of tense quiet, Jim managed to get a reply out.

Dude, I’d stab a thousand people for you. You have to know that.

Oluwande didn’t know that because he thought his relationship with Jim was….strained. Oluwande was the only person at Jackie’s who actually wrote down Jim’s pronouns and tried very hard to get them right. He was the only person who seemed to realize that Jim’s guarded one-word replies weren’t an invitation to get more invasive, he never asked Jim personal questions and he always respected their boundaries. It was…a new feeling that Jim wasn’t prepared for, they were too accustomed to people being assholes about various aspects of their existence. Keeping a knife on them helped deter that, but not at Jackie’s.

How did you like the orange custard?

Jim laughed, they held their phone against their chest for a moment.

It was great. Thanks.

Chapter Text

I’ve been alone

Always down

No one cared to stay around

I never change

I never will

I’m so afraid, the way I feel

–I’m so Afraid // Fleetwood Mac

“I just…knew.”

Stede tossed Ed’s words around his brain, he tried to work them into something he could use. Why was it so easy for Ed, why was it so easy for Lucius, why was it so easy for everyone except Stede? What made him so special?

Stede squeezed his hands together, he gathered himself. He wasn’t–he couldn’t–not today, for fuck’s sake. He was going on a hike with Ed, it was their first time hiking together and he needed his head on straight. They were going to take a nice long nature walk and he was going to talk about ships and Ed was going to enjoy eating the lunch Stede had carefully packed and they were going to have fun. Of course he wasn’t sure Ed would want to go on a nature walk, but it was a beautiful day and who could possibly resist the foliage?

He headed into the cafe, his mind made up. Stede hated to disrupt their usual breakfast, but he really needed to get his bravery together and ask Ed a few questions. About queerness, about the kind of life he was meant to lead now that he’d fully embraced his own.

Ed was sitting at their usual table. They weren’t alone today, they were leaning back in their chair and talking to a man Stede had never seen before and their arms were crossed over their chest.

Stede raised his arm up and flapped it around, he approached the table.

“Ed!” he said. “I’ve had a marvelous idea!”

They both turned and Stede got a better look at this new man. Medium-length hair and a mustache, dusty ill-fitting shirt and jeans. He definitely wasn’t anyone Stede had seen around town lately. Stede did vaguely recognize him, he might have seen the man’s face somewhere.

The other man laughed, he watched Stede approach.

“Who the hell is this lady?” the man said.

Stede hesitated, the smile dropping off his face. He had his nails painted blue, he was wearing a yellow floral print cardigan, a white shirt, shorts and tights. It wasn’t the best outfit for a hike, but he thought Ed would like it.

Ed forced out a laugh, he reached forward and playfully swatted at the other man’s hand. He wasn’t dressed in the way Stede had become used to, he’d gone for something a bit less. It was still a very Ed outfit. A cropped My Chemical Romanceshirt and his leather pants, his nails weren’t painted.

“He’s joking,” said Ed. “Aren’t you, Jack?”

Stede smiled nervously. He could feel himself being judged, he could feel Jack taking in the pink hair and the painted nails and his outfit.

“And Jack is your, uh–friend?” said Stede.

Ed laughed, she patted Jack’s hand.

“Friend?” said Ed. “He’s saved my life, played bass for me, fucking everything. Best person I’ve ever met.”

Stede found that hard to believe, Ed had never talked about this man before. But if Ed was friends with him, Jack couldn’t possibly be too bad.

“This is Stede,” said Ed. “I told you about him, yeah? The guy who owns this place?”

Jack glanced through the big front window, he looked at the sign out front. The Revenge in pretty pastel pink letters. Weird name for a cafe, very theatrical and confusing.

“Almost thought this was a nail salon,” said Jack.

Stede tensed, unsure what Jack could have possibly meant by that. He felt like he was being…insulted? He couldn’t imagine how, just the tone of Jack’s voice was giving it away.

Ed’s hair wasn’t tied up in a half-bun today, Stede noticed. He looked a bit less like the Ed who’d happily greeted Stede in the record store several weeks ago.

“It’s a very wonderful establishment–,” Stede started.

Jack turned to Ed, ignoring Stede. He didn’t want to go in there, he’d taken one look at the sign outside and almost shit himself laughing. But Ed insisted it wasn’t what it looked like from the outside, that it was the best place in town to eat. From where Jack was sitting, this place was exactly what it looked like from the outside. Were the employees wearing fucking…cutesy uniforms with bowties?

“You sure I can crash at your place?” he said.

Ed had been surprised to see Jack’s face again, they hadn’t talked in years. Jack was off the grid, he hardly ever contacted anyone. His tiny social media presence was dedicated to advertising his upcoming shows, he was mostly playing in dingy bars.

“It’ll be just like old times,” said Ed. “You, me, Iz.”

Stede swallowed, his gaze darting from Ed to Jack. “Old times”. “You, me, Iz”. The three of them together, the three of them long before Stede walked into Ed’s life. It was just…the three of them.

He grabbed a chair from one of the nearby tables and slid it into place, he awkwardly sat down between Jack and Ed.

“Um, he’s what?” said Stede. “Staying with you?”

Ed swung their attention over to Stede.

“Didn’t mention it, did I?” said Ed. “His van broke down. It’s going to take a few days for him to fix it. Told him he could stay at mine.”

Stede coughed, he glanced at Jack. How very…generous of Ed. Stede certainly would have done the same, letting an old friend stay in his apartment. It was just the polite thing to do.

“Oh, that’s…great,” said Stede.

Ed furrowed her brow.

“Having breakfast together, aren’t we?” he said. “Fuck, I forgot. I wanted Jack to see the place and–”

Stede waved his hand, his smile was enormously forced.

“Oh, it’s fine!” said Stede. “I’m–I’m sure it will be fun, having breakfast with you and your…friend.”

Apparently their hiking plans had been postponed, perhaps indefinitely. Because of Jack. Jack who just showed up in town and was looking at Stede in a way he knew all too well from his school days. Contempt, curling around various insults he could poke at Stede with.

Roach brought them the food he’d prepared, tossing a few puzzled glances at Jack. He didn’t like coming in early just to make breakfast for two–now three–people, but he had his horror podcasts and Stede was paying him.

Jack stared at all the dishes Roach had just brought out. Wasn’t this a bit much for a fucking breakfast, just the three of them? Hornigold would have lost it, this was the girliest shit Jack had ever seen in his entire life. Two men having breakfast together, ridiculous.

“Just the two of you?” said Jack.

Stede reached for the marmalade, he glanced at Ed. Civil. He needed to be civil. There was no point in getting catty.

“Oh, Jack, don’t feel pressed,” said Stede. “If this isn’t up to your standards, I’m sure I can prepare something else.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, he reveled in that slight change in Jack’s expression. Civil, Stede had said. He thought that was remarkably civil of him, it was the least outright rude thing he could have said. And Jack had a reaction to it, which was really all Stede needed to feel like he’d won something.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ed shift a little in his seat. And the guilt trickled down into Stede’s chest. Fuck. Ed had noticed, he’d heard the bite behind that exchange and it had made Ed very uncomfortable.

“Where are you from, Jack?” said Stede.

Jack picked up a piece of toast, he held it carefully between his fingers. He refused to touch any of that marmalade or the crepes or the fucking lavender tea. It was meant to be breakfast, not a fucking tea party.

“Around,” said Jack.

He turned to Ed, he was grinning and holding the toast in one hand.

“Hey, remember that place we used to live?” said Jack. “Hornigold? We got up to some wild shit, right?”

Ed sank a little deep into her chair, her gaze darted over to Jack and then quickly away. He hadn’t reached for the marmalade yet, he’d been about to and then Jack brought up Hornigold.

“Wild shit, yeah,” said Ed.

Stede glanced from Ed to Jack, from Ed gripping anxiously at the material of his pants to Jack’s wide elated grin.

“Remember when we trashed that hotel room and set it on fire?” said Jack. “That was awesome.”

Stede picked up his teacup, he raised his eyebrows at Ed.

“You…you set a hotel room on fire?” said Stede.

He failed spectacularly at not sounding judgy, he could feel Ed’s entire mood take a dive when the words left Stede’s mouth.

“I was a kid,” said Ed. “And technically you trashed it, Jack. I just watched.”

Sure, he was in his twenties. Not really a kid, he was old enough to drink and old enough to think he could handle the rockstar life. He was barely famous, the magazines were just starting to catch onto his deranged Blackbeard antics that would eventually become his entire image. Fuck, it was so tiring keeping that up.

Stede nodded, but he shot another glance at Jack. Jack who was still smiling, either uncaring or oblivious to how uncomfortable he’d made Ed by bringing up that story.

“Yeah, it was the fucking best,” said Jack. “You, me, and Izzy.”

He shot the briefest of looks at Stede when he said that last part. “You, me, Izzy.” There it was again. And this time it felt like an attack, a retaliation. “Who are you again? Some guy Ed just met? Well, I’ve been with them for years. I’ve seen parts of his life that you never will.”

“Jack tore off a bit of toast, he made eye contact with Stede and his gaze roamed over Stede’s outfit. “Who the fuck dresses like that for breakfast?”

Stede clenched his fists on the tabletop, he tried to think about whales and not hear Jack’s voice in his head. He dressed like that for breakfast, he dressed up because he liked dressing up and that was…fine. It was alright that he liked dressing up, there was nothing bad in it. Maybe people made assumptions about his sexuality, Stede didn’t care. He would have dressed the exact same way if he was straight, this wasn’t about him being gay and Jack had no right to–no, Jack hadn’t said anything, so why was Stede thinking about it?

“So what else do you two queens get up to?” said Jack. “Other than this brunch shit?”

Stede looked into his teacup.

“It’s breakfast, not brunch,” he said.

Jack stood up from the table, he looked at Ed.

“Whatever, ladies,” said Jack. “You coming, BB?”

Stede felt a clench in his chest, he folded his hands in his lap. BB. BlackBeard. Was that…a nickname? Not Ed or Edward, but…BB.

And Ed was getting out of his seat, he hadn’t touched any of the food and he was already rushing to go with Jack. They were putting their arms around Jack’s shoulders and pulling him close, they were laughing together. Laughing together like…friends. Best friends, old friends. If only Stede knew what that was like.

“Ah, yes–I suppose we’d all better get going,” said Stede.

Ed raised his eyebrow, confused.

“Going somewhere?” said Ed.

Stede tried to smile, his hand shook as he reached for his teacup. Jack’s judgmental gaze was on him again, it was finding new things to examine and poke and prod and make faces about.

“Hiking,” said Stede. “With Lucius.”

Ed laughed, his arm slung around Jack’s shoulders.

“Sounds fucking awful,” said Ed. “I hate nature.”

Stede’s heart sank. Oh. Ed might have….mentioned that before? And Stede just…forgot?

“Yes, of course you do,” said Stede.

He threw one more glance at Jack, taking in Jack’s messy hair and moustache for the second time. Comparing his manicured polished nails with Jack’s short nails, his calloused hands.

I saw some wonderful mushrooms and a rare species of moth!

Stede sent out the text eagerly, sitting in bed with his phone.

It had been quite the day, hiking with Lucius and taking note of every insect they saw–Lucius did most of that, at Stede’s excited request–and taking photos and Stede had forgotten about what happened at breakfast.

A whole ten minutes passed, Stede checking his phone every few seconds. Ed was usually very prompt with answering. And it was still early, it was unlikely that Ed was asleep.

Ed finally texted back.

sorry.

Stede frowned, laying his phone down on the nightstand. “sorry”? Just…all lowercase? What was Ed apologizing for? Had they done something? Did he think he’d done something? Was he just apologizing for not being able to spend time with Stede?

Stede puzzled over that for a minute, wondering if he should ask for clarification. But Ed was probably hanging out with Jack, which would explain the cryptic one-word response. Ed didn’t have time to look at Stede’s nature pictures.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Stede turned his phone off. He really needed to stop being so silly.

Ed swung the bat, the tip of it just grazed the half-empty beer bottle.

Jack threw his head back and laughed, he grabbed another beer out of the cooler and waved it in Ed’s direction.

“Oh come on,” said Jack. “You can do better than that.”

Ed sighed, she flexed her grip on the bat. They’d been at it since the sun came up. Either Jack was a lousy shot or Edward Teach was losing his touch. Age was creeping in, Ed’s reflexes weren’t what they used to be.

“Learn to fucking throw maybe?” said Ed.

Jack snorted, he picked up another empty beer bottle.

“Stop being a fucking pussy maybe?” he said.

Ed held the bat tighter and laughed. Fuck, he missed this. This was basically all they did as kids, him and Izzy and Jack. Hanging out behind abandoned buildings, knife fights and breaking things.

“Jack, that’s not–,” he started.

The back door opened and Stede appeared. He’d been informed by a very grumpy Izzy that Ed and Jack were behind the record store.

“Afternoon, gentlemen!” said Stede.

Jack took a long sip of his beer. His hair was significantly less dirty and he was wearing one of Ed’s shirts. Showering had been a nightmare, Jack didn’t understand why Ed had so much fancy fucking soap and shampoo and conditioner and why it was all lavender-scented or peach-scented or coconut-scented. And lotion. The last time they’d lived together, it had just been one bar of soap between the three of them. They couldn’t really afford too much else.

“Fruity,” said Jack.

Stede’s smile wavered. He was wearing a pink satin shirt with trumpet sleeves and wide black pants, his nails were painted again. He’d flirted with the idea of being a little more discreet today, just to maybe put Jack at ease and avoid tension. Stede had studied himself in the mirror for a moment, then he’d run off to his walk-in closet and grabbed something even more overtly flamboyant.

“Excuse me?” he said.

Jack chuckled, he gripped the beer in one hand.

“The beer,” said Jack. “Tastes a little fruity. What brand is this?”

Ed shrugged. He didn’t drink too much anymore, he’d only bought that beer because Jack asked for it. And they needed bottles.

“Don’t fucking know,” said Ed. “It’s…beer?”

He took a bottle of it out of the cooler, he squinted and read the label.

“Need something, Stede?” they said.

Stede stopped looking at Jack, he stopped looking at the wrinkled David Bowie shirt that he knew from Ed’s closet. Ed had taken plenty of those from Stede’s closet, various shirts and even a necklace that Stede didn’t wear anymore.

“Right,” said Stede.

He smiled and shook the paper bag he was holding. Bagels. Bagels and coffee.

“Breakfast,” he said.

Ed grinned, he took a cup of coffee from Stede.

“Strawberry matcha green tea frappuccino with extra whipped cream?” said Ed.

Stede actually remembered his fucking coffee order, the one Izzy always rolled his eyes about because Izzy was a joyless prick?

Stede turned a lovely shade of pink. He didn’t actually remember Ed’s coffee order. Lucius did, because the five of them went out for coffee that one time–Stede, Ed, Lucius, Pete, and Fang–and Lucius had this habit of memorizing coffee orders. Lucius was always in charge of food and drink runs, Stede forgot what everyone wanted half the time and he refused to write anything down. Well, anything except Ed’s coffee order, which he had carefully transcribed from Lucius’s memory.

Before Stede could bask too much–Ed was looking at him like he was an angel–Jack sprinted forward and snatched the bag out of Stede’s hand.

“Oh cool,” said Jack. “Food. Thanks.”

He reached into the bag and grabbed a bagel.

Stede opened his mouth, watching helplessly as Jack took a huge bite of bagel. Oh. He’d kind of hoped Ed wanted to do something…alone. Just the two of them, no Jack. That was maybe a little selfish of him, but him and Ed did have plans.

Ed sipped his coffee. She should have been working at the record store right now, but…Jack wanted to do stuff and how could Ed say no to that? And it was his store, for fuck’s sake.

“No manicures today, I take it?” said Stede.

Ed blinked, gripping his coffee. Oh.

“Fuck,” he said. “Bit distracted today. Rain check, yeah? Jack’s got plans.”

Jack snorted, holding the half-eaten bagel in one hand.

“Manicures?” he said. “You queens getting your hair done next?”

Ed reached to stroke the tie around his neck. Stede’s tie, he’d taken it out of Stede’s wardrobe and now he was wearing it. He liked having Stede’s things, these…sketches of Stede, rough drafts of the person he could hold and touch.

“No, dickfuck,” he said. “It’s manicures. We do it once a week.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. Manicures? Once a week? What kind of stupid shit was that? Since when did Ed eat brunch and get manicures and drink fucking strawberry matcha whatever coffee?

“Plans?” said Stede.

Ed grinned.

“You can come, if you want,” he said. “It’s just going to be me, Jack, and Roach. I think Pete’s coming too? Izzy’s being a prick again.”

Stede was slightly relieved. It was unlikely that he could handle Jack and Izzy, not both of them at the same time.

“I’d love to come, yes,” said Stede. “I’m sure it’ll be very, er–fun.”

Lucius did tell Stede he needed to loosen up. Well, Jack and Ed seemed pretty loose. Jack was the least stressed person Stede had ever met.

Plans turned out to be a little more…intense than what Stede had been picturing. He’d expected getting high, listening to music, touching fabric samples, other stuff that Ed liked to do.

Apparently for Jack and Ed–and everyone else they’d roped into hanging out–plans meant shooting fireworks at each other, throwing rocks at birds, smashing empty bottles with a baseball bat, and drinking until they puked.

It was late at night, Stede was about to collapse from exhaustion after the day he’d had.

But Jack had one last stop on their impromptu bar crawl, he dragged all of them into the filthiest dingiest little bar in town and insisted on ordering a round of beers.

Jack slammed a beer on the table, he grinned when Stede flinched.

“Not fancy enough for you?” he said.

Stede nudged the bottle away from him, he frowned. Stede had barely touched a drop of beer all day, he’d sat on the sidelines and watched Ed drink. Ed drinking, Ed drinking more than he ever had when he was with Stede. Stede thought Ed didn’t like drinking, that Ed’s limit was maybe one beer every few days. Stede was getting horrible flashbacks to university.

“I’d rather not, thank you,” said Stede. “Designated driver and all that.”

Jack snorted, grabbing the beer off the table. Seriously? Stede must have been a fucking lightweight, he’d probably never touched a drop of booze in his sad little rich boy life.

“Pussy,” he said.

Stede looked around, he spotted Ed and Roach and Pete standing near the bar and wished one of them would come over.

“I’m not a–,” Stede started.

Jack slid into the seat across from Stede. They’d been denied their chance for a little one-on-one time.

“So you’re into all that fancy shit, huh?” said Jack. “Mango-scented body wash? Really? That fruity shit?”

Stede gripped the table, he glanced in the direction of the bar. Drunk Jack wasn’t the Jack he wanted to talk to, not tonight. He should have texted Lucius about where he was, he shouldn’t have even agreed to come along. But Ed wanted Stede to come, this was Ed’s idea.

“I believe Ed likes mango-scented body wash,” said Stede. “Perhaps you should ask them about it?”

He knew Ed liked it because Ed used it often, although not nearly as often as the lavender-scented. And Ed had gifted Stede a bottle of it because Stede mentioned that he liked how Ed smelled. And he did, Ed smelled fucking amazing and his hands were soft and he was…pretty.

Jack studied Stede, curiosity peeking out through his drunken haze. “Ed”. Fucking “Ed”? Not Blackbeard, not even “Edward”. “Ed”.

“So you guys have fucked, right?” said Jack.

Stede made a small surprised noise.

“What?” said Stede. “No, we–we haven’t. Why would we…?”

He’d never even thought of fucking Ed and Ed hadn’t asked him. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Stede had thought about Blackbeard–this abstract concept of a man in leather pants–doing very dirty things to him and he might have…pleasured himself a little to those fantasies, but that was Blackbeard and it was a long time ago–university–and Stede didn’t know why he was thinking about it. Maybe it was that one sip of beer from earlier, maybe it was messing with his head?

Jack was a little surprised by this information.

“You’re missing out,” said Jack. “Nothing wrong with a little fun when there’s no ladies around, right? We had some wild times, me and BB.”

Stede let out a sigh. He just…couldn’t see it. He couldn’t understand Jack’s appeal, he couldn’t fathom why Ed chose to hang out with him. But what did Stede know about Ed’s past, what did Stede know beyond what Ed had told him?

“That’s Ed’s business,” said Stede. “It has nothing to do with me.”

He stood up.

“Bathroom,” said Stede. “And then I think I’ll be, er–heading home. Yes. Home.”

Stede rushed to the bathroom, putting distance between himself and a very drunk Jack. He would have said that he hoped Jack didn’t trip and fall into a puddle of his own piss, but Stede wasn’t sure he would have believed the sentiment.

Chapter Text

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

–The Night We Met // Lord Huron

Performing Tonight: Calico Jack.

Jack started off his set with a cover of “Silk Dressing Gown” by Blackbeard, he leaned heavily into the microphone and crooned the lyrics. It was an abstract try at the original, it really wasn’t the full experience without Ed’s uniquely sultry vocals he pulled out for this specific track. That song was a revelation, the last one Ed ever wrote and produced and the last one he ever sang in front of an audience. It was so unlike anything he’d performed before, it was tender and heartwrenching and metaphorical.

Stede sat back a little in his chair, he folded his fists on the table. He fucking hated this. He hated that Jack was actually good, that Jack was approaching Silk Dressing Gown from a new angle and it was slightly working. Jack added this unforeseen dimension to Ed’s best work, it was a compliment and a tribute. The lyrics sounded less like a prayer to some unnamed god, a lamentation. The song was full of hope and dreamlike wonder. And Stede…liked it.

He swallowed, he took a handkerchief out of his pocket. He hadn’t wanted to come, Ed had texted him about Jack playing at Jackie’s Bar tonight and Stede–without thinking–had texted back saying that he wanted to go. Now he was sitting far away from the stage, listening to Jack twist Ed’s music into something beautifully new.

“Good, isn’t he?”

Stede put his palm on the table. He’d forgotten that Ed was next to him, he’d half-expected Ed to be on stage with Jack. And Ed was wearing Stede’s tie again, the tie he’d taken from Stede’s closet.

“He’s…riveting,” said Stede.

Ed grinned, she rubbed the material of the tie between her fingers and stared at the stage. How was Jack still going? Ed thought they’d all just stop after he retired Blackbeard, Izzy certainly did. But Jack was standing on his own two feet, he’d grown fully away from Blackbeard and Ed was proud of him. Watching Jack made Ed sort of miss it, being on stage. This was the kind of intimate energy they’d tried to cultivate. But the crowd wasn’t even looking for sincerity, they were looking for a show. The mixed response to Silk Dressing Gown had proved that. Planning his elaborate stage shows ended up being more fun than actually performing, setting off the fog machine and the lights and whatever fuckery he’d come up with to dazzle.

Stede started to reach over and place his hand on Ed’s knee, his fingers quivered and he hastily curled them into his palm.

Without looking at Stede, Ed jumped out of his seat and rushed to give Jack a hug. Leaving Stede alone yet again, Stede reeling in the emotional aftermath of Jack’s show.

Letting out a miserable sigh, Stede wandered over to the bar. Lucius had suggested Stede might be slightly jealous of Jack. And wouldn’t that make perfect sense, Jack being an old friend and probably knowing more about Ed than Stede ever had or ever would? But Stede wasn’t jealous, he really wasn’t. He was glad that Ed had another friend, a person who knew him so well. But Jack was…different from Ed, Jack was louder and his humor was more crass and he drank almost constantly and his jabs about Stede were starting to feel a bit more…mean-spirited.

*“Fruity”. “Pussy”. “Queen”. These were words that Jack reserved for Stede alone, he never called Ed anything like that.Pussy” maybe, but never as frequently as he’d thrown it at Stede in response to Stede…existing. And he’d used “queens” to refer to both of them, although he always seemed to be looking directly at Stede when he said it.

Sitting down at the bar, Stede looked at Jack and Ed.

Jack was laughing, he’d cracked open a beer and was holding it in his hand. Another drinking game with Ed. Had Jack been completely sober once since he’d come to town? Maybe that first day.

Stede nervously played with his fingers. He’d gotten a few acts booked for The Revenge. Nathaniel Buttons–he owned the local dispensary–was doing something with puppets and his birds, Frenchie was doing magic tricks, Sven wanted to sing.

Ed gestured with their own beer, he was laughing at whatever Jack was blabbering about. And Stede was feeling like a teenager, watching the cool kids joke around while he thought about marine life and wished he had someone to share in his collection of obscure dolphin facts.

Jack tossed his emptied beer bottle at the floor, Ed frowned at him and Stede could hear someone shouting. They couldn’t be messing up Jackie’s bar, she’d probably cut Jack’s nose off and put it on display. She was cool with Ed, Ed had enormous respect for the space she’d made. Jack was on thin ice, she’d only agreed to him playing because Ed vouched for him.

Geraldo raised his voice slightly.

“Hey, no breaking things!” he said. “I’ll get blamed for that.”

Jack rolled his eyes, he picked up another beer from the table.

“Relax, pansy,” he said.

Ed held up his hand, shooting an apologetic look at Geraldo.

“Sorry, we’ll take this outside,” said Ed.

He took Jack’s arm and guided him towards the exit, other hand gripping almost protectively at his tie. Jack complained the whole time about how he wasn’t finished drinking, Ed ignored him because he didn’t want to get on Jackie’s bad side.

Stede watched the two men leave, he wondered if he should follow them. Did he want to? Stede felt like nothing productive could come out of that, trailing behind a drunk Jack and an Ed who felt increasingly like a stranger to him.

But he slid off his bar stool, he waved a miserable goodbye to Geraldo.

Outside, Jack and Ed were laughing again. That was all they’d done before and after the show, just laugh at whatever inside jokes they had going on.

“You ladies wanna have some fun before the sun goes down?” said Jack.

He was looking at Stede when he said that, his gaze lingering on Stede just a tiny bit longer than it should have.

Stede folded his hand against his stomach. The sun was already down, he noted.

“It’s about time we headed home, I’m afraid,” said Stede.

Not to mention Stede would have rather chewed off his own toe than spent a moment longer with Jack. He was tired again, fed up with Jack’s teasing and that fucking look.

The three of them didn’t go home, or at least not Stede’s home. They went to Ed’s apartment, Jack leaning fully against Ed and Stede keeping his distance.

Ed got a very drunk Jack tucked under a blanket on his couch. He just needed to sleep it off, Ed knew Jack well enough. He’d be alright in the morning, disgustingly hungover and cracking jokes about Ed worrying over him. But what the else could Ed do, Jack drank like a fucking sailor. Another thing that hadn’t changed since they were in the band together, Jack’s need to have his head somewhere else and the alcohol helped with that.

He’d lightly suggested that Jack needed to see someone about that, Jack had rolled his eyes and reminded Ed that getting absolutely blasted was part of the rockstar life. But they weren’t fucking rockstars anymore, they were middle-aged men. Ed had never gotten massively drunk in her life and she wasn’t about to start at this ripe old age of hers.

He frowned, folding the blanket over Jack’s sleeping body. “You gave up, BB.” He heard Jack’s voice in his brain, Ed couldn’t recall when Jack had said that to him and he was sure Jack had. When they were high together, Jack’s filter completely switched off. And…Jack wasn’t wrong. In the same way that Jack’s rendition of Silk Dressing Gown had warped the original context, Jack wasn’t incorrect when he said that Ed had given up. What the fuck was Ed doing there?

Stede looked around, this was his first time in Ed’s apartment.

A couch that looked very old, a record player, a guitar leaning up against the wall opposite the door. Ed played piano apparently, there was a keyboard piano in a corner of the living room. The space was open plan, there was a corner with a dresser and a bed for Ed to sleep. Ed’s bed was covered in stuffies–a squid, a bat, a panda, and a cat–and there was a pile of finished Rubik’s cubes on top of the dresser. A bookcase with records piled on top of it, the shelves mostly contained books about space, cartography, science fiction, and romance novels. Ed seemed to be a huge Ursula K. Le Guin fan. There was a Japanese puzzle box on Ed’s desk and several band posters hung up on the walls. My Chemical Romance, David Bowie, Queen, Nine Inch Nails, Grover Washington Jr.

Stede looked at Ed for a moment. Stede had put the maximum amount of effort into his outfit tonight, he was starting to like how much it pissed off Jack and Stede didn’t care if he was being needlessly catty to a man who’d done very little to him. If Jack wanted to make a fuss about what Stede wore, Stede was just going to put on the loudest puffiest pink ballerina sleeves he could find.

“I–I should get going,” said Stede.

Ed stopped, they’d been about to head into the kitchen and make some coffee. Oh. They thought Stede was staying, maybe even spending the night. Jack was passed out, Izzy was off doing something. And…Ed wasn’t accustomed to his own fucking apartment anymore, he hadn’t gotten a full sleep since Jack rolled into town and he missed staying at Stede’s overnight. Ed worried, he thought he was being clingy.

And they’d made muffins. Chocolate chip muffins. Jack always said that baking was “girly shit”, but that just meant they didn’t get to partake in Ed’s homemade-from-scratch buttermilk pancake experience or those delicious cookies.

“Are you sure?” said Ed. “I’ve got food.”

Oh fuck. The ache in Stede’s heart almost did in him right there, he so very much wanted to stay. But…Jack…

“No, I’d–I’d better get back,” said Stede. “Lucius will worry.”

Lucius wouldn’t worry, he probably wasn’t even at home.

Ed gave Stede’s face a study. He’d been meaning to ask about this all night, he just didn’t know how to phrase it. Stede had been…weird those past few days with Jack being there.

“Are you feeling alright?” said Ed.

Stede allowed his heart to flutter for a second. Ed sounded like…himself. But who else would he sound like? They were always…Ed.

“I’m–well, frankly, no,” said Stede. “I’m very not alright, Ed.”

Jack was passed out, completely dead to the world. He wouldn’t have woken up if Stede started yelling. And Stede wasn’t going to yell, he just needed Ed to get something through his head. And then they could move on from this, everything would unfurl like a ball of yarn. It had to, Stede couldn’t take this tension wrapped agonizingly tight around his whole body.

“I don’t like Jack very much,” said Stede. “And–and I don’t like how you are with him.”

Ed’s eyebrows darted up his forehead. What the fuck?

“Excuse me?” said Ed.

Stede closed his eyes. He tried. He really did, he tried so hard. But Jack didn’t like Stede, Jack was vulgar and rude and Stede was baffled about how Ed couldn’t see it. Or maybe Ed could and he just didn’t give a shit, maybe Stede was the only person who cared.

“I don’t like drinking until I puke or throwing rocks or setting off fireworks,” said Stede. “And the bottles. That’s just dangerous, all that broken glass.”

Ed put his hand on the tie, he was baffled. He didn’t ask Stede to do any of that stuff. He thought…well, he thought Stede wanted to do those things. Why else would he have, if he fucking hated all of it?

“Stede, this is who I am,” said Ed. “It’s how we’ve always been, mate. Me and Jack and Izzy. I thought you were fine with that.”

Stede backed towards the door, he was wringing his hands. He was fine with it, just…Jack. If Jack hadn’t shown up in his van with that fucking guitar, every part of him smeared with Ed’s colors and Stede hopelessly gray. The alternate version of Silk Dressing Gown that Jack had pulled out of him, he’d woven it from a knowing of Edward Teach that Stede couldn’t have. And what was Stede in the tapestry of Ed’s life? A corner, a hopeless recently divorced and recently out of the closet gay man?

“Then–then maybe it’s about time I left,” said Stede.

Ed shrugged his shoulders, he stared into Stede’s face. Of course Stede was doing this, they always did in the end. And then they came back fucked up, that was the only way they could find Ed again. But this time…

“I might get out of here,” said Ed. “Nothing for me in this town, is there?”

Stede put his hand up against his shirt, his thoughts running in circles.  Fuck fuck fuck. What are you doing, Stede? Please please please just shut up, for once in your fucking life just–

“I’ll see you around, Edward,” said Stede.

His voice broke for a second and Stede swallowed thickly.

He turned and walked out of the apartment, he held onto the front of his shirt. His lower lip trembled, the tears smudged his vision. At least Ed didn’t have to see Stede’s face. A tiny mercy for both of them.

Ed?

Ed?

Are you there? I think we should talk.

Ed?

Please.

Chapter Text

No one asks me for dances because I only know how to flail

I always hit like I’m drowning, dead arms around him

I’d rather stand still, hold tightly to the walls

No care, no care in the world

No care, no care in the world

I don’t care, I don’t care anymore

I don’t care, I don’t care

–No Care // Daughter

Ed lifted his cheek off the ancient stained mattress. What the fuck was that stench? Aged piss, beer, and vomit? And why did their head feel like it was about to break into pieces?

He blinked a few times, adjusting his eyes to…wait, this wasn’t his fucking apartment. It was too filthy for starters, there were empty takeout containers and stained mugs and clothes all over the floor. And the smell was even worse when it hit Ed in full, she almost gagged. It reminded him of the place he used to share with Jack and Izzy back in the day, their shitty one-bedroom with the mattress and it was hopelessly messy half the time because Ed was the only person who gave enough of a fuck to clean.

He shook his head, fighting past the headache. Oh. This was Jack’s shitty one-bedroom.

It was coming back to him. Talking with Stede, packing up his stuff in the middle of the night and waking Jack. Ed went with Jack, they hitched a ride. Or maybe they took Ed’s car? Ed couldn’t even remember anymore, his head was killing him.

“Jack?” she said.

Jack came out of the kitchen. This was really just like Ed’s old apartment with Izzy and Jack. Even the kitchen was in the same place. But it smelled worse somehow, Ed was pretty sure there had been slightly less takeout containers.

“Breakfast,” said Jack.

He dumped a sandwich into Ed’s lap.

Ed grimaced. That sandwich didn’t look too edible. How long had it been in Jack’s fridge? A year?

They let out a sigh, he shoved the sandwich off his lap and onto the floor. What the hell was Ed supposed to do now? He had the record store, he had…a life. Sure, he was getting bored with it, but…could he give it up? Abruptly?

Stede didn’t want him. But that was inevitable, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it just so fucking inevitable, all of it? All the fucking time? Stede was always going to realize what kind of person Ed was, that Ed wasn’t worth his effort. Inevitable. The inevitable Edward Teach.

Ed scrambled off the edge of Jack’s mattress and stood up. He desperately wanted to paint his nails and hold his stuffies and pretend that horrible conversation with Stede never happened. Or maybe he was better off pretending he’d never even met Stede. Golden rich boy with his golden hair and golden smile and…

“Where the fuck’s my phone?” said Ed.

He probably had a hundred texts from Izzy, questions about where he was and if he was alright and if he’d be back in time to open up the record store. Fuck. The record store. Did Ed even care anymore? Izzy could handle it, he didn’t need Ed breathing down his neck. Probably didn’t need him. Izzy had this awful habit of making Fang and Ivan want to quit because he just couldn’t stop himself from being a giant dick all the time.

Ed grabbed the side of her head and groaned, the pain spiking through. Breakfast. Coffee. And then he could deal with the incoming shitstorm. He couldn’t handle Izzy on an empty stomach. Ed could barely handle Izzy on a full stomach, but empty was just five times worse for everyone.

Jack leaned over and snatched a filthy shirt off the ground, a yawn shuddering through him.

“I’ve got a show in a few days,” said Jack. “Open for me? Like old times?”

He had some trouble, those first few months on his own. People cared about Blackbeard, no one gave a shit about Jack Rackham. But he took every gig he could get his paws on, he played in front of every audience that would take him. He was never going to achieve the level of fame he had when he was playing for Blackbeard, but at least he didn’t give up the rockstar life to buy a fucking record store.

Ed rubbed the front of his shirt, he reached down and picked up a half-empty bottle of beer off the floor.

“I don’t know, mate,” said Ed. “Not Blackbeard anymore, am I?”

Jack laughed, pulling on a slightly less stained shirt to replace the puke-covered one he’d been wearing. He must have been getting old, he couldn’t drink quite as heavily anymore.

“Who the fuck else would you be?” said Jack. “Come on, BB. Just this one time. You’ll love it.”

Ed shook the bottle. Maybe drinking with a hangover wasn’t the best idea, they were realizing.

“Haven’t played a show in years, Jack,” said Ed.

And those last few shows he ever did had been…rough. He needed the beer to get him through, he’d stopped drinking entirely because he didn’t want to be dependent on it just to keep living the Blackbeard life. Of course Jack hadn’t noticed any of this, he’d been too busy getting laid and getting high and getting drunk.

Ed sighed. He fucking hated beer. And she could have been having breakfast right now, strawberry crepes and coffee and orange marmalade and bread. She could have been listening to Stede talk about narwhals.

Jack scratched his stomach, he arched his eyebrow. Shouldn’t Ed have been excited? His first show in a long time, opening for his best friend. This was the real Blackbeard, the real Edward Teach. Not the cheap imitation wearing Blackbeard’s face.

Ed looked around, he walked into the kitchen with the half-empty beer bottle.

“Where’s Anne?” they said.

He was having flashbacks to why Jack ended up withdrawing from the band, he’d checked himself out of it by choice. Jack had knocked up his girlfriend Anne Bonny. And also possibly Anne’s girlfriend Mary Read? Ed was a bit fuzzy on the details, Jack never shared a lot of it with him.

Jack squinted, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face.

“How the fuck should I know?” said Jack.

Anne Bonny and Mary Read were both on the music scene, they had their own thing going on. Their band was called William, Jack had briefly played bass for them. Anne and Mary had run off together during Jack’s time in prison.

There was a knock on the door.

Ed frowned, shoving the beer bottle into the trash bin.

Jack walked over to the apartment door, stumbling over a trail of bottles. This apartment was new, he’d only been living there for about two months. He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned. Probably that first day and then never again.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” said Jack.

Lucius was standing outside Jack’s apartment, a box in his arms. He wrinkled his nose, the stench of Jack’s living space almost knocking him over.

“I’m here for, uh–Ed,” said Lucius. “Blackbeard. Whatever.”

Ed appeared next to Jack, her arms folded over her chest.

“How did you find me?” said Ed.

Lucius hadn’t seen Ed for a while. He’d spent the last several hours comforting Stede, telling Stede everything was going to be alright, promising to take care of things, listening to Stede’s ship talk and somehow doing even more of the cafe stuff because Stede was completely checked out.

“Izzy,” said Lucius.

Refusing to elaborate, Lucius shoved the box into Ed’s arms.

“Here’s your stuff,” said Lucius. “Everything you left at our place. All of it.”

Getting Jack’s address out of Izzy had been easy enough. Lucius marched into the record store and just asked. He wasn’t sure how the fuck that worked, but Izzy gave him the address and he was only slightly rude about it. Lucius felt like he’d entered some kind of alternate universe.

Ed stared at the box in his arms. Had he really left that much stuff at Stede’s place? One of his stuffies, a Rubik’s cube, a few of his DVDs because Stede had somehow never watched Twin Peaks or the original Ghostbusters, two David Bowie records, a few of his shirts.

Lucius put his hands on his hips. He’d driven all the way out there–it wasn’t far, but there was an emotional strain–just to give Ed his stuff back, to cleanse the apartment of Ed and everything that made Stede almost burst into tears.

“He really cares about you,” said Lucius. “You broke his heart, Edward.”

Ed blinked, holding the box against his chest. “You broke his heart, Edward.” But that shouldn’t have mattered, Ed wasn’t going back to town if he could avoid it. He was giving the record store to Izzy and putting this stupid dream behind him and it was going to be perfect.

Lucius turned and walked away. He didn’t want Ed’s sob stories or his excuses or anything else he could give.

Stede was sitting on the kitchen counter with a cup of wine, scrolling through Ed’s Instagram.

He promised himself he wouldn’t, that he was better than this….but he also wasn’t better, because he’d been periodically checking Ed’s Instagram ever since he left the apartment two days ago. He needed to know what Ed was up to with Jack, he just needed to know. Lucius thought Stede was being pathetic and stupid, Stede didn’t really care if he was.

Ed had been posting about Jack a lot. Pictures of them together, something about them doing a gig. A gig. With Jack.

“You should probably stop that.”

Oluwande was lying on Stede’s couch, his hands folded over his chest as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Stop what?” said Stede.

He sipped his wine, fighting back the urge to leave a comment on one of Jack’s posts. Jack had made a rather crucial spelling mistake and it was making Stede’s brain hurt. He probably shouldn’t have switched over from Ed’s Instagram to Jack’s.

Oluwande sighed, he shifted into a sitting position. Lucius had asked him to come over because he really thought Stede needed someone there, anyone. Lucius couldn’t be minding Stede’s feelings all day, he had cafe stuff to do.

“Trust me, it’s not doing you any good,” said Oluwande. “Did you even sleep last night?”

Stede kept his eyes on his phone, he kept scrolling.

“Maybe,” he said.

Oluwande knew for a fact that Stede hadn’t slept, that he’d been scrolling and refreshing and crying all night. Lucius had texted Oluwande about it and affirmed that Stede was very upset about this whole Ed thing.

“He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?” said Stede.

Oluwande stood up and walked into the kitchen.

“You’re handsome,” said Oluwande. “And you need to get some sleep. We both do.”

He gently pried the phone out of Stede’s hands. As a licensed therapist, Oluwande knew exactly what Stede was dealing with. Stede’s first real relationship, his first toe-dip into the brand new terrifying world of dating. And he got his heart shattered into pieces. It hurt, it reduced Stede’s confidence to ribbons.

A few minutes later, Lucius returned to the apartment. He found Stede and Oluwande fast asleep on the couch, Stede leaning into Oluwande’s side.

Oh thank fuck. Lucius had spent the entire drive stressing over how he was going to deal with Stede’s…very Stede reaction to being dumped by a hot guy in leather pants. And he was willing to offer Oluwande a little emotional support to help him through dealing with Stede.

Two birds with one stone and Lucius didn’t even need to lift a finger.

Chapter Text

And if you don’t love me now

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

We would never break the chain

–The Chain // Fleetwood Mac

Ed had to admit, it felt pretty fucking good to be back on stage again.

Sure, it was only one gig. But picking up the microphone, hearing the crowd roar, feeling the lyrics almost vibrating out of his throat? Magical. She could feel the aftershocks in her body long after she stepped off stage.

He collapsed onto Jack’s couch, laughing and shoving a hand against his forehead. He was still slightly buzzed, Jack had coaxed him into a drinking game before they went on.

Jack leaned his bass up against the wall.

“Great, right?” he said.

Ed nodded, grinning and sitting up on Jack’s couch. Great? That was maybe the best night of his whole fucking life. The electric atmosphere, the crowd, the intimacy. It was hardly a gig, there were less than seventy people in that cramped little room. But Ed loved that, it reminded them of their first few years on the scene. Playing any and every show, jumping from one to the next in Jack’s van. Sure, it wasn’t all peaches and cream. Barely scraping by, staying in shitty motel rooms, Jack and Izzy getting into fights. But it was just about the music back then, Ed didn’t have this fucking persona to keep alive. He was getting the best of both worlds.

Jack walked into the kitchen to get another beer. Izzy thought of himself as some kind of Blackbeard expert, but Jack had always been the one who knew what Blackbeard really wanted.

“Next week’s gonna be crazy,” said Jack. “I’ve got three shows lined up.”

He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, he waved the bottle in Ed’s direction and grinned.

“You should come, man,” said Jack.

Ed held onto the back of the couch with one hand, she rubbed the material and frowned. Was this the exact same fucking couch from the apartment he used to share with Izzy and Jack? Or had Jack somehow found a perfect replica?

He could come. He could hit the road with Jack, but for real this time. Three shows, more of what they’d done tonight. No limitations this time, Ed could have what they’d actually wanted out of his Blackbeard persona.

Ed sighed. No, what he’d wanted out of his Blackbeard persona was an escape from his shitty life and enough mental stimulation to stop him from tearing out his own fingernails. He’d always thought about what he could do with that brain of his, if he’d just had some freedom and money. Blackbeard had given her that, Blackbeard had taken Ed by the shoulders. It was enough until it was too much. But she loved it.

“I don’t know, Jack,” said Ed.

Jack laughed.

“What, you scared?” said Jack. “Get over it, princess. I know you want this.”

The problem? Ed did want this, he was starting to want it so fucking bad. So why wasn’t he taking it? Why couldn’t he just drink with Jack and not think about anything else?

Jack stepped out of the kitchen. The Blackbeard he knew would have been getting blazed and laughing with him, the Blackbeard he knew would have jumped at the chance to get on the road again and start making some real magic. Living a settled life had really done something to Ed’s brain. And it was Jack’s duty to set Ed straight again. That was what they’d always done for each other.

“You know it’s not a coincidence, right?” said Jack.

Ed closed their eyes, they squeezed the back of the couch.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” said Ed.

Jack let out a humorless laugh.

“My van didn’t break down,” said Jack. “That’s just what Izzy told me to say.”

Ed opened his eyes, his gaze darted over to where Jack was standing. His heart rate sped up slightly, he hadn’t thought of Jack or his stupid van in over a week. But that was the whole reason he’d been there, because his van stopped working and…

“What the fuck are you talking about?” said Ed. “Jack–?”

Jack shrugged. Blackbeard needed to know the truth, he needed to know this wasn’t some random act of Fate. The three of them, they didn’t believe in any of that. Not after what they’d seen, the world had stripped them down.

“You’re not yourself,” said Jack. “Izzy thought you needed, you know, a little reminder. Called me up a few weeks ago, told me to get down here.”

He laughed, shaking his bottle of beer.

“Good thing I did,” said Jack. “Didn’t take you for a fucking pansy. Seriously? Brunch? And that guy you were with, what’s-his-face–”

Ed stood up, their legs were quivering slightly. Fuck. How much did he drink? How much did Jack prod him into drinking for their stupid little game?

“His name’s Stede,” said Ed. “His name’s Stede and–oh fuck–”

She grabbed the side of her head. Shit. How long had she been away? Away from the record store, away from Stede? Why had no one called her?

“Where the fuck’s my phone?” said Ed.

She dug around in her pockets, she dug around the couch. Had she left it at her apartment? Did Jack take it? Did Jack take their fucking phone? Or did Izzy take it, were they both just scheming against him? Because they wanted Blackbeard, they didn’t want stupid boring Edward Teach with her record store.

But there was someone who did want stupid boring Edward Teach, because Edward Teach wasn’t boring. He was…an eighteenth-century warship. Edward Teach was a fucking eighteenth-century warship. Stede said those words to him and they didn’t make any fucking sense, but Ed’s cheeks had warmed and he’d wanted to draw Stede into a kiss. He hadn’t, he’d wanted to and he hadn’t. It wouldn’t be real long enough for Ed to get attached, he yelled this at himself inside his head and god, he was a fucking liar.

Jack raised his eyebrows.

“Why do you care?” said Jack.

Ed reeled around, a stained cushion in his hands. He was shaking, he felt like he was going to fall through the floor. Jack looked him right in the eye and lied, Izzy too. Tricking poor Edward Teach into thinking he was cared about, that he could have his glory days and…he didn’t fucking want them, he didn’t want his music and he was fucking sick of people trying to tell him what he was meant to do. Blackbeard, his stage persona that was bleeding to death and Jack still cared about it more than him.

“Because he’s my friend, Jack,” said Ed. “He’s my friend and I haven’t fucking heard from him in days.”

Their breath stuttered. Shit. They couldn’t cry in front of Jack, Jack would call them a pussy and…Ed didn’t fucking care.Jack was living in some kind of idealized fantasy of the past, he never gave a fuck about what Ed wanted out of their life, Izzy didn’t either.

Jack threw back his head and laughed.

“Since when do you have friends?” said Jack.

Ed tossed the cushion onto the floor. And there it was, the big reveal. Jack wasn’t his friend, he was a lying piece of shit.

“Fuck you, Jack,” she said.

He stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. Ed could hear Jack yelling something at him, something about how this was supposed to be Ed’s dream and he was pissing all over it. Maybe some dreams deserved to get pissed all over, had Jack ever thought of that?

The good news was that Stede wasn’t scrolling through Ed’s Instagram feed anymore. He’d weaned himself off that, he was perfectly content to let Ed’s life be Ed’s life. Sometimes friends drifted apart. He should have seen this coming, what he had with Ed was too good to last.

The bad news was that Stede hadn’t opened the cafe in a week. He was lying in bed, his arms folded over his chest as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.

Getting dressed had actually made him feel better, he’d bought himself a few new outfits and a bottle of wine. Lucius and Oluwande were proud of him, they thought he was starting to break out of his slump.

Stede shouldn’t have missed Ed so much, why did he miss him so much?

It happened so fast. Jack came along, Ed started acting differently, and then he poofed out of Stede’s life, out of all their lives.

But…he couldn’t put all the blame on his own chest, he’d cave it in if he tried that. Ed was his own person, he had every right to just up and leave. He was made to be missed, he wasn’t the sort of person that Stede could get over in a week. Or a month. Or perhaps his entire life. He didn’t want Ed to be gone.

Stede’s lower lip quivered, his eyes were red from sobbing into his bedsheets. He was putting up a brave face for Lucius and Oluwande, for everyone at The Revenge who kept looking at him like they expected him to be in pieces on the floor. And he was, his whole fucking heart was hanging out of his chest on a thread and Stede kept tripping over it every time he tried to think about something else. His first somewhat romantic relationship and it just…collapsed. Stede didn’t even have anyone or anything else for a frame of reference, this was the truly the first time in his life he’d ever cared so deeply for another person. It would be easier if he could hate Ed, but all Stede wanted to do was see Ed’s face again.

Stede heard the apartment door open. Lucius, it had to be Lucius. And Oluwande, who’d been checking on him every single day and stopping by with food. Stede didn’t deserve so much attention and care, he knew part of this rupture was his fault.

Ed walked into the apartment, he paused. He….hadn’t really planned out what he was going to say. He still had the extra key Stede had given him, he was starting to wonder if just walking in like that was a good idea. But they couldn’t go to the record store, they weren’t in the mood to see Izzy’s face.

She stepped into the bedroom. Whatever she said, it had to be good. He was trying to claw it out of his chest, everything that lived behind his fury at Jack. But even that had cooled on the drive over. Ed wasn’t even angry at Jack really, Jack deserved it but Ed just wasn’t. He was disappointed in himself, he’d gotten jerked around by the two people in his life who’d been jerking him around for decades. She had to deal with Izzy, that was set to give her another skull-busting headache. Fuck, maybe she just…wouldn’t? Maybe she’d let Izzy wallow in the failure of his shitty plan, maybe she’d force Izzy to look at her face every day and remember that Ed wasn’t giving that smug little bastard anything he wanted. But that was a problem for another day, Ed didn’t care about Izzy or Jack, they didn’t deserve the space they were starting to take up in Ed’s brain.

Stede turned his head and looked. Wasn’t it a bit early for Stede to start hallucinating? Or maybe that one glass of wine had gotten him more buzzed than usual?

Ed laid down next to Stede, he put his arms over his chest and his gaze was pointed at the ceiling.

Stede spoke very quietly. He’d had a whole speech planned about boundaries and trust, featuring several ship-related metaphors. He’d written it down–actually physically written it, on paper and everything–and rehearsed it in front of the mirror. But now he couldn’t remember a word of it, most of it had been copied from outside sources. It was more like a frantic journal entry and it ended with a few snippets of poetry. Poetry.

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.”

Ed stroked along the bedsheet, they smiled slightly. Poetry. Fucking poetry, of course.

“I lift my lids and all is born again,” he recited.

Stede looked at them, surprised. He hadn’t really expected Ed to know that one. But Ed was…full. He was full of things, of snippets, of literature, of…obscure maritime knowledge that he must have learned for Stede’s sake. Or…perhaps he was just interested, not everything needed to be for Stede. But it made him warm up inside, thinking that Ed maybe picked up a book on British naval history because Stede had turned him on to the subject.

“I think I made you up inside my head,” said Stede.

He hesitated, his fingers crept towards Ed’s and he thought about filling the gaps between them.

“I didn’t know you liked Plath,” said Stede.

His finger touched the edge of Ed’s hand, his breath caught.

“You came back,” he said.

Ed smiled slightly, she slid her hand closer to Stede’s. The distance closed, he thought he could feel Stede’s heart beating through his fingertips. Or maybe he was delirious, he’d driven back in a daze and a rush.

“Of course I did,” said Ed.

Stede bit his lip, he remembered what Lucius and Oluwande said about healing.

“I don’t want to be angry at you,” said Stede.

Ed grasped Stede’s hand.

“Then don’t?” said Ed. “I don’t really want to be angry at you either.”

Stede tried to puzzle it out, who he was supposed to be angry at for this…situation. Ed? Jack? Himself? Thinking about it made him feel tired, he just couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” said Stede “I shouldn’t have said–I shouldn’t have said–”

“I don’t like the way you act when you’re with him.” The words pounded in Stede’s skull.

Ed nodded, he’d been thinking about what Stede said, he’d realized what Stede meant. But he’d been too upset to see it, perhaps they were both to blame. Fuck, why couldn’t they have talked? Why were they so bad at this?

“Jack’s a dick, Stede,” said Ed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was such a massive ratfuck to you, I’m sorry I let Jack be a dick to you, I’m sorry any of this fucking happened. Something’s–”

He swallowed, he was feeling incredibly vulnerable and he didn’t entirely like it.

Stede scooted a bit closer to Ed, he was clutching tight to Ed’s hand.

“I’m sorry I was so rude,” said Stede. “You’re right, Ed. This is who you are. I shouldn’t have been so…disapproving.”

Ed snuggled himself into Stede’s side. He didn’t give a fuck if they should have been angry at each other. They weren’t teenagers, they were two grown adults and this shouldn’t have been so complicated for either of them. But this was their first time, of course it felt like a freefall from about one hundred feet up.

“Do you want to…talk about ships?” said Ed.

Stede looked away for a moment, he warmed at the feeling of Ed’s body against his.

“Er, no,” said Stede. “Why don’t we just, uh–talk?”

And that was what they did, until they both fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Don't you think we'll be better off

Without temptation to regress, to fake tenderness

Waiting to see someone we won't know for long

In cities we'll only leave

-- To Belong // Daughter

This wasn't the plan, this wasn't anywhere near the fucking plan.

Izzy slid the kettle off the stovetop, he gritted his teeth. Where the hell was he, what could he have possibly been doing? He'd texted Ed a hundred times, first out of confusion and then out of genuine concern as he realized that Jack had actually taken Ed away. He wasn't supposed to do that, for fuck's sake. That wasn't part of the plan.

He'd said everything you'd expect, everything about how Ed wasn't being himself and he needed someone to get him on track and Ed always ended up listening to Jack in the end. For better or for worse, Ed would listen to Jack.

But Jack was reckless and he loved fucking with people and....maybe Izzy was stupid for going to him, for expecting Jack to follow any rules that weren't his own. But what else was Izzy meant to do? Who else could Izzy depend on?

He poured himself a cup of tea, his hands were trembling. If Ed was hurt, Izzy was going to personally dismantle Jack with his bare hands. And then he was going to lie down with a pillow over his face and scream until his lungs burst. And if he was still alive after all that, Izzy was going to pour himself a hot cup of coffee and open the record store just so he could have something to do. Izzy wasn't himself without a task, without work.

Izzy heard footsteps on the stairs. He tensed up, he held the kettle in his hands. Who could it be at this time of night? Stede bothering him, Stede asking him where Ed had disappeared off to?

The apartment door opened, Ed took a few steps inside and shut it softly behind her.

Izzy blinked, he gripped the kettle. The scene was so normal to him that he almost forgot Ed was meant to be with Jack.

"Edward?" said Izzy.

Ed winced, he walked over to the couch and clutched at the back of it. Fuck, he forgot what his apartment smelled like. It was all swallowed up by the unholy stink of where Jack lived, Ed still remembered that potent mix of vomit and aged urine. But Ed's place smelled like citrus, everything was cleaned and put away. Because Ed did the cleaning and Ed did most of the cooking and Ed liked when their apartment smelled like a place they could actually live.

"Iz," said Ed.

He flopped down on the couch, he spread his arms over the back. Was it weird of him, feeling sorry for Jack Rackham? The poor guy was still chasing some long-extinguished glory days of BB and Calico Jack and Iz, this sepia tone photograph of when their lives were just a tiny bit less haunted. But you couldn't un-haunt a house, Jack was never getting any of that back. He was a middle-aged sad sack of shit with an ex-girlfriend and a kid he didn't talk to, he'd styled his apartment after the worst time in Ed's life. The worst time for Ed, Jack had his rose-tinted glasses stuck on. When the fuck did the three of them turn into...this?

Izzy moved towards the couch, he put the kettle down.

"Edward--," he said.

He wasn't set to apologize just yet, Izzy didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He'd pulled Edward Teach out of a dangerous slump, he'd shown him what this kind of life was ultimately worth, he'd brought Ed back to the self Ed so desperately needed to be, he'd gotten Ed away from that toxic beacon on the hill known as Stede. If Ed hated Izzy for all of that, it was only a matter of time before Ed realized that Izzy had done Ed a fucking favor. Izzy told himself this with confidence, they were slipping into this old normal and yet Izzy was certain that Jack had broken through to Ed's core.

Ed leaned her head back. She wanted the old normal. She wanted to crack jokes about Izzy drinking too much coffee, she wanted Izzy to huff and get grumpy, she wanted Izzy to yell at Ivan and Fang and then Ed would reprimand him for being such an enormous dick all the time and they'd do the entire thing over again the next day. Normal. He could have that, if he just pretended that Izzy betraying him like that didn't make him want to puke. He could have that, if he just accepted whatever shitty apology Izzy was going to throw at him. He could have that, if he pretended that Izzy felt any kind of remorse over trying to control him. He could have that, if he tricked himself into thinking Izzy was fucking sorry. He just needed to open his mouth and tell Izzy that he forgave him, and who cared if either of them believed it?

"Get the fuck out of my apartment," said Ed.

Izzy blinked, he put his mug of tea down next to the kettle.

"Edward, I know you're upset--," he started.

Ed dragged a hand through his hair, he let out a laugh. Upset? Yeah, that didn't fucking cover it. Izzy would need to dig a little harder for what Ed was feeling, it must have been submerged and suffocating in whatever part of Izzy's brain decided that bringing fucking Jack into both of their lives again was a good idea. Had Izzy forgotten the last time Jack was on their radar, all the fucking and fighting and throwing things between Jack and Izzy? Ed trying to keep the peace, Ed trying to keep the three of them from getting arrested or fucking worse because Jack and Izzy couldn't stop trying to kill each other for five seconds?

Ed didn't raise her voice. She was looking at Izzy calmly, she was detached. She'd gotten rid of it, a whole week's worth of pissed off in less than a day. She was...empty.

"I'm not upset, you fucking prick," said Ed. "And stop calling me that. I'm Ed, that's my fucking name. Get the hell out of my apartment."

Izzy clicked his tongue. Well, if Ed was going to have his little tantrum about it...

"It's our--," he started.

Ed recognized that tone of voice, Izzy was about to make this an argument. But it wasn't a debate, it wasn't a discussion of terms. And if Izzy didn't get the fuck away from him, Ed was going to just leave. Fuck the apartment, fuck the record store even. Ed would march himself to Stede's place, he'd stay there as many days and nights as it took for Izzy to get himself moved out.

Izzy picking up an empty beer bottle and throwing it at Jack, Jack shouting something that almost brought the tears stinging to Izzy's eyes, Izzy yelling something back, Ed telling them both to shut the fuck up because he was trying to sleep. They were young, high on fame and Izzy was so fucking angry at the world still. Ed was angry at the world too, but she couldn't be throwing bottles around about it and she was scared of how Jack could get sometimes when he drank too much.

"It's my apartment, Iz," said Ed. "My store, my apartment. My name's on all of it. And I'm telling you to get the fuck out. You've got ten minutes."

Izzy stared. Was Ed...serious? Seriously kicking him out, after all the shit he'd put up with and done for them? Was this really what Ed wanted, just this erasure of Izzy Hands from their life? They'd been together for decades, Izzy could hardly remember his life before they were on stage.

Jack and Izzy had been fucking, Ed was sure of it. All those years ago, they'd had something going on. They were always doing that, they'd be fucking until Jack said something that made Izzy upset, something about Izzy's limited ability to give Ed what he wanted and then it was cold shoulder until they started up again. Ed knew the cycles, he told Izzy that Jack wasn't worth expending so much energy and Izzy told him to mind his own fucking business. They were so young then, holding so tight to each other.

"You'll regret this, Edward," said Izzy.

Ed chuckled. You know what? She might. She might fucking regret this, she might regret everything she'd ever done in her whole fucking life up to this conversation. But she was too burned out for caring, she just wanted it all gone and done.

Izzy hesitated.

"You went to see him, didn't you?" he said. "When you got back? You went to his place."

Ed stood up off the couch, he was finished with this pointless debate over...whatever Izzy thought they were talking about. Fuck, he didn't want to be doing this. It was just the thought of it that drove him, the idea of sleeping in the apartment with Izzy there and opening the record store with Izzy and...he couldn't. He couldn't do it, there was nothing in the whole wide universe that could have made him want it. He'd give it up first, he'd give the store to Izzy like some kind of consolation prize and never have to see Izzy's face again. Or Jack's. Both of them, fucking bastards who didn't give a shit about him and maybe they never did and maybe Ed was a fucking idiot for trusting them when there were so many other people who deserved it five times more than Izzy or Jack and...

"He doesn't care about you, Edward," said Izzy.

Ed swallowed. But Stede did, he did. Stede taking the record out of Ed's hands and putting on Ed's dress and comparing him to a fucking warship as if that was an average thought to formulate. Golden Boy, pink hair and a smile that could burrow into Ed's chest when he was feeling like garbage. And he so often was those days, until he spotted a head of golden curls in the crowd at his show and realized the sun felt nice on his skin.

Izzy got a box for his stuff, he started packing up. There was no Ed or Edward or Blackbeard he could get through to, not right now. Ed would come to their senses, they had to and they often did and they would.

Pete was taking a tray of braised salmon out of the oven when Izzy showed up at his door, Pete was fresh off another cooking lesson with Lucius and he wanted to prove he could do it without his boyfriend hanging over him. It was vital, Lucius realizing that Pete could do things. No one at The Revenge thought he could, they filtered Pete through his complaints about the uniforms and Lucius needing to instruct him.

But that wasn't important right now, Izzy Hands had just popped over to Pete's apartment with a box of his stuff in his arms and he apparently wanted to...live there? Temporarily, Izzy made sure to get that out right away. This was a temporary stay until Izzy got his own place or Ed let him back in or whatever was happening.

Pete grabbed Izzy a beer out of the fridge. He...wasn't sure what the fuck was going on between Ed and Izzy, it sounded disgustingly messy. But Izzy was a member of Blackbeard's band, or at least he was back in the day. Maybe if they cozied up a little, Izzy might casually drop Pete's name into conversation and Ed would remember that Pete did actually play in the band very briefly and Pete would stop getting skeptical looks from Roach and John and the whole team every time he brought it up.

"Breakups are bad, I get it," said Pete.

Izzy sniffed and took the beer. Breakups? There was no breaking up, him and Ed never had anything.

Izzy did care about Ed, he did. He was just a dickfuck about it, he'd always been a dickfuck about it and he probably always would be because that was the only way he knew how to be with Edward Teach. This perverse need to have his version of Ed because that was the only version of Ed who should have mattered, that was Izzy's Ed and Jack's Ed and Hornigold's Ed and didn't they all agree?

He'd grown up in a world where he couldn't, he'd let everyone down. His father wanted a son and he got a daughter, then he got a son and he wasn't happy with that either. Izzy was never what anyone wanted him to be...until he met Ed and it all came breaking out, Ed told him exactly what he could be and Izzy felt as if he'd found God. God was a genderqueer man and their name was Edward Teach.

"Fucking Stede Bonnet," said Izzy.

If Stede hadn't and Ed hadn't and they could have lived in this mutual understanding of terms, if Stede wasn't this soft thing that Ed wanted for some fucking reason. And it was bad, being a man who wanted soft things. Izzy had learned that and he didn't quite understand why Ed was the way she was, he only knew it was bad to be that way and his wish was for Ed to just be Blackbeard again.

Pete didn't know what to say about any of this, he turned on some music to drown out Izzy's emotions. Discomfort in a Married State, Blackbeard's first album.

The music buzzed through Izzy, he felt himself in the lyrics and he also felt himself break just a little.

Ed woke up on Stede's couch, he stood up and stretched out his arms and felt his shirt lift up slightly to expose his midriff.

They put the shirt up against their face, they gripped the material--Stede's shirt, out of Stede's closet--and gave it a hearty sniff. And another one, deeper. And a third one, they pressed Stede's shirt into their face and inhaled the scent as far back into them as they could.

A light smile--intoxicating, it was making him high--came over his face, he half-closed his eyes and clutched the shirt and exhaled in a dreamy wave. Stede.

Stede and Ed crowded into the bathroom together, there was a lot of elbow-bumping and *"excuse me"* and brushing against each other, but Ed didn't really dislike any of those parts. They stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed their teeth together, Ed took a spare toothbrush out of the cabinet.

They got dressed in Stede's bedroom, Ed turned away blushing when Stede started to strip down and then he was too mortified to actually get changed himself. He put a sweatshirt over the shirt he was wearing--Stede's--and tied his hair back and that was it, he put on some of the lavender perfume that Stede bought for him and a little eyeliner and felt very sexy after Stede complimented him.

Oluwande had a lunch ready and packed. He shoved it into Jim's arms before they left, he gave Jim a smile that shot right through Jim's heart and made their breathing flicker for a brief second.

"I can make my own food," said Jim.

They tilted the plastic container open slightly and inhaled.

"There better be roasted potatoes in here," said Jim.

There were, thank fuck. Oluwande could be an ass sometimes, but he always remembered the roasted potatoes. And Jim's allergies, Jim had many of them and some food issues on top of it that Oluwande had kept himself nicely aware of. As a kid, Jim hadn't been able to escape most of it with the meals they were given. Oluwande was accommodating, he wanted to know what Jim liked to eat and he made it for them every chance.

Satisfied, Jim shoved the container into their bag and tried to play it cool. Oluwande had been branching out with the cuisine lately, he'd made patatas a la riojana for dinner last night and that was all kinds of lovely. It was...connecting, Oluwande making Jim all this food and Jim not really being able to do much in return except mumble a compliment. Many people had cooked for Jim--including Ed and Frenchie--and they were good at it, Ed was a fucking mastermind in the kitchen and Frenchie knew his way around a quick stress-free meal. But Jim liked Oluwande's cooking the best.

"Hey, can you meet me somewhere?" said Jim. "After work?"

Oluwande took off his apron and hung it up.

"The roof again?" he said.

Jim's gaze fluttered over the kitchen, it was somewhat in need of a cleaning. Jim had this silly dream about moving to a larger apartment, about Oluwande spending his entire day being so beautifully domestic. They didn't know if Oluwande would have wanted that, but it was a thing Jim thought about a few times every week.

"Yeah, the roof," said Jim. "Roof's okay."

They hesitated.

"I'll, uh--have my guitar," they said.

They shouldn't have needed to say it, but they just wanted Oluwande to be...prepared. This wasn't going to be one of their regular roof trips, Jim getting high and Oluwande cloud-watching. There were parts of Jim's life that were only for Ed--getting high together, stilted relationship conversations, having everything they both missed out on as teens and more on top of it--and things only for Frenchie. And way off to the side of all that, there was an entire compartment of Jim's life that was only for Oluwande.

"You play guitar?" said Oluwande.

Jim looked away for a second, they felt like they were stuck in a confession booth.

"Frenchie taught me," they said.

Frenchie was teaching them and Jim was picking it up well enough, they'd never played anything that wasn't a drum and Frenchie could tell. But it was important to learn, because some things didn't come through with the banging and bashing of a drum set. Jim only started doing the drum thing because Ed needed a drummer and Frenchie wasn't going to fucking do it. Oluwande could have, but he was over the music scene without having ever stepped foot in it. Enter Jim, Frenchie's cool non-binary friend who wanted to play drums in a band with his favorite trans guy and this genderqueer dude neither of them actually knew very well.

Who even came up with the name? The Kraken? Jim was sure it was Ed, Ed had thrown it out there during one of their brainstorming sessions and Jim--baked out of their mind--had agreed. Jim hadn't asked Ed what the fuck it was supposed to mean, The Kraken.

"What happened to Izzy?"

Fang asked, but it was really Ivan and Fang who were wondering.

Ed told them the honest truth without a second thought and watched the relief play out on their faces. Fang was just glad that Izzy wouldn't be pulling on his beard anymore, Ivan gave Ed a pat on the back and told her she'd done the right thing. Fang was worried, sure. It was hard for him not to be worried about that little ball of rage. But it was out of their hands, Ed was the boss.

Those days without Ed had been....odd. Ivan and Fang sensed the change in Izzy and tensed up, they were ready to just fucking leave if Izzy went off the rails. But Izzy seemed to be...trying? Like actually trying to be a good boss, yelling his lungs out over the smallest things and yet trying. As if he'd reserved himself to Ed not coming back and a part of him wanted to prove he could actually do this leadership thing without a leash around his neck to keep him stable. Izzy couldn't, he was a laughable excuse for a boss. And Fang always thought Izzy wasn't too bad if you knew how to handle him, which Ed did. But Izzy just wasn't built to lead, he was too callous and his preferred method of getting things done was shouting at everyone, customers included. And getting into fights that Fang had to break up.

The day was uneventful. Ivan and Fang did their best, they worked twice as hard and seemed more...content than usual, they weren't on edge and waiting to be screamed at by Izzy. Although Fang remained a little worried, he wondered where Izzy had even run off to if he wasn't living with Ed anymore. Who the fuck did Izzy have other than Ed, Fang, and Ivan?

At the end of the day, Ed closed the store and returned to Stede's apartment.

They had dinner together, Lucius was at Pete's apartment on some "urgent business". Stede had this salad recipe he was itching to try, Ed cooked the main course. They sat down and ate together, they laughed and toasted their wine glasses and Ed told Stede about his day. It wasn't interesting, but Stede hung on every word as if Ed was spinning some kind of grand adventure. And then Stede talked about ships and marine life for an hour, just to even it out.

Ed made their little bed on the couch for the night. They were having breakfast at the cafe with Stede the next morning, the two of them had talked it over.

In the middle of the night, Ed threw the blanket off him and got up off the couch. Gripping the pillow against his side, he walked into Stede's bedroom.

Lucius arrived home at around four in the morning, exhausted and wishing his life could be normal. Fuck, why was any of this his responsibility? Healing, helping, fixing? He signed up for helping Stede run the cafe and dispensing advice on command like some kind of Elder Gay spigot, not for this. At the very least, Fang didn't need to be worrying after Izzy--Lucius didn't even want to unpack that--so that was one less headache.

He peeked into Stede's bedroom, the door had been left slightly open.

Stede and Ed were asleep together, Ed's body curled tightly against Stede's as they snuggled under the blanket.

A smile tugged at Lucius's lips. Maybe sometimes, maybe once in a blue moon, maybe after he was wrecked and ruined by another one of those fucking days... everything was worth it.

Chapter Text

I couldn't utter my love when it counted

Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

--Shrike // Hozier

Jim played the opening part of The Man with the Teal Earring, their fingers clumsy on Frenchie's borrowed guitar.

It was all they'd done so far, just that opening part. The words were barely together, it was very freeform. Stream of consciousness. It must have sounded so fucking dumb, Jim thought.

Oluwande leaned forward off his lawn chair, looked at Jim's fingers--covered in bruises and cuts, he didn't ask where those came from--and put his hands on his knees.

"Is that...about me?" he said, hesitantly like he thought Jim would be pissed about him asking out loud.

Jim put down their guitar, they stared at the horizon and the regret roiled in their chest. Fuck. They should have left this alone, the song wasn't even good. It was unfinished, half-formed, the worst thing Jim had ever worked on. This was so...

"Yeah," they said.

Oluwande took off his beanie, his teal earring glinted in the soft evening light.

"I like it," he said. "It's really...Jim."

Jim stared even harder at the horizon, they gave their standard cool guy nod in recognition of Oluwande's compliment.

An old song. It was like an old song. Comforting, but different. The notes were just a little off.

Ed leaned back a little into Frenchie's chest. Frenchie was braiding Ed's hair, Ed's hand was out and John was swiping polish--pink--over his fingernails. The living room smelled of pumpkin spice candles and black coffee. Shrike by Hozier was playing, Ed wasn't quite sure from where. He was cross-legged on the floor, his head was full of pleasant chemicals.

They'd just finished another show, they drove a few miles out of town for it. A bar full of strangers, drunk patrons swaying back and forth to The Kraken's enthusiastic cover of Modern Love by David Bowie. A bottle thrown at the stage, half-wasted Jim rushing to dismantle whoever had fucking dared and being held back by Frenchie. Ed smoothing over Jim's behavior with an apology and having a drink thrown in his face for the trouble, Jim busting kneecaps and noses in the ensuing brawl, a rush to the exit amid shouted threats and swearing.

It was like an old song. Except Ed didn't have a cigarette between their lips, their hair was longer and different to the touch, they weren't holding Jack firmly against the wall and telling him to please stop getting into fights, no more fucking fights. They couldn't make money off split lips and broken wrists. They couldn't pay for their shitty apartment off bar brawls.

At least Izzy had been one hundred percent on Ed's side there, he went through his phases of--metaphorically and literally--guzzling Jack Rackham's dick over the silliest stuff. But even Izzy agreed that starting fights was bad for them, not for their image but for them getting paid. It was all about the music back then, about making it big. And once they did? It all turned around....in wrong ways, right ways, intensely miserable ways. They had their collaboration with Bellamy, that was definitely a highlight. And getting signed to Hornigold Records was supposed to be their golden goose. Play with the devil, get burned. But fuck, there was so much to miss about those years too.

Ed didn't have a shitty apartment, she didn't have a Jack Rackham getting into bar fights. She'd upgraded to a Jim that got into bar fights. She had a nice apartment above her very own record store. Plants on the windowsill and jars full of orange marmalade. She'd made a lemon pie yesterday and shared it with Stede.

Stede. That still felt like a mistake, an affront to God. Ed couldn't say it out loud, she couldn't damn herself like that. All the time, she wished she knew what Stede was thinking. About....her.

"Sorry about tonight."

The apology came out limp, Jim was sitting on the floor with their head back against the couch. They knew they'd fucked up, Ed hadn't said a word to them about it and they still knew. He'd put on music and Frenchie had offered to braid his hair and neither of them had spoken a word about Jim's outburst at the bar. They were drunk. It wasn't an excuse, but they were very much wasted.

It was just...difficult. The Man with the Teal Earring wasn't coming out the way it was meant to, Jim had been working on it for weeks and they still hadn't finished. Every talk with Oluwande drove their creative process differently, the song was a live thing. It morphed and shivered in their hands. They'd shown Ed what they had so far and Ed agreed that it was...chaotic. Was it even about Oluwande anymore? Or was it more about Jim's feelings...?

Frenchie's experimental piece--working title Knife Cat--was coming along faster. The Kraken would have new music soon, they wouldn't have to rotate the same few songs torn from Ed's notebooks while he was in the throes of trying to figure his shit out.

And Marmalade, Ed's latest try at getting her feelings on paper. Her thoughts about the split with Izzy, long time coming. Her thoughts about...Stede. Golden Boy.

Fucking hell Edward. How could you choose him over me?

Izzy erased that, tried again.

Edward, I'm sorry.

Erased, tried again. Frantic, spilling out.

Edward I didn't do anything wrong you know I didn't do anything wrong why are you being like this just give me my fucking keys back and we can start over like this never happened.

No, of course he wasn't getting his keys back. He was at Pete's place for now, Lucius was allowing it because he had no earthly right to have Izzy kicked out. That was Pete's call and Pete thought sucking up to Izzy might win him something from Ed. Izzy doubted it, he didn't think being nice to him was getting Pete any favors.

And Fang had come over with food. A plastic container of dumplings because it was the only thing he thought Izzy might eat. Izzy was surprisingly chill--no tugging on Fang's beard--outside of work, or maybe it was the result of having watched his entire life come crashing down as the person he'd pledged his existence to looked him directly in the face and told him he was garbage. Yeah, probably a little bit of A and a tiny bit of B.

Izzy went where he was called to. And he wasn't being called anywhere, he was barely tolerated in the places he'd gone to escape. The record store was lost to him, Ed hadn't texted him back. So...that was Izzy's whole stake.

"I think you need weed and therapy."

A fragment of a brief exchange with Jim, Jim's nose turned up in disgust--"what the fuck is he doing here?"--as they passed along a message to Pete. Pete keeping his arms on the door frame to hold Jim off, Jim trying to shove past Pete with the stated purpose of sticking their thumbs into Izzy's eyes.

Ed wasn't even at home, they likely had their phone shut off. Doing a show with The Kraken, this...new thing. Except it was just their old thing repurposed, it was Blackbeard's early days in a fucking loop. Minus Izzy and Jack, the two people who really mattered to the scene. Ed had dumped Izzy in favor of Jim, dumped Jack in favor of Frenchie and made this second try of a band because Ed missed the music so fucking much. Did they think Izzy didn't?

"Blackbeard's Dead". Their last ever tour, a bitter satire. The audience didn't know the truth of it, they didn't care to realize. Blackbeard's dead. Blackbeard's dead...and Edward Teach killed him.

Izzy had spent that whole week vegetating, eating the food Pete brought him--some of it anyway, Pete wasn't the best cook--and taking the only meds he would allow himself to and reaffirming by checking Instagram that Ed actually had chosen fucking Stede over him. He'd even floated the idea--to himself--of asking Fang about it, but the concept of it possibly getting back to Ed was enough. Izzy didn't want sympathy or whatever the fuck Fang or Pete or Lucius thought they were doing.

Izzy texted Jack, the number was still in his phone.

I need to stay with you tonight.

And Jack's reply back, as if he'd been waiting.

Sure about that, sweetheart?

And Izzy's response, half-lying.

Yes. I'm sure.

Morning walk. Perfect time for getting a series of frantic texts from Stede about...whatever Stede was freaking out about now? Sure, Ed loved the man but...Stede had this habit of treating every minor setback in his life like it was the end of the fucking universe. Lucius might have warned Ed about that, a little spoiler for how this was playing out long-term.

This time Stede was anxious about...a wedding? Ed was out on her morning walk, just watching Stede's texts come in and not even set to reply yet because Stede was being so fucking fast. If someone could hyperventilate over text, Stede was definitely trying.

Should I go?

No, I can't. I can't.

It would be rude.

But I was invited! That means it'd be ruder, turning down an invitation? Oh dickens, social rules and all that.

"Dickens"?  Stede must have been melting down entirely if he was pulling out words like "dickens". And he still hadn't told Ed why the fuck he was so bothered by...being invited to a wedding? Probably one of his wealthy asshole friends, Ed reasoned. Yeah, good excuse not to go right there.

Ed nearly wanted to flinch away from this...outpouring. They wanted to feel uncertain and lost again in what Stede was feeling, at least that was known to them. Comforting. On and off with Jack, rough sex in a dirty bathroom. Easy, simple. Strung high with Izzy, one fumbling failed attempt at fucking. Easy, simple. Stede was...intense still.

But...was that easy because Jack--untroubled by expressing his emotions--was easy...or because fucking Izzy had been there? Ed kept the peace between Jack and Izzy, Izzy kept the peace between Jack and Ed and somehow both of them--Izzy and Ed--ended up with their tongues stuck down Jack Rackham's throat--he tasted like beer always--on various separate occasions, never at the same time but Ed swore they could sometimes taste Izzy on Jack's tongue. But Ed could also taste the dozens of other people Jack had fucked.

I think you should go, mate.

Ed was channeling Fang or Ivan a bit there with his answer. He wasn't sure what Stede was even talking about still, ten enormous paragraphs and Stede hadn't explained anything.

Yes, yes, you're correct. Always are.

Ed gave a sage nod and replied.

Fucking right I am.

A short pause and then Stede's next message was on Ed's screen.

Would you come with me? Moral support.

And then he was off before Ed could text anything back, he must have been prepping ahead of anything else.

I'm so sorry! This is last minute and I apologize for springing it on you. But I am rather in need of a date and I didn't feel comfortable asking Lucius. If you don't have anything to wear, you can borrow something of mine! Or I'll buy you something, you won't need to spend any money.

Ed wanted peace, she wanted quiet and calm. She wanted to lie back on her couch and get high and think about what she was meant to do about...Jack. Because Jack was still bitter in her lungs, those days away that worried at Ed's fingertips like a cigarette. Did Stede care about her still, did Stede think she was going to run away again? Ed had come back so quick, his life had changed in an instant--Izzy out of the apartment, Jack's number permanently out of his phone, those two skinny threads to Ed's old life severed and lost and now he was doing this triumphant phoenix rise--and thinking about if he even deserved it, what Stede was trying to give him.

And now...a wedding. Stede wanted to take Ed to a wedding.

I'll see what I can do. About the record store.

It was difficult without Izzy there, not that Ed would have fully trusted Izzy to not run the proverbial ship aground while they were away. There was always Fang and Ivan, they could be good at their jobs when Ed let them. And Frenchie might come in to help, maybe Jim too.

Marvelous! I'll have it all sorted out in a week's time, we can leave on Monday.

Ed stopped her morning walk. Holy fuck. Did she just...agree to go out of town with Stede? For a wedding? They'd never gone out of town together, her and Stede. And to a wedding, hardly Ed's usual scene. A fucking wedding that Stede didn't even initially want to go to, Ed had perhaps sort of...talked him into it?

So whose the lucky couple? Anyone I know?

He made a try at not thinking about it, being in a car with Stede for several hours. His thoughts syncing up with the songs on the radio, laughing and holding his arm out of the window to feel the wind through his fingers. Stede telling Ed about various types of marine life, his hands firm around the steering wheel. Living. Out there.

Stede took a few minutes to reply this time.

My ex-wife.

The two words went through Ed's veins like a shock of frosty air. What?

Taking them apart, trying to make sense of them. "My". Stede's. "Ex-wife".  Stede's ex-wife. This person--stranger, an unknown--who used to be Stede's wife--wife--but she wasn't anymore--ex-wife--and now she was getting married and Stede had been invited and he'd invited Ed to come. Stede's ex-wife had invited Stede to her wedding.

Since when did Stede have an ex-wife? They'd known each other for weeks, they'd worn each others' clothes and Stede still had that fucking shirt Ed tossed into the crowd and Ed was at that very moment wearing a seashell bracelet that Stede had made for him and they'd slept in the same bed last night and whispered secrets to each other like teenagers at a sleepover. Dumb things, juvenile things. And yet Stede somehow forgot to mention that he had a fucking ex-wife.

Ed put their phone in their pocket and they grabbed the seashell bracelet and they wondered what other secrets Stede had been holding out, keeping from them. Ed had told Stede everything. Their abusive dad, foster care, those bits and pieces of their life that cut into them like glass. It wasn't the whole story, he'd left gaps because some of it just cut too deep and Ed had never been able to dig all the shards out of his skin. But...there were some aspects of it that even Jack and Izzy didn't know. She'd given those to Stede like a promise, like an answer, like a...seashell bracelet, made so innocently and so enormously important to her that she wanted to wear it every day. So enormously important that Stede wanted to wear Ed every day, Ed held Stede's hands with glass in his skin and Stede didn't even flinch at the fresh cuts on his palms when he pulled away.

Ed's phone buzzed, a text from Stede.

I understand if you don't want to.

The email had come from Mary three days ago, Stede had sent one back to make absolutely certain that she meant every word of it.

The wedding was a bit last minute, a bit out of the blue. Mary hadn't been planning to have one, but her family insisted she do this right and doing it right meant a wedding. It meant looking over the guest list and having this coil of guilt in her chest for some reason, it meant flitting her gaze over to the one old family photo they still had up on the mantle. Amidst the photos of Mary and Doug and the kids, beach trips and movie nights and all the things Stede had never been present for. Almost every photo of them was strained, Mary's smile that didn't reach her eyes and Stede with his hand resting tentatively on her shoulder. A performance.

But there was that one photo Mary kept up, she'd dusted the whole house of Stede and he was still there in spirit. His smile--true and joyful and beaming--during their monthly family trip to the aquarium, his arm resting on Mary's shoulder and...it was a wonderful lie to believe, Mary could forget the tense drive back home, Mary at the wheel, Mary having the realization that this was it. They only had this one life, this one chance. And the happiest she'd ever seen her husband was when he was talking about dolphins, when he was looking past her and looking past their lives together. And Mary had clutched the wheel tighter as she thought about it, her knuckles ached. They'd gotten home and Stede had slept on the couch and Mary curled up in bed and she heard Stede crying. She didn't talk to him about it, the one time she tried Stede denied it and he didn't know that she could hear him in the living room.

"Why do you hate our lives, Stede?"

"I don't."

Mary took the photo off the mantle and looked at it. He just...left. He disappeared in the middle of the night, she woke up not knowing where he could have gone and then she'd found the email on her computer. She didn't hate their lives, Mary told herself. She didn't hate their lives enough to leave in the middle of the night and ask for divorce through a fucking email.

"You can have the house. Everything."

"I don't want the fucking house, Stede."

Mary's parents thought she was deranged, Doug was confused.  "Why would you invite him to your wedding?"  Mary wasn't sure, the decision had come over her in the middle of the night--two glasses of wine deep--and the email was written before she could sober up. And then it had felt odd to not send it, this surprisingly coherent stream of thoughts. Perhaps a small part of her wanted more than those occasional emails to the kids, maybe she wanted to know Stede was alright. Maybe she wanted closure and she didn't give a fuck if everyone in her life thought she was out of her mind for seeking it from Stede.

Stede was coming to her wedding. He asked if he could bring a guest, Mary told him the limit was one for each and they'd need to sort out a few things with the seating. But it shouldn't be a problem, this wasn't meant to be an event with a formal list of rules, this was last minute and frantic.

Mary retreated to her art studio, she shut the door behind her.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, darling."

The final strains of Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper went softly away, Ed trailed their fingers along the front of their shirt. Fuck, whose idea was it to put on music? They didn't need a fucking soundtrack for this...confrontation. Ed wanted a gentler word for it. And Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper, really? Ed could have laughed, so fucking silly.

Ed blinked, his hand was being held and he was being called darling. While Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper came back on repeat, like they were in a nineties teen romance. And Ed was...crying over it, she reached up with her other hand to wipe a tear out of her eye.

He felt disgustingly split open, he must have looked a mess. And he'd covered it so poorly today, he was wearing a black shirt and one of Stede's ties and a leather miniskirt with fishnet stockings. And the seashell bracelet, it clashed so comically with the rest of his outfit.

Ed wanted to feel sexy. But she didn't, she couldn't, she felt like she was swallowing saltwater down her throat and it was burning her open all the way. He couldn't be there, he couldn't be sitting on Stede's bed and this couldn't be the first time they'd talked to each other since that string of texts.

Wife. Stede Bonnet had a wife--ex-wife, ex-wife, she was his ex-wife--and this was how Ed found out? He didn't even feel like he had a right to be so upset, it wasn't like Stede was actually still married and hiding it. Ed would have left right there, she would have gotten in her car and driven herself somewhere that wasn't full of lying ratfucks. But...why did this feel almost just as bad? Must have been that fucking Cydni Lauper song playing.

Stede reached out, he grazed his fingers over Ed's wrist and Ed's breath almost went still. Fuck.

"What's her name?" Ed said. "Your wife. She's got one, hasn't she? A name?"

A name for the face buzzing around in Ed's head, this amalgamation of every woman Ed could imagine Stede being with. Oh god, he shouldn't have been like this. Over...this thing that so didn't matter. Who cared if Stede had an ex-wife, who cared if he had ten ex-wives and one super secret ex-husband for the cherry? He was with--sort of, sort of with--Ed now, he'd left all of that in a box somewhere and it was only getting out because of a fucking wedding. But...how many people had lied to Ed lately, how fucking many? He knew it wasn't like that with Stede, it couldn't be like that...but this hit like a kick in the nuts, Ed wasn't kidding herself.

"Mary," said Stede. "She does, um--she does art?"

Mary. Mary. Mary. It didn't feel better, having a name. And...an artist?

"We weren't...happy," said Stede.

They were close to each other on the bed, Stede's fingers were brushing Ed's wrist. Asking, wanting.  "Please don't leave."

The texts Ed had found on his phone after he left Jack's place. A few of them in a row, ending with that desperate plea.  "Please".  It seemed as if Stede was always begging, his eyes or his mouth or other parts of him wanting Ed to stay.

"Anything else I should know about?" said Ed.

Stede took Ed's wrist firmly in his hand.

"I have two children," said Stede. "A son and a daughter. And--and--"

The song looped again.

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick

And think of you

Caught up in circles

Confusion is nothing new

Well, Cyndi had that part right.

Stede swallowed, he shut his eyes and thought about whales to calm his nerves.

"And....oh good heavens, I'm so sorry," said Stede. "You must think I'm some kind of monster, keeping my whole life from you like that. I thought it might, er--come up organically, if you get what I mean. Bad luck, I suppose. But I am truly sorry, darling. It was poor judgement."

Darling. Again, so easily from Stede's mouth. Darling. The word just fit so snugly around Edward Teach, he was curled up in every letter. "Darling". Fuck, what had Jack and Izzy ever called Ed? Sweetheart. Baby. Edward. Blackbeard.

"You're fine, mate," said Ed. "I'm not mad."

Stede tucked a stray curl of hair out of Ed's face, his finger grazed Ed's skin. And he reached to cup Ed's cheek almost as habit, almost as reflex. Facing each other on the bed, just like that night after Ed came back. After Ed...came back. Poetry, fingers intertwined, Stede's entire body singing from Ed's touch. Ed Teach, a lover of music and poetry.

Stede ran his thumb over Ed's cheek, Ed hummed. And slowly, the hum turned into a song. A song not yet finished, a song about marmalade and the man whose smile made Ed think of citrus trees.

Chapter Text

Hey boy, where did you get it from?

Hey boy, where did you go?

I learned my passion

In the good old-fashioned school of lover boys

Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine

(one two three four five) precisely (six seven eight nine o'clock)

I will pay the bill, you taste the wine

Driving back in style in my saloon will do quite nicely

Just take me back to yours, that will be fine

--Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy // Queen

Frenchie took a box of records out of the back room, he put them down next to the listening station.

A song by Queen was playing over the store speakers, Fang had put it on out of habit. And it matched the vibe, of course it had to match the vibe.

Fang had been hoping Ed and Stede going out of town meant extra time with his best boyfriend Lucius. Not the case, as it shook out. The Revenge was still very much in operation, Lucius was just doing even more work than usual because Stede decided to run off again. Lucius had only popped by once today, to deliver a nice home-cooked lunch for Fang and to explain the...Izzy situation. There wasn't a situation anymore, Izzy had fled in the middle of the night and left his things at Pete's place. And Lucius had washed his hands of it, this was so not his problem.

Frenchie had already dropped a bunch of stuff, he'd knocked over a coffee mug--fortunately not Ed's--off a table and Frenchie had realized too late that he did not know what the fuck "bedroom pop" was meant to be after Ivan asked him about it. On the brighter side, he was good at directing customers and Fang was there to deal with anyone who tried to start conflict. They were managing well, just Frenchie and Fang and Ivan at the record store.

Fang and Ivan didn't know where they would be working if not at the record store, other than Fang's volunteer work at the animal shelter. Ed believed in second chances and the record store certainly reflected that. Ed didn't judge. Or care actually, she just needed people who could do their work.

Frenchie took a record out of the box. Lovesexy by Prince. And Frenchie held it to his chest, he looked around.

Maybe the record store could use a little more...customization.

Mary thought painting would make her feel better, but it had done very little to hold off the inevitable anxiety as she waited in the hotel bar for her ex-husband.

If he showed up, he showed up. If he didn't, Mary was buying herself another cocktail. She couldn't fend off the expected I told you so from Evelyn sober.

Mary sipped her drink, she felt buzzed already. And Stede was bringing a guest, he'd texted her about it and Mary had for some godforsaken reason told him it was okay. Mary was about to get overwhelmed very fucking quick, she could feel it in her bones. Stede had a habit of...finding the right nerve.

But there were things she needed to say to him and they could only be said directly to his face. It had been hard enough, explaining this whole thing to the kids. The divorce first, all that confusion and fucking paperwork and Mary watching this thing she poured so much of herself into imploding in spectacular theatrical fashion. And Stede without the decency to even visit his kids, Stede keeping mild contact through emails.

"Mary!"

She sent the last of her drink scorching down her throat. Stede was going to be the death of her, she was starting a new chapter in her life and she'd summoned him into it like a fucking harbinger of destruction. Well, if she was going to ruin everything for herself, she wanted it like paint on her canvas. Screeching shades of color in motion, disorienting.

She swiveled around with her drink in hand, Mary got her first look at Stede. She'd stayed away from his socials, she wasn't the least bit interested. If he was living his best life without her--and Mary did hope he was--she wasn't pressed to find out.

Stede was wearing a suit, a loud sky blue suit patterned with white flowers and a black bowtie to go along with it. And his hair was...pink. Bubblegum pink. Mary almost didn't realize it was him, those immaculate golden--pink now, bubblegum pink--curls tipped her off.

A person trailed behind him, they followed Stede into the crowded hotel bar. Their long hair was tied up in a half-bun, they were wearing a Fleetwood Mac shirt with the sleeves torn off and leather pants and a worn pair of Doc Martens.

Mary whipped her head around and waved the bartender over, she shook her empty glass and asked for a refill. She couldn't do this sober, there was no fucking chance she could do this sober.

Stede's smile was fighting to reach his eyes. He looked at Mary in her oversized white turtleneck, her wide-legged black pants and sensible flats. And he realized that he could remember exactly what she'd been wearing the night he packed his things and fled, he recalled the exact pattern of her sundress. And other details, the song she'd been listening to earlier in the evening. A song by Mazzy Star, Stede didn't remember the title exactly.

"It's lovely to see you," said Stede. "You look..."

He trailed off, he'd been about to read off his internal social script. But he was derailed by the look on Mary's face, this obviously wasn't what Mary had been expecting from her ex-husband. And how could she have expected it, this pink-haired man in his colorful suit? He'd dressed in a very Stede way before the divorce, but the colors had been muted and he'd restrained himself to solid pattern suits.

Ed stepped forward to rescue and redirect, he held out his hand and gave Mary his best smile. So this was Stede's...ex-wife. His ex-wife, meaning they weren't married anymore. But they had been, Mary had been tucked into some corner of Stede's life for the past weeks he'd known Edward Teach and he'd only thought to bring her out at the last minute. And she looked a bit like Ed had pictured, her hair was up in a bun and she had an artist look to her. Married directly out of university after being introduced and sort of thrown together, Stede had phrased it.

"I'm Edward," said Ed. "You can call me Ed. I'm Stede's..."

She glanced at Stede, she thought it over for a moment and something constricted inside of her.

"...friend," she said.

Stede cleared his throat. He planned to give Lucius a call later, ask if the cafe was doing well and if the new paintings--the paintings of pirate ships--had come in yet, he thought they matched the decor so well--they most certainly did not, as Lucius had told Pete out of Stede's earshot--and maybe if Stede thought about that he wouldn't feel so out of place talking to his ex-wife in a crowded hotel bar.

"Mary," he said. "How--how are the kids? Doing well, I hope?"

Mary gripped her drink, she reminded herself again that there was no shame in getting absolutely plastered. She just wasn't there yet, she had a mild buzz and that was it.

"They're....good, Stede," said Mary.

Stede opened and closed his mouth. "Oh," he wanted to say. "That's...good! Yes, I'm glad they're doing well. I'm sorry I haven't emailed, I've been quite busy at the cafe. Oh, did I mention I have a cafe now? It's called The Revenge and I think we're getting quite popular!"

Ed patted Stede's shoulder, an offering of comfort. They were feeling like the most pathetic third wheel, this was very obviously meant to be a private one-on-one conversation between Stede and his ex-wife.

"Better get some rest, yeah?" said Ed. "Head up to our room?"

Stede deflated. Fuck, wasn't this meant to be the easy part? Lucius had made it out to be, but Stede was finding it impossible to look Mary in the eye. They'd built up these lives so disassociated from each other, lives never meant to touch. Stede with his cafe, Mary with her art. Stede woke up every day and a part of him lived in this illusion of a past, this illusion of a present. He could pretend he'd never been married, he didn't have kids, he was just a gay man with a cafe and he'd always been a gay man with a cafe. But it always broke in the end, this beautiful story. Stede would compose an email to his kids, he'd ask them mundane questions and the guilt would come over him in a sharp sting when he received mundane answers back.

"Yes," Stede said. "Yes, I--I think that would be for the best, a few hours of sleep."

Mary held up her drink, she shook the glass and felt the smile trapped on her face.

"Breakfast with us tomorrow?" said Mary.

Us. Mary and Doug.

"That sounds...," said Stede.

Horrible.

"....marvelous," said Stede. "Can't, ah--can't think of anything I'd like better."

He made a subtle grabby motion with his hand, his heart rate slowed back down to normal when Ed moved closer to him. Stede put his hand on Ed's arm and breathed out. He needed....well, a stiff drink for one.

Alongside the Ed's Picks section, there was now Frenchie's Picks. Prince, Tracy Chapman, and Phoebe Bridgers. Ed was going to be...less than happy about this development, but he might let this one slide because it was Frenchie.

Fast Car by Tracy Chapman was playing over the store speakers, Frenchie was making the rounds and locking up for the night. Ivan and Fang had left ahead of him, Lucius had swooped in to grab both of them for a game night at Pete's place. And Frenchie had cards with Roach and Jim tonight, no Ed for an unexpected change. They all had places to be.

"I think she hates me. Oh, she won't ever say it. But she hates me. As is her right."

Stede had a drink in his hand and he was pacing through the hotel room. He kept sitting on the couch, getting up off the couch, sipping his drink, then doing the whole thing over again. He wasn't even fucking drunk, Ed told him this might not be the right time to get absolutely smashed. Ed had brought Stede a glass of sparkling water and Stede had taken it because he was too distraught to risk a trip to the hotel bar.

"There's a fucking balcony," said Ed. "Did you fucking see this? A balcony. In our hotel room. A balcony."

He'd stayed in fancy hotels before when he was doing the Blackbeard thing, but nothing like this. The place must have cost a fortune to stay for a few nights, Ed couldn't wrap his brain around how Stede was affording this. He knew Stede was wealthy, but this was wealthy wealthy.

Stede sipped his sparkling water, he finished his floor-to-couch rotation and crossed his legs.

"Oh, Mary's parents are paying for it," said Stede. "All of it. The wedding, the hotel. They want her to...do it right this time."

Do it right. Which meant marrying a guy who wasn't going to run off in the middle of the night and ask for a divorce out of thin air.

Stede had come face to face with the worst mistake of his life. And that mistake had a name, she had a voice to cry out what a shitty husband and father he'd been. But Mary wasn't even full of wrath and salt, she was just that tired sort of angry at Stede.

Ed was excitedly texting Frenchie--There's a balcony!!--and Stede was drinking his sparkling water. This was going to be an uncomfortable few days, wasn't it? Finishing up with an expensive wedding ceremony.

Izzy slid off the edge of Jack's bed, he went to wash his mouth out in the bathroom. Jack was snoring loud enough to rock the apartment and Izzy could feel a headache tapping on his skull.

He gave himself a look in the bathroom mirror. Fuck, he looked like shit. A tiny startled dog in only his underwear and one of Jack's shirts, circles around his eyes from not sleeping and Jack's disgusting apartment smell had rubbed off on him. Unkempt. Izzy Hands was very unkempt and that wasn't like him. Unkempt and wearing Jack's fucking shirt, this was the good old Blackbeard days all over again.

Ed had moved on to this new thing, she had The Kraken with Jim and Frenchie and she had the record store. She had this new person in her life, fucking Stede with his...cafe. Ed had no use for Izzy Hands anymore, they'd outlived the need for an angry little man in their life. Good. Because Izzy didn't need Ed or fucking Blackbeard or anyone, it wasn't as if he'd dedicated most of his life to them.

Izzy touched the tattoo on his cheek. Things were...different. He would have been an enormous idiot to not take notice. Izzy had gone to prison after almost killing a guy in an ill-advised bar fight, Jack had knocked up his girlfriend and possibly also his girlfriend's girlfriend, Ed had stayed the most above water and he still gave up Blackbeard to become this washed up former rockstar playing in a band that barely anyone knew of in comparison to Blackbeard's fame.

"Where are they now?" The question came up to mock, Izzy tried to puzzle out where the fuck their lives went wrong. Ed was traveling with their stupid boyfriend, Jack was sleeping off another hangover, and Izzy was standing in Jack's bathroom with bloodshot eyes and a very recent memory of sucking off Jack Rackham.

Fuck, that could have gone so badly. When he was young and stupid and not really out to himself yet, he could have gotten fucking knocked up by Jack Rackham and that would have been another fucking life trajectory. But he hadn't, thank god he hadn't.

Izzy didn't go back to bed. He got dressed and went for a walk to clear his mind out.

Stede would have liked a few hours of extra sleep, but instead Stede followed Ed downstairs to have breakfast with Doug and Mary at the hotel restaurant.

Ed tried to make herself look just a bit more...fancy. Necklace, earrings, nails polished black, she took one of Stede's white silk shirts and put on a tie. She didn't know what Mary or her husband-to-be would have on for breakfast, she predicted it would be expensive as fuck. This second impression had to be pointed, no Fleetwood Mac shirt.

And why did he care, why was he at all interested in what Mary thought of him? He'd looked her up and found that she went by The Widow Bonnet these days. And her art was...clawing. Violently expressive studies of the human form, landscapes of abstract explosive color, lighthouses. And so many depictions of naked women, which was...interesting. Ed wondered who had modeled for her, it seemed to be the same woman every time from different angles. Ed tried to keep her assumptions about Mary's sexuality tethered, it wasn't any of her business.

The Widow Bonnet. That had to sting. Did Stede even know about it, how he'd been declared dead in Mary's life and now he was washing up on her shore like a sea-bloated corpse? Stede had died, just not the sort of death that Mary would have known about. Or maybe she did, given the multiple paintings of naked women--naked woman, one specific woman--she had up for viewing. Mary had an art show coming up just days before the wedding, Ed wondered if Stede would want to go.

Doug had a pleasant face, he stood up to greet Ed and Stede with a smile. He taught art at the expensive school Alma attended, he explained to Ed and Stede before they sat down to eat.

Mary was sipping her coffee, her smile was mildly less forced than it had been last night.

"Art teacher?" said Ed. "What's it like, teaching art?"

Doug shrugged, he hadn't made any visible reaction to Ed's abundance of jewelry or Stede's pink hair. Mary had told him about the hair beforehand and Ed just looked so natural covered in shiny things.

"Oh, same as any other thing," said Doug. "The kids love it, especially Alma. She must get that from her mother. It runs in the family, being creative."

He gave Mary's arm a comforting squeeze, Mary gave him the most real smile Stede had seen on her face so far.

"Interested in art, Edward?" said Doug.

Ed recalled their notebooks full of rejected ideas for album art and all their doodling through downtime at the record store. If the Blackbeard thing had crashed a little earlier, Ed probably would have gone after something to do with painting. Or maybe he wouldn't have, Ed couldn't be sure which direction his life would have gone if Blackbeard had never existed as anything more than a thought experiment.

"Reckon I am," said Ed. "Bit of an artist myself. But I mostly do music these days, writing lyrics and all that. And I've got a store, we sell records."

He picked up his cup of coffee and smiled.

"And call me Ed," she said.

Doug blushed, Mary laughed, Stede sank a bit into his seat and thought about seahorses. Oh. They...liked him. They liked Ed. That was...good? Ed was so fucking easy to like, Stede wasn't sure why he thought they wouldn't.

Ed and Doug descended into conversation about art and music, Ed told Doug about his band. Doug was easy to talk to, he wasn't an enormously judgmental prick and he also didn't know Ed as anyone not Edward Teach. The Blackbeard association was gone from the jump, Ed could talk about their music without the threat of it being compared or analyzed as an extension of their Blackbeard persona.

Stede and Mary said nothing to each other through this, they shared glances and kept quiet while Ed and Doug talked.

After about twenty minutes of this, Mary asked if Doug would perhaps grab her sweater from their room, she was getting a bit chilly.

Ed got up to accompany Doug, they continued their conversation about art as they vanished off to Mary and Doug's room.

Mary leaned back in her seat. Her parents were handling most of this, they were paying for the hotel and the venue and even funding Mary's art show despite not needing to. And they didn't like her being an artist, they thought she should focus on the "wife and mother" parts of her life. They didn't even like Doug, they thought he wasn't good enough for her. Well, Stede hadn't been good for her, Mary wasn't further prompted to consider her parents and their point of view. Their families had practically arranged the thing first time out, Mary and Stede had been "perfect" for each other by some metric neither of them had access to. Being wealthy and Stede's father owning a huge company probably. And Stede would have likely been eternally single if Mary hadn't been shoved at him. She had liked Stede, he seemed kind and she could have done a lot worse for rich boys.

"So...you have a cafe now," said Mary. "How's that going?"

Stede stared at his barely touched plate of food.

"Oh, it's a struggle," said Stede. "But isn't everything we do in this life? Just...struggling? I'm--I'm sure you're, er--having a good time of it."

Mary laughed. She was having a good time of it, her life was a struggle still. But loving Doug was easy, she at least had that going for her. Loving Stede had been an active choice she made every day, being in love with him had been...impossible. She could find it in herself to care for Stede and maybe he could care about her if he tried, but that was all they could give.

Stede played with his fork.

"Doug seems like a....wonderful man, very kind," said Stede.

"Better than I ever was for you," Stede added to himself.

Mary nodded, she was getting more comfortable. She'd adjusted herself to Stede's hair, to his brighter clothes--today he was wearing a pink cardigan with roses on it--and the fact that his most genuine smile had been aimed at this person he was with--this Edward Teach--and he was really the same deeply strange man she recalled from her marriage to him. The inevitable infinite Stede.

"And what about you?" said Mary. "Do you have anyone?"

And it burst out like a radiance from him, this smile. Mary thought she knew Stede's smiles, the strained one he put on for family photos and the genuine one he wore when talking about marine life and the one that didn't quite come to his eyes when he was uncomfortable in a social state. But this was a new genre of Stede smile, Mary was briefly astonished.

"I think I do, yes," said Stede. "They--"

Ed and Doug returned, Stede cut himself off and his cheeks warmed.

"...fucking banger of an album," Ed was saying.

They brushed their hand over Stede's shoulder before they sank back into their seat, speaking to Doug still. They had on the seashell bracelet Stede had made for them, they'd grabbed it from their room on the brief journey back to the restaurant. They thought it matched well with Stede's silk shirt.

Mary noticed. She saw the brush of Ed's hand over Stede's shoulder, she recalled what Stede had just said to her. And she started to wonder.

They were talking, the three of them. Mary and Ed and Doug. Something about art, something about music, something about Whitney Houston and Queen and David Bowie and various other musical artists that Ed recommended.

Stede was left out, but in a pleasant sort of way. He was drinking coffee and thinking about what he'd said.

It hadn't occurred to him before Mary asked. And then the words had come out like a reflex, they'd come out easily. "I think I do, yes." Stede had of course been talking about Ed and he'd been about to say something, the lyrics of Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy--Ed had played that for him once--had been playing through his head. But...who else? Who else made Stede happy in the way Doug clearly did for Mary? Ed painting Stede's nails, Ed coming over at three in the fucking morning with muffins just because Stede asked for them, Ed complimenting Stede's dyed hair even though Stede was sure it looked silly on him, Ed putting on records, Ed listening to Stede talk about ships, Ed texting to make sure Stede had gotten home alright despite them living close to each other and Ed having no reason to worry after Stede's safety, Stede sending Ed pictures of ships and asking for Ed's honest opinion. Stede making Ed that seashell bracelet, Stede gifting Ed orange marmalade and cakes and anything else he thought would please Ed's sweet tooth, Stede wanting to buy Ed clothes but also not wanting to do that because he kind of liked Ed taking shirts and other things out of Stede's closet to wear.

Stede felt Ed's hand under the table, Ed's hand fluttering against his. And Stede realized that for those weeks, for all that time spent together, perhaps since the very moment Ed had tossed that shirt into the crowd...Stede had been in love with Edward Teach.

Chapter Text

You came from nowhere like a miracle cure

And you took me out to the glittering streets

Told me to forget myself alive

Cause there's life out there

And we're young and free

There's music and laughter

And it's time to forgive

If I can surround you in beautiful sounds, I will

If I can repay you for coming to save me, I will

–Miracle Cure // Sea Wolf

Jim tossed back another beer, they crushed the empty can up against the edge of the table. Fuck. Card games were less fun without Ed. Who would have guessed? Definitely not Jim, they only agreed to this because they forgot Ed was out of town with his…boyfriend?

Pete was there. Pete was hardly ever invited to card games because he cheated, this was strictly a thing for Jim and Ed and Roach and Frenchie and sometimes Fang or Ivan if they were up for it. There was a balance to things like this, but Frenchie felt bad for Pete and there was no arguing with Frenchie when he felt bad for someone. So…card games with Pete, cheating or not.

Pete had some kind of disagreement with Lucius. Not a fight, but a genuine disagreement. Jim thought it sounded like miscommunication, but they weren't invested. If Pete and Lucius were having trouble, Jim wasn't putting too much faith in relationships. Pete and Lucius were the most well-adjusted and healthy out of all the couples in town, Jim thought. And Fang too, Jim wasn't forgetting about Fang. Boyfriends. It sounded tiresome, having one boyfriend would have tired Jim out.

The Kraken was a living thing. What was The Kraken without Ed, what was The Kraken without Jim, what was The Kraken without Frenchie? They could rebrand, put Pete on drums and Frenchie could keep doing guitar and maybe he'd sing too.

The Kraken didn't need Jim, the whole thing was Ed's midlife crisis and Jim was only part of it because it was fucking fun.Cut off a tentacle–ideally with one of Jim's knives–and two more would grow back in its place, it would keep moving under the water long after Ed got sick of it or Frenchie went off to do his own thing or Jim..left.

Jim flipped a card over, they barely looked at it and played with their knife on the table. Roach said no weapons in the apartment, Jim reminded him that he'd once almost put a meat cleaver through an intruder's eye socket. So Jim kept their knives and Roach was allowed his various kitchen tools.

“Hey Frenchie,” said Jim. “One shot, one straight shot out of here. Where would you go?”

Frenchie stared at Jim, his feet up on the table. He was bad at card games when he wanted to be bad and good when he wanted to be good, his strategy was knowing every single person's tell. Pete had this thing he did with his fingers that he thought no one else could see, a prelude to his cheating. Roach always looked away and then back again when he had a good hand, pretty obvious one right there. John couldn't contain himself from grinning like a dork or laughing, he really didn't have the head for being subtle with card games.

“Uh…I don't know?” said Frenchie. “I'd just go.”

He didn't have a car. They couldn't afford one, could hardly afford anything. But if he could have, he would have driven off into the sunset with John. And John would have come with him easily enough.

Jim hummed. Yeah, they liked that. Just go. Did they even need to think about it, this big end game? They could take off in their car and never stop moving, that could be their life.

But…Oluwande. Fuck. They would have missed him. He was…someone good in their life, they'd never had that before. And if Jim left, there was no possible way they'd have someone like Oluwande ever again. And what about Frenchie, what the hell was he supposed to do without Jim to protect him and beat him at card games to keep him humble?

Pete looked up, he scratched his head.

“Hey, uh–thanks,” said Pete. “For tonight. I needed this.”

Jim leaned back in their chair.

“Any time,” said Jim.

Mary and Doug asked Ed to go shopping with them after breakfast, Ed happily took the offer. Stede declined, he complained of a migraine. Ed patted Stede's shoulder and told him to go lie down, Stede–very much lying–promised he would.

In love. Stede was…in love. He took the words and shaped them, he sang them through his skull like a melody. Love. He didn't know what that felt like, it was a concept so distant and alien to him and he didn't think he could, Stede had loved passionately and he'd never been in love. But…Ed. Doug and Mary had made him realize, he'd seen something in Mary that lived so brightly in himself. Ed. Darling. Beautiful. The kindest person. Hauntingly pretty. The smartest person Stede had ever met. Looks sexy as fuck in a skirt.

It wasn't such a bad thought, being in love with Edward Teach. They were really the best choice, a marvelous person to be in love with. They liked to smoke weed and listen to vinyl records, they liked to touch soft things, they wrote music, their band was everything to them, they liked to whisper secrets about themself in the dark, they smelled like lavender soap, they liked to bake. Who wouldn't fall in love with Edward Teach?

Stede swallowed, he thought about how Ed's arms looked in that Fleetwood Mac shirt and how those arms would feel around him, wrapped tight and putting the smell of lavender soap deep into him as he sank into Ed's chest and…

Stede fell back onto his bed, he forced himself to think about sharks and not the beautiful perfect warm arms of Ed or running his fingers through Ed's hair or Ed lying on his chest or Ed giggling with his arm up against Stede's chest or…various other things, many of them so filthy that Stede had to turn his brain intensely towards sharks as his cheeks warmed and he became a bit more lightheaded.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it.

Lucius erased the message, typed it again, erased it again. It felt right, but maybe saying the right thing wasn't going to fix this? More than anything else, he just wanted Pete to talk to him. They'd never had a fight like this before. Not even a fight, Pete had slightly raised his voice in protest of something Lucius said and Lucius had felt like a complete dick.

He didn't mean what he said, he wasn't even sure where it had come from. Lucius had been lightly berating–teasing really–Pete about the sad excuse for a cake he'd made. And Pete had mentioned something about how baking was more difficult than it looked. And Lucius had commented–without thinking, being stupid–that Pete was a man of limited skills and that was alright.

Pete had gone on defense instantly, he thought Lucius was calling him stupid and Lucius wasn't. Pete was just…not the smartest or best person at most things. And that was okay, Lucius fucking loved everything about Pete. He loved the things Pete was good at, he loved teaching Pete how to cook. Pete could put together a bookshelf in fifteen minutes, he could carve wood. And he'd grown so fucking much.

I'm sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say. I didn't mean it like that, I promise.

That was more honest. Lucius sent this text off with more confidence, Pete would appreciate the truth more than any generic “I'm sorry I fucked up” on Lucius's end.

Pete's reply came in a few minutes later, Lucius had to dash across the apartment and pick up his phone.

I know, babe.

Lucius relaxed, he fell back onto the sofa. So Pete wasn't angry at him, that was one problem wrapped up. There were others piled on Lucius, he couldn't have a pissed off boyfriend on top of it.

Mary handed over her armful of shopping bags to Doug and he deposited them into the car, they stopped at a little cafe for lunch. Mary ordered coffee and a sandwich, Ed asked for the same and also a few pastries from the menu that Doug suggested.

“How long have you been…friends with my ex-husband?” said Mary.

Doug had abruptly excused himself, he thought he'd left something at the boutique. Ed wasn't keen to be left alone with Mary, they'd been having a wonderful time chatting together. Three of them, barely any room for those awkward pauses and for Ed to process having an actual conversation with Stede's ex-wife whom he hadn't known about for the better half of knowing Stede. They'd moved past that, the part where Stede–not even purposefully, but perhaps a bit tactically still–concealed a rather large aspect of his life from Ed. Ed couldn't be pissed at Stede and eating delicious pastries, they couldn't be fresh off a lovely conversation about art and still upset. Stede had promised that would be the last time he ever did anything like that, he hadn't even meant to the first time and Ed was doing herself a service by forgiving him.

And there was that feeling again, that sense of being out of place. And she shouldn't have, Ed was there on invitation and she had every right. But…it was hard to kick, once it crept in and Ed caught a glimpse of himself in his coffee. She had one of Stede's shirts and so much jewelry, expensive jewelry.

“Oh, not long,” said Ed. “Feels like we've known each other for…days.”

Mary glanced at the seashell bracelet around Ed's wrist, she considered how it didn't precisely line up with the rest of Ed's outfit. He'd been wearing it yesterday too, hadn't he? Perhaps it was a gift. Perhaps he was wearing it for someone.

“And how is he?” said Mary.

Ed chuckled, he brushed his fingers over the seashell bracelet. And their smile faltered, they noted how Mary's gaze flashed over to the bracelet for a split second and there was a subtle change in her face.

“Fucking lunatic,” said Ed. “He's got this…pink cafe. It's like a fucking dollhouse. He's got this coffee machine from the fifties and fucking…French coffee, French coffee and little cakes and live music.”

He talked easily, Frenchie and Jim had gotten sick of all his Stede talk. But Mary was fresh into it, she was nodding and smiling along.

“Sounds like our Stede,” said Mary. “Does he still do the…thing? The–?”

She put her hand on her hip and made an exaggerated face of discontent, demonstrating.

Ed laughed, Mary was quite good at her Stede impression when she really put herself into it.

“He does,” said Ed. “Does it with Lucius and Pete all the time. And he's got this look he does when he knows he's done something wrong, this kind of…kicked puppy look, have you seen that one?”

Mary nodded, she gripped her cup of coffee.

“Oh, he did that all the time,” said Mary. “One time he bought–oh, you'll never believe this. I still can't. He bought a fucking boat. For me. As a surprise. After I told him I hated the ocean.”

Ed snorted, she could believe that and also not believe that because it sounded deranged. Deranged and very on brand for Stede.

“Fuck, did he really?” said Ed. “A boat? The most expensive thing he's bought me so far is…a bottle of French wine? Fucking hell, I looked it up and apparently it cost a small fortune. And he just gave it to me like it was nothing, the maniac.”

Mary let out a sigh. Yes, that was very Stede. French wine, boats. He was so dramatic. And Mary wasn't even sure the boat was a declaration of anything, Stede had mostly bought it for himself and because he thought it might somehow patch up their marriage. Change of scenery, getting away from the mundane and all that. Stede dreamed, he gave himself to fantasies and came out the other side thinking grand gestures would solve everything.

“You don't seem like the wine drinking type,” said Mary.

Ed picked up a pastry, he shrugged.

“I try not to drink,” said Ed. “Gave the wine to my roommate. He's…”

Ed's expression changed for a second. That had been one of the last, she was sure of it. One of the last truly civil interactions she ever had with Izzy Hands, the last time she'd smiled at him and he frowned at her and everything was…as it should have been. But it hadn't been as it should be for a long time before Ed kicked Izzy out of the apartment, it hadn't been good for years.

“Were you two close?” said Mary.

Ed took a bite of the pastry, chewed and swallowed. It tasted of blueberries.

“He's been with me through so much,” said Ed. “We weren't friends, I don't think anyone I've ever met has been…”

She breathed in, she rotated the pastry in her hand. Benjamin Hornigold wasn't her friend, Jack had never really been her friend, Izzy wanted so much that Ed couldn't give him and he was a ratfuck on top of it. The only people Ed would have called friends were…Jim and Frenchie. And Stede.

“Doug,” said Mary. “And Evelyn. They've both been…amazing, helping me through this. I'm lucky to have them.”

Evelyn. Was that Mary's model, the woman whose body Mary had transcribed onto the canvas? Evelyn was fortunate then, to have someone who saw so much beauty in her bared form.

Mary smiled.

“I hope you have someone like that too,” said Mary.

Ed nodded, he took another bite of his pastry.

“I do, yeah,” said Ed. “And he's got me. We've…given each other the best of us. And the worst, also the worst of us. But…I wouldn't be here without him, I don't think we'd be the way we are without each other.”

Mary held up her cup of coffee, offering a toast.

“To being the way we are with our…chosen loves,” said Mary.

They toasted, they laughed. And Mary invited Ed to attend her art show, the last one she was having before the wedding. There would be shows after the wedding, dozens of them probably. But for the time being, she wanted to pour all of herself into this new chapter of her life.

“You and me, Iz.”

Jack reached to put his arm around Izzy's shoulders, his eyes shot red from the chemicals he was putting into his lungs. Izzy flinched in his grip, but he made no move to pull away as Jack dragged him closer.

He melted into Jack's side, Jack was stable and never-changing and sturdy and honest. He drank and he smoked and he fucked and he played his bass and that was all there was to him. Izzy needed something–someone–uncomplicated, he needed someone who wore it on their sleeves and Izzy never had to take a guess at what they were thinking.

“You and me, Iz.”

Jack slurred, he took another drag and pulled Izzy tighter into his side. Who the fuck needed Blackbeard–Ed–Edward–whatever? It was just the two of them, Izzy Hands and Calico Jack. They didn't owe anything to anyone, they were free fucking agents.

“You and me, Jack.”

Izzy didn't think Jack heard him, Jack just took another drag and stared off into the distance. Izzy forgot what day it was, he forgot if he'd slept through the night or if he'd woken up at three in the morning for another walk. He didn't feel like he'd closed his eyes in days, the stench of the apartment and Jack's noise had kept him up.

Izzy's eyes fluttered shut, he felt Jack shift away from him and he toppled sideways onto the floor. His last thought was of Jack calling him a lightweight, Jack laughing at him and calling him a “pussy” because Izzy couldn't drink too much without puking it all back up again. How many times had Izzy puked and how many times had Jack laughed at him for it? Izzy didn't want to know, he'd purposefully lost count.

Chapter Text

She said

“I don't want to be buried in some salty soaked oak-wood box

Sleeping underground

I want my ashes to be spread above the clouds

I wanna go out guns blazing

With booze and songs being spilled from the top of the glass”

I guess that much we can agree upon

We can float around

'Til our feet aren't touching the ground

–Make It Out Alive // Angus and Julia Stone

Ed shifted her feet, she was slightly uncomfortable.

He'd…dressed up. He dressed up in a way he usually would for this kind of function, but also in a way he usually wouldn't. Mary had made it sound like this was some kind of casual thing, no pressure. Yeah, nothing casual about this fucking art show.

It was a bunch of wealthy people in suits and evening dresses, expensive jewelry and high heels and the clinking of champagne glasses. Ed felt just slightly out of their element, they were wearing a Black Sabbath shirt and a black skirt. A pearl necklace, emerald earrings, boots, his hair up in a ponytail.

Ed squeezed at the material of her shirt. Fuck. Mary told him this would be casual, that this would be…fuck. And he fell for it, he actually believed–no, he'd wanted to believe–

Stede appeared next to him, drink in hand and face pinched into an exaggerated fake smile he'd been wearing all evening. He shoved a flute of champagne into Ed's hand, he was wearing a pink suit that matched his hair. He was getting stares too, but less than Ed.

“I hate this sort of thing, don't you?” said Stede.

He didn't want to say he hated the people, although the parade of judgmental faces was grinding on his patience. He'd always felt out of place, this wasn't a revelation. But Stede had never quite felt an external sense of not belonging. And Stede had spotted Nigel Badminton skulking around, his childhood bully.

Ed chuckled, she took a sip from the champagne flute. Did they both look so fucking out of place, Ed in his Black Sabbath shirt and skirt? Stede with his hair dyed pink and a suit to match? They looked more fun than anyone in that room, Ed allowed himself a bit of joyful smugness to take the edge off.

Stede leaned close to Ed, he spoke into Ed's ear and Ed stopped moving for a second.

“Shall we go, darling?” said Stede.

Ed blinked, their cheeks warmed and they took another sip from their flute. “Darling”. They were…darling now, that was what Stede had chosen to call them after all that time of having it to think about and Ed not really expecting anything and there it was like something down from the heavens. “Darling”. Edward Teach. “Darling”. Why was she smiling so hard about it, blushing, about to start giggling in a roomful of judgy stares?

“She'll be pissed,” said Ed. “Can't just…skip out.”

Couldn't they? Couldn't they just…leave? Couldn't they just head back to their hotel room, change into something more comfortable, listen to David Bowie and talk about ships until they both fell asleep under a blanket?

Stede pretended to pout, he playfully bumped his shoulder against Ed's.

“Heavens, Ed,” said Stede. “I'm starting to think you like Mary more than you like me.”

Ed returned the shoulder bump, she grinned. And what if she did? What if she liked Stede's ex-wife, loved her even? Because there was so much to love there, Mary had a gorgeous smile–she smiled like Stede when she was with Doug, the joy came rushing out of her eyes–and she was funny. Why wouldn't Ed like Mary? Mary was fucking fantastic.

“Jealous Stede?” said Ed. “Haven't met him before. Intrigued.”

Stede held up his own champagne flute, they toasted and Stede's face lit up with a real smile.

“He sounds quite bothersome,” said Stede.

Ed took another sip from their flute.

“How about drunk Stede then?” said Ed. “Meeting him tonight, am I?”

Stede already looked halfway there, he'd clearly been indulging himself with liquid courage. Ed couldn't blame him, this wasn't the type of crowd either of them could stand. Drunk Stede was fun, Drunk Stede liked to hang off Ed and talk about ships and spill forth details of his fucked up childhood. Maybe not the best look for an art show, not with Mary around.

Stede hummed, he drank more champagne. He hadn't seen Mary yet and he didn't want to, he hadn't spoken to her since that breakfast. And it was really Ed she'd invited, Ed she adored because of his proximity to Stede while not being Stede and who wouldn't adore Ed? Who wouldn't…fall in love with Edward Teach in all the ways you could fall in love with a person, all the ways love could rear itself in beautiful shades of lavender?

“I'm not drunk,” said Stede.

He was, just not off the champagne. He was drunk off Edward Teach, beautifully tipsy from the electric balm of Ed's shampoo and Ed's devil-may-give-a-shit attitude that she'd cultivated during the years Stede was still a fumbling university student.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stede spotted Mary. And he didn't want to leave Ed's side, they were stood up shoulder against shoulder and it really felt like there was no one else they would have rather been sharing this experience with.

But he broke off from Ed, he made a comment about needing to speak with Mary for a moment. He saw the hurt on Ed's face and the guilt rumbled out past the buzz of the alcohol, but this wasn't a conversation he could have with Ed within earshot.

“Be back soon, yeah?” said Ed.

She grazed at Stede's wrist, her gaze flitted anxiously over the crowd.

Stede gripped Ed's hand for a moment.

“Soon,” said Stede. “Won't be a moment, darling.”

He vanished off to find Mary, to ask her questions.

Izzy kicked over a pile of empty bottles. It was Day…thirteen? Five? The count had slipped away from him, as had the last few hours of drinking and shouting.

They had a show tonight, another one. And of course Jack wanted to get absolutely smashed after he put his bass down for the night, he wanted to drink the bar dry and he would have if they didn't get kicked out. Did they even get paid or did Jack make too much of a loathsome fuck of himself? Izzy couldn't recall, the hours and days were blurring together and Izzy's head was killing him half the time now.

He picked up a shirt–Jack's–and stuffed it into the laundry basket, he'd been trying to clean up and it had come to him that Jack's place wasn't the sort that could be clean. The mess was eternal, something to clean up was consistently spawning in every corner of the apartment like a fucking magic trick and Izzy's head felt like it was about to crack open if he had to deal with another pile of Jack's stained shirts.

But he dealt with it all the same, cleaning up after Jack and getting Jack prepped for his shows and fucking Jack and…when was the last time Izzy had a minute to himself? He went on walks, but then he'd come back and it was as if he'd never left the apartment because everything was just filthy and the air outside wasn't doing anything for him.

Izzy had coasted into Ed's life with a shitload of daddy issues he probably should have gotten worked out before hitching himself to Edward Teach. But who in Blackbeard's little group didn't have daddy issues? Practically a fucking requirement. Except maybe Jack, no one knew what Jack's deal was because Jack would rather choke on another mouthful of booze than talk about his emotions.

He picked up a bottle of whiskey and shook it, he drank out the last mouthful and flinched as it went down hot. He thought about that bottle of fancy sake Ed got imported from Japan for her birthday one year, how she tried to egg Izzy into trying it and he refused. Maybe…he should have? Maybe if he'd been more open to drinking sake and listening to Edward Teach, he wouldn't be drinking days-old whiskey out of a bottle in Jack's shitty apartment? Cause and effect, the butterfly.

Izzy threw the empty whiskey bottle into the trash, he set about cleaning up again.

Mary could hear people talking. Not about her art that she'd worked so fucking hard on, but about Stede. Whispering, eyes darting to look, frowning, curious glances in the direction of Stede and his…friend. Stede had walked back into Mary's life in a pink suit with pink hair and on the arm of Edward Teach, the gossip mill was turning.

“Oh, is that why he left her? Should have known, he was always…”

Mary caught a fragment of conversation from what sounded like the Badmintons, she gripped her champagne flute tight. In a strange twist of events, she was feeling bad for herself and Stede and also his friend in equal measure. She'd told Ed this was a casual event and he'd taken that literally, Mary had to admit Ed was rocking that skirt and she felt bad about all the nasty comments she'd heard.

Stede sidled up beside Mary, he'd put down his drink and checked himself out in a mirror before his timid approach. He wasn't that drunk.

“Oh, I hate these sorts of things, don't you?” said Stede. “All posh and full of assholes.”

Mary swallowed. Oh god, she did not have the energy to deal with Stede on top of everything.

“Wow, I'm glad to know you hate my art show, Stede,” said Mary.

Stede blushed, he folded his hands over his waist. Shit. He didn't mean it that way, he really truly didn't. He didn't hate Mary's art show, he thought Mary's art show was fucking gorgeous and all her paintings were something special. But it was just the people, those uptight pricks with their cars and their judgement of him because he wasn't what they wanted still.

Mary started to walk away, Stede reached out for her.

“Mary, no–please–I'd like to speak to you about something,” said Stede. “Can't we please forget?”

Mary swung around, she very much wanted to pick up one of her paintbrushes and stick it through Stede's ear. Forget?Fucking forget? Was that what Stede had been doing since the divorce went through? Forgetting he was ever married, forgetting he had kids until those small bubbles of contact, forgetting Mary even fucking existed? But Mary couldn't just pretend they'd never been together, she had to deal with all those people talking about her and spreading the nastiest rumors and now even her own art show was crashing all because she'd invited her ex-husband and her ex-husband's friend.

Mary took a sip of wine to keep her nerves calm. She wasn't getting into a very public fight with her ex-husband, Evelyn or Doug would have intervened at first sign. And Mary didn't even want to do it, yelling at Stede in front of everyone and making a fucking scene.

“Mary, it is your right to hate me,” said Stede. “And–and I will try to call more, to show up at birthdays and holidays for the kids. If that's what you prefer. But–but I don't want this to be–I never wanted it to be–”

He stopped, he didn't need to keep with that one for Mary to understand what he was getting at. And Mary wasn't angry about that, the kids were doing pretty alright, they'd warmed right up to Doug. She was angry that Stede was ruining her art show just by existing and angry at herself for not seeing this coming a mile away.

He let out a sigh, he very much felt like crying.

“Do you really hate me that much?” he said.

Mary shrugged, she took a sip of her drink.

“Yeah, Stede, I kind of do,” said Mary.

Stede deflated, he traced a finger over his own champagne flute. Fuck, how drunk had he gotten? He should be getting back to Ed, they had some things to talk out.

“Oh,” he said.

Mary thought about what Ed had told her, she considered what she knew–or thought she knew–about Stede, about Ed, about what the two of them had together.

“But we don't have to hate each other,” said Mary. “We just need to…have our own lives.”

Stede turned to the piece displayed in front of him, one of Mary's paintings. A woman in front of a lighthouse, her head turned away and her palms spread out over the sand. An enormous wave swooping down to take her, golden locks of hair down her naked back.

“I love it,” said Stede. “Does it have a name?”

Mary followed Stede's gaze, she sipped her wine. He seemed awfully interested, not in the naked subject of the painting but in the wave set to engulf her.

“Wherever You Go,” said Mary. “Evelyn modeled for that one.”

Stede recited the title to himself. “Wherever You Go”. He wished he could be…just for a moment…

“Mary, what's it like?” said Stede. “What's being in love like?”

Mary shrugged, she didn't think to ask why Stede wanted to know. She had a theory that started and ended with a seashell bracelet, she had ideas about why Stede would be asking her.

“Easy,” said Mary. “Being in love is..easy. You understand each other, even if no one else does…”

Ed leaned forward, listening intently to Stede's ship talk that had turned into shark talk that had turned into musings about the social lives of whales. Stede was speaking quickly, sitting on the sofa hugging a cushion while Ed listened as if every word out of Stede's mouth was the most important in the galaxy. They were both drinking from a bottle of sake that Ed had gotten from Japan on import. Izzy wouldn't touch the stuff first time around, Ed had bought another bottle recently and Stede wanted to try it.

“……you introduce each other to new things, new experiences…”

Stede cried, the first time he listened to “And Dream of Sheep” by Kate Bush. Ed had the album on for background while they made soap together, an activity Stede wanted to try after Lucius sent him videos. And Ed asked what was wrong, they asked if Stede was alright. Stede lied and said he was okay, he didn't quite know why that song had gotten to him. He'd never even heard it before, but something about it was…tender. They finished the soap–it turned out good, mostly thanks to Ed–and sat down to watch a horror movie. Stede held his pillow and stared at the screen throughout, Ed reached to hold Stede's shoulder during the scary parts.

“……you love all their quirks, their idiosyncrasies…”

Stede thought Ed would make fun of him–what kind of grown man went out and picked flowers on his way to work?–but Ed was delighted. And Stede spent a good fifteen minutes gently braiding flowers into Ed's hair, brushing a stray curl out of Ed's face, thinking about how he was sure the sweater Ed was wearing–the puffy blue one–might be one of his and how Ed must have taken it from his closet and that made Stede feel wonderful. Lucius took a photo of them at Stede's request, Ed with Stede's sweater and Stede's flowers and Stede with his nose scrunched up the way it always did when he smiled big enough.

“……being with them just makes you feel…good.”

Ed was bragging about knowing all the constellations, Stede wanted to drive out somewhere and look at the stars. They did end up driving out, but there was hardly any looking at constellations. The backseat of Stede's expensive car filled with conversation and music from the radio, Stede sat with one arm over the back of the seat and Ed sat with one leg folded under the other.

Ed wasn't night or day, they weren't sunset or sunrise, they weren't a piece or a whole. They were….Edward Teach, born on a beach. God, goddess, a truth found stuck in Stede's side like a thorn from the most beautiful rose in the universe. And Stede was in love with him, with her, with them.

Mary put her arms around Stede, they hugged in front of “Wherever You Go”.

An incredibly drunk Nigel Badminton came sauntering up to Ed, his wine glass empty and his eyebrows knotted together. There was a sway to his walk, his words came out in a sloppy slur.

“You're Baby Bonnet's friend, have I got that right?” he said.

Ed tensed up, their gaze shot around in search of Stede. Fuck. Where had he got to, running off on Ed in the middle of a party like this? Ed should have just fled, he should have called the whole thing done for and made a break for it.

“I'm Stede's friend, yeah,” said Ed.

He folded his arms over his chest, he could feel himself being looked up and down and fucking appraised by this man who was enormously plastered and Ed did not like it, he wanted to leave and yet he was locked stiff in place and trying not to make a scene out of it. Where the fuck was Stede? Where was Mary, Doug even, Evelyn?

“Of course you are, of course you're Stede's…friend,” said Nigel.

He spat the word out thickly, he said it like some kind of slur and Ed felt something coil up inside of her.

“I'd better find him,” said Ed. “It's getting late, he's probably drunk and–he'll want to get back to his room.”

He started to walk, Nigel moved to stand in his way and Ed's entire view of the room narrowed to a pinpoint. He was getting the looks worse than before, a few people had pressed in to see what was happening and Ed could feel his heart's accelerated beat about to burst out his eardrums.

“Little Baby Bonnet has a friend,” Nigel continued.

He flitted a glance at Ed's skirt, at her pearl necklace, at her boots. He laughed.

“Doesn't surprise me at all,” said Nigel. “Doesn't surprise me that Little Baby Bonnet goes away and then comes back with his little friend. He was always such a coward, didn't think he'd show up arm in arm with some cocksu–”

Mary had several memories from that art show and most of them weren't even centering the art, her paintings were the fifth or sixth thing that came to mind when she thought about her last show before the wedding.

Her highest and most striking memory was of her pink-haired ex-husband Stede picking up an empty serving platter and crashing it full-tilt into the back of Nigel Badminton's head.

Nigel crumpling forward, that stupid open-mouthed expression of surprise on Nigel's face before the blow put him down. It stuck with Mary her whole life, that final look of astonishment on Nigel's face before he toppled.

She was angry at Stede for making a scene at her art show but…what a fucking scene to make.

“Why did you do that? Why did you fucking do that?”

Ed unclipped her earrings, she took them into her fist and tossed them onto the bed.

They were back, thank fucking god. Back in their cozy hotel room, safe at the moment. Safe for whatever minutes they had before Nigel Badminton or his shitty brother had someone called about this incident, about Stede hitting someone with a fucking serving platter in the middle of a crowded room.

Stede's suit jacket was unbuttoned and he'd taken his shoes off. There'd been this rush before, this rush of wanting to stop Nigel Badminton before the word came to form. And then the serving platter had been in Stede's hands and he was standing behind Nigel and he'd never felt so much rage in his life and so much power to do something.

“He was calling you names, Ed,” said Stede.

Ed undid the clasp on their pearl necklace. They wanted to get into bed, get all cozy under the covers and give this evening away. If Mary rescinded their invitation to the wedding, Ed was getting his bags packed and going back to his fucking record store. Fuck this place, fuck weddings, fuck art shows, and fuck every person who'd ever given Mary a hard time.

“I've been called worse, mate,” said Ed. “You don't need to just–”

She bit her lip, she let her head rest on how many people had gotten hurt trying to defend her. Izzy with his lip split open, Jack bleeding out from a knife to his side. Jim leaping off stage to break a drunk guy's nose because he threw something at Ed, Jim almost getting into literal bar fights on Ed's behalf and it felt so good to be cared about that much, it felt so fucking good and Ed hated it with his whole being because he couldn't just forget split lips and knife wounds and broken arms.

“I do,” said Stede. “I–god, Ed, I really do.”

Ed clutched at the seashell bracelet, he'd had it on almost every day of this trip. Good luck charm, something Stede made for them, an expectation of how their relationship was meant to be designed going forward.

“Stede–,” said Ed.

His mouth curled up into a smile.

“That was the hottest thing I've ever seen,” said Ed.

They meant it, with their entire chest they meant every word. Because before it settled, before they took it all into them. In that moment, Ed realized they'd never felt so proud or so happy to have Stede on their side. Stede, the absolute maniac who would pick up a fucking serving platter and clock someone over the head with it for…for Edward Teach, born on a beach. She hated when Izzy did it, she got upset when Jack did it, she flinched when Jim did it. But when Stede did it…well, it just gave Ed the worst case of butterflies.

Stede stood up off the bed. He'd really been a shit dad and a worse husband, hadn't he? But…the people at The Revenge were his family now. And…Ed. Ed was his friend…no, his love. His first and perhaps only true love. Did Ed feel the same? No, probably not. Stede was sure of it, that no one like Edward Teach could fall in love with him and everyone was compelled to fall in love with Edward Teach. They were different in that way, the ever-loveable Ed and the never-loveable Stede. Polar opposites, attracted by some miraculous bind.

He put his arms around Ed's waist from behind, he put his head against Ed. His head was buzzing warmly from the champagne still.

Ed closed his eyes.

“Feel bad, yeah?” said Ed. “About hitting Nigel?”

Stede let out a surprised laugh.

“Oh, heavens no!” said Stede. “I'd do it again.”

His only regret was that he hadn't picked up that tureen or something heavier, that he hadn't moved faster. Stede had been waiting decades to do that, payback for the rocks thrown at him and being left in the woods and being forced to kiss a horse and assorted humiliations courtesy of the Badminton brothers and their atrocious band of minions. And that was the stuff Stede remembered, things he hadn't blocked out. Stede had some scattered visions of getting shoved into a lake, of screaming and flailing and not being able to see the surface and also not being able to swim, of having his head thrust into a puddle of filthy urine-smelling water all because he wouldn't stop talking about seahorses or whatever thing the Badminton brothers had taken issue with on a weekday.

Ed clutched at Stede's hands on their waist.

“Lunatic,” said Ed, affectionate.

He didn't care if there were consequences. There weren't consequences right at that moment, so Ed was taking it easy, taking it slow.

Izzy stared at himself in filthy mirror above the sink. Hadn't he just cleaned the fucking thing? Or was that two days ago, five, seven?

He tangled a hand through his hair.

Struggling, crying into the sink, Ed coming up behind him and asking if he was alright. Izzy snapping at him, saying he was fine, Ed going away and Izzy crying again.

Bottles. Breaking bottles. Jack had been throwing them at the wall again, watching them bounce off or shatter and leaving glass shards all over the fucking apartment. And Izzy left to sweep them up.

“Spewer”, another one of Ed's songs. Except Izzy wrote it, he put down the first lines while he was nursing stomach problems. And he carved out some kind of story between the lyrics, a story of a girl who wanted to be a boy. Ed got up on stage and sang “Spewer” for an audience who didn't know any better, she sang about how God was a woman and she'd never felt closer to God in her entire life than when she was on stage.

“What are you?” Izzy had asked after, drunk.

And Ed–sober–had winked, they were putting Jack's bass away.

“I'm night, I'm day, I'm God, I'm a man,” he had said, being cheeky and yet sincere in ways that would make more sense to Izzy a few years down the line.

Ed was nothing if not honest. And Izzy was nothing if not an emotionally constipated mess.

Chapter Text

And the songbirds are singing

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before

And I wish you all the love in the world

But most of all I wish it from myself

– Songbird // Fleetwood Mac

Mary and Ed had scheduled a brunch meet-up. And Ed couldn't miss it. He didn't want to miss it because it might be his last chance of making things up to her.

So…brunch meet-up. Meeting up for brunch. With Mary. Just Mary, no Doug to buffer the inevitable awkward.

Ed would have rather eaten her own tongue, but it sounded like a good idea at the time and….well, it couldn't be more uncomfortable than showing up at Mary's wedding after the art show incident. Which Ed was planning to do still, they'd driven all the way out and they were going to that fucking wedding.

And mimosas, there were mimosas. Ed could never turn down a mimosa.

He crossed his legs, he sipped his mimosa and gazed at Mary across the table. Ed had shot off a text to Mary, some pathetic excuse for an apology at three in the morning. Did she even believe he was sorry? He wasn't, seeing Stede knock out his childhood bully had sent some kind of feeling rattling through Ed and he had to remind himself that Stede made a scene of it. Ed was practically swooning over it still, he had to stop herself from grinning into his mimosa as he remembered how Stede just fucking went for it, so little hesitation. If only Stede hadn't made a scene of it, if only Ed could have rushed over and kissed Stede right on the mouth.

“I'm sorry,” said Mary. “About the Badmintons. They're dicks, they've always been just…dicks.”

Ed blinked, he put down his mimosa. Wait, was he getting the apology? And after he'd prepared for exactly how he was going to smooth this over. He had a whole fucking speech in the pipeline, he thought Mary would love it. But…she was apologizing to him?

“I noticed a bit of that, yeah,” said Ed. “Dicks.”

Mary laughed, she drank a bit of her own mimosa.

“You saved me having to uninvite them myself, so thanks,” said Mary.

Ed swallowed, they didn't feel like they were out of the woods yet.

“The Badmintons–,” they started.

Mary interrupted, she gestured at her plate of food.

“Try the crepes,” she said.

She turned away, staring out through the window.

“I told them Stede was drunk,” said Mary. “I told them he didn't know what he was doing. But…he did, didn't he? I think he finally knows what he's doing. And I'm glad for him.”

She smiled, she wished Stede would stop setting her life on fire and she recognized that he couldn't. That was just Stede,he was a hot smoldering mess of a human being. Mary was happy Stede had found someone who didn't care, someone who wanted to feel Stede's heat, someone who wanted to huddle around Stede for warmth. Mary was starting to get the whole picture–potentially–about why their marriage couldn't have ever been anything more than a steaming failure.

Ed reached into his bag, he took out a vinyl record and passed it across the table.

“Wedding present,” he said.

They'd considered giving her a CD of The Kraken's greatest hits–they had several of those, courtesy of Frenchie's cheap recording equipment–but Ed doubted Mary gave a shit about their band. And some of that music felt a little too personal for someone who knew only the fringes of Ed's life.

Among My Swan by Mazzy Star. Because Ed didn't know what Mary liked, but he knew what Stede liked and…Ed had some kind of hunch.

Mary took the record tentatively, she stared at the beautiful cover art and thought about all those years she wasted, but they didn't feel like a waste anymore. She got two kids out of it, a handful of decent memories, and she ended up meeting Doug. If only they could have been teenagers, this wouldn't have all felt so painful after they grew up a little. But they'd done all the growing up they could.

“Everybody seems so far away from me,” said Mary.

She was quoting a song she'd listened to years ago, a song off the album Ed had just given her. She hadn't thought until it was in her hands, she hadn't heard it in a long time.

“Everybody just wants to be free,” said Ed.

Look away from the sky

It's no different when you're leaving home

I can't be the same thing to you now

I'm just gone, just gone

Mary played through the next few lines in her head, she remembered listening to that song as she waited for Stede to come home from work. She recalled Stede's smile over her announcement, he'd seemed stunned and then strained and then finally sincere. They'd had to cancel vacation plans, this beautiful villa they were meant to be renting out for a few weeks. Mary wondered what would have happened if they'd actually gone, if she hadn't gotten pregnant, if she hadn't been listening to Look On Down From the Bridge by Mazzy Star in the kitchen as she waited for Stede to come home.

“Thank you, Ed,” said Mary. “Please take care of him. And…yourself.”

Ed reached for their mimosa, they nodded. They both needed taking care of, Ed and Stede. They were good at it, doing it for each other.

Izzy couldn't make anyone happy. He wasn't what anyone wanted.

His father had wanted a son, he'd gotten a daughter. And when he'd gotten a son, he hadn't been pleased about that either. Izzy just…couldn't please anyone. He learned it was bad to try. But he could be a good drummer for Ed, he could be whatever the fuck Ed wanted him to be if it meant he was useful. He could take whatever love kernels Ed gave him, encouragement or compliment.

Izzy woke to find the apartment empty. That wasn't so weird on its face, Jack drank so much and he had this habit of going home with strangers. Jack and Ed had been fucking or dating or something like that, Jack had been with Anne too and Anne was with Mary and it was quite complicated. But then Jack got Anne pregnant, Anne left to be with Mary, and Ed…stayed where she was, she was a bit sad over Jack's leaving and she'd rather liked Anne too so that was another mess.

But this wasn't the regular sort of empty. Jack had been gone for a long time, almost twenty-four hours at Izzy's last count. And that wasn't average even for a fuck-up like Jack Rackham, he never texted but he also never left his place long enough for Izzy to worry.

Izzy leaned against the shut front door, he was dealing with a nasty hangover. Fuck. It couldn't be healthy, getting so fucking smashed at his age. It sometimes escaped him, just how old he'd gotten to. He didn't expect to get old, the rockstar life and everything else should have killed them all when they were young. And Ed's knee was a little messed up now, Izzy couldn't take his booze as well, Jack was…Jack. They'd been all kinds of fucked up for decades, the three of them.

Izzy's gaze flitted to a collection of bottles on the kitchen counter. He could drink himself to death in that place, couldn't he? That was the end Jack had been heading for, Ed had been on their way to getting mortally wounded onstage over one of their fuckeries, and Izzy thought he'd probably be the last one standing. Funny how that worked out.

Instead of drinking himself away, Izzy drove back to town. He drove back to the apartment he'd shared with Ed for the past several years.

He tried to get into the apartment, he'd left some of his stuff behind and he was afraid Ed might rightfully decide to just torch it all. His records, he mostly wanted his records. Mazzy Star and Joan Jett with her Blackhearts.

But Ed had changed the locks–yeah, that was fair and Izzy should have seen it coming–and there was no Ivan or Fang to let him in. So where the fuck was he supposed to go? He just needed his records, he'd fuck off back to Jack's place after he got them and never bother anyone again.

Jackie's Bar was open and Izzy wasn't quite drunk enough. Perhaps if he got enough into his system, he might get up the foolish courage to break a window. He'd get himself inside one way or another, he wasn't leaving his precious Joan or Mazzy at Ed's place when he could have been listening to I Hate Myself for Loving You on repeat until he drank himself into the sea.

He ordered himself a drink and sat down, Izzy managed to hold himself together enough to convince Geraldo that he wasn't already halfway plastered.

There was a Joan Jett song playing in the bar. Crimson and Clover. Izzy had fond memories of that one, he had it going on a loop in his shitty apartment for a few days after he finally got out of jail. Before he found Ed again, before Ed offered him a place to stay and Izzy took the offer in a heartbeat because…because it was the same as it ever was, Izzy hoping something would happen and it never did, it was just Izzy being too enormous of a coward to open his big dumb mouth and tell Ed how he felt.

Alright, so Izzy did this to himself. A fantastic conclusion, breaking fast through the boozy haze he'd been living under. So…what was he meant to do with that? Just fucking have it, this final confirmation that he'd fucked up beyond repair and now Ed had gracefully exited his life and he was the only fucking person left to blame.

“Iz?”

Izzy dragged his gaze up, his eyes fluttered past a tasteful cropped shirt–cropped?–and up past a soft bubblegum pink scarf and–Ed–!

But then he saw the face in full and the chorus of Crimson and Clover broke into him, he was young again and in a different bar and they'd just wrapped up the last show they were ever going to do before making it big. The final stretch, none of them knew it and it would have hurt so bad to realize how hard they were going to shatter under those spotlights. Jack's girlfriend knocked up, Ed's mood swinging into territory Izzy couldn't traverse, Izzy stuck behind bars, and nothing would ever be alright again for any of them.

But they were in that bar, putting their glasses together in a toast and laughing and Jack had his arm around Anne and Ed had her palm resting on Izzy's knee and Izzy was thinking about how much he wanted to be by Ed's side forever. And what came out of his mouth was this betrayal of himself, this muttered comment about needing a smoke–Izzy didn't even smoke–and then he was outside gasping and heart pounding too fast for him to catch up and thinking about how beautiful Ed's eyes were and scrambling through his head for an excuse and…

Crimson and clover, over and over.

And the person standing in front of Izzy wasn't Ed, the features came into focus at last and it was Lucius fucking Spriggs.

“Fuck off,” said Izzy.

Lucius put his hands on his hips. He didn't need to come over there, he could have stayed at his nice little table in the corner with his phone and gone on his merry business of not giving a toss about Izzy Hands. It had worked out for him so far, hadn't it?

“Need a ride home, Iz?” said Lucius.

Izzy slurred out what he mistook for a good comeback, but it sounded more like he was several times past his limit.

Lucius took this into consideration. He could leave Izzy to whatever fate he'd drunk himself into, that was always a good shot. Or he could let the guilt get him in the morning, the guilt of having left a recklessly inebriated man in likely the most unfortunate state. Izzy might hurt himself, hurt someone else, maybe worse than those two things.

“You're coming home,” said Lucius. “That's what's happening. Unless you don't want it to, in which case I will do my fucking off.”

Lucius was rather certain–he'd put it all together from Ed's bits and pieces–that Izzy had been jailed for getting into a bar fight and almost killing a guy. Lucius didn't want to see that repeated and taking Izzy Hands away from alcohol seemed like a good way to make absolutely sure.

Izzy put his head down on the bar table, those days of getting drunk and getting high and jacking off like he was a fucking twenty-something again were catching up to him and he was starting to ask himself if the Ed he loved had ever been anything more than a figment of his imagination because figments couldn't leave and they couldn't have ideas about themselves that hadn't passed Izzy's judgment. And who could love an Ed who wasn't a figment, she'd asked him that one day in the years before and Izzy didn't have an answer for her then and he wouldn't have had one for her now.

He hadn't cried like that in decades.

Crimson and clover, over and over.

Ed had a dress picked out to wear for the wedding, a silver evening gown trimmed with gold. But given the…incident with Nigel Badminton, Ed was suddenly feeling less welcome to be himself. He ended up borrowing a suit from Stede. Stede had packed multiple, the fucking maniac. And Ed realized he'd been trying to match with what he thought Stede might be wearing, the realization made him fucking ugly cry-laugh in the shower. And the suit wasn't a bad one to be wearing, it was purple with gold trim. Stede's suit was white, patterned with blue flowers. He had to be loud, Stede couldn't abide a plain white suit and Ed thought Stede looked so breathtaking in his patterns.

The wedding went off, swift and painless. There was dancing and food was eaten and music was played. It was up to The Kraken's high standards, the music at Mary and Doug's wedding. And there was wine to be had, Stede and Ed didn't touch any of it and were likely better off for keeping sober.

Half of the wedding party retired to the hotel bar. Ed and Stede returned to their room.

Stede wasn't touching a drop of anything that didn't have the word virgin in it, Ed was of the same opinion. And neither of the two wanted to spend another moment trying not to overhear conversations, it was fucking exhausting. Everyone not talking about the wedding was talking about them, as if they were fucking exhibits in a museum to be considered. Ed was used to that, he could take it–or pretend he could take it, good enough–but he wanted Stede away from that for tonight.

“Shouldn't have come,” said Ed.

They were stood on the balcony, Stede wanted to look at the lights and Ed did too. It was the best thing they'd seen since the hour flipped over to late, those distant glows marking a place that wasn't quite ready to sleep yet. From where they were standing, Ed could imagine those lights were ships docked at some distant impossible port. He wished he could just hop on one, take off to somewhere beautiful and forget he'd ever run off with Jack, forget he'd almost messed up the first good thing he'd gotten for himself in decades.

Stede put his hands on the railing, he breathed in the frosty night air.

“Hated it that much?” said Stede. “I'm sorry, darling. I'll–I'll make it up. I'll…plan something.”

Ed placed her hand on the railing, close to Stede's. “Darling”. What had she done to be called “darling”? Edward. Ed. Blackbeard. BB. Darling. Lost names, new names, forbidden. She could see it if she thought back, the exact moment she put her hair up and realized she wasn't Blackbeard anymore. The moment before she shaved off the beard for good, she never wanted to see it on her face again. Izzy had told her–being deragatory–that she “looked like a girl” without the beard and with her hair kept long, Ed had retorted that there was literally nothing wrong with “looking like a girl” and she didn't, she looked like Ed.

“Wasn't all bad,” said Ed.

He shivered, he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Cold,” he said.

Stede had changed when they returned to the room, he'd gotten out of his suit and into something comfy. A white shirt and a pink cardigan were the stars of the outfit, the best he had in terms of genuinely comfy clothes.

“Oh,” said Stede. “Here–let me–”

He pulled off his pink cardigan, he tugged it gently over Ed's shoulders. Good heavens, it was rather freezing out there, wasn't it? Ed would catch his death if he wasn't careful, Ed was dressed in only a thin white Fleetwood Mac shirt–this one had the sleeves still–and pants. They were both rather tired from the wedding.

Ed clutched at the cardigan, his cheeks had warmed up. Fuck, it smelled like…Stede. But all of Stede's clothes smelled like him, they felt like him. Ed thought he could catch the ghost scent of Stede in everything he'd ever touched, Stede left impressions. Golden Boy leaving trails of stardust everywhere his fingers brushed.

Stede craned his head a bit over the railing.

“Oooh, I think I heard a bird!” said Stede.

Ed leaned forward, he put his arms on the railing and smiled.

“Oh yeah?” said Ed. “What kind?”

Stede didn't know, he wasn't a bird expert. His knowledge lived firmly under the waves, the exact opposite of the sky.

“If we were near the ocean, I'd say seagull,” said Stede. “Or mews, as they used to be called. Oh, isn't that pretty? Mews?”

Ed chuckled, he supposed it was a rather pretty name. He just called them “gulls”. Or “flying dicks”.

Stede worried at the railing with his fingers. He'd been putting it off, his usual talk of marine life. He'd held it in for the entire wedding, he'd stayed away from everyone else and just looked at Ed the whole way through. And now he so badly wanted to start talking about stingrays, he loved a good talk about stingrays.

“Can you…do my makeup?” said Stede.

Ed draped her hand close to where Stede's rested.

“Makeup?” she said.

Stede nodded, he was being a brave boy tonight.

“I–I was going to ask, you know,” said Stede. “For the wedding. But….well, I suspected you'd be less than keen on it after what happened. And I didn't want to cause an upset.”

He'd kept it to himself with difficulty, how much he'd wanted to see Ed in that evening gown with their hair up and makeup done. It had only come to him after the art show that it probably wasn't happening, not this time around. And it was his fucking fault maybe, if only Stede hadn't hit Nigel Badminton over the head with a serving platter and drawn all that attention. Or perhaps not, perhaps there was no alternate reality in which Ed wore that gorgeous evening gown and put on makeup for Mary's wedding. But Stede wanted to believe there could be, he'd wanted it so badly and his heart ached from not seeing it. Not that Ed wasn't breathtaking in their suit, they were breathtaking in literally anything.

Ed took Stede back into the hotel room, off the balcony where they could both faintly hear what sounded like birds in the distance.

She retrieved her makeup from the small bag she kept it in, her nail polish and her eyeshadow and her lipstick.

“Have anything in mind?” said Ed. “A–look or anything?”

Stede sat down on the floor with his legs curled under him, his heartbeat was doing that frantic thudding he wasn't very fond of. He did slightly revel in what the Badminton brothers would think of him if they knew, how angry his father would have been. But this wasn't for revenge, this was for…well, Stede just needed to know. He could be brave tonight or he could be brave another time, it hardly mattered. He wanted to know–briefly at least–what it felt like to be Ed.

Ed put on music to urge the process along. They should have been popping off to bed, wiped out from Mary's wedding as they were. But Ed wanted to put makeup on Stede and–very likely–get drawn into talk of marine life that Stede had been dutifully putting off for the entire wedding. They wanted to forget the Badmintons and not think at all about how horrible Stede's childhood must have been if he had to grow up around that.

For you there'll be no more crying

For you the sun will be shining

And I feel when I'm with you

It's alright, I know it's right

Stede looked at Ed, pink cardigan over a worn Fleetwood Mac shirt. Ed, who'd put her hair up and changed her clothes the moment she was back in the hotel room. Ed, a hot mess who wore soft colors so well. Ed, who was stunning in a suit and an evening gown, she could really do both and she was better off for it when she tried. Ed…the person Stede was in love with and he didn't even truly know what that meant for him. He knew that Ed was something called “genderqueer”, that Ed was…day and night, hot and cold, God herself.

“I–I thought you could do that look you always have,” said Stede. “Your–what's it called? Your…Kraken look?”

Ed blinked, he took the eyeshadow out of his bag. Kraken look? So…just what he usually went with on stage, his go-to? Ed didn't think of it as his Kraken look, it was just another thing he liked to do. But…wasn't it also an elaborate persona like Blackbeard, a bit of Blackbeard and a sprinkle of Ed Teach? Except this was a persona Ed could sustain, it was more raw Ed than Blackbeard. Blackbeard was a fuckery all by himself, Ed was less of a figment in their own head.

“Okay,” said Ed. “Okay, we'll get you Krakened up.”

She could do that, she did it to herself in the mirror almost every night before a show. How hard could it be to put a little Kraken on Stede?

“Ed, your knee!” said Stede.

He said it the instant Ed sat down on the floor, he'd forgotten for a second that Ed's knee wasn't in good shape. He was always worrying over it, he was always telling Ed to please not strain himself too badly.

“Knee's fine,” said Ed.

He pulled out the eyeshadow brush, he could tell Stede was bracing himself to make this an argument. But Ed's knee wasfine, he wouldn't have been sitting on the floor like that if it wasn't. And he had painkillers in his bag.

“Stingrays?” said Ed.

Stede struggled, caught between listening to the music and telling Ed off about his knee and wanting Ed to touch him and wanting so badly to start talking about stingrays. The stingrays won.

“Yes, stingrays,” said Stede. “The blue-spotted ray is my personal favorite, they're so pretty…”

He started listing every single type of stingray from favorite to least favorite, Ed listened with their usual intensity. Fuck,Stede could have been describing the riveting experience of watching paint dry and Ed would have listened for hours. That was how they fell asleep together most nights, Stede talking about marine life and Ed listening until they passed out sleeping.

“Stay still for a minute,” said Ed.

They prepped the eyeshadow palette and started on the process of getting Stede's makeup done. This process required Stede to keep still and not talk, quite an ask. And Ed had to get close to Stede's face, which was…a surprisingly hard task for him, he'd been close to Stede's face many times before but now he'd chosen to get mortified over it like he was a lovesick teenager touching his crush for the first time.

Songbird by Fleetwood Mac continued to play, Ed half-blamed it for his anxiety. He'd shaved off his beard a while ago and maybe he looked young somehow, fresh as a baby into a world of music he knew very little about and yet wanted for the rest of his life. The rest of his life felt like an awful long time when he was a teenager, not so much after he burned himself out of the rockstar scene and realized he couldn't have kept it going. Dying young had felt like inevitable and a mercy back then, but Ed was alive and relatively well and he counted his blessings for making it to the other side with only repressed trauma. Well, repressed trauma and scars, there were a few of those. And her tattoos from back in the day, the ones she hadn't covered up. That fucking tentacle. The Kraken.

“How does it look?” said Stede.

Ed's hands fell from Stede's face, she blinked at what she'd done and floated the idea that Stede was right about her knee.

It wasn't his Kraken look exactly, he'd gone for something more theatrical because Stede was theater. It was more literal Kraken than Ed had been looking for. Ed sat back to just look at it, to take it in and tug Stede's cardigan tighter around him. It didn't match Stede's hair or his clothes or anything about the Stede that Ed…cared about. This Stede was a conjured lie.

And yet…he looked so so pretty. Somehow, the most beautiful person Ed had ever…

He noticed it. He noticed Stede's gaze flit towards Ed's lips, he saw the question pass through Stede's mind and Ed…answered. Stede asked him a question without moving his mouth and Ed was answering before he even knew whether he should. He shouldn't, it was fucking silly of him to think Stede–think Stede could–feel anything like Ed did, Ed who was a figment still.

Ed leaned forward, their arms came around Stede, they dragged Stede into them and took his mouth into a kiss. It jarred through them, the touching of lips because Ed had never really done it before in any way that mattered and Stede had barely done it generally. Ed had kissed several people in his life and it rarely felt like anything.

And I wish you all the love in the world

But most of all, I wish it for myself

It shouldn't have felt so good, so new. Ed had plenty of kissing experience and they were a middle-aged adult for fuck's sake. But Stede's lips didn't taste like soap bubbles, his lips were stardust and so was every fucking part of him that reached out for Edward Teach when they slotted into each other.

Stede held on to the front of Ed's shirt with one hand and–oh god, he was wanting. He was pulling Ed into him and against him and wanting to belong to Ed and he was wearing Ed's makeup and…fuck.

Ed pulled away, they set one hand to rest on Stede's shoulder and the other gently cupped his jaw, they were was thinking about–instantly, they was thinking about it–how Stede fit so perfectly into them, how Stede had pulled himself deeper into Ed's kiss and how Stede was gripping tenderly onto their shirt still. And the noise, that little noise Stede made when Ed pulled away from him.

Stede breathed out heavily, he anchored himself to that gentle grip at the front of Ed's Fleetwood Mac shirt. He'd…kissed Edward Teach, he'd kissed Edward Teach in a fucking hotel room after his ex-wife's wedding and after having finally gotten his revenge on a childhood bully and he was wearing makeup and he'd never felt more free in his whole life, he'd never felt more deliciously queer in his entire life.

He took Ed's hand into his own, he rubbed his thumb over Ed's knuckle.

“Pink looks good on you,” said Stede.

Ed clutched briefly at the pink cardigan, the softest thing Stede had ever given her. And she'd come to know it as Stede'scolor, the pink. Stede had so many colors–sky blue, dove white, autumn brown, gold–but he looked the best in that bubblegum pink.

“Looks good on you, too,” said Ed, he grinned.

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before

Lucius dragged a very much intoxicated and very much pissed Izzy Hands into Pete's apartment, he held on tight to the smaller man and let Izzy press against him, something Izzy certainly wouldn't have done if he'd been sober and able to stand on his own.

“You're kind of a mess over this, uh–Ed thing?” said Lucius.

Izzy growled at him like an angry dog and Lucius realized that was perhaps a shitty question to ask. Ed and Izzy weren't even a fucking thing. But Lucius could at least empathize with mourning a relationship that never even happened, being forced in the closet had thrown him into that incredibly sad position. Izzy had been pining for Ed since Ed's Blackbeard days, sitting around and watching Ed fuck other people and then Stede came along, Stede was a serious boyfriend who was turning Ed into the opposite of what Izzy thought Ed should be and maybe Izzy told himself he was just looking out for Ed when it was so fucking obvious that he was seething with envy over what Stede and Ed had. That was Lucius's official diagnosis, but he was no therapist.

Lucius helped Izzy onto Pete's couch, he pulled a blanket over him. He'd call Roach in the morning and see about getting a hangover cure cooked up, then he was getting Izzy's stuff out of Pete's apartment and getting Izzy out of Pete's apartment and whatever was set to come next.

“Edward?” Izzy mumbled.

Lucius knelt down next to Izzy, he tucked the blanket around him.

“Not Ed, Iz,” said Lucius. “Ed's gone for….forever.”

Izzy blinked at Lucius for a moment, Lucius didn't know if Izzy was too intoxicated to process what Lucius was telling him and a part of Lucius hoped he was.

In one awkward motion, Izzy pulled himself slightly off the couch. Their lips almost brushed, Izzy felt Lucius's breath on his skin for that one fleeting second and–

Lucius jerked his head back immediately, he scrambled a bit out of Izzy's grasp.

“You're drunk,” said Lucius.

He stood up, he stepped away from the couch.

Izzy tucked himself deeper into the blanket, he was red from the alcohol and maybe the embarrassment of what he'd just done because of…the alcohol. Yes, it was the fucking booze always. His head wasn't clear of it yet, it likely wouldn't be until he slept it off. He remembered getting drunk like this decades before, he remembered Ed picking him up and carrying him to bed and tucking him in. Or…was that Jack? Or Hornigold even?

“Sorry,” Izzy said.

He closed his eyes, he went off to sleep and Lucius left him alone.

Chapter Text

Underneath the skin there's a human

Buried deep within there's a human

And despite everything I'm still human

I think that I'm still human

–Human // Daughter

Ed gasped, Stede's fingers slowed and came to a stop.

“Oh heavens,” said Stede. “Did I–did I hurt you, darling?”

Ed breathed out heavily for a moment, Stede's fingers were still on him and he was feeling…an incredible range of emotions. On the one hand, Stede was touching him and that was always marvelous. On the other hand, Stede had just brushed his fingers over the brand new tattoo on Ed's back and the skin was still sensitive.

They were listening to Queen records in Ed's bedroom, Ed had just invited Stede over out of the blue and then–after asking first–taken her shirt off to show Stede her newest tattoo, courtesy of Frenchie. She hadn't gotten one done in a long time and this one was…important to her.

They'd driven back into town a few days ago and the first thing Ed did was ask Frenchie if Frenchie could do a tattoo for him. Ed drew the design, Frenchie did his best.

“No, I'm–bit sensitive there, mate,” said Ed. “All's good.”

Stede didn't look like he believed that, he lifted his fingers off Ed's back. He folded his hands near his waist as if he was keeping careful track of them, he took a small step away from Ed.

“It's lovely,” said Stede. “Did, er–anything in particular inspire it? A dream maybe? Or–or a recent change?”

Ed turned around, baffled by Stede's question.

“It's–it's a fucking stingray,” said Ed. “You like stingrays, yeah?”

Stede appeared excited, as he often did when marine life came up and Ed was inviting him to talk about it.

“Oh, yes, I adore stingrays!” said Stede. “Haven't a clue why you would get a tattoo of one, but–”

Ed grabbed Stede's shoulder and kissed his cheek, a severely flustered and dumbfounded Stede stopped talking immediately.

“It's for you, you great big idiot,” said Ed, their voice full of affection. “I got this for you, the fucking stingray because you said you loved them. Remember, yeah? When I did your makeup?”

Stede blushed, he had been trying not to think about what happened in the hotel room because it made him too pleased and he needed to think about something other than how enormously happy he was with Ed kissing him. He hadn't even been able to get the cafe open properly, the image of Ed's face so close to his just went right over his thoughts.

“Are we…boyfriends now?” said Stede.

He felt as if anyone else would have made him feel stupid for asking, surely it would have been obvious if they were boyfriends.

“Oh, sorry,” said Stede. “Is that–is that word okay? Would you prefer partner? Or, um–themfriend? Or maybe we can do all three? Jim gave me this list of gender-neutral terms for romantic partners and I've been wanting to try out some of them.”

Ed considered, she'd never had a partner of any kind who cared what she wanted to be called. And she'd never thought about it, how she wanted to know herself within the framework of romance. It touched her so deeply that Stede was trying to give her that.

“Boyfriend's fine,” said Ed. “How about you? Boyfriend okay?”

Stede blinked, he hadn't even considered that. Of course boyfriend would be alright, but…it was good to know Ed would have called him anything he wanted.

“Boyfriend, yes,” said Stede. “We'll be…boyfriends.”

He'd taken so many titles in his life. Husband. Father. But never boyfriend, he'd been something to Mary and that word simply didn't fit from her mouth. But to Ed he could be nothing except boyfriend, it was written into the universe like the lyrics to a song humming through the cosmos. Ed's boyfriend. Yes, there was a marvelous ring to that.

Izzy didn't get it, he'd never gotten it.

He was happy to call Ed whatever she wanted, it wasn't his fucking business to decide. But he'd always felt sort of…uncomfortable? Puzzled? Izzy had worked himself into it so hard, being a man. And Ed had just…given it up, she'd become this thing that was neither man nor woman, this kind of in-between that Ed herself didn't have good words for. Izzy thought there was shame in that, Ed throwing away the tempered masculinity of Blackbeard and leaning fully into this…identity of hers. Izzy didn't understand, he was starting to think Ed was just this big puzzle he never got around to finishing.

With this heavy in his mind, Izzy took hold of an empty bottle and rotated it around in his hands.

Fucking hell. Had it all really come spinning back in a week, his whole fucking life? He was working at Jackie's now, she'd offered him a job after listening to him mewl like a petulant cat over Stede for three hours. Izzy would have thought it pity, that was all anyone seemed to have for him if it wasn't outright–and understandable–malice over what he'd done. It went around, the whole thing. But Jackie's husband–one of her husbands, the guy who manned the bar–had some kind of accident and Izzy didn't have too much of himself left to refuse. He'd sobbed out everything on Pete's couch, he'd given himself all the crying sessions he'd been holding back since he was a teenager.

Jack had texted Izzy one time and Izzy was pretty sure it wasn't meant for him. Either that or Jack had badly misjudged Izzy's leaving and thought “Hey, cupcake” was the best way to smooth it all over. Needless to say, that text was staying unanswered.

Being accepted as a man, being loved by Ed. None of it came through what Izzy had been doing all those years and Lucius just felt sort of bad for this miserable soaked rodent of a man.

“You guys said you're understaffed, right?”

Jim had come into The Revenge wearing their fanciest white shirt and tie, their dress pants they only dragged out for extra-special occasions. And appealing to Lucius for a spot on The Revenge team apparently.

Lucius cocked his hip to the side and studied Jim, he tried to puzzle out a reply that wouldn't get him stabbed in the face.

“And, uh–okay, why do you want to work here?” said Lucius. “Just so we've gotten all that?”

Jim looked away, they shrugged one shoulder.

“You guys need more hands,” said Jim. “I've got hands. Good ones.”

They were doing a shitty job playing this off, they could tell Lucius wasn't falling for it. But Jim wasn't spilling it, the realreason they were suddenly interested in working at The Revenge. They'd heard from Roach about how absurdly well this place paid and….fuck. It was Oluwande. Of course it was Oluwande, not that Jim was telling Lucius that. They wanted something better than the hair-dressing place, they wanted a quicker shot. And working with Sven and Roach and Pete and Lucius didn't sound so bad.

“So do you have any experience or–?” Lucius started.

Stede walked by at that moment, he'd overhead a bit of what was being said. His face was bright.

“Oh, you want to work here?” said Stede. “Lovely! You can pick up your uniform from, um–I think there's a pile somewhere? In the kitchen maybe? Okay, great! Welcome aboard!”

He headed for the front doors, a bounce in his step. He was set to stop by the record store, he had a lunch date with his…boyfriend. His boyfriend, wasn't that the loveliest word? Boyfriend.

Jim shouted a thanks at Stede's back, Lucius felt like sinking through the floor.

They turned back to Lucius, fingers through their belt loops.

“I'm not wearing that stupid uniform,” they said.

Lucius let out a frustrated sigh, this was how every member of the Revenge staff ended up getting through. Stede's hiring process was….swift. And also really fucking bad for Lucius's stress levels, Roach was really the only person there who might be considered qualified.

“I heard you can sew.”

Frenchie had a box of records tucked under one arm, he turned to look at Ed with an expression of surprise.

“Yeah, I–I can, I guess,” said Frenchie.

He didn't think there'd be stipulations to Ed keeping him on staff. He'd taken this as a favor, keeping the record store minded while Ed was off with Stede. Ed had only just a few minutes ago offered him something in the range of being permanent, a position. Izzy being gone wasn't temporary, they needed to get the staff filled out.

“Great,” said Ed.

He clapped Frenchie on the back, he had the greatest idea for something to stick in the window. Izzy would have thrown his little piss-fit over it, he would have argued it didn't match the fucking aesthetic of Queen Anne Records. As far as Ed was concerned, the aesthetic of Queen Anne Records was Ed. Not Izzy, not even Fang or Ivan. Ed.

A rainbow flag. She had Frenchie make a rainbow flag, she hung it in the front window. This place really was her own,wasn't it? And she was going to make it home, this record store with the apartment over it.

Chapter Text

Got the music in you, baby

Tell me why

Got the music in you, baby

Tell me why

You've been locked in here forever

And you just can't say goodbye

You've been locked in here forever

And you just can't say goodbye

Ooh, oh

When you're all alone

I'll reach for you

When you're feelin' low

I'll be there too

–Apocalypse // Cigarettes After Sex

It was their first show since Ed got back, that made it special.

And then Stede was coming, Stede's first time seeing them perform since that first night, since it all started up in shuddering breaths. And Ed did think it started there, with them tossing their shirt into the crowd and Stede catching it. That one moment stuck in Ed's eternity, they saw it whenever they shut their eyes for long enough and Stede's soft breathing was on their skin. Stede reaching out to grab Ed's shirt out of the air, Stede's golden–now pink–curls of hair sticking out over the crowd like crested hilltops. And maybe Ed shot a flirty wink and smile in Stede's direction, they couldn't quite remember. It was another night for Ed until it wasn't, it was another show until it wasn't.

She helped John load up the equipment into the van, she was failing at not being nervous. She wasn't rusty, Ed was the furthest from. But…Stede. Always Stede, even when it shouldn't have been. Stede tagging along to see them play, he was so interested in The Kraken's music. Flattery tempered with a healthy desire to know Ed just a little bit more.

Ed told himself to shut up, if he kept going like this he might actually start to question if this boyfriends thing was a good idea. He hadn't had a boyfriend since fucking Jack Rackham and look how that turned out. They'd barely been together, Jack was messing around with Anne on the side and Ed pretended he was alright with that because they were rockstars. Alright, time to give monogamy and stability a shot. Ed could take that, he was in his forties and he could try new things.

Not that monogamy and stability were next to each other, Ed admired what Fang and Lucius and Pete and had…and maybe Ivan? Was Ivan part of the whole polycule business or was he bystanding? If Lucius kept this up, he'd just end up encircling the whole fucking town in one giant polycule and then Ed would end up with about ten partners and….well, that sounded kind of nice. Only Stede on his mind for the moment.

“Is the fog machine necessary?” said Frenchie.

Ed shut the doors and glanced at Frenchie, of fucking course the fog machine was necessary. You never knew when you were going to need a fog machine.

“It fucking is, yeah,” said Ed.

Stede came running up, he'd been tasked with getting the last errands ticked off before they hit the road. He'd offered his car too, he really wanted to be his most helpful. But they'd taken Pete's van as they usually did, it had enough space to fit all their stuff and Stede's expensive car certainly didn't.

“No worries, everyone!” said Stede. “I think I've got–yes, I've got everything.”

He started handing out everything he'd bought, he'd gone a bit off-list.

“Coffee for Frenchie–sorry, yes, it's hot–and, um–I believe someone wanted headache medicine?” said Stede. “Right, that's Ed's–hello darling, you look stunning–and did someone need bandages? No? Alright, I'll take these. And–oh!”

He shoved a box of something into Jim's arms, his face lighting up with pride. Yes, he remembered! He'd been so sure he wouldn't, but it had hit him while he was browsing. If this night was meant to go off, they needed to be prepared for anything.

Jim stared at the box Stede had given them.

“Um, what the fuck is this?” they said.

Stede pointed at the box, he was so happy with himself for thinking of this.

“Tampons!” he said. “Just in case anyone, er–needs them. I didn't know what size to get, so I just bought all of them!”

Jim held the box closer to their face.

“Thanks…?” they said.

It had taken a full week for Stede to understand Jim, they were a little bit different from Ed. It took some dual-explaining for Stede to fully get it, how Jim's whole thing worked. And he had responded in the most Stede way, but at least he wasn't being an astronomical prick about it or asking invasive questions. The most he'd done was suggest everyone at The Revenge start wearing pronoun pins.

“Good for nosebleeds too,” said Ed.

He patted Stede's shoulder, he was amazed and gratified Stede hadn't managed to piss off his drummer. Stede had certainly been running on thin ice, maybe Jim was being unusually permitting because Stede was their boss now.

“You sure you're up for going tonight?” said Ed. “Could do it any other time, we've always got gigs.”

That wasn't precisely true, they were drying up a bit on gigs. Ed found the time between maddening, she always wanted to be playing.

Stede took Ed's hand and pressed it to his lips.

“Of course, darling,” said Stede. “But I'd like to go tonight. I want to support my–my boyfriend.”

His cheeks warmed, he released Ed's hand and put a palm to the front of his shirt. He said it, without letting himself think he'd just said the word. Boyfriend. It wasn't an enormous thing, he'd said it in front of Ed multiple times over those weeks. But Stede hadn't yet braved it, putting the word in front of other people. Tonight he was…daring.

He addressed the gathered group, they were all standing in front of the van.

“Yes, my boyfriend!” said Stede. “Me and Ed, we're boyfriends.”

It was like coming out all over again, except…had Stede even come out? To anyone? To himself maybe, he'd come out to himself. But everyone else just…assumed and then Stede didn't bother spelling it out. He'd asked Lucius about it, if he gave off gay vibes. Lucius said he gave off the vibes of a man who'd been “living straight” his whole life before having a gay awakening in his forties, Stede didn't know how everyone could puzzle that out just by looking at him.

There was a very long silence, eyebrows were raised, Jim and Frenchie glanced at each other.

“Uh, okay?” said Frenchie. “Did–did we not all know that?”

Pete poked his head out of the passenger side window.

“Oh fuck, did you guys break up again?” said Pete. “Did no one tell me?”

Stede stared, his mouth slightly open in shock.

“Wait–all of you–?” he said.

Jim leaned against the passenger side door. They tried not to get into other peoples' business, but…were Stede and Ed unaware the staff at The Revenge had a bet going on how long it would take Ed and Stede to get together? And it had been settled weeks ago, a hefty payout for Pete. Despite Frenchie arguing that people could go on dates without being romantically interested in each other. And they all agreed, it was a fair point. But Pete had his mountain of proof.

“Haven't you guys been dating for, like, weeks?” said Jim.

Ed put his arms around Stede's waist. He was wearing a feathery black tube top and black leather shorts, emerald earrings, a gold coin necklace and a purple choker necklace, his nails were polished glittery lavender. Surprisingly, none of his clothes tonight were from Stede's closet. Ed had done a bit of shopping.

“Sorry, love,” said Ed.

Stede was pouting, his big announcement was ruined.

Izzy questioned why Lucius came around Pete's place so much, didn't Lucius have a fucking home of his own? With Stede on top of it all, Lucius was living with Stede in their fancy twat apartment. A bit clingy, Lucius popping by every fucking day to cook or give Pete things or make a sappy fool of himself in the living room or sex that Izzy could hear quite clearly through a mercifully shut bedroom door. Pete was loud.

“Because he's my boyfriend, thanks for asking you grumpy little man,” Lucius said.

Fuck. He thought the Jackie thing might get Izzy out, what use did Izzy have for Pete's couch when he'd found somewhere to get his feet down again? But no, Izzy was still cluttering Pete's apartment and it was only a matter of time before….well, before implosion. Izzy would run across Ed or Ed would run across Izzy and they'd have it out right then, Ed would spell out precisely where Izzy could stick it. Or maybe Ed would be alright, it had shaken out good enough and he'd only lost one of his oldest friends in a blaze of glory. But Izzy wouldn't be.

Izzy was scraping some kind of scorched lump into the trash, Lucius couldn't even picture what Izzy was trying to do.Meat maybe? Steak? Had Izzy been trying to make a fucking steak? Or some heinous meat and veggie dish known only to Izzy Hands? Izzy ate like he was in prison still, the poor bastard had it out for seasoning and flavor. There was nothing wrong with bland food, but Lucius wondered if everything Izzy did was to make some enormous throbbing point.

Lucius glanced at the sad excuse for…whatever it was that Izzy had just tossed away, probably the best for Izzy's digestion.

“If you need something cooked, you could just ask,” said Lucius.

Izzy tensed. He'd gone back to full goth that week, gray high-collared shirt and dark pants and black gloves and a choker necklace and cross earrings. Lucius said absolutely nothing about Izzy looking good in dark colors, Lucius quite liked keeping all his fingers and toes.

“Stay out of my fucking way, know what's good for you,” said Izzy.

Lucius's eyebrows migrated up his forehead, he'd been thinking less about getting in Izzy's way and more about Izzy not burning down his boyfriend's lovely kitchen.

“You're here on courtesy, Iz,” said Lucius. “Don't be a dick.”

Izzy darted his tongue between his lips. Yeah, of course he was there on fucking courtesy. Not wanted, he was there because Pete couldn't stand the thought of putting him out.

“Suppose you're not keen on me telling your boyfriend what you've been up to?” said Izzy. “Been a proper little seductress, haven't you?”

Lucius leaned himself up against the kitchen table, palms on the surface. Pete was out getting food, he'd gone with Fang. That left Lucius and Izzy in the apartment, it was the first time they'd been alone together since Lucius dragged a drunken Izzy into Pete's place.

“We don't own each other,” said Lucius. “It's called polyamory, Izzy.”

A puzzled frown came over Izzy's face.

“What the fuck's that?” said Izzy.

A single eyebrow sprinted up Lucius's forehead, he nearly thought Izzy was playing around. But Izzy clearly had no idea what the fuck Lucius was talking about.

“Uh, it's when you–date multiple people?” said Lucius. “And they all know about each other?”

Izzy let the concept roll around in his brain for a minute, he almost thought Lucius was making up words. But Lucius wasn't the type.

“Fucking stupid,” said Izzy.

Lucius grinned. Yes, he did get fucked stupid quite often thanks to this arrangement, but he had a feeling Izzy wouldn't appreciate the strained wordplay.

“Maybe you should try it some time, Iz,” said Lucius. “Fun.”

When was the last time Izzy Hands dated? Had he just been….sheltering with this abstract idea of Ed for the past decades? Feeding off it like a fucking parasite? Consuming raw fantasies and nothing else? It was so deeply miserable an idea.

“Nah, I'm good,” said Izzy. “Fucking better things to do with my time.”

Lucius bit his lip, he wanted to ask what the hell that could mean. By Pete's account, Izzy spent most of his days either working at Jackie's or sleeping on Pete's couch. “Better things”. There was a very good chance that Izzy needed professional help, therapy or something of that kind. But Lucius knew Izzy wasn't the type to realize he had a problem, he'd drink himself out to sea before he admitted to being in a not-so-good mental state.

Lucius slid his hand across the kitchen counter, he tried to sound sympathetic and measured.

“It's not bad, being in love,” said Lucius. “It's not bad to be in love. You know that, right?”

He didn't think Izzy did know, he thought Izzy had likely spent his whole life burned alive at the false idol of “masculinity” he'd made from bits and pieces of whatever fucked up men he'd grown up around. Or maybe he was just a fucking bastard, Lucius wasn't sure. Lucius could only draw from his own experience, growing up gay and deeply closeted until he wasn't.

“I haven't,” said Izzy.

He took a beer out of the fridge, Pete always had booze on hand and it was one of the reasons Izzy wasn't on the prowl for a new place. How the fuck had he ever dealt with any of this sober? The record store, Ed's moods? How had he gotten through without beer in his system, without the pain all numbed away?

“Haven't what?” said Lucius.

Izzy put the beer on the counter.

“Fallen in love, you fucking twat,” said Izzy.

Lucius barely heard the insult–“you fucking twat”, how original–but he put his hand over his mouth, his eyes burst wide open and he was–for the first time in weeks–at a total loss for words and also pressed to say a few things that would have definitely gotten him stabbed in the face by a furious Izzy Hands.

Oh.

Ed took the atmosphere, it hit her lungs before it hit her brain.

A planet. Stede was a…fucking planet. Sucking Ed into his gravitational pull, delivering a dazed and baffled Edward Teach onto the surface of him. And Ed scrambling to get her feet, to adjust to the unfamiliar under her leather boots. Hitting the ground running in her breached spacesuit, feeling the oxygen rush out and her suit fill up with chemicals.

Their eyes found Stede in the crowd, their voice worried uncertainly at the next line. Off in some distant galaxy, they heard the persistent beats of Jim's drumming and Frenchie on his guitar. On Planet Stede solely occupied by one Edward Teach, Ed caught snippets of their own voice.

The thing with Mary came back to him, the conversation about chosen loves. Ed really had chosen his love, hadn't he? He hadn't chosen his life or what he did with it, he'd loved so much of it and yet it came back to him in haunting images when he tried to sleep. The trashed hotel rooms, the fights, wearing himself down, appeasing Hornigold. And the parts he could fall in love with just thinking about, the freedom and the songwriting and the fuckeries and the constant mental stimulation to keep him going. And then Ed fell away from all that and chose….this. The record store, The Kraken, Stede.

He finished up the song, he felt himself slide gracefully into another.

Stede was wearing a pink sweater vest patterned with hearts, he looked like the absolute last person you'd catch at a show like this. And Ed could tell just by looking at him that he was holding back, it was taking all of Stede's willpower to not grab the person sitting next to him and excitedly announce himself to be Ed's boyfriend, that his boyfriend was in a band and they were playing!

A smile came across Ed's face, she leaned into the microphone and dropped her voice to a sultry croon. And Stede seemed to know–she saw his cheeks warm–this part of the song was meant for him. For the crowd, sure. But mostly for Stede, Stede in his sweater vest sitting close to the stage and Ed making such lustful eye contact with him.

Ed considered how wonderfully fucked he was, he had never before been in such good spirits about it.

Jim tipped their hat back. Fuck. Another night, another show, another series of half-joking texts to Oluwande, another almost bar fight.

Frenchie came out the back door, guitar case hung over his shoulder. He would have stayed, but Stede and Ed were being disgustingly into each other. Stede was gushing over Ed's tattoos as if he hadn't seen them a thousand times already and Ed was sunk so deep into Stede's flirting that he'd forgotten they needed to be getting home.

Jim exhaled, they felt the expanse of themself so clearly. Top surgery scars, scars from all the fighting with knives, their hands were hardly ever smooth because they always forgot to use the lotion Oluwande packed for them. It was a messy way to be, but the three of them had never lived any other way.

“Ever think about being in love?” said Jim.

Frenchie shook his head, he hadn't thought about it ever until he hit his adult years and a march of realizations permanently altered the course.

“Not really, no,” said Frenchie. “Have you?”

Jim touched the brim of their hat, they looked dead ahead. It was a strange question to ask Frenchie, they knew falling in love wasn't in his code. Frenchie was as uninterested in sex and romance as a person could be, him and his platonic life partner John.

“Yeah,” said Jim.

They refused to expand on that.

Stede and Ed came crashing through the back door, Ed hanging off Stede and laughing.

“You wouldn't!” Stede said. “Ed, you know I'm ticklish–”

Ed pretended to nip at Stede's ear, he leaned in close and lowered his voice to a crooning growl that jetted wildly through Stede's chest.

“Try and fucking stop me, Golden Boy,” he said.

Stede blushed, he tried to say something but the words came to a stall in his throat. Ed's breath flicked a tease against his skin, Ed's words buzzed somewhere above Stede's pelvis.

Jim pulled the brim of their hat down slightly.

“Me voy, me voy,” they said, speaking hurriedly in Spanish.

Frenchie glanced at Stede and Ed.

“Yeah, what they said,” said Frenchie. “We'll, uh–see you guys back at the van?”

Jim grinned, they gave Ed a playful swat on the shoulder as they stepped past. They briefly slipped on their faux stern voice and made eye contact.

“Hey, no lo dejes embarazado ni nada,” Jim said. “Got it?”

Ed put his arms around Stede and held him, pressing their bodies together and feeling how they fit. How Stede filled in his gaps and he filled in Stede's, all slotted into one.

“Can't make that promise, sorry,” said Ed.

Stede leaned back into Ed.

“What are you two talking about?” he said.

Ed hummed into Stede's skin, he could hear Frenchie and Jim heading back to the van. Leaving them alone, thank fuck. Ed had wanted it all night, to be alone with Stede. They'd started preparing for the gig first thing, then it was into the van and pulled along by conversations. Ed hadn't gotten his allotted quality time with Stede, they'd had so much of it before.

“About how beautiful and charming you are, love,” said Ed.

Stede glanced in the direction Frenchie and Jim had gone, it was late and they really should have been driving home. But Stede found it difficult, wanting to get back. Lucius would be worrying himself into an upset, Stede had cafe business to handle.

“It was a lovely show, Ed,” said Stede. “And thank you, by the way. For wanting me to come.”

He touched Ed's arms. Stede didn't know how to say it still, how exactly Ed flared his emotions. How every lyric seemed meant to resonate in his chest and his alone.

“I love your tattoos, Ed,” said Stede. “I'd like to kiss them. Every one.”

Ed unwrapped Stede from their grasp, they felt this incredible emptiness without their bodies so close. They swept Stede closer, into their arms. A grin broke over their face.

“Every one, huh?” said Ed. “What about the one on my ass? That one too?”

Stede blushed, but he refused to be daunted. He didn't even know Ed had an ass tattoo, it hadn't come up.

“Yes, all of them,” said Stede. “Absolutely all of them. Even that one.”

Ed reached to stroke along Stede's cheek. Awfully warm tonight, wasn't it? Jim and Frenchie and Pete wouldn't have agreed, they would have insisted the temperature was quite normal. Well, what the hell did they know?

“And the ones on my hips?” said Ed. “Kissing those too, are you?”

Stede nodded with such enthusiasm that Ed actually laughed. Laughed and blushed, Stede was driving him wild and it wasn't the least bit sporting of him.

Ed leaned in close, he dropped his voice.

“I've got a small one, inner thigh,” said Ed. “How about that one?”

And Stede turned the most beautiful shade of rosy pink, Ed could have spread it along a canvas. Or drawn up a new album cover with it, the gorgeous shade of rosy pink that came up bright on Stede's cheeks.

“All of you, Ed,” said Stede. “I'd–I'd like to kiss all of you.”

Ed cupped Stede's face in both hands, brushed her lips sweet and soft against his skin. There were dozens of places she had in mind for Stede's lips, Ed wanted it slow and she wanted it quick at the same time. There was no pace to this, what they had going. If he'd been anyone else, Ed would have worried herself into a coma about moving too fast. But it was Stede moving at breakneck, Stede who seemed to want everything all at once. Wasn't there a thrill in that, holding tight to the edge?

“Can't wait, love,” said Ed. “I can't fucking wait.”

And–reluctantly, holding each other–they walked back to where the van was waiting, Ed slotted into Stede's side.

Stede and Jim helped an exhausted Ed back to Stede's apartment.

Jim would have stayed to make sure Ed was okay–his knee and everything–but….well, that wasn't really their job. Frenchie was more accustomed and willing to do the touchy-feeling-friendship stuff, tonight Stede was on “making sure Ed is alright”. Making Ed something hot to drink, dragging a blanket over him, watching Twin Peaks with him until he dozed off.

Jim laughed, they ducked their head down and grabbed at the tails of their long jacket snapped at by the wind. They used to think Izzy was good for managing Ed's moods, but as it turned out? Izzy was royally shit at it, likely because Izzy was a fucking trainwreck of mental health issues himself and not really in a fit state to manage anyone or anything. It didn't help that Izzy had–with apparent fervor–refused to view Ed as anything more than a figment or extension of Blackbeard, it was hard to imagine Blackbeard–the immortal stage persona–having very human emotions. Maybe that was Izzy's entire problem summed up? He didn't know Ed was real?

Jim's phone buzzed, they took it out of their pocket. Text from Oluwande, what else would it be this time of night?

Coming home soon?

Jim nudged their wide-brimmed hat up their forehead, they frowned. They actually didn't want to head home just yet. They wanted to drop in on Pete, Lucius would probably be there and Jim had questions about…a few topics they weren't confident anyone else could handle. Lucius could be discreet, he could hold his tongue because he was well aware Jim would cut if off at the first sign of snark.

Not yet. Sorry.

They added a clarification, they didn't want Oluwande to be worried.

Might be spending the night at Pete's.

Oluwande responded a minute later, he must have been busy. Staying late at work, not even at home to fret over Jim's empty bed.

Sounds great. Stay safe, okay?

And a second after that.

How was the show?

Jim walked faster as they replied.

More of the same. Sometimes I think this band thing's not even worth it. Like, why am I even doing it?

Jim could almost feel Oluwande's therapist voice through his reply.

Because you like it? Because you love your friends? Because everyone needs a creative outlet?

Jim considered, they took the truth in each of those statements.

Yeah, guess I do. I love you, I love Lucius. Guess I love Ed. And Frenchie. You guys are my people.

Oluwande was slower getting his response out.

“Familia”.

Jim had never bothered to ask about it, Oluwande's motivation for learning Spanish. And then Frenchie learned a bit of it, Ed too. They could communicate better, they could pick out intention when Jim slid back into Spanish during their heated rants. And Oluwande could understand the lone Spanish verses of The Man in the Teal Earring, Jim had to remember that.

Yeah. Familia.

Jim was standing outside Pete's apartment, they had this thought of just…heading back home. Dinner in the fridge, late night texting with Oluwande, lying in bed and working on another song, maybe Ed would toss a few album art ideas into the group chat and Jim could laugh at how bad they were.

“Familia”. “Family”.

Jim knocked on Pete's door. They were having a strange night.

Chapter Text

In the middle of the night

Said she wanted to go

In search of a sound

She still wanted to know

– In the Middle of the Night // Still Corners

Jim slammed their shot glass on the table.

“Si, si!” they said, their voice given to a violent rise. “What the hell do they know?”

Izzy nodded vigorously, reaching to refill his own glass. Yeah, what the fuck did they know? Lucius, Fang, Ivan, any of them? Fancying themselves relationship experts because they'd fucked and loved a bit, because they had boyfriends?Didn't make them fucking experts, that was certain.

“And why's it any of their business?” said Izzy.

Jim pointed at Izzy and nodded their head, other hand gripping the empty shot glass. Didn't Lucius and Fang and Ivan and all of them get it? Jim was bad with feelings…and why was that such an awful thing, being bad at feelings? Feelings didn't make the world go round, pain and blood did. Izzy agreed with them on this, Izzy knew the score.

“Everyone in this town, so fucking nosy,” Jim said.

Their thoughts were on Lucius when they said it, Lucius especially had this habit of crawling into other peoples' fucking lives and trying to…fix them? If it had been anyone other than Lucius Spriggs, Jim would have assumed he was doing it for some kind of thrill. But Lucius wasn't like that, he was a kind soul who felt everything so deeply and was always pressed to manage everyone. Unfortunate of him, the poor bastard.

They gestured with their empty glass.

“Sometimes I think I should just…go away from here, you know?” said Jim. “Just–salir a la carretera, you know?”

Izzy had no clue what that meant, but he could get the gist. He'd drunk far less tonight than had become usual for him, he'd finally broken himself of whatever inane drinking habits Jack had rumbled out of him. And he was starting to hate that, having been only mildly tipsy for the past few nights of his life. But Jackie would have his nose on a platter if he got plastered at work, the irony–he worked at a fucking bar and there were all these rules about drinking on the clock–was far from lost on Izzy Hands.

“Lucius tells me, this–he tells me I'm in love with Edward Teach,” said Izzy. “Have been for years, he says. Can you fucking imagine?”

Jim put down their empty shot glass, they took the bottle off the table. They'd come to find Pete and Lucius out of the apartment, they'd gone to Fang and Ivan's for the night. But Izzy was there and he wanted to drink and–despite the distaste sitting bitter in Jim's chest–they caved.

“Wait, you're not?” said Jim.

Izzy sucked his teeth. What a stupid fucking question, and from Jim. He thought Jim was the best out of them, a person who understood what it was like to have their feelings summarized and dissected and torn free like they were a fucking experiment.

Izzy recalled the conversation with Lucius.

“In love with–?” Izzy had said, baffled. “That's ridiculous, Spriggs. What the fuck's that supposed to mean?”

Lucius had looked at him with an amount of gentle care.

“Okay, so you know that feeling you get in your chest?” Lucius said. “When you look at Ed? That specific feeling? That one?”

Izzy had put a hand up to his chest without truly meaning to, his eyebrows had scrunched together as he wondered–half-frantic–how Lucius knew that. Had Ed been talking to him, spinning tales? Or was it Fang? Ivan? Stede even, that useless puff pastry of a man? How the fuck–?

“That's love, Izzy,” said Lucius. “You're in love. With Ed. For–however many years you've known him, I guess.”

And it had come to Izzy, the realization that Lucius couldn't have been told. Because Izzy hadn't told Fang or Ivan, he would have never shared that sort of thing with fucking Stede and certainly not Edward Teach. So how did Lucius know?

Izzy took up the bottle again, he willed himself to drink it all into scrambled thoughts. Fuck, if even Jim thought Izzy was…

“However long you've known him.” No, that wasn't true. Izzy certainly had a feeling in his chest about Edward Teach when they first met, there was no doubt about that. But…it had only developed into this particular feeling within a few years of knowing each other. Soon after the Blackbeard thing started to take off, after they got tangled up with Benjamin Hornigold as rising stars. That was when the feeling in Izzy's chest morphed, it scared him at first and then it was a hefty excuse to never leave Ed's side. Loyalty to Blackbeard, to the music, even loyalty to their final album Act of Grace. Izzy took hold of Ed's coat and let her carry them both, he could have split off and had his own music if he'd wanted to and Izzy just thought he wasn't good enough for that. Or perhaps–the entire time–right under his nose–Izzy had been holding onto something that wasn't just Ed's coat.

Watching the shift in Izzy's face, Jim poured themself another glass of whiskey. Oh fuck. Jim had come over for Lucius, not to have a feelings talk with Izzy Hands.

“Hey, idiota,” said Jim. “I don't fucking care if you're in love with Ed, that doesn't excuse what you did.”

Izzy shoved his shot glass away from him, he didn't feel like being drunk. He was scared what might come off his alcohol-loosened lips.

“Then why the fuck are you here, why are you drinking with me?” said Izzy.

Jim shrugged.

“Good whiskey,” said Jim.

They cleared their throat noisily.

“And–and, uh, Ed,” they said. “Go near her again and I'll gouge your eyes out. I mean it. Just–stay away from her. That's all I wanted to say.”

And…well, Lucius said Izzy was a sad little man with sad little feelings. He wasn't an active threat to any of them. And if he ever became one again, Jim was cleared for whatever they needed to do. And Izzy knew that, Jim had put a fucking knife through some guy's hand for yelling at Frenchie during one of their gigs. Izzy didn't want to picture what Jim would do to him if he dared hurt Edward Teach again.

“He wasn't being himself,” said Izzy.

Jim laughed, they couldn't believe Izzy had the brass balls to defend himself still.

“Himself?” said Jim. “Didn't we all fight really hard to be ourselves?”

Izzy opened and shut his mouth, he blinked and could find nothing approaching a good counter.

Jim grinned, they'd staggered Izzy Hands and that felt fucking good. They filled up their shot glass again, held it close to their lips and dipped their head forward a little. Neither of them were drunk yet, hardly even close.

“We're all self-made, Izzy,” said Jim.

Ed had their hands around Stede's, they were guiding Stede's fingers on the guitar strings.

When Stede said he wanted to learn guitar, Ed's first internal question had been “Wait, don't you already know guitar?”Followed by the quick realization that Stede probably hadn't touched a fucking guitar since university. And Stede was asking for lessons, how could Ed say no to that face?

It was the middle of the night, hours after the show. Stede couldn't sleep, Stede asked if Ed would teach him how to play guitar.

“I reckon you're better off with Frenchie,” said Ed. “Guitar's not my thing, I do piano and singing.”

Stede's cheeks warmed, rosy pink. Oh god, he really should have talked to Lucius about…physical intimacy. Not the concept of it, Stede was well aware what it was meant to be like. But with Ed–now that it was official–well, Stede was thinking about touch in a new way.

“But I wanted to learn from you, darling,” said Stede.

Ed played a few chords, he was glad for them having the apartment all to themselves. Lucius would have given them a real shouting-at, this staying up late. They weren't kids anymore, either of them. Ed had his fucked up knee and Stede had his cafe and they were so….adult in all things. But Ed had reclaimed the missed youth of a giddy teenager, he'd found with Stede this desire to be built anew. To do it all again, except with Golden Boy and all the good parts of Blackbeard.

Stede looked at Ed's hands–he'd always been told that people who played guitar were meant to have callouses, Ed kept his hands in good shape–and at Ed's fingers in particular. Warmth came into his cheeks, there was something intimate about the way Ed worked the strings. He felt like he was watching something private.

“What song is that?” said Stede.

Ed stopped playing, her fingers dropping gracefully off the strings.

“Starman,” said Ed. “It's David Bowie.”

Stede swallowed, his eyes burst wide open and Ed swore he could see galaxies in them.

“Teach me,” said Stede.

And an hour passed, Ed putting his fingers to the strings in repetitive–although Ed didn't mind it, the repetitive movements–and somewhat slow recreations of David Bowie's hit classic Starman.

Ed wasn't sure they were teaching, they looked into Stede's wide open eyes and started to wonder if he just liked…hearing them. That was alright, it had been a long time since anyone listened to Ed's music, really listened to it. They played directly into the heart, but Izzy and Jack had closed themselves and they were certain nothing they ever sang out from themself touched either of them. But they could see Stede's core now, it was gaping open when he leaned forward to hear Ed's playing better.

Ed started to sing, but not the lyrics of Starman. He started to weave the lyrics of Marmalade, this song that was meant for piano. But really it was meant for Ed's mouth and Stede's ears.

Stede waited until Ed was finished, he waited until the last pressing line–something about beginning to grow–had come out and Ed's hands were falling off the strings.

“That's very nice, Ed,” said Stede. “Is that new?”

Ed swallowed thickly, she stared at her hands–soft hands–and the guitar held against her. Stede didn't…god, he didn't get it. He didn't understand Marmalade was about him, he didn't understand that Ed had penned it half inside the worst spiral of her life and then the rest of it had come together over days with nothing but Stede's face. Stede didn't understand that every memory of their time in that hotel room was like a vice in Ed's chest, it was the good kind of pain.

“Stede–I–,” said Ed.

Stede moved from the floor to the couch in a flash, he reached and took Ed's face in his hands.

“Do you need, uh–a cup of tea?” said Stede.

He was grasping for something he could do. And oddly, for a moment, he felt like…apologizing. He was sorry for just not understanding the stingray tattoo at first, understanding Ed's reasons for getting it. He simply didn't think it was all that provoking, his silly talk about stingrays. But Ed took it like medicine, all of it. And out from Ed–their skin, their eyes, their fingers–came the most brilliant golden cords to lace about Stede's wrists, he was so deliriously, beautifully bound to Edward Teach and their music.

Ed laughed, he touched Stede's wrists and hands and Stede felt as if Ed was leaving trails of shining stars on his skin.

“I reckon that would fix me up,” said Ed. “Tea, seven sugars.”

Stede hurried to the kitchen to get it ready, to grab the kettle and get the water boiling. Yes. Alright. Tea. He could make a cup of tea, that was certainly something he could do.

“Won't be long, darling,” said Stede. “I'll–yes, I'll have it done in a few minutes.”

He bit his lip, holding the kettle.

“And while it's–er, boiling, would you like to hear about this fascinating documentary I watched last week?” said Stede. “Lucius showed it to me, it was all about these, uh–these underwater caves. There's this one in China, very deep…”

The question seemed irrelevant, Stede was already off talking about them and there was very little Ed could have done to stop him. Not that Ed was complaining in the slightest, she put her guitar down and took the distraction.

“We're all self-made, Izzy.”

So what was wrong with it? What exactly was wrong with it?

Izzy asked himself this as he reached across the table, his lips brushed Jim's and he thought he could…close his eyes, live in a dream. Just for a moment, he could pretend Ed had kissed him as more than a mistake and that failed fumbling attempt at sex hadn't happened and this was Izzy's starting over.

“What does it feel like, being in love? What do you think it feels like?” Izzy had asked.

Jim had shrugged at his question, they'd looked up at the ceiling.

“I guess it just feels like…everything's alright somehow?” said Jim. “Like the world makes sense? I don't know. I'm…I'm bad at this.”

The alcohol spun around Izzy's head. He didn't fucking need to be in love, Jim was right without saying it out loud and they both knew it. They weren't built for loving people and people weren't built for loving them, it just got you hurt. If they could leave, get away from this fucking town and not be bothered anymore–Izzy was about to suggest it, about to lift the burden off them both at once and then Jim would finally understand and Izzy would be understood–

“I should leave.”

Izzy jerked his head back, he saw Jim's face through the whiskey cloud and they were looking at him with…pity.

“Go ahead then. Fucking leave.”

Izzy took a swig of the whiskey out of his glass, hopeful this one would knock him out. He watched Jim pick up their hat and leave the apartment, back to…Oluwande. Oluwande. Jim had someone, they hadn't been pining after a ghost for the past several years of their life.

Izzy and Ed had been together for so long, they were practically married. Or had been, until Stede came rending through Izzy's life and tore a great gaping hole. But their “marriage”–whatever it was, whatever it could be–had been on the rocks even before Stede came, he was just the last tipping of the scale. Of fucking course Izzy would lose to him, how could he stand up against the golden-haired tidal wave that was Stede? Stede, this person who didn't want to control Ed. Stede, this person who…saw Edward Teach.

Oluwande tossed his bag over the back of the couch. What a fucking day. And a fucking night too, he'd had a fucking night.

Jim walked out of their bedroom, holding their wide-brimmed hat against their chest.

Oluwande raised his eyebrows.

“So you're not staying at Pete's tonight?” he said. “You should have texted me.”

He turned and headed into the kitchen, shrugging his shoulders.

“Do you want me to make you dinner?” said Oluwande. “Or, I guess–a really late dinner? Or a really really early breakfast?”

He'd been all ready for bed, but if Jim was actually up and awake he would have felt bad leaving them without a fresh hot meal. And if Jim didn't mind it, he might heat something up. And they could finish that movie they were watching, the comedy one about the zombies.

Jim stepped into the kitchen, worrying at their bottom lip.

“Look, I don't know how to do this,” said Jim.

Oluwande spun around, he grabbed at the kitchen counter.

“Do what?” he said.

Jim threw their head back and groaned, they pressed the hat tighter to their chest. Best to start with fast honesty.

“I almost kissed Izzy Hands tonight,” they said.

Oluwande rubbed his hand along the counter, he tried to find where this conversation was going and if he even wanted that thread followed. He hadn't even known Izzy was still around, hadn't Izzy fucked off somewhere else after Ed kicked him out? Oluwande's window into that whole situation had been Jim ranting about it for ten minutes.

“Okay….?” he said.

Jim lessened the gap between them. Okay, maybe that was too much fast honesty. Fuck, Jim wasn't even thinking when it happened. They'd seen a glimmer of themself in Izzy for a split second and almost was tempted to just roll with it, Izzy would never ask Jim about their feelings.

“We were both drunk,” said Jim. “And it made me think about–”

They sighed, they could hardly believe they were just…doing it. They felt like they'd hit several points of revelation tonight and not a single one of them made this easier.

“Family,” said Jim. “You guys are my family. And you're, like–a part of that. But you're also–the closest thing I've ever had to someone I can….trust. Completely trust. I fucking stabbed a guy for you and–and I'd do it again, I'd–”

Fuck it. They closed the gap, they took hold of Oluwande's face. And their lips crashed together, Jim felt something knock deep into their core and a feeling buzzed through their chest like the engine of a jet plane. They went up, higher than they'd ever thought possible and fell forward, they felt Oluwande catch them and they shoved themself harder into the kiss.

They broke away, but not really. Jim dragged Oluwande back, still holding on and keeping their lips close. Pulling him through their open bedroom door, searching his face for any sign he wasn't okay with what was happening. But Oluwande just looked at them and…god, Oluwande wore lovestruck and lustful well.

Stede paused to get his breath back, Ed put down her cup of tea. Stede had been outlining a complex underwater cave system, Ed was drinking tea–with seven sugars, it just wasn't the same with six–and listening. But Stede had taken a break, he was doing that thing he always did–talking too much and too fast–and Ed was riveted.

“Have you ever been to one?” said Stede. “An underwater cave?”

Ed smiled to herself, Stede was the only person who would have asked her a question like that. There hadn't been much space for it, underwater cave exploration or any of the various things rich kids like Stede must have gotten up to.

“I'd be fucking scared out of my head,” said Ed. “How the fuck do they do that, just–go down there? That's how you get eaten by a squid. Or strangled to death by an octopus.”

Stede laughed, he didn't think squids ate humans and octopi–octopuses?–were not known for causing death by strangulation. The creatures of the sea could be surprisingly gentle for their size and fear factor, Stede would verbally dismantle anyone who tried to peddle anti-shark propaganda in front of him. As Stede had explained rather passionately to Ed, it was dolphins you needed to watch out for and all that stuff about sharks was blatantly false and….well, it was a topic Stede was very invested in correcting. Ed had made the mistake of calling dolphins “cute” and had been treated to an–admittedly darkly fascinating–lecture about why that was simply not true.

“Scariest thing I've ever fucking done is my nipple piercings,” said Ed.

Stede blinked at Ed, baffled.

“You–you don't have–,” he attempted.

Ed grinned. Oh, had she not told Stede about her nipple piercings? Did Stede really believe Ed hadn't gotten them pierced?

They lifted up their shirt to show them off, it had been an age since anyone asked about their pierced nipples and Ed got to be a complete slut about them. They weren't being honest of fucking course, the nipple piercings were only the third or fourth scariest thing Ed had ever done.

Stede was staring wide-eyed at Ed's pierced nipples and Ed looked so astronomically pleased with themself for leaving Stede gobsmacked.

“Did they hurt?” said Stede.

Ed tugged her shirt down, that wasn't the first question she thought Stede would ask. She was far more comfortable with Stede asking about the piercings, it was better than Stede prodding over the various scars along her torso.

“Little bit,” said Ed.

It was late, they should have been getting into bed. But Ed doubted they were the only ones awake.

Chapter Text

When the meaning is gone

There is clarity

And the reason comes on the common tongue of your loving me

And it's easy done

Our little remedy

And the reason comes in the common tongue of your loving me

–Moment's Silence (Common Tongue) // Hozier

“And then we'll be looking at–oh, yes! Constellations. Ed loves a good constellation.”

Stede was rambling on about his date with Ed, Lucius was trying to get them back on track to cafe business and Stede just wouldn't shut up about Ed.

Lucius sighed, he'd found it was easier to let the whole thing run it's course. If he was fortunate, he'd get Stede roped back in and they could focus on the fucking cafe. It had been like this the past days, Stede talking about Ed almost more than he talked about marine life or ships. If Lucius hadn't gone around this part himself, he would have found it tiresome. He knew exactly what it was like to have a first boyfriend, all those feelings like explosions.

Drinks at a fancy restaurant. Star-gazing. Maybe a movie if they got back early enough? Something light, a romantic comedy.Stede already had the whole thing planned out from start to end.

“Lucius, may I ask your advice?” said Stede.

Lucius blinked, he slid his elbows off the counter.

“Are you asking if you can ask me or are you just going to–?” said Lucius.

Apparently Stede was just going to, because he'd already started talking before Lucius could finish that sentence. Oh. So Lucius wasn't getting a choice, he was helping Stede with whatever was troubling him whether he wanted to or not. Cafe business was stuck on the back burner.

“It's about–um, well–it's a sensitive matter,” said Stede. “I'm sure you can make a guess at what it is.”

Lucius steepled his hands on the counter, he just wanted to get this over with so they could pivot back around to the cafe. They were off their busiest week yet and Lucius was thinking they needed to get some changes down the pipe, this cafe thing might actually take off if Stede would actually listen. Not today, there wouldn't be any listening today because Stede had Ed on his mind.

“No, I can't, I really can't,” said Lucius.

Stede blushed, his eyes darting nervously away and then back again.

“Intimate matters,” said Stede. “Um, matters of the…boudoir.”

Lucius put his palms on the counter, he suddenly wished he'd walked away the second Stede started talking about Ed. He'd known this was coming, it was clear as a fucking asteroid in the sky. Lucius was having a rather substantial meal out of his own words today.

“You mean sex,” said Lucius. “Sex….with Ed?”

Stede rolled his eyes, he put his hands on his hips.

“Of course Ed,” said Stede. “Who else would it be? Heavens, Lucius, keep up.”

Lucius nodded, he looked around to make sure Roach and Pete and Jim and Sven weren't lurking around to hear them talking. Not that any of the four–other than Roach–would have wanted to eavesdrop on this conversation, none of them were particularly invested in their boss's sex life.

“And you're sure you want to…do that?” said Lucius. “You don't, you know, have to. I'm sure Ed will understand. But it's important you want to.”

Stede let out a dreamy sigh.

“Oh, I do, I really do,” said Stede. “I hadn't thought about it before, wanting to. But that's because….”

Lucius nodded, understanding what Stede was getting at. “Because I didn't think I was allowed to do it with people like Ed. Doing it with people like Ed sounds better.” Lucius had spoken very similar words a very long time ago, those brief moments between being in the closet to himself and then coming out of it. He'd always known he was gay, it was just putting the whole thing into his own words and hiding it from other people.

“Okay, you want to fuck Ed,” said Lucius. “What does that have to do with me?”

Stede worried at the front of his shirt. He'd gone for a blue heart-print sweater today, shorts and tights and his shoes with the square heels.

“How does one, um–do it?” said Stede.

Lucius stared at Stede for a few seconds, he was genuinely worried that Stede was asking him to explain the mechanics of gay sex. At which point Lucius would have passed this entire conversation onto Roach and retired to Jackie's Bar for the day, he was not outlining the complexities of gay sex to his forty-something boss.

“Do–?” said Lucius.

Stede flapped his hands impatiently.

“Yes, Lucius, that's what I said!” said Stede. “How does one do it? Just…just do it, I suppose? I should just…do it?”

Lucius took a very deep breath, this wasn't a conversation for business hours at their pastel pink cafe. If anything, this was something they could have been taking over wine in their apartment.

“Well, first you need to ask–,” Lucius started.

Stede did another impatient hand flap at Lucius, Lucius stopped talking.

“Yes, yes, I know how to–I mean, I have an idea how all that is–I mean, I've watched videos,” said Stede. “Very, er–very informative isn't it, the Internet?”

He hurried along, Lucius was staring at him and Stede was finding his stride.

“And condoms, I got condoms!” said Stede. “All the, um–all the sizes and all the types I could find. And lube, all the types of lube I could find–and a few other things, just in case Ed wants to–well, I don't think he would, for our first time, but you never know! And a few things to help, just in case. Things like that happen and we're not exactly young–”

He was rattling off, talking quickly. Stede had been in preparation mode all day, he'd found arranging the list and getting all that sorted to be a useful distraction. He didn't need to think about the act itself, about what he planned to do with all the lube and condoms and toys–yes, he'd bought toys, Stede just couldn't help himself and you never knew–and there was this joy in getting it all ready, Stede was going to be such an expert on sex after this first time. He just knew he'd be great once he perfected the ins and outs and Ed would be so impressed with how many types of lube Stede had bought!

And then Stede had watched several informative videos and suddenly he was just…Stede, sitting in his apartment. Biting his lip and drinking red wine and watching videos that both thrilled and scared him from the sheer skill on display. So thatwas what sex looked like when the people involved actually cared for each other. Stede didn't know it could be so intensely intimate, those moments.

“The Internet says I'm a service top,” said Stede.

Lucius reached across the counter and patted Stede's hand.

“That's not something you should be asking the Internet,” said Lucius. “I think that's really something you get to decide yourself. So why don't we shelve that? Just for now?”

He tried to get his head around what kind of research Stede must have done to both learn the phrase “service top” and also decide it applied to him, Lucius both wanted to know and dreaded ever finding out in exact details.

“It's okay to be nervous,” said Lucius. “I'm sure whatever you do, whatever happens, Ed will–just be happy it's with you.”

Stede folded his hands on the counter, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Ed's experienced,” said Stede. “He's done it all sorts of ways in all sorts of places.”

Lucius had no counter for that, Ed had probably fucked more people than Stede would have ever considered. That was the rockstar life, or at least the rockstar life Blackbeard had lived. If they were putting it down to skill, Ed was miles above.

“But he hasn't done it with you, has he?” said Lucius.

Stede smiled, his mood lifted a fraction.

“I have it all planned out,” said Stede. “Candles, rose petals, I even made a playlist–”

Lucius took a deep breath, he was fucking dying to know what was on Stede fucking Bonnet's sex playlist. But if he asked and Stede answered, he'd never go back. He would be forever weighed down by the knowledge of which musical artists Stede had deemed worthy enough for his sex playlist.

“I'm going to do it tonight,” said Stede. “We're going to do it tonight, after the drinks and the star-gazing. We'll go back to my place and I'll have it all waiting.”

He swallowed, he stared at his hands.

“What if they don't want to?” said Stede. “Oh god, I should have asked–”

Lucius nodded. Yeah, asking Ed about it seemed like it should have been the first thing on Stede's mind.

“I'm sure they do,” Stede continued. “They've been–hinting.”

Lucius could agree with that one, except it had barely been hints. Ed was being as subtle as a fucking plane crash. Even Roach and Pete had noticed it, they'd asked if that amount was even appropriate in a public space. All the sensual eating of phallic fruits and licking their fingers while making eye contact and those exaggerated noises of delight over pastries and wearing the tightest tiniest shirt that had ever existed in the known universe while being ogled by Stede.

And just yesterday, Ed had yanked up their shirt to show off another tattoo–this one was of an epaulette shark–because Stede didn't believe Ed had gotten a new one and he'd asked Ed what their favorite type of shark was. Prompting Lucius to yell at both of them about how they were in the middle of fucking business hours at the cafe and Ed couldn't be pulling up their shirt. It was a moment before either of them even heard what Lucius was raising his voice about, Stede had gotten another flash of Ed's nipples piercings and almost fainted like a Victorian gentleman encountering a bare ankle.

“I'm sure Ed will love it,” said Lucius. “And if she doesn't, that's not the end of the world.”

Stede perked up. Oh! That wasn't the end of the world at all, was it? Ed might not be on board for taking their relationship to the next level and Stede respected that heartily. But if they did, he wanted their first time together to be…romantic. Memorable. He wanted the night set to music, their music. A shared melody of Stede and Ed.

Lucius made an internal note to be at Pete's place tonight, he suspected the apartment was about to get loud and filled with all sorts of noises he would never scrub from his mind.

A shared melody.

Stede let this phrase rest in his head, he prepared himself for what promised to be a very lovely date with his boyfriend. There was nothing to be afraid of, provided they got back to the apartment in good time. A few drinks, star-gazing to put Ed in a wonderful mood, a drive back with his hand resting over Ed's and listening to the most marvelous songs on the radio to set the tone. And if Ed rejected the premise after all that, if Ed didn't want to do it tonight…or possibly ever?Stede was completely alright with that, it was going to be an extraordinary evening regardless.

He was feeling confident….until Ed actually showed up, until they met outside Ed's place and Ed was wearing a half-unbuttoned black shirt.

Stede stared at the strip of visible chest, Ed's tattoo and his gold coin necklace. So many buttons. Stede imagined his fingers seeking them out in the hopping candlelight of his bedroom, working them undone. Working Ed undone and feeling out the shape of Ed's chest and parts of Ed that Stede had not yet put his hands on but he so wanted to, every part of Ed seemed built for Stede's hands to find in a darkened room and he wanted to trace every line of Edward Teach so he could remember them when he fell asleep.

“Stede?” said Ed. “Come back to me, love.”

Stede snapped his gaze off Ed's chest, off his gold necklace, off his tattoo, off the possibilities that shirt promised him and….oh god, was it hot out there? It was late in the year, cold, but Stede was warm under the collar.

Ed frowned, he put his hand on Stede's shoulder.

“Drinks?” said Ed.

Stede hadn't told her what he had planned for this evening, but Ed had guessed the first part.

“Right, we're–dinner,” said Stede.

He forced a smile, he put out his arm for Ed to take.

Ed took hold of Stede's arm, they left together.

Jim rolled over in bed, they propped up their head on their arm.

Oluwande had his eyes shut, asleep and holding the covers against his chest. This had been the past few nights, sleeping in the same bed and….well, sex. Several months worth of pent-up sexual energy exploding out of them, especially on Jim's side.

Jim pulled the covers up to their chest, a bit of guilt rolled through their stomach. Their nana was going to be pissed if she ever found out, this was very much a living in sin situation. But Jim didn't care, they would have broken a thousand rules of their own to just have this. Every day, almost every night. It was unfortunate that it took them so long to realize what this was. All it took was one kiss and everything…clicked.

Jim put their head on the pillow and sighed. You know what? Maybe getting out of there wasn't a plan at all, maybe they'd been trying to dodge exactly what they'd talked to Izzy about. Having feelings, such a horrible curse.

They smiled to themself. Fortunate they didn't. Maybe being a coward about certain things wasn't the end of their world.

Stede's mood didn't lift up over drinks, he made only the smallest reaction to Ed's running conversation. At one point Ed mentioned underwater caves and Stede barely responded, that set off screaming alarm bells in Ed's brain.

“What's wrong?” said Ed.

They were leaving the bar, Stede having paid for his drink–which he'd hardly touched–and Ed for theirs. There were more alarm bells screeching through Ed's mind, Stede hadn't started his usual debate over the bill. Stede always wanted to pay for the whole thing, Ed told him he didn't need to do that, they'd get into a friendly back and forth over it until Stede gave in. But this time it was straight into paying and Stede made no objections.

Although…Stede had brushed his hand over Ed's knee–which Ed hadn't minded, Stede did that all the time–and Stede had looked mortified beyond belief for a second. What in the world was going on in Stede's head tonight?

“Nothing's wrong, darling,” said Stede.

Even the darling fell enormously flat from Stede's mouth, they were walking to Stede's car–that was the one thing they never disagreed over, taking Stede's expensive car–and Stede seemed to be keeping an unusual bit of distance between them.

Ed was instantly hurt and they let it show on their face. Stede was lying, but they had zero clue why Stede would be lying to them. Was he…upset? About what, what could have happened between Ed leaving the cafe earlier and going out together? Had Stede gotten a distressing call, maybe an email? Had Ed offended Stede's sensibilities at last?

Stede touched Ed's arm, his smile came up almost to his eyes.

“Why don't we have a look at some stars?” said Stede.

He drove Ed to their agreed-upon star-gazing spot, somewhere the sky seemed to stretch out forever and Ed was sure they could have seen the whole galaxy if they had the right equipment. They didn't have any equipment, it was just the two of them and the radio and Ed's knowledge of the constellations.

“You know, people like to come out here and have sex,” said Ed.

Stede froze, he was halfway out of the car. He'd seemed almost normal on the drive over, he'd kept up with conversation and he'd even squeezed in a little ship talk. And Stede thought he could take it in stops and starts, the whole evening and how it was meant to finish. But the words came out of Ed's mouth and Stede realized again that he couldn't, he hadn't been able to at the bar either.

“Do they?” Stede said, his voice rising slightly in pitch.

Ed shrugged and stepped out of the car.

“That's what Jim told me,” he said. “No one's here tonight, I reckon we've got the place to ourselves.”

Stede was relieved and then wondered why he was relieved. Did…did Ed think he'd brought them out there to have sex?Was that why Ed had brought it up, such an odd topic to spring out of nowhere?

But Ed was out of the car and he didn't seem interested in that prospect, he was staring up at the sky.

“It's pretty,” said Ed.

Stede climbed out of the car and nodded in agreement, he slammed the driver's side door shut. Such a gorgeous sky, this was the best night to be looking up. Stede felt like he was falling into a tapestry, as if the universe was reaching down to carry him away.

“Did you ever star gaze?” said Stede. “With–with your parents?”

Ed shook her head. She'd wanted to, but her childhood had been so much wanting to and not enough doing.

“I did it by myself,” said Ed. “We had a good view from where we lived, only good thing about that place. I'd come out at night and make up constellations, until I learned the real ones.”

She sighed, she put her hands on her hips.

“Universe is–it's so big, yeah?” said Ed. “I wanted to be up there. Anywhere that wasn't….”

They swallowed. They had it, their anywhere that wasn't. Equal parts beautiful and a shock to their senses still, they weren't sure they'd earned it.

“What about your parents?” said Ed. “Did you star gaze with them, anything like that?”

Stede laughed, he knew Ed was just asking and yet the question tickled him. If only Ed knew the half of it, a quarter of it even.

“Oh, no, my father was more of the–business type,” said Stede.

That was an understatement. Stede's father had only been concerned with growing and maintaining the family business, he hadn't given a shit about…stars. As far as Stede's father was concerned, everything up there was useless. Stars, planets, the void of space. And Stede had tried to feel that way too, but he just hadn't cracked it. He hadn't puzzled out how to stop looking up at the stars and being in constant wonder of them. Perhaps that was the core of it, his deteriorating relationship with dear old dad as the years passed and then Stede was struggling to find something nice to say at the funeral.

“And what's Stede's type?” said Ed.

Stede pressed himself closer to Ed, their shoulders brushed.

“Oh, I'm….,” said Stede.

He trailed off, he thought he had an answer and then it came to him that he simply didn't. What type of person was Stede? A cafe owner, a queer man? Those were titles, hardly types.

“Would you like to have sex? With…with me?”

Stede blurted it out, withdrawing his shoulder from Ed's. The words came out in a stumbled rush.

Ed blinked, they grabbed at the front of their shirt–soft–and looked around.

“You want to do it here?” said Ed. “Are you sure about that, love?”

Stede folded his hands over his waist. The words had just sort of…sprinted from him, he was considering what type of person he was and then he started thinking about everything he had set up at home and the preparations he'd done–the lube, the condoms, everything–and then the words were out of him.

“Yes,” said Stede. “If it's something we both want.”

Ed glanced up at the sky again, it was such a lovely night for star gazing. But it was also a lovely night for doing whatever they wanted and…why the fuck not?

“Okay,” said Ed. “Okay, we can–if you're sure you want to–?”

Stede took hold of Ed's wrist, he pulled them back towards the car. Oh heavens, this was really happening.

“I know what I want, Ed,” said Stede. “It's you I'm worried about.”

Ed smiled, she brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face. Great night to have her hair tied up, wasn't it?

“I think you know exactly what I want,” said Ed.

They pulled Stede towards them and kissed him. But this time they pressed, they put their hands up on Stede's shoulders and curled themself in deeper. They reached into Stede with something raw and wanting, Stede tipped a gasping moan into Ed's mouth.

Izzy had been in a good mood lately and Lucius was fucking scared.

If Izzy was smiling, only one of two things could have happened: Stede had met with a terrible fate of some kind or Izzy had suffered an unfortunate head injury. Given that Stede was currently on some kind of date with Ed and Izzy showed no signs of having bumped his head recently, Lucius was doubly worried.

“Having a good week, Izzy?” said Lucius.

Izzy rolled down his sleeve, he wasn't drunk–in fact, Lucius was both elated and disconcerted to realize Izzy hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in over a week–and he didn't seem like the type to smoke weed with Jim.

“I am actually,” said Izzy.

Lucius held his knife off the cutting board, he studied Izzy's face and tried to decide if some horrible accident had somehow befallen Stede without him knowing. Maybe he should give Stede a text, just to make sure the poor man hadn't fallen into a pit or something?

“And, uh–why is that?” said Lucius.

Izzy swung around and Lucius was fascinated to notice he'd gone full goth yet again. Fascinated and again very scared for Stede's well-being. Lucius was half-expecting to find out Izzy had bought one of those magic crystal things from Buttons and was using some kind of ritual to banish Stede from this plane of reality.

“I've realized what to do, how to fucking end this,” said Izzy.

Lucius stepped away from the cutting board, he gripped the knife and wondered if he should text Jim.

“End what?” said Lucius.

Izzy looked at Lucius, he wasn't smiling anymore and Lucius found that suddenly far more terrifying.

“I'm leaving, Spriggs,” said Izzy. “Forever. Your Stede's fucking won, he's taken everything from me. There's nothing left, I've got no reason to keep going on in this fucking place.”

Lucius put the knife on the counter. Okay, so a Jim text wasn't necessary. He hadn't been looking forward to it, given that Jim and Oluwande seemed to have sorted things out. Yes, Lucius knew all about that. Jim's demeanor had changed and Oluwande had even brought Jim lunch yesterday, Jim had smiled over the gesture and Roach had passed along the gossip to Lucius.

Lucius put his hand on his hip.

“This pity party thing you're doing is not cute, just so we're all aware,” said Lucius. “Stede hasn't taken anything from you,all Stede did was–”

Izzy laughed, of course Lucius wouldn't get it.

“He took Ed,” said Izzy. “He took Blackbeard and–”

Lucius let out a sigh of frustration.

“Ed's a fucking human being, you know,” said Lucius. “He made his choice. Big fucking deal. You think you're the only person's whose ever gotten his heart broken?”

He softened a bit, he could tell Izzy was about to shout at him and he was not in the mood.

“You think you have to be tough, and maybe you do,” said Lucius. “But have you ever let go of that, Izzy? Just for a minute? Have you? No hierarchies, no duties, just–being Izzy Hands?”

He started to turn away, convinced he'd finally struck that last nerve. And Izzy was about to leave the apartment, leave the town, leave their lives and go somewhere Lucius couldn't annoy him anymore. Maybe that was what everyone needed? For Izzy to just…piss off, as harmless as Lucius kept saying he was?

Izzy shook his head.

“What the fuck do you know about–?” he started.

Lucius whirled around, his eyes flashing with genuine anger for the very first time since Izzy had ever known him. It was so intense and unexpected that Izzy actually stopped speaking, he stared into Lucius's eyes and he wondered if he'd perhaps pushed a button he shouldn't have.

“What I know is that I'm a gay man who wears shorts and mesh shirts and I've gotten very very tired of dealing with bullies,” said Lucius.

He took a step in Izzy's direction, he was–Izzy was reminded of it–taller than Izzy Hands.

“You want Ed to love you, fine,” said Lucius. “She's not going to, you've fucked that up and now you have to lie in it.”

He stopped, he gathered himself.

“I don't want you to leave, Izzy,” said Lucius. “And you don't want to go. What you want is to pretend there's a future out there for you and Edward Teach, but there's not. It's done.”

Lucius closed his eyes, he dared a few steps closer to Izzy Hands. He could see Izzy's whole entire world crumpling behind his eyes, it was as if Lucius had undressed him to his barest most vulnerable parts. And as much as Izzy clearly hated it, this was something he'd been needing to happen. For decades maybe, this could have saved them all the heartache in the universe. It was so often like that, the words taken after it was all dusted. If Ed was mourning at all, he was mourning the loss of a good friend. Izzy was mourning the abrupt end of a one-sided marriage.

“I'm going out,” said Lucius. “I'm going to get some coffee from that place, the one that's open late. And we're going to drink it together. And you don't have to talk.”

He paused, he took a step away from Izzy.

“You also don't have to be here when I get back,” said Lucius.

He meant that fully. This was giving Izzy a chance, he could pack his things and leave in the middle of the night again and Lucius would accept that.

But Izzy was still there when Lucius returned a whole twenty minutes later. He silently took the cup of coffee–dark, no sugar–offered to him. And he didn't talk, Lucius had given him permission to stay quiet and Izzy took full advantage.

Stede leaned over with his hands on the steering wheel, his gaze flitted out the driver's side window and to a random spot on the windshield.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Ed pulled a shirt–not her own, but one of Stede's that he apparently kept on hand in his car and Ed was especially grateful–over her head, it was a lovely shirt and she actually liked it better than what she'd had on.

“It's alright, love,” said Ed.

Stede worried at the steering wheel, he didn't think it was very alright. Oh heavens, what had possessed him? He should have stuck to it, his original plan with the candles. But he wasn't sure it would have made a single bit of difference, whether they'd been at home or in the back of Stede's expensive car. The interior of his car wasn't the best for sex.

“I–I thought it would be so special, the first time we–fucked,” said Stede.

Ed laughed in surprised at Stede's abrupt and forceful use of the word “fucked”, it sounded rather comical after all the “good heavens” Stede liked to do.

“It doesn't need to be special, Stede,” said Ed. “These things usually aren't, not in my experience.”

Stede sighed, he'd been hoping to change Ed's experience tonight. And he'd cocked it up entirely, one bumbling mistake.

“But–but with you–,” said Stede.

He wasn't even sure how to begin constructing, it was all so fast.

Ed touched the material of the shirt she was wearing–Stede's–and frowned. Okay, she had to admit that wasn't good. But she wasn't blaming Stede, these things happened. Ed didn't go into this expecting some sort of…magical fairytale, she'd climbed into the backseat of Stede's expensive car and Stede had worried aloud about her knee–Ed's knee was surprisingly okay after that, or as okay as it could be–and Ed had felt like she was eighteen years old.

“I've had worse,” said Ed. “You're actually one of my better memories.”

He didn't want Stede to just be down on himself for the rest of the week. Ed had seen it all, he'd experienced it all, the full gambit of bodily fluids and atrocious fuck-ups. Stede's mishap–which was barely Stede's fault, he hadn't done it on purpose–was tiny compared to Ed's most unfortunate sexual encounters.

There had been plenty of leading up, kissing and touching of all sorts. Ed fumbling open the buttons of Stede's shirt, desiring after every exposed bit of Stede he could get his mouth on. There was a specific expanse of skin under Stede's lovely collarbone that Ed wanted for his lips, he wanted to leave traces because Stede was his and his alone and he wanted every fucking person in town to know that. He wanted Stede to walk into the cafe with love marks all over his neck and blushing tremendously and everyone would know it was Ed who did it, everyone would know who Stede belonged to and that was getting Ed so fucking hot in all the right places and….god, Stede was his, Stede was Ed's first and only and forever.

It had all been going well until Ed actually ducked his head below the belt and got Stede into his mouth, Stede's wonderfully average length of dick. It was all so much that Stede had never felt before, he fit inside Ed like something that belonged and they weren't even….fuck, this wasn't even the half of it, what Stede wanted to do and what they coulddo if Ed wanted.

And perhaps that was why Stede had finished in…was it five seconds? Maybe three. Stede couldn't be sure. And the emotions had come out of him all in a catastrophic rush, this–fucking everything. Surprise (oh god, did I really do that?) and shame (five seconds, really?) and guilt (what am I doing what am I doing what am I doing this isn't right oh god) and fear (I fucked it up I fucked it up I fucked it up) and so many feelings twisted out of him by years of being bullied, repressed, confused, and carrying all that into his forties. Stede tipped his head forward and started to sob, he sobbed like the terrified closeted university student he so clearly was somewhere in his core.

The next few minutes were spent with Ed telling Stede it was alright as Stede gasped out mangled apologies through his sobs. Ed couldn't puzzle out whether Stede was apologizing for the five seconds or apologizing for crying or both.

“Want to talk about it, love?” said Ed.

Ed reached out to touch Stede's shoulder, she darted her hand back when Stede flinched. Oh. He was going into himself again, he did that sometimes. It was in equal parts scary and…understandable, Ed had her own moments and they looked nothing like Stede's in the external. Ed was starting to realize that this might not be entirely about the sex. Perhaps that was the lens through which Stede was taking it, but this was likely about far more than those five seconds of being sucked off.

“I can't help you if you don't talk.”

Ed was pulling off her shirt, getting ready for a well-deserved shower at her place. She thought they'd go back to Stede's, but Stede had very insistently cut her off when she started to ask. So Ed's place it was for tonight, Ed was just mildly relieved that Stede hadn't wanted to just go their opposite ways.

Stede was curled up on Ed's bed, he had Ed's pillow crushed against his chest and there was whale song playing. He thought Ed would put on Queen or The Neville Brothers, but they'd gone for whale song instead and it must have been for Stede's sake and Stede wasn't certain he deserved it after how he'd played it tonight. Ed had found that whale song was a good way of getting Stede back into balance when Stede was having…an off day.

Stede squeezed Ed's pillow tighter. Ed was the only person who'd let Stede talk about marine life and ships and underwater caves and all that for as long as he wanted, he was the only person who'd watch those documentaries about whales with Stede over and over again, he was the only person who would have thought to put on whale song and give Stede a pillow to hold when he was freaking out. Ed's moods were often internal, moping about in his bedroom for days on end. Stede's were external, fluttering and manic.

Ed held the shirt in their hands, Stede's shirt.

“You know what?” said Ed. “Think I'd like a bath. A hot one. Bubbles. How about you?”

Stede shut his eyes, took himself into the whale song. And Stede was….well, first it was about winning dear old dad's love. Then it was about denial and repression, he'd dragged his whole life into that because he just couldn't accept who or what he was. And then he was trapped in this loathsome rut he needed to get out of, Stede's only options had been bleak: either he ended it all or he set fire to the whole damn thing and started over from the top. Stede chose fire, of course he would choose fire. Stede hadn't even thought loving someone like Ed was an option, something he was allowed.

He put down the pillow, he slid halfway off Ed's bed.

“I'd love a bath,” said Stede.

The bathwater was warm, Ed wanted to put her shoulder to the side of the tub and feel out the cold porcelain with her skin.

If she had to find a song for this….actually, no, she wasn't even keen on finding a song. She wanted this to be over, miserable and crashing down in those brilliant sparks that sometimes came together in the form of Golden Boy–Stede–lovely Stede.

Ed was tucked into Stede's body, folded back into Stede's strong arms. And they barely fit in that bathtub, two grown adults. But Ed didn't care, his limbs coiled tremendously tight in the space and held close to Stede. Naked wet bodies slotted into each other like puzzle pieces, wasn't that what bodies were made for really? Ed's body at least.

Stede had a horrible roiling in his chest, maybe he'd misunderstood what Ed was hinting at and now he was forcing himself into Ed's space when Ed didn't want him and naked at that, he'd taken off his clothes and Ed was seeing everything of him.

“Is this alright, darling?” said Stede. “You don't…want me out?”

This was his first time getting a look at Ed's tattoos in full. His gaze had traveled the length of Ed's body in wonder, he'd never seen so much ink. Decades of story.

And one of the latest chapters, the stingray. His stingray, Stede had come to think of it.

Ed blinked, they pressed themself deeper into Stede's body in the bath.

“No, you're fine,” said Ed. “We've both had a night, we needed this.”

Stede worried at his bottom lip, he'd half been asking about the bath and half about their whole relationship going forward.

“I wanted it to be romantic,” said Stede. “We'd have candles, flowers, music.”

And Ed would be wearing a gorgeous set of black lingerie purchased for the occasion, Stede would take Ed's wrist and lead them to the bed and press them delicately onto the silk bedsheets and softly ask if they were ready and then Stede would slide off Ed's undergarments and–

Oh. That wasn't at all how it had gone, was it? They'd skipped directly past the lingerie and the silk bedsheets and gone for…fumbling around like university students in the back of Stede's car and Stede finishing within five seconds of being sucked off. At least there had been about ten minutes of leading up to that, so it hadn't been a waste of time.

“Next time, love,” said Ed.

They hummed, they'd once spent an afternoon like this. Not naked in the bath, but lying on the bed as Stede asked about each and every one of their tattoos. And Ed had told him what they all meant, the ones they could remember a meaning for. They'd made things up on top of that, it wasn't as if Stede would know and Ed wasn't keen to admit the instances they'd gotten high and asked Frenchie to give them a fucking…star or something on their upper back for absolutely no reason.

“Ed, your–your scars,” said Stede. “I've wondered–”

There were so many of them, far more than Stede had ever noticed before.

Ed swallowed, she closed her eyes.

“I haven't had good relationships, Stede,” said Ed. “I've been with a lot of…bad people. And I let them do things I probably shouldn't have, let them get away with things. Things with…knives. And broken bottles.”

He inhaled sloppily, he felt Stede against him and took a long dip in the serenity of another living breathing body folded into his own. Stede would never hurt him like that, Stede would have sooner burned down his own cafe than hurt Ed in the ways other people had.

“I guess I thought I deserved it,” said Ed. “I wasn't a good person, Stede.”

Stede held Ed tighter, he was shaking a little with emotion despite the warm water.

“Ed, you could never deserve something like that!” said Stede. “Oh, Ed, Ed, darling Ed. I'm so sorry, I wish I could have been there–I wish I could have–”

He was breathing somewhat heavily, his throat burned. He was ashamed of himself, Ed was telling him about his troubles and here was Stede needing to be comforted as if this was about him–what a disgusting parody of a boyfriend, Stede thought–he really wasn't the best for Ed and he likely never would be. He didn't even care if Ed was a good person or not, Ed couldn't have deserved what happened to him.

“Yeah,” said Ed, she let out a sigh. “I wish it too. I wish I could have met you when I was a fucking twenty-something, before I got all–damaged. But you're here now, love. And we're both fucking broken.”

With a little difficulty, Stede kissed the top of Ed's head.

“You're not, Ed,” said Stede. “You're not broken.”

He held Ed's hand, squeezed it and looked out into space.

“And…there would nothing wrong with it, being broken,” said Stede. “Broken pretty things, the two of us.”

Broken pretty things. Ed needed to save that, it would do fantastic in the chorus of her next song.

“You wouldn't want to…do it again?” said Stede. “Tonight? I feel up to it. Very up to it, actually.”

He considered all those fascinating tutorials about prepping and how to get ready–physically and mentally–for that sort of thing and…would Ed ever want to? They didn't have to, not if Ed had decided anal sex was just not their shared thing. Stede was certainly giddy to try, he wanted to have it all. With Ed.

“Not sure about that,” said Ed. “Think I'd just like to stay here.”

And they did, curled up in Ed's bathtub until they couldn't stand the water anymore.

It was directly out after that, they dried off and changed into their pajamas–Ed into a borrowed pair of Stede's–and fell into bed smelling of lavender soap.

Chapter Text

Remember, this could be the last of all the rides we take

So hold on tight and don't look back

We don't care about the message or the rules they make

I'll find you when the sun goes black

You only live forever in the lights you make

When we were young, we used to say

That you only hear the music when your heart begins to break

Now, we are the kids from yesterday

–The Kids from Yesterday // My Chemical Romance

Ed took out several photos he'd stuffed into an old shoebox, he laid them out on the coffee table and just…had a good look for the first time in fucking years.

There she was in the middle of course, bright and center. Twenty-something, her hair tied back, pants so tight Ed was sure they'd cut off circulation to her vital bits and it was fucking worth it, a black crop top with a rip in it, that dripping black ink eyeliner look she was so proud of. Lit cigarette steaming out smoke between two of her fingers, tongue out so her piercing caught the light.

And next to her was….god, he looked about the same. Fucking scary, how little he'd changed. The same haircut, a white shirt, hands in his pockets, even his frame was basically identical. Elizabeth Hands, soon to be Izzy Hands.

And next to him was…Jack Rackham, that stupid half-mullet and beard and his clothes were never clean and there were always holes in his socks even after Ed offered to sew them up.

Izzy had been saying something about….was it fencing? He wanted to get into fencing. Professionally if that was even an option, he wanted to fence. And maybe work in the bar a little less if he could.

Ed put out her cigarette with her boot and announced she was going to be a rockstar. A real one, not what they'd been doing. And she was going to the moon, they just had to wait a bit and she'd be taking off. They could come with her if they wanted, but she was going either way. What else could she fucking do?

Roach was talking about pomegranates. Izzy did not want to hear about pomegranates.

He was unfortunately trapped in place for the time being, having met with what he described as “a really bad accident”–after the expected fuck off when Pete asked what was wrong–and guzzling booze to save his life because god help him he was not doing this sober. And Izzy thought that night with Jim had scared him off alcohol, he was sorely fucking wrong.

“So we just–put it back in place?” said Pete. “Just like–pop it back in?”

A shudder went up Izzy's spine and he winced, he didn't want to think about popping any part of his body. Fuck, Ed or Jack should have been doing this. Not this useful idiot and a fucking cook who…dropped out of med school, was it?

At least Pete was nice enough to put on some Joan Jett for Izzy's pleasure and probably to distract him from what they were about to do. It wasn't working, Izzy was fondling the bottle of beer and wishing he'd just gone to Jack's place.

Pete slapped Izzy's shoulder–the other one, thank fuck, at least he had enough good sense to do that–and gave him a smile that wasn't the least bit reassuring. In fact, it made Izzy certain he was about to fucking die right there on Pete's couch.

“Hey, we've done this before,” said Pete. “A whole bunch of times. We're experts.”

Izzy had his doubts, he didn't peg Pete as an expert at dealing with dislocated shoulders. Roach maybe, but Pete? And Roach's thing was minor kitchen injuries, this was a larger fucking deal than Stede spilling hot water on his crotch. A very funny image that had just come into Izzy's brain, he was doing a better job at distracting himself than Bits and Pieces by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Bad choice of song, given the circumstances.

Izzy was quite sure he was about to be in bits and pieces after Pete and Roach got done with him, but he gritted his teeth.

“Just get it fucking over with,” he said.

Pete took hold of Izzy's arm and set about getting it fucking over with. He didn't like this any more than Izzy did.

Three things happened with impeccable timing.

Pete gave Izzy's arm a yank back into place, Izzy let out a muffled grunt of pain through his teeth, Roach finally stopped talking about all the wonderful stuff he was doing with their recent shipment of pomegranates, and Lucius stepped into the apartment.

“What the fuck?” Lucius said.

He put his hand up against his chest and gagged, turning away from the spectacle.

Izzy flinched and tried to move his arm, he was surprised to realize it wasn't snapped in half.

“Keep your breakfast, Spriggs,” said Izzy. “Don't be such a fucking baby.”

Pete rubbed the back of his head.

“Sorry, babe,” said Pete.

Lucius closed the apartment door, there was no amount of sorry, babe in the galaxy that was going to make up for this. He did forgive Pete just as a reflex, it wasn't Pete's fault that he got dragged along into things he had fuck-all to do with. But Roach should have known better.

“Or you could have taken him to the hospital, how about that?” said Lucius. “Did anyone think of that?”

Roach carefully extracted the bottle of beer out of Izzy's hands.

“He didn't want to,” said Roach.

Izzy grimaced, that really made him sound like a petulant child. But what use was a fucking hospital? He didn't need one, he could have popped his own shoulder back in if he'd had the sense to. This was nothing compared to what he'd had with Jack and Ed back in the day. He'd cut his toe off once–found it and had it reattached–and he'd broken two or more of his fingers–that really put a dent in his drumming–and of course Ed's knee.

“How'd you even–?” said Lucius.

Pete answered before Izzy could.

“He fell off the balcony,” said Pete.

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Why did he ask questions? Could he not have poured himself a glass of wine and shuffled off into Pete's bedroom? But that was the trouble with Lucius, he started with Stede and now it was becoming the only thing he could do.

“Going to regret this, but–why the fuck were you on the balcony?” said Lucius.

Izzy bristled, Izzy hardly thought he was the deranged one in this apartment.

“I was–look, it's none of your fucking business,” said Izzy.

But Pete seemed to have gone temporarily deaf, as he answered Lucius's question anyway.

“I think he was…fencing?” said Pete.

Izzy clenched his teeth, he very much wanted to grab Pete with his good arm and throttle him.

“Pete,” he said, a warning too late.

Lucius leaned over and kissed Pete's forehead. All things considered, it was a fucking miracle that Izzy fell off the balcony and all he got saddled with was a dislocated shoulder. And it was so sweet of Pete and Roach to help him.

“I think we should be getting dinner on, babe,” said Lucius.

Taking the hint, Pete and Roach disappeared into the kitchen. They could hear everything going on still, but they could pretend not to.

Lucius grinned at Izzy.

“Fencing?” he said. “That's healthy of you.”

Izzy rubbed his formerly-dislocated shoulder. It hurt still, maybe Izzy should go to the hospital and get it looked at. He just…well, what was the use in bothering people about his stupid arm?

“I used to be good at it, you absolute fucking twat,” said Izzy.

Lucius put a hand on his hip.

“That was not meant to sound sarcastic, just so you know,” said Lucius. “If it makes you feel better, I'm really happy you're getting your feelings out. Good for you, Iz.”

Izzy grumbled, this was not about feelings. He needed something to do and Jim maybe mentioned to him that writing music helped them with…getting it all together. The all being none of Lucius's fucking business. And if music could help Jim, maybe fencing could help Izzy? Sure, it was Izzy swinging his fencing sword around and making an idiot of himself out of sight. And then he'd fallen off a balcony and dislocated his shoulder, that was what Izzy got for taking advice.

Lucius sat down on the couch, Pete and Roach were in the kitchen still and having their own loud conversation, pretending to not hear anything.

“You do fencing?” said Lucius. “Did fencing?”

Izzy grabbed at the couch cushion, he narrowed his eyes.

“What's it to you, Spriggs?” said Izzy.

Lucius crossed his legs, he shrugged. What was it to him? He actually just wanted to know, if Izzy could process that. Izzy didn't strike him as a drummer, but he certainly struck Lucius as the kind of person who liked to swing a sharp object around.

“Well, Ed does guitar a little and he sings and he plays piano and…accordion?” said Lucius. “Seems talented, but you? I'm glad you have your thing that isn't drumming. I'd love to see you do your, uh–fencing.”

Izzy scoffed.

“I'm retired,” said Izzy.

He didn't have his drumset anymore, but he did have his old fencing gear. There was no space for a drumset in his apartment, that had been his stellar reasoning. Truthfully, knocking around with his drumset just made Izzy feel…old.Sad and past his prime.

Lucius patted Izzy's knee.

“I'm sure you were very good,” said Lucius.

Izzy stared, he was sure Lucius was flattering him for some nefarious purpose–what other reason would anyone have to flatter Izzy Hands?–but he couldn't see it yet and that made him nervous.

Ed sat down in front of the mirror, they grabbed a small bottle off the vanity and considered…fuck, they were considering everything now. Stede's impossibly fancy apartment, Ed never pictured themself even being permitted in a place like this. And now they had everything, a boyfriend who wanted to buy them clothes and take them to boutiques. And Ed didn't even need those things, they had their own money from their Blackbeard days and the record store on top. But it was nice anyway, Stede's gifts.

Stede was behind him, he'd paused in talking about killer whales and Ed could see both their reflections in the mirror.

“Oh!” said Stede. “Your hair! I–I was wondering if I might–do it for you?”

Ed blinked.

“My hair?” she said.

Stede grabbed the back of Ed's chair in excitement and slightly lifted his foot off the ground as he leaned forward. He'd been informed that Frenchie braided Ed's hair and Stede happened to think Ed would look magnificent with a nice long braid down his back, but Ed was always magnificent and wouldn't he just let Stede be the one to do it this time?

“Not to worry, I watched some tutorials last night!” said Stede. “Can I–?”

Ed nodded, he felt Stede's hands in his hair almost instantly and his breath nearly stalled because…fuck, Stede was so good at touching him.

“Oh, and–ah, yes, nearly forgot about that one,” said Stede. “Would you like to move in with me?”

Ed was leaning their head back into Stede's touch and shutting their eyes….or they tried to, their eyes were suddenly burst open very wide and they were staring hard at their reflection in the mirror to make sure they weren't dreaming.

“What?” said Ed.

Stede kept with Ed's hair as if he hadn't said anything, humming happily to himself and trying to recall the multitude of online tutorials–and advice from Frenchie–he'd gone through the past week. He'd never braided hair in his life, there was a version of Stede who wouldn't have been caught dead researching braiding techniques. But there was also a version of Stede who wouldn't have dyed his hair pink or even considered dating a genderqueer man or coming out of the closet well into his forties. Stede had spent a good size of the past week looking up tutorials on braiding, he'd given special attention to Ed's hair type and products. Stede quite preferred this version of him.

“I do think your hair's perfect for this sort of thing, so pretty with a bit of livening up,” said Stede.

Ed closed their eyes, they both could and couldn't believe this was the man they'd fallen in love with after knowing him for roughly two fucking months. Lucius had already made a joke about lesbians and moving in together, Jim had made the exact same joke, they were both going to be the most insufferable human beings when they found out Stede and Ed had actually done the moving in.

“Right, just so I've got it straight,” said Ed. “Did you just ask me to move in with you?”

Stede blushed, his gaze flitting somewhat guilty from his own reflection in the mirror to his hands working Ed's hair.

“I'm being silly again, darling,” said Stede. “Must be the full moon, does all kinds of things to people like me.”

Ed hummed and clicked his tongue.

“You're always silly, love,” said Ed.

Stede let out a sigh, moving one hand to place on his hip and glance at himself in the mirror.

“Oh, Ed, really,” said Stede. “You spend so much time here already, Lucius is hardly ever home anymore, why don't we just–do the thing?”

Ed had to admit Stede was right, he'd spent every night this week at Stede's apartment and he hadn't even slept on the couch a single time.

“Yeah, feels like we should just do the thing,” said Ed. “Like the sound of that, doing the thing. Guess I could give the apartment to Fang and Ivan, they'd have it.”

He nodded a few times, he gave his reflection a look and traced the details that hadn't been there in photographs. That was age coming in, clear as anything. He wore his hair long, he hadn't done that when he was a kid. And he'd never worn it braided in his Blackbeard days, he'd always wanted to but…something about it didn't feel Blackbeard, so never when Ed was on stage with the half of himself that Blackbeard lived in. Fucking hell, the things Ed hadn't done when he had money–more of it really–and a chance. Ed thought he'd been kind of wild, living fast in a rockstar world that both seemed made for him but still alien in these small familiar ways.

“What were you saying about killer whales?” said Ed.

Stede gripped the back of Ed's chair, he leaned forward and kissed the top of Ed's head.

“Edward Teach,” he said, feigning stern. “I do believe you're trying to distract me, darling.”

Ed reached and patted Stede's hand.

“Worked, didn't it?” said Ed.

It did, Stede was off again talking about killer whales five seconds later. And Ed was freed from having to think about the fact they'd agreed to move in with Stede.

Jim tugged on their collar, they made a frustrated little noise and shot a frown at their reflection.

Well, Stede finally did it. He got them to wear that stupid uniform. It was for some kind of group photo thing they were doing for the website–they had a website now apparently, Roach made it for them–and a few social media posts at Lucius's request. The cafe was getting fucking popular, Jim could hardly believe it. They had acts booked, that stage was getting some traffic.

“You look handsome,” Oluwande said.

He was in the bathroom doorway, he'd texted Stede to promise Jim was on their way. Jim could have done that, they'd been pointedly ignoring Stede's texts for the past few minutes. Stede texted so fucking much, had the poor man never had friends before and now he was in a rush to make up?

Jim yanked at their pink bowtie.

“You think Ed'll be mad if I stab his boyfriend a little?” said Jim.

Oluwande considered.

“Yeah, he probably…wouldn't like that,” said Oluwande.

Jim gripped the sink, they let out a hefty sigh of defeat.

“He wants you to…move in?”

Frenchie moved a box of records from one side of the store to the other, he dodged past a rushing Fang. The Frenchie's Picks section needed some buffing, Frenchie thought. Maybe some Beck and They Might Be Giants?

Ed leaned over the counter and stuck her arms on the surface, she felt the long braid of hair down her back. Stede had done a good job for his first time and Ed was refreshed, she felt like a ghostly resident reclaiming an old rundown house.

“That's kind of a big deal, yeah?” said Ed.

Frenchie wouldn't know, the stages of his only real relationship–his platonic partnership with John–included moving in as the final step, they never paused to think about anything except the enormously miserable idea of living apart. It was Oluwande's idea first, he'd been living with Jim and Frenchie thought having a roommate just looked like a better deal.

“Yeah, kind of a big deal,” said Frenchie.

Ed breathed out, they touched their shirt with nervous fingers.

“And I said yes,” said Ed. “Fuck, I said I'd do it. And I can't back out, he'd get all pouty and I hate when he's pouty.”

He loved pouty Stede actually, just not when Stede was being pouty at him.

“Why's he even interested in me?” said Ed.

Frenchie blinked, he thought for a moment that a rift had opened in space-time and spat him out several weeks ago.

“He seems a bit more than interested,” said Frenchie.

Ed considered their braided hair. This was what they couldn't have with Izzy and Jack, they'd never talked feelings. Bottle it up, throw it away, let it turn to cinders in their chests. Just don't talk about it, that was how you ended up with all these soft ideas. Izzy was more of a feelings man than he played at, but only when Jack wasn't looking. Or they were all drinking beer together, getting trashed on the cheap stuff.

“But why would he want this, fucking moving in with me?” said Ed.

In the background, Fade Into You by Mazzy Star seemed to kick up in volume, Frenchie searched for an answer to Ed's question.

“Maybe he's…a little bit in love with you?” said Frenchie.

Ed laughed, he knew Stede wasn't just a little bit in love with him. He hadn't put it to scale, just how in love with him Stede actually was. But it had to be more than anyone ever had been, Ed reasoned.

“I should build him a house,” said Ed. “Bet I could do it.”

She looked at her hands, opened and shut her palms. It wouldn't be like anywhere Stede had ever lived, the house she made. It wouldn't be enormous or fancy, the ceilings wouldn't be high and there wouldn't be fucking…gold-plated staircases or however it was where Stede had grown up. But it might be large enough to contain all of Ed's feelings, the parts of her that often threatened to come bursting out the walls when she considered herself too seriously. And wouldn't Stede sleep well, surrounded by how Ed felt about him?

“I'll have a big fucking…garden out back,” said Ed. “Or the roof, could have a rooftop garden. Always wanted one of those, always thought–”

He always thought it would be nice to have a house like the one he grew up in, but without all the shouting and running away from home. If Ed was able, he'd tear that scared little kid out of his chest finally, he'd get them into his arms and hold them and tell them everything was going to be alright. It wasn't always going to feel this bad, one day he'd be pretty and he'd have fine things.

Lucius lined everyone up for the group photo, he pointed his camera at the current staff of The Revenge.

Jim was hunched over, their arms crossed over their chest and head slightly ducked forward. Hate hate hated that uniform still, seriously fuck that stupid bowtie and frilly pink apron. But a smile tugged at Jim's cheeks, Oluwande with his being sincere. Calling them fucking handsome.

Pete was next to Jim, he was fiddling with the apron tied around his waist. He'd gotten over the uniform, he even kind of liked that silly apron and the bowtie. And Lucius was…weirdly into it, Pete wasn't going to lie. That made wearing it a better trade-in than Pete would have taken otherwise, if Lucius thought Pete looked hot as fuck in that bowtie.

Sven was standing with his hands clasped in front of his chest, he was waiting for Lucius to finish with the camera so they could get started. Lucius had explained it was important they capture everyone for this, Sven wasn't sure what the point of it was. But he liked getting his picture taken.

Roach was helping Sven with his bowtie, gently informing him that he needed to stay completely still once Lucius had the shot set up. Lucius would be annoyed if they needed more than a few basic shots.

Stede was in front, he was wearing a white dress shirt and lacy jabot collar and a blue floral pattern vest and a blue long jacket to match. He almost looked like he'd stepped out of a sixteenth century romance novel, the pink hair rather spoiled the effect.

“Are we ready, Lucius?” he said, asking for perhaps the fifth time in seven minutes.

Lucius backed away from the camera, he rushed to stand next to Stede.

“Timer started,” said Lucius. “Everyone just…stay right there.”

The camera went off a bit early, Lucius hadn't set the timer correctly.

The first photo of the session was of Jim looking off to the side, Roach still messing with Sven's bowtie as Sven stared with bright curious eyes into the camera, Pete smiling in Lucius's direction, and Stede turning his head to ask Lucius when the timer was meant to go off.

They didn't end up using that one, a more professional version of it went up on the website. But Stede had it printed and framed, he placed it on the wall behind the counter. The wall behind the counter also contained–as of two weeks ago–a trans pride flag and a print of Bell Rock Lighthouse by Joseph Mallord William Turner, among many others things put up by the staff of The Revenge.

Ed snapped a picture with her camera.

Jim was in their uniform still, they'd taken off the bowtie and apron but kept the white shirt and dark pants. They had a crown of strung-together flowers perched on their head, Sven had made it for them. They had their hand on Frenchie's shoulder and they were saying something to him about The Kraken's next show, they half-turned to look when Ed took the picture.

Frenchie was wearing a gray sweater, one hand on the collar and the other adjusting his sleeve. He didn't react when Ed took the picture.

And Ed's face took up a corner of the frame, they were doing a pout into the camera and holding onto their shoulder–nails polished lavender–with one hand and their hair was braided still. A seashell bracelet looped around their wrist.

Chapter Text

Has anyone ever written anything for you?

In all your darkest hours

Have you ever heard me sing?

Listen to me now

You know I'd rather be alone

Than be without you, don't you know?

–Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You? // Stevie Nicks

“It's a what?”

Ed stared at Stede, unsure he'd heard correctly.

Stede waved his hand, his smile faltering for just a second. He'd been so sure of himself that morning, despite Lucius looking at him as if he'd completely lost his mind. How ridiculous Lucius was being about this! It wasn't as if it was all that strange, Stede buying a gift for his…boyfriend. Sure, it was more extravagant than a bottle of French wine or those earrings or a seashell bracelet, but…he knew Ed would like it, what reason would Ed have to dislike almost anything Stede would think to gift him?

“It's–it's a gift?” said Stede. “For you, darling.”

Ed's gaze flitted to the thing Stede had just given them, this very enormous and very unprecedented thing. How the fuck were they even meant to react?

“It's–Stede, it's a fucking piano,” said Ed. “It's a piano, love.”

A gorgeous piano, just sitting in The Revenge like it belonged to the place. And it was a gift, Stede had gone out and bought him a fucking piano as if that was a normal and obvious thing for him to do.

Stede walked onto the stage, he pressed down each key in turn and a smile came over his face at the noise they made. He wasn't too much of a piano man himself, he was earning back his mediocre guitar skills with Ed's guidance and he was ready to stop there. But perhaps he could go a bit classic, he'd love to sit there and play out a lovely tune shoulder to shoulder with his boyfriend.

“I hadn't thought of how to, uh–get it into the apartment,” said Stede. “But this is a good home for it. Don't you agree?”

Ed didn't quite see how it was his if it was in The Revenge, but Stede had certainly bought it with him in mind.

“Ever been played for?” said Ed.

They were sitting down at the piano, several years of practice–they'd taught themself how to do it, playing piano–coming back to them in one instant. Fuck, how many years had it been since they played, really played?

“I don't think anyone's ever thought of playing for me,” said Stede.

Ed smiled, she put her finger to a key and satisfaction rippled through her at the noise. Never? Fucking shame, everyone needed a good piano ballad.

He was hesitant to start, this was his first time performing anything on piano in years. But he got into it quickly enough, his body knew what to do and he just listened to the rhythms. And what started out as a practice turned into playing, he opened his mouth and started to sing the chorus of Marmalade as he'd worked it out in his head, accompanied by the reluctant notes of the piano.

Stede leaned against the piano, listening enraptured and fascinated by Ed's playing. Ed's voice, her fingers flitting expertly over the keys, even the way her emerald earrings jostled when she moved her head. Ed was in a cropped sleeveless My Chemical Romance shirt and leather pants, Stede pictured her in a backless evening gown with rings sparkling on each of her fingers.

Ed finished the song, he raised his fingers off the keys and folded them into his lap. That frantic working of the keys belonged in a hotel ballroom or a concert hall, not an empty cafe in the early hours of a rainy morning.

Stede–breathless–leaned into the piano and stared into Ed's face, he'd never seen Ed so…living, Ed was living inside the melody he'd made out of that piano.

“I wrote it for you, love,” said Ed. “It's called Marmalade. Because of the–”

Stede spoke quickly, he held onto the piano. He might float off if he didn't, he might drift towards the ceiling because he was suddenly so fucking weightless and holding himself down was taking effort.

“You love marmalade,” said Stede. “You love–”

Ed swallowed, she stood up from the piano and made her way over to Stede.

“Marmalade's alright, love some good marmalade,” said Ed.

His hand came up to touch Stede's, just to…touch him, he always wanted to touch him because a part of Ed thought Stede was on the verge of disappearing. He'd been more real with his golden head of curls, he was even more a figment with his pink. Cotton candy boy from a cotton candy world. Ed made a mental note to work that into a song, maybe The Kraken could branch off into…what was it Frenchie had been talking about? Bedroom pop?

Stede took Ed's hand into his own and kissed it, he savored the tiny noise Ed made at the touch of his lips against skin. He'd already–a few days ago in fact–made good on his promise to kiss every part of Ed's body and yet this was almost too much for Ed still. And Ed wasn't bluffing about the thigh tattoo.

Stede blinked, he realized Ed had been saying something to him and Stede just…hadn't heard a word of it, he'd lost himself so deep in Ed's eyes for a one marvelous tick of time.

“Your guitar's going well?” said Ed.

Stede swallowed, he hadn't been thinking of it. Practice time had been limited, the cafe and all. And he wanted to learn with Ed, it felt wrong for him to put fingers to strings when Ed wasn't there with her excellent guidance. And she was there so much more often, she'd moved her entire self into Stede's apartment.

And Stede couldn't say it out loud, the actual reason he'd decided to take up guitar. To learn, yes. Of course he wanted to learn, the guitar was a shade of Ed's world and every shade of Ed's world was something for Stede to dip his fingers wholly into. And there was pride in digging out that flustered university student, giving him a second try. But….oh heavens, Stede wanted to play. He wanted to play something for Ed, he wanted to do with the guitar exactly what Ed had done with the piano.

“I–yes, it's coming along,” said Stede.

Stede hummed, his eyes lit up with that mischief Ed loved with all their heart.

“Cafe's empty,” he said. “Maybe–a quick one, before we open? In my office?”

Ed grinned. And once again, Stede had read their fucking mind.

Roach was putting on the finishing touches, adding all the fancy bits. The hand-crafted white chocolate roses on top of the three layers. There was no special skill to making a chocolate cake, but Roach made the best chocolate cakes. He wouldn't have been hired at the cafe if he didn't. He'd been at a bakery before he was at The Revenge, Stede had come up to him and asked if he wanted to work at his cafe. And Roach had heartily accepted….after Stede casually mentioned the pay and Roach almost didn't fucking believe him. And he'd been ready to quit at the bakery anyway, it worked out.

This cake wasn't for the cafe. Roach had baked it for some kind of event at Jim's request. He hadn't been told the finer points, what this event even was or why it required a fucking three-layer chocolate cake. He'd just put on one of his horror podcasts and started working on it, he had extra time and Jim was his friend.

John was sitting on the couch, he was showing Sven his outfit designs and Sven was commenting on how pretty the dresses were. And he was asking if John could make him one, John was promising that would be the first thing he did after he got his hands on some good fabric and time.

Izzy got home–Pete's place–from Jackie's Bar, he turned on Mazzy Star and sank into the couch.

It had been an…unfortunate day at Jackie's, one of the least favorable. The staff at The Revenge had come in for their weekly drink, including Lucius. Izzy had tried to ignore them as he usually would and they'd done the same to him, he'd been forced to watch them carry on with their inane conversations until closing time.

But then Pete had said–loudly–that Ed was set to be out of town for two days, she was traveling somewhere with The Kraken for one of their biggest gigs yet.

And…fucking hell, Izzy couldn't handle it.

He'd run into Ed three days ago, they'd passed each other on the street and Ed had looked right into Izzy's eyes. And Izzy thought he'd be ignored, he waited for Ed to just pass him and his breath went rigid in his throat. But Ed had turned to look, he'd made very deliberate eye contact with Izzy.

“Thought you were at Jack's?” he'd expected Ed to say.

And Izzy was setting himself up to reply with “I came back.”

But Ed made her eye contact, her gaze flitted to her phone–a text from Stede no doubt–and they were back to it. She passed by, she didn't care anymore.

Izzy went out to buy himself something for dinner. This was…fucking fine, of course he'd been anticipating they'd run across each other. It should have happened before, Izzy having been back for weeks. Someone must have tipped Ed off about Izzy working at Jackie's, that had to be it. And Ed had distanced himself from Jackie's for that reason alone, he was friends with Jackie and he'd made a point to never step foot in her bar again if Izzy was there.

Lucius arrived at Pete's place, he'd thought of going to Stede and Ed's to avoid Izzy Hands. The trouble was, Stede and Ed were there. He'd been reluctant about letting Ed move in, but Stede had given him the most enormous pleading eyes and then made it clear this was happening whether Lucius was enthused or not.

And the last time Lucius had stepped into his own apartment without knocking first, he'd walked in on Ed bending over in a miniskirt–and no fucking underwear–in front of an enamored Stede seated on the couch, Lucius had promptly swiveled around and left the apartment without a word. He was never going to burn the image out of his brain, he'd seen a bit too much of Ed.

“Aw, babe, you made me dinner?” said Lucius.

Izzy scoffed.

“Make your own fucking food, Spriggs,” said Izzy.

Lucius's eyebrows jumped up his forehead.

“I do make my own food, thanks,” said Lucius.

He glanced at the pot on the stove.

“Crab?” he said.

Izzy let out a heavy sigh, he turned away from Lucius.

“Edward likes crab legs,” said Izzy. “It's one of his favorites. I never made them for him, I should have and I didn't.”

Lucius put his back to the kitchen counter.

“So you just–went out and bought a bunch of crab legs?” said Lucius. “And you think this is, uh–the best use of your time, Izzy? Really?”

He dropped the snark for a second, he thought Izzy could use another talking to. Days into weeks, he'd nearly put the dislocated shoulder incident from his mind and he could believe Izzy was a normal man going through a normal breakup period. But normal breakups didn't usually involve buying a fucking astronomical quantity of crab legs on a weekday. That struck Lucius as misplaced nostalgia and guilt, not that he was leaving the psychology to himself.

Seasons of Your Day by Mazzy Star was playing. And Lucius–in his perhaps eternal struggle to make this something good–asked Izzy about how the fencing was coming along.

“Still got it,” said Izzy, and he was smiling just a tiny bit.

Lucius made a leap of faith, he was shouldering a cliff-side every time he spoke to Izzy. Maybe Izzy thought his relationship with Ed just came down to little mistakes–not cooking Ed's favorite food, not indulging Ed's enthusiasm over imported sake–and Lucius would have liked to tell him it was never that simple. Lucius had never been divorced or married or had any sort of relationship he would have felt comfortable giving that comparison, but he'd done the slightly less deranged equivalent of buying an astronomical amount of frozen crag legs and convincing himself if he'd just done it right the first time he could have worked out the kinks.

“Don't suppose you'd like to teach me?” said Lucius. “Fencing?”

Izzy squinted at Lucius, he considered Lucius and his sincerity. Lucius and his…mesh shirts and shorts and silk scarves.

“You'd break your wrist, Spriggs,” said Izzy.

Lucius grinned and flexed his fingers.

“I am very sturdy,” said Lucius. “Just ask Pete. Or Fang.”

If Izzy hadn't gone down the path of drumming for Blackbeard, he probably could have made it in fencing, whatever that entailed. That was where his passion had rested, fencing and keeping up old motorcycles. He'd tossed away both just to play drums for Blackbeard, he'd quit his job at the bar and sold his motorcycle.

“I don't believe that, Spriggs,” said Izzy. “But if you think you can do it, I'm not fucking stopping you.”

Lucius smiled. Provided they weren't on the balcony, he was curious about what a fencing lesson from Izzy Hands might look like.

“Merch?”

Ed raised her eyebrow, she took Frenchie's guitar case from him and shoved it into Pete's van with the rest of their equipment.

Frenchie rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around rather nervously.

“Yeah, like–enamel pins, cassette tapes, that kind of stuff?” said Frenchie. “Merch.”

Ed considered, she hadn't given it too much thought. Merch. Getting their name out there, more out there. Letting The Kraken fester–in a good way–instead of just savoring the sparse–and often not worth it, if Ed was being honest–gigs they were given. They were heading out of town right now, about to get on the road to play at some kind of convention.

“Okay,” said Ed. “Merch, yeah. Enamel pins, like the sound of those.”

Frenchie had informed him that all the trendy twenty-somethings and teens loved buying merch off their favorite bands.

Ed climbed into the van, he was already spinning ideas for designs around his head. Enamel pins, why didn't anyone fucking tell him they could have enamel pins?

“What the fuck's that?” Ed had once asked, he'd been responding to Anne Bonny–when she was around still–mentioning the idea of “retirement”. Of course he knew what it was, he just wasn't sure why she was bringing it up. Might have been joking, he'd thought for a moment.

But Anne had been deadly serious, she'd look Ed in the eye and told him–her hand firmly around a drink, a shitty ring glinting on one finger that Ed knew was from Jack and it plucked on the strings in his chest for some reason–and told him that if he wasn't feeling this Blackbeard gig anymore–when the fuck did he tell her that, how did she know?–he could always…..stop being Blackbeard. He could give it up, retire to a small town where no one knew his face. He could be Edward Teach, he could build a house and have twenty dogs.

“Only retirement we get is death,” Ed had responded, cynical and smiling at what he assumed was Anne giving humor a try.

Anne had taken the rest of her drink in a flash, she'd looked Ed full in the face and told him he was an idiot if he believed that. And he was even more of a brainless fool if he thought burning himself to death in the rockstar life was the only end out there for him. Ed was smart, he could have done anything he fucking wanted. And he had money to do things now, Ed hadn't even fully accepted he no longer needed Benjamin Hornigold.

That was the last they ever spoke to each other, the most words they'd ever exchanged. The last time Ed heard of her, she'd been knocked up by Jack and–a bit after that–left him to be with her girlfriend Mary Read and to have her own music.

On the road still?

Ed reclined on the dusty motel bed, she grinned as she answered Stede's text.

Yeah. Fucking boring, wish you were here.

Stede–in his very Stede way–responded by sending Ed a picture of a cuttlefish. Ed looked at it for a moment before replying.

Looks just like you.

That's a flamboyant cuttlefish!!

Ed chuckled, of course Stede had a picture of a flamboyant cuttlefish lying around.

Stede's next message was more brief.

I miss you terribly.

I know, love. Be back soon.

And you're warm at night? You're getting enough to eat?

I've been gone less than a day.

But have you eaten?

Have you?

Yes!

Stede.

I had some of Roach's strawberry cake!!

Taste testing for the cafe doesn't count.

There was a very long pause, Ed could imagine Stede pouting. And then he pictured Stede hopping off the couch, grumpily heading over to the cabinets and searching through.

Sure enough, Stede's next message was a photo. A slice of bread with orange marmalade.

There! Happy, darling?

Nope. Send me a video.

Is this one of those fetishes Lucius was telling me about?

Stede.

I want a separation.

Stede.

I don't think this is working out.

Stede!

Sorry!! I'm so sorry, it was a joke.

A short pause from Stede's end.

How do they look up there? The stars?

Ed walked over to the motel window with her phone, she stuck her head out to look.

Pretty good. Sky look nice where you are?

Oh, it's gorgeous!! I wish you could see it.

It's the 21st century, love.

Oh!! Right!!

Ed was treated to a rather blurry picture of the night sky, they agreed with Stede. It was a gorgeous night to be in town.

Ed so badly wanted to sing in that dark motel room, Frenchie and Jim so nearby and yet sound asleep in their beds. They wanted each of the stars up there to be a single blinking light of some distant world, they wanted to grab Stede's hand and go running off to explore each and every one. Fuck, those were good lyrics. Better write those down.

She retrieved a notebook and started writing, an untitled bit of lyrical genius for the night. She almost forgot Stede was on the line still, until another text came in.

I can't sleep.

Ed stared at the lyrics he'd written, the song about exploring.

Hold on.

A few minutes later, something else came through on Stede's end. It was a voice recording.

The sound quality wasn't the best and Ed was trying to keep quiet, he probably messed up half the lyrics because he was doing it from memory. But he managed to get it out, this half-whispered rendition of a Stevie Nicks song. Leather and Lace. It wasn't as soft as Marmalade, but nothing could ever be that soft from Ed's mouth.

Ten minutes passed before Stede replied, Ed started to wonder if he'd actually fallen asleep.

This music thing. Does it make you happy?

Ed responded with very little hesitation, she'd been asked that by so many people and it was miles between answers. “Of course it does, you fucking prick” to Izzy, “Pretty happy, I suppose” to Frenchie and Jim, “Fuck yes” to Frenchie and Jim (high this time), “Happiest I'll ever be, mate” to Jack.

I guess what makes me happy is performing.

Ed paused after the message was sent, he put in another and tried for honesty.

And you. You make me happy.

He waited for Stede's response, for Stede to make some kind of comment about how that was so disgustingly sappy.

You make Stede happy.

Ed fell back on her bed and giggled, she put the phone to her chest and stared at the ceiling with a huge grin on her face. It took her a few minutes to collect herself, Stede couldn't do this to her and expect to get away with it.

I'm going to kiss your stupid handsome face.

Is that a threat, darling?

It fucking is now.

Oh dear, it would be such a shame if I were to accidentally be wearing that lingerie you bought for me and nothing else!! Oh, such a shame. Whatever would you do then?

Fuck, you've got me. Guess I'll have to kiss your stupid handsome face and every other part of you.

Ed took a moment to read through Stede's last message one more time.

Wait, you're actually wearing the lingerie?

Wouldn't you like to know?

I would actually.

This was followed by a blurry picture of what appeared to be a lacy bra strap. Ed almost fainted at the image this conjured up, Stede was actually wearing the fucking lingerie. And after Ed had been so worried Stede wouldn't like it.

I was just trying it on.

Looks good, yeah? You like it?

Oh yes, I think I look quite dashing.

Now you have to buy me something, something expensive.

Oh, is that how boyfriends work?

Stede's tone didn't always come through in text, but Ed sensed Stede was asking with the utmost sincerity. The poor man really had been closeted–partly by choice, partly by force–for most of his life, hadn't he? It must have been an internal struggle in miniature, just building up the courage to put on lingerie and look at himself in the mirror and not feel ashamed.

If it works for you.

Oh!! I'll have something for you when you get back, please don't worry.

I wasn't serious. You don't need to buy me anything, I reckon I've got everything.

It's too late, I'm already having ideas.

Love when you have ideas.

Ed realized they needed to be getting to bed, they had an early start of it tomorrow. And they needed Jim to do the driving, it was absolutely no fun staying behind the wheel for hours while Frenchie sang to himself in the backseat. The only downside was Ed wouldn't be able to tease Jim over the fact Jim and Oluwande were clearly dating, Jim couldn't deny it anymore. Ed was quite certain Jim would swerve directly into a tree if Ed even considered making anything more than a vague acknowledgement of their relationship status.

Alright, I'm off to bed. Have a good night, love.

Have a good night, darling.

Final text hanging on his phone screen, Stede put his phone on the nightstand. Ah, yes, he'd better be getting to sleep himself. He did have a cafe to run.

He looked at himself in the full length mirror one last time. And he smiled, he really did make quite the portrait of beauty in that lingerie. Ed had good taste.

Jim had given Oluwande a cake. A chocolate cake, they'd had Roach make one.

“You said no one ever celebrates your birthday,” had been Jim's excuse.

And so they'd sat down at the kitchen table, they'd eaten cake and Jim had told Oluwande just a tiny bit more about their life.

And it wasn't the cake really, Oluwande didn't even recall what it tasted like. Lying in bed later, feeling the miserable empty of the apartment because Jim was off with The Kraken, Oluwande could only think about Jim's smile. And he hoped frantically that Jim could only think of his.

Chapter Text

You didn't know me but you got cold too

And your mind was heavy and you thought you might lose it

Well everything fucked up we both felt before

I'm glad for it all if it got us where we are

With you in the boat there, I almost forgot

How I once said I was better off as being dead

Better off as being dead, I didn't know you yet

And you might've said you were better off just being dead

But I'm looking out for you, my friend, I'm looking

I didn't know you when you were a kid

But swimming with you, it sure feels like I did

–No Below // Speedy Ortiz

“Are you sure you aren't, uh–uncomfortable, my love?”

Stede had asked that a dozen times and Ed was starting to think it was Stede who was uncomfortable.

“I'm good, mate,” said Ed.

She said nothing more, she was giving Stede time–if he needed more–to take a long stroll out of his own head and perhaps stop freaking out over what they were doing. Stede had volunteered to do this, this wasn't coerced. It was the same as the wedding, Stede had been gifted ample time to just fucking say no and speed away from the whole situation. But–the same as the wedding–he'd instead thrown himself into it fully, he was committed to make this a good time. And to–subconsciously, Ed was sure–make up for all the bad parts of the wedding trip, not that Ed needed any making up. Stede had more than made up for everything by slamming a serving platter into the back of Nigel's head, Ed just about passed out from pure lust and adoration every time his thoughts rested on it.

And now they were both far from where Stede had grown up, there was no threat of interloping Badmintons. It was just Ed folding socks in the living room.

Stede brought the guitar into his lap, his fingers were shaking on the strings and he was in a rather sudden position of feeling like that anxious university student again. He'd been trying so hard those past few weeks, giving all of himself to these lessons.

Forgoing his Fleetwood Mac shirts, Ed was wearing a black dress shirt open halfway down the front, pants to match, a black cravat from Stede's closet, pearl earrings and he'd tied up his hair with a black bow to round off. They were at home and home probably wasn't the most lucrative place to be dressing fancy, but nothing was going to prevent Ed from raiding Stede's closet and getting his hands on that cravat. His cravat now, Stede would have to take it back by force, presumably with this underhanded tactic Stede had developed which involved kissing Ed's neck for maximum surprise attack advantage.

He knew Stede didn't care what he wore, in fact Stede seemed immensely turned on every time Ed was just walking around the apartment in his underwear and Stede's hooded sweatshirt, Ed's hair tied up messily because he'd just gotten out of bed. That didn't stop Ed from wanting to dress up fancy, he knew Stede loved buying him clothes and he never rejected the gifts. But there came a point in Ed's life when he started feeling worthy of nice clothes and that happened before he even met Stede. It was Frenchie who turned him on to it, Frenchie who always dressed surprisingly well for their gigs. And if Frenchie felt comfortable, why couldn't Ed?

Stede put his fingers to the guitar strings. He'd been…oh, he was a little ashamed over it because he'd done it again. He'd asked Frenchie for help, he'd taken tips from Frenchie on how to get better at the guitar. But Stede couldn't help it, there were certain matters that Frenchie just understood better and Stede wanted to be at his best for his wonderful genderqueer boyfriend. Simple as that really.

Silk Dressing Gown was the first Blackbeard song Stede ever tried to cover. And the last, he wasn't giving that humiliation a repeat. It had taken him astronomical confidence to dig that old recording out months ago and post it to Instagram. He'd been sending some kind of message, so touched by The Kraken's music and what it woke up in his heart. And Ed had answered Stede's message, she'd answered it in long-winded eventual fashion. Stede supposed they'd always been connected, there had always been this chain keeping them together.

Stede's newest cover of Silk Dressing Gown was performed live on his living room couch, in front of an enamored Edward Teach who paused in their folding of socks to stare at their boyfriend. Later, Ed didn't even remember if it was good. They could have rattled every memory in their skull and they wouldn't have been able to tell anyone if Stede's cover was passable or just alright. It could have been shit even, just pure lyrical and instrumental shit. But Ed wouldn't have known, because they were hearing Stede sing a cover of the best song they ever wrote and who gave a fuck if it was passable? It was theirs, it belonged to both of them. It could have been pure unfiltered crap and Ed would have shed the same amount of happy-confused tears.

The song ended, Ed recalled she was in the apartment she shared with Stede and….Lucius, right. Lucius also lived there, Ed had brief spouts of forgetting Lucius hadn't moved in with Pete entirely.

Very odd, Ed could have sworn she'd been floating off beyond the Milky Way just three minutes ago as Stede serenaded her with…her own music, Stede had taken Ed's own music and built on top of it like a….house, Stede had built her a fucking house out of her own music. Speechless, barely able to open her mouth, Ed had this sudden urge to go out and buy a house. She had the money for it, enough from her Blackbeard days. And heaven knows what else she would be doing with it, it was accumulated and all she'd really used it for was buying the record store. Because Ed was the record store, the record store was the only soul she had left after she gave up Blackbeard. She'd listened and cried to enough Neville Brothers to realize there was always more heart under the cracks.

“Do you–?” Ed said.

He sniffed, his vision smeared over with tears and his voice shaking.

“Do you need anything folded?” was all he could manage, the silliest stupidest question.

Stede put the guitar aside and stood up off the couch, he rushed over to Ed and gathered him up in an embrace. He didn't quite know why Ed was upset, he always seemed to be making Ed cry–in good ways and bad ways and really all the ways–and he'd thought at first it was because he was doing something wrong….but if he was doing something wrong, why did Ed keep letting him talk about cuttlefishes and dolphins and the medicinal properties of seaweed? Why did Ed snuggle against him when they were in bed together, why did Ed sing him to sleep, why did Ed comfort him when he woke up from another nightmare about childhood torments?

“Because they feel bad for you,” came that voice at the back of Stede's brain, it sounded an awful lot like the Badminton brothers speaking in tandem. “And why wouldn't everyone feel bad for little Baby Bonnet?”

Stede quite firmly told that voice–or voices–to shut the fuck up, he was holding his boyfriend and didn't have time for that nonsense.

“Keep your back straight, Spriggs.”

Lucius did as Izzy had told him, he made a quip inside his head about how he couldn't keep anything straight–especially himself–and wondered if Izzy would walk away in disgust. Better to keep that one inside his own skull for the time being, Lucius thought. He was already on thin ice, having arrived at Pete's apartment in his tightest pair of shorts and a low-cut striped shirt. Probably not the most ideal for a fencing lesson.

Boys Keep Swinging by David Bowie was playing, Lucius could smell good food cooking, he could smell home. Not the strong sense of home permeating other places, his apartment with Stede and the cafe even. But this sense of an old family house, Lucius could remember where he'd lived as a child. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was back in that shitty small house and listening to his mother hum in the kitchen.

This was strictly clinical, Izzy pressed to Lucius's back and helping him get the stance right. His hand folded over Lucius's, showing him how to hold the fencing foil. Or the “fencing stick” as Lucius had called it, prompting a pissed off curl of the lip from Izzy Hands.

This was less homoerotic than Lucius thought it would be, Izzy really was just teaching him how to effectively wave a fencing stick around. Not that Lucius was disappointed, Izzy was the last person on fucking planet Earth who–soberanyway–would have wanted this to turn homoerotic.

And for what it was worth to either of them, Lucius was loving this lesson. Fighting with swords was fucking cool.

Stede said he needed Ed's help on a “quick errand”. Having known Stede for more than five seconds, Ed surmised that meant about three or four hours.

To Ed's confusion, they ended up in one of those stores that sold guitars and various other musical instruments. Ed knew that store, he had a slight familiarity with the guy who ran it. And he'd walked past a store just like that when he was a kid, he'd stared through the window at the beautiful guitars on display and wished he could buy one. He never did end up buying a guitar from that store in his hometown, life happened at breakneck pace and Ed wasn't sure that particular shop was alive still.

“Birthday's not for a while, love,” said Ed.

He knew for a fact that Stede was already planning an enormous party that he'd force The Revenge staff to attend, probably enough food for two hundred people, live music, arts and crafts. Ed was exhausted just picturing what Stede had down the pipe for his birthday.

Stede flitted his attention away from a display, his sum total of knowledge about guitars was that some of them looked cool.

“Oh, I'm well aware,” said Stede. “This is for, um–someone else.”

He exhaled slowly, he turned back to the display.

“My daughter,” said Stede. “Alma. She has a birthday coming up and–and I'd like to get her something this time around. That's a good place to start making up, isn't it?”

Ed didn't think expensive gifts were a good starting point for redemption, but maybe that was just how Stede and his wealthy family talked to each other. Better than throwing plates and shouting, Ed thought.

“She plays guitar?” said Ed.

Stede tilted his head at the guitar on display. He'd emailed Mary to ask, Mary seemed astonished he'd even taken that basic level of initiative. Birthday wishes arrived through email every year of course, Stede suspected that Alma barely skimmed his written outpourings. His emails were always met with a curt “thanks” that Stede was sure Mary pressed Alma to write out of garden variety politeness. The guilt tugged at cords in Stede's chest, he hated to think his relationship with his kids had deteriorated into politeness.

“She's just taken it up,” said Stede.

Ed stared at the displayed guitars, a feeling inside him pulled tight. He considered Alma's good fortune, how lucky she was to have a parent who gave a shit about whatever hobbies she was taking up. She was having a bad time of it anyway, Stede hadn't been a present father to her or Louis and he'd been an abhorrent excuse for a husband to Mary. But at least Stede had the chance to care about what she was doing, however brief or tiny this turned out to be for Alma. Ed never had any hope for that.

“She might, uh–she might like that one?” said Ed.

He pointed at one of the guitars, he thought it looked simple and inexpensive enough for a beginner. Ed knew very little about Alma, but he suspected she might roll her eyes if her dad just surprised her with the most uselessly expensive gift he could get his hands on.

All Ed had of Alma was from pictures, snapshots of her and Louis shared with him by a remorseful Stede because Ed asked. She seemed a happier kid than Ed had ever been, growing up wealthy probably had something to do with it. A fucking fancy art school, Ed would have killed for something like that when he was a kid with a rapid-firing brain and too much energy. And Alma looked so much like her mother, her facial expressions were Mary's but there were parts of her that reminded Ed of Stede. If no one had told him Alma was Mary and Stede's daughter, Ed would have puzzled it out himself.

“Is this…enough, do you think?” said Stede.

Ed stared at the guitar, he wasn't sure which part of it Stede was asking about. Was this enough for Alma to forgive Stede's failings? No, Ed knew a little bit about shitty dads and it would take a lot more for Alma to get over Stede's abandonment. But…it was a gesture.

“Wish my dad had been the abandoning type,” said Ed, she spoke without thinking.

Stede moved closer to Ed, he brushed their shoulders together and sighed. He couldn't compare what he went through to what Ed had gone through, although sometimes he did wonder if his father had just been fucking unhappy his whole life. Both of their fathers maybe, just unhappy and taking it out on their sons because what else could a man do? Not an excuse of course, but it was an easier explanation for both of them to take. Easier than Stede fully accepting that his father might have just been an enormous bastard and a morally bankrupt narrow-minded bully.

“Oh, I'd have loved if mine was,” said Stede.

Ed grabbed onto Stede's shoulder, her smile was strained. An emotional trip down memory lane, what a way to end off their day.

“Want to grab food on the way home?” said Ed. “I'm in the mood for crab cakes.”

Stede tore his gaze away from the guitar. It was a shame he'd never have a big house again, he had no need of one and the last house he'd lived in had been cavernously empty, or at least it had felt that way in the misery of Stede's daily routine. He had given very much of what he had to Mary, he kept enough money to start his cafe and keep his head above water and maintain his expensive wardrobe. Stede needed his outfits, they felt like the only real part of him after he'd stripped so much away to start over.

“Oh yes, crab cakes,” said Stede.

And then he was off, talking about crabs and lobsters in great detail as he paid for the guitar Ed had recommended.

Waiting for you to get home.

Oluwande sent Jim a text, followed by a picture of him holding a plate of food.

Jim paused in their wiping down of a table, their eyebrow arched.

Are you trying to seduce me with pasta?

Is it working?

Jim took a very long pause, they squinted at their phone screen.

Yeah. Be home in five.

Roach appeared at Jim's shoulder, his eyebrows resting high on his forehead as he took a gossipy invasive glance at Jim's phone screen.

“You know, you could head home early,” said Roach. “Boss isn't here, we can basically do whatever we want.”

Jim snorted, they knew Roach was shoving off early just so he could play cards with Frenchie and Ed. Jim liked to think their reasons were a little more valid. Who could resist a home-cooked meal from Oluwande?

“Thanks,” said Jim.

They shoved their phone in their pocket and started messing with their apron. Pete was gone the second Stede left, something about Lucius. Sven and Roach were the only people sticking around and Jim was pretty sure Sven hadn't left because Roach hadn't, they lived together and Sven hardly ever walked home by himself.

Jim hurried home, they had a strong need to eat their boyfriend's cooking. And curl up next to him in bed, trading body heat as Oluwande finished that book he'd been reading and Jim dozed off tucked into his side.

“Maybe I should start teaching guitar, reckon I'd make a lot of money.”

Frenchie floated the thought as he touched his embroidery hoop, Starman was lounging near his feet and he was trying his hardest not to kick at his wonderfully silly cat that liked being underfoot.

“What about the band, still going with that then?” said John.

Frenchie shrugged, teaching guitar and playing in the band weren't mutually exclusive. That might be too much guitar for one person, he thought. And he had songs to write and working at the record store.

“I could branch out,” said Frenchie.

He'd just received–at Ed's request–the shipment of enamel pins. The design was Ed's. A bit too flashy for The Kraken, wasn't it?

John studied the enamel pin, it was tentacles surrounded by the band name. The Kraken in fancy letters that didn't quite fit the band's aesthetic. And for some reason that hadn't quite clicked with Frenchie or John, Ed's original design–the one they hadn't decided to use, given a second look–had included a small lighthouse in the back, beacon shining out over the waves.

Chapter Text

Now that the great storm is over

I can finally learn all the things you know

All the roads lead us back to the ocean

Even if you cannot bear to go

Life is yours, break away

Life is yours, I heard you say

–Life Is Yours // Foals

Lucius kept a limp grip on his kitchen knife, his eyebrow slowly ascending his forehead in marked shock. Of all the words he'd expected to leave Izzy's mouth, those certainly weren't in the Top Ten. Or Top Twenty. Or even the Top Fucking One Hundred, all things told. Lucius thought their fencing lesson was the start of Izzy slightly tolerating him more, this was out of left field.

“A show?” said Lucius. “With you?”

Izzy was wearing a leather vest that seemed to exist for the sole reason of baiting Lucius into asking why the fuck Izzy had a leather vest and therefore filling Izzy's daily “Fuck off” quota before the hour switched over to late. Lucius had taken Izzy for more of a goth than a leather daddy, he had a feeling the vest was a leftover from Izzy's Blackbeard days.

“You don't have to, Spriggs,” said Izzy. “If it's not your fucking scene.”

Lucius considered Izzy's offer, his scene was the pastel pink cafe or a lovely bistro, neither of which were places Izzy Hands would tolerate in large doses. And when Izzy said “show”, he clearly wasn't talking about something professional. This was an event in a shitty bar in some distant town.

“And why are you asking me?” said Lucius. “Why not Pete?”

Izzy frowned, he didn't seem to like Lucius's question. Had he expected Lucius to just…be on board instantly, no preamble? Was that the kind of person Lucius struck him as, even after all this time?

“Pete's fucking busy, isn't he?” said Izzy. “And Fang too. And Ivan. They've all got plans. Don't tell me you have too?”

This revelation did nothing to bring Lucius's eyebrows out of orbit.

“Really dangerous place, is it?” said Lucius. “Can't go by yourself?”

Izzy scoffed, he hardly needed protection, certainly not the protection of Lucius fucking Spriggs. Lucius was progressing at a significant pace in their fencing lessons, but he was scarcely in any shape to do anything without Izzy's steady guiding hands on him. Lucius flinched at loud noises, he almost fainted over blood, he hated horror movies.

“You could say that, Spriggs,” said Izzy.

Lucius took a good hard look at what Izzy was asking. If this had been several weeks ago, Lucius would have assumed Izzy was driving him out to the middle of nowhere to fucking steal his organs or something. At this late stage, there was only one good reason Izzy would be asking.

His eyes lit up, he grinned.

“Oh my god, is this a date?” said Lucius. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Izzy narrowed his eyes, rather pissed off.

“It's not a fucking date, Spriggs,” said Izzy. “It's a show.”

But Lucius was stepping out of the kitchen, his grin hadn't wavered. Of fucking course, that made so much sense. This was Izzy asking Lucius on a date in his very Izzy way, this was probably the first time in his entire life he'd ever asked anyone out properly. And he was doing it so clumsily, Lucius felt mildly sorry for the poor bastard.

“Right, a show,” said Lucius. “Let me just change into something more, uh–comfortable. For the show we're attending.”

He walked into the bedroom, he could feel Izzy staring twin flames into his back.

Stede dipped his head over the back of the couch, the new couch they'd just moved in. Moments ago, Ed had exhaled some very wonderful chemicals into his open mouth and he'd gone somewhere halfway to dreamland. Oh, how lovely this all felt, why had he never done this before? He was fucking floating, why did no one ever tell him he could fly if he just shut his eyes and let the smoke into his brain?

Ed was putting on a record, Inside Moves by Grover Washington Jr. Her hair was up in a messy bun, she was wearing Stede's sweatshirt and her underwear.

“Oh, Ed, this is fucking heaven,” said Stede. “Does it always feel this…floaty?”

Ed chuckled, Jim certainly hadn't described their experience as floaty.

“For me, yeah,” said Ed. “Guess we're the same, me and you.”

They sat down on the couch, they let out a surprised little huff of breath when Stede almost climbed right into their lap. Stede was physically affectionate, but…this felt like another level of needing and wanting to be touched. Not that Ed was putting up any complaints, Stede's hands were wandering all over as if he'd never touched Ed's body before and Ed was in love with this side of Stede.

“What is this feeling, darling?” Stede said.

He squeezed Ed's leg, he leaned his whole body forward and Ed caught this intoxicating whiff of lavender shampoo.

“Don't know, love,” said Ed. “Describe it for me?”

Stede hummed, he shut his eyes rather tightly as he tried to pull words together. He was getting lost in the music and the chemicals and the being there of Ed, he so badly wanted to make sure he didn't float away from Ed's body.

“Clouds,” said Stede. “A lovely lovely cloud in a lovely lovely sky.”

He leaned fully into Ed's chest and closed his eyes, his arms holding on to Ed's waist as if he worried Ed might vanish into stardust if he let go.

Ed stroked Stede's hair, she grinned.

“You're a poet,” said Ed. “My boyfriend's a fucking poet.”

Stede hummed pleasantly at Ed's touch, the sound seemed to go through him in one vibrant rush.

“Oh, I used to write poetry,” said Stede. “It was awful, everything I do is awful.”

And he'd given up the poetry when people–mostly the Badmintons–found out and started making fun of him for it, Stede didn't know which scared him more: his bullies or the rage of his father upon finding out that his only son was writing poetry.

“Oh, shut up,” said Ed. “I'm sure it was good, love. You're good at things too. Like your cafe, you're good at your cafe. And–fucking, you're alright at fucking.”

Stede stroked along Ed's sweatshirt–his sweatshirt–and pouted a bit.

“That's all I'm good for then?” said Stede. “Having a cafe and fucking?”

Ed shrugged her shoulders, those were lovely things to be good at. And there was an element of victory in saying that out loud, she thought. Jack had once said that Ed's mouth was really all she had going for her–singing, sucking people off–and everything else was collateral to her talent. Jack had been joking, but Ed had started to wonder how much of that she'd internalized during her Blackbeard days. Stede perhaps didn't realize, but he'd been fortunate that no one tried to tell him he was only worth one specific body part, he was fortunate that the first time anyone told him he was good at fucking–or at least alright for a man who hadn't done too much of it and the most he'd done before meeting Ed hardly counted–it was one of many aspects Ed was thinking about and not a concise summary.

“Good at being my boyfriend,” said Ed. “Good at being the most handsome fucking person I know, good at making me lunch, good at…”

This went on until Stede let out a very unconvincing noise of distress and playfully shoved his palms into Ed's chest.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” said Stede.

He didn't make lunch, he shoved chopped fruit and vegetables and a shitty excuse for a sandwich into a container and handed it over to Ed, often with a cup of coffee he'd rushed out to buy. The one time he presented Ed with a proper lunch–very fancy, Ed noticed–it had been courtesy of Roach. Hardly anyone had packed Ed a lunch since he was a kid, people always seemed to think Ed could just…do for himself. Well, what if Ed didn't want to do for himself? What if Ed liked chopped fruit and vegetables and terrible sandwiches?

“You should write a song about this,” said Stede. “Dreamy Haze of Clouds and, uh–floaty bits.”

Ed made a mental note to put dreamy haze of clouds and floaty bits into his next song, a lyrical masterpiece he would certainly not regret.

Stede sighed dreamily, he clutched the front of Ed's shirt.

“I love playing music with you, you know,” said Stede. “It makes me feel like everything in my life is…right. I don't think I've ever felt that before, what a sad man I am. I've never felt–being happy–”

He held the front of Ed's shirt tighter, perhaps the chemicals weren't all they were cracked up to be.

“Happy's not real, no one's actually happy,” said Ed. “They're all just faking it, fucking pretending to keep the world going round. Is that how it felt?”

Stede opened his eyes, his fingers tipped up to Ed's face and touched at their cheek.

“Yes, yes, it was precisely like that!” said Stede. “Have I–told you this before? Oh, darling, I'm sorry. I'm not…myself.”

Ed took Stede's hand gently in their own and kissed Stede's fingers.

“No, love, you hadn't told me,” said Ed. “It was just after Blackbeard, yeah? Felt like I was treading water for so fucking long. I thought the record store would–it'd heal me of that, you know? Put me straight.”

And it did….for a little while. But then it started to feel too much like Blackbeard, too much like running in place. He couldn't get settled, he wanted to escape and then he wasn't clear where he could even escape to.

“Is that how you feel with me?” said Stede. “Am I…dragging you down to that place again?”

Ed swallowed, this was meant to be happy fun time getting high, not hard feelings she was keeping buried in the desert time.

“You're not dragging me anywhere,” said Ed. “I'm here because it feels nice, you're the sun on my face.”

Stede's eyes burst wide open for a moment. He was…the sun on Ed's face. How lovely to be in the sky, to be so warm and beaming down on the most beautiful person Stede had ever known.

“Sharks,” Stede said, the word came out of him at considerable speed. “I'd like to talk about sharks.”

He talked about sharks and somehow that branched into seventeenth-century warship talk and Ed listened to all of it while Grover Washington Jr. continued on in the background. Ed actually loved Stede's shark talk more than any of his other subjects, sharks were fascinating creatures.

After several minutes of this, Stede reached to stroke Ed's face.

“I wish we could just….do music,” said Stede. “Together. Oh, I love our music. I love our sounds.”

He was completely in Ed's lap now, their faces were close. If Stede's head hadn't been full of pleasant chemicals, he would have been blushing and Ed would have been teasing him. Stede was such a hard shell to crack, but he was everything Ed could have expected and a vibrant surprise in the same breath. Stede didn't fuck, he made love. And he would often craft the filthiest sentences Ed had ever heard out of thin air. Ed had learned that when Stede started off a sentence with “Oh, I'd very much like to” it would either be ripped straight from a romance novel or so astronomically dirty that it would have made a fleet of nuns combust on the spot.

“We could,” said Ed. “We could have our own band. The–”

Stede glanced at a photograph on the wall, a framed photograph of a lighthouse.

“The Lighthouse?” he suggested, his eyes were shining.

Ed nodded, he grabbed Stede's waist and drew him closer.

“Yeah, we could be The Lighthouse,” said Ed. “And we could play fucking–fucking piano. I could play piano. And you'd do your guitar. Hottest music act in town.”

Stede tapped his chin with his finger, he wriggled slightly to get more comfortable on Ed's lap.

“Our first song could be….Discomfort,” said Stede. “Discomfort. It could be all about failed marriages and new starts and…food.”

Ed badly wished Stede wasn't on him, he would have grabbed his notebook to write this down. Failed marriages and new starts and food? Fucking gold, Ed needed to get every part of this into his notebook before his high wore off.

“We'd have jackets,” said Ed. “With fucking–lighthouses on the back. And people would come up to us and ask, and we'd be like "We're The Lighthouse, mate. Haven't you heard of us?” That's what we'd fucking say.“

Stede nodded excitedly.

"And there's this one guy,” he said. “He says "Oh! Those look like some charming handsome lads, I bet they make great music! I'll buy one of their cassettes!”

Ed grinned.

“Oooh, I like him,” said Ed. “Who is he? Anyone I know?”

Stede bounced happily on Ed's lap, he held on to Ed's shoulders and smiled brightly into his face.

“Oh, he's me,” said Stede. “Your boyfriend!”

Ed let out a surprised laugh. Fuck. He should have known and he was slightly disappointed he didn't see that one coming, but Stede was sitting in his lap and Ed didn't have too much blood going to his brain at the moment.

“Stede, that doesn't make–,” he started.

Stede squeezed Ed's shoulders and bounced on her lap a little more, Ed lost whatever silly thing she was about to say.

“Yes, darling?” said Stede.

Ed hummed and gave Stede's waist a squeeze.

“Nothing, love,” said Ed.

Izzy had said show, but he'd left out three or four intimate details Lucius could have done with. First among them, he hadn't mentioned who was performing or why he'd been invited. Those seemed pertinent, given that Lucius was now squashed into a tiny seat and staring up into the face of a man he wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy.

Jack Rackham, better known by his stage name Calico Jack. Playing his absolute heart and lungs out in a surprisingly not dingy bar full of patrons. Patrons who'd come to be crooned at by this man with his perpetually filthy jeans and good hair.

Lucius glanced at Izzy, his gaze fluttered to the leather vest and he…fuck, he couldn't blame Izzy Hands. He heard the music, he heard feelings in the music and they were so raw they couldn't have come from Jack's mouth. And Jack's presence on stage, the way he moved and stole the crowd away. Jack was a bastard, but he was a bastard who knew how to captivate. If any of them had been born to be rockstars, it was Jack Rackham and Edward Teach. If any of them had been born to chip away at Izzy's heartstrings for decades, it was Jack Rackham and Edward Teach.

Lucius wondered if the stage version of Jack Rackham was the person Izzy saw when they fucked–Lucius wasn't kidding himself, the three of them had definitely fucked heartily and frequently back in the day, perhaps recently on Izzy's end–and if Izzy was just…shitty at seeing people. If Izzy hadn't been a rockstar himself, he likely would have been that special breed of fanboy who dedicated himself to following Blackbeard from gig to gig, the guy who bragged about how he was “there before Blackbeard got big”, the type of man who headed fanclubs and would have hauled gear just to get a glimpse at the legend himself.

I love it!

Stede had read through that same text four times and he could hardly believe it, he was sitting up in bed and looking quite intensely at his phone screen, he was waiting for the letters to rearrange so he could deflate back into his pillow and feel like the absolute failure of a father Stede knew he was.

You love it? was Stede's anxious reply.

And Alma's response came through at breakneck pace.

Yeah!! I love it!!

Stede turned his head and yelled in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Ed, she loves it!” said Stede.

Ed appeared in the bedroom doorway, his hair tied up as he undid the clasp of his necklace.

Earlier in the evening, Mary had sent Stede an email expressing that Alma wanted to tell him something. Over text, Alma had specified she wanted this to be a text and not an email in itself because “they weren't dinosaurs”–as she'd put it–and texting was easier for her.

“Don't you think she's a bit old for her first phone?” said Stede, suddenly rather nervous.

Ed wasn't sure how old kids were meant to be before letting them into the wide world of technology, Ed certainly wouldn't have been better off if he'd had access to a phone in his pocket and the Internet when he was Alma's age.

“Isn't she thirteen?” said Ed. “Good age for some phone time, isn't it?”

Stede's gaze flitted to Alma's first message again.

“Oh!” Stede said. “Yes! Thirteen! She's–yes, I suppose she's old enough for a phone.”

He coughed, he hoped it wasn't clear to Ed that he had literally forgotten how old his daughter was for a moment there. He'd thought she was….eleven? Ten? Stede knew she wasn't in diapers still, he'd been so disconnected from the actual child-rearing that he missed all the years between. He didn't even know Alma liked to paint, he didn't know Mary liked to paint…and apparently Louis was rather talented on the flute? Stede was learning all sorts of things about his own family that he should have known while he was actually present.

Ed got into bed next to Stede.

“Loves it, does she?” said Ed. “She's smart.”

And she loved music, Ed reminded themself. If they ever drove down to see Mary, they would love to hear Alma play. Even if she wasn't good at it yet, it was the least Ed could do. It was more than Ed's own father would have if he'd cared to know his kid.

An idea came to her, she'd been floundering about where to shove all her old Blackbeard stuff. It was in a box still, it was useless in a box.

“Think she'd want any of my Blackbeard stuff from the back in the day?” said Ed. “Records, cassette tapes, posters, shirts, real limited edition one of a kind stuff.”

The only way to find out was to ask, so Stede did. He was thinking of future birthdays, of driving out and throwing a party of some kind. Or maybe inviting Alma, they could have an event pulled together at the cafe and…oh, that sounded like a delightful use of The Revenge! Stede needed to get that square with Mary for next year, she'd probably appreciate a little of the burden–Stede did recall that extravagant birthday parties were a family tradition on both sides–being taken off her shoulders for such a special event.

He got a reply very quickly, Ed leaned in to look at Stede's phone screen.

What the hell is Blackbeard?

He's a very famous musician! You know, from back in the day? He was all the rage when I was in university!

So old people music?

Ed leaned away, a wounded look on her face.

“Old people music?” said Ed. “What the fuck's that supposed to mean?”

Stede patted Ed's knee.

“Oh, she doesn't know what she's talking about, darling,” said Stede. “You know how kids are these days.”

But Ed was surprisingly effected by what Alma had said. Old people music? Did…did people not listen to Blackbeard anymore? Sure, Ed's biggest fame had come over him decades ago. But did today's youth seriously not remember the flagrant rock superstar who went by the moniker Blackbeard? Was Ed out of touch?

“And that's why you have this thing, shiny brand new and all!” said Stede. “The Light–er, the Kraken.”

Ed intertwined her fingers into Stede's, she hummed. The Lighthouse. Right. So that idea hadn't worn off with the high. The fucking Lighthouse. Monogrammed jackets, pastel pink like Stede's cafe, shiny brand new.

“You really want this, love?” said Ed. “The Lighthouse?”

Stede leaned over and kissed Ed's shoulder. It was really quite tantalizing, Ed leaving any spot of his skin exposed. How could Stede not kiss every single part of Ed, his tempting minx of a boyfriend?

“If you're in,” said Stede. “If you think you're up for the challenge.”

Ed tangled her fingers in Stede's hair, she smiled.

“I'm very in,” said Ed.

Another text from Alma distracted them both, Stede rushed to answer.

Alma put herself to snooping, she was up past her bedtime on a school night. She wanted to know who the hell this Blackbeard guy was that her dad had randomly mentioned. This Blackbeard guy must have been a big deal if Stede had spent so much money on vintage one of a kind merch.

She did some checking and found…exactly what she'd expected. Old people music. Some guy who'd been an enormous household name long before Alma was even born, he seemed to have been at his largest around the time her dad would have been in university. Long hair, eyeliner, he had a bit of a glam rock thing or heavy metal look going on.

Alma opened up her dad's Instagram. Of course she knew about it, she'd gone looking for it herself. But she hadn't looked at it really, she'd just known about it. Alma had mixed feelings, she was just glad her parents didn't seem to hate each other.

She scrolled through Stede's most recent posts, her eyebrows darting higher up her forehead with each one. Oh. That…explained so much about her dad. And answered questions Alma had only been thinking about recently.

Alma paused on a recent photo of Stede with his arm around a guy she didn't know…except she did know him, she'd just been looking at pictures. He didn't have the beard anymore, that was gone. But clearly the same guy.

Alma stared. Holy crap, was her dad dating former rockstar Blackbeard? That was…so fucking cool.

“Nice one, Dad,” Alma said to herself.

She made a note to not mention this to her mom or step-dad, she might tell Louis because he'd pester her about it. And if Stede ever drove down to visit, Alma was definitely bringing it up just to mess with her dad.

Izzy was drinking cheap light beer, the can cracked open in his hand as he leaned against the hood of…fuck, was it the same make and model of car he'd driven back in the day? Izzy really needed to trade it in for something modern. Or he could have a motorcycle again, he was never too old for a motorcycle and he'd shout at anyone who told him he was.

Stuck in the past. What a stupid place to be, Izzy thought. If he could have done it over again, he would have made the same mistakes. They would have come in a different order, sure. But he would have wanted to be with Blackbeard still, he would have fucked Jack Rackham, he would have given up his dreams of doing something with fencing–so fucking vague–to play drums. It was on repeat, the notes just got switched around.

Jack would have kept playing like he was now, Ed would have kept taking whatever jobs she could get her hands on and eventually–hopefully–saved up enough to fucking…open a bar, maybe a bar and grill like she'd talked about. And Izzy would have…done something with fencing, instead of getting his nipples pierced because he wanted so badly to be as cool as Blackbeard and to impress cute guys.

“Dreaming of your glory days, Hands?” said Lucius.

He appeared around the side of the car, he put his hand on the hood. Lucius did feel like a proper teenager in a movie about an up and coming rock band, he was eating greasy fast food and drinking beer in a parking lot with Izzy Hands, two things Izzy had probably done with Jack and Ed and perhaps even Anne Bonny and Mary Read more times than Lucius could imagine. If nothing else, this was a very Pete and Izzy activity that Lucius had taken ownership of because it felt like the kind of night to make choices he normally wouldn't.

“What fucking glory days, Spriggs?” said Izzy.

He waved his beer can in a non-generalized direction.

“Fucking and fighting and drinking and then throwing it up the next day,” said Izzy. “Why the fuck did we even fight, we were all…”

He trailed off, he took another sip of his beer.

Lucius smiled, he moved a bit closer to Izzy.

“Friends?” said Lucius. “You were friends. I get it. It's hard, fighting with the only people you care about.”

Izzy let out a sigh, he gripped his beer can.

“We were fucked up kids, we never should have been where we were,” said Izzy. “My parents didn't want me, whatever I did. Almost–”

He laughed bitterly.

“Almost told myself I only wanted this to please them, thought if I could just–be the kid they wanted,” said Izzy. “That wasn't why, of course. I was always something they wanted to get rid of.”

Lucius's eyebrows went up his forehead, so that was Izzy's tragedy? He was the unwanted kid. Not that it even halfway excused what Izzy had done to Ed, that had been fucking manipulation and trying to control Ed like he was a puppet to have his strings pulled…but Lucius admitted it must have hurt, being abandoned and then having what felt like his only friend taken away. Fucked up people doing fucked up things, maybe a little bit because they were fucked up and maybe a little bit because they were selfish.

“Oh, he's a kitten,” Fang had said about Izzy. “Outside of work anyway.”

Yeah, Lucius was seeing that.

“I don't want to get rid of you,” said Lucius. “And Fang doesn't….I don't know how he can say that with a straight face, but he doesn't.”

Izzy's eyebrow darted up his forehead, it hadn't entered his mind to ask whether Lucius or Fang or Pete or anyone wanted to get rid of him. Izzy knew he wasn't liked, that one came at cost of speaking his mind and being a grumpy fuck for all sorts of reasons. And being an absolute bastard to Ed.

“I know you haven't had a good life,” said Lucius. “None of us have, just in case you haven't noticed.”

He flapped his hand in the general direction of the sky above.

“It's like that…song?” said Lucius. “The one about the…?”

He trailed off, weren't there dozens of songs about what Lucius was talking about? He was thinking something by David Bowie, he thought Izzy would know a Bowie song by description. Lucius had been doing some…Izzy research, by which he meant paying attention to what Izzy said and did. What a fascinating creature of a man, Lucius thought.

“It's not an excuse to be a dick, Jizzy,” said Lucius.

Izzy studied the tips of his shoes, the fancy ones he'd worn out for a…for a fucking show that Jack invited him to, Jack who was probably drunk off his ass when he sent that text and even drunker on stage but magical somehow. Jack was so good at things when he was a stumbling drunk of a man, he was good at fucking and good at singing and he played his guitar and he played his bass and Izzy had spent a section of his adult life falling for it. There was definitely a song about that, not that Izzy could recall the title.

“Didn't think I was being a dick, Spriggs,” said Izzy.

Lucius rolled his eyes. Ah, yes. No one who was being a dick thought they were being a dick, or otherwise they thought being a dick made them more of a man or some such nonsense they'd been force-fed as a young boy.

But then it hit Lucius that Izzy was talking about the present, he wasn't referring to his thing with Ed or the thing with Jack. Izzy was referring to having invited Lucius out to this show–totally a date, Lucius thought to himself–and dressing up. And he was right, Izzy had been less of a dick than usual.

Lucius leaned over and kissed Izzy on the cheek.

“Thanks for having me out,” said Lucius. “I enjoyed it.”

Izzy patted at his cheek–which had gone a notable shade of pink–and turned his face away, Lucius privately gloated over having flustered the goth old man.

“You wanted to fucking come,” said Izzy.

Lucius recognized that as Izzy Hands speak for “It was nice being out with you tonight”.

Izzy allowed Lucius full access to the car radio on the way home, Lucius blasted Marina and the Diamonds and Izzy didn't complain a single time. Lucius even caught Izzy bobbing his head to Bubblegum Bitch, Lucius made a note of that for future Izzy-related playlist shenanigans.

“I don't think he's coming.”

Jim took off their hat and spun it around in her hands, they stared at the brim. And waited for that sound they'd come to know so well, the sound of the apartment door opening and Ed walking in–usually with canned beer and a jovial smile–because he was always late…but never this late.

Band practice. Band practice for The Kraken. But where the fuck was Edward Teach?

Frenchie absently strummed his guitar. They had another gig in a few days, The Kraken was really picking up with gigs lately. So that was even more reason to practice, right? But without Ed…

“He's probably getting coffee or something,” said Frenchie.

Jim threw their hat onto the couch, they were wearing ripped black pants and a white tank top with the word Gay on the front. Ed would have loved that….if she'd fucking been there.

“He's with Stede,” said Jim.

They just knew, call it an instinct. Because who or what else would Ed judge more important than doing lifting work for this shitty little band they had? Who or what else in Ed's life took priority?

Jim took their drum sticks into their hands.

“She's not coming,” they said.

And Ed didn't. He didn't show up at Jim's apartment for practice. No explanation text, not even a quick sorry. Jim was very certain that whatever Ed was doing, he just forgot. He just…forgot they even existed.

Chapter Text

I will never ever love another the way I loved her

If I ever learn to love again

I will wait until the end

'Cause I don't know where, I don't know when

But maybe I'm gon' see her again

–Never Ever // Lord Huron

“I'm Edward Teach. Born on a beach. And this is–we're The Lighthouse.”

And then it started, Ed on piano and Stede on guitar. Ed singing their lungs out into the microphone, Stede fucking up a few–Ed kept flashing him their best You're doing great, babe! smile–and Ed hadn't felt this kind of joy in the longest stretch. And Stede wearing a white shirt and a pink floral pattern vest, white pants and black square-heeled shoes. Ed in a lacy lavender bralette and Stede's cravat, a black skirt, rings of various types glinting on their fingers, and a single pearl earring. And Stede was wearing Ed's pearl necklace, not that anyone had commented. Not overtly, Pete had leaned towards Lucius and whispered a dirty joke that made them both giggle.

Stede had rented out–generous use of that phrase, given he owned the place–The Revenge for this very special–and first–performance of The Lighthouse. Unfortunately Stede hadn't put in the order for those fabulous monogrammed jackets, but he was taking suggestions from Ed for the design. Ed was quite design-minded, he had such marvelous ideas for branding.

Roach was smoking a cigarette and playing with one of his cleavers, he'd been in the middle of prep work when Stede announced The Lighthouse would be putting on a special performance in that very cafe! How exciting! Or at least it was until Roach realized The Lighthouse was just…a band Stede was in with his boyfriend, which explained how Roach had never heard of them. He was a small bit disappointed, he wanted his kitchen. But Stede had cheerfully told everyone that watching this performance was mandatory, so Roach dragged himself away from his food and into the main area.

As far as Roach could puzzle out, the audience consisted of The Revenge staff and everyone from Queen Anne Records. That explained both the record store and the cafe being shut down in the middle of the day.

The song–Stede announced it as Discomfort, which was ironically what certain members of the audience were feeling for various reasons–ended and Roach was the first to start tentatively clapping. All things considered, that wasn't a badshow. Stede was inexperienced on the guitar and Ed was basically carrying the whole thing, but it wasn't bad.

Fortunately, it was just the one song Stede and Ed had planned. They took the applause gratefully, Stede thanking the audience for being there–as if they had a choice–and bowing and basking in the hesitant clapping of his very baffled cafe staff.

Pete leaned towards Lucius, his arm on the table.

“Can we get back to work?” said Pete.

Lucius sighed, he gave Pete's knee a squeeze under the table. He had not been informed of this beforehand, Stede had–for the millionth time–gone directly over Lucius's head with his plans. It was the fucking chandelier and the coffee maker and the piano all over again.

“In a minute, babe,” said Lucius.

Ed stepped off stage, her chest was buzzing electric hot. The cooldown after a performance was always tough, but she didn't feel like she was coming down in the near future. There was something magic in what she'd put out, her fingers dancing on the keys and Stede barely holding it together on the guitar. It was raw, it was real. It was Ed's early Blackbeard days all over again, but without the stumbling mess of young adults. Ed knew she had what it took this time, she knew which places to pull back and where to pour herself.

She opened her mouth to ask how the show was, if everyone enjoyed themselves. But the confidence was blown back inside her at Jim's approach, Jim who'd been staring and not saying a word. Jim who'd jumped out of their chair, ignoring Oluwande's quiet pleading for them not to make a scene. Jim could fucking make a scene if they wanted to, they were an adult.

Stede scrambled off stage with his guitar, his head spinning from the high of having just performed with Ed, they'd make such a lovely sound together.

“–band practice?” Jim was saying, their tone measured. “What about The Kraken?”

Ed blinked. What about The Kraken? The Kraken was just a bunch of fully-grown adults pretending they could be the next fucking band of the decade, that dream was piped long before they started. Ed wanted to play again, that was the entire reason he'd started up the band. It was a fun stupid thing for them to do, a play at Ed reliving his glory days. He was always set to get bored with it.

“The Kraken's nothing, who the fuck cares?” said Ed. “I've got this new thing.”

Jim did a read of Ed's face and….Ed wasn't messing with them. Ed wouldn't, she alone knew better than to mess with Jim for a laugh. So Ed had really just looked Jim in the face and told them The Kraken was…nothing. Yeah, of course it was nothing, of course to big former rockstar Edward Teach it amounted to a bunch of idiots banging on their instruments and drinking beer and getting high to write songs. Jim hadn't tasted that life, they'd tasted the sheer rush of playing drums for The Kraken. Ed's vocals, Frenchie's guitar, Jim's drums. They were an inseparable unit of music, an unbroken chain.

“So you're just–done with us?” said Jim.

This could have been an email or a text or even a fucking note stuck to Jim's apartment door…but instead it was this, in the middle of the cafe. In the middle of everyone.

Ed shrugged.

“Done with The Kraken?” said Ed. “Guess I am, yeah.”

Stede appeared beside Ed, he put his hand on Ed's arm and gave Jim a confused sort of look. He hadn't caught it, the start of this conversation. And Jim wished they hadn't even approached Ed like this, wasn't handling things in private more their speed?

Jim looked at Stede, looked at Ed. And they felt so many things they…didn't want to feel.

They stuck their fingers through the loops in their belt, they swiveled away from Ed and Stede.

“Get fucked, Ed,” they said.

Oluwande followed Jim out of The Revenge, Jim didn't look back to see Ed's reaction. It wouldn't have made them feel any better.

“Did I seriously tell him to get fucked?”

Jim was peeling oranges at the kitchen counter.

They had the day off work, unofficially. They'd just walked out, which felt pretty badass in the moment but only because Stede probably wasn't on route to firing them. And maybe he should, maybe Jim didn't want The Revenge. Maybe they should just drive out and go live with their nana for a little while, a long while even.

Oluwande was getting the shell prepared for a delicious orange tart.

“Yeah, you did,” said Oluwande. “Did it…feel good, when you did that or was it more like one of those getting your feelings out…things?”

Jim put down the freshly-peeled orange, they threw up their hands in annoyance.

“I don't know!” said Jim. “I was…mad.”

Oluwande was aware Jim hated when he went all therapist on them, but sometimes he couldn't stop himself. He'd always wanted to help people, he'd started out counseling teenagers. Therapy was a good place to settle.

“Mad about…The Kraken?” said Oluwande.

Jim took a slice of orange and held it in their hand. This whole being open with their feelings was getting harder day by day, Jim kept wanting to retreat and shut down. Their family–what little they had of it–wasn't the best at teaching them how to do emotional management beyond stoicism. Their nana had been adamant that one needed toughness to face the harshness and pain of the real world and Jim had taken that into themself entirely, it took a lot for them to unlearn. Oluwande helped.

“You know Ed's kind of–?” said Jim.

Oluwande nodded, he dusted flour off his hands.

“Kind of like a big brother to you?” said Oluwande.

Jim turned their head away, Ed was the closest person Jim had to remind them of their actual brother, their actual brother who'd died a long time ago when they were both kids. This was something Ed didn't know–Ed didn't know anything about Jim's family really–and Jim was thinking maybe they should have told him. Frenchie and Ed were Jim's…family. Frenchie, Ed, Oluwande, even Stede was like a brother-in-law…kind of. Familia.

Oluwande sighed, he was pretty sure Jim had some personal reasons to be taking the band a bit more seriously than Ed ever did. The Kraken had pried Jim open, they'd laid themself bare in ways Oluwande was reeling from still. The Man in the Teal Earring, a love letter to him that Jim had composed when their feelings were open like a fresh knife wound. That wouldn't have happened without The Kraken, without Frenchie and Ed.

And now Ed had decided that entire part of his life was over, he was shutting it tight without asking Frenchie or Jim how they felt. And for Jim–who'd recently found their feelings–it must have been a strong punch to the chest. The band meant something.

Lucius threw his bag over the couch. He'd finally taken it, that spa day he'd been promising himself for months. A massage and a face mask and absolutely no Stede shenanigans for several hours, just Lucius and his thoughts. And what lovely thoughts they were, turned away from Stede and the cafe and that…performance earlier.

“And how is my handsome man this evening?” said Lucius.

Izzy and Pete were putting together a coffee table, Izzy jerked his head up at Lucius's arrival and furrowed his brow.

“I'm fine, Spriggs,” said Izzy.

He gripped the hammer tight and turned his head away, it occurred to him that Lucius had probably been talking to Pete…when the fuck had anyone ever called Izzy “their handsome man”?

Fang came running in after Lucius, his face was flushed and he was giggling.

“We did seaweed wraps!” said Fang.

Lucius leaned over and kissed Fang's cheek, Fang blushed.

“We did, babe,” said Lucius.

Pete waved the hammer above his head. It had been Izzy's idea to start on the coffee table while Fang and Lucius were out, and why the fuck not? The old coffee table was on it's way out, this new one was far more sturdy after the alterations Pete had made. And Izzy had floated suggestions for further improvements, he was quite handy.

“I made dinner!” said Pete. “That walnut salad thing you showed me last week? Delish.”

Fang crossed the room in a flurry of excitement, he started talking about their spa trip and how Pete needed to come next time because Pete would absolutely fucking love a face mask and a good massage.

Izzy and Lucius made eye contact, Izzy looked away immediately and pretended to be enormously occupied with the coffee table.

Ed took a coffee mug from the cabinet, a pink one with seahorses on it. Stede's. He'd done something with the mugs when he was cleaning the kitchen earlier, Ed was at the record store and Stede had done something with the mugs. He'd put everything back in odd places and Ed's head was spinning from new patterns.

She turned the mug over in her hand. She'd…bought that mug for Stede, hadn't she? And he'd bought her one with a squid on it, an unexpected gift exchange. Ed just saw the mug in a shop and thought Stede would go absolutely bonkersover how cute it was, Stede loved cute things and he loved marine life. Ed was always thinking about what Stede would like when she was in shops, she'd go out for a fucking decor thing she wanted for the record store and come back with at least one thing Stede would squeal over. The apartment was getting quite accumulated, just with things that Ed and Stede were buying for each other. They…might be needing a larger place, Ed thought.

Stede walked into the apartment, he had two shopping bags slung over his arms. He'd gotten a little…upset earlier, maybe not visibly but in his chest somewhere. It was alright now, he'd done his shopping and he'd listened to whale song in the car for a few minutes.

“Darling–,” Stede started.

Ed rushed up to Stede, he put his hand on Stede's shoulder and looked into Stede's happy cherubic face.

“Got us a gig!” he said.

The smile drooped uncertainly off Stede's face, he raised his hand to touch Ed's. It had been…a day, the performance at The Revenge and everything. He'd been sure Jim and Ed would make up, whatever differences had sprung between them. Stede didn't know too much about this friendship business still, but Ed and Jim had known each other for a long time and you didn't just throw that away over music-related conflict…right? And Stede couldn't shake it, the feeling this was his fault. Stede had come up with The Lighthouse, Stede had offered up The Revenge as venue.

“A…gig?” said Stede.

He put down the shopping bags, he thought Ed was joking. How could they have a gig, they'd barely even started the band. And…it wasn't even a fucking band, it was just Stede playing the guitar badly still and Ed doing everything else.

Ed gave Stede's shoulder a playful slap.

“A gig!” said Ed. “The Kraken had it first, but that's not fucking happening anymore, is it? It's me and you! First gig, aren't you excited?”

Stede's gaze flitted away and back, he held both hands to his chest. He felt the steadiness of Ed's hand clutching his shoulder still, the excitement sparkled so keenly in Ed's eyes.

“Excited, yes,” said Stede. “I'm–I'm very excited. Absolutely bursting.”

Another playful shoulder slap, this time Stede flinched just a tiny bit.

“I fucking knew you'd be, love,” said Ed. “In a week, alright? The Lighthouse, first gig. Really nice little club, I know the lady who owns it. She's doing me a favor.”

Stede's head was doing cartwheels. In a week. The Lighthouse was doing their first gig…in a week. And Ed was almost vibrating out of their skin with anticipation, this must have been an astronomical positive for them. Doing music with their boyfriend, doing a show–a real gig–with their boyfriend, what could be more spectacular?

“What should I wear?” said Stede.

Ed looped her arm around Stede's shoulders and kissed his cheek.

“Whatever the fuck suits you, love,” said Ed.

Frenchie should have had more feelings about The Kraken…breaking up? But if he was being honest, he'd been suspecting it. He just thought it would be Jim who cut the rope, Jim who fucked off because they couldn't take Ed skipping out on practice and gigs all the time. This was probably a worse turn of events, this had been less mutual.

He tugged, pulling the thread tight through his needle. He was finishing up a decorative pillow, he'd been let off work early. Ed was going for this Lighthouse project at full speed, wasn't she? She even had a gig already, it took The Kraken an age to get their first real gig.

“You think I could do it by myself?” said Frenchie. “Music?”

John pulled the fabric close to his chest, he was sitting on the floor with his dress-making equipment. He had a rush job, he usually didn't take rush jobs. But he was getting an absolutely mind-boggling amount of money to do this, how could John turn it down? His client had given him the design and everything. And by pure coincidence, John already had a half-finished project that was almost what his client was looking for.

“Weren't you doing it yourself anyway?” said John.

Frenchie thought of his melancholy guitar covers, most of which had scarcely been seen by anyone.

“Right you are, babe,” said Frenchie.

He finished the pillow and laid it aside. In slightly wobbly pink, blue, and white letters, it read Cheers Me Queers.

Izzy held the photograph, he didn't think Ed knew he had it still. It was one of the things he'd rushed to grab before Ed forced him out of the apartment. Did Ed even remember it being taken?

One of their first days in the studio, three smiling young adults. Jack's hair was long, Ed and Izzy wore their hair medium length. Ed because she liked it that way, Izzy because he hadn't yet found the courage to cut it extra short. He was also dressed a bit more feminine than he ever would be from that point forward, in many ways Izzy had been trying to emulate Ed's confidence and it had led him to strange places.

But Izzy and Jack never read Edward Teach, Izzy had been listening to the same fucking songs–Blackbeard's music–for years and he was starting to realize he'd never heard any of Ed's music. He thought it was all miserable ruminations on life, angry proclamations on injustice. And it was those things, but it was also so so much more than Izzy had been built to comprehend. Gender, queerness, happiness in one's own skin, things Izzy should have taken into his heart but somehow it all swerved past him.

Ed sang about his shitty childhood, he sang about wanting to be washed out to sea, he sang about dying young, he sang about feeling unwanted everywhere, he sang about how much he loved his friends because they were his friends and they were such dicks about showing how much they cared about him, but when Jack was teasing Ed about his hair that was really just Jack's way of saying he'd never had a friend like Ed before and he was glad they'd met each other and Ed was so much better at caring about Jack than his absolute bastard father and that made Jack a little scared to think about and…

Izzy took out his lighter, he flipped it on and pressed the flame against the corner of the photograph. He watched it burn, watched the conjured lie disappear out of his hand. And Izzy knew he'd never love another the way he loved Ed…and Jack too, Jack the fucking bastard who'd texted Izzy a drunk “Wanna fuck?” twenty minutes ago and it took all of Izzy's willpower to not go sprinting over to Jack's place again.

Lucius came running into the kitchen, flapping his hands in panic.

“Are you burning things in here?” said Lucius. “We don't burn things indoors, Izzy.”

Izzy dropped what was left of the photograph into the sink.

“Sorry,” he said.

Lucius blinked, he was caught between leaving Izzy alone–as Izzy clearly wanted to be–and supervising to make sure Izzy didn't burn down Pete's apartment. This wasn't the first time he'd caught Izzy setting something on fire and it wouldn't be the last.

Lucius chose to risk it, leaving Izzy to his thoughts in the empty kitchen. It wouldn't be his fault if Izzy set the whole fucking building on fire, Lucius thought. He didn't even live there.

Chapter Text

There’s no sense in dancing ’round the subject

A wound gets worse when it’s treated with neglect

Well, don’t turn now

There’s nothing here to fear

You can talk to me

Talk to me

You can talk to me

You can set your secrets free, baby

–Talk to Me // Stevie Nicks

“What the fuck is this, Spriggs?”

Izzy looked at what Lucius had just handed him, some sort of….paper? He could read the words on it of course, but he was having trouble getting his head around why the fuck Lucius would give him something like this.

Lucius pulled the tote bag fully over his shoulder, he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Voucher,” said Lucius. “For a spa day? Stede gave me three.”

He couldn’t imagine where it came from, this was probably Stede’s clumsy attempt at…positive reinforcement? Because the cafe had been doing so well the past few weeks and Lucius was partially–completely, if he was being truthful with himself–to blame for the uplift. Social media manager and dragging the whole thing by his own power, not that Lucius was discounting the wonderful staff–especially Roach and Jim, absolute stars those two–and he didn’t technically own the place still. And the monumental extra work that went into undoing Stede’s bad ideas, that was hours of Lucius’s time spent taking deliveries or quietly plugging leaks. Although there were less leaks to be plugged as of late, Lucius noticed. That was Ed’s doing, Ed was fantastic at pulling Stede away and Lucius tried to be pissed about that but it actually meant less work for everyone.

Izzy started to hand back the voucher, but Lucius pushed it back into Izzy’s palm. Lucius didn’t intend to be pressing about this. But that was what the voucher was for, right? Stede thought Lucius deserved a little something for doing well, and Lucius thought Izzy deserved a little something for not biting his head off.

“It won’t kill you to relax, Izzy,” said Lucius. “Pete’s going, we’ll make a day of it.”

He saw the change in Izzy’s face at the sound of Pete’s name. Well, if Pete was going…if it wasn’t just the two of them or some stupid fucking thing like that….

“Fine, I’ll go,” said Izzy. “But don’t expect me to like it, Spriggs.”

He’d never been to a spa in his whole life, that was very much something Ed would have dragged him to if they’d been inclined. Ed and Fang, ambushing Izzy and dragging him off for a day of mud baths and seaweed wraps and champagne.

Stede was wearing a leather jacket, he thought it would make him look cool and dangerous. Stede wasn’t sure he looked either, he didn’t really fit Ed’s entire aesthetic and Stede was very invested in aesthetics.

But there he was in his silly little leather jacket–which was really Ed’s, Stede would have never owned something that cool–and his fingernails polished black to match Ed’s eyeliner. He thought he looked pretty tough and badass putting it on, but now Stede was adding it together with the fucking pink hair and it just…wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. Maybe he should have traded back to the original for this, just gotten rid of the pink and gone for his golden curls again? Or fucking green, should Stede have dyed his hair green or black or…literally any color that wasn’t pink?

“Oh god, I look terrible,” said Stede. “I’m a joke.”

Ed appeared behind Stede in the mirror, she put her hand down on his shoulder and squeezed.

“You look like a rockstar,” she said.

They unclipped one of their emerald drop earrings. First show jitters, the absolute fucking worst. That show at The Revenge had been tiny, just this fun event Stede put on mostly for Ed’s comfort. This was a real show, an audience of strangers.

Ed clipped their earring onto Stede’s ear, Stede was always the sexiest when he was wearing Ed. And Ed wore Stede quite well, they thought. Tonight was about comfort zones and how it felt to walk outside of them, wasn’t it?

For his part, Ed went for bold. Black mesh tank top, his trusted leather pants, Doc Martens, his hair was tied up, fingernails polished pink, and of course he had to wear Stede’s seashell bracelet for good luck and his pearl necklace for extra good luck.

Ed kissed Stede’s cheek, they turned Stede around fully so he could admire himself in the mirror.

“You’ll be great, love,” said Ed.

Stede threw back another drink at the bar, he felt it burn all the way down to his chest. That was some strong alcohol.

The Lighthouse had just wrapped up their first show and….well, it was certainly an event. The lights hurt his eyes, he stumbled through his introduction for a few seconds and then just handed it over to Ed. Stede could barely focus on his guitar, all those hours of practice rushing from his head as he stared out into a sea of strange faces. Glittery butterflies in his vision, his mouth full of sawdust, he felt like he was being crushed under the pressure of an ocean. Stede kept it together through Ed, he reached out with what little of his mind could think still and carried his thoughts into the piano keys, he pictured Ed’s fingers so certain and graceful. Oh, to be Edward Teach for one moment of time out of an entire life.

And Ed was her stunning usual, she sat down at that piano and made art. She painted a story through the canvas of her music, Stede could see vivid fields of green and a lonely seaside town, he could see a kid sobbing in the corner of a tiny house. This was The Kraken’s music, but with a Lighthouse spin to it.

Ed came down glowing and Stede did too. But it was all worn off, Stede forgot what he’d been so happy about. He was sitting at the bar, drinking and not yet drunk. Ed had vanished off to use the bathroom, he had that glow still when Stede last saw him.

So this was…being on stage, performing, living in the music. Stede could picture himself getting familiar, letting go of that terrified university student for the last time and sweeping himself into a new harsher current.

Ed appeared next to him, he hadn’t stopped grinning. He looped his arm over Stede’s shoulders, pulled him close and brushed his lips against Stede’s forehead.

“You were so fucking good up there, babe,” said Ed. “We both were, so fucking good.”

Stede played with his glass, a faint smile over his face. He could almost believe it when the words were from Ed’s mouth. But Ed had likely been listening to her own playing, she’d probably paid very little attention to Stede’s brief interjections with the guitar.

“Oh, darling, I was…alright,” said Stede.

Ed slid into the seat next to Stede’s, he shook his head and reached for Stede’s half-empty glass. He took a swig from it, downing the rest of Stede’s drink.

“You had the passion, you know?” said Ed. “So natural on stage, haven’t seen anyone that excited since….well, since me.”

Stede allowed himself a bit of preening at Ed’s praise, maybe he hadn’t done as badly as it felt from the outlook?

“We made lovely music, didn’t we?” said Stede.

Ed grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he put down the glass.

“We always do, love,” said Ed. “Why don’t we head home for the night, make a bit more? If you’re not tired? And we can talk about seahorses on the way home.”

Stede’s eyes lit up. Yes, seahorses! He was falling in love with seahorse facts, he’d watched two documentaries about them and now his head was full to capacity with fascinating seahorse trivia. He’d been up late last night, listening to David Bowie albums and talking to Ed about seahorses. And they’d talked about seahorses almost all through the drive down already, but Stede could never get enough talk about marine life and ships and everything ocean-related that came to his mind.

“I’m so glad we did this,” said Stede. “It feels so right, doing this. It feels like…I was always meant to. Like every part of my life is just…you. Leading to you, this long road to you. Darling, I think–this is what we were always supposed to be.”

He took a deep breath, everything he was feeling had come spilling out there. Despite his doubts, despite every bad feeling…Stede enjoyed tonight, he enjoyed letting his hair down–metaphorically, he had his head of immaculate pink curls still and he wasn’t thinking too hard about growing them out, Stede didn’t think he could pull off long hair like Ed did–and he enjoyed feeling like him and Ed were pulsing on the same wavelength. Every moment he’d felt out of step with his marvelous self had just been a prelude to this.

Stede had expected Ed to laugh, to maybe swoop forward and capture his lips in a kiss, to meet Stede’s little speech with one of her own.

What Stede hadn’t expected was for Ed’s grin to vanish, for him to shrink back in his seat. Stede watched–baffled, slightly horrified–as Ed stood up, as Ed grabbed at the bar with one hand and looked into Stede’s face with an expression of…panic, the truest use of the word Stede had found to date.

“Ed?” said Stede. “Darling? My–my love?”

Ed was quiet, her gaze flitted off Stede’s face and she turned away from him. Her hand lifted off the bar, she stepped away from it and away from Stede in one deliberate movement. My love. Stede had never called her that before. And she was, she was definitely Stede’s…love.

They walked away from the bar, they heard Stede shout their name and they didn’t look back. If they had, they might have fallen to their knees right in the middle of that club and not been able to get up again.

Izzy felt good. Izzy felt good and that didn’t seem right.

He’d done all the spa things, the mud bath and the face mask and the champagne. And he…felt better, Lucius was correct about how good it would be and Izzy was grinding his teeth about it.

“I’m not getting my fucking nails done,” said Izzy.

Lucius blinked, he put both arms over the back of Pete’s couch. He hadn’t asked for Izzy to get his nails done, that was more of a…Stede and Lucius and Ed and sometimes Roach activity they did when they had the time. Lucius wouldn’t have dreamed of inviting Izzy to that.

“Liked it, did you?” said Lucius.

Izzy shrank into the couch, he very much wished Lucius would stop looking at him like that. He was feeling refreshed, that mud bath had done wonders for him. And he reluctantly accepted Pete’s face mask had done lovely things for Pete’s complexion, god help him if he ever caught himself saying that out loud.

“Fucking know what’s right for everyone, don’t you?” said Izzy.

Lucius grinned and wriggled his hips a little, that was a compliment from Izzy Hands and he was going to savor it like a glass of pricey wine.

“I do, yeah,” said Lucius. “Kind of my specialty. Call it…elder gay intuition.”

Izzy snorted, Lucius had an astronomical amount of nerve calling himself a fucking elder gay when Izzy was probably the oldest person in that house.

“I call it not minding your business,” said Izzy.

Lucius considered.

“Oh, I am so bad at minding my business,” said Lucius. “Totally should, I know. But gossip’s fun and you know Stede’s always needing my help.”

Izzy squeezed at the couch cushion, his face turned away.

“Doesn’t that get exhausting, helping other people?” said Izzy.

Lucius patted the back of the couch, he shrugged his shoulders. Yes, fucking yes of course it did. It sometimes took all of Lucius’s enormous self-control to not snap at Stede, to not tell him to please just go solve his own fucking mess. Lucius held himself in check with the realization that everything he was used to, everything he knew after having traversed the queer world for years…well, it was brand new to Stede, every single experience he had with Ed was the first time.

“I’m used to it,” said Lucius.

Izzy frowned, he wanted to say something…but Lucius would try to be a smug prick about it, Izzy couldn’t tell Lucius everything he was thinking.

“You shouldn’t be so nice to me,” said Izzy.

Lucius shrugged again, and this time the shrug came with a smile.

“I know, but I want to be,” said Lucius.

Pete and Fang were out getting food, Izzy felt like he’d spent so much time alone at Pete’s place with Lucius. But he’d never felt revitalized like this, he’d never felt like layers and layers of himself had gotten scraped off and he’d washed the misery out of himself with champagne.

Ed had gone out the side entrance, he was tapping his fists against the outside wall and his body was shaking with sobs. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

It wasn’t Stede’s fault, it wasn’t Stede’s fault, none of this was Stede’s fault. Ed repeated it to himself, mantra and reminder and curse on his fucking head. None of this was Stede’s fault, but Stede probably thought he’d done something and that was so fucking awful of Ed to leave Stede thinking that, to just get up and leave and not say anything. He’d called Ed his love, they’d been fucking and holding each other in their sleep and Ed had listened to Stede talk about ships and marine life for hours every single day of their shared lives. And only now had Stede said those two words, those two words Ed had been longing to hear without knowing he longed to hear them. How fucked up was that, how boldly fucked up?

It wasn’t Stede fault, there was just something…wrong. When Ed unexpectedly had his mind blown back to his childhood, when he saw it all happening as if he was there and it tore him apart down the middle to think about it, when there was so much screaming in his head and it wasn’t his own…that wasn’t Stede’s fault. That was all Edward Teach, damaged broken miserable Edward Teach doing what damaged broken miserable Edward Teach did best.

She heard the side door open, she didn’t look.

Stede paused to consider Ed, to consider Ed’s fists against the wall and Ed’s shoulders trembling with sobs.

He leaned against Ed, he wrapped his arms around Ed’s waist. He felt the weight of three, Stede and Ed and Stede’s guitar case attached firmly to his back. They must have been quite the sight, these two people pressed up against each other and the guitar case.

“Sorry,” said Stede. “If you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

Ed uncurled their fists, they braced their palms against the wall. They liked it, the way Stede clung to them and wore them so well and played his guitar like he was so afraid of messing up. Stede did almost everything else as if he’d done it a thousand times, he had this confidence that almost seemed to come from…not really being sure of anything?

“Tell me about seahorses,” said Ed.

Izzy leaned back into the mattress, bedsheets tangled between his legs. He felt like a fucking discarded condom, which was…an apt metaphor, given the current mess he was in. The mess he’d been alright with less than five minutes ago, but now it was down Izzy’s throat and into the outer reaches of his chest. Fuck. That really just happened, didn’t it? The entire thing, from glorious frantic start to explosive finish. He’d really just…fucking hell.

Izzy wasn’t totally clear on what was real anymore. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he’d–less than fifteen minutes ago–kissed Lucius Spriggs, that Lucius had pulled him into Pete’s bedroom, that Lucius had crashed them both onto the mattress and Izzy had begged Lucius to…fuck him. And Lucius–always the pleaser, fuck he was good at pleasing and Izzy was astounded–had done exactly that. After a little…sorting out, after they got down to having sloppy wet mildly awkward fumbling–and yet good still–sex in Pete’s bed (there was crying.  Big wet happy tears, stress leaving Izzy’s body in snotty sloppy hiccuping gross fashion).

But that couldn’t have happened. It didn’t matter that Lucius Spriggs was currently in Pete’s bed, arm thrown over the side and bare ass pointed at the ceiling. Izzy had not just experienced the best sex of his life with Lucius Spriggs, the guy who flinched at loud noises and fainted at the sight of blood.

Izzy gripped at the bedsheets. Fucking hell. Fang and Pete were….shit, they’d be home soon. They’d be home and asking where Izzy and Lucius were, they’d come into the bedroom and see this…mess of Izzy Hands and Lucius Spriggs.

He glanced at Lucius, soundly asleep in bed next to him. This wasn’t a big deal for Lucius, Lucius would write it off to his boyfriends. This open relationship polycule thing. But Izzy was–just a little bit, he didn’t want to be–it hurt him to realize–he was a little bit guilty. Izzy hadn’t taken advantage of Lucius, he was fucking sure of that. And Lucius hadn’t taken advantage of him. But–somewhere, in the furthest reaches of Izzy’s brain–and he couldn’t puzzle out why, it was his greatest mystery to date–Izzy was feeling regret, euphoria, and just a tiny bit of apprehension.

At least the sex was good, Izzy thought bitterly to himself. And a smile tugged at his lips.

Ed was sitting on the curb, arms over his knees and freezing his ass off in that mesh tank top. His fingers twitched, wanting a cigarette and realizing he’d done a shit job at kicking that specific habit. Ed wanted something lethal in his lungs, he wanted the taste of smoke so fucking bad.

Stede appeared next to him, he dropped down beside Ed on the curb and offered him a bottle of something. Not water, something.

“Got you a little treat,” said Stede.

Ed turned the bottle over, she read the label.

“What’s this?” she said.

Stede uncapped his own bottle, he hadn’t entirely wanted to leave Ed alone but there was a cute little shop right there across the street and how could Stede resist browsing? He’d spilled off his inventory of seahorse facts, they’d come out through the front entrance and Ed just wanted to sit down for a minute. A minute had turned into several, Stede had asked if he could step away and Ed had nodded without hearing the question.

“Peach milk,” said Stede.

Ed took a swig of it, decided they liked it. Fucking peach milk, how did Stede find these things? Ed would have never thought to step into a cute little store and find peach milk, they hardly even fucking knew it existed and yet Stede had picked up two bottles.

“Love me a little treat,” said Ed.

Stede clutched his own bottle, he curled the fingers of his other hand towards his palm and inhaled deeply.

“Ed, what’s going on?” said Stede. “Did I say something?”

Stede could picture it, accidentally saying something unkind and Ed reacting this way. He was good at that, one of those life skills his father had passed on to him.

“It’s not you, love,” said Ed. “It’s…shit. It’s me. I’m fucking…cursed.”

He trailed off, he realized Stede needed a more well-rounded explanation before they both dropped this for good.

“Music,” said Ed. “Fucking music. It’s something I’m good at, right? So I follow this Hornigold guy, he takes my music career and spins it into this…thing. Blackbeard. And I love Blackbeard, he’s my fucking dream and I love him. But it’s all determined from when we’re born, isn’t it? What’s going to happen. I didn’t have the chance to want other things, so I threw myself into wanting Blackbeard and…I don’t know if there’s anything past him, if I can be anything that isn’t Blackbeard.”

They stopped for a moment, certain they’d said all of this before in some way or another. But Stede was listening still, so they kept going.

“You ever feel like you need to just…get away?” said Ed. “From all this shit in your life, from yourself?”

Stede nodded and Ed felt a little silly, of fucking course Stede of all people would know that feeling. Stede had pulled himself out from under compulsory heterosexuality and a life that just wasn’t built to make him happy.

“If you could go anywhere, where would you?” said Stede.

Ed wrapped her arms around her knees, she considered.

“Big house,” said Ed. “Big house near the beach, enormous garden out back with all kinds of…plants and stuff.”

He let out a miserable sigh, his mood was taking that expected dip. He was again lamenting being born a few centuries too late to be a pirate, Ed felt like he would have enjoyed that. If he had his fuckeries, Ed could take anything.

Ed frowned, she turned her face towards Stede. She reached to take both of Stede’s hands in her own, to hold a bit of him in her with the taste of peach milk on her tongue.

“What if we just…did?” said Ed.

Stede stared, baffled.

“Did, um–what exactly, darling?” said Stede.

Ed’s eyes lit up, they squeezed Stede’s hands. Fuck, why hadn’t they thought about this before? So in their own head, so miserably in their own head until Stede burst inside them like a phoenix reborn and they remembered who they were.

“What if we just…left?” said Ed. “Just fucking left? Right now? Tonight?”

Stede stared into Ed’s face, Ed’s eyes were shining bright. The brightest they’d been tonight, Ed’s kiss might taste of sunbeams.

“Your–your record store–Queen Anne–?” Stede said.

Ed gripped Stede’s hands tighter, she snapped her head around and stared off into the distance. Fuck, it was a good night for this kind of thing. The moon fat and bright over their heads, the lighting coming down just right on Stede’s face to make him look like an angelic vision, Ed didn’t even feel the cold anymore.

“Fuck it,” said Ed. “Fuck everything. What’s it ever done for me? But we can get away, yeah? We can leave. Just…go.”

Her heart was pumping at an accelerated rate, if she wasn’t careful it might scramble out of her chest and try to climb up her throat.

“But–but where would we go?” said Stede.

Ed turned to look at Stede again, that shine hadn’t left their eyes.

“Anywhere, love,” said Ed. “World’s ours, we can do whatever we want. We could…buy a ship, big ship with sails. Or maybe a cruise, we could go on a cruise? Always wanted to go on a cruise.”

He was nodding, thinking about all the places yet to be seen by his very own eyes. Sky’s the limit, he had money and he had time and he finally had someone who’d want to go. Ed wouldn’t need to go at this alone and that made the difference. He’d been thinking after Jack left and then Izzy left, he’d just be backsliding in one place for his whole fucking life or he’d take the road and be lonely forever. But he couldn’t be lonely, he was pulled back and held by wonderful lovely handsome perfect Golden Boy.

“We can do this, right?” said Ed. “We can do this?”

Stede pursed his lips, he nodded somewhat rigidly in response to Ed’s question and Ed’s eyes glowing with such radiant purpose. Ed didn’t appear to notice anything, he’d gone dreamy and wanting and he was barely aware of Stede’s reactions to anything.

“Okay, that’s fucking great,” said Ed. “I’ll get our stuff, alright? I’ll grab our stuff and you just…wait. Wait right here. And then we can go, yeah? We can leave. Together.”

He stood up a little, he reached and touched his fingers to Stede’s cheek. He so desperately wanted to kiss Stede, but Ed was scared he might fall in this time and never surface. There was a time and a place to absolutely drown in Stede, not when there was work to be finished.

Ed darted off to grab their things, to load their gear into the back of Stede’s expensive car. They were doing this. They were…leaving.

Stede put his hand against his cheek, his fingers grazed where Ed had touched him.

Oh shit.