Work Text:
Ed stops in his tracks, the roar of battle trapped in his throat. Dead soldiers litter Jackie’s bar, slumped over their poisoned drinks. At their arrival, it’s like a spell breaks.
The last remaining, pale faced fop panics, struggling until the press of Jackie’s dagger stops him.
”Move again and it won’t just be your nose joining my jar, Ricky.”
Pale faced, in a pathetic warbling voice, Ricky whimpers, “I’m a minor prince! You’ll never get away with this! They’ll see right through you—”
Ed flinches as Jackie snaps the ties holding up Ricky's prosthetic nose. Between one yelp and the next, Jackie shoves the porcelain nose-piece into his open mouth.
“Can it, Dicky .”
From the belly of her bar, the remaining crew screams up the steps. They freeze, taken aback by the sight of their sudden, unexpected victory.
Without missing a beat, Jackie jerks her head at the crew. “Lock him up below. We’ll deal with this ass later.”
Before any of the crew moves, a bloodied woman shoves her way forward. With each staggering step, she mutters furiously beneath her breath.
“Auntie?” Zheng whispers brokenly at his side, teetering forward until Ed steadies her. Shock and confusion pass across her face at his intervention.
Auntie claws her fingers into the meat of Ricky’s shoulder. He whines, cowering beneath her white-gripped rage.
Through gritted teeth, she hisses, “Up with you now, before I reconsider your life expectancy.”
Ricky shimmies, squirming and tripping over the legs of his chair and fallen comrades.
“Now that’s a walk of shame I can get behind,” Wee John snickers.
Zheng trots after, stopping at the sight of Oluwande helping Auntie back up the steps. Her eyes dart between them until finally settling on Auntie. Hands shaking, Zheng reaches for Auntie as if the woman’s transformed into some fragile fledgling covered in blood and soot.
With a growl, Auntie slumps into Zheng’s side, all attempts at stoicism lost beneath the pale of blood loss. “You don’t have to treat me like some invalid. Are you happy to see me or not?”
It’s only then that Zheng’s tears start, their heads bowed so that only snippets of their hushed conversation waft his way. He coughs, hiding the discomfort building in his throat at the affection they show so freely. Something he doesn’t want to examine too closely.
“Lovely, isn’t it? Seeing those two get along.” Stede whispers at Ed’s shoulder. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Wasn’t startled,” Ed fidgets.
“Right,” Stede breathes “Right.”
Zheng and Auntie grip each other until Ed’s not sure who is keeping whom up. With a sniff and a teary nod, Zheng’s composure slips back into place with renewed vigor. Replacing her earlier fragility is a picture of unified strength, an unbreakable bond between captain and first mate. Unbreakable in a way that once again has Edward’s mouth tightening. It seemed not just any old man could take the place of a first mate, not even a so-called, mild-mannered fisherman.
Stony faced, Zheng voices what everyone is too afraid to talk about. “Even with Prince Dicky out of the way, we’ve still got the problem of, oh, a hundred or so British soldiers occupying the woodlands of the Republic? So, unless anyone has a bright idea…”
Deep in thought, Frenchie shrugs out, “Could always put on a show.”
Frenchie’s words peter into a mumbled apology at Zheng’s irritated frown, his shoulders rising to meet his ears.
Stede’s sharp intake of breath has Ed eying him, watching the spark of excitement rush to Stede’s cheeks.
“A fuckery!” Stede crows.
Bangs fluttering outward on a heavy sigh, Zheng grimaces. With a shake of her head, she asks, “Don’t make me regret asking, Bonnet. You’ve piqued my interest. What the hell’s a fuckery?”
“Let’s just say I’m taking a leaf from a couple of old handbooks.” Stede’s eyes darts over to Izzy, a brief moment that only Ed catches. It doesn’t prepare him for the way his breath hitches when that same gaze turns to him and winks; flirtatious and boyish.
Pounding his fist into his hand, Stede urges everyone to lean closer.
“Let’s meet them head on. Show them what we’re really made of. Let's perform like it’s our last day on earth.”
Izzy groans, cradling his face in his hands, but strangely, he doesn’t offer any condemnation for the idea.
Stede swings to Jackie, pointing at her with all his vision and excitement bubbling through. It’s titillating, watching the way he stirs the crew into the same frenetic, bouncy eagerness.
“Madame Jackie, if you please? We’ll be needing some show-stopping accouterments that’ll really knock ‘em dead.”
Jackie grins, sharp-edged and cunning, as she nods. “You’ve come to the right place, Gentleman Pirate. You kill the sons of bitches that destroyed my bar and you can have whatever the fuck you want.”
Jackie nods with her chin to the back of her bar, beckoning the crew to follow.
At the top of the stairwell, Jackie blocks the doorway, staring each of them down.
“You break, steal, or fuck anything up in here and it’ll be the last thing you do, capiche?“
The crew nods, all except Pete, whose poker face would fail at hiding the inherent guilt painting his face. Oluwande jabs him in the ribs until Pete wheezes out, “Yup, yup, capiche.”
They enter Jackie’s bedroom with silent, shuffling feet, and Ed is struck by the hilarity of all these little ducklings waddling behind their mother duck.
A threatening, murderous mother duck that gives each of them a piercing, knowing glance.
“Jackie doesn’t forget,” she declares, opening a double door armoire to show off rows of decadent gowns, “But she is willing to let it slide for the cause.”
Shoving clothes to the side, Jackie leans in to bang a fist on the wood panel. A hollow thud echoes as the false back swings open.
Peeking in over Pete’s shoulder, Lucius whispers, “And here I thought Stede was a clotheshorse.”
Jackie chuckles. “Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Ed chuckles, nodding in breathless appreciation and admiration, because there is nothing quite like this hidden red room. Everything screamed decadence; from the wall-length mirrors to the endless rows of fancy gowns. She’d dedicated an entire wall to showcasing weaponry; meticulously displaying what could only be called accessories in polite company—said company excluded. Wide-eyed, Jim wanders off into that corner, eyes trailing up the wall of weapons. Something on display makes their cheeks turn red as they furtively shoot glances at Archie.
At the end of the room, a three-mirrored vanity reflects their awestruck expressions. Wee John settles at the dresser, grin growing wider and wider as he lifts up a seemingly endless supply of cosmetics.
“A woman after my own heart,” Stede whispers, salivating over the rows and rows of elegant fabrics that has him squirming in delight.
Ed can’t help his trailing fingers and neither can Stede. He bobs back and forth between admiring the clothes to commenting, “You’d look fab in that skirt, Roach.”
Zheng huffs, “While you boys finish up, some of us are going to dress a little more inconspicuously. Uniforms, anyone?”
Zheng smirks, holding up a navy blue officer’s suit. Pete snatches one with surprising quickness, admiring the sleeves before ripping them off and grinning ear to ear.
“Always wanted to do that.” He chuckles.
Lucius, already shimming into a brilliant black fringe skirt, pecks Pete on the cheek. “Love it when you fuck shit up, babe.”
“Now we’re talking,” Auntie grins, tugging the blue coat over her wounded arm without even a hint of wincing.
Fang quietly dons a uniform too, tucking away his necklaces beneath the white dress shirt with a determined frown.
Ed watches them all from a distance, unable to push himself into their well-oiled machine. He catches their shifting gazes and outright avoidant glances. He’s not about to fuck up the fuckery because he doesn’t know where to fit in. His eyes drift, but somehow always manage to find their way back to Stede.
He can see the way the wheels whir in Stede’s clever little brain. There's a tiny furrow on his brow that wrinkles his nose, demanding a kiss that Ed cannot yet find it in himself to provide.
Far meeker than he expected, Stede approaches Zheng and asks, “If I may be so bold, Zheng, do you perhaps have any of that lovely chamomile left?”
Arms crossed, she glares at him. “Bonnet, my entire fleet is at the bottom of the bay. What makes you possibly think I’d carry any chamomile on me?”
The Swede clears his throat, scooting into the conversation with an apologetic wave. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt. I, uh, I have some chamomile tucked away behind the bar. We use it sometimes on the more unruly guests.”
Zheng grunts in surprise, giving the Swede a reluctantly impressed nod.
“Well, there you go, Bonnet. Seems like things do work out for you.”
“That’s because we work it through—“
In tandem, the crew of the Revenge turn to respond, Pavlovian in their cheery rejoinder of, “As a crew.”
Eyes rolling, Zhao wanders off to find Oluwande, mumbling beneath her breath, “You may just live through today yet, Stede.”
At Zheng’s reluctant praise, Stede’s smiles, sighing happily.
Ed wanders up to his side, toeing the floor as he stands idly. The uncertainty of his place in this farce eats away at him.
“Hey, mate,” Ed murmurs.
Grinning, Stede whispers, “Can you believe all of this?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ed nods, failing to hide his growing interest.
“Oh, look at these, Edward! Don’t you think we’d look absolutely fetching in these?”
Ed swallows, eyes widening as Stede presses a thick frilly bustle and matching purple-red pants into his limp grip. Across his own chest, Stede smooths a gold and turquoise sequined getup. He rubs his fingers across the breadth of his bosom with a wistful sigh that makes Ed lean in a little closer.
“Yeah, fab.” Ed chuckles breathily through his distraction, clutching desperately to the crinkling fabric.
“Funny,” Stede chuckles, a mirror of Ed’s nervous energy, “I almost believed Chauncey when he said I’d ruined the world’s greatest pirate. Helped a bit to see him blow his own brains out instead of mine.”
His offhand, blithe comment leaves Ed lost for words, completely adrift as Stede smooths out the supple fabric. His hands keep moving, soothing and gentle, as if it’s the only thing keeping Ed from running.
Stede’s voice dips low as he whispers, “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough. That was on me. I never felt like I was enough. Not until now. I’m sorry it took so long.”
A deprecating smile cracks through his bravado, revealing the gentle man beneath. Ed’s hand slips into Stede’s, holding it tight, torn between desperate want and fear. Fear that one of them would run off again and the ever-growing fear of his desire to pull Stede into a bruising kiss. Somehow, he manages to keep both his impulses reigned in.
Apologies?
Confessions?
Those things never came easily to him, not when actions spoke louder, but this once, for Stede, Ed tries.
“You—I—I’m sorry I left, too. Went on a fishing trip. Turns out it’s not my thing either.”
Stede’s smile reassures him, a balm for the fractured boy that lies at the heart of all his fears. Carefully, Stede’s free hand grips his shoulder.
“I believe in you. You’re Edward Teach. You can do anything.”
Ed snorts. “Anything but be a fisherman— or a good boyfriend.”
Stede quirks his head to the side, nodding along in a way that only acknowledges Ed’s words without agreeing.
“Well, if I know one thing, it’s that I’ll be by your side. Whatever you decide to do.”
Eyes cast down, shrugging, Ed mumbles sheepishly, “Could decide I want to be an innkeeper.”
Stede’s thumb smooths over Ed’s knuckles. “Then I shall be your first patron.”
“Yeah, well, actually I was thinking you could be more of a co-keeper. You know—help me keep an eye on the inmates.”
“You mean the guests, right?”
“Right, yeah, inmates, guests, they’re all locked up.”
Stede’s smile disarms any sense of embarrassment he might have felt. “Hm. You know, you’re quite right.”
Lucius coughs loudly, startling them both from their conversation, “Not to break up—whatever this is—but you two need to get dressed and into makeup.”
Lucius nods over to where Wee John has made a formidable set up of powders and brushes, an artist at his canvas with Roach’s face dwarfed between his hands.
Stede sashays over to Wee John, plucking out a powder brush from Jackie’s vanity. He twirls it in his fingers with unexpected nimbleness.
“It may come as a surprise, but I dabbled in the theater as a boy. Makeup was one of my expertise.”
“You don’t say,” Lucius drawls.
Not taking his eyes off a teal wrap, Oluwande frowns. “Yeah, no big surprise there.”
“You could all act a little surprised,” Stede huffs.
Eyes shut, Roach grumbles, “Put on a good look and then we’ll show our surprise.”
“Alright then.” Stede struts over to Edward’s side, gesturing for him to sit at an empty chair.
With a practice hand, Stede lifts Ed’s chin up, smiling down at him like he’s the world’s greatest treasure.
Infinite seconds pass as Stede applies layers of something called foundation to his face.
It’s surprisingly comfortable having Stede so close he can see the sun-kissed freckles of his cheeks. The lines of concentration folding into a map Ed could read for hours if given the opportunity.
The flush in his cheeks deepens until he’s forced to look away, hoping Stede hasn’t noticed him staring.
“This’ll go a long way,” Stede says between breathy pauses.
Ed struggles to keep his mouth still as he asks, “For what?”
Stede pulls back, inspecting his work. “Towards endearing yourself with the crew. Making amends.”
Ed forces his eyes shut. He cannot fathom looking at Stede right now. Not when he has to fight to keep his emotions from bleeding too close to the surface.
Feather light dips of the brush trace his eyes and cheeks, an unfathomable landscape that he’s anxious to see completed.
Stede sighs, his breath tickling Ed’s lashes, “Life may be a dick, but we can do our best to meet it together.”
The silence stretches out between them, still companionable, but now Ed feels the need to fill it itching along his spine. Finally, after nearly too long in the darkness of his thoughts, Ed peeks up at Stede.
“Meant what I said back there.” Even as he says it, Ed can’t look at Stede for too long, not yet. Not when his face is an open book of yearning and desperation.
“And what was that, darling?” Stede asks, inspecting his work with a critical but gentle eye.
“That I love you.” Ed gulps as Stede pauses.
He grabs Stede’s hand before he can speak, rushing to finish. “Everything about you. You—you try so fucking hard, and I—I love that about you.”
A heavy thud approaches them, steady like a heartbeat, until they both turn to look at their guest.
Izzy, made up just like the night of Calypso’s party, fierce and untouchable. He’s swimming in layers of gauzy black, gold, and green; slippery, as if he’d swim right through his grasp.
“You’re needed, Captain Bonnet.” Izzy jerks his head over to Zheng. “I’ll finish up here.”
Ed could argue, could beg Stede to stay, but instead he loosens his grip. Before he can fully let go, Stede lifts his fingers into a gallant kiss, awkward and endearing—pure Stede.
“I’ll be back, darling,” Stede whispers at his knuckles.
“Take care of him until I get back,” Stede orders, marching off to whatever it is Izzy’s gotten him to do.
Izzy shakes his head, holding out a hand for Ed’s outfit.
With a grunt, Izzy says, “Huh. Think he finally managed to learn a thing or two.”
“Had a good teacher, I heard.”
Wordlessly, Izzy helps Ed into his dress, careful not to disturb Stede’s hard work.
He fiddles with Ed’s hair, artfully pinning and tucking it up; adding a few last minute, final touches.
Ed grabs his hand to still him, making sure he can fully see Izzy.
The words slip out before he can think better of it, the ache that’s been crawling out of him for the past several days rising to this surface.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, Iz.”
Izzy’s lip curls, shifting uncomfortably as he shrugs off Ed’s words.
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to get out of this.”
Ed chuckles. “Been in worse binds. With you at the head, singing your fucking little bird songs? We’ve got this.”
Izzy doesn’t offer any words of confidence. He nods, as if happy with what he sees, spinning on his little unicorn leg. It should hurt to see the evidence of their broken relationship, seemingly well past the point of mending.
Ed blurts out, “You look good. Happy.”
Izzy wobbles for a second, teetering between one step and the next.
Over his shoulder, Izzy offers, “Yeah, well, wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you either, Eddie.”
It’s neither thanks nor an absolution. It’s merely a painful fact that he now has to watch Izzy walk away, dress trailing behind him like the tail of some exotic, untouchable creature of the deep.
Stede rushes back to Ed’s side. At every turn, their reflections greet them, a pair of fierce captains at the ready.
They truly make a devastating pair. Stede in his skin-tight gold and turquoise dress, like a slip of pure sunshine. From afar, Ed’s bustle overshadows him, a tidal wave of dusk. Yet finally, side by side, Ed’s voluminous skirt turns into a delicate, shadowy rose beside Stede’s morning brightness. Together, they strike an intimidating figure.
All in all, the crew paints a picture of fierceness that Ed begrudgingly accepts might work.
It was the grandest kind fuckery, with no assurance of winning, but all the rewards of a fucking good time if it was the end.
Leaving Jackie’s bar unnoticed was relatively easy. The setting sun painting their faces in a swath of pinks and oranges. It highlights the blush on Izzy’s cheek as he limps forward past fallen logs and loamy earth. In the shadows, the camouflaged crew lopes off to infiltrate the enemy.
Stede’s layers of turquoise and gold sequins shimmers in the sun’s rays. His eyes look even wider. Owlish and sultry, and with limited time they’ve managed to sweep and curl his hair, coiffed and begging for Ed’s fingertips.
Any other man might make Ed feel like a shadow, but instead he feels as fierce as the ocean, a force of nature.
In front, Izzy steals himself, leading the charge with barely any sweat peeking through the layers of his makeup.
He’s a little too comfortable and it’s far too easy for Ed to sneak up behind him and whisper, “Love you, mate. You got this.”
Izzy’s face turns all shades of white and splotchy red, barely visible beneath the golden arches of his brow. His flustered mouth opens and shuts gaping like a fish as Ed chuckling. Right as Izzy’s gained some semblance of composure, Ed leans in to kiss his cheek.
With a wink, he pushes Izzy forward, “For luck. Knock ‘em dead.”
Izzy shakes it off quickly, fluffing out his gown, shivering from head to toe. He’s a wisp, all fluttering gauze and fanning pleats, gone before Ed can make amends.
Izzy takes one last look at Ed before continuing his march.
Torches in the distance give the naval officers away. Well before they’re seen, Izzy lets out a giggle that sets off the rest of the crew.
In a voice dripping between seduction and dark whiskey, Izzy croons, “Oh my! Look at all you strong, strapping British boys!”
It rasps against Ed’s spine like a lover’s nails. He can see the same shiver run through Stede, rippling through all of them.
The furor of gun’s cocking dies as they see their beautifully dressed group. Looks pass between the British, their weapons still trained on them.
“Boys, boys, please,” Izzy purrs, “we came here to give you our appreciation. A little show of gratitude.”
He slips one leg between the slit of his dress, just enough to show smooth skin with only a hint of a bedazzled, golden hoof. It's a hidden treasure for the British soldiers to plunder.
Before the navy officers can get their wits about them, Izzy juts his hips forward.
“Hit it, boys.”
Behind him, Frenchie strums his lute, and Wee John sets the tempo with an empty barrel.
At first, the men are suspicious, eying each other and the growing crowd of officers.
Ed picks out Pete’s face, a shadow of Jim’s impressive acrobatics overhead, Zheng and Auntie barely hidden in the sea of similar looking faces.
With Lucius on one side, Frenchie on the other, Izzy dives into his song. A beautiful, rousing and captivating tune that has the British cheering in excitement.
Ed does his best to keep to Stede’s side, letting himself get lost in the frantic energy that exudes from their performance.
Archie and Oluwande wrap around each other. Their bodies a tangle of dresses and limbs, synchronized in their seduction.
The British hoot and holler, wound tight in Izzy’s serenade. Quite a few men reach out, swatted away by the flit of Izzy’s dress.
It’s no wonder that the crew is able to sneak through and demolish the navy with nothing more than a few tea towels doused in chamomile.
Though the men whistle at Izzy, he never once falters, morbidly aware that any misstep could spell their demise. He only grows more and more confident with each muffled shout, grinning and encouraging Lucius and Frenchie into a salacious dance.
One by one, the soldiers fall, replaced by the Swede’s grinning face or an equally excited Jackie. Zheng and Auntie work in silent tandem, revenge driving them forward.
Ed winces, trying to hide his laughter at Stede’s off tempo shimmying. He’s dancing, but to a tune of his own making. Warm affection stirs, goading Ed to Stede’s side.
Dragging his arms around Stede’s waist, Ed whispers, “Follow my lead, mate.”
He lets himself get lost in the movement, leading Stede’s body through the music until it feels like they share the same mind. Hip to hip, twirling and laughing, dazzling the audience with their jewel-toned splendor.
Not a single sound of struggle makes it over the din of their elaborate performance. Too engrossed, the naval officers never once notice the crew knocking out their comrades. They drag them out of sight, leaving them draped in the shadow of the setting sun .
One soldier remains, lost to Izzy’s mesmerizing tune. He hangs on to the final notes of Izzy’s triumphant song before breaking out into rapturous applause that dies as quickly as it’s started.
“Pity,” Izzy sniffs, “Nice to have a vocal audience for once.”
He kicks the man’s boot for good measure.
It’s to the sound of their victory that Ed lets down his guard and finally pulls Stede into the longing of the moment. Their lips crash, teeth clashing as they breathe in each other’s cheer and wonder of a fuckery done well.
“Let it burn!” Ed cheers.
Wee John and Roach join in loudly as they run to grab nearby torches.
Jackie joins with the Swede, eager to drag a torch over to the British soldier’s barrels of gunpowder and ale. Her dark laughter grows, rich as the ensuing explosions.
They all run, high on the energy of their victory, dresses fluttering in a wind of their own making.
Between Wee John and Frenchie, Izzy runs at an uneven gallop, dangling between them like a marionette.
The crew’s wild, bubbling joy echoes through the trees, drowned out by each successive explosion. With the shoreline ahead, the crew comes to a panting halt, arms wrapped around each other as they fight through gasping laughter.
“We did it!” Frenchie screams, leaping awkwardly with Izzy’s arm strung over his shoulder.
“That was fucking brilliant mate.” Ed grins, open mouthed and gasping for breath. He grabs Stede again, kissing him like he’s the one thing that’ll quench the fire in his lungs. His fingers curl through Stede’s hair, tangling and mussing his perfect coif. It’s only as they catch their breath, chest to chest, that they look at the crew.
Zheng, Oluwande, Archie, and Jim have configured themselves into an incomprehensible bundle of arms and legs. Auntie glares at anyone who looks too hard and long at her captain’s open displays of affection.
“Don’t get the party started so soon.” Jackie frowns, inspecting and admiring them all in her borrowed gowns.
Frowning, Stede asks, “Not sure what you mean?”
“There’s a shit load of empty buildings. Markets wide open right now. Free real estate for anyone who helps rebuild the Republic.”
Zheng’s shadow morphs behind Jackie, the light of the forest fire flickering across her face.
Oluwande at her side, Zheng hums. “After I take care of Ricky, I may have to take you up on that offer.”
“Anything for the bitch who eighty-sixes that asshole for me.”
“You hear that, Edward?” Stede slips an arm around his waist.
Shaking his head, clearing it of the drunken giddiness of victory, Ed asks, “What?”
“Looks like there’s a market opening. It’s the perfect time for new businesses.”
Ed bites his lower lip, worrying it until he gives in to the whim.
“You--you wanna start an inn?” Ed asks, nervously slipping a loose curl behind his ear.
Stede shrugs, offering the tiniest, shyest grin. “I was worried you’d never ask. The crew’ll be fine. If they need us, they’ll know where to find us.”
Over his shoulder, Lucius screeches, “You’re not leaving without seeing our wedding are you? Izzy’s promised to sing! Haven’t you, dove?”
Still dangling from Wee John’s shoulder, Izzy yells back, “Fuck off, twatty!”
Wiggles his fingers back at him, Lucius blows a kiss. “Love you too, Israel! Thanks for being such a good luck charm.”
Stede makes a tiny sound of delight. “Speaking of good luck charms, what would be a good name for an inn? The Lucky Unicorn?”
“Not bad. Gotta a nice ring to it. Could always try something fiercer like: The Headless Unicorn.”
“Oh, that does have a nice ring to it.”
Roach shakes his head. “Knew this place was getting gentrified. Next thing you’ll say you’re putting chocolates on pillows for free !”
Stede frowns, shaking his head thoughtfully.
“I wouldn’t go that far, Roach. We still have a reputation as pirates to uphold.”
Roach waves him off, arm wrapped around the Swede. His hand brushes up against Jackie as they walk past the breaking waves.
Overhead, a lone seagull squawks, likely drawn by the explosive booms, eager for an easy meal.
Ahead of them all, Frenchie skips backwards, gesturing animatedly about a floating card boat. The jaunty pilfered captain's hat seems to boost the crew’s esteem. Each of them nod eagerly at each of Frenchie’s increasingly wild ideas.
“Do you think they’ll be alright without us?” Stede hems.
Shrugging, Ed watches the crew walk off, feeling a part of his life slip away.
“Maybe. Maybe not. They’ll know where to find us if they need us.”
“You’re right, as usual.” Stede’s smile reassures him once more, in a way that Ed’s becoming increasingly reliant on.
“Right straight I am. Now let’s go build a fucking inn.”