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“You’ll thank me for this later.” Lucius’ voice is fast and high-pitched from the other side of the bookcase, and he shrieks a little when Ed throws himself bodily at the backside of the secret door. “Or—or you’ll be dead, in which case at least one of us will be out of our misery.”
“You little rat,” Ed says, low and seething. Stede can’t see his face but he imagines that this is what Blackbeard sounds like. “I should have drowned you properly.”
“Yes, well. You didn’t!” Lucius calls. “And thanks to you, no one knows I’m here, so no one will come looking for you. You’ll have plenty of time to sort out your whole—thing.”
“Lucius.” Stede tries reason. “Lucius, I’m very glad you’re alive, but surely this isn’t the best way to—”
“Can’t hear you, bye!” There’s a quick tap from the other side of the wall, and then—nothing.
“Lucius?” Stede raises his voice. “Lucius!”
“He’s gone,” Ed says, still facing the door.
“Ah. Well.” Stede reaches for the bright side. “This is just like old times, isn’t it?”
“And there’s no other way out?” Ed says, feeling around the seams of the secret door to the auxiliary closet.
Stede winces. “I’m afraid not. The whole idea was for it to be a secret passageway, you know, not one with multiple comings and goings.”
Ed drops his hands and turns to look at Stede, a twinkle starting in his eye. “Then I guess we’re stuck in here, Mr. Bonnet, until help arrives.”
“Oh dear,” Stede breathes, something fluttery starting in his chest. “What shall we do to pass the time?”
Ed tries throwing himself at it a couple more times, but Stede had commissioned the finest carpenters and lumber money could buy, and the door doesn’t budge.
“Ed,” Stede finally says, reaching out. “Ed, you’re going to hurt yourself—”
Ed shrugs his hand violently off and stares at the door, breathing hard. He turns toward Stede and behind the greasepaint Stede can see an unquiet fury and something that, if Stede didn’t know better, almost looks like—
Ed pushes past him, shoulder bumping roughly against Stede’s as he makes his way toward the rear of the auxiliary closet. The ocean is calm today but his gait is unsteady, as if he’s lost his bearings even here at sea. Ed turns and puts his back to the far wall, sliding down it until he’s sitting on the floor. He draws up his knees and props his arms on them, and when he looks at Stede again his eyes have that flat, disaffected gaze that they’d had when Stede had finally caught up to him again.
“Should have drowned you too,” Ed says thoughtfully. “Rather than let you back aboard.”
“Well. I’m glad you didn’t,” Stede says with an attempt at levity. It falls extremely flat, Ed’s gaze dull and unchanging. Stede takes one cautious step toward him, and then another, and then Ed makes a sharp, negatory noise and Stede stops. He sighs, and settles to the floor where he is.
“You kept these, I see,” Stede says, reaching up to touch the summer linens. He can feel Ed’s gaze intent on him as he fingers a lacy cuff.
Stedes’ not really expecting an answer, but Ed shifts, fingers curling in toward his palms. Stede looks around—the closet looks practically untouched, compared to the desolation of the captain’s cabin. The shifting light from the small window paints Ed in shades of blue and gray, his mouth flat and his eyes guarded.
“So many secrets on this ship, Stede Bonnet,” Ed says, and Stede winces at the use of his full name. “Secret wardrobes, secret rats in the walls; secret, secret, secret. Wonder if I squeezed you, what other secrets would come out,” he says with mild curiosity.
Stede sighs again. “You don’t need to squeeze,” he says tiredly. “Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
“Anything you want to know,” Ed says with a grin. “I’ll tell you. Just ask it in the form of a question.”
“And this is a game that pirates play?” Stede asks, fascinated.
“Usually while drinking,” Ed answers. “But unless you’ve got any alcohol stashed away in here…”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Stede says, peering up at the shelves from underneath the ‘Autumn vibes’ section. “Good suggestion, though.”
Ed laughs, the top of his head brushing the shirts lined up over him and setting them swaying. His knee presses against Stede’s, warm and solid. “Here, I’ll go first. When was the last time you were so drunk you puked?”
“Oh God, it was Roach’s birthday, and—is that really what you want to know?” Stede asks. “I did not acquit myself admirably, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Nah, I’m just getting you warmed up,” Ed says, elbowing Stede a little where they’re pressed together shoulder to elbow. “Go on, you try.”
“Okay.” Stede thinks about it. There is much he wants to know about Ed—he wants to know everything about Ed, everything about Ed is worth knowing—but where to start? “Okay. How old were you when you went to sea?”
“Oh, I was just a kid,” Ed says easily. “Ran off one day, never looked back. It’s the looking back that gets you.”
“Yes,” Stede murmurs. “I suppose it is.” There appear to be parameters to this game, a certain plausible deniability, a certain amount of bullshittery, to borrow a phrase.
“My turn,” Ed says, leaning a little bit on him. “Where were you going to wear that?” He points to a salmon-colored coat with matching waistcoat and trousers.
“Oh, I thought perhaps a nice early morning raid,” Stede answers absently. “In the spring, you know.”
“Fucking maniac,” Ed says, but it’s tinged with such fondness that Stede turns to look at him, to see what kind of expression matches that tone. Ed’s looking back from inches away, his eyes bright and sparkling above the beard, and Stede suddenly has questions climbing up his throat so fast they threaten to choke him. He swallows.
“This isn’t just a game, is it?” he says. “That we’re playing?”
Ed’s grin deepens. “No, mate, it isn’t.”
“You want to sit here and you want to play twenty fucking questions?” Ed asks with the deadly curiosity of a keen knife or a pointed fang.
“I just meant that—” Stede starts.
“I’ll start,” Ed interrupts. “Do you know how long I waited for you?”
Stede winces. “I deserve that,” he says. “I—”
Ed cuts him off. “I tried to kill most of your crew, and stole the rest,” he says. “Are you just going to let that go?”
Stede tries a smile, but it feels weak on his face. “Well it looks like it didn’t take, so—”
Ed hisses between his teeth, and there’s a flurry of movement that ends with Stede’s back slamming against the floor, his head thunking painfully on the polished wood. Ed sits astride him, heavy across his midriff, eyes dark and furious and almost desperate.
Ed leans down, his hair falling around his shoulders to curtain them in. “Why are you here?” he says tightly. “Why did you come back? You left, you left me on that dock because you were finished so why did you come back?”
Stede breathes out shakily, lifting a hand toward Ed’s cheek but stopping himself at the last minute. “I am sorry. I ruin everything I touch,” Stede says softly.
Ed snorts. “You think highly of yourself.”
“I really don’t.” Stede swallows. “My turn. Are you still waiting?”
Ed stares at him. “What?”
“Are you still waiting?” Stede says patiently. “On the dock, here on the Revenge, wherever—are you still waiting?”
Ed licks his lips. “No.”
“No?” Stede asks, heart pounding in his chest. “Then why did you keep the closet?”
Ed’s eyes are wide, almost hunted. “Forgot about it.”
“No, you didn’t,” Stede says with a surety that grows in his veins with every word. “And you’re supposed to answer these questions truthfully.”
Ed snarls. “This isn’t a fucking game.”
“No,” Stede says softly. “It isn’t.”
Ed’s chest heaves, and behind the growing-in beard and the smear of paint around his mouth and eyes he looks—lost.
Then his eyes harden, and he leans down and kisses Stede roughly, all harsh lips and biting teeth. There’s a question here, too, but Stede knows how to answer it now, and he presses up into it, sliding his hands as far around Ed’s waist as he can reach, holding on as tightly as he can.
When Ed breaks off he’s breathing roughly, and Stede’s not far better, chest heaving in time with the thundering in his ears. Ed rests his forehead against Stede’s and closes his eyes, his hands planted on the floor by Stede’s head.
“Do you want me to stay?” Stede asks in the quiet, fragile space between them.
Ed opens his eyes. He pushes himself up. “That’s not the right question.”
Stede blinks. “I wasn’t aware there were wrong questions.”
Ed ignores this. “The question is,” he says, eyes never leaving Stede’s. “The question is, do you want to stay?”
“Ed,” Stede breathes, reaching out. “Yes. Of course the answer is yes.”
Ed blows out a heavy breath, collapsing against Stede’s chest like all the air has left his lungs. “Then so is mine,” he says, muffled against Stede’s neck. Stede slides his arms around Ed’s shoulders, one hand sliding soothingly down Ed’s spine, and pretends not to notice the way Ed shakes.
The linens and soft cambrics shift overhead, swaying in time with the roll of the ship. Stede listens to the susurration of fabric on fabric, feels Ed’s solid weight pressing him down into the floor, and closes his eyes.
“Why did you keep the closet?” he asks into the darkness behind his eyelids. Ed is motionless in his arms except for the ragged rhythm of his breathing, and it seems like he might not answer. That’s all right. They’re not playing anymore.
Eventually Ed snuffles against Stede’s neck. “Smells like you,” he says against Stede’s skin, nosing in closer, and it’s a long moment before Stede remembers how to breathe himself.
There’s a cautious knock on the other side of the door to the closet, and Lucius’s voice filters in. “It’s gone awfully quiet in there. Anyone dead? Oh God, what if someone’s dead.”
“Fuck off,” Ed snarls without lifting his head.
“Right. Not dead, then. I’ll just.” Lucius coughs. “I’ll just fuck off, all right. Yell when you’re ready to be let out.”
“Not yet, right?” Stede says quietly into Ed’s hair.
“No,” Ed answers, crowding somehow even closer. “Not yet.”