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And all the stars were crashing ‘round as I laid eyes on what I’d found
-The Decemberists, “The Crane Wife”-
The problem with living alone, Stede laments as he stares down the pile of dishes he’s been neglecting, is that you have to do all the household chores yourself. He’s already chopped firewood, tended the garden, and hauled enough water for a sumptuous bath to ease the muscle strain from chopping firewood and tending the garden. He even cooked a nice meal for himself tonight instead of popping down to the pub to try Roach’s latest stew. Really, he deserves a chore break. A hiatus. A vacation. At any rate, he’s not doing the bloody dishes, that’s for damn sure. Probably. Maybe he should do a little sniff test just to be sure. He leans down and takes a few sharp breaths. No gross smells yet. Phew.
Definitely not doing the dishes!
He pulls a clean glass from the cupboard, ignoring the little voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Mary that’s telling him it’s just one more thing to wash later, and mixes himself a delicious after-dinner cocktail. As he sips, he thinks about what he wants to do with the free time he’s gained now that he’s not spending it washing dishes. Could read for a bit. Or do a little mending. Stede wrinkles his nose at that thought, even though a few of his shirts could really use a patching up. No trading one chore for another, not tonight.
The fire in the next room crackles and pops, and that decides it: knitting by the fireplace it is. That sounds nice and cozy, and the scarf he’s working on could use a few more inches. What couldn’t? he jokes to himself, since there’s no one else to hear it. And whose fault is that? The voice in his head snipes, sounding like himself this time and not at all like Mary.
“It’s no one’s fault,” he says to the empty armchair across the fire from his own, now that he’s settled in, his knitting splayed across his lap. Both chairs are nestled near the fireplace, facing each other, creating the coziest spot in the cottage to sit and relax and spend time together. That was the idea, anyway, when Stede had initially set them there. Mary hadn’t really ever partaken, and Stede can’t say he blames her. They just weren’t right for each other, in the end. And the beginning. Middle, too.
No, despite the circumstances of their marriage, it was never going to work out. Stede’s better off now that she’s gone. They both are. It’s only the dishes that might disagree. And the unwashed linens. And the dust collecting on the mantel.
The point is, Stede grumps as he runs his fingers along his knitting to feel the soft wool beneath his fingertips, is he’s doing very well for himself here all alone, thank you very much. He’s perfectly content and not at all lonely. Incredibly content. The most content a person living by himself in a cozy cottage built for two could ever be. Just outrageously content in every possible way. He downs the rest of his drink as a toast to himself and his contentment.
“Bugger,” he says as he sets the glass down on an end table, finally letting himself process the feelings he’s been burying since Mary left almost a year ago. “I’m really fucking lonely.”
The pile of dishes in the kitchen are sympathetic yet still unwashed.
Stede sighs and wishes he had someone to commiserate with about his loneliness. Though, he admits wryly, if he had someone to commiserate with, he wouldn’t be lonely. Stede stares at the empty glass on the end table, watching a drop of rum trickle from the lip down to the table. Fuck, how strong did he make that drink? Just strong enough to start getting maudlin. Or not strong enough to stop himself from thinking about how much he wants to share his life with someone who really gets him. About how he’s always wanted to find that special someone and thought, for a brief time, that he’d found that person in Mary.
Shit. He made the drink strong enough to start fondly reminiscing about his crap marriage. Definitely time to sleep it off and try again in the morning.
He’s just about to set his knitting neatly back in its basket and head to bed when he hears a screeching sound outside, followed by a loud crash. Stede startles up from his armchair, knitting sliding off his lap and settling in a heap on the floor. He grabs his lantern off the table in the entry hall, lighting it before rushing out the door.
Between his lantern and the light of the almost-full moon, Stede manages to make it to the distressed sounds coming from the edge of the woods without tripping on anything, which feels like a minor miracle. He tries not to make too much noise, but he’s never been the most stealthy person, no matter how much practice he had hiding from childhood bullies. Huh. He’s just now putting together that if he had been better at hiding, he might have been tormented less.
Focus, Stede, he tells himself, shaking his head. Screech then loud crash, remember?
“Hello?” Stede calls out as he approaches the spot he thinks the crash happened, hoping he isn’t about to be attacked by whatever is making the pained little squawks he can hear coming from a tall tuft of grass. “I’m going to come over to help, and it would be very rude to attack me while I’m doing that.”
Stede sets his lantern down on the ground so both his hands are free to push the grass aside: there, curled up in a bit of a heap, is a tall crane with an injured wing. The crane has gorgeous glossy feathers in shades of what look to be black and dark gray, though it’s hard to be certain at this time of night, and a golden plume of feathers on its head that look like a spiky sort of crown. It’s also looking at Stede with incredibly intelligent eyes, like it knows what’s happening here.
Unfortunately for the bird, Stede also knows what’s happening here.
“Oh, no you don’t!” he says, letting go of the grass so it engulfs the crane as he steps back. “I see what you’re trying to do! This is a Crane Wife situation, and I most certainly do not need another one of those.”
The bird lets out an indignant squawk, and Stede watches the grass rustle as the crane stands up and clambers out. Stede crosses his arms over his chest and waits. The bird hops over and stops in front of Stede, raising itself up to its full height as it tilts its head side to side. Stede sighs and lets himself be assessed. The bird nods when it’s finally satisfied, so Stede nods back.
Stede really would like to be done with this crane so he can go snuggle up in his big, warm bed. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be —” The crane honks and interrupts, feathers brushing Stede’s chest as it holds out its injured wing with a wince. At least, Stede thinks it’s a wince. Can birds wince? Stede rolls his eyes at himself. He’s no bird expert, but even he can see the crane’s extended wing is misshapen. “Yes, fine. I can patch you up. But then you had better be on your way.”
The crane follows Stede to the cabin with what he can only describe as a strut. Despite its wounded wing, the crane has its head held high as it looks around, taking in its surroundings. It’s a very handsome bird, there’s no doubt about that. Not that Stede’s even thought about a bird being handsome before. Can birds even be handsome? Maybe to other birds they can. Maybe to humans they should just be —
Fuck, way less rum in his next nightcap! This is getting out of hand.
The crane tuts, and Stede realizes he’d stopped walking while having his little meltdown about handsome birds. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and continues on his way. The crane honks quietly and continues his strutting. Her strutting? Stede isn’t sure if the bird is a male or female, but it’s very large, so he’s thinking it’s possibly male. Either way, the bird knows it’s hot shit, and Stede has a burgeoning feeling that reputation is well-deserved.
The crane lets out a pleased little honk when Stede’s cottage comes into view, bouncing a little as it passes Stede and goes to the front door Stede left wide open in his earlier haste. It hops inside gracefully and starts wandering around, carefully poking at Stede’s things with its beak as it investigates. “Here,” Stede says, leading the bird away from his breakables and into the kitchen where the fire in the hearth is still burning high enough to see by. “Stay in here for a moment while I go fetch some supplies. And don’t touch anything.” The bird blinks back at him, its face the picture of innocence.
Stede snorts. The bird is gonna rummage around as soon as his back is turned, that’s for sure. “Fine, have it your way. Just don’t break anything.”
Stede heads to the linen closet in the hallway. He has to dig behind some spare sheets before he finds his avian first-aid kit, a remnant from when Mary still lived here. He looks through the kit on his way back to the kitchen, taking stock of what’s left. There are a few small bandages and some salve that hasn’t gone rancid. Hopefully that will be enough for tonight. He makes a mental note to replenish the kit the next time he heads to town in case of future avian emergencies.
The crane is holding something in its beak when Stede walks back into the kitchen. “What do you have there?” Stede asks sharply, frowning.
The crane startles and opens its beak to honk at Stede, sending the object plummeting toward the ground. “Now look what you’ve done!” Stede shouts as it hits the flagstone and smashes. Stede grumbles as he grabs a broom and dustpan, freezing when he gets a closer look at what the crane broke: it’s his favorite mug, the large, blue glazed one that held the perfect amount of tea. Fuck. “That was my favorite mug.” Stede says harshly. “I use it every morning to drink my tea, and now it’s in pieces.”
The crane lets out a sad little coo when Stede starts sweeping, and he looks up. He’s never seen a bird look sheepish before, but this one definitely looks that way now. Stede knows he should apologize for snapping, but he’s still upset — about the mug and the whole crane situation in general. The crane hops closer like it wants to help somehow, but Stede isn’t in the mood. “Just leave it. I’ll patch you up when this is tidied up and then you can be on your way.”
The bird looks even more contrite as it watches Stede clean in silence.
“Come on,” he tells the crane once he’s dumped all the shards of his mug into the bin. “Let’s see about that wing.” The crane does as Stede asks and comes over by the fire, where Stede’s seated on a low stool. The crane is all floppy and sad as Stede looks at its wing, barely even wincing when Stede cleans its wound,applies the salve and wraps the injured area with a bandage, though he knows it must hurt quite a bit.
Stede barely knows this bird and even he can tell this isn’t its usual disposition. He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose as he decides to apologize to a damn bird. “Look, it’s fine about the mug. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” It was his favorite, but it’s only a mug, in the end. And besides, now he can go into town and buy a new one at Wee John’s shop. The prospect of a shopping trip brightens Stede’s spirits immensely.
The crane’s spirits are also apparently brightened immensely by Stede’s apology. It tries to pull its wing away so it can snoop around the cottage some more, but Stede holds on gently and tells it to stay still for a moment. “Your wing needs a sling, but I don’t have one in my kit. Stay here while I get one from my room.”
Stede expects the crane to be ruining something else of his when he comes back into the kitchen, but the crane is still standing by the fire, right where Stede left it. The firelight is glinting off its feathers in the most interesting ways, and yep. Definitely a handsome bird.
“Here,” Stede says as he sits back down, gesturing for the crane to hold out its injured wing. Stede uses one of his spare black cravats as a makeshift sling and wraps it around the bird’s neck to hold it in place. The bird wiggles a little once Stede’s done tying the knot to see how it feels, and he must approve because he gives a little ka-honk and hops back.
Stede looks at its wing and asks what’s been on his mind since he first saw the bird’s injury. “That doesn’t look like it was an accident. So what happened?”
The crane looks past Stede and into the fire and its eyes go very far away. It doesn’t say a thing.
Not that it can, Stede admonishes himself a moment later. It’s a bloody bird, it can’t talk to you.
“Well,” Stede says, slapping his thighs as he pushes up from the stool and starts walking toward his front door, hoping the crane gets the hint and follows. “Your wing’s all patched up, so I’d say it’s time to be going. It was nice to meet you, I suppose, and I —”
Stede’s interrupted by a loud and indignant honk. He turns around to see the crane standing petulantly, using its beak to gesture between its injured wing and Stede with a sort of “you idiot, how am I supposed to go anywhere with my wing like this?” attitude.
Which…ugh, is a fair assessment, Stede allows. Begrudgingly.
“Fine” he says, pointing a stern finger in the bird’s direction. “You can stay the night. But you’re leaving in the morning. No excuses or attempts to reason otherwise.” This is how it started last time, after all, and he’s not making that mistake again.
The crane steps over and holds out its good wing for Stede to shake. At least, that’s what he hopes the bird meant because he reaches out and shakes its wing, sighing with relief when the bird doesn’t start laughing at him. “Well, now that that’s sorted, I’ll go get a blanket and get the couch all done up for you.”
The bird squawks sadly. It tilts its head down a bit, which somehow changes the angle of its face so its eyes look absolutely enormous. Just massive, glossy eyes that have gone all sad and pleading and what the holy fuck is happening here?
“No! Stop that! Put those eyes away, good lord. Not the couch, then. Fine. That’s fine. You can sleep anywhere you please so long as it isn’t my bed, and you stop weaponizing your face like that. Bloody nightmare, you are.”
The crane looks incredibly pleased with itself, the cheeky bastard. Stede finds himself fighting to keep a smile off his face. The bird may be a menace but it’s entertaining as hell, Stede will give it that.
“Come on, then,” Stede says as he turns toward his bedroom. The crane follows with an exaggerated strut, and Stede doesn’t bother hiding his smile. The bird can’t see it, anyway.
It follows Stede right into his bedroom and immediately heads for Stede’s ornately carved wardrobe, pecking at one of the long bottom drawers. “Stop that.” Stede says, trying to shoo the bird away, but it ka-honks at him and goes back to pecking. “I have clothes in there, leave it alone.”
Peck peck peck. Peck peck peck. Ka-honk! Ka-honk! Peck peck peck.
“Fine! Have it your way. Again!” Stede grumbles as he pulls open the drawer and clears the clothes out of the way. He grabs a pillow and a small blanket from his bed and stuffs them into the drawer so the bird isn’t sleeping on the hard wood bottom all night. “I had no idea cranes could be this bloody annoying!” Stede thinks of Mary and realizes that yes, actually, he did know that.
Whatever. This crane doesn’t need to know he knows.
The crane hops into the drawer and wiggles around until it finds a comfortable position. “Happy?” Stede asks, and the crane looks up at him and nods once. It does look happy, actually. And incredibly comfortable, despite the fact that it’s too tall for the drawer so its legs are sticking out. Stede shakes his head and tries not to be utterly charmed by this infuriatingly charismatic bird.
He tries as he goes to the bathroom and puts on his nightgown. He tries as he pulls back the sheets and slips between his covers. He tries as he blows out the lantern next to his bed. He tries as he lies in bed and decompresses from this entirely strange evening.
He fails.
The crane is still asleep when Stede wakes. He listens as its beak clatters a little in its sleep, like the bird version of snoring but cuter. And it is cute, unfortunately. More cute than it should be, especially with the way the crane’s legs are still sticking out of the drawer at funny little angles that look slightly uncomfortable. Clearly the bird doesn’t mind, though.
Stede catches himself smiling as he looks down at the drawer full of bird. It’s nice, having someone else in the cottage taking up space, making noise, giving the place some life and not making it seem so empty. Maybe if —
No! Stede scolds himself, starting a little at how loud and adamant the voice in his head is. And before he’s had his morning tea, to boot. It’s too much, too fast. You always do this. Stop being so —
“That’s quite enough of that,” Stede whispers as he grabs his mustard-yellow robe, the one with the wide sleeves that makes him feel like he can take on the world, and heads for the kitchen. He puts on the kettle and grabs some breakfast food from the larder. As he pulls down a mug for tea — his second-favorite, alas — he feels rather proud of himself for stopping a shame spiral before it can really get going. Only half a year ago he would have lost the better part of a day to that negative thinking, that cruel voice inside his head that sometimes tells him things that aren’t true but scare him nonetheless.
But today he has on his battle jacket and a warm mug of tea and two plates full of breakfast. Things are looking up.
The bird staggers into the kitchen as Stede takes a sip of tea, its feathers ruffled up in the back where it slept on them funny. Stede ducks his chin to hide a giggle behind his mug as the crane almost bumps into the table, ka-honking in distress like it’s the table’s fault.
“Eggs?” Stede offers, holding out a plate. The crane looks at Stede with an expression he can only describe as “scathingly unimpressed.”
“They’re not crane eggs,” Stede clarifies, but the bird doesn’t relent, so he puts the plate on the counter behind him and glances around at the rest of the breakfast spread. “Bread and marmalade?” The crane nods and hops up onto a chair, pecking at the bread and marmalade when Stede sets it in front of him.
The bird perks up after breakfast, but even though its wing is healing remarkably well, it becomes clear it won’t be able to fly home today, either. Stede sighs. What is he going to do with a bird for an entire day?
“Listen, I was planning on spending the day working in the garden. You can come along if you want, but I have to actually work. I can’t afford to entertain you, all right?” The bird shrugs as best it can with an injured wing and follows along when Stede heads outside. It even carries a basket of tools in its beak for him, which makes Stede giggle.
Stede thought the crane would get bored quickly and wander off, but to his surprise he stays by Stede’s side the entire day. Stede finds himself explaining what he’s doing and why, talking about which plants are weeds and which are food, showing the bird cool bugs he finds as he’s digging, gasping incredulously the first time the bird turns said bugs into a snack. Should have seen that one coming, really.
The crane seems weirdly into it. All of it, even Stede’s monologues and diatribes about certain plants and bugs and how slugs are God’s greatest mistake. It’s lovely, having such an attentive audience and it makes the time pass so quickly and so well.
It’s almost time to pack up for the day and head back inside when Stede realizes he hasn’t asked the bird its name. “Not sure if or how you can even tell me, but it would be nice to call you something other than ‘the bird’ in my head.”
The bird lets out the ka-honk sound that Stede’s learned over the course of the day means he’s laughing and hops over to a patch of dirt near Stede’s feet. Stede watches as it scratches out a wobbly E followed by a flat D.
“Ed?” Stede asks. “Your name is Ed?” The bird — no, Ed — honks and nods its head. It looks almost like Ed is smiling.
“Well, then, Ed. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Stede. How about some dinner?” Ed ka-honks in agreement and starts cleaning up.
~~~
Ed gets settled in his sleeping drawer for the night, and Stede gets settled in his bed. He barely even has time to think about how it probably won’t take long for him to fall asleep tonight before he’s out.
~~~
Stede checks on Ed’s wing after breakfast. It’s fully healed. “You must be some special bird,” Stede tells Ed with awe. Ed shrugs and grabs the black cravat from Stede’s hands, flipping it up over his head in an attempt to settle it around his neck. Instead it gets stuck on his feather crown, and Stede giggles as he helps a grumpy Ed tie it around his neck so it won’t fall down his body when he flies off.
Which he does shortly after, soaring up into the sky with a ka-honk of thanks.
And then Stede is alone again. Bugger.
Ed shows up two weeks later at dusk, not that Stede’s been thinking about him throughout the day. Every day. Since he left. At least he manages not to crash-land this time, which is an improvement. Instead he lands near Stede’s house and hops over to where Stede is enjoying a nice brandy on his front porch, a warm blanket tucked around his legs as he slowly rocks in his rocking chair.
“Ed! Lovely to see — oop, what…hold on!” Stede sets his drink down so he can deal with the feathers Ed’s practically shoved into Stede’s face. He’s squawking as Stede tries to assess the situation, which makes his feathers ruffle up even further.
“Ed, stop! I can’t tell what’s going on with you faffing about like this. Pbht!” Stede spits out a feather that’s somehow worked its way into his mouth.
When Ed finally stops moving, Stede can see that his tail feathers are all messed up in a way that looks painful. “I really don’t know what to do to help with that other than hope a good night’s sleep and your magical healing abilities will solve it. I can offer my drawer again if that —”
Ed ka-honks happily and hops past Stede into the cottage.
“ — works for you. No, it’s fine. Make yourself at home!” Stede calls after Ed, who is very much already doing just that.
It isn’t until later that night, when Stede is tucking Ed into his sleeping drawer that Stede realizes Ed’s still wearing the cravat. And that he never quite got around to putting his clothes back into this drawer.
Well. Those are things for Tomorrow Stede to ponder. Today Stede is going to happily ignore those implications and go to sleep instead.
Tomorrow Stede, not surprisingly, chooses to hand off the pondering to Next Month Stede.
~~~
Stede once again marvel’s at Ed’s healing ability when he checks and Ed’s all healed in the morning, though he seems reluctant to leave. Stede gently asks if he’d like to stay for breakfast again, and Ed jumps at the opportunity. Literally jumps, which is more adorable than it has any right to be. He even helps with the washing up after breakfast — though help is a generous term, really — and watches Stede chop some wood after that. But then it really is time for him to go, so he gives Stede a sad little ka-honk and flies away.
Stede’s heart gives its own sad little ka-honk as he watches Ed go.
~~~
Ed’s back the next week with a fish hook stuck in his beak. Stede pulls it free, and though it’s not yet midday and Ed is more than capable of flying home, he spends the night in Stede’s cottage anyway, happily snoring away in Stede’s dresser drawer.
“Fancy seeing you here!” Lucius chirps as Stede sets his stein down at their usual table, where the group of his friends who affectionately call themselves “The Crew” have gathered. Stede rolls his eyes but smiles. It’s true that he hasn’t been to pub night in a while. Not since…huh. Not since the week before Ed crashed into his life. “You look positively maudlin about something, so spill,” Lucius continues, a gleam in his eye that either means he’s ready to help Stede talk through his problem or he’s ready to laugh about it. Or both.
“I’m not maudlin!” Stede counters.
“Mmm, you do look sad about something, though,” Oluwande adds. Lucius pointing it out is one thing, but if Oluwande has noticed…
Stede looks around the table and sees that the rest of the group are looking at him with a range of emotions, from support (Oluwande and Pete) to indifference (Buttons) to barely concealed hostility that masks a deep sense of loyalty and care (Jim.)
“Well…I, uh, made a friend. And he had to leave, so I suppose I’m missing him,” Stede tells them, hoping that will be enough detail to keep them off his back.
Lucius exchanges a look with Oluwande before narrowing his eyes. “I feel like ‘friend’ is doing a lot of work in that sentence.”
“All right, fine! Since you’re all so determined to needle the whole story out of me, I’ll just tell you.” Stede tells them everything, from how he met Ed to the fact that he keeps coming back and keeps leaving to how nice it is to have Ed around. He bares his soul and leaves no detail untouched.
“Wait. What did you say his name was?” Jim asks once Stede’s finished.
Oh. Except that one detail.
“His name is Ed.”
“What does he look like?” The Swede chimes in. “You never said that part, either.”
Okay, maybe Stede left out some details here and there, but the point is, he needs his friends’ support on this, not them asking a bunch of trivial questions!
Pete has the unfortunate timing of taking a sip of his ale just as Stede describes what Ed looks like, the “unfortunate” aspect making itself known when, as soon as Stede finishes, Pete spits out his drink and sprays half the table.
“BLACKBEARD is the crane you’ve been courting?!” Pete exclaims over the grumbling of his beer-soaked friends. The table goes quiet as all eyes turn to Pete.
“Should that…mean something to me?” Stede asks after a moment. Both Lucius and Oluwande shrug like they don’t know what Pete is talking about, either. Wee John and Roach look confused. The Swede also looks confused, but that’s the way he always looks, so that’s no surprise.
“Shit, I always forget I’m the only Crane Husband here,” Pete says.
“So who’s Blackbeard?”
“Only the most badass crane that’s ever lived!” Pete tells Stede with enthusiastic glee. “He basically doesn’t follow any crane hierarchy rules and fights against the cranes in power who uphold the Crane Wife social structure. He steals shit from them all the time and wrecks their nests and leaves one black feather as a calling card. He’s so fucking cool!”
“That does sound pretty badass,” Frenchie says as Wee John nods in agreement.
“How the hell did you manage to bag him?” Jim asks, and Stede’s stomach sinks. It’s not like he hadn’t been thinking the same thing, but it hurts to hear it out loud. Even though he doesn’t want another crane wife. Nope. Not one bit. Horrible idea, that.
“All right, all right,” Stede grumps, trying to contain the clamor from everyone else, who are all seemingly in agreement with Jim. “I haven’t ‘bagged’ anyone, least of all Ed. I’ve already had one crane wife, and that didn’t exactly work out, if you recall, and I am not going to do it again.”
“Oh, my god,” Lucius says like he’s just figured something out. “You’re all mopey because you like like him.”
“What? No!” Stede says, and even he can hear how his voice has gone two octaves higher like it always does when he tries to lie. Bugger, he hates it when Lucius is right. Especially about things Stede hasn’t even figured out for himself yet. Does he like like Ed?
It has been wonderful having Ed around, having someone to help fill the space in the cottage so it doesn’t feel so big, someone to talk to who’s genuinely interested in what he has to say. Well. It’s not like Ed can talk, really, but he makes his bird noises and such to indicate his interest. And besides, if Stede were boring him he could literally just fly away.
But he’s a crane. And the last time Stede let one of those into his life it went badly for both of them.
When Stede looks back up, there are a lot of nonverbal conversations happening around the table between meaningful looks and raised eyebrows, and Stede’s just about to say something about how ridiculous they’re all being when Oluwande seems to lose the battle and finally opens his mouth to speak.
“Look, Stede, it doesn’t matter how you managed to charm Blackbeard. Ed. Whatever. The point is, you got all happy when you talked about him, and you’re sad when he’s not around. Crane or not, maybe you should give him a chance.”
Stede raises his stein and sips at his ale to avoid having to answer. The rest of the group mercifully leaves him alone, and as their conversation washes over him, Stede lets everything they’ve said bounce around in his head.
Ed shows up two days later with a chipped toe claw. Three days after that, after a series of increasingly bizarre charades, Stede works out Ed’s stomach is upset. Four days after that, he shows up looking perfectly healthy, and when Stede smiles at him and asks what’s wrong, Ed starts panicking. He scans his body like maybe a mysterious ailment will miraculously show up, and when that doesn’t happen, uses his beak to grab a patch of feathers on the lower left side of his torso and yanks them out.
“Ouch,” Stede winces as Ed spits out the feathers. There’s an awkward silence for a moment until Ed suddenly flops down onto the ground and gives an incredibly over-the-top ka-honk and starts rolling around as if to say, oh, I’m so injured! Oh! Oh!
Stede giggles at his performance and leans down to pick Ed up so he can carry him to the cottage. He waits until Ed’s safely cradled in his arms to affectionately say, “you happy now, you nut?”
Ed gives a sweet, sighed little honk, and even Stede can tell it means yeah.
When they get back to the cottage, Stede insists on putting a salve over the small bare patch on Ed’s tummy because even though the plucking was self-inflicted, it probably did hurt a fair amount and Stede doesn’t like the thought of Ed in pain.
“You don’t have to hurt yourself to come see me, you know,” Stede carefully tells Ed as he rubs the salve into Ed’s skin and smoothes the feathers back down. “You’re welcome here any time. I’m happy to have you.”
Ed makes a soft cooing sound and stretches his neck forward so he can rest it on Stede’s shoulder. Stede’s surprised and doesn’t really know what to do for a moment, but this is probably the gentlest contact he’s had in months — hell, years — so he closes his eyes and carefully wraps an arm around Ed in return. Ed clacks his beak once and snuggles in closer and lets himself be held.
Ed’s gone by the time Stede wakes up the next morning, and Stede lets himself feel the full swell of disappointment that the discovery brings. He thinks about Ed as he goes about his day and hopes he sees him soon.
Ed doesn’t come back for two weeks, and Stede’s so worried he’s contemplating asking Pete if there’s some way he can contact Ed when there’s a knock at the cabin door. Stede curses and gets up to go answer, wondering who could possibly be interrupting his mulling and plotting and fretting.
The answer is: a handsome man standing on his doorstep.
Correction. The most handsome man he has ever seen is standing on his doorstep when he pulls open the door, a shy smile curling at his plump and perfect lips. His hair is long and silvered and shines in the late afternoon sun, and a lush, closely cropped beard sits neatly on his face. His eyes are big and beautiful and twinkling as Stede gawps. He flushes when he remembers his manners and clears his throat in order to buy a few seconds to compose himself.
“Can I help you?”
The man’s smile widens, and it makes the most lovely crinkles deepen at the corner of his eyes. “Your voice sounds different with human ears.”
Stede feels his face pinch in confusion. What a strange thing to say. Certainly Stede would remember meeting a man who looked like this, but he can’t place the man’s face. He clearly knows Stede, though, or has heard him speak, probably on more than one occasion, even. Maybe he frequents the pub?
“Do I…” know you, Stede starts to ask, trailing off halfway when he notices, tucked into the deep V of the man’s billowing linen shirt, a black cravat. Fuck. Fuck!
It’s not just any black cravat. It’s his black cravat, the one Stede used to tie up Ed’s wing and was never returned. The one Ed would wear sometimes when he came to see Stede. The one Stede teased him about getting in the way of flying or doing bird things, but Ed would just ka-honk at him playfully and keep it draped around his neck.
And now this handsome stranger is standing on his doorstep, smiling like Stede’s about to feel very foolish in a moment when his brain puts something together and — OH!!
“Ed?”
The man’s eyes get twinklier as his smile softens and he looks at Stede with unbearable fondness written plainly on his face. “Hi, Stede.”
“Ed,” Stede breathes just before he launches himself out of his front door, crashing into Ed’s chest with a sputtered oof. Ed laughs and catches him and uses Stede’s momentum to spin him around and around. Stede giggles and waits till Ed sets him back on his feet again to lean in for a kiss, right at the same time Ed leans in towards him. Their lips don’t quite line up right at first, but Ed hums and the vibration against his lips is so deliciously distracting that Stede doesn’t even notice Ed’s hand cupping his face and holding him still so Ed can tilt his head, and oh, yes. That’s better.
That’s much, much better.
“Won’t you come in?” Stede asks when they finally break apart.
“Thought you’d never ask, mate.”
It’s just about tea time, so Stede puts the kettle on and lets Ed help him put a plate together. They sit down to eat, the silence awkward between them like it’s never been before.
“I’m betting you have some questions?” Ed says finally, more like his own question than a statement.
“Oh, I probably do,” Stede agrees, setting his new favorite mug down on the table. Wee John made him a lovely new one covered in little glazed birds and flowers and plants, and — he’s stalling. He knows he’s stalling. He takes a deep breath but before he can start, Ed does it for him.
“I know you said you already had a Crane Wife and aren’t looking for another. I understand that. I’ve just never met anyone like you, Stede. I’ve never felt the way I feel when I’m with you. So I thought maybe…”
When Ed shrugs and doesn’t continue, Stede steps in. “I did have a Crane Wife. It wasn’t a good situation for either of us. Neither of us chose it, really. Our families sort of…Anyway, in hindsight, I think the ‘wife’ part was more objectionable than the ‘crane’ part.”
Ed looks up from where he’s been starting at his hands as they fiddle with the cuff of his shirt. “Yeah?” He looks so sweet and hopeful it takes Stede’s breath away.
“Yeah. So why don’t you spend some time here in the cottage with me and we can go from there. I know that’s not really how it’s done with Crane Wives and such, but somehow I doubt Blackbeard is the sort of crane to stand on that sort of ceremony.”
Ed blushes so hard even Stede can see some color on his cheeks. “Found out about that, did you?”
Stede nods. “One of my friends’ husband is a Crane Wife. Crane Husband. Partner? Spouse? Crane Significant Other? I don’t —”
“Stede,” Ed laughs as he pushes the food plate aside so he can clasp Stede’s hand across the table. “ You’re okay with it? Me being Blackbeard? I’ve made enemies, you know. Lots of enemies.”
“I don’t care. Stay. For…a month. We can see how it goes, reassess at the end.”
“Okay. A month. Kiss to seal the deal?”
“Cheeky,” Stede smiles and leans in.
~~~
Ed slots so easily into Stede’s life it’s like he’s always been there. They spend the days working around the cottage and tending the garden and chopping firewood and doing chores together. Turns out Ed actually likes doing the dishes, something about the methodical nature of scrubbing things clean, so Stede is more than happy to let him. He’ll grab a towel and dry as he and Ed talk and talk and talk. They talk to each other all day and somehow never run out of things to talk about. Ed is fascinating and an incredible storyteller. Stede could listen to him forever. But he’s an even better listener and says he loves it when Stede talks about bugs or clothes or his experiments with the cross-pollination of garden vegetables. He means it, too, is the thing. Stede can tell.
No one has ever actually wanted to hear what Stede has to say, has taken such an interest, has never once made Stede feel like he’s too much and yet not enough, all at the same time. He makes Stede feel grounded and real, more real than he’s ever felt before.
He makes Stede feel safe.
Ed is frustratingly good at everything he tries and is only smug about it half the time. Stede tries not to huff and get annoyed about it, but Ed just laughs and will pull him in for a hug or a kiss, will ruffle his hair and say infuriating things like “we’ll find something I’m bad at soon enough” or “I can teach you, if you want” or “you look so sexy when you get all bitchy and pouty.”
Well. The last one isn’t so infuriating, really, especially if Stede plays it up and gets even bitchier and poutier so Ed’s forced to suck him off about it.
Nights, they spend slotted together under the covers, whispering and laughing, kissing and moaning, learning each other better than they know themselves. Stede’s never experienced anything so intimate in his whole life, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to give it up when Ed leaves.
Every now and again, Stede catches Ed staring up at the sky, watching the birds as they fly overhead. He’ll smile at Stede when he sees he’s been caught, but it never meets his eyes. “It’s fine, love,” Ed will reassure him when he tries to bring it up later. “Just getting used to the view from the ground, that’s all,” he’ll say, like it doesn’t break Stede’s heart to know he’s the reason Ed gave up the sky.
Ed loves him. It’s easy to tell. They say people wear their hearts on their sleeves, but Ed wears his in his eyes. His perfect, devastating eyes. All his emotions sit there like words on a page, open and uncovered like no one’s ever hurt him for being so easy to read.
Stede loves Ed, too. At least he thinks he does. It’s not like he has a lot of experience in this department, but it’s probably love if the thought of the other person leaving makes you want to curl up into a ball and die. If that’s not love, what is?
~~~
“Do you miss being Blackbeard?” Stede asks one night while they’re in bed, wrapped up in each other, all sweaty and sticky. Stede shifts a little just so he can feel all the places he’s sore from where Ed practically fucked him through the mattress earlier. Ed smiles like he knows what Stede is doing and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“No,” he says with such conviction that it takes Stede aback.
“Not at all?”
“I don’t want to go back to that life, Stede. It was hard and thankless. And lonely. Mostly I just felt like I was barely keeping my head in the sky, just waiting to fall.”
“And it’s better here?”
“ You’re here.”
But Stede’s seen the way Ed looks to the sky, more and more often as the month is drawing to a close. It may be better here but it’s not right. Not yet. Stede feels Ed tense up beside him like he’s waiting for Stede to ask the inevitable follow-up question. Not tonight, Stede decides, blinking back the tears that have suddenly formed in his eyes. “I am,” he says instead and lets the matter drop.
Stede gets up early three days later. Or, more accurately, he gives up on the sleep he knows he’s not going to get and goes into the kitchen to put the kettle on. It’s the last day of their month together. Might as well do something special in case Ed…
In case.
Stede packs a picnic lunch and starts cooking a big breakfast, finishing up just as Ed stumbles into the kitchen with a sleepy “there you are.” He comes up behind Stede and rests his chin on Stede’s shoulder so he can watch him cook, wraps his arms around Stede’s waist and squeezes gently.
“Smells good,” he mumbles into Stede’s neck, and Stede smiles and how rumbly and grumbly he is this morning.
“It’s almost done,” Stede tells him, though Ed can perfectly well see that for himself. “Why don’t we eat up, and then I thought we could go for a picnic once morning chores are done? There’s this lovely little meadow not far away I think you’ll adore.”
“‘Kay,” Ed says into a kiss on Stede's neck, just below his hairline where he’s most ticklish.
~~~
The walk to the meadow is perfect. Ed holds his hand the entire way and asks about all the bugs he sees and swings the picnic basket in his other hand just to annoy Stede so he’ll make that scrunched-up face he always makes when he’s annoyed about something, the one Ed says he loves the best. Stede does have to remind Ed about the very carefully curated lunch he packed in said picnic basket, and can he please stop treating it as a physics experiment? That makes Ed laugh so hard he ka-honks, and it sounds so much like when he was a crane that Stede just has to kiss him about it.
Ed drops the picnic basket so fast Stede hears something break, but then Ed’s lips are on his and he doesn’t much care.
Ed gasps when they finally make it to the meadow — half an hour after Stede wanted but worth it. The wildflowers are in bloom and dot the grasses with purples and yellows and white, little blossoms that sway in the gentle breeze. Stede loves it here, loves how quiet it is, loves how all you can hear is birdsong and the wind, and if you look up all you can see is clouds and birds in the sky. Ed finds a spot without any flowers and spreads out the blanket there, and neither of them say a word as they curl up together on the blanket to watch the clouds and the birds fly by.
They go for a little walk after lunch and end up cuddled together in the grass, Ed on his side with an arm bracing his head and Stede on his back, his head resting on Ed’s chest like a pillow. Ed has one leg propped up and Stede’s resting his arm against it, their hands curled together up in the air. Stede had pointed up at a cloud in the sky and Ed had clasped his hand so tightly Stede knew he couldn’t let go. He didn’t want to anyway. He’d just kept talking about the shapes in the clouds and identifying the birds that flew by like Ed wasn’t intimately familiar with them.
But now it’s silent between them. And Ed is tensing up again. It’s time.
“The month is up tomorrow,” Stede says quietly, loud enough for Ed to hear but soft enough for the wind to carry the words away. Good. Stede doesn’t want them anyway. Ed tenses further but doesn’t say anything.
“Maybe you should take some more time to decide. You aren’t permanently human until you decide to stay, right?”
“Stede —”
Stede’s stomach twists as he continues. “Maybe you should spend some time as a crane again, see how it feels compared to this.” Ed lets go of Stede’s hand, and it sinks like a — oh.
Like a crane falling from the sky.
Ed’s breathing is heavy and ragged. He’s quiet for a long time. “Are you saying you’re done with me?” he finally asks.
“No,” Stede says, immediately and vehemently, twisting himself up to a seated position so he can look Ed in the eyes like he should have from the start. “Never. I love you —” Ed inhales sharply but Stede keeps going. “ — and I will always want you with me. But Ed, you keep staring at the sky. I don’t think you even realize how much you do it. You see a bird flying and you get this wistful look on your face, and I can’t — I can’t.” Stede pauses and closes his eyes, shakes his head a little to try and shake his thoughts back into order.
“It doesn’t feel like you’re ready to stay here. And that’s okay. I get it. It’s a big decision. But you have to make it for yourself. I don’t want to pressure you into something that will end up with you resenting me.”
Ed shakes his head and sighs, but he doesn’t say anything as he stands up and turns his back toward Stede. He crosses his arms over his chest and tucks his chin down, and Stede can hear him taking slow, deep breaths. Stede rises to his knees, but that’s as far as he can make himself go, even though it’s killing him to see Ed in pain.
Ed’s voice is sharp and thick when he says, “I think I want to go home now” without turning around. Stede nods, though Ed can’t see him, and starts packing up their picnic. Ed sniffles and watches a flock of starlings as they dance over the treetops, swaying a little with each turn they make.
Stede leaves him to it.
They walk home in silence, on opposite sides of the path, both lost in their own thoughts. It’s only late afternoon, but once the leftovers are put away and the blanket is outside airing, there’s really nothing else to do but get changed and crawl into bed. They’re on opposite sides there, too, instead of curled around each other like they usually are, backs facing each other. It feels cold in a way Stede’s never felt with Ed in his bed.
The bed isn’t even that big, but the space between them might as well be miles. Leagues. Centuries and eons and that doesn’t even make sense, but it’s so far apart, and that’s how Stede feels and he’s scared because this may be Ed’s last night ever with him and he’s ruined it, he’s ruined everything because that’s what he does, he ruins things, and he just had to go and do it with Ed too, didn’t he? He couldn’t leave well enough alone, could he? He had to push and press and ruin and defile and oh, he’s a fool. A foolish, foolish boy who grew into a foolish, foolish man, and he’s going to be lonely forever and he’ll deserve it. And Ed is right there but he’s so far away and Stede —
“Stede,” Ed whispers into the space between them, only he’s closer now, close enough to reach out and touch, and Stede startles when Ed grazes a hand across his shoulder and asks if Stede’s okay.
He is not. He is very much not, but he didn’t realize he was crying until Ed points it out. And then Stede is rolling over with a whimpered “Ed,” and Ed is gathering him close against his chest and holding him tight and telling him it’s okay. Telling him it’s all going to be okay. Stede chooses to believe him because what else can he do?
~~~
Ed’s gone when Stede wakes. That hurts. He expected it, but it hurts.
He rolls over and goes back to sleep.
When he wakes again, he forces himself to climb out of bed and take a bath, get dressed. Brush his teeth. Comb his hair. Go to the kitchen and make some tea, maybe eat some lunch. Notice that Ed has left a note on the kitchen table, folded up so it looks like a bird with broad wings and a long neck. Pick it up. Hold it carefully in a pair of shaking hands. Notice it looks like a crane. Fuck. A crane.
It looks like a crane.
Decide not to read it. Doesn’t matter what it says, anyway. Ed will come back or he won’t. Reading his note won’t change that. Set it back down on the table, right next to a piece of folded black fabric. A long, thin piece of folded black fabric. Sit down at the table and cry a little. Ignore the kettle when it starts screaming at you in favor of crying some more. Sit and stare at the wall for a bit. The kettle is still screaming, so turn that off. Decide you don’t need tea, you need something stronger.
Put the crane and the folded cravat in the bottom drawer of your dresser you never got around to filling up again. It was always Ed’s, anyway.
~~~
“Don’t you look awful,” Lucius says teasingly as he sits down across from Stede at the pub, Pete sliding in next to him. Stede’s resting his head on folded arms, and when he looks up, Pete gasps. “Hey,” Lucius continues in a much more subdued tone of voice. “What happened?”
Stede knows it’s bad when even Lucius is toning it down. “Ed left.”
Lucius and Pete exchange glances. Pete shrugs and gets up to go round up the Crew. “And do you think this is a break or…”
Stede lets all the air drain from his lungs with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. This morning I wasn’t sure. Tonight I think it’s done.”
“Oh, hon,” Lucius consoles as the rest of the crew start pulling up chairs and listening while Stede sobs about Ed and how perfect he was, how Stede fell in love with him so easily, how he’s only been gone for a day and Stede misses him so much he might just burst.
“It’s not fair!” he whines to someone at some point in the evening. Honestly, he’s a little bit drunk and a lot bit sad, and everyone is being very kind and understanding, and he’s definitely taking advantage of that. But he’s lost track of who he’s talking to at the moment, which whatever. It’s not fair! To have found Ed only to lose him so soon.
“You’re right,” Oluwande says as he tucks Stede into bed. Oh, he’s at home. In bed. That’s good. That’s nice.
“You were right the other four times you said it, too,” Jim grumbles as they set a glass of water on the table by Stede’s bed.
“Jim,” Oluwande admonishes gently. Jim rolls their eyes but doesn’t say anything more.
“You’re good friends,” Stede says vehemently as he tears up because they are, they’re so great. “Really very good friends.”
“And that’s our cue to leave. You gonna be okay?” Oluwande asks.
He’s halfway across the room already when Stede nods and says, “yes, I probably will be. Someday. Maybe.”
“Qué lástima,” Jim quips sarcastically, and Oluwande shushes them with a laugh before saying goodbye to Stede and leaving.
Stede pulls the covers up to his chin. He wiggles his toes and realizes there’s a hole in one of them, right at the big toe, and great. Now his toe is through the hole, and that’s a horrible feeling! He’s never going to fall asleep with one toe sticking out of his sock in a bed that’s too big for one person in a room that doesn’t have a crane sleeping in a drawer in a cottage that has a pile of dishes in the sink and unchopped firewood because he’s all alone and miserable and —
— Stede wakes to sunlight streaming across his face and a pounding in his head. Fuck. His mouth is so dry. His head is killing him, and even the full glass of water — Frenchie? Jim? Shit, someone — left for him last night isn’t touching this headache. It pounds as he gets out of bed and it pounds as he shuffles into the bathroom and it pounds as he grumbles his way down to the kitchen.
It’s still pounding when he realizes it isn’t a headache at all and is actually someone at the front door.
“Ugh,” he grunts and makes his way to the front of the house to see who it could possibly be at this hour. This middle-of-the-day hour that’s actually a perfectly reasonable time for someone to come by and check on him, especially if he imbibed a little too much last night and isn’t answering his door when said someone comes to check on him. “Coming!” he calls out when he’s close enough for the person to hopefully hear him over their own noise.
“See, I’m alive,” Stede snipes as he unlocks and pulls the door open, only to freeze when the person standing on his stoop, fist raised to knock yet again, isn’t one of his friends.
It’s Ed.
It’s Ed!
“Ed!” Stede says intelligently, cursing himself for not being more put together. Of all the times for Ed to come back, he had to choose now, when Stede looks like broiled death and probably smells even worse?
“Hi, Stede,” Ed says sheepishly as he lowers his hand and starts fiddling with the cuffs on his sleeves.
Stede blinks. Holy shit. Ed is here. Ed is here, and Stede’s worried about the fact that his hair is flat on one side and he has pillow creases across his cheek? Fuck that! He smiles, and Ed smiles back.
“You came back.
“Never should have left.”
“Does this mean —”
“It means I love you and I want to be your Crane Wife, Stede. Crane Husband. Fucking whatever, mate, I just want to be yours .” Stede swoons a little, but it’s okay because Ed catches him. “I know I was only gone a day, and flying was nice, but it wasn’t worth giving you up. I want to be here, on the ground, with you. Always.”
“Good, because even though it was just a day, I was not being brave about it,” Stede admits. Ed laughs and kisses Stede, right there in his doorway. Then in the entryway after Stede’s managed to get his feet under him and tug Ed into the cottage. Then in the living room on the way to the bedroom. Then in the bedroom. Then again in the bedroom. Then again as they try to undress and Stede’s arm gets stuck in his sleeve and Ed trips on his breeches, and then again when they’re finally naked and on the bed under the covers.
Then it’s less kissing and more sharing breaths as they touch and press and move together, Ed sliding inside so sweetly and so tenderly that Stede decides yes, I have to kiss him about this. He only stops kissing Ed to cry out his name as he falls apart and lets Ed put him back together again.
~~~
Ed’s still there when Stede wakes the next morning, his head propped up on his hand as he smiles down at Stede and brushes a lock of hair away from his face. He looks absolutely besotted, and Stede kisses him because he loves him an awful lot. And because he wants to and he can, so he does it again just for fun.
“Hi,” Ed says when they finally break apart.
“Hi,” Stede echoes. He reaches out to run his knuckles gently down Ed’s cheek, giggling when Ed turns his head and kisses Stede’s fingers. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“But it’s okay? That I am?”
Stede will reassure him every day for the rest of his life if he has to. “More than okay. It’s perfect. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
Ed smiles and opens his mouth to say something devastatingly romantic, Stede’s sure, but his stomach rumbles loudly before he gets the chance. “But apparently all your stomach’s ever wanted is breakfast,” Stede quips. Ed’s groan turns into a laugh, and then he’s pulling Stede along with him out of bed.
He looks sinfully handsome sitting at Stede’s kitchen table after breakfast, Stede’s velvet robe wrapped decadently around his body. The neckline is billowing temptingly in the breeze blowing in through the open windows, showing off Ed’s cravat and the crane tattooed at the top of Ed’s chest. It’s Stede’s favorite of his many tattoos and the one he most likes to kiss and trace with his tongue. He has half a mind to set his mug down and climb into Ed’s lap and lick it right now, actually.
He’s just about to do it when they hear a screeching sound outside followed by a loud crash. Ed freezes, his teacup halfway to his mouth.
“Nope,” Stede says as they lock eyes. “Not even going to look.”
A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock at the front door followed by a disgruntled honk.
“I’ll handle this, love,” Ed says, pressing a kiss to Stede’s forehead as he gets up from the table.
“Mm-hmm,” Stede agrees, sipping his favorite Earl Gray blend.
Stede hears the front door open just before Ed declares, “the position has been filled” and slams the door in the crane’s face. There’s an indignant squawk as Ed makes his way back to the kitchen, but Stede’s laughing too hard to hear if the crane says anything else.
Doesn’t matter if it does. Ed’s all the crane he needs.
Years later, Ed finds the folded crane note tucked at the back of the drawer he used to sleep in. He takes it down to the kitchen where Stede’s shelling peas at the table and asks him to open it. There’s a twinkle in his eye as Stede mouths along with the words as he reads them. When he’s finished, he groans before putting his hands in his face with a self-deprecating laugh and says, "I'm a fool."
Ed laughs and takes the note from his hand, tossing it next to the peas so he can fold it up again later. He gently pulls Stede's hands away from his face so he can kiss his nose, his cheeks, his forehead. "Yeah, but you're my fool."
When I come back, I'll teach you how to fold these. — Ed