[ Stede doesn't intend to go to the beach, strictly speaking. Sort of in the sense that he hasn't got any intention on hand at all when he starts walking in the first place.
And in the sense that he doesn't really remember the bit between-- between after, and when he looks up and works out that he's somewhere else. There are tear tracks drying on his face. Maybe that's good. Maybe he's done crying. Chin up. All that. Bit cold. Not freezing. Also good.
He's having a hard time thinking, and that might be a good thing too, and then he's hearing the waves. There's a squeezing fist in his chest roundabout where he reckons his heart is.
Shouldn't be here, probably. Should have-- well, gone the other way, he supposes. Gone someplace else. Anywhere. Then again, it's late. He's late. Way late, too late, bound to be past the point where Ed would have waited, surely.
Will he think the worst of him? Was he secretly a little relieved not to be met, once he had a minute to think about it? Oh, that hurts to think about, actually. Oh. Makes him miss the part where he couldn't think at all. (Does it matter either way?)
It takes until he's set foot on the dock to register that someone's sitting on it. Long hair, grey in streaks, know it anywhere. Unfairly pretty.
Stede does one of the things that Stede does best: makes a high-pitched, half-wheezed, strangled noise in lieu of knowing what to do with himself. Which is arguably as good a greeting as any in this rugged world of piracy. ]
[Ed's head tilts up in response to the sound before his mind has even processed the certain familiarity of it. Then it settles in him, washes him over with horror and relief and a trembling sadness and anger all at once, and so he doesn't turn around, because he doesn't want Stede to see a second of that.
Not when he waited. The sky is turning pink around them, the sea is awake, and Stede, Stede surely thought he would be gone, and here he still is. Waiting.
How completely fucking embarrassing.
Why come now? Was it a debate that took him all night? Was it meant to be a last glance, of Ed on the horizon? (not entertained is the hope, hurting more than anything, that there's a good reason. that Stede came when he could.) He shudders out a breath, and considers the effectiveness of tossing himself off the dock rather than deal with what's happening and about to happen. Probably not ideal. Drowning is a slow sort of business.
What he wants is to open his mouth and say something cold. Biting. Here's your boat. Off you go. Something scary. Make it past the horizon before the sun is in the sky, or I'll claw your bloody heart from your chest.
When he opens his mouth, what tumbles out instead is pathetic.]
You said yes. 'Mmhm', you said.
[He feels incredibly naked without his beard, suddenly.]
[ It feels like a lifetime ago and it shouldn't. Ed's face. The nerves, the tentative excitement, the smiling.
He wants him to be happy. More than anything. He knows that it's possible. He's sure of it.
Ed's not happy now, though, is he? Because Stede is past the point of excusably late, because Stede was Stede and he did something that caused something that made someone miserable, and it caught him up in exactly the right way to make someone else miserable.
He shouldn't have come here. Selfish. ]
There was-- I got-- I ran into--
[ Into nothing. Watched someone kind of run into their own pistol. But he can't dredge the right words up, scrabbles fruitlessly at the metaphorical rock face of them looking for a handhold. Does it even matter? What's an excuse worth? What's talking it through worth? Not nearly enough. He just left Ed here waiting. Ed waited. Longer than he rightfully should have.
Stede Bonnet has always been what he is. He's never known how not to be, never been able to change it. The thread that links miserable, dead people all together. The one who ran away from his family, the one who smiled over Ed coming back and getting captured with the rest of them. The picture of a spoiled little rich boy.
Picking flowers cuts them off from their roots, he thinks. Breaks them. The only path left for them is to wilt and wither. ]
I'm sorry. [ The problem was always him. You defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things-
Things he thought he might be finished with for now: crying.
Things he can't seem to breathe around: the crying he was wrong about being done with. This is the nightmare scenario. ]
[Fuck, he just sounds so fucking sad, and the hurt leaks out of him through the cracks in Stede's voice, collecting somewhere they'll have to mop up later, because Ed can't listen to that and not do anything about it. Whether it's weak, or a bad decision, or something Blackbeard wouldn't do stops mattering, the way it always seems to with Stede.
In one of those moments of weakness, he'd lain his head against Stede's hand, cried the way he's crying now, and been offered forgiveness without even having to ask- what if we just pretended that whole murder idea never happened?
Stede deserves at least the same in return. He deserves a lot better than that.
(And he knows it, something vile hisses inside him. He almost left because he knows it.)
Ed stands and begins to cross the dock in short strides, hesitating only out of fear that if he moves too fast, Stede is gonna bolt into the underbrush like a startled deer.]
Fucking- don't cry, c'mon. Hey. Just- we can- [the fear that crept into certainty, he's not coming, he's not coming- it's still too raw.] What happened? What the fuck happened?
I happened! [ It's all panic and no anger, well within his wheelhouse of undignified shrillness. ] I keep, I keep happening to people and I don't even mean to, they're just around me--
[ And then they're ruined. They're about to be executed, or they sign their life away and lose their beard, or they wake up and he's abandoned them, or their brother is gone, or they put a hole in their head, like he's some impossible infection.
Will they even find the body? Will it just stay out there while people wonder, worry? Oh god, he doesn't think he could lead anyone back to it even if he wanted to. Couldn't find it again.
Stede takes a step back that turns into a crouch, a shaky hand over his mouth for a moment while he tries and fails to pull himself together. Baby Bonnet. Same as always.
The problem with everything being your fault is it's hard to know where to start explaining yourself.
But what happened, what happened, that's why weren't you here, I trusted you to be here. That's tonight. Last night. The sky is so beautiful, and for what. Keeping Ed here where he's not safe longer instead of getting the explanations over with, and for what. He probably could have been here sooner. He doesn't know. ]
Somebody else woke me up.
[ He cannot presently manage "don't cry," but he ought to try to manage "what the fuck happened?"
[It's becoming increasingly more obvious that there's a bigger picture he doesn't have here. The middle of the puzzle. Ed wipes a hand down his face; takes another couple of steps forward- right as Stede retreats, and it feels like a chase and his gut sinks to his shoes and he has to fight off a wave of nausea.
But that nasty little spark of something hopeful licks at his insides, too- it only makes sense, something fucking happened, something bad, Stede could have changed his mind or realized he was making a mistake or whatever the hell else, but then why would he look like this? Why would he be saying-]
Who?
[That's a start. That's easier to focus on, easier to ask than anything else he wants to, and Ed grabs onto it with both hands, with all the ugly parts of himself. Just for now. Just for right now.]
I'll fucking- are they out there? [For the first time he looks past Stede, half expecting to see someone still in pursuit, and when that gives him nothing, he looks Stede over. Properly. His shaking hands, the dried and fresh tear tracks, the completely uncharacteristic rumpled-ness of his entire being.
Stede could have left, he thinks, and he still would have hated him less than anyone who made him look like this.
Ed kneels, and he reaches out a hand to Stede's shoulder.]
[ It's a relief. The narrowed point of focus. Ed being Ed about it, all sort of sharp-eyed in that way he gets, like maybe he's not all gone. A tiny little anchor, a comfort against the way that are they out there inadvertently squeezes the air out of his lungs with an unseemly wheeze.
He left Ed sitting here and he's the one taking comfort. Chauncey is lying out there somewhere because of him, and Stede is the one taking comfort. He shouldn't be here, and Ed's hand at his shoulder shouldn't be a tether in a scattered maze, but he's here anyway and he doesn't know how to make it not do that. ]
Oh. [ A touch belated, distracted. An "oh" in the sense that he told himself he'd explain, and then immediately ran aground after all of one sentence. Needs the middle bit, though, doesn't he. The part of the map with the ink. Needs the part that actually technically kept him away. ] Walked me out a ways. Meant to kill me. Can't really blame him in-- in context.
[ He doesn't tend to agree with getting murdered, but it's not like it doesn't make sense why people try it when they explain. Usually.
Stede really thought there'd be a point between then and stopping walking where he calmed down. Felt like he could catch his breath. But even the part where he wasn't thinking wasn't very calm. ]
[It's beginning to glue together now, the picture fed as much by Stede's words as by what Ed wants to believe is true. Someone threatened Stede. Talked shit. Made him feel small, and stupid, all while intending to kill him. Like they were just playing with their food, and it makes his blood absolutely boil-]
Fuck this, I'm killing the fuckhead and then we're leaving.
[He makes to stand and head back into the trees, even though the sun is up, and everyone surely knows they're missing by now, and they really shouldn't be delaying their escape any further- but someone tried to take this from them. Tried to take Stede from him.
It'd only be right, he thinks, to kill someone for the first time since his father in return for attempting to kill Stede. Bloody, and slow and cruel enough that it empties out the disappointment in his gut that whatever they said to Stede, it almost fucking worked.]
[ Is it good that Ed's first plan of action is to go commit murder? It doesn't feel great. Then again, he's him. And that's the whole point, isn't it, that he's him no matter where he goes, that that's the problem. The instinct to temper, to gentle, to give an outlet, to soften. So it's... not not good. But it is hypothetical murder. And more than that it's Ed having a cry in the tub, all-- all torn up about himself about killing his father years and years ago--
A man can't know that and be fine with letting someone go off to do that to themselves again, surely. Any man. Even him. He's not worth all that.
Oh.
And there's the fact that there's no one left to kill, setting the rest aside. He's not doing wonderful work unseeing that.
Stede allows himself a second of unfortunate laughter, as a treat. Or if anyone asks he might say he allowed it, anyway. That it was very much definitely something he did on purpose, and it didn't just sort of pop and explode up from his chest like so many misdirected horrified bubbles before he could swallow it.
So he slaps one hand back over his mouth while it passes, and fumbles his way through trying to pull Ed back by the sleeve with his other hand. It's fine. This is fine. ]
He's already dead. [ Okay. Good. He can manage that at a stage whisper without having a whole time of it. Only part of a time of it. ] Very dead. Too dead to be killable, I think.
[ Stede is starting to suspect that he is not in an internal place very conducive to talking things through or making sense of them. Less than ideal.
What's important right now? What actually needs the focus?
Explaining, explaining things, because once Ed has the right perspective on him, it'll probably-- be over fast. He thinks. Never had to explain that sort of thing to someone before, people usually just immediately start in on it.
Keeping Ed from getting rounded back up, though, that's definitely the most important.
He signed his life away already. Stede can't be the reason he gets forced to follow through with it. ]
Dinghy?
[ There's a bespoke tone for "I have to talk to you but I don't think it's a talk we can have on land in a very short or safe amount of time," and Stede has just patented it.
He can cry on a boat just as well as anywhere else, really. ]
The words finish the job of stilling him where Stede's grip had started, and Ed unthinkingly covers the hand with one of his own. That would definitely explain the distress.]
Okay. It's alright. That's okay.
[Its obviously super not, but he doesn't really know what else to say.
All of sudden, he cannot believe he was about to stalk away from the dock and leave Stede here like this. What a completely fucking moronic shit-for-brains idea.]
Yeah, yes, c'mon then-
[He leans down to get a hold on Stede, to help steady his legs and give him something to lean on as he gets to his feet, and then they're lumbering down the planks, headed towards said dinghy.
There's still a lot to talk about or maybe completely ignore forever and seal away inside the 'if I don't look at this it doesn't exist' box, still a sharp burst of unresolved hurt in his chest, but every step they take towards the ocean makes Ed feel slightly less unhinged. He can only hope Stede feels even a fraction the same.]
Watch your step.
[He offers both hands, ready to help Stede climb in, but his eyes remain at their feet, afraid of what he might see elsewhere.]
[ It's not okay. It's nice of Ed to say so. It's nice of Ed to help him stand up, and nice of Ed to walk with him, and nice of Ed to offer his hands. He likes Ed's hands. It would be nice if they didn't have to worry about time or getting caught or anything else after all that. Spend a day holding hands instead. Maybe kissing. That was nice, too.
That's probably stupid. It's definitely stupid, considering. It just sounds like a day that would feel very quiet. The good sort of quiet, even when things aren't quiet at all.
Stede takes the help into the dinghy. ]
Thank you.
[ Almost funny how much more stable it feels to be standing in a choppy little boat instead of solid ground.
He maybe takes some liberties in holding onto Ed's hands a couple seconds longer than is strictly necessary for either of them. He'll own that. ]
[Stede is quiet. It's unsettling, at odds with the constant chatter, nervous rambling and delighted musings Ed has grown used to.
It makes him, despite everything, want to wrap Stede up in warmth and slice the ankles of anyone who so much as looks at him wrong. It makes him want to resurrect the fuckhead that got him feeling this way in the first place, just so he can shoot him point-blank.
It makes him feel like a cancerous growth on Stede's life, sucking the joy out of him.
If Stede holds on longer than necessary, it doesn't feel that way to Ed. He's not ready to let go until Stede is settled, and even then he lingers, some little voice in the back of his brain worried that Stede is going to change his mind and leap back out to splash his way to shore.
He grabs the oars and begins to row, fueled by the knowledge that he needs to get them the hell out of there as quickly as possible, but also by the adrenaline rush that has absolutely consumed him. Like a madman, he can't control what rushes out his mouth next. He doesn't want to say it, but it's like he fucking has to. Has to be sure that even if Stede is clearly not in his right mind, he at least knows what choice he's making.]
He couldn't even manage running away together without hurting Ed, could he? It filters in almost idly, distantly. Tightness of his voice, his posture, sterner lines of his expression. How long was he even sitting there? Definitely hours. All night. Some morning. Of course he feels like he should give fair notice. ]
Yeah.
[ Stede probably shouldn't miss that soft excitement from earlier. Ed and his big smile, what he looked like happy. Or he honestly shouldn't be surprised it's been chased off, maybe. He feels like he can't track the plot on what's worse.
He scrubs at his face with his sleeve. Is it dignified? No. Has dignity really been on the table since about the time he got woken up? Also no. No need to worry about it too much when he's at bedrock. ]
Sorry. Yes. I'm here. [ Debatable at best. ] Just need a minute.
[ He definitely doesn't want either of them to be back there no matter what else he still has to do, at least, so he is... definitely physically here. He's not sure if it's better for anybody that he managed it.
Doesn't make a very clean break, being on the water whenever he scrapes together the means for a human conversation. Sort of has them both stuck. Stede hadn't thought ahead to that. ]
[They row in quiet for some time, broken only by Ed reaching into his pocket to retrieve a familiar square of soft, red fabric. His heart can't really handle continuing to watch as tears idly slip down Stede's crumpled up face.
What he wants to do is hold him until they stop. He wants to have the perfect words to bring this together and hold it down safe and propel the dinghy smoothly halfway across the continent to somewhere they can hide alone to figure this all out.
All he can manage, instead, is to lean across the slats of the boat, between the ends of the oars, and pat Stede's face dry with tenderness as awkward as it is sincere.
There's so much contained in Stede right now; Ed can feel it like a rubber band drawn incredibly tight and given no reprieve. He can do that, maybe. Ed can try to cut him loose.]
Just say it. Say whatever you want to say right now.
[ Stede hovers in that for a minute. The little comfort. The sudden drawing a blank on whether or not tears stain silk, like every fabric he ever had a quiet cry into in his old study has all but vanished from memory. He hopes it doesn't stain. Very different, very tangible sort of ruining. The uncertainty of where to start.
Listening is always easier than talking, when it comes to this stuff.
History's greatest pirate, gently dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. Almost steering clear of him only to end up coming back. Throwing himself away.
[To his credit, Ed manages to keep his hand steady, even as his heart drowns in his stomach. Stede's face is dryer now, and it's a good thing, because steady or not, Ed's hand drops heavily into his lap. He holds Stede's gaze as much as the other man will allow, and does his very best to not just hear this as the simple rejection he instinctively feels it to be.
Instead, he composes himself and takes a deep shuddery breath, ironically enough taking a leaf out of his what would Stede do book. His hand comes back to rest on Stede's knee, and his face is open. Free of judgement.]
[ Okay. First step done. The first step is traditionally the hardest one, but Stede finds that it may have been the easiest thing to break off. The rest is stuck as some odd congealed mass. It wants to get out all at once even though the shape is unfamiliar in his throat.
He can't look at Ed's open face for as long as he might normally like. ]
There's something wrong with me.
[ Which is less of a confession and more admitting to what he already knew. ]
I thought maybe I could change it, or leave it behind, but it only came with me. Or it is me. So I only wound up ruining things. I didn't even think twice.
[ Him in general, he guesses. Soft. Stupid. So caught up not wanting to drown that he didn't let himself think about what he left to sink. ]
I left my family and I didn't even talk to them about it. I've gotten people killed. I'm always getting my crew into trouble because I don't know what I'm doing. Ed, it's my fault you had to give up everything. All because I couldn't-- all because I wanted to-- [ Be happy.
But that really would be a stupid thing to say. ]
I'm just a plague.
[ A thing that happens to people.
He always did hate when a Badminton had a point. ]
[God, but he's so fucking angry. Not at Stede. At whatever or whoever made him feel this way. At the asshole who, tonight, reaffirmed those feelings. He doesn't know how to bite it down, how to make it manageable- but it doesn't matter, in the end, because as Stede finishes talking, it rushes out of him and leaves him hollow with hurt.
There's so much he loves in Stede, admires- the bravery it took to start a new life, his compassion for his crew, every part of him that is unapologetically delicate, and those that are entirely unremitting. Fierce and clever and soft in a finely dressed, beautiful package.
But the doubt that floods from Stede could sink their little dinghy, and Ed considers whether or not he needs a fucking magnifying glass permanently glued to his face, if he's missing things this big about the person he wants to know best. Claims, if just to himself at this point, to love. Unapologetically, he's realizing at this point, may be closer from Stede's point of view to inescapably.
Stede talks like he thinks he's ruined Ed's life, like everything Ed's let go of was precious goods, and not weight he was so glad to unpack. A plague, but Ed doesn't feel sick. He feels like he was the blight, a rot that could have spread through Stede's veins, and instead Stede cleaned him out. Head to toe. Right down to his soul.]
Don't say that shit. You're the best thing in my life. One of the only good-
[It's not what he wants to say. Ed swallows and tries again. ]
I can't speak for your family. I can't speak for the crew, either- sidebar though, we both heard them fucking vouch for you, and pirates don't do that shit for someone who doesn't deserve it. Anyway, I can speak for myself, so just listen to me.
[ Ed leans forward and tries to duck his face low enough to catch Stede's eyes again, even when he's trying to avoid it. Then he gives up worrying about being subtle because they're so fucking far past this right now, and instead reaches out to grasp Stede's chin and tilt his face towards Ed's.]
I had fucking nothing, before you. Nothing I actually cared about. And if you think that me caring about you is some awful thing and you don't want it, that's fine. [His mouth quivers in a way that suggests it's decidedly not fine.] But you don't get to decide how I feel about it. I didn't give up anything I wouldn't happily get the fuck rid of a hundred more times over. You're what I want.
[He adds, in a desperate last ditch attempt to draw attention away from the thinning thread of his voice and bring some fucking levity to it all,]
You're not a plague. Can't even fold your own socks.
It's everything he ever wanted. Reminder of a place where he has a place. Made a place, more like, came in as himself and carved a space against all odds that the people around him kept. Someone who's seen him and knows him and can still say they want him, like wanting him is easy, and him fitting is easy. No hoops to jump through, no magic switch to flip that he was born missing, no amount of himself that he's supposed to somehow choke back.
Like Ed couldn't do or be or choose anything else in the world that would be a hundred times better in a heartbeat. Smart and funny and brave and creative and-- and respected. Knows how to put on the right face with people and have it work.
Good. Better than he thinks he is when the layers get peeled back, no matter what's under those layers. ]
I can fold socks. [ There are important tenets of anchoring a person more properly down to Earth than in the mental spiral they were very carefully cultivating. Time. Distance. A little touch. In some special cases, their own vague confusion.
He can just about latch onto socks as an entry point. A foothold in the rest, which is big and terrifying in the least terrifying way that a thing can still be terrifying. It's like Ed threw him a brain lifeline. Can he fold them? He must do. Can't be hard. He doesn't have socks right now so he can't prove it, but he's pretty sure he could.
That's probably not a grand place to stop after I had fucking nothing, before you and you're what I want. ]
Do you ever... do you ever feel like you pulled a fuckery on someone, only you can't figure out how you did it?
[ He's never tricked anyone into liking him in his life, let alone anyone half as clever as Edward, and yet?? ]
[It'd be enough to make him laugh, normally, that that is of course what Stede responds to first, before anything else, that teasing him worked; but Ed's just so tired, and all he can manage is a fond little grin.
A grin that dips into something sadder and confusingly fonder all at once, when Stede asks him a question. Sadder, because Ed wonders how long he's felt like this on his own. Like Ed wasn't obsessed with every word he spoke and choice he made, like it was all going to crumble when Ed, what- saw who he really was? As if he hasn't already. And that's why he can't help but keep smiling, shaking his head. Because there was no fuckery in the way Stede comforted him at his worst, or immediately saw more in him than most people bothered to, or, or, or.]
You'd have to be an award winning actor, mate. Real globe trotting cut-above-the-rest phenomenon. And frankly, no offence, you're not garbage, but you're not that good.
[Cautious and then firm, he grips Stede's hand.]
You can't figure it out, because there's nothing to figure out. It's just this. [He squeezes their hands together, insistent.] Yeah? Soon as I met you. You trying to tell me you pulled off a fuckery on Blackbeard, strangled half to death? Limping around everywhere? Nah. Not a chance. Give it up.
[ Maybe one of the nicest things about this dinghy is that Stede can't feasibly imagine Chauncey fitting in here with them. Or it's that Ed is just very good at warding off ghosts. Because he feels like he might have a whole new fake Badminton to cope with otherwise.
He might still. He's not sure. Floating in the water, maybe. Swimming up behind them. All gory, all creepy. Sweaty-handed and flailing.
He doesn't think Ed would let go of him, if he got pulled on by something that isn't real and pitched overboard. He thinks Ed would probably hold onto him even if they both drowned, and it's a lot more terrifying to picture than anything from the past few hours. ]
Yeah. [ Stede stares down at their hands in a very cool pensive way. Not in the way of someone with the emotional processing power of oatmeal. ] You're making it hard to argue with you. Which I'd normally think is rude.
[ Where's the fine tonal line between sounding mildly insulted, but also like all of that is the sort of stuff he used to hope he'd hear from someone and then quietly made himself smother out the hoping and then circled back around to secretly hoping to hear it at some point anyway?
It's just-- it's just he can't have it both ways. Logistically. So it actually is hard to argue with.
Is he so whatever it is that he is that he can't stop it and can't hide it and can't fix it? In which case Ed definitely already knew what he was looking at when he kissed him. Or has he pulled off a magical feat of corruption and theatre and trickery with such finesse that Ed can't even conceive of it as a trick? Even though if he had that kind of talent, he would've had an easier time overall for basically his whole life and wouldn't have half the problems he has.
There is so much math on this table and none of it is coming out right. Fuck. ]
Do you forgive me for getting your beard executed?
[ Catch Stede in the literal next tag like "babe I think I may be mentally or emotionally compromised" but right now this is very vital to his process. ]
[ In this rough and tumble seafaring life, sometimes pirates simply end up thrown into some middle of nowhere jails together.
Who amongst their population hasn't? Perfectly normal, perfectly natural. Peak adventurousness, honestly. Kind of a fun story, even.
Stede naturally kicks up a little fuss the entire way there, though. On principle. He kicks up another little fuss about the fact that no one has opted to allow him and Ed to bunk together even though they got brought in together. It's honestly really rude?? That's his friend????? He hasn't seen him since they got apprehended, how is he supposed to just cope with that?
Ghastly conduct, really, very atrocious. He makes sure to tell the guards he's seen latrines with more optimal layouts than these cells. They do not care.
Obviously the next most vital step is to stick his face up to the bars and immediately start on some bullshit. ]
Psst! [ World's loudest 'psst' award. Subtlety is for men who are in the mood to think about things they are doing. Someone probably tells him to shut up from a different cell and he doesn't actually give a shit about it. ] Ed? You in here? You didn't get too roughed up by those brigands, did you?
[ Like he guesses they can burn the building down if they've been up to that sort of nonsense, but it's better if they haven't been getting up to that at all. ]
[Ed's heaved through the door himself mere seconds later, kicking and hissing, because a pirate doesn't let himself be carried into a cell. There's blood flecked in his beard and around his collar, but no worries. It's not his.]
Don't fucking touch me!
[It's as much for show as it is a legitimate frustration. He hates this part, the arms bound and hands grabbing and hair pulled; it all makes him feel more trapped than an actual cell. Sours his gut.
He gets one more sharp elbow in somebody's side, and then he's tossed into the cell beside Stede's. Not even the same one! What the hell kind of operation is this? It's the principle of the matter that really ticks him off. What kind of captor doesn't at least toss his prisoners into cells two by two? Whatever. Ed spits after them as all but one of the men leave, and then slumps back to sit his ass down on the filthy floor.
As if they're just having lunch in the captain's quarters, he looks up and over at Stede through the bars between them and gives him a relieved little smile. He doesn't look beat up or anything. It calms him down a little.]
Don't worry. Every good pirate is familiar with temporary imprisonment. You alright?
[ Aha! Asked and answered. Wow. He can only dream of needing that many people to barely manage to herd him into a cell one day. Ed is beautiful to watch at work, really, he thinks like he doesn't think Ed is beautiful to watch just generally. You know, like friends think.
Seeing him mostly unharmed and being neighbor enough for a little chat is all Stede needs to start perking back up. ]
Oh, yeah. Yeah. Totally fine. I met a fella named Scab in processing. Talked him into writing a letter to his sister to try to patch up their relationship. So you know, I'm having a really authentic experience!
[ Shoutout to some random future adventure where doing that karmically saves their lives somehow.
He raps his knuckles against the wall behind him. Yep. It sure is an authentic wall. ]
Kind of reminds me of school. If I'm honest.
[ Let that be the first hint to the universe that at some point in this prison experience, Stede Bonnet is going to once again go off the fucking rails. ]
Uh, yeah, I don't know if that's the typical prisoner experience- [shut up, he can hear a voice annoyingly similar to Lucius' saying. don't ruin this for him.] Probably better, actually. Now we got a friend on the inside. That's gonna come in handy, potentially.
[Ed shuffles a little closer to the side of the cell, because he can lower his voice to whisper to Stede that way. Like yeah, the guard isn't paying any fucking attention at all, but it's obviously the smart move to make. He curls a hand around one bar, annoyed that he can't do his usual Stede-shoulder-grab instead.]
So, what d'ya think? Time for a lesson on escapism?
[ Stede exists in a world without dignity, so he looks chuffed about getting a positive spin. It didn't verge overboard into patronizing, anyway, so worst-case Ed is probably trying very hard to be supportive. Which should obviously be encouraged as a general trait.
He also has himself a little scoot closer to the side of the cell with an Ed fixture. This is very important for strategizing. ]
Yes. Absolutely. I'm at your disposal.
[ He'll have to remember to be annoyed about getting this outfit dirty later. Sacrifices have to be made sometimes. Not like he expected a life of adventure to be clean. ]
[He wouldn't say as much out loud, (because it's basically the opposite of cool) but as Ed grips the bar tight and feels absolutely no shift of weight, the completely immovable barrier between them, something in his brain hisses, don't you just wanna go apeshit?
And yes. Yes he does.]
Yeah, excellent, just follow my lead.
[And then without so much as a warning, he's reaching as best he can through the bars, grabbing Stede by the collar, and hauling him in close. His other hand remains wrapped around the bar to ensure Stede doesn't headbutt it and knock himself out or something. He raises his voice, although it's not as threatening as it could be. Doesn't feel great to yell super loud in Stede's face.]
What'd you say to me? I don't give a shit how unharmed and fucking comfortable the supposed captain of this shithole wants you, I'll mess that pretty boy face of yours right up.
[Just in case Stede can't see through his admittedly brilliant acting, Ed shakes his hair forward to hide his face from the guard, and winks.]
[ So much happens all at once. Maybe it's not "so much" objectively, but it's definitely happening all at once. Stede gets yanked in with a sincerely startled oop. Ed's hand probably does keep him from knocking himself out on the bar, but the cool thing about that is that since Stede didn't get knocked out, he can pretend he's very savvy and avoided it on purpose.
Ed yell at Stede? Ed yell at Stede like the enemy? Jail for Ed for a thousand more years. Okay, not really, Stede just makes a journey through startled and kind of offended and visibly confused on his path to full comprehension.
And here he was momentarily wondering if he'd somehow managed to hit a sore spot by being at someone's disposal. Wow. Ed is so good at basically everything that's cool.
Like theatre, and having big brown eyes. ]
Yeah, well! [ Well!!!!!! ] I'd challenge you to say that to my pretty boy face, but you've clearly already done that. So. Unhand me, you...
[ What's a general Gentleman Pirate-y insult he could use that wouldn't be too mean to Ed. ]
You cur!
[ Sure. Yes. That wasn't too mean. They are both definitely equally very good at acting. ]
[The moment that Stede seems to think Ed is actually legitimately angry is in the top ten worst moments of Ed's life. No more yelling at Stede for the sake of a fuckery without fair warning, he vows to himself. Really honestly should have been a rule already.
He watches Stede recover and throw himself into the role remarkably quickly though, and it gives Ed a surely misplaced little zing of pride. It's also hard to keep an angry sort of pirate-y face on when he wants to grin in delight at Stede calling him a cur. The resulting expression is a weird, deeply unpleasant looking grimace as he forces his mouth to stay down. Super weird.
It's seemingly worth it, because the anxious looking guard takes a couple of hesitating steps forward, apparently less brave without his mates around, and half-heartedly tells them to quit it. What did you say, um, about captain? Ed ignores him.]
Uh, I won't unhand you, actually! I'll do the opposite of unhand you! I'll double hand you!
[He lets go of the bar now, Stede's head being safe and all, to scrunch up Stede's jacket in his other hand as well, and give him shake with exactly 0 force behind it. The absolutely batshit look in his eyes implores Stede to play it up.]
[ Finally, being a big drama nerd and minoring in Ed translation thread together for the inevitable payoff. Stede muppets it up to a level he considers appropriate.
You can't over-sell a jailhouse scuffle, in his opinion. ]
How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?
[ This is actually ideal, because getting double handed is free real estate to get ahold of one of Ed's wrists. Which does temporarily settle some nameless, harrowing feeling about being separated that he was contending with. Maybe it's a touch too gentle, but, well, he's him. If something he does comes off as too soft or ineffective, people tend not to be very surprised about it.
May as well play to his strengths for the sake of the intricate ritual. ]
When the man in charge hears about this, he won't be lenient.
[ Probably no one has ever had as much fun being in jail as they are having. Good for them. ]
[The guard looks good and proper worried now, and is exactly as stupid as Ed was hoping- clearly underestimating Stede and his propensity for chaos, the dude beelines to his cell door and fumbles to unlock it. Under the clanking of metal, Ed hisses to Stede, ]
When I signal, duck left, and if you can, sweep his legs like I showed you.
[And then the guard is on them, on Stede, and Ed sort of sees red, blood boiling in a very distracting way, so that he almost forgets to give the word.]
Move!
[And as Stede hopefully ducks left, Ed lets go of him to seize the guard by his shirt and yank him down to the right, slamming his head full force against the bars. No safety grip to protect him.]
[ Ha. Sucks to be that guard. Either get better at it or find a new career, in Stede's personal very important opinion. Not that anyone of any skill level could be immune to their special brand of masterful trickery, probably.
Mostly it's so masterful because it's Ed's masterful trickery. Stede will be proud to have a hand on the ball in any case.
Which is to say, he ducks left. It's only the fact that they operate on the same singular and very dumb wavelength that makes this successful. Literally anyone else and Stede would have to be like "okay but whose left," or he'd guess wrong and become this man's accidental safety cushion, but not today. Today is a day for moderate success.
Anyway he fails to sweep the legs. He does kick the guard in the ankles very hard instead, though. Given the sturdiness and quality of Stede's standard heel, it's the next best option. Maybe something crunches. Who's to say? Not Stede, who doesn't care and doesn't plan to think about it. ]
Terminology question: does it count as looting if they're not a corpse? Or is this more of a "general thievery"?
[ Local man just rooting through a guard's uniform like a feral little weirdo on main.
He can't say he sees the personal appeal in this part of things, more power to all the pirates out there who are into it, but as needs must. See, the most basic and pressing equation overruling all other thought processes is that keys = no more separate cells. They were apart for so long after getting arrested already, so putting them in different spots was just uncalled for and needs to be remedied. Also it's bad that they are in jail, but that's so secondary. ]
[ It takes a lot of doing, catching up with Ed to start with. Blackbeard. The Kraken. All of the above. A lot of apologizing to the crew, a lot of explanations both ways, just to sort of get started.
Stede left another family, when he went home. One that actually-- well, one where he actually fit. That grew on each other. And everything apparently went pretty fucking poorly at some point after that. It wouldn't be fair not to apologize, take ownership.
It's his fault, really. Things won't be the same between him and anyone involved again, probably.
And maybe he does ruin things, and maybe he knows that, and maybe it's not fair to swan back in and pick up what's left of his crew and go trying to track Ed down to make things right. Maybe he's selfish for it. But he can't really bear the thought of not trying. Whatever happens, if absolutely nothing else, he wants Ed to know.
They're still a lot of mediocre pirates. Slightly moreso than usual, really, with their numbers cut. It's a big part of why it takes so much time to get anything lined up. At least half of their schedule is trying not to screw something up so badly that they die. At least one nice thing about Blackbeard being such a big name is that keeping track isn't hard.
So some shoddy piracy, some shoddy Fuckeries, some unconventional methods. Stealing ships. Using fake names, because it defeats the whole point if he goes about advertising himself. Stede Bonnet is dead. He got mauled and/or run over and/or crushed by a piano and/or was actually quite ill and/or probably a few other things that trickled into the hearsay. And that's fine. Stede hears the funeral was nice enough.
The biggest miracle of all is wrangling a time to get at Ed alone for a start. People give him a berth most of the time, but it always seems like Izzy is playing the hanger-on. But they manage, even if the window is likely to be far too brief. The universe does do that for Stede an awful lot. Bend some rules.
It's a quiet night. Some port back-alley, a couple of frankly embarrassing close misses already out the window. He makes his intersection, though. He manages. Probably mostly because Ed stopped to have a swig of something that Stede can smell from here.
(One part painful to look at, see the fallout for himself, one part remembering Ed is beautiful.)
Now, of course, it's only juuust occurring to Stede that he never once thought ahead to exactly what he'd say first. ]
You changed your look. It's very avant-garde.
[ Fuckin nailed it. ]
Edited 2022-04-12 14:52 (UTC)
the temptation to just make this that one Korg line
[There's a bottomless hole in Edward's chest, and it eats everything.
It razes through ships and ports, meat and moonshine, swallows pleading and devours every inch of ocean until there's nothing left. Until the fire starts to feel cold and the meat is tasteless and the violence makes him sick to his stomach. Even the grog, he thinks, taking another swig, is harder pressed to do it's job.
Even Izzy, by some miracle, avoided him for a week after he received the news. The crew all watched him with wary eyes when he finally emerged from the captain's quarters, hair tangled around his face like briar, black mask streaked, and held their breath waiting for him to explode. Blackbeard, on a timer. He can still feel it ticking down inside. He's more reckless, knowing it's there.
He's halfway gone when Stede steps out in front of him, and he has to assume it's his sick, substance riddled brain playing tricks. That doesn't make it any less of a gut punch. The gasp he emits into the cold night air would be embarrassing, but there's no one to hear it, because he can't be here there's no fucking way, and Blackbeard shutters his eyes and draws himself up as much as he can when his insides are sloshing about like heavy finery in ocean water.]
I'm not afraid of a ghost. Get fucked.
[Blackbeard is a coat that gets heavier to wear every day, but it's better than the chill that seeps down his back the longer he takes in the details he had forgotten, each styled curl of hair and soft line on Stede's face. All the parts that make a sum of a man who didn't want him, and didn't say goodbye. It hurts. He takes another drink.]
[ It's not... the absolute worst case scenario. Stede doesn't know what worst case would look like, hadn't gotten around to that one yet. He also hadn't let himself get carried away by coming up with a best case scenario, either, a decision which looks more and more like a good call here in the moment.
He sees the familiar in one moment and feels like one of those moths that get pinned to boards for studying in the next. Maybe he should be more put off by it, but he can't pretend he isn't studying Ed right back. Fair's fair.
Ed probably isn't in a condition for the bulk of the multiple conversations that need having. That seems clear enough. Not the one where they might catch up on exactly what happened, all the in-betweens. Not the one about punishing the crew for Stede's personal mistakes, which is the most important thing objectively.
If a few of those things are off the table until later, then this has to be about getting a good enough foot in the door to get to later. ]
Well, I wouldn't want to scare you if I was one. [ Not that ghosts in most stories ever sound like they're trying to scare people. If they sound like anything, it's stuck.
Only one of two of them seems especially stuck. ]
I just need a minute to talk to you. That's the whole reason I'm here, Ed.
[Ed says it more like he's trying to convince himself, because he is. He wrenches a laugh from somewhere black and accusing, pure Blackbeard.]
Now you want to talk! Now you...
[Ed staggers a single step forward. He pants and feels himself rocked with fresh outrage. New anger. It feels so fucking real; nothing like the arguments he constructs in his head, where they tread the same ground every time.
(Where Ed gets to say everything he wanted to say. Where he doesn't shake or embarrass himself. Where he wins the interaction.
He imagines a miracle resurrection from death where they kiss as often as he imagines telling Stede he never cared for him at all. Deep down, he knows which one he wanted more.)
Reality is him gaping at Stede, mouth dry and eyes wet, sobriety creeping nastily in at the edges of his brain. Nothing like realizing the love of your life and source of your worst grief isn't actually dead to kill your buzz.]
They said you were dead. [God, but he's glad he's not-] You should have fucking stayed that way. [-because he missed him. Because now he can-]
[ I don't feel shit, he says. Definitely not true. Ed's an easy read when he's upset. Always was. Curse of a very large, tender heart.
There was, between leaving home and finding what was left of his crew, a stretch of time where Stede entertained the idea of a simple reunion. Not easy, per se, and his mind had had plenty of time to circle the prospect that maybe Ed was happier without him as much as Mary and the children had been. Or maybe the opposite, maybe too much damage done to that tender heart to do anything but send Stede right back off, but-- straightforward, at least.
Between finding his crew and getting here was even a short-lived dream of simply making it to the Revenge quickly at all. Beating out the rumor mill, at least.
Fast and straightforward have been off the table for a grip, now.
All that's really left is messy. ]
Drawing my weapon is the exact opposite of what I just said.
[ Does Stede expect that to turn the angry tides? No. He expects he'll need to take the rest of his deserved lumps before he can get through properly. But he wouldn't have a notorious issue with wishful thinking if he didn't give it a shot. ]
[If he runs Stede through, maybe he'll begin to understand how it felt. How Ed feels. Like he's gasping for air every time he so much as moves, and every inhalation is just another reminder of where he is, a trigger for that hot pain to flash through him, an ache that makes him unable to sit still, and it loops like that, an ouroboros of hurting and remembering and hurting again.
He rests a hand on his sword, but doesn't actually draw it. Hard to be steady, when you're in four fingers and some change. Easier to nick something important. Something that can't be healed.
It feels like they're standing on a chunk of earth out in some void. The bottle in Ed's hand has an odd gravity, too heavy and wet with condensation. He drops it, because it doesn't matter. The wind whips past the end of the alley, a sound like distant howling. Ed wavers; Blackbeard, Edward. The bruise blue bags under his eyes are almost as big as the pleading look he levels at Stede. His fingers flex around the hilt of his sword.]
[ Being told to show some self preservation by the person who is probably angrier at you than anybody else in the world (the person whose heart you've utterly broken, most accurately, but if he's good at anything it's failing to conceptualize that much) is something that can be so personal.
Stede feels hopeful in light of it, despite everything. Grateful. He holds his hands up, fingers spread, the definition of "I will personally be having nothing to do with my sword."
It's Ed. Ultimately. Ed won't kill him. Or if it's that bad somehow, if it turns out he would, well. Self preservation is for men who have something on the horizon that they need to reach at all costs, and here he's already gone and reached it.
It's hard to spit out a lengthy list of things that are important to say. The I missed you, the what you did to my crew was unjustified and you know it, the I can explain, please I can try to explain, the I am shatteringly head over heels in love with you and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to prove it if there's even half a chance you'd let me-- ]
I'm sorry I left you. For starters.
[ Fairness has to win out over importance, sometimes. He owed this much to Ed before he owed anything to anyone else in the fallout. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
we got canon divergence for polyonymous
And in the sense that he doesn't really remember the bit between-- between after, and when he looks up and works out that he's somewhere else. There are tear tracks drying on his face. Maybe that's good. Maybe he's done crying. Chin up. All that. Bit cold. Not freezing. Also good.
He's having a hard time thinking, and that might be a good thing too, and then he's hearing the waves. There's a squeezing fist in his chest roundabout where he reckons his heart is.
Shouldn't be here, probably. Should have-- well, gone the other way, he supposes. Gone someplace else. Anywhere. Then again, it's late. He's late. Way late, too late, bound to be past the point where Ed would have waited, surely.
Will he think the worst of him? Was he secretly a little relieved not to be met, once he had a minute to think about it? Oh, that hurts to think about, actually. Oh. Makes him miss the part where he couldn't think at all. (Does it matter either way?)
It takes until he's set foot on the dock to register that someone's sitting on it. Long hair, grey in streaks, know it anywhere. Unfairly pretty.
Stede does one of the things that Stede does best: makes a high-pitched, half-wheezed, strangled noise in lieu of knowing what to do with himself. Which is arguably as good a greeting as any in this rugged world of piracy. ]
we got pain and suffering is what we got bro
Not when he waited. The sky is turning pink around them, the sea is awake, and Stede, Stede surely thought he would be gone, and here he still is. Waiting.
How completely fucking embarrassing.
Why come now? Was it a debate that took him all night? Was it meant to be a last glance, of Ed on the horizon? (not entertained is the hope, hurting more than anything, that there's a good reason. that Stede came when he could.) He shudders out a breath, and considers the effectiveness of tossing himself off the dock rather than deal with what's happening and about to happen. Probably not ideal. Drowning is a slow sort of business.
What he wants is to open his mouth and say something cold. Biting. Here's your boat. Off you go. Something scary. Make it past the horizon before the sun is in the sky, or I'll claw your bloody heart from your chest.
When he opens his mouth, what tumbles out instead is pathetic.]
You said yes. 'Mmhm', you said.
[He feels incredibly naked without his beard, suddenly.]
no subject
He wants him to be happy. More than anything. He knows that it's possible. He's sure of it.
Ed's not happy now, though, is he? Because Stede is past the point of excusably late, because Stede was Stede and he did something that caused something that made someone miserable, and it caught him up in exactly the right way to make someone else miserable.
He shouldn't have come here. Selfish. ]
There was-- I got-- I ran into--
[ Into nothing. Watched someone kind of run into their own pistol. But he can't dredge the right words up, scrabbles fruitlessly at the metaphorical rock face of them looking for a handhold. Does it even matter? What's an excuse worth? What's talking it through worth? Not nearly enough. He just left Ed here waiting. Ed waited. Longer than he rightfully should have.
Stede Bonnet has always been what he is. He's never known how not to be, never been able to change it. The thread that links miserable, dead people all together. The one who ran away from his family, the one who smiled over Ed coming back and getting captured with the rest of them. The picture of a spoiled little rich boy.
Picking flowers cuts them off from their roots, he thinks. Breaks them. The only path left for them is to wilt and wither. ]
I'm sorry. [ The problem was always him. You defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things-
Things he thought he might be finished with for now: crying.
Things he can't seem to breathe around: the crying he was wrong about being done with. This is the nightmare scenario. ]
no subject
In one of those moments of weakness, he'd lain his head against Stede's hand, cried the way he's crying now, and been offered forgiveness without even having to ask- what if we just pretended that whole murder idea never happened?
Stede deserves at least the same in return. He deserves a lot better than that.
(And he knows it, something vile hisses inside him. He almost left because he knows it.)
Ed stands and begins to cross the dock in short strides, hesitating only out of fear that if he moves too fast, Stede is gonna bolt into the underbrush like a startled deer.]
Fucking- don't cry, c'mon. Hey. Just- we can- [the fear that crept into certainty, he's not coming, he's not coming- it's still too raw.] What happened? What the fuck happened?
no subject
I happened! [ It's all panic and no anger, well within his wheelhouse of undignified shrillness. ] I keep, I keep happening to people and I don't even mean to, they're just around me--
[ And then they're ruined. They're about to be executed, or they sign their life away and lose their beard, or they wake up and he's abandoned them, or their brother is gone, or they put a hole in their head, like he's some impossible infection.
Will they even find the body? Will it just stay out there while people wonder, worry? Oh god, he doesn't think he could lead anyone back to it even if he wanted to. Couldn't find it again.
Stede takes a step back that turns into a crouch, a shaky hand over his mouth for a moment while he tries and fails to pull himself together. Baby Bonnet. Same as always.
The problem with everything being your fault is it's hard to know where to start explaining yourself.
But what happened, what happened, that's why weren't you here, I trusted you to be here. That's tonight. Last night. The sky is so beautiful, and for what. Keeping Ed here where he's not safe longer instead of getting the explanations over with, and for what. He probably could have been here sooner. He doesn't know. ]
Somebody else woke me up.
[ He cannot presently manage "don't cry," but he ought to try to manage "what the fuck happened?"
He owes Ed that much, at least. ]
no subject
But that nasty little spark of something hopeful licks at his insides, too- it only makes sense, something fucking happened, something bad, Stede could have changed his mind or realized he was making a mistake or whatever the hell else, but then why would he look like this? Why would he be saying-]
Who?
[That's a start. That's easier to focus on, easier to ask than anything else he wants to, and Ed grabs onto it with both hands, with all the ugly parts of himself. Just for now. Just for right now.]
I'll fucking- are they out there? [For the first time he looks past Stede, half expecting to see someone still in pursuit, and when that gives him nothing, he looks Stede over. Properly. His shaking hands, the dried and fresh tear tracks, the completely uncharacteristic rumpled-ness of his entire being.
Stede could have left, he thinks, and he still would have hated him less than anyone who made him look like this.
Ed kneels, and he reaches out a hand to Stede's shoulder.]
What did they do to you?
no subject
He left Ed sitting here and he's the one taking comfort. Chauncey is lying out there somewhere because of him, and Stede is the one taking comfort. He shouldn't be here, and Ed's hand at his shoulder shouldn't be a tether in a scattered maze, but he's here anyway and he doesn't know how to make it not do that. ]
Oh. [ A touch belated, distracted. An "oh" in the sense that he told himself he'd explain, and then immediately ran aground after all of one sentence. Needs the middle bit, though, doesn't he. The part of the map with the ink. Needs the part that actually technically kept him away. ] Walked me out a ways. Meant to kill me. Can't really blame him in-- in context.
[ He doesn't tend to agree with getting murdered, but it's not like it doesn't make sense why people try it when they explain. Usually.
Stede really thought there'd be a point between then and stopping walking where he calmed down. Felt like he could catch his breath. But even the part where he wasn't thinking wasn't very calm. ]
Everything he said was right.
no subject
Fuck this, I'm killing the fuckhead and then we're leaving.
[He makes to stand and head back into the trees, even though the sun is up, and everyone surely knows they're missing by now, and they really shouldn't be delaying their escape any further- but someone tried to take this from them. Tried to take Stede from him.
It'd only be right, he thinks, to kill someone for the first time since his father in return for attempting to kill Stede. Bloody, and slow and cruel enough that it empties out the disappointment in his gut that whatever they said to Stede, it almost fucking worked.]
no subject
A man can't know that and be fine with letting someone go off to do that to themselves again, surely. Any man. Even him. He's not worth all that.
Oh.
And there's the fact that there's no one left to kill, setting the rest aside. He's not doing wonderful work unseeing that.
Stede allows himself a second of unfortunate laughter, as a treat. Or if anyone asks he might say he allowed it, anyway. That it was very much definitely something he did on purpose, and it didn't just sort of pop and explode up from his chest like so many misdirected horrified bubbles before he could swallow it.
So he slaps one hand back over his mouth while it passes, and fumbles his way through trying to pull Ed back by the sleeve with his other hand. It's fine. This is fine. ]
He's already dead. [ Okay. Good. He can manage that at a stage whisper without having a whole time of it. Only part of a time of it. ] Very dead. Too dead to be killable, I think.
[ Stede is starting to suspect that he is not in an internal place very conducive to talking things through or making sense of them. Less than ideal.
What's important right now? What actually needs the focus?
Explaining, explaining things, because once Ed has the right perspective on him, it'll probably-- be over fast. He thinks. Never had to explain that sort of thing to someone before, people usually just immediately start in on it.
Keeping Ed from getting rounded back up, though, that's definitely the most important.
He signed his life away already. Stede can't be the reason he gets forced to follow through with it. ]
Dinghy?
[ There's a bespoke tone for "I have to talk to you but I don't think it's a talk we can have on land in a very short or safe amount of time," and Stede has just patented it.
He can cry on a boat just as well as anywhere else, really. ]
i lied one more before i sleep
The words finish the job of stilling him where Stede's grip had started, and Ed unthinkingly covers the hand with one of his own. That would definitely explain the distress.]
Okay. It's alright. That's okay.
[Its obviously super not, but he doesn't really know what else to say.
All of sudden, he cannot believe he was about to stalk away from the dock and leave Stede here like this. What a completely fucking moronic shit-for-brains idea.]
Yeah, yes, c'mon then-
[He leans down to get a hold on Stede, to help steady his legs and give him something to lean on as he gets to his feet, and then they're lumbering down the planks, headed towards said dinghy.
There's still a lot to talk about or maybe completely ignore forever and seal away inside the 'if I don't look at this it doesn't exist' box, still a sharp burst of unresolved hurt in his chest, but every step they take towards the ocean makes Ed feel slightly less unhinged. He can only hope Stede feels even a fraction the same.]
Watch your step.
[He offers both hands, ready to help Stede climb in, but his eyes remain at their feet, afraid of what he might see elsewhere.]
no subject
That's probably stupid. It's definitely stupid, considering. It just sounds like a day that would feel very quiet. The good sort of quiet, even when things aren't quiet at all.
Stede takes the help into the dinghy. ]
Thank you.
[ Almost funny how much more stable it feels to be standing in a choppy little boat instead of solid ground.
He maybe takes some liberties in holding onto Ed's hands a couple seconds longer than is strictly necessary for either of them. He'll own that. ]
no subject
[Stede is quiet. It's unsettling, at odds with the constant chatter, nervous rambling and delighted musings Ed has grown used to.
It makes him, despite everything, want to wrap Stede up in warmth and slice the ankles of anyone who so much as looks at him wrong. It makes him want to resurrect the fuckhead that got him feeling this way in the first place, just so he can shoot him point-blank.
It makes him feel like a cancerous growth on Stede's life, sucking the joy out of him.
If Stede holds on longer than necessary, it doesn't feel that way to Ed. He's not ready to let go until Stede is settled, and even then he lingers, some little voice in the back of his brain worried that Stede is going to change his mind and leap back out to splash his way to shore.
He grabs the oars and begins to row, fueled by the knowledge that he needs to get them the hell out of there as quickly as possible, but also by the adrenaline rush that has absolutely consumed him. Like a madman, he can't control what rushes out his mouth next. He doesn't want to say it, but it's like he fucking has to. Has to be sure that even if Stede is clearly not in his right mind, he at least knows what choice he's making.]
We're leaving. So. Last chance. Yeah.
no subject
He couldn't even manage running away together without hurting Ed, could he? It filters in almost idly, distantly. Tightness of his voice, his posture, sterner lines of his expression. How long was he even sitting there? Definitely hours. All night. Some morning. Of course he feels like he should give fair notice. ]
Yeah.
[ Stede probably shouldn't miss that soft excitement from earlier. Ed and his big smile, what he looked like happy. Or he honestly shouldn't be surprised it's been chased off, maybe. He feels like he can't track the plot on what's worse.
He scrubs at his face with his sleeve. Is it dignified? No. Has dignity really been on the table since about the time he got woken up? Also no. No need to worry about it too much when he's at bedrock. ]
Sorry. Yes. I'm here. [ Debatable at best. ] Just need a minute.
[ He definitely doesn't want either of them to be back there no matter what else he still has to do, at least, so he is... definitely physically here. He's not sure if it's better for anybody that he managed it.
Doesn't make a very clean break, being on the water whenever he scrapes together the means for a human conversation. Sort of has them both stuck. Stede hadn't thought ahead to that. ]
no subject
What he wants to do is hold him until they stop. He wants to have the perfect words to bring this together and hold it down safe and propel the dinghy smoothly halfway across the continent to somewhere they can hide alone to figure this all out.
All he can manage, instead, is to lean across the slats of the boat, between the ends of the oars, and pat Stede's face dry with tenderness as awkward as it is sincere.
There's so much contained in Stede right now; Ed can feel it like a rubber band drawn incredibly tight and given no reprieve. He can do that, maybe. Ed can try to cut him loose.]
Just say it. Say whatever you want to say right now.
no subject
Listening is always easier than talking, when it comes to this stuff.
History's greatest pirate, gently dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. Almost steering clear of him only to end up coming back. Throwing himself away.
Cracked up on the rocks. ]
I don't think I can go to China.
no subject
Instead, he composes himself and takes a deep shuddery breath, ironically enough taking a leaf out of his what would Stede do book. His hand comes back to rest on Stede's knee, and his face is open. Free of judgement.]
Alright. Why not?
no subject
He can't look at Ed's open face for as long as he might normally like. ]
There's something wrong with me.
[ Which is less of a confession and more admitting to what he already knew. ]
I thought maybe I could change it, or leave it behind, but it only came with me. Or it is me. So I only wound up ruining things. I didn't even think twice.
[ Him in general, he guesses. Soft. Stupid. So caught up not wanting to drown that he didn't let himself think about what he left to sink. ]
I left my family and I didn't even talk to them about it. I've gotten people killed. I'm always getting my crew into trouble because I don't know what I'm doing. Ed, it's my fault you had to give up everything. All because I couldn't-- all because I wanted to-- [ Be happy.
But that really would be a stupid thing to say. ]
I'm just a plague.
[ A thing that happens to people.
He always did hate when a Badminton had a point. ]
no subject
There's so much he loves in Stede, admires- the bravery it took to start a new life, his compassion for his crew, every part of him that is unapologetically delicate, and those that are entirely unremitting. Fierce and clever and soft in a finely dressed, beautiful package.
But the doubt that floods from Stede could sink their little dinghy, and Ed considers whether or not he needs a fucking magnifying glass permanently glued to his face, if he's missing things this big about the person he wants to know best. Claims, if just to himself at this point, to love. Unapologetically, he's realizing at this point, may be closer from Stede's point of view to inescapably.
Stede talks like he thinks he's ruined Ed's life, like everything Ed's let go of was precious goods, and not weight he was so glad to unpack. A plague, but Ed doesn't feel sick. He feels like he was the blight, a rot that could have spread through Stede's veins, and instead Stede cleaned him out. Head to toe. Right down to his soul.]
Don't say that shit. You're the best thing in my life. One of the only good-
[It's not what he wants to say. Ed swallows and tries again. ]
I can't speak for your family. I can't speak for the crew, either- sidebar though, we both heard them fucking vouch for you, and pirates don't do that shit for someone who doesn't deserve it. Anyway, I can speak for myself, so just listen to me.
[ Ed leans forward and tries to duck his face low enough to catch Stede's eyes again, even when he's trying to avoid it. Then he gives up worrying about being subtle because they're so fucking far past this right now, and instead reaches out to grasp Stede's chin and tilt his face towards Ed's.]
I had fucking nothing, before you. Nothing I actually cared about. And if you think that me caring about you is some awful thing and you don't want it, that's fine. [His mouth quivers in a way that suggests it's decidedly not fine.] But you don't get to decide how I feel about it. I didn't give up anything I wouldn't happily get the fuck rid of a hundred more times over. You're what I want.
[He adds, in a desperate last ditch attempt to draw attention away from the thinning thread of his voice and bring some fucking levity to it all,]
You're not a plague. Can't even fold your own socks.
no subject
It's everything he ever wanted. Reminder of a place where he has a place. Made a place, more like, came in as himself and carved a space against all odds that the people around him kept. Someone who's seen him and knows him and can still say they want him, like wanting him is easy, and him fitting is easy. No hoops to jump through, no magic switch to flip that he was born missing, no amount of himself that he's supposed to somehow choke back.
Like Ed couldn't do or be or choose anything else in the world that would be a hundred times better in a heartbeat. Smart and funny and brave and creative and-- and respected. Knows how to put on the right face with people and have it work.
Good. Better than he thinks he is when the layers get peeled back, no matter what's under those layers. ]
I can fold socks. [ There are important tenets of anchoring a person more properly down to Earth than in the mental spiral they were very carefully cultivating. Time. Distance. A little touch. In some special cases, their own vague confusion.
He can just about latch onto socks as an entry point. A foothold in the rest, which is big and terrifying in the least terrifying way that a thing can still be terrifying. It's like Ed threw him a brain lifeline. Can he fold them? He must do. Can't be hard. He doesn't have socks right now so he can't prove it, but he's pretty sure he could.
That's probably not a grand place to stop after I had fucking nothing, before you and you're what I want. ]
Do you ever... do you ever feel like you pulled a fuckery on someone, only you can't figure out how you did it?
[ He's never tricked anyone into liking him in his life, let alone anyone half as clever as Edward, and yet?? ]
no subject
A grin that dips into something sadder and confusingly fonder all at once, when Stede asks him a question. Sadder, because Ed wonders how long he's felt like this on his own. Like Ed wasn't obsessed with every word he spoke and choice he made, like it was all going to crumble when Ed, what- saw who he really was? As if he hasn't already. And that's why he can't help but keep smiling, shaking his head. Because there was no fuckery in the way Stede comforted him at his worst, or immediately saw more in him than most people bothered to, or, or, or.]
You'd have to be an award winning actor, mate. Real globe trotting cut-above-the-rest phenomenon. And frankly, no offence, you're not garbage, but you're not that good.
[Cautious and then firm, he grips Stede's hand.]
You can't figure it out, because there's nothing to figure out. It's just this. [He squeezes their hands together, insistent.] Yeah? Soon as I met you. You trying to tell me you pulled off a fuckery on Blackbeard, strangled half to death? Limping around everywhere? Nah. Not a chance. Give it up.
no subject
He might still. He's not sure. Floating in the water, maybe. Swimming up behind them. All gory, all creepy. Sweaty-handed and flailing.
He doesn't think Ed would let go of him, if he got pulled on by something that isn't real and pitched overboard. He thinks Ed would probably hold onto him even if they both drowned, and it's a lot more terrifying to picture than anything from the past few hours. ]
Yeah. [ Stede stares down at their hands in a very cool pensive way. Not in the way of someone with the emotional processing power of oatmeal. ] You're making it hard to argue with you. Which I'd normally think is rude.
[ Where's the fine tonal line between sounding mildly insulted, but also like all of that is the sort of stuff he used to hope he'd hear from someone and then quietly made himself smother out the hoping and then circled back around to secretly hoping to hear it at some point anyway?
It's just-- it's just he can't have it both ways. Logistically. So it actually is hard to argue with.
Is he so whatever it is that he is that he can't stop it and can't hide it and can't fix it? In which case Ed definitely already knew what he was looking at when he kissed him. Or has he pulled off a magical feat of corruption and theatre and trickery with such finesse that Ed can't even conceive of it as a trick? Even though if he had that kind of talent, he would've had an easier time overall for basically his whole life and wouldn't have half the problems he has.
There is so much math on this table and none of it is coming out right. Fuck. ]
Do you forgive me for getting your beard executed?
[ Catch Stede in the literal next tag like "babe I think I may be mentally or emotionally compromised" but right now this is very vital to his process. ]
feral jail idiots on main
Who amongst their population hasn't? Perfectly normal, perfectly natural. Peak adventurousness, honestly. Kind of a fun story, even.
Stede naturally kicks up a little fuss the entire way there, though. On principle. He kicks up another little fuss about the fact that no one has opted to allow him and Ed to bunk together even though they got brought in together. It's honestly really rude?? That's his friend????? He hasn't seen him since they got apprehended, how is he supposed to just cope with that?
Ghastly conduct, really, very atrocious. He makes sure to tell the guards he's seen latrines with more optimal layouts than these cells. They do not care.
Obviously the next most vital step is to stick his face up to the bars and immediately start on some bullshit. ]
Psst! [ World's loudest 'psst' award. Subtlety is for men who are in the mood to think about things they are doing. Someone probably tells him to shut up from a different cell and he doesn't actually give a shit about it. ] Ed? You in here? You didn't get too roughed up by those brigands, did you?
[ Like he guesses they can burn the building down if they've been up to that sort of nonsense, but it's better if they haven't been getting up to that at all. ]
no subject
Don't fucking touch me!
[It's as much for show as it is a legitimate frustration. He hates this part, the arms bound and hands grabbing and hair pulled; it all makes him feel more trapped than an actual cell. Sours his gut.
He gets one more sharp elbow in somebody's side, and then he's tossed into the cell beside Stede's. Not even the same one! What the hell kind of operation is this? It's the principle of the matter that really ticks him off. What kind of captor doesn't at least toss his prisoners into cells two by two? Whatever. Ed spits after them as all but one of the men leave, and then slumps back to sit his ass down on the filthy floor.
As if they're just having lunch in the captain's quarters, he looks up and over at Stede through the bars between them and gives him a relieved little smile. He doesn't look beat up or anything. It calms him down a little.]
Don't worry. Every good pirate is familiar with temporary imprisonment. You alright?
no subject
Seeing him mostly unharmed and being neighbor enough for a little chat is all Stede needs to start perking back up. ]
Oh, yeah. Yeah. Totally fine. I met a fella named Scab in processing. Talked him into writing a letter to his sister to try to patch up their relationship. So you know, I'm having a really authentic experience!
[ Shoutout to some random future adventure where doing that karmically saves their lives somehow.
He raps his knuckles against the wall behind him. Yep. It sure is an authentic wall. ]
Kind of reminds me of school. If I'm honest.
[ Let that be the first hint to the universe that at some point in this prison experience, Stede Bonnet is going to once again go off the fucking rails. ]
oh i hate them
[Ed shuffles a little closer to the side of the cell, because he can lower his voice to whisper to Stede that way. Like yeah, the guard isn't paying any fucking attention at all, but it's obviously the smart move to make. He curls a hand around one bar, annoyed that he can't do his usual Stede-shoulder-grab instead.]
So, what d'ya think? Time for a lesson on escapism?
jail cells can be an intricate ritual
He also has himself a little scoot closer to the side of the cell with an Ed fixture. This is very important for strategizing. ]
Yes. Absolutely. I'm at your disposal.
[ He'll have to remember to be annoyed about getting this outfit dirty later. Sacrifices have to be made sometimes. Not like he expected a life of adventure to be clean. ]
thats the only kind of cell i know
And yes. Yes he does.]
Yeah, excellent, just follow my lead.
[And then without so much as a warning, he's reaching as best he can through the bars, grabbing Stede by the collar, and hauling him in close. His other hand remains wrapped around the bar to ensure Stede doesn't headbutt it and knock himself out or something. He raises his voice, although it's not as threatening as it could be. Doesn't feel great to yell super loud in Stede's face.]
What'd you say to me? I don't give a shit how unharmed and fucking comfortable the supposed captain of this shithole wants you, I'll mess that pretty boy face of yours right up.
[Just in case Stede can't see through his admittedly brilliant acting, Ed shakes his hair forward to hide his face from the guard, and winks.]
no subject
Ed yell at Stede? Ed yell at Stede like the enemy? Jail for Ed for a thousand more years. Okay, not really, Stede just makes a journey through startled and kind of offended and visibly confused on his path to full comprehension.
And here he was momentarily wondering if he'd somehow managed to hit a sore spot by being at someone's disposal. Wow. Ed is so good at basically everything that's cool.
Like theatre, and having big brown eyes. ]
Yeah, well! [ Well!!!!!! ] I'd challenge you to say that to my pretty boy face, but you've clearly already done that. So. Unhand me, you...
[ What's a general Gentleman Pirate-y insult he could use that wouldn't be too mean to Ed. ]
You cur!
[ Sure. Yes. That wasn't too mean. They are both definitely equally very good at acting. ]
no subject
He watches Stede recover and throw himself into the role remarkably quickly though, and it gives Ed a surely misplaced little zing of pride. It's also hard to keep an angry sort of pirate-y face on when he wants to grin in delight at Stede calling him a cur. The resulting expression is a weird, deeply unpleasant looking grimace as he forces his mouth to stay down. Super weird.
It's seemingly worth it, because the anxious looking guard takes a couple of hesitating steps forward, apparently less brave without his mates around, and half-heartedly tells them to quit it. What did you say, um, about captain? Ed ignores him.]
Uh, I won't unhand you, actually! I'll do the opposite of unhand you! I'll double hand you!
[He lets go of the bar now, Stede's head being safe and all, to scrunch up Stede's jacket in his other hand as well, and give him shake with exactly 0 force behind it. The absolutely batshit look in his eyes implores Stede to play it up.]
no subject
You can't over-sell a jailhouse scuffle, in his opinion. ]
How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?
[ This is actually ideal, because getting double handed is free real estate to get ahold of one of Ed's wrists. Which does temporarily settle some nameless, harrowing feeling about being separated that he was contending with. Maybe it's a touch too gentle, but, well, he's him. If something he does comes off as too soft or ineffective, people tend not to be very surprised about it.
May as well play to his strengths for the sake of the intricate ritual. ]
When the man in charge hears about this, he won't be lenient.
[ Probably no one has ever had as much fun being in jail as they are having. Good for them. ]
hey remember this
When I signal, duck left, and if you can, sweep his legs like I showed you.
[And then the guard is on them, on Stede, and Ed sort of sees red, blood boiling in a very distracting way, so that he almost forgets to give the word.]
Move!
[And as Stede hopefully ducks left, Ed lets go of him to seize the guard by his shirt and yank him down to the right, slamming his head full force against the bars. No safety grip to protect him.]
ur honor i love them
Mostly it's so masterful because it's Ed's masterful trickery. Stede will be proud to have a hand on the ball in any case.
Which is to say, he ducks left. It's only the fact that they operate on the same singular and very dumb wavelength that makes this successful. Literally anyone else and Stede would have to be like "okay but whose left," or he'd guess wrong and become this man's accidental safety cushion, but not today. Today is a day for moderate success.
Anyway he fails to sweep the legs. He does kick the guard in the ankles very hard instead, though. Given the sturdiness and quality of Stede's standard heel, it's the next best option. Maybe something crunches. Who's to say? Not Stede, who doesn't care and doesn't plan to think about it. ]
Terminology question: does it count as looting if they're not a corpse? Or is this more of a "general thievery"?
[ Local man just rooting through a guard's uniform like a feral little weirdo on main.
He can't say he sees the personal appeal in this part of things, more power to all the pirates out there who are into it, but as needs must. See, the most basic and pressing equation overruling all other thought processes is that keys = no more separate cells. They were apart for so long after getting arrested already, so putting them in different spots was just uncalled for and needs to be remedied. Also it's bad that they are in jail, but that's so secondary. ]
no waiting for s2 we write it ourselves
Stede left another family, when he went home. One that actually-- well, one where he actually fit. That grew on each other. And everything apparently went pretty fucking poorly at some point after that. It wouldn't be fair not to apologize, take ownership.
It's his fault, really. Things won't be the same between him and anyone involved again, probably.
And maybe he does ruin things, and maybe he knows that, and maybe it's not fair to swan back in and pick up what's left of his crew and go trying to track Ed down to make things right. Maybe he's selfish for it. But he can't really bear the thought of not trying. Whatever happens, if absolutely nothing else, he wants Ed to know.
They're still a lot of mediocre pirates. Slightly moreso than usual, really, with their numbers cut. It's a big part of why it takes so much time to get anything lined up. At least half of their schedule is trying not to screw something up so badly that they die. At least one nice thing about Blackbeard being such a big name is that keeping track isn't hard.
So some shoddy piracy, some shoddy Fuckeries, some unconventional methods. Stealing ships. Using fake names, because it defeats the whole point if he goes about advertising himself. Stede Bonnet is dead. He got mauled and/or run over and/or crushed by a piano and/or was actually quite ill and/or probably a few other things that trickled into the hearsay. And that's fine. Stede hears the funeral was nice enough.
The biggest miracle of all is wrangling a time to get at Ed alone for a start. People give him a berth most of the time, but it always seems like Izzy is playing the hanger-on. But they manage, even if the window is likely to be far too brief. The universe does do that for Stede an awful lot. Bend some rules.
It's a quiet night. Some port back-alley, a couple of frankly embarrassing close misses already out the window. He makes his intersection, though. He manages. Probably mostly because Ed stopped to have a swig of something that Stede can smell from here.
(One part painful to look at, see the fallout for himself, one part remembering Ed is beautiful.)
Now, of course, it's only juuust occurring to Stede that he never once thought ahead to exactly what he'd say first. ]
You changed your look. It's very avant-garde.
[ Fuckin nailed it. ]
the temptation to just make this that one Korg line
It razes through ships and ports, meat and moonshine, swallows pleading and devours every inch of ocean until there's nothing left. Until the fire starts to feel cold and the meat is tasteless and the violence makes him sick to his stomach. Even the grog, he thinks, taking another swig, is harder pressed to do it's job.
Even Izzy, by some miracle, avoided him for a week after he received the news. The crew all watched him with wary eyes when he finally emerged from the captain's quarters, hair tangled around his face like briar, black mask streaked, and held their breath waiting for him to explode. Blackbeard, on a timer. He can still feel it ticking down inside. He's more reckless, knowing it's there.
He's halfway gone when Stede steps out in front of him, and he has to assume it's his sick, substance riddled brain playing tricks. That doesn't make it any less of a gut punch. The gasp he emits into the cold night air would be embarrassing, but there's no one to hear it, because he can't be here there's no fucking way, and Blackbeard shutters his eyes and draws himself up as much as he can when his insides are sloshing about like heavy finery in ocean water.]
I'm not afraid of a ghost. Get fucked.
[Blackbeard is a coat that gets heavier to wear every day, but it's better than the chill that seeps down his back the longer he takes in the details he had forgotten, each styled curl of hair and soft line on Stede's face. All the parts that make a sum of a man who didn't want him, and didn't say goodbye. It hurts. He takes another drink.]
ofmd season 2: piss off, ghost
He sees the familiar in one moment and feels like one of those moths that get pinned to boards for studying in the next. Maybe he should be more put off by it, but he can't pretend he isn't studying Ed right back. Fair's fair.
Ed probably isn't in a condition for the bulk of the multiple conversations that need having. That seems clear enough. Not the one where they might catch up on exactly what happened, all the in-betweens. Not the one about punishing the crew for Stede's personal mistakes, which is the most important thing objectively.
If a few of those things are off the table until later, then this has to be about getting a good enough foot in the door to get to later. ]
Well, I wouldn't want to scare you if I was one. [ Not that ghosts in most stories ever sound like they're trying to scare people. If they sound like anything, it's stuck.
Only one of two of them seems especially stuck. ]
I just need a minute to talk to you. That's the whole reason I'm here, Ed.
no subject
[Ed says it more like he's trying to convince himself, because he is. He wrenches a laugh from somewhere black and accusing, pure Blackbeard.]
Now you want to talk! Now you...
[Ed staggers a single step forward. He pants and feels himself rocked with fresh outrage. New anger. It feels so fucking real; nothing like the arguments he constructs in his head, where they tread the same ground every time.
(Where Ed gets to say everything he wanted to say. Where he doesn't shake or embarrass himself. Where he wins the interaction.
He imagines a miracle resurrection from death where they kiss as often as he imagines telling Stede he never cared for him at all. Deep down, he knows which one he wanted more.)
Reality is him gaping at Stede, mouth dry and eyes wet, sobriety creeping nastily in at the edges of his brain. Nothing like realizing the love of your life and source of your worst grief isn't actually dead to kill your buzz.]
They said you were dead. [God, but he's glad he's not-] You should have fucking stayed that way. [-because he missed him. Because now he can-]
Draw your weapon.
no subject
There was, between leaving home and finding what was left of his crew, a stretch of time where Stede entertained the idea of a simple reunion. Not easy, per se, and his mind had had plenty of time to circle the prospect that maybe Ed was happier without him as much as Mary and the children had been. Or maybe the opposite, maybe too much damage done to that tender heart to do anything but send Stede right back off, but-- straightforward, at least.
Between finding his crew and getting here was even a short-lived dream of simply making it to the Revenge quickly at all. Beating out the rumor mill, at least.
Fast and straightforward have been off the table for a grip, now.
All that's really left is messy. ]
Drawing my weapon is the exact opposite of what I just said.
[ Does Stede expect that to turn the angry tides? No. He expects he'll need to take the rest of his deserved lumps before he can get through properly. But he wouldn't have a notorious issue with wishful thinking if he didn't give it a shot. ]
no subject
[If he runs Stede through, maybe he'll begin to understand how it felt. How Ed feels. Like he's gasping for air every time he so much as moves, and every inhalation is just another reminder of where he is, a trigger for that hot pain to flash through him, an ache that makes him unable to sit still, and it loops like that, an ouroboros of hurting and remembering and hurting again.
He rests a hand on his sword, but doesn't actually draw it. Hard to be steady, when you're in four fingers and some change. Easier to nick something important. Something that can't be healed.
It feels like they're standing on a chunk of earth out in some void. The bottle in Ed's hand has an odd gravity, too heavy and wet with condensation. He drops it, because it doesn't matter. The wind whips past the end of the alley, a sound like distant howling. Ed wavers; Blackbeard, Edward. The bruise blue bags under his eyes are almost as big as the pleading look he levels at Stede. His fingers flex around the hilt of his sword.]
Spit it out, then.
no subject
Stede feels hopeful in light of it, despite everything. Grateful. He holds his hands up, fingers spread, the definition of "I will personally be having nothing to do with my sword."
It's Ed. Ultimately. Ed won't kill him. Or if it's that bad somehow, if it turns out he would, well. Self preservation is for men who have something on the horizon that they need to reach at all costs, and here he's already gone and reached it.
It's hard to spit out a lengthy list of things that are important to say. The I missed you, the what you did to my crew was unjustified and you know it, the I can explain, please I can try to explain, the I am shatteringly head over heels in love with you and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to prove it if there's even half a chance you'd let me-- ]
I'm sorry I left you. For starters.
[ Fairness has to win out over importance, sometimes. He owed this much to Ed before he owed anything to anyone else in the fallout. ]