Chapter Text
Boxes had been arriving for Ed for weeks. Myriad boxes. Fantastic boxes. The smallest so far fit in Stede’s palm and contained a battered and delicate woman’s wristwatch, tucked in paper and cushioned in bubble wrap. The largest, a realistically textured metal sculpture of an octopus that had a glass top to turn it into a very fetching table. Stede had immediately given it a place of honor as the living room coffee table. It had quite the effect on Stede’s house guests, including the ability to make Black Pete, Wee John, and the Swede take their roughhousing outside, which Stede counted as an overall win when paired with Ed’s bashful preening.
Being retired meant that the boxes could be steadily worked through and unpacked at their own pace. Ed’s singing bass shared its place of honor over the fireplace with Mary’s lighthouse painting from a disastrous anniversary long ago. Ed had done quite a bit of his own pruning and downsizing before even sending the boxes, so Stede went into incorporating Ed’s things with a mind to do the same. They had no need for duplicate dishes and silverware, but Ed did have an impressive collection of vulgar coffee mugs; Stede pitched a shelf of antique but ugly glassware to give the mugs a place over the coffee maker. The closets were dutifully purged of Stede’s untouched or less favored items to make more room for Ed’s things. Donations to the auxiliary closet were among Stede’s favorites.
“What are these?” Stede asked, hefting a shoebox made for boots that felt surprisingly heavy in his hands. Ed, busy balancing a fan-made tiara adorned with painted clay tentacles on the closet vanity, turned around too late to stop Stede from popping open the lid and slamming it closed again, looking up at Ed with flushed cheeks.
“Um—mostly a joke, was just for one show—give it here, I’ll—” Ed stammered, reaching for the box. Stede clutched the box to his chest, feeling a wide smile growing on his face.
“No, I think not,” Stede said, glee sparking up his spine. “May I?”
Ed spluttered, but didn’t say no, which is how Stede spent a memorable afternoon in vintage black leather five-inch platform-heeled thigh-high boots and a shredded red tartan miniskirt. The mesh shirt and gloves that had gone with the ensemble, Ed claimed, were lost to time, possibly a charity auction. The pale pink button-up shirt Stede had been wearing before didn’t exactly match, but Ed kept dropping things and forgetting what he was saying mid-sentence every time Stede flounced by and bent over to pick something up, so Stede counted it as a win.
Ed cleverly got him back around the holidays when, tickled by Stede’s (nondenominational) gift of underpants with the phrase “Release the Cracken” and a cheeky octopus stamped on the backside, he wore the underpants and nothing else for the rest of the day.
“It was supposed to be a gag gift,” Stede said desperately, the octopus wiggling at him as Ed dug in a lower cabinet for his battered old popcorn popper.
“Gag’s on you, mate, I’m never taking these off,” Ed declared.
(He was lying, as less than an hour later would prove, but to Ed’s credit they were a regular staple of his at-home loungewear from then on.)
Stede kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, some days. Sometimes he thought it had, days when Ed’s knee bothered him and shortened his temper, or when Stede’s mouth ran away with him and he said something careless. But. Overall, they bickered more than they argued, and made up more than they fought. The lower kitchen cabinets went from cream to eggplant. A basket of throw blankets tucked itself by the fireplace. Music awards began dotting the hallways between framed photos of different family members and friends, not all of them Stede’s. The music studio upstairs gained a beautiful collection of guitars—including, Stede was surprised to see, Ed’s signature Gibson Flying V.
“Meant to leave it behind for Izzy, something about letting Blackbeard be in his hands,” Ed said, running his hands over the iridescent greenish-black body. “He didn’t want it. And I kind of still do. So.”
“So you should keep it,” Stede said. Ed looked up at him with big dark eyes, a familiar question in the depths, and Stede smiled and nodded in answer. Ed’s eyes crinkled. His beard was coming back in beautifully silver, long enough to start to curl and obscure Ed’s mouth again, but Stede would know how to read Ed’s smiles even with a bag over his head. Either of their heads, probably. Stede leaned in and kissed Ed’s forehead. “You deserve fine things,” Stede murmured into Ed’s hair, and felt Ed’s shoulders relax, ever so incrementally.
Things were going well, was the point.
So Stede didn’t quite understand why he had no strength in his limbs to make it out of bed today.
He wasn’t sick. No aches or sniffles. He had slept well, so he thought. Ed snored on within arm’s reach. Someone—probably Roach—was banging around in the kitchen already, loudly enough that Stede could hear it over both fan and snores. Any other day, Stede would be slipping from bed, donning a robe, and seeing what he could do to help. Maybe surprise Ed with breakfast in bed, as if they didn’t do that at least three times a week as it was. There was nothing special or different about today. The sky was clear. The first volleys of spring birds were making themselves known.
Stede blinked like it took all his strength and simply oozed under the covers. Focused on breathing. Only not too much, because if he thought about it too hard, he couldn’t breathe at all without thinking about the fact that he was now forcing himself to breathe, and it was a bad time. Closed his eyes. Better save his appreciation for the view when he felt more worthy of it.
Oh. It was going to be one of those days.
As if summoned by the thought, Ed rolled over, still soundly asleep, and draped his arm over Stede’s collarbones, half hug and half chokehold. Stede tried to suppress the chuckle that bubbled in his chest. Here lay the Kraken, alright, a monster of heat-seeking cuddly devastation. Stede shifted a bit, only to be drawn in tight by Ed’s arm around his neck. Ed’s nose snuffled in Stede’s ear, then went back to snoring. The giggles were getting harder to contain, but it was also getting harder to breathe on a real and not merely mental level. Stede made it to his side in minute shifts, then woke his beloved in the most tender way available to him.
“Mm,” Ed sighed, still mostly asleep, though his mouth moved against Stede’s and his arm went from fleshy garotte to human embrace in a few lazy motions. Stede kissed him a little longer, then drew back, allowing a quiet laugh when Ed blindly followed Stede’s lips but landed his chin instead. Then he shrieked when Ed’s teeth came out to play and nipped.
“Ed!” Stede cried. Ed’s eyes still didn’t open, but his wide grin was hard to miss.
“S’what you get,” Ed mumbled, and rolled entirely on top of Stede, crushing him in the best way and burying his face in the side of Stede’s neck. “Go ‘way. Sleepin’.”
“How can I go away when you’re lying on me?” Stede protested, though the pathetic boneless feeling from earlier was already beginning to mellow into more comfortable lethargy. Ed trapped Stede’s hands against the bed and dead-weighted himself entirely.
“Sshh,” Ed admonished, the sound turning into another snore before he was fully finished. Stede huffed, found breathing to be easy enough, and let Ed manhandle him back to sleep. If Ed had a preternatural knowledge of Stede’s mood or was just very lucky, Stede decided it didn’t much matter. How could he not feel worthy of the view after all, when the view was so insistent on pinning him down to enjoy it?
A quiet tap at the bedroom door sometime later woke Stede up again, much sweatier now with the weight and heat of another full-grown man pressing down on him. Ed groaned, a more awake sound.
“We don’t want any,” Ed called, mostly in Stede’s ear.
“So that’s a no on lox bagels?” Roach called back.
“I want the lox bagels,” Stede said, though neither he nor Ed made any effort to move. Ed groaned.
“Be down soon,” Ed said towards the door. “Better save us some.”
“Better hurry,” Roach replied, and footsteps signaled him walking away. Ed and Stede laid there for a few more minutes, just breathing, before Stede squeezed Ed’s fingers, still interlaced with his own.
“Come on, darling,” Stede said gently. “Up and at ‘em.”
“Hmugh,” Ed groaned. “It’s chilly.”
“I know, darling.”
“Shouldn’t get that chilly if it’s never even going to snow.”
“Yes, darling.”
“Just rude. Rude outdoors.”
“Turning our bed into a sauna probably didn’t help.”
“True. All sweaty now. Gonna freeze if I leave the bed,” Ed said thoughtfully. “Ah, well. Goodbye, lox bagels.”
Stede spat out a mouthful of hair as Ed situated himself back down, and he did a full-body buck that dislodged Ed enough for him to protest.
“Stede!” Ed whined.
“Edward!” Stede whined back. “I’m hungry!”
“Ugh,” Ed grimaced. “Fine. Gotta pee anyway.”
Stede’s merriment carried him to the mirror, where even the red marks of Ed’s hair and pajama creases across his face and neck couldn’t dislodge his salvaged mood. It helped that Ed pinched his bottom on the way to the toilet and made an approving sort of noise.
It was still there, deep down, in a place that it could never be removed—the places where Stede’s scars lived, the callousness of his father and the cruelties of his peers, the little voice that screamed like a tinny foghorn about his worthlessness and corrupting touch. All the silk swathing and fishing line in the world hadn’t been enough to drown out the cacophony.
A steel guitar, however, was a powerful instrument. Loud. Compelling. Relentless. Transformative, in the right leather-clad hands. Said hands favored a piano or an acoustic guitar more these days, but strung throughout were the roots of the music Ed made his name on, music Ed let Stede expound on every day together, shared like a lox bagel with too-sweet tea as they sat at the kitchen bar. Stede waited until Ed had finished his last bite before giving him a thorough good morning kiss, laced with pungent onion.
“Morning,” Stede said when he was done, returning to his tea.
“Mor—yeah,” Ed blinked, dazed. “Um.”
Stede smiled to himself and let Ed stew in quiet befuddlement. No need to bring the mood down by explaining why Stede was so grateful for him today.
Ed coughed. “Anyway. Agenda?”
“Be gay, do crime,” Lucius croaked from the living room couch, half-awake and nursing his absurdly dark coffee.
“No, last time you said that, we got banned from a karaoke bar,” Oluwande grumbled from where he was still serving as Jim’s pillow on the loveseat.
“Not our fault their ancient sound system couldn’t handle Blackbeard’s insane vocals,” Black Pete said, eyes faraway and a dopey grin spreading on his face, as it always did when recounting the story. Stede was with him, honestly; hearing Ed put his heart into “Bad Reputation” by Joan Jett, immediately followed by putting his hips into Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance,” had made it a night to remember, indeed.
“Frenchie used the chaos to fleece a man,” Oluwande pointed out.
“He was a wanker, and he deserved it,” Frenchie declared, crossing his ankles where they rested against the wall as the rest of him starfished across the floor, empty mug and plate by his head. “Not my fault he didn’t double-check to see if Blackbeard was doing a reunion tour and decided to give me his watch in return for tickets. ‘sides, Olu really sold it as a band manager, all official-looking.”
“’s cuz Olu’s the best,” Jim slurred, the first thing they’d said all morning, to Stede’s knowledge. Their eyes were still closed, but they nosed into Olu’s belly with a spreading smile. They mumbled a further string of muffled Spanish that made Oluwande bite his lip around his own smile.
“We got banned for entirely non-illegal reasons,” Stede said primly. “An establishment that just couldn’t cut it, in the end.”
“Well, to be fair, we put them over max capacity with a crowd draw and someone else put the stool through the window,” Ed reasoned, resting his chin on Stede’s shoulder. “Have to do it again sometime. Maybe pick a little more private spot.”
“Gonna have to go out of state for that, I think; the videos are still trending,” Wee John said from behind his knitting. “I thought we were doing a spa day, Cap’n?”
“Cucumbers are already sliced up and I have the mud masks ready to go,” Roach called from the kitchen. Stede brightened. He’d suggested it last night in a drunken fugue; in the sober light of morning, it seemed like an even better idea than before.
“I want to watch Mamma Mia again,” the Swede said, and immediately ignited the movie argument as Stede turned his head to kiss Ed on his nose and forehead before Ed could move his head. Ed scrunched his face, but the smile didn’t drop.
“I’ll wrangle them into some sort of agreement and move them to the den if you go get the nail kits,” Stede said. Ed glanced sideways at the crew, where Stede could already hear someone’s great-aunt getting dragged into the mix of insults to taste, and looked back at Stede with an impish grin.
“Good luck with that one, love,” Ed said, and pecked Stede on the mouth before hopping off his stool and trotting back up the stairs. Stede watched him go, then metaphorically rolled up his sleeves to resume Cap’n duties.
The morning’s heaviness retreated in the face of mud masks, The Birdcage playing on the enormous den TV, and Stede carefully painting Ed’s nails electric blue. Gold French tips were on the agenda once the blue dried, and in the meantime, Ed painted Stede’s lime green, his thumb traveling absently across Stede’s knuckles as he worked. Stede took a moment to look over the room, at the friends draped across his teal sectional that he’d bought in a fit of optimistic pique half a year ago. He never could have imagined that the skittish people at the pond would not only take him up on his invitations to visit, but then become so entrenched in his life he couldn’t see it without them anymore. He sighed, tiny and happy.
The front door crashed open in a whirl of motion and seagull screeching, muffled with distance, but soon becoming a more immediate interruption as the whirlwind stomped through the house.
“Avast ye!” Buttons bellowed in the eye of the feathery melee. Stede yelped. He wasn’t the only one—Ed swore and flinched, dropping the nail polish; Roach threw his entire bowl of popcorn; Lucius squealed and leapt into Pete’s lap; Jim’s butterfly knife embedded itself into the wall beside Buttons’ head. Buttons, completely unbothered, marched further into the spa circle, something held aloft in his fist and a seagull on each shoulder.
“Buttons! For goodness’ sake, man, you can’t just scare us all like that!” Stede chided, scooping up the nail polish brush before it could do more damage to the rug.
“The changing tides wait for no man, Cap’n,” Buttons intoned, and lowered his fist until it was level with Stede’s eyes. Stede blinked, squinted.
“Is that a twig?” Stede asked.
“Aye.”
“Why have you brought me a twig, Buttons?”
Buttons didn’t reply, even among the grumbling among the rest of the crew, and merely shoved it further into Stede’s face. Stede caught Buttons by the wrist and moved it back a little, looking it over.
“It has a bud,” Ed noted, pointing. “Just there.”
Buttons nodded solemnly.
“Oh, so it does,” Stede said, touching the tiny reddish bump at the end of the twig for himself.
“The time be upon us,” Buttons pronounced. “Battle for survival between man and aquatic dweller is at hand.”
Silence followed this.
“He’s saying it’s fishing season again,” Lucius said. As the room had exploded with screams upon Buttons’ approach, it now erupted in cheers.
“Well, why didn’t he just say so?” Stede complained.
“I did,” Buttons replied.
“In straightforward English next time, please,” Stede sniffed. Buttons merely stared at him.
“Suppose we’ll be at the pond bright and early tomorrow morning, then, eh?” Wee John said. Ten pairs of eyes looked to Stede, the anticipation palpable in the air now.
“I suppose we must,” Stede nodded, and smiled over the next round of cheering. “Time to fire up the breakfast burritos again, Roach!”
“If you want one, hands up now, I make no extras,” Roach said, and as he began to tally up the hands raised, Ed hooked his chin over Stede’s shoulder and nuzzled the side of his jaw.
“Box with my gear came in,” Ed said. “’bout time we got to fish together.”
“An important first in any relationship,” Stede agreed.
“Got so many moves to show you,” Ed purred, lips tracing Stede’s ear.
“Looking forward to it,” Stede whispered back, turning his head just so—
“Olivia! Not on the knitting!” Wee John cried.
“It’s a mark of appreciation,” Buttons replied.
“Buttons, we talked about this! Olivia and Karl have to go outside to do their business!” Stede interjected, whipping his head back around and not missing the huff Ed gave against his neck.
“I dinnae see why, none of the rest of us do.”
“Because we have toilets, Buttons, and unless you’re going to toilet train the birds—”
Outside, as the bickering went on, spring continued its approach.
.
Ed was up before Stede on the morning of the first fishing excursion of the new year.
“Merp,” Stede groaned as Ed launched himself knees-first onto the bed by Stede’s side, bouncing hard and pressing down on Stede’s shoulders to jostle him as much as humanly possible.
“Stede! Stede! Stede! Babe! Sweetness! Lover!”
“Mgh.”
“Stede!” Ed begged. “Stede, fishing! Fishing, Stede!”
Stede cracked one bleary eye at the alarm clock. Nearly six o’clock.
“Ed,” Stede whined. “Sleep.”
Ed straddled Stede’s waist as he tried to turn over, pinning Stede in place and leaning down to rub his whiskers all over Stede’s face. That woke him up fairly quickly, sputtering and squealing as he tried to push Ed off and instead Ed held down his wrists.
“Stede Marie Bonnet,” Ed commanded, “get up right now, or I’m texting Roach to put Buttons’ anchovies in your breakfast burrito!”
Stede glared, his eyes still half-glued shut with sleep and blinking one at a time. On a normal day, Stede could flip Ed no problem. Right now, kitten-weak and barely functional, Ed had the clear advantage. Tactical menace.
“I could use more Omega-3s,” Stede mumbled. “Five more minutes.”
It was one thing for Ed to put his tongue in Stede’s ear as a manner of flirting, or in the throes of passion. That was strangely alluring and deeply sensual.
Ed blowing a wet raspberry against Stede’s ear was a declaration of war.
“That’s it!” Stede roared, irritated glee infusing his limbs with new strength, and lunged.
Stede was stronger, but Ed was quick; with a few twists he had his legs wrapped around Stede’s waist, clinging to his back and mushing Stede’s face into the pillows as Stede giggled and tried to catch his breath. Then Stede jerked, attempting to flatten Ed beneath his back and trap him, only to have Ed continue the momentum and roll until he was back on top, blowing another raspberry into the back of Stede’s neck.
“Give it up, Bonnet,” Ed crowed through his panting. “The dread angler Blackbeard is unstoppable!”
“Not if the Gentleman Fisher has anything to say about it!” Stede bucked. This time it seemed he’d caught them both by surprise; they launched off the side of the bed and fell with an audible crunching sound as Ed grunted. Mirth drained immediately out of Stede’s entire body as he rolled off and away from Ed.
“Ow,” Ed wheezed.
“Ed!” Stede looked him over in the pre-dawn gloom. Ed was still giggling weakly, the madman, and he wasn’t clutching his knee, and Stede didn’t see any blood, but— “Edward! Are you alright?”
“I’m afraid,” Ed wheezed, “it’s all over for me, mate. You’ll have to…carry on…without me…”
“Ed!” Stede wailed, clutching his hand, still looking for any sign of injury. Ed was just excited, and of course Stede had ruined everything again—
Ed grunted again, reaching underneath him, and pulled out what looked like a deflated plastic bag. Some kind of granola-type substance was crumbling out of the large hole in the side of it.
“My trail mix is done for,” Ed gurgled. He made an exaggerated death rattle and laid still with his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. Stede looked at the bag. He looked at the carpet, where smashed raisins and nuts exploded from under Ed’s body. He looked at the tacklebox nearby, which they had missed narrowly in the fall and could have actually hurt one or both of them much worse than just the trail mix bag.
What could Stede do, except yank up Ed’s shirt and blow a raspberry on his tummy about it?
“Treachery!” Ed squealed, miraculously coming back to life. Amazing what a tongue to the belly button could do, Stede thought. The fight ended as all their ferocious battles did: with both of them collapsed on each other, laughing too hard to do much other than try and breathe.
“Well,” Stede said through the last of his chuckles. “That’s one way to wake up.”
“Mm,” Ed agreed, flinging his arm out and drawing Stede into his side. Stede went willingly, watching the first rosy squares of light filter across Ed’s chest from the window. “Morning, Stede.”
“Good morning, Ed,” Stede smiled. “Ready to go fishing?”
“Born ready,” Ed grinned back. “Edward Teach, born on a beach, that’s me.”
“I’m sure your poor mother was overjoyed.” Stede kissed Ed’s collarbone, since it was so conveniently available. “Come on. Let’s clean up our mess and then you can help me into my waders.”
Ed’s face lit up. It was the most cheerful Stede had ever seen another human being when faced with the prospect of operating a vacuum cleaner.
They were early, early enough to beat everyone but Buttons, and now lately Izzy, down to the pond. Mist hung over the water like golden gossamer, too chilly still for insects and frogs, but the occasional splash on the surface of the water said plenty about the pond’s liveliness. Stede and Ed were only not holding hands because Ed had two poles and Stede was carrying the thermoses, but the occasional squeak of Ed’s boot knocking into Stede’s waders was plenty of companionship, as well as noise to announce themselves to Izzy, Buttons, Karl, and Olivia.
“Morning, Buttons,” Stede said, waiting for Ed to set down the equipment and slide the camp chairs off Stede’s shoulders. “Karl, Olivia. How goes the planning of the avian nuptials?”
“Livvie was more thinkin’ late spring, Cap’n,” Buttons said. “Though both be pining for fresh salt air, if ye catch my drift.”
“Ah, yes,” Stede nodded solemnly. “Can’t say I blame them. Sea birds and all.”
Izzy made a scoffing sound, but his attention was on the rod in his hands and the water ahead of him. Stede preferred him that way, honestly—silent lawn ornamentation that he could mutually ignore in peace.
“So why don’t we go down there?” Ed asked. There was a peculiar pause, as though the idea hadn’t occurred to Buttons yet. The man himself let his fishing rod fall slack in his grip.
“Aye,” Buttons said slowly. “I…suppose…if it’s for Karl and Olivia…”
“If what’s for Karl and Olivia?” Roach asked from the tree line, carrying one end of a cooler with the other held by Wee John.
“Beach trip for the wedding,” Ed said. Roach and Wee John looked at each other, then at Stede, for some reason.
“What?” Stede asked.
“What’s what?” Frenchie called, walking up with his guitar over his shoulder.
“Beach trip, maybe,” Wee John replied. Frenchie hissed through his teeth a little, looking at Buttons, then at Stede.
“What? What’d I miss?” Lucius asked as he and Black Pete approached next, the Swede on their heels.
“Beach trip,” Frenchie said. Lucius’ eyebrows shot up.
“Really?” Black Pete said.
“What’s really?” Oluwande asked, walking up with Jim and a single camp chair.
“Oh, for—would everyone wait until we’re all here and settled, please!” Stede snapped, amidst a sea of quiet tutting. Buttons was stock-still, hadn’t moved an inch since the words “beach trip” were mentioned, but Stede was resolved to not worry until the entire crew was present and accounted for and breakfast burritos were being distributed.
“So,” Jim said, settled in Olu’s lap now and looking from Stede to Buttons and back again, “what’s up?”
Stede looked at Ed, who merely grinned and shrugged. Well. Fine, then.
“I was thinking that perhaps we could all go on a beach trip for Karl and Olivia’s wedding,” Stede said. “If Buttons is alright with that and if no one else has any objections.”
The crew looked amongst themselves. Then, almost in unison, they all looked at Buttons.
“Buttons?” Roach asked. “You okay with that?”
Buttons didn’t respond for a long moment. Then he turned around. Stede was alarmed to find tears streaming down his face.
“Aye,” Buttons croaked. “Reckon I’d like that, lads.”
“Great, so it’s settled,” Ed said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them gleefully. “Beach trip.”
“I’ll do us one better,” Stede declared. “Boat trip.”
Buttons gasped. Black Pete screamed. The Swede put both hands over his mouth. Even Izzy finally stopped playing at statues and looked over, expression inscrutable.
“Cap, you’d best not be toying with us,” Wee John breathed. “My emotions can’t handle it.”
“Figure between the two of us, we can rustle up a nice ecologically responsible yacht or something,” Ed said, throwing his arm over Stede’s shoulder.
“We could get a condo or a large house on the beach, spend a few days there and a few days on the boat…and the wedding wherever Karl and Olivia wish,” Stede said.
“How expensive is this gonna be?” Jim asked, which caused another tense silence. Stede and Ed glanced at each other.
“You lot bring food and snacks and pitch in for gas,” Ed said. “Stede and I can cover the rest. For the whole lot of us.”
The crew burst into cheers.
“Wait, hang on, some of us have jobs!” Oluwande protested. “When are we doing this?”
All eyes turned to Stede again, who looked to Buttons. Buttons gazed out over the golden misty morning, tender hues of pink and blue painting the sky with gilded clouds. Ed leaned more heavily on Stede’s shoulder as the silence grew.
“When the fish moon be high in the sky,” Buttons intoned, “where land, sea, and sky meet, to beg Her blessing upon ‘em and grovel for Her mercy for the rest of their fruitful lives.”
As was typical, complete silence followed this statement.
“He means the end of April,” Lucius announced, tapping furiously on his phone. “The April full moon.”
“Makes sense,” Frenchie nodded. “After the spring break rush and before summer vacation. Not too chilly out.”
“And it’s after Doug and Mary get back, so they’ll have the kids again after their school break,” Stede said. “That gives us about a month to plan. Awfully tight window.”
“Nah, that’s plenty of time,” Ed said. “Daylight’s wasting, folks, are we gonna fish or what?”
“Fish!” Black Pete cheered, and with that, pirate fisherman season had begun.
Ed’s fishing pole was not collapsible. Of course it wasn’t. It was a beauty, sleek and modern, and the reel was certainly nothing to sneeze at. It didn’t help that Ed balanced it on the top of his thigh as he fixed a small tangle near the base of the pole, waggling his eyebrows when he caught Stede staring. It wasn’t Stede’s fault that Ed was making such a suggestive pose, he grumbled to himself as Jim made loud retching noises and someone else wolf whistled.
Stede busied himself with his own pole, glancing at Ed from the corner of his eye as Stede selected his lure, a pretty teal and purple fishing jig. Ed was doing stretches now, of all things, squatting and twisting and making his shirt ride up enough that Stede could just see the bare edge of the hickey Stede had accidentally given him that morning—
“Behold the courting rituals of the middle-aged fishermen,” Frenchie said in a tranquil, though carrying, tone of voice somewhere behind. “The flashy Captain doing a lot of heavy lifting with his collapsible pole there, very suggestive, though the swift and dangerous Blackbeard won’t be outdone. As you can see, his trousers are impractically tight for the activity at hand—”
Stede’s internal debate about whether to say something or ignore the teasing went out the window as Ed arched his back, popped his impressive backside out, and with a mighty whizz, let fly his first cast of the season.
“And it’s Blackbeard, predictably, that makes the first move in this intricate dance,” Lucius joined in, the snorts and guffaws getting decidedly less muffled. Even Izzy’s shoulders were shaking. Berk. “Despite his pose that would be at home in the centerfold of any magazine spread, it’s an impressive cast, and the Captain is absolutely mesmerized.”
“Captain’s turn to reciprocate, now,” Frenchie narrated as Stede sucked in a deep breath and decided to just…let it go. And let his cast go, incidentally. He might have thrown in an extra flourish, just to show off—
“Ooh, and it’s the ‘caught your bucket hat on the hook’ flub, a classic Captain maneuver but perhaps not the most practical for wooing a mate,” Frenchie said. Stede glared at his hat, dangling once again from the end of his hook as he reeled it back in.
“Surprisingly, though, Blackbeard seems charmed by it,” Lucius smirked. Stede chanced a glance at Ed as he returned his dripping hat within reach, and was surprised to find Ed beaming at him, full-wattage fondness lighting up his face in full complement with the morning sun. Ed held his pole between his thighs and reached over to unhook Stede’s hat, then took his pole back up to walk the hat to its owner.
“Think you dropped this,” Ed murmured.
“How gallant,” Stede smiled. He took the hat back, making sure to brush Ed’s fingers.
“It must be said, to the casual middle-aged fisherman observer, these two particular specimens are especially revolting in their obsession with repeating courting overtures despite being in a committed relationship already,” Lucius said. “One can only wonder how their pack stands it—eugh!”
Stede smiled, supremely serene, as Lucius shrieked and swore and ripped the wet bucket hat off his face, where Stede had thrown it.
“Did I ever tell you guys about the time I caught a bass as big as a house?” Stede said, and the next step of piratical fisherman tradition began. It was a surefire way to find something else to redirect most of the group’s attention, and it worked beautifully.
“That’s nothing!” Black Pete scoffed. “So there I was, up to my armpits in the surf, just a net and some line tied to a stick, when all of a sudden—”
“Give it a rest, idiota,” Jim mumbled from Olu’s lap.
“What was that, Jim?” Stede asked, fatherly warning creeping in without meaning to.
“Jim,” Olu said, one of his hands stroking across their back. “Come on.”
“No, I think I want to hear what Jim has to say,” Black Pete glowered. “You got a problem with my stories?”
“No one has a problem, Pete,” Olu said quickly.
“Well, clearly they do,” Black Pete retorted, throwing down his pole. “And I want ‘em to say it to my face, come on, Jim.”
Stede swallowed down instinctive panic over the brewing edge of tension. “Guys, why don’t we—”
“I’m just saying, it’s stupid!” Jim exploded, leaping out of Olu’s lap. “You guys talk, and you talk, and—and nothing! Nada! It’s all just a dick measuring contest, only you pendejos don’t actually have any dicks to measure! They’re all fake dicks!”
“Hey,” Black Pete mumbled.
“Not wrong,” Roach shrugged.
“What are you saying, Jim?” Stede asked.
“I’m saying,” Jim scowled, “that we oughta have a real fishing competition. With real whoppers. Real fish. Real stakes.”
There was some muttering at this.
“What, like…we actually go catch a kraken?” Black Pete asked.
“No,” Jim snapped. “I’m saying—catch something from the city park.”
Frenchie let out a squeak.
“Or a pet shop,” Jim continued, with a whimper from Wee John. “Or somewhere we’re actually not supposed to fish. We’re pirates, sí? We should act like it!”
“What do we win if we do?” Ed asked immediately.
Jim smiled, sly and catlike.
“Winner gets the master suite at the beach house,” Jim said.
The silence was deafening for a moment.
“Rules!” Stede shouted desperately as the rest of the fishing crew erupted into immediate noise. “Jim! Rules!”
“Anarchy, hombrecito,” Jim said.
“No, Jim, he’s right, there should actually be rules,” Olu called. “Otherwise—”
“I’m gonna catch Shamu!” the Swede howled, attempting to grab Black Pete’s forgotten fishing pole and catching an elbow to the eye when Pete did the exact same thing.
“—that,” Olu finished. Jim sighed and rolled their eyes. Then they whistled, sharp and hard. Ringing silence followed, all eyes on Jim, who hooked their thumbs into their belt loops and cast an intense eye around. The tension built.
“I don’t do rules. You do it, Cap,” Jim said, and immediately sat back down.
“Right! Yes!” Stede stepped up, snapping his wader straps, though he had to admit, it didn’t quite have the same effect as Jim’s thumbs in their belt loops. “First rule, obviously: don’t get caught. We can’t attend a lovely ocean wedding without all of us there.”
“Second rule,” Ed said, “gotta have evidence. Picture or something. Nothing incriminating, but. Some kind of proof.”
“Babe,” Pete said hopefully.
“A photograph,” Stede clarified. Pete groaned.
“Sorry, babe. I’ll draw you with a big fish later,” Lucius said, not looking up from his tablet. Somehow that made the leer on his face worse.
“Third,” Stede said. He paused. The crew paused, looking at him. He paused, looking at them.
The pause drew on to interminable length.
“You don’t have a third rule,” Pete said.
“Hang on, it’s coming to me,” Stede frowned. “Third rule…um…”
“Yeah, it’s just…if you say ‘third rule,’ people expect you to actually have one,” Olu said.
“If you’d just—!” Stede flapped at him. He saw Ed covering his mouth from the corner of his eye and it did not help, actually, hearing the barely smothered giggles. Oh! Aha! “No sabotaging.”
“What?” Wee John complained.
“Take the fun out of everything,” Frenchie sighed.
“Listen, guys, if we’re actually going to be going places where if we get caught it’s super bad, maybe we shouldn’t set each other up to get arrested,” Stede said. The collective muttering didn’t get more positive, but it did lessen in volume.
“Yeah, probably for the best,” Ed said. “No sabotaging, and deadline is…” He rubbed his chin, thinking.
“Tomorrow?” the Swede suggested.
“How are we supposed to catch anything by tomorrow?” Black Pete snorted.
“You could if you were a real fisherman,” Jim said, which prompted a round of “ooh”s from everyone else.
“Deadline is the day we leave for the wedding,” Ed decided, raising his voice before another fight could break out. “We’ll vote on it on the way down. Best catch and best story wins.”
“If we get arrested, do we get disqualified?” Frenchie asked.
“I’d say you get bonus points,” Ed grinned.
“Provided it doesn’t make you miss the wedding,” Stede added. “Are we agreed, crew?”
Judging by how many birds startled out of the trees at the noise the crew made, they were indeed ready.
The morning grew later, and the fishing crew dispersed in ones and twos, until it was just Ed, Stede, and Buttons again. Izzy had left early, though not without one of Roach’s breakfast burritos and a significant look shared between him and Ed that Stede was happy to leave between them. Buttons cleared his throat as Stede hefted the tacklebox in his hands.
“I appreciate yer help, Cap’n,” Buttons said, his voice still wobbly. “Most generous.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Ed said at the same time Stede said, “Of course.” They looked at each other. A bubble of giddiness brewed up in Stede’s chest and he was certain it was showing on his face. That was alright; Ed was also starting to grin a little.
“Well, I’m off,” Buttons said, Karl and Olivia giving little chirps on his shoulders. “Until next time, Cap’ns.”
Stede waved as Buttons left. Then he turned to Ed.
“Did you hear that?”
“Sure did,” Ed nodded, glancing over at Stede and grinning. “Reckon if you got the absolute two perfect people to be in charge of a group of pirate fishermen, might as well be—”
“Co-captains,” Stede said, his voice overlapping Ed’s. They giggled, and Stede couldn’t help leaning in to plant a kiss on Ed’s cheek.
“We said the same thing,” Stede smiled.
“Cheers,” Ed grinned. He relieved the tacklebox from Stede’s hands so they each had a free one now to twine together. “We’re going to win that fishing contest, by the way.”
“Never had any doubts,” Stede agreed, and walked with him back to the house.
.
Ed was noodling away on the piano a few days later when he heard a particular knock on his home recording studio door.
“Iz,” Ed greeted as the man himself walked in.
Izzy grunted and sat himself in the comfortable armchair Ed had stolen from the library downstairs.
“Not so sure about setting that lot on a crime spree before running off to the ocean,” Izzy said.
“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” Ed replied. “Who’re you teaming up with?”
Izzy was silent for a long time. “Buttons,” he mumbled.
Ed nodded, then went back to the piano. Frenchie had been strumming a tune for over a week now. As far as earworms went, it was pleasant enough, but Ed knew there was something missing, something he could add, if he could just find the right note progression…
“Move up an octave,” Izzy said. Ed frowned but did as suggested. Oh. That was it, actually. Ed improvised a bridge, then added a new bar to the melody he knew for a fact Frenchie was going to go gaga for. He scribbled down the notes after playing it through one more time.
“There it is,” Ed grinned. “Thanks.”
Izzy nodded. He let Ed play a little longer, then said, “So. Jenkins Awards are coming up. Early May’s the cutoff date.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Your and Frenchie’s album going to be done on time?”
“You’re on the thing too, man, it’s our album. And I thought we agreed not to put a timetable on it.”
“I’m just saying, a Jenkins would be huge for him, especially if he wants to stay on the indie scene.”
“And I’m just saying, there’s always next year,” Ed replied, letting trickles of irritation seep into his voice. “We don’t even have a group name, let alone a name for the album. We have four songs. Total. Barely enough for an EP.”
“Ed—”
“Izzy.”
“Have you even talked to Frenchie about it? Seen what he wants?”
Ed closed his eyes and took a breath. Two. Three.
“Have you?” he finally asked, turning around on the bench to face Izzy fully. “Since you’re bringing it up?”
Izzy hesitated.
“That’s what I thought,” Ed said. “Now. Before you go on some tangent about how the fishing crew contest and bird wedding are big distractions when we could be putting our noses to the grindstone and turning out an album in time to win an award that isn’t going anywhere, let’s stop trying to make decisions for each other and wait for Frenchie to get off work. See what he says. He’s the boss on this one, not us.”
Izzy gave a stiff nod, then an extended sigh, sinking down into the chair, boneless in a way Ed rarely saw after Blackbeard became their lives. “Manager brain. Hard to turn off.”
“Don’t need to turn it off. Just adjust your priorities,” Ed said, and reached behind him to play a little high trill on the keys. “What are you over here for? Can’t be just to berate me for work we agreed we aren’t even doing.”
Izzy mumbled something that had Ed turning all the way back around.
“Pardon?” Ed asked, doing his very best to keep his face neutral.
Izzy groaned and planted the heels of his hands against his eyes.
“I have a song,” Izzy ground out.
“No!” Ed beamed. “And you’re telling little ole me first?”
“Actually, I told Roach and Buttons first,” Izzy sniffed, which did bring a performative pout to Ed’s face. “Started humming during sandwich prep.”
“Well? Grab whatever you need to play it with and lay it on me,” Ed grinned.
Izzy looked at the instruments hanging on the wall, then picked up Ed’s old acoustic guitar, running his thumb over the worn-off sticker that had once said “To Ed, From Mum.” He tuned it, taking his own sweet time about it, and Ed waited.
Izzy Hands had been the bassist and backup singer for Blackbeard since before Blackbeard even had a name. Before that, he’d been a tiny can of noxious feral rebellion with golden pipes and a talent at guitar, cello, and on some occasions, kazoo. All young Ed had needed to know was that whoever it was singing in an abandoned locker room, they needed to be in Ed’s cool new band immediately. Ed could look back and see how Izzy had gotten the idea that his voice wasn’t the one they needed for the sound they wanted to make back then, but this was now, uncomfortably close to forty years later. Ed had made the suggestion to Frenchie to bring Izzy on, but it was Izzy’s own surprisingly sweet voice that had sold Frenchie on it. The hoarseness and clipped syllables gave way to something that didn’t sound like it felt painful coming out, smooth as syrup. Listening now to Izzy sing and play, Ed felt thirteen all over again.
“Told you that you should have gone solo ages ago, you dick,” Ed said, kicking at Izzy’s foot. “You sure you want that on the album? Think you could record it right now and get your own invite to the Jenkins.”
Izzy glared at him, but his cheeks were red. “It fits better with Frenchie’s songs,” he said stiffly.
“Yeah, really does,” Ed agreed. He turned back to the piano. “Play it again, I think it could use a little accompaniment.”
“Whatever,” Izzy grunted, but began strumming again.
They got a good hour of work on the thing before there was another knock on the door.
“Stede!” Ed brightened, scooting off his bench to kiss his boyfriend’s cute face while Izzy made quiet groaning noises in the background. Stede, holding a tea tray, kissed Ed back and smiled.
“Made up some tea and sandwiches,” Stede said, passing the tray to Ed’s hands. “And I had a thought about how we’re going to win the fishing contest.”
“Best to strategize away from the enemy, mate,” Ed said, looking over his shoulder at Izzy, who flipped him off with one hand and made grabby-hands motions at the tea with the other.
“If you insist,” Stede said, “though, really, my idea is so good, it doesn’t matter if Izzy hears, because there’s no way he’d ever think of something so ingenious.”
“Posing with a fish from the butcher counter and pretending you caught it somewhere else,” Izzy deadpanned. Stede’s face turned an interesting color. “Pete and Lucius already had the same idea.”
“We can do better than that, babe,” Ed promised, kissing Stede one more time. “Garden coming along alright?”
“Just getting the seedlings settled,” Stede beamed. “I’ll leave you to it, love.” He gave a little nod over Ed’s shoulder. “Izzy.”
“Bonnet,” Izzy returned. Stede bustled off. Ed took the tray and laid it on the piano bench, passing Izzy a few sandwiches and one of the cups of tea. “Man might be completely useless, but he can brew a decent cuppa. When he wants.”
“For the last time, the mealworm incident was not his fault,” Ed chuckled, slurping down his own tea. Perfection, as always. Stede knew him so well. “Well. Only so much we can get done today without Frenchie, but I think your song’s a solid pick.”
Izzy ducked his head. Ed thought he saw the corners of Izzy’s eyes crinkle.
“At least think about the Jenkins deadline,” Izzy said, draining the last of his tea. “Alright?”
Ed nodded and let Izzy see himself out. He could promise to think about it, yeah. Could not and would not promise to care about it, though.
No, what Ed was choosing to care about right now was Stede, and what Stede was caring about currently was his seedlings, which he was cooing at in the kitchen as Ed carried down the tea tray.
“How’re they doing?” Ed asked.
“Perfect,” Stede smiled, nudging a tiny pellet of soil just so back into formation with its fellows. “Bit more green above the soil from all of these little beauties and then into pots with them. We’ll be feasting on herb salads all summer.”
“Can’t wait,” Ed grinned. As he turned to wash up the dishes in the sink, Stede’s phone went off. Video call. Probably the kids.
“Hello!” Stede said as he answered it, finally, after much tapping and cursing to himself.
“You didn’t hang up on us this time!” Louis squeaked through the speaker. Ed didn’t have enough beard to hide his grin in, but he did have the advantage of having his back turned instead.
“I only did that once,” Stede sniffed. “Hello, Mary. Where’s Alma?”
“Taking a six-hour shower,” Louis said. Ed having his back turned meant he could also snort through a quiet giggle with no one being the wiser.
“Louis,” Mary warned.
“What? She is,” Louis protested. “She takes forever and she leaves her hair in the drain. It’s gross.”
“Ah. Related to her father, then,” Ed said, softly enough that until the hand towel flicked his butt, he wasn’t sure Stede had heard him.
“Behave,” Stede chided, though Ed could claim ignorance as to whether it was his partner or his son that Stede was talking to. Turned back. Wonderful invention.
“What are you working on, Dad?” Louis asked.
“Aha!” Stede said, and Ed didn’t have to be facing Stede to know that he had turned his phone around rather than find the flip camera button in order to show off his latest project. “I’m planting an herb garden!”
“What’s an herb garden?”
“A garden of herbs,” Alma deadpanned, apparently having exited the shower after all.
“What’s a garden of herbs?”
“An herb is a plant you can eat,” Stede explained. “We usually buy them dried at the store, but they taste wonderful fresh. Like those rosemary smashed potato things we made for the Fourth of July, remember? With the blue potatoes?”
“They were purple,” Louis protested.
“Don’t you have landscapers to do this kind of thing for you?” Alma interrupted.
“The landscapers mostly just mow the lawns, not plant herbs in pots,” Stede said. Ed finished the dishes, but stayed by the sink, carefully drying his hands. He could sneak out of the kitchen without being seen no problem, but. Well.
“Where’s Ed?” Mary asked.
There it was.
Stede looked up just as Ed started walking over, and it didn’t matter that they had just talked four seconds ago, Stede’s face lit up and Ed felt all gooey inside about it and he had to kiss the side of Stede’s head about it as he scooted into frame, Mary and the kids squashed together on Stede’s phone.
“Hi,” Ed said, then shot off a small salute. “Captain and First Mate Bonnets.”
“Captain Ed!” Louis saluted back. Alma rolled her eyes, but Ed knew better than to let a display of preteen nonchalance get to him. Particularly this preteen, who had crowed at the top of her lungs when she’d stolen Ed’s foam pirate hat and claimed the captaincy for herself.
“What’s new?” Ed asked, and then let himself get lost in the deluge of information that followed—recitals, math tests, science experiments, stupid reading assignments, cool bugs, beaten video game levels. Ed wasn’t sure how all of this managed to be more interesting than the snips of gossip he used to slog through during calls like this with Relevant Industry Professionals, but he’d take Louis Bonnet’s play-by-play of the dodgeball game he'd lost last week over hearing whose spouse had caught which secret lover any day.
“And just as a reminder, kids are going to stay with you two for spring break, since Doug and I will be gone that week,” Mary said.
“As if I’d forget that,” Stede said.
“The question is, are they ready for us?” Ed raised an eyebrow.
“A pirate has no fear!” Louis roared.
“That’s the spirit, First Mate Bonnet,” Ed laughed.
“And Alma will be very happy to stay in her room and let Louis be captain, I’m sure,” Stede said, which got him a scoff and an eyeroll for his trouble. Ed grinned, already planning ways to draw her out of her affectedly nonchalant shell and back into the realm of fun.
“Doug’s back with dinner, so we’d better go,” Mary said. Ed checked the time, marveling at how a whole hour and a half had passed like this. “Good luck on the garden, Stede. Bye, Ed. Still on for pedicures tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Ed promised. When the screen went dark, Stede leaned his head on Ed’s shoulder, looking over his seedlings. Ed waited.
“Mary and I used to check in maybe once a week when we were still married,” Stede said after a minute or two. “I think once we went six months without actually speaking if it wasn’t about the kids’ appointments.”
Ed hummed.
“Most other people don’t have their ex-wives getting nails done with their current boyfriends, do they?” Stede’s tone was hard to read, but if Ed had to guess…he didn’t sound upset. Wondering, maybe.
“Most people also aren’t dating Blackbeard,” Ed said. Stede snorted.
“I’m not dating Blackbeard. I’m dating Ed.” Stede’s mouth quirked up. “Ivan is a lovely fellow, but I think I’d commit murder if I had to date Izzy.”
Ed laughed. “Mutual feeling there, mate. Good thing Izzy would rather lose a foot than even contemplate the hypothetical.”
Stede laughed too, which was the ultimate goal. Ed nudged Stede’s head with his own, nuzzling his fluffy wavy hair.
“Love you,” Ed mumbled into it.
“Love you, too,” Stede replied.
There was still something, some heaviness or weight to Stede’s silence. Ed tried not to linger on it. When Stede felt like telling him, he would. No good reading into it now if Stede wasn’t saying anything.
It was fine. They were fine.