Chapter Text
“Right,” Stede said, stifling a sigh. “So that’s five for and five against.”
Some of the crew glanced around at each other. “Fang, Frenchie, what the fuck?” Jim asked. “How can you want him to stay on the ship after what he did to all of us?”
“You saw how weak he is,” Fang explained, shaking his head sadly. “If we banish him, I don’t reckon he’ll survive.”
“And coming back from the dead is quite the feat in my book,” Frenchie piped up. “Not saying it earns him a second chance, but I wanna see where he’s going with it.”
“What about you, Black Pete?” Stede asked. “You’re happy with your choice?” He tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting to come across like he was trying to sway the vote. But Pete had looked reluctant, hadn’t he?
Pete grimaced a little, but he looked at Lucius and took his hand. “Yep,” he replied in a resigned tone. “I say banishment.”
“Hmm,” Stede murmured. “Right.”
Somehow, a draw almost felt worse than an outright loss, because Stede didn’t know what to do with himself next. He’d braced himself for having to banish Ed, but now? Now he was just stuck.
“Eh, cap’n,” Buttons spoke up, “there is one more person aboard this ship who could be giving a vote.”
“What?” Stede asked, frowning. “Who do you mean?”
His first mate raised his finger in the air, pointing up towards the deck. “I think you’ll find him in an argument with a unicorn,” Buttons said.
It took Stede a moment to realize who Buttons was talking about, and then his heart sank. Izzy. Stede didn’t like dealing with Izzy under normal circumstances, and now this? Put Ed’s fate in the hands of the man whose leg he’d shot off? The man who’d skewered Stede to the mast? The man who’d sold them out to the English just to keep Stede and Ed apart?
“Mmm—lovely,” Stede said, his voice coming out in a squeak. “Yes, of course. I’ll just, er, see what Izzy has to say.”
Up on deck, Izzy was indeed over on the beakhead, scowling at what was left of the unicorn as he guzzled down rum. Stede approached, trying to keep it casual, but when he looked at Izzy, he got a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. The portion of Izzy’s brain that wasn’t currently drowning in rum looked to be spoiling for a fight—not exactly the portrait of a man who was prepared to have a cogent discussion about the well-being of his former captain.
“Hey,” Stede said. He looked toward the headless unicorn and remarked, “Oh, he's seen better days, hasn't he?”
Clinging to a rope to keep him upright, not just from the missing leg but from his heavy libations, Izzy shouted spitefully at the unicorn, “At least he's still got both legs!”
“Yes!” Stede joined in. “Oh, he can't hear you. He's got no head.” He turned back to Izzy. “You've got a head, though…” He winced as the broken man gulped down most of the remainder of his bottle. “...Which you should look after.”
“What do you want, Bonnet?” Izzy demanded, swaying on his rope. The smell of alcohol wafting off him would’ve been enough to make the whole ship go up like a tinderbox.
Stede took a breath. “Er, well, here's the thing,” he told Izzy. “The crew, they're in a bit of a deadlock over the whole ‘banishment of Ed’ thing. And I just thought, seeing as, well, you were the one who kept his body aboard, maybe you should weigh in.”
And hell, why not just say it? “You've already murdered him once. Seems like a pretty good payback.” Stede forced a chuckle. “So, what do you think?”
Izzy looked blearily at him. “My vote?” He made to speak, stumbled a little, then let out a low grumble. “That twat…” he muttered, spitting over the railing.
With a growl, Izzy said, “That’s twice now he’s tried to make me kill him. First time I refused, second time he drove me to it. I won’t be the deciding fucking vote in doing it a third time, he can fuck right off with that.”
“Really?” Stede asked, a surge of relief flooding through him. It was quickly tempered, though, and he added, “Just to confirm, was that a nay or yay on the banishment?”
“It’s a stay of fucking execution,” Izzy said. He drained the last of the rum and threw the bottle overboard with wild aim. “Give him a day or two, make sure he won’t just die the second you chuck him off. Then the crew votes again.”
The relief came back, more slowly, spreading up from Stede’s toes. But he was surprised to find some trepidation threaded through it as well. All he’d wanted was to have Ed back, so why was Stede now scared to face him?
But he said to Izzy, “Thanks. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
The mutilated man gave a half-choked laugh. “I’ve nothing but my fucking regrets, Bonnet,” he replied. “They’re all that’s keeping me standing.”
“Well, sort of,” Stede said distractedly. His mind whirred, excitement and nervousness and heartache and longing all rolled into one. “Right. I’ll let the crew know, then.”
The ‘nays’ were rather disappointed, and Lucius even suggested that Stede was lying about Izzy’s answer, but a vote was a vote. “Don’t sweat it, we’ll get another chance,” Jim reminded Lucius. “Once he can stand again, then we’ll vote him off the ship.”
“Or maybe you’ll have reconsidered by then?” Stede offered.
Lucius gave him a withering look. “And what do you think the odds of that are?” he asked.
Nope, probably not. Still, maybe Pete would come round.
Now that the vote had gone Ed’s way, it was time to deal with the reality of the vote going Ed’s way. As Stede headed back up to the deck, accompanied by Roach and Fang, it felt like a heavy weight was pressing down on his chest. There was Ed, shackled to the railing. He looked bedraggled, out of it, and…angry? Did he look angry? The headbutt had carried with it a suggestion of anger.
Stede opened his mouth to speak, but as Ed fixed his large dark eyes on him, his head lolling a bit, Stede felt all his words dry up. He tried moving his lips to see if he could coax them out—no joy.
Roach glanced at Stede, then turned to Ed. “It’s your lucky day,” Roach announced. “Well, lucky for a half-dead man that most of the crew hates, anyway. We’re not kicking you out yet. We’re letting you recover a little before we decide what happens to you.”
Ed managed a glower before his head sagged. “Y-yes, thank you, Roach,” Stede said, finally finding his tongue. “If you chaps could just bring him to my quarters?”
“Right, captain,” Fang replied, and Stede thought he saw a flicker of something pass over Ed’s face for a moment. Recognition that Fang was on Stede’s crew now? Was he sorry for what he’d done to drive Fang away? Or did he think Stede had poached a good pirate who’d been sailing with him for decades?
Stede drew in a sharp breath to bring himself out of his spiraling thoughts. He stepped out of the way as Roach unshackled Ed. Fang and Roach got Ed mostly on his feet, half-carrying him with his arms over their shoulders. Stede could tell that Ed was trying to walk, but his feet were dragging and stumbling.
They brought Ed down to the captain’s quarters. “Just there,” Stede said quietly, nodding to his bed. Roach exchanged a look with Fang, who shrugged. They hefted Ed onto the bed like he was a sack of potatoes, leaving him lying on top of the blanket.
“What should I chain him to?” Roach asked.
“Let’s say no to chains right now,” Stede replied. His eyes were on Ed, and it felt like he just couldn’t tear them away.
“Captain,” Roach said insistently.
“Look at him—he can’t get up on his own,” Stede pointed out. “There’s no danger.” He wasn’t looking in Ed’s eyes. He wasn’t sure he had that right anymore, and he was afraid of what he might find there. But his curls, his hands, his short beard, all that was fair game.
Stede felt himself drawing his key out of his pocket. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll lock the door,” were the words that came out of his mouth. “We’ll be all right.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Roach pressed. No doubt he was looking at the bruise on Stede’s face.
“That’s all for now,” Stede said. “I’ll call you if you’re needed.”
Roach shrugged. “Hey, I tried.” As he and Fang headed for the door, he called over his shoulder, “Yell for help if he hits you again.”
“It was an accident!” Stede insisted, although he felt a little less sure of that now.
Locking the door behind them, Stede turned back toward the bed. It was just the two of them now. Just him and Ed.
“...Are you all right?” Stede managed to ask.
A flicker of a grimace on Ed’s face. “What do you fucking think?” he muttered.
They were the first words Ed had spoken since he’d come back to life—looked like he didn’t have couscous for brains after all!—so Stede took that as a positive sign. The hostility in those words? A bit less so.
“Right,” he mumbled, looking down. “Stupid question. Of course you’re not.” He allowed himself one glimpse at Ed’s face. “Glad you’re not dead.”
It was woefully inadequate for what he meant. He wanted to say thrilled, ecstatic, bursting with relief and love, and he wanted to say it while holding Ed’s hand. But the words stuck on his tongue, and his hand clenched at his side.
At the sound of a grunt, Stede looked up again. Ed was trying to shift in bed, and his expression was knit with pain. “Ed….” Stede murmured, rushing forward to help.
But Ed lifted his hand to warn Stede back, although that slight movement made him grit his teeth. “D-don’t fucking touch me,” he said.
“Right,” Stede said, taking a step back. “Sorry.”
How had he gotten this all wrong? When Mary told him that love felt easy, Stede had known exactly what she meant. But this wasn’t easy at all.
Searching around for something else to say, Stede offered, “Can I help you with the blanket?”
Ed was trying to tug the blanket out from beneath his prone body so he could drape it over himself. “I’ve got it,” he muttered. “Used to taking care of myself, aren’t I?”
“I know,” Stede admitted, “but I’m not sure you’ve done such a good job of that lately.”
Letting out another grunt of pain as he wrestled the blanket free, Ed pulled it over his upper body. Stede saw him trying to catch the other end of it with his toes so he could cover his legs too. “C-can I…?” Stede asked, taking a tentative step forward. “I’ll just arrange it for you, and then I’ll step back again. I won’t….” He trailed off, and silence hung in the air like a thick fog.
“Fine,” Ed finally said in a low voice.
That one wary word was enough to buoy Stede’s heart, and he couldn’t help smiling a little as he closed the distance between them. Well, the physical distance anyway.
“There we go,” he said, gently laying the blanket over Ed’s legs.
“I-I’m just cold,” Ed mumbled. He turned his eyes toward the window, away from Stede.
“I know, it’s all right,” Stede told him. “Sorry it’s not more comfortable. I’d had more blankets in one of my trunks, but—”
“Most of your shit is at the bottom of the ocean,” Ed said dully. “We threw it overboard.”
“Right—yes,” Stede fumbled. “I suppose we’ll make do with this.”
The silences were so long, so stifling. It had never felt like this between Stede and Ed before, and Stede didn’t know how to fix it. In a sudden desperation to fall back and regroup, Stede said, “Why don’t I get you some tea?” Already heading towards the door, he added, “I’ll, er, I’ll just pop down to the galley.”
Ed told him, “Your fancy cups are—”
“At the bottom of the ocean, right,” Stede realized. “No matter. I’ll manage.”
Hurriedly, Stede unlocked the door and slipped out into the hall, sinking back against the door as he shut it again. He let out the sigh he’d been holding back. What now?