Edward Teach sat behind the creaking mahogany desk. He'd sunken backwards into the soft velvet cushions at some point last night and now he refused to move. He scowled at the windows and the rain. Seawater crashed against the ship and he feared the glass would shatter around him. Edward ran a hand over his itchy, stubbled chin and stuck the pipe back in between his teeth. Fuck all of it. The constant fucking pattering of the rain, and the sound of it on the windows was about to drive him mad with anger and resentment. The sea didn't feel like it used to, the ship itself seemed much darker and more hollow. The hallways and the decks were no longer haunted by frilly shirts and the smell of lavender soap.
Edward moved his elbow back to the arm of the high backed chair and blew rings of gray smoke across the desk. He'd been doing a fair bit of thinking while he sat there, nestled in the fancy fucking cushions. Edward placed his bad leg on the desk and grumbled. The knee was worse than ever and he figured it had to be the weather. The cold winds and the shifting seas affected his muscles and increased the aching about to drive him out of his damn mind.
The Captain leaned his head back against the wood and stared at the two chandeliers swaying with the ship. It truly was fucking overkill. The gentle creaking was drowned out by the rolling thunder. He could live with the thunder and the rain, it was the waves that made him uneasy. He'd learned fairly quickly to respect both the sea and her anger and he found it deeply unsettling that right now, all he wanted was for her to drown them all. He wanted the fucking ocean to pull them all under and into the depths. Ship. Crew. All of it.
He had been sitting here for hours. Days. Only moving when he needed to. He barely moved enough to retain some of the feeling in his leg when the cramps came. He moved to stir a ringed finger through the brandy and he moved to empty the pipe on top of the lone book on the desk. The heavy blanket of swirling smoke in the air hadn't only clouded his judgment, it also kept the crew away.
Lucius had come in during the small hours yesterday. When he'd opened the door he'd been consumed by a coughing-fit so severe Ed had wondered if he'd hurl his guts up all over the fancy persian rug before he even got a word out. The scribe had done like the rest of the crew and crawled below deck at the gathering storm on the pitch-black horizon. Ed had even admired them for it, mostly because they'd managed to sleep through the thundering gale.
Edward hadn't slept in days. He'd been walking around in circles until he got sick of it, then he'd sat until he hurt. He'd finally gotten over himself sometime last night and the book on the desk showed it.
Edward had flicked through it mostly to feel the pages. His thumb had stopped at the drawing Stede had shown him weeks ago. He'd shoved it back in the book and forgotten all about it. The hole from his dagger was still there. Edward had looked at it and scowled. There he'd been in all his grotesque glory. Nine guns, black eyes and a murderous glare. Edward had felt better once his dagger was thoroughly shoved through the face of his inked self. If that was what they thought he was, he would become so much worse.
The Captain was pulled away from his melancholy grumbling by the sound of his First Mate swearing at the roaring seas and howling like a fucking maniac. Storms were the one thing Izzy knew how to handle better than most, he'd once taken a ship through a hurricane in the Chinese seas without losing a single man. Edward knew what he'd find if he went to check. He'd find Israel Hands with his knuckles whitening around the handles, bracing himself against the white-topped waves threatening to tear him from the helm and throw him to the seas. He'd find him there, grinning like a fucking madman. The storms somehow improved his mood. It had to be the looming death- The not knowing. The feeling of not having as much control as he'd like. Edward had considered himself fearless for years. He had pretended for so long he'd truly believed it. It had been so easy to keep the lie up. To speak it with such adamance and nonchalance that his crew had believed it too. He'd reveled in it, he was fucking Blackbeard. He didn't feel fear, he inspired it.
And now, Stede was gone. He'd truly realized it that morning days ago, when no tea with a dollop of milk and seven sugars had been pushed across the table to him with a smile. Perhaps it would be better like this, by himself again. Him and the seas. Safe.
Ed grumbled and stretched his leg out. He moved a little in the chair and angrily flattened the velvet cushion with an elbow. The tassel dug into his ribs. Who the fuck put this many tassels on a cushion anyway? He took one last drag of the pipe he'd been fiddling with and eyed the fucking carpet. The soft, slightly fuzzy, fancy persian carpet. He scowled the woven monstrosity and extended an arm, as he emptied the pipe over it he snorted a little under his breath. The crumpled tobacco-leaves floated through the tendrils of smoke and fluttered in the wet breeze from the cracked window. He'd meant to fix that. Then again, if the seas claimed them all and dragged the ship down he'd be free. Free of the fucking feeling in his chest, the crushing despair.
He smirked darkly to himself as one of the sparks flared up and died.
The Captain ran a hand over his stubbled chin and moved his other leg onto the desk, placing his heel on the last of Stede's books. The muck from his boot left a glaring line across the closed cover. At least his beard was growing back, he'd felt like himself when it got shorn off, but now-
His curled fist hit the table so hard the delicate tea cup rattled on its equally delicate saucer. He watched as the silver spoon slid off the mahogany and clattered off the wooden floor, no doubt smearing droplets of old tea on the carpet.
"You really shouldn't do that, you know," Lucius said from the doorway, he leaned against it with a hand wrapped around the wood, bracing himself against the waves rocking the ship. Ed barely saw him through the smoke.
"Why not? I hate the fucking china," Ed said and eyed him.
"No you don't," Lucius scowled, not even bothering to hide his exasperation, "you just hate that it's his china."
"Did you come here just to piss me off or did you have something else to say, besides trying to convince me-"
"Izzy says it's a hurricane," Lucius interrupted and waved a hand in the air to get rid of some of the smoke. No coughing. Ed hadn't smoked enough then. "He wanted to know if you'd decided on a port yet. In case this goes more to hell."
"Izzy said that?"
"Yes, sir."
That wasn't like him. Israel fucking Hands did not back down, definitely not because of a storm. There would be no port, no harbor and no escape. Edward ran a hand through his tangled hair and moved his dark eyes to Lucius. The look on the scribe's face already told him he had known this was coming.
"No port," Ed said and leaned back into the cushions.
"I feared you might say that. Fine. Kill us all while you're at it, fucking madman. I liked you a lot better before-"
The fine fucking china met the door frame with a splintering smack. The cup shattered inches away from Lucius' face, sending droplets of tea into his face. He had the decency to look somewhat harrowed when the tea ran down from his chin and onto his shirt, coloring the white linen a somewhat complementary color of amber. Edward knew he was unreasonable. The anger festered in him, he trembled with it. His fists kept curling and his breathing never evened out. It hadn't mattered how many of Stede's books he'd thrown overboard, it hadn't even mattered how many times he'd tried to stab the yellow fucking coat instead of falling asleep with it under his head. The fucking desperation would never leave him.
"Fine. I'll leave you to your-" Ed saw the shadow of Lucius' shaking hand in the corner of his eye, gesturing wildly around the room, "-whatever this is. He wouldn't want you to do this, know that."
The Kraken screamed inside his mind and Blackbeard rose from the chair. He made his way through the ship and up on deck. He was glad he was out of china, the crew should have been too.
The blackening waves crashed relentlessly against the Revenge for the third day in a row as Edward took the helm. The way the ship cut through the cold, angry sea and sent cascades of icy water over the decks would have been a pretty sight if any of the crew had been on deck to witness it. The Captain standing behind the helm certainly thought so. Izzy had given up the position without much of a fight.
Blackbeard curled a finger around one of the handles and laughed to himself through the rain barreling down on him, plastering his hair to his face. The caravat around his neck flapped in the uneasy winds. The knot was about to come undone. He reached his left hand up and tugged on one of the ends, tightening the knot before he let the hand fall back to the handles.
It had been ages since he'd been in a storm, it had been even longer since he'd been able to do anything but drown himself in a bottle of brandy and smoke until he got sick of the smell and the taste of tobacco on his tongue. The lightning flared across the heavy skies and illuminated the gray in his hair. Blackbeard's eyes narrowed at the flare of light, grinning as he wiped the seawater away from his eyes.
Blackbeard didn't care. The Kraken didn't care. Where Edward had felt heartbreak and anger, the Kraken felt only apathy and indifference. Such indifference for the man who had folded his red silk into a pocket square and told him he wore fine things well. Such apathy for the way Stede's hand always seemed to linger a bit longer than necessary. Such utter bitterness toward the man that had sat next to him on the beach and told him in the softest voice he'd ever heard that Edward Teach was his happiness.
The Kraken's mind cleared up behind the helm. The storm kept growing and the blackened beast inside him drew away the sadness and replaced it with further apathy and recklessness. The storm called his name, the ship creaked beneath him in such a way he almost heard her call his name too, begging him to ride out the storm, begging him to let go of Edward and take back the seas.
The Kraken moved his eyes over the deck and found Izzy standing directly in front of him, leaning on the main mast. He heard him speak to Ivan from the corner of his mouth.
"Is he back now?" Ivan asked. Izzy's eyes got that maniacal glow that only meant trouble when he turned to face him, raking a hand through his hair and bowing his head in a sign of respect.
"He's back."
Izzy had been right all along. Blackbeard had been seduced. Deeply. He couldn't understand how it had even happened. How he had let it happen..
The fear.
It must have been the fear.
Edward Teach remembered the fear clearly. He remembered the four harrowing ways the fear had grabbed such a hold on him he stopped breathing, how it had nearly ended him. The fear had slithered her black tentacles around his heart and cackled as she crushed him from the inside-
The first time Edward felt true fear he'd been a young boy..
Edward sat on top of the coal-bin with his back to the wall and shook with fear. The sweat ran down his back and plastered the worn shit to his shivering back. He knew to stay away from the walls, this time he hadn't moved away fast enough. The fear burrowed its way so deep into his chest he struggled to breathe. The small wheezing breaths escaped him in time with his mother's pleading words. He felt the tentacle tightening around his heart and forcing the immobilizing, freeing fear through his body.
The plate hit the wall with a crackling ping. It shattered next to his mother's terrified face. Her eyes widened in shock and he knew she feared for her life. His life. She'd taught him what to do when this happened. She had sat him down and explained to him what to do when his father came home drunk and angry.
"Listen to me, sweet boy, no matter what comes through that door you will not interfere," she had said and gently placed a lock of his dark hair back behind his ear. Edward knew the monster that came through that door wasn't his father. He had ceased being a father when the first blow landed. The moment his father's palm connected with his mother's cheek little Edward had decided he hated him. He hated the fear his father brought out in him and he hated having to watch his mother rip apart at the seams, frantically trying to make everything how it was supposed to be to appease the drunken beast.
Edward had watched her the entire day. Watched her as her trembling hands kept tidying the rundown little house next to the docks. He had watched as she only found a handful of beans and some grain in the back of one of the cupboards. His father would be furious. Edward understood more than they knew. He understood that the reason they didn't have any money had little to do with his mother squandering them on useless things like his father had said. That was a lie. Edward knew that the reason for their poverty was that the moment his mother got paid, his father drank. When the money ran out he'd come home and terrorize his starving family.
Nothing his mother did was ever good enough. He watched as a small piece of the broken plate flew back from the wall and embedded itself in her cheek. A small drop of blood ran down her cheek and dripped down to the floor. Edward had seen this before, he knew exactly what was going to happen when he saw his mother tense up. She had heard the staggering footfalls on the other side of the door. This time she had stuffed the tattered piece of red silk into Edward's hand and made him promise to stay quiet.
It mattered little what she said or how she tried to protect herself, the plates still shattered on the walls and the punches still fell. Edward fell asleep that night, curled up against her chest, pretending not to hear that she cried herself to sleep.
"Are you scared?" He asked stupidly. Of course she was.
"I am not as scared as I should be, I fear." she said and pulled him closer, "I am scared for you, sweetling."
Edward turned to her and placed a hand on her wounded cheek. It would swell up during the night, and tomorrow she wouldn't be able to see out of that eye at all.
"Does it hurt a lot?"
"Not anymore," his mother said and tucked him closer to her chest. Edward fell asleep listening to how her heartbeat calmed down when his fingers moved over her cheekbone.
He tried to calm down too, but the fear refused to let go.
He had never seen his father sober. Not once. He had to do something. Anything. He feared the day he might come home, walk across the threshold and find his mother dead. To find that she had lost the fight she never wanted in the first place, to realize that his father had taken away the only safety he had-
He moved away from his mother. The night was still dark when he gently moved a hand under his pillow and took the red silk. He sniffed it once. It smelled like her, it smelled like the things he loved. He tucked the silk into his mother's hand and kissed her cheek. She smelled like the things he loved too. Safety, love and lavender soap.
Edward walked across the street grappling with his emotions. He'd struggled to put on his boot with his aching knee. His father had said he deserved it- Edward walked toward the docks. Searching for the man who should have protected his family and not ruined it. All he had to do was to follow the smell and the yelling, and sure enough-
He saw his father stumbling across the rotten planks on the dock, dragging his feet as he walked, gait dangerously uneven and slow. He reeked of filth and bad decisions. The bottle of whiskey clinked every time it met with the nails in the wood.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
Edward eyed the rope. The seemingly abandoned mess of tied rope just laying there, oiled, waxed and ready for the next ship that came in. Perhaps he should stow away on one of them? No, his mother- Edward shook his head and reached for the rope. His father bent over the edge of the docks and hurled. He didn't see the boy standing behind him, shaking with fear and anger. He didn't see the son cursing his own father through his teeth. Cursing him for his failures and his violence.
He paid little attention to anything but the half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand as Edward threw two loops of the rope over his head and around his neck. The drunken fool was too dulled, his remaining senses too far down the bottle of alcohol to even realize what was happening when his son placed his wounded knee in the middle of his back and pulled.
Edward strained against the drunken beast on the ground. The rope cut its way into his palms and the rain barreling down on him didn't make it any easier. His hands were a slick mess of whale-oil, wax and blood. Yet, he refused to stop. He refused to let this monster ruin his mother beyond repair, he refused to let his father corrupt him the way he'd corrupted himself. He had long since realized where this would all end. The drinking wouldn't stop, the violence would never end. His mother wasn't strong enough to fight back. Edward wasn't either, but he had to try, for her and for himself.
His father's forehead hit the rotten planks with a smack and Edward wheezed through the tears and the pain. The fear inside him loosened her tentacles and he felt himself draw a breath. The shaking subsided and his mind cleared. He would never again feel this. He would never again feel the horror and the dread.
Edward walked through grimy, reeking streets back to his mother. She asked no questions. She said nothing as she bound his wounds and kissed his brow. The rage he felt had helped him leave his wretch of a father there on the docks, in a puddle of his own piss. Edward would never be scared again, neither would his mother. Everything would be better now.
"What happened to your father?" his mother asked that night while gently wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him in closer. Closer to the smell of lavender and safety. Edward kept his eyes on the red silk.
"The Kraken took him, I saw it."
Blackbeard ran a hand over the creaking helm and smiled. He'd thought he'd never feel that kind of fear again. While trying to stop feeling it he had begun inspiring it instead. He would never again be that helpless little boy. His eyebrows knitted together at the sound of snapping ropes.
"Izzy!" He found the commanding tone a pleasant reminder of who he used to be.
"On it Cap'n!"
Every fear was different. Every time he'd felt fear it had been for different reasons. It had all manifested itself in one single thing. One person. Blackbeard shook his head. The pirate now bellowing commands to the waking crew didn't feel fear. The man screaming at his First Mate to grab the fucking ropes and tie them down before the fucking sail blew to hell didn't fear anything. The rain whipped at his face as the ship made her way through the waves. The Kraken lived for the chaos, he lived for the imminent death and the possibility of utter and complete disaster. The winds cut through his clothing and despite the warm air it froze him to the bone. Soon, his hands would freeze around the handles.
The Kraken kept watch as his crew hunted down flurrying ends of rope, re-fastened the cannons and he chuckled to himself at his own fortune. This was where he was supposed to be. On the angry seas, surrounded by his crew, howling at the gathering night and the creaking wood screaming his name.
"Have you lost your damn mind, Cap'n?!" Izzy yelled into his right ear. He hadn't even realized he'd dropped down from the ratlines. "This is fucking suicide!"
"Then, so it is," Blackbeard replied and turned his back on his First Mate. He heard the anger, he could feel the argument growing in Izzy to such an extent he almost let go of the handles to fulfill his promise. He would, without a single doubt, feed Izzy the rest of his fucking toes if he threatened him again, and this possible act of disobedience felt like a threat.
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" Izzy continued from behind him. Blackbeard snarled under his breath. Did everyone think he'd lost his mind? Was that what this was? He'd noticed it when the crew looked at him. Their eyes no longer held the warm wonder and respect they'd had before. Now, they were overtaken by a new emotion. Pure fucking panic.
Everyone stood as though they'd been nailed to the deck. Izzy simply placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to coax a better answer out of him. Blackbeard's eyes found Jim's, Ivan's, and Frenchie's in turn. Even Fang looked horrified.
"Yes." Blackbeard replied, anger coating his words. He shrugged off Izzy's touch and moved his eyes back to the horizon. This was just like any other storm.
Izzy didn't argue. He limped back down to the deck and further down below. Izzy Hands would never dare betray him again, Edward had seen it in his eyes. He had also seen the pure fucking glee when he let the Kraken out. It unnerved him more than he'd said. Edward had realized right then and there that he'd never be accepted for who he truly was, as his fingers had tightened around Izzy's throat he'd realized he would never amass the same respect as the man Stede had made him. He would never be accepted as co-captain, he'd never again see Stede swanning around in his frilly fucking auxiliary wardrobe. The red silk he'd sent flurrying into the brewing hurricane days ago all but confirmed it.
The emotions that wracked their way through him then reminded him of the second time the tentacle had pushed its way into his chest and crushed him-
The second time he had been standing with a hand tangled in the ratlines..
Edward stood with his eyes fixed on the horizon when he'd heard it. The sound of steel cutting through flesh. Edward caught himself right before he moved a hand to his own wounds, he knew what it felt like. He hadn't lied to Stede back then. He had been run through with a blade dozens of times, and he'd do it all again. He'd seen the horrified look on Stede's face when he saw his scars.
Edward held his breath as the fear darkened his thoughts and sent his rapid heartbeat pounding through his head. He tried to control his breathing as his fist tightened around the rope, if he let go he knew he'd be bleeding. He'd felt it through the leather. He'd bleed now just as he had then, forcing the ropes tighter around his father's neck. Perhaps everything was better this way? Maybe, with Stede gone he'd feel more like himself, like the man he knew and the man that cared nothing for fear, tea with seven sugars and lavender soap.
He steeled himself with a knee against the wood as Stede's wheezing breaths and the sound of Izzy's blade embedding itself in the main mast echoed through him. He had been truthful when he trained him. Science did say that everything important was on the right part of the body, except the fucking liver, apparently. He'd even looked it up in the library later that evening. He kept his eyes on the fog creeping in over the water and the myriad of fish swimming through the cold ocean.
"Did I do it right?"
The feeling of fear flickered through his chest so violently his knees could have met the deck in an instant. His wounded leg refused to carry him. Edward tightened the grip on the ropes and refused to bend. He simply refused to meet the planks. Alive.
Stede survived because of him. Because of Ed's own shameless fucking flirting. He knew Stede hadn't understood his words for what they were, he was fucking oblivious. A part of him reveled in it, it was more of a challenge that way, he really had to work for it, and it made him enjoy it more. It had made him enjoy the glances Stede sent him over the edge of his books and the way his face softened when he straightened the collar of his coat. 'I've had it done to me dozens of times.'
The fear made him relentless. It made him dangerous. Edward's darkening eyes met Izzy's and the First Mate realized he was fucked beyond salvation. Every ounce of hope he had flickered out and died.
"You shouldn't have dueled him, Iz."
Stede protested when he saw the needle that night. Of course he did. The last time he had been stitched up he'd been unconscious. Fucking Spaniards.
"Can't you just let me heal without stabbing me with a needle, repeatedly?" he asked and visibly cringed when Edward threaded it.
"Think of it as sewing," He began and poured him a brandy, "you will do better with your guts on the inside, and I do believe he missed your liver."
"Have you had this done to you dozens of times too?" Stede asked. Edward almost forgot to reply, he almost forgot what he was doing in the first place. Stede's hand was on his knee. His fingers dug into the leather and his knuckles whitened. Edward took a breath before placing his needle-free hand on top of Stedes, gently moving a finger to his wrist. His heartbeat quickened, and it had nothing at all to do with the bloodloss.
"I have, all with varying degrees of success,"
That was true. Most of the time he'd scorched the wounds. Most of the time he didn't have the time to have them stitched, so he'd taken what he had. His guts were all still on the inside so he had to have done something right. He looked at him. Stede sat on the velvet couch and breathed. Deeply. In and out. Trying to conceal the fear, and something else- There was something else.
Edward moved a finger up Stede's wrist. Slowly, and with nonchalant, accidental adamance. He kept looking at Stede's eyes as he did it. They were swimming with alcohol. Ed had practically forced three glasses on him before he even began to talk about the stitching. He would need it for the pain. There. A faint tinge of pink appeared along his cheekbones. Edward smiled into his beard. He had been right. There was something else there.
Stede released a breath and Edward was reminded that he still stared. He still stared at the way Stede's shoulders rose and sank in time with his moving finger. The way the hazel eyes flickered a little in the light from the chandelier.
"Does the stitching hurt more than the actual stabbing?" Stede asked and moved his hand away from Edward's knee.
"Not unless he hit your liver. I looked at some illustrations, I know what that thing does now," Ed replied and cleared his throat. He had to stop thinking about his hands, and how much he'd wanted them wrapped around-
Stede chuckled, and Edward realized he had been completely undone by this gentle, book-loving maniac. A drop of sweat ran down the side of his face and disappeared in the silky coat. Edward tried not to stare but he couldn't help it.
He'd been intrigued from the beginning, though, he'd tried to tell himself it was because of the whole gentleman pirate business. He had lied to himself. He had been intrigued because this, the way Stede carried himself, it was simply not done.
"I've been stabbed twice now, you'd think I'd remember the pain," he said weakly as Edward wiped at the blood.
"I hope you never get used to it," he said and carefully moved the tip of the needle toward his skin. Five stitches. Tops. Izzy's blade was skinny but the blood still ran, and if the wound got infected he'd die. Edward felt the fear again, but refused to let it take hold. Not now. He needed to focus, to focus on Stede and keep his pallid, white face from hitting the floor.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
Edward sat by himself on the stairs later that night. The thoughts refused to leave him alone. Stede had thanked him, folded up the bloody rag and gone to bed. Ed had watched him drape the yellow coat over a chair. He'd been sleeping on the couch for days. He would sleep there again, just not yet.
He twirled a finger through his beard and locked his eyes on the stars above. Fear.
'Turn your enemy's worst fear against them, you'll own them.'
It didn't take a genius to figure out what his worst fear was. It had evolved. It used to be death. Like any other child he had used to be scared of death. Scared that his parents would die, that something bad would happen to his mother. It had changed an inkling when his father drew his last breath. The fear of death had ended when he found his crew and his ship. The longer he stayed on the seas the more he realized that fear itself was his worst fear. The feeling it drew from him, the way his entire body froze up and the way his mind refused to focus long enough to form a single string of coherent thoughts.
When Stede's blade stuck out of him he'd thought he'd be scared. He wasn't. He had smirked at the fear on Stede's face and the way his eyes nearly fell out of his head.
"I stabbed you, you nut!"
He did. Because he asked. Well, threatened. He didn't dare think about what would have happened to him if he hadn't done that. If Edward hadn't insisted all the important bits were on the right part of the body. What if he hadn't? Izzy would have killed him.
Edward rose from the stairs and walked over to the railing. He thought Stede was oblivious. Stede wasn't oblivious. Ed sighed under his breath and tried to force his hands to stop shaking. He had realized what his worst fear was, how it had evolved, and that wasn't even the worst of it.
Edward Teach's worst fear was still death in a way. Stede's death. Never again seeing the hazel eyes light up when he looked at him, never again feeling his heartbeat quicken when he placed a hand on his chest. Blackbeard's worst fear was never again being able to laugh, never again being able to be himself, unapologetically himself. Stede was everything.
The worst of it dawned on him as he remembered the angry fucking glare in Izzy's eyes. He had realized it the moment Ed forced him from the ship. He had seen it plain as day, the utter fucking belief that Stede somehow had taken his place. It wasn't true.
Edward placed a hand over the red silk tucked inside his jacket. Stede had taken the place Izzy never got.
Blackbeard tightened his grip, the wound in his palm now bled. It didn't matter. The salt from the seas rinsed it away, and the burning feeling helped ground his escaping mind. The hurricane had started to annoy him. He'd seen worse storms before, several times. Old, drunken sailors had told him stories as a child, they had told him about how in the middle of a hurricane the world was quiet. They rambled on about how they'd fought for days through roaring seas only to suddenly find themselves in clear weather, calm seas and silence.
The Kraken didn't yearn for that kind of silence, Blackbeard did. He wanted the quiet, he needed it. He needed it to feel like a human and not some mass of smoke and floating embers. He needed the quiet to remind himself that he was more than what people made him out to be. But most of all, he needed it to force his brain to shut off long enough for him to get some peace.
For his fucking mind to give him thoughts that did not revolve around breakfasts served with tea with a dollop of milk and seven sugars. Thoughts that did not concern themselves with purple silk and the feeling of Stede's cheek and the way his shy smile ignited a desperate, unyielding feeling of happiness deep within him. The happiness had vanished in an instant the third time Edward truly realized what fear was. Fear was a firing squad. Fear was rifles. Fear was death. Fear was to be separated from Stede Bonnet without ever being able to bring him back. No amount of thread or flirting would ever fix bullet holes.
The third time he had been standing on the deck. Looking up at several self-important Englishmen..
He had lied his way into trouble yet again. He'd watched the fucking admiral believe it too. It made sense. Who was he going to believe killed his brother? Blackbeard, renowned, bloodthirsty and menacing? Or Stede Bonnet, aristocrat and enjoyer of fine fabrics?
"You face death, for general crimes of piracy against the Crown," said the admiral standing above him. Standing in front of the helm like he fucking belonged there.
"Yeah." Edward said and grinned. Of course he did, it was who he was, or had been for the past twenty years.
The rest of the sentence dropped like a fucking cannonball. Izzy. He had known. Edward knew and he still let him go. Now, the gleeful First Mate met his eyes with invigorated strength. Fucking traitor.
Edward stood where he was, he stood completely still as Stede Bonnet was sentenced to death. Edward was still no longer.
"We'll find a way out of this, okay?" He tried to convey his usual spirit and faith in the fact that they'd escape this too. The look on Stede's face told him he failed spectacularly. Yet, it wasn't that that made him lose his mind. It was not the panic on Stede Bonnet's face that for a single moment let the Kraken show. It was Israel Hands. Edward watched him swagger across the deck with a hand in his hair. He listened to him for all of four seconds before he decided to punch him to the deck. His fingernails dug into his fist and drew blood when he struck Izzy's jaw. Had he been armed he'd be dead. The thought seemed to register on Izzy's face when he rose because he kept coming, he kept walking back to him and he kept fucking talking. He smelled of alcohol, salt and brine. The smell of him made Ed sick to his stomach, but the words-
"Remember though, you said when you made me First Mate, 'above all else is loyalty to your Captain'" Edward paid him little mind. He paid attention to Stede, standing directly in front of several loaded rifles, standing there a few feet away in the way of several pissed off and indignant Englishmen who would, without a doubt, end his life.
"You're my captain, and I was never gonna stand by and let you destroy yourself for that... twat!"
Edward had turned his eyes away from Stede. He turned to the man showing such glee at imminent death. 'Destroy yourself.' Was that what had happened? Ed hadn't destroyed himself, Ed had found something to care about, something to wonder at and someone to be himself with. Stede was going to die, and Izzy-
What the fuck was wrong with him? How had it all come to this? A thought rang through Edward's fear-stricken mind. A desperate, panicked thought. It was the only way. The rest of Izzy's fucking excuses had echoed through him, they still cut like a knife. 'Humane. Quick. Clean. Edward, you know that.' The false tenderness in his voice made him sick.
Edward reacted in less than a second, the scream made his voice break. The feeling of debilitating dread tore through him like a fish hook through the eye. Agonizing, tearing and blinding. He moved in front of Stede without thinking. As Izzy's rage filled eyes burned a hole between his shoulder blades Edward moved. Shielding the colorful, completely moronic and deeply loved Captain Stede Bonnet with his own body. Stede's breaths came in quick succession and dampened the hairs on the back of his neck. Edward reached his arms out fully prepared to take the fucking bullets. He'd been shot before, he'd do it again. There were a number of them, he wouldn't feel the pain. He'd be dead before he felt it.
"Say it! Say Act of Grace!" he said to Stede, trying to keep his head clear through the desperation. Edward's eyes nearly closed at the feeling of his breaths on his face. If the fucking Englishmen somehow refused to listen he'd want this. He'd want the last thing he ever saw to be his face. Stede's perfectly confused face, gaping at him beneath the blindfold like he'd just pulled exactly the kind of hail mary they all knew he had. If this was how it all ended-
"What?!"
Edward turned and moved his hand to Stede's shoulder. Both to not go to pieces himself but also to steady the shaking Captain. Loyalty. Edward reached his hands up and removed the blindfold. Shocked hazel eyes met his own and he gave Stede a wan smile. He realized it then. He realized what exactly stood in front of him and how much he was willing to wreck himself to keep him safe. Chauncy bellowed his frustrations and Edward reached out a hand. He wrapped his fingers around Stede's wrist for only a moment.
He was fully aware of what the Grace was. He knew exactly what he'd just done. He didn't care. It didn't matter as long as they stayed together. Edward had been fully ready to meet death back then too. He'd always known that his life would not end peacefully. Edward Teach would go out as the pirate he was, shot, stabbed, killed. He would gladly offer ten years of service to the Crown if they'd be safe. Together. Stede, of course, had no idea.
"You really don't have to do this," Stede said from beside him. Edward knew that. He felt Izzy's burning anger. He felt the pure fucking glee from the Englishmen across the table. It would be a real fucking feather in their fancy hats if they brought him down. Yet, the only thing he cared about was the signature on the bottom of the paper. He knew what it meant, he never really had a choice. It mattered little to him whether he fought the English, the Spaniards or the Kraken deep within him, screaming about betrayal.
"Yeah, I know I don't."
How could he not do it? This would be a good thing, the best thing to come out of this situation. It was this or Stede's death. His death. They were pirates, they had been caught. This was a price he'd pay willingly.
Blackbeard loosened the grip on Edward's mind as the storm quieted around him. Ed knew it was a lie. It was a trick. The storm would flare up again the moment he thought himself safe and drag them all to the fucking depths. He reached a hand absentmindedly into his jacket but stopped when his fingers met with his own clammy skin and not the soft silk that used to be there. He regretted that. He'd cursed his fucking anger the second the silk left his hand.
It had no longer smelled of safety and lavender. It smelled of Stede. Edward couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear the thought of what he'd lost, he couldn't bear the feeling of betrayal that barreled down on him. He had opened himself up more than ever on the fucking beach. He had been honest, and it had blown up in his face. For some reason he couldn't entirely blame Stede for it either. Edward had always known he was hard to love, masquerading as unattainable and difficult. He had made himself that way, to keep the fear away. Until him-
"I'll take it from here, Cap'n. Get some rest." Izzy's hands reached for the handles and Edward let go. He wanted to fight him. He had punched him to the deck before, he deserved it again. He had given them both up. Israel fucking Hands had given Stede up to get back at his side. Edward knew the feelings the First Mate carried within him were twisted, dark and rooted in the image of Blackbeard he idolized, it was not rooted in truth or in the man currently letting go of the handles.
Rest. He'd thought about it. Once. On the beach. How peaceful life could have been with him. Just the two of them on a ship to somewhere else. Not held down by the Crown or the flag tearing itself to pieces at the top of the mast.
Edward ran a hand through his drenched hair and shook his head. The anger came back for one fleeting moment when he remembered himself sitting on the fucking dock. He had mugged a guy for a dinghy. He'd planned all of it. For him. For both of them.
The fourth time Edward Teach felt fear he'd been smiling as it crushed him to pieces..
He debated leaving Stede alone. Letting him come to terms with his new reality in peace. He debated dropping it completely. Edward walked across the sands and felt the wind on his face. It felt nice, for once, to not have the beard and to not be strangled by the persona he'd made up to protect himself. Right now, he was just Edward. He saw Stede sitting there on the beach. Every fiber of his being told him to just fucking tell him, to just say it once and take whatever fucking repercussions that came.
He sat there next to him, and watched him explain that he doubted himself. At least that's what he heard between the lines.
"I've only got stupid ideas," Stede said from beside him, digging his gleaming shoes into the sand. Ed noticed the slight smile. He tried to hide the fact that he really believed what he said. Stede hadn't had a stupid idea in his life, Edward was sure of it. Every idea Stede Bonnet had ever had led him to this, it had all led to him sitting next to Ed on a beach as the sun set. Privateers in service of the Crown. Pirates. Stede had been, and still was, completely oblivious for the most part, of the magnitude of his impact on Edward's life.
"Oh, shut up."
Edward truly looked at him then, and as Stede's questions about happiness floated through his brain he realized he didn't even have to think about it anymore. Ed's happiness was the colorful nonsense-man handing him a cup of tea with seven sugars, it was the smiling pirate with a frilly shirt and it was the madman who'd taken an entire library with him to sea. Ed's happiness was-
"-you."
Edward felt the fear. He felt the true fear of what he'd just realized cut through him like a knife to the chest. He was deathly afraid to lose him, to do something, anything at all that pushed him away. His life was meant to be here, with Stede. With-
The corner of his lip tugged up at the realization on Stede's face. Love. He was loved.
It wasn't the kiss itself that nearly floored him. It was the tenderness of it. It was the way Stede's hand moved, the way he almost wasn't surprised. Edward felt such peace inside. He could live with this, all of this. Forever. He even had a plan. He knew about the approaching hurricane and if they timed it right they'd lose the English in the gathering storm.
They could reinvent themselves together, and stay together-
Edward bit the cork of a bottle of brandy. He'd staggered into the Captain's quarters and the first thing he wanted to do was to drown in the amber liquid. He was terrified again and he hated it. He hated the fucking gnawing and the despair.
'You wear fine things well.'
Edward pulled the little fancily-clad figurine on the bookshelf and snorted. He hadn't been just scared back then. He'd been happy too. He had been so deliriously, and mind numbingly content when Stede folded his silk into a pocket square. He did it with such gentleness, like he understood what that piece of silk meant to him. Edward had realized he loved him then, even though it had taken several days and numerous bottles of brandy for him to even admit it to himself.
Edward shoved open the panel to the wardrobe and closed it behind him. He hadn't dared to throw out the clothes. The books yes, but the clothes- they still smelled of lavender and- He ran a shaking hand over the summer linens and stilled, bottle of brandy still in hand. What the fuck was he doing? Stede was gone, and he'd made it perfectly clear that his happiness lay elsewhere. With someone else. Crushed. He reached for the flowery robe and sank down to the floor.
Staying here with reminders of him wouldn't help. Nothing had helped. Feeding Izzy his own fucking toe had not helped. Marooning the playthings hadn't helped either. He realized the day after that he'd actually needed them.
Edward Teach was fucking terrified. Still. He was terrified of the feelings. He'd believed for the longest time that he had none, that he had buried them all deep within the persona he shielded himself behind. Until him. Until Stede Bonnet ripped his chest open with painful gentleness and calm words of affirmation. Until the fucking beach.
He had stopped himself from believing it when he laid there on the planks and stared at the stars. He'd counted the minutes, and hoped Stede was simply held up-
"Ed?" Lucius. Again. Fuck. "Edward?"
Edward stayed silent. He couldn't deal with him. Not now, and definitely not here on the floor wrapped in the fucking robe. He leaned his head back against the wall and groaned when the panel creaked open,
"Just so you know," Lucius began when he stepped inside, the buttons on his vest scraping gently against the wood, "there isn't a single hiding place on this ship I don't know about."
"Evidently," Ed replied, words echoing through the bottle he still held to his lips, "what do you want?"
Lucius said nothing. The tea-stains still marred his shirt and Ed almost felt bad about it.
"You scared the fuck out of Izzy, you do realize that?" Lucius said and slid down beside him.
"What? How?"
"The whole, 'then so it is'- bit. He may be stupid enough to follow your every whim, but he doesn't want to die. Neither do I, by the way!"
Edward chuckled. Of course they didn't want to die. Neither did he, despite the gaping fucking hole in his chest and the darkness looming over head.
"I'm angry, I'm not fucking insane. There is a difference," Ed said and passed the bottle to Lucius. He just stared at it. One of his eyebrows raised and he moved his face closer to him and sniffed.
"Yeah, no. Enough of this-" he said and scrunched his nose, "we're already almost drowning in seawater, drowning in brandy on top of it seems a bit much, even for you."
Lucius took the bottle and pushed it as far away from them as he could.
"Do you remember what I said about new beginnings?" he asked and reached out a hand, Ed pulled away.
"Yes? What of it?"
"I've done some thinking, and I think you may have misunderstood some things."
"Like what?" Ed questioned and tightened the grip on the flowery robe.
"He loves you," he began and forced Ed to meet his eyes with a hand under his chin. He hated the touch. Yet, he complied. "The way I see it, something must have happened to him. Something that kept him from you. The Admiral perhaps?"
"Badminton? What the fuck does he have to do with anything?"
"Disgruntled admiral with a grudge, definitely aware of where you two were going, able to use his station, or lack thereof to do whatever the hell he wanted?" Lucius said, waving a hand in the air as he spoke.
It didn't matter. Stede had still left.
"It doesn't matter." Ed said and reached a hand out for the brandy. Lucius slapped his hand away and stood from the floor.
"Oh my god, I can't believe I have to tell you this," he said and placed a hand on his hip, "Stede is terrified, Edward. He is feels guilty for leaving his family behind,"
"And what the fuck am I supposed to do about all this?" Ed said, anger rising in him.
"You have to get your head out of your ass, find some patience and stop feeding your crew's own toes to them-"
"Toe," Ed said and raised one finger, "and he fucking deserved it."
"That may be so, but you need him and even if he'd be less annoying if he was dead, he is still your First Mate."
Ed rose from the floor, reached for the bottle and half expected Lucius to stop him.
"So you came here to tell me to stop cutting toes off and to be patient?"
"I also came to give you this," Lucius' hand disappeared into his pocket and Ed tightened his grip on the bottle, "I don't know what it means to you, but I assume it's important-"
The piece of fraying silk ran through Lucius' fingers like crimson water.
"I threw that away-"
"I saw you, and figured you'd regret it."
"But-"
"I'm a terrible swimmer by the way, I'd be dead if it weren't for Fang, so for the love of god don't throw it away again."
Lucius took a step. Another one. One more. Edward held his breath as the scribe reached out a hand, curled his fingers around the front of his jacket and gently tucked the silk back in over his heart.
"The storm is clearing up too, so I think you should get some sleep. I know you haven't slept for a week and you look like death." Lucius said and turned to leave.
"Thank-"
"Don't worry about it. It gives me leverage if you'd ever think about cutting off my toes or throwing me overboard completely-" he said with a grin and closed the panel.
Edward placed a hand over his heart as the cool silk warmed up. He had debated tossing the scribe overboard, but he'd seen the rageful glare and left. Not that that would have stopped him, he could have followed him and still tossed him overboard.
Edward folded the flowery robe and placed it back on the floor before he headed for the panel. The tea-cup bothered him.
He walked across the floor to the mess of fine china, groaning as the strain on his knee grew. The porcelain had scratched Stede's fancy fucking floors. Edward sighed.
He couldn't bear the thought of not seeing him again, to not feel his skin beneath his fingers. To not make Stede's tea wrong and to not ever again feel loved. Ed picked the cracked china up off the floor, he walked over to the desk and placed the shards of porcelain back on the saucer.
He sat back down in the chair and placed both his legs on the desk. Creaking-
"One more thing," Lucius' head peaked back in through the open door.
"What is it now?"
Lucius took that as an invitation Ed realized and he watched him walk across the scratched floor, he heard his boots squish off the damp fucking carpet. Lucius looked him up and down and poked a finger at his feet. "Move a bit."
Lucius sat down on the desk. His legs dangled a little over the carpet and when he bent forward and extended a hand Ed wanted to stop him. His hands were not Stede's and any touch that wasn't Stede's hurt.
"Stede used to talk alot when he got nervous. He used to say a whole deal of clever things. When I joined his crew he went through a bit of a rough patch," Lucius began and placed a hand over Ed's heart. He moved his fingers apart and the warmth from him flowed through his clothing as he spoke. He should slap the hand away, what was this? What- Lucius' words registered. Ed knew about the self-doubt that Stede harbored deep within him. He recognized the feeling of never being good enough- "He used to say that a ship in harbor is safe..."
Edward listened intently. He listened to how Lucius kept his voice low and spoke with such tenderness it almost made him sick. He watched how his shoulders moved in time with his breathing and how he wasn't in the least scared of him. Lucius knew very well what he was capable of and what he had done, still he sat there on the desk with a hand placed over his heart speaking to him. He needed to break out of this, the destructive fucking spiral. That would be his fight, not the dying hurricane.
Lucius' words echoed through Edward's brain and left traces of meaning. That was new. Usually he just ignored them.
"So you see," Lucius' hand moved. Edward grew cold, "this is not the end for you. This is a beginning. If it's meant to be it's meant to be. He will come back to you, you just have to let him find his way back."
Edward furrowed a brow. Would he? Would Stede really come back when he heard what his leaving had reduced him to? He very clearly heard Stede's voice in his head when he sat down on the bed that night. The yellow coat still lay crumpled up in the corner under the window. It still smelled of lavender and tea.
"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.."