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Ed hadn’t realised he needed to be clearer when he said he was seeing a therapist.
After explaining his symptoms, the specialist in town suggests the ocean might help - swimming, if possible - and Ed decides he will try it.
He relays details of the visit to Stede as he’s making lunch in the kitchen.
“The ocean?” he repeats.
“Yeah…” Ed says, not meeting his eye, enjoying watching the gentle back-and-forth of his hand as he butters a loaf. “… makes sense.”
Stede continues a moment, then stops. He puts down the knife. “It does, actually.”
Ed glances up. “What?”
“No, nothing. I simply hadn’t realised the treatment would be so… precise.”
Rubbing his temples, Ed replies, “Was just honest from the start about the pain I was experiencing…”
“…in your soul?”
“…not so much my sole. More…” He furrows his brow.
“…Oh, Ed. That must’ve been so very difficult for you,” Stede says, eyes softening.
“Wouldn’t say difficult. Just don’t like to whinge. Feels embarrassing.”
Stede nods. “Of course. Vulnerability often feels that way, though it shouldn’t.”
“Said men of my age and background usually had trauma similar. Too many hard landings.”
““Hard landings” are the mark of life having been lived, unfortunately, darling. And how exactly did the therapist examine your… areas of concern?”
“Mostly just poking and prodding.”
Stede nods again with understanding. “But poking and prodding. That can be painful, especially if it hits something hidden, shall we say. Or sensitive.”
“Was sensitive sometimes, but it felt good to loosen things up.”
“Mmm...”
“And I’ll need to take the weight off when I can.”
“You should. You’re definitely carrying too much “weight” lately.”
“Really?” Ed says, looking down at his midriff. “Mean, I try to maintain myself best I can…”
“Oh, you “maintain” yourself so well, and without specialist help, usually…” Stede inhales sharply. “You do an amazing job.”
Ed squints at him. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to ask if I feel… safe and cared for.”
“Well,” Stede says, gently, “do you? Do you feel safe and cared for after seeing your therapist?”
Ed laughs. “Yeah. Course I do.”
Stede studies him a moment. “And this… ocean suggestion. Did they explain why water specifically might help? Is it because of the memories?”
Memories? “Er, more something about… support,” Ed says, “and not forcing it.”
Stede agrees. “No, we shouldn’t force any chance of recovery. That’s wise, I think.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, quite.”
Ed shrugs. “Anyway, they said it’d be better if I didn’t try it alone.”
“Well, of course not. I need to be there! I should think I’ll play a vital role.”
Ed blinks. “Vital role?”
“Yes. I just want to be sure I’m getting it right. Might need some guidance.”
Ed watches Stede a second, then looks puzzled. “You don’t need to do anything special.”
“Oh, but you know that I will, Ed. We both need to get this right for you.”
Ed frowns, then shrugs, as Stede hands him his lunch.
*
Not long past dawn, the day after the therapist visit, and before the daily rush of the inn begins, Ed stands waist-deep in water, breeches rolled up to the thigh.
As the sun creeps over the hilltops, he grits his teeth, then bends his left knee back and forth, testing it against the cold current. The therapist’s instructions echo in his head: gentle movements, no dramatics - which Ed feels he is failing at already, because every tiny twinge seems worse than before.
“Fuckin’ knee,” he mutters, splashing. “Fuckin’ sea. Fuckin’-”
That’s when he sees Stede coming out from the inn and heading towards the water.
He’d said he wanted to help yesterday, but had been vague about what that might entail. Ed had envisioned them floating side by side, perhaps, Stede mirroring his exercises in a cheerful show of moral support.
Earlier, as Ed was getting ready to leave, he could hear Stede thumping about in their bedroom. After several minutes of noise, Ed called up to say he wouldn’t wait any longer, and was heading down to the shore alone. Stede was welcome to join him once he’d finished his faffing.
He had called back happily, that he was just taking a moment to “get into the proper frame of mind,” whatever that meant; and Ed, used to, and in love with Stede’s idiosyncrasies, didn’t think too much of it.
As he approaches now, Ed squints, trying to figure out what he’s wearing - possibly a new, bright-coloured towel is wrapped about his waist? But as he gets closer, it becomes clear it isn’t that at all, and something is… very wrong.
Stede’s wearing their bedspread.
The one bought last spring that Ed hates. The one sporting a hideous citrus print, because Ed is Stede’s “half-orange,” apparently. There’s sentiment attached around the treasure hunt they once went on. But also some bit of nonsense taken from one of Stede’s Very Serious books, involving an old, dead guy named “Play-toe”. Or maybe “Ari-stroppy-knees”.
(Fucking knee)
And there’s more. Stede is wrapped up in golden tinsel. Between the orange fabric and the sparkly decoration, he looks like a trussed-up Christmas carrot.
The bedspread is tied tightly, forcing Stede into a waddle, just like the penguin Ed spied in his youth when the ship he was on blew too far south.
Reaching the water’s edge finally, Stede lets out a theatrical sigh, and starts fussing with purpose, readjusting the spangly gold strands, one by one. He then fumbles with the cloth as it hangs heavily, brushing down near his bare feet.
Once satisfied, and waving first, Stede cups his hands around his mouth and calls -
“How do you want this to work, love?”
“Be useful if I knew what this was!”
“The therapy!”
“Okay… you’re wearing a bedspread, Stede.”
“I know. And I am worried about the drag in the water, but it really is the only thing the right colour.”
“Right colour for what?”
“A mermaid… merperson tail. You said I was all orange and sparkly, remember?” He shakes the tinsel for emphasis.
Ed wonders briefly if this is a dream.
“Babe… please get me up to speed on what the fuck’s going on.”
Stede places one hand on his hip - because isn’t it obvious? “You’ve been having nightmares again,” he says matter-of-factly, “about the gravy basket.”
True.
“And you’ve said recently, I’ve not been appearing for you as a… vision, in the moments I should. And it’s leaving you, well, rather… blue.”
Also true.
“So, when you said your therapist told you to work this out in the water, I thought it might be useful if we re-enacted the sequence - as reassurance, to jog your memory. If you dream it again, I might be there next time, in some form at least...”
“…”
There are many reasons Ed Teach loves Stede Bonnet. Some are hard to catalogue, even harder to explain. Some would feel utterly incredible if he tried to define them. He could aim to pin it down, give it a name - whimsy, perhaps - but, it doesn’t seem enough; and anyway, it would probably ruin the magic.
All Ed cares to know is he can’t look away from the man he adores - and doesn’t want to.
The broad, bare chest; the strong, shapely legs, wrapped absurdly in citrus print and Christmas sparkle; the bouncy blond curls catching the light…
“…is that cutlery in your hair?” Ed shouts now across the water.
“Oh, yes. You said I was carrying a fork.”
Ed stretches his knee as he smothers a laugh. “Bit bigger than that. More the toasting sort by the fire.”
“… Yes, well. I realise you possibly meant a trident. But this little pronged beauty is likely more practical.”
“Sure… Stede?”
“Yes, darling.”
“When I said I went to see a therapist yesterday… which kind did I mean?”
“One of those newfangled head-doctors, Ed.”
“I see. Well, actually, I went for my knee.”
Stede blinks. “…Oh. But they said to work it out in the water, and I thought - ”
“Yeah. Hydrotherapy. Exercise the joint, buoyancy supporting the ligament.”
Stede pauses. “…Does that require me to dress as a merperson?”
“Not specifically, babe.”
He pauses again. “…Can I still dress as a merperson?”
“Mean, if you wish...”
“…Lifelong dream…”
“…What was that?”
“…I said, it would be a shame not to act this out, seeing as I’ve gone to such effort.”
“Yep. Acting out my near-death experience won’t retraumatise me at all.”
“Excellent. So how should I approach you in the water?”
He’s serious.
“Well… you were above me, for starters. Inside a bright light. Then sort of… came down.”
“Got it.”
Stede eyes a cluster of rocks stretching out into the ocean, and immediately begins to scramble across, climbing upwards with surprising ease.
“Careful, sweetheart,” Ed says, wading deeper, still just able to keep his footing.
“I’m fine, Ed. Like this?” He reaches the top.
“That’ll do. Then you sort of… swam down to me.”
“And what were you doing?”
“Dying.”
“Right. The whole time?”
“Pretty much.”
“Were you waving at me?”
“No, I was not waving at -”
“Over here, Stede! Like - ”
“No. Had a big fuck-off boulder around my waist. But once that released, I just trod water and watched you approach.”
“Were you happy?”
“To see you? Of course I was happy.”
Stede begins to curl his toes over the edge, forgetting to utilise the fork as a prop. “I’m going to descend to you now, Ed, okay? See if we can’t trigger that memory. Then if you dream it again, you might see me, and at least imagine yourself a little happier.”
Ed giggles. “Might imagine you in a gaudy blanket and glitter.”
“You might!”
Stede shifts his weight forwards, arms windmilling a little, as he now begins to totter. He’s leaning as if he’s challenging gravity, a giant tree ready to topple down an embankment.
“Are you sure you should -?” Ed starts, worried still about the potential drag of the bedspread. But Stede’s feet have already left the rocks -
There’s a dynamic in his falling that has more grace and purpose than Ed can possibly fathom. It’s beautiful, and seems to go on forever - until Stede lands on his tummy with a massive splash. Immediately, he starts bobbing his legs, his perky little bottom rising and falling in theatrical undulations.
Ed is impressed. Mostly. Except for the hands - “Definitely weren’t doing doggy paddle, babe!”
“In terms of… mer… person… veri… simili…tude,” he gasps between breaths, “best… I can do.”
Ed watches the gap close between them, amusement intertwined with something much deeper.
Meanwhile, Stede continues with his thrusting and splashing, attempting to style it out, before giving up eventually on a full performance. He lets himself drift the rest of the way, floating in easy like a sailboat.
As he reaches Ed, Stede slicks back his hair, then adopts what he thinks is an ethereal expression.
“Oh! unhappy sailor. Why do you flail so forlornly in my watery realm?”
Ed stares.
“Why are you talking like that?”
“I sense a handsome, yet emotionally troubled pirate in distress -”
“Weren’t speaking, exactly. Was sort of a… mind trick.”
“Ooh!”
“And more: I’m here, Ed. You’re safe. I won’t ever leave you again - like I did so unfairly that night on the dock…”
Stede pouts. “Was I that specific? It seems counterintuitive towards my own mental wellbeing.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Edwaardd -”
“Cut the voice -”
“Oh. Sorry.” Stede tries again, gentling his tone. He looks Ed straight in the eye this time. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.”
Ed stares again.
It’s ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Soggy tinsel floating like a brassy, metallic seaweed; the bedspread, though taut, now puffing and bulging in places, like a drowned ghost. A fork, tangled stubbornly in a halo of wet curls.
The whole thing is absurd.
And yet, despite it all, something in Ed’s chest tightens.
Lately, he has been fragile in a way he doesn’t have words for. Sleep brings the same dreams again, and again: an aimless drifting through the blue of the gravy basket; a sunken world of shadows and water, twisting and spooling, forever.
And Ed is alone. Stede never comes.
And when he wakes in fear, he’s so fucking cold. Like it’s seeped straight into his bones and stayed there.
Strangely - without meaning to, or so he told himself - Ed had opened up to the knee specialist the previous day. He had pressed on those night bruises, and forced out words he didn’t think he’d planned to say.
But. If he were honest. He hadn’t gone to the specialist about his knee alone.
Or even at all.
Yet, despite Ed’s desperate confessions, his heart reached out to indifference. It earned him a professional smile. The kind that suggested, politely, that such injuries fell well outside the doctor’s pay-scale, interest, and remit. The man’s enthusiasm, quite understandably, was reserved wholly for Ed’s anterior cruciate ligament, which he examined with care, whilst offering no further acknowledgement of any attempt to probe the state of Ed’s mind.
Ed gazes hard at Stede now, the words just spoken churning his mind.
“Say it,” he whispers. “Say it again. Like you mean it.”
“Darling, I always mean it.”
“Say it, babe. Please.”
“Ed,” Stede says, swimming closer, smiling gently. “I’m here. I’ll never leave you. You’re safe.”
“That last bit...”
“Darling, you’re safe.”
Before he can think, and perhaps pushing too hard with his left leg, Ed launches himself out of the water - and is caught, instinctively, as natural as breathing.
His knee screams, but Ed doesn’t fucking care. He’s melting into Stede Bonnet’s arms now, and the cold, the wet, the pain - everything else falls away. Because all that matters is Ed is in love, is loved in return, and he is wrapping himself in an unbreakable safety.
Burying himself deeper into the warmth of Stede’s neck, Ed hears his voice soften further. “I’m here, my love, and I’m staying forever,” he murmurs. “And I won’t let the world hurt you. I promise.” Ed shivers as Stede gathers him closer, whispering reassurance over and over, until he feels Ed nod against him - small, trusting movements that say that he knows.
In the next moments, the World narrows to nothing but warmth - Stede’s warmth. He often runs hot, as though carrying sunlight just under his skin. And Ed feels that heat seeping into him now, melting the cold from his bones.
For a few more precious seconds, the sea seems to hold its breath. Love, along with something else - something that might be called magic, perhaps - hangs between them, until everything that isn’t them, fades away.
But eventually, even moments like this cannot last, and the spell has to break.
The sea breathes and a wave crashes closer than expected. Saltwater splashes up and over them as Stede chokes, spluttering as the brine hits his tongue.
He starts to struggle.
“Okay, well - might be fibbing… slightly… about safety. The bedspread’s starting to drag…”
“Stop treading water,” Ed cries, removing himself from Stede’s neck. “Put your feet down!”
“It’s up to… your chin. How…tall do… you think I am?”
“All right, I’ve got you,” Ed says, finding his footing again. “You’re safe, babe.”
Stede splutters once more. “…Think we might need to rescue each other – are we done here for now, love?”
“Think we are.”
So much for gentle movements and no dramatics.
They manage to shuffle, half-swim, limp, and drag the other to shore, though for a time, the tide keeps trying to claim them. It’s tugging at the bedspread in particular, until the shingles finally give purchase, and they stagger free, breathless and dripping.
Once the water’s knee-deep, Ed glances at Stede: “Fork’s… still in your hair, you know.”
Stede reaches up. “Yes,” he huffs, adjusting it. “I’ve decided it’s a dinglehopper.”
“The fuck’s a dinglehopper?”
“It’s a hair comb. Now please respect my merperson culture.”
Ed snorts laughing, and shakes his head.
Reaching dry sand, they attempt to untie the bedspread as Ed rolls his eyes at the Do-not-get-wet label.
“Jesus. Who taught you knots?”
“You!”
“Taught you too well.”
The fabric’s wet through, fingers too slippery. “Going to have to waddle.”
They shimmy and limp up the beach toward home, both trying to support the weight of the other more than is necessary, and cancelling each other out.
When they arrive at the stoop, the bedspread is still soddened with seawater; so much so, Stede has to haul himself up the steps, arse-backwards, dragging it behind him. Having reached the top first, Ed fails to stifle a laugh - one more part of the best therapy he’s had all morning, and nothing to do with his knee.
“There,” Stede says finally, breathless, holding onto the porch rail, and standing proudly, though uncertain still of where his centre of gravity lies. “Rescued by “merperson Stede”, once again. You’re welcome.”
“Always were magical, babe.”
Stede beams at that, glowing with pride at a job well done. He braces himself on the railing. “And how is your knee, Ed?” he asks, sincerely.
Ed shifts his weight to see and immediately regrets it. “Knee’s proper fucked. Seems even gentle sea-cuddles from an enthusiastic merperson can’t do much for damaged cartilage.”
Stede smiles sadly at that.
“But,” Ed adds, eyes flicking back to the ocean, glittering gold like it knows something they don’t, “the other thing?” He taps a finger against his temple. “That mess in here? Feels a little calmer just now, thanks to you.”
Stede blinks. “Oh. I don’t know I really did anything, other than flounder around in some cumbersome fabric.”
Ed laughs, sweetly. “… partly what’s made me feel better.”
“Has it?”
“That - and your words.” Ed looks shy for a moment, but will say it anyway, because he wants Stede to realise, to understand.
“You’re gifted, you know, at… helping to fix things. Even when you don’t know exactly how, or why, something is broken.”
Stede blushes at that. Caught completely off guard. He shakes his head - “Ed… gifted? What a notion.” Laughs again, disbelieving, as if he’s not quite sure he’s heard correctly, or that such kind words - even from Ed - could possibly be meant his way.
Seeing the confusion, Ed attempts to rescue him. “Anyway, what I should say is… that was some crackin’ merperson swimming, babe.”
Stede smiles more comfortably. “I think the key was not to overthink it,” he says. “Let myself black out a little - which I did, briefly, after hitting the water - and just let my body take over.”
“Should know, your body doing its own thing? Really shone through.”
“Oh, I am glad!” Stede smiles like a burst of orange, as he continues to drip puddles of seawater all over the porch floor. Then his hand reaches up, sweeping wet strands of silvery hair from Ed’s forehead. It’s his turn to say Kind Things now.
“I know I’ve tried to comfort you at night, recently, after the dreams.” He hesitates. “But you always brush me off, Ed, like you don’t want me to.”
Ed sighs, wearily. “It’s not that.” He pauses. “Just… don’t like to bother you. Thin out your patience with me.”
“Ed. You couldn’t.”
“Could, though. Going on about the same stuff. Always waking you up.”
Stede waddles closer. “You will never wear out my patience. Not with this. If you need to hear that you’re safe, I will tell you. Whatever the time and as long as it takes.”
Ed looks up from under his lashes.
“You must tell me,” Stede says, again. “If you need me to say it in the night, I don’t mind. Not ever. I love you, Ed. So whatever you need, however you need it, you only have to tell me, to let me.”
Ed shuffles his feet. “‘kay. Thank you,” he mutters. “Love you, too.” He stops, then decides to risk sharing something. “Tried to tell the knee doctor, you know.”
“About… your nightmares?”
“Hmm.”
Stede’s reaction is both sympathetic and amused. Ed gives him a flinty stare.
“Sorry, love. It’s not funny, really. And you were so very brave to tell him! It’s just. I’m picturing some poor orthopaedist being asked to treat your existential dread with a brace.”
Ed shrugs. “All connected, though, isn’t it? Knees. Nerves. All the thingumajigs of the body, really. But, you know, wasn’t interested.”
“Oh, darling. I am sorry.” Stede attempts to maintain a serious face. “But, love; you cannot expect a man whose entire professional focus is patellar tendonitis to counsel you through nightly terrors.”
“Suppose… Gave me a card, though, at the end.”
“For someone that might help you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that at least was kind of him.”
“And guess what else?”
“What?”
“Says Mr Newfangled Head-Doctor on it.”
It’s quite extraordinary, Stede thinks, really, how Ed can be hurting and still manage a wry little joke like that. Somehow twist the moment sideways. He claps his hands together in support. “Sounds as if he was born to the job, then!” He watches Ed chuckle, then adds, “Will you give him a try?”
Ed laughs again, a little nervously. “Yeah. Maybe.” He plays with his fingers. “But do you… would you… come with me?”
“Of course I’ll come with you, if that’s what you need.”
“I need,” Ed blurts, almost a whisper.
Stede nods. “Then you shall have,” and he winks as Ed’s eyes grow just a little bit shiny.
He steps back slightly then to give Ed space, and clears his throat to steer things along. “So, anyway. The sequence, love, what happened next?”
“That’s it,” Ed sighs, smiling a little now. “Opened my eyes and gave you a bruise. But this time, I’d rather say my “thank-yous” with a kiss.”
Stede narrows his eyes. “Before we do any “thanking”, definitely no headbutting! I believe my skull is still tender from your last near-death experience.”
Ed chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Full of regret.” He leans in. “I’ll behave. Promise.”
They move closer. Slowly, carefully.
It really is going to be a soft, tender moment, until Ed shifts his weight to his bad knee again, which doesn’t quite hold as it should. Coupled with a slippery, wet porch -
CRACK.
Stede yelps, staggering backwards, almost toppling down the stoop.
“Edward!”
Ed freezes, then bursts into laughter. “Did it again! Oh my god, I’m so sorry -”
“You just headbutted me harder than ever.”
“Swear I wasn’t trying! It’s like my forehead has a mind of its own. A violent one!”
“This isn’t funny.”
Ed laughs even louder. “But it is! You told me not to, and then immediately - bam! It’s fuckin’ fated.”
“It’s fucking concussion.”
Ed stops laughing and holds Stede’s face, gently, “You okay?” then his giggles restart. “Please don’t banish me, again.”
Stede sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to need a head-doctor at this rate, but I suppose I’ll live.”
“Good. Because I’d really like to try that kiss again.”
“If you headbutt me a third time, I will banish you - back to the pissing ocean.”
Ed grins. “I’ll take the risk.”
This time, at least, his forehead behaves.
Ed kisses Stede gently, then pulls back to speak. “Tell you what, tomorrow we’ll take you down to the water for your head-related trauma.”
Stede has a think about that, still rubbing his brow, where a muted violet is spreading already like octopus ink. Ed traces it now, only faintly concerned - it’ll fade, as most bruises can, with the right time and care.
“If we go to the ocean tomorrow,” Stede asks, “will you be dressing as a merperson to help me recover?”
Ed chuckles. “Not in that fucking bedspread!” He looks again.
At the ridiculous orange cloth, still clinging wet to the shape of Stede’s legs.
At the glittering tinsel, flashing at his hips, gloriously absurd.
At the sunlit dawn, reimagined as a middle-aged man.
“Honestly,” Ed murmurs, shaking his head, “can’t pull it off. Not in your league.” He smiles, right to his eyes now, cradling the hair-tangled fork; he then cups Stede’s cheek, utterly in love, in a way there’s simply no cure for -
“No one can do it like you.”