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wistfulcynic · 2 years

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all that I am led me to you (2/3)

For ten years, Mary Allamby Bonnet has barely given any thought to her "late" husband Stede. She's been far too busy enjoying her life as his wealthy widow. Until the night that Stede appears at her door, badly wounded, in the arms of the most feared pirate in history.

Until that moment Mary had never truly believed the Wanted posters that claimed Stede as a "known associate" of Blackbeard's. Yet here he is, in her home, less the legendary pirate captain than simply Stede's Ed, a man terrified of losing the love of his life. He won't, though. Not if Mary has anything to say about it.

Or, Mary and Ed nurse Stede back to health and in doing so form a friendship.

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Chapter Two: (CW for brief, non-explicit allusions to child sexual abuse)

Doug rose very early most mornings. The students at his art school now numbered in the dozens and came from all around to study under his tutelage, so he liked to get an early start on his busy days. When Mary, who had returned to bed in the small hours after checking on her fugitive patient, woke again, Doug had long since departed, his pillow still rumpled from his head but cold to her touch.

Mary sighed. She’d hoped to have a chance to tell Doug about the pirates currently camped in her studio before he left for the school, but it seemed he’d opted to let her sleep rather than wake her to say goodbye, a gesture she would greatly appreciate on any other day. Now the revelation of Stede’s dramatic return to their lives would have to wait at least until that evening. She only hoped that Doug wouldn’t be hurt by her decision not to wake him the night before. And that Stede would be lucid enough by the time Doug returned that he could explain the situation himself.

Alas, when Mary arrived at the studio, she found Ed awake and hovering over Stede’s bedside, holding an empty teacup in one hand and radiating anxiety.

“He’s feverish, I think,” he said, the minute he caught sight of Mary. “His face feels warm. I gave him the calabash you left, but it doesn’t seem to be—”

“How long ago? For the calabash?”

“Uh”—Ed glanced up at the sun, just visible through the window—“thirteen minutes.”

“You likely wouldn’t see any improvement before now, then,” said Mary. “Especially as that was brewed hours ago. It loses its potency quite quickly. Give it another ten minutes or so and if there’s no improvement I’ll brew a fresh cup. In the meantime, we need to change the dressing on his wound.”

She sent Ed to the kitchen to mix the poultice, to keep his mind and hands occupied and him out of her hair while she removed Stede’s bandage and examined the wound. It did appear slightly inflamed, though nothing too concerning. There was no supperation that she could detect.

She swabbed it again nevertheless, just to be safe, and when Ed returned with the poultice packed it carefully and re-wrapped it with another length of clean linen. Then she pressed the back of her hand to Stede’s forehead.

“He does seem a bit warm still, but not so much that we need to worry,” she informed a wild-eyed Ed. “He’s doing well, all things considered. Don’t panic just yet.”

Ed visibly grappled with himself for a moment as his fear and worry for Stede warred with the iron-clad strength of will that had made him the terror of the seas. “It’s—hard not to,” he said.

Mary nodded. “It’s never easy to watch the people we love suffer.”

Ed turned to her with a smile, grateful and slightly wry. “Yeah,” he agreed, “that it isn’t.”

“To be honest, I’m a bit surprised,” Mary said, before she could think better of it. “I’d have thought this would be old hat for you by now, living as you do. Is this really the first time Stede’s been wounded?”

Ed appeared surprised by her question, then he grinned. “No,” he replied, “it isn’t. Not even close. The very first time I met Stede was right after he’d been stabbed in the gut. And then hanged.”

“Hanged!” Mary exclaimed, as though that were somehow more alarming than a stabbing. She supposed it was the nature of the thing.

“Yep,” Ed confirmed. “Long story. Point is, that gut wound nearly did for him. More than once I thought he wouldn’t make it. He did, though. Pulled right through. Since then, I’ve seen him stabbed more times than I can count, and slashed up, and nearly drowned. Shot too, though less badly than this. I never lost it any of those times, though. Not like this. Never felt so… I don’t know. Helpless before.”

“He was probably awake then,” Mary observed. “Also, you had a long time between when he was shot and when you got here. A long time to watch him bleed and fade and to feel helpless to save him. And considering he’s still not entirely out of the woods, I’d say it’s normal to be afraid.”

“I guess I just don’t handle fear well.” Ed sat heavily down in his chair and ran a hand over his beard. “Went years, decades really, never feeling it at all. Didn’t care enough about anything to mind losing it, I guess.”

Until he met Stede. Mary kept her expression neutral but internally she marvelled. Imagine anyone loving Stede Bonnet enough that just the prospect of losing him sent them spiralling. Mary, for one, absolutely could not fathom it.

Perhaps that was unkind. She had let go of most of her resentment of Stede when he’d died the second time. No—earlier even than that. When his confession about Ed had made her realise that the failure of their marriage was down to nothing that she had done or even that he had done. They could never have been fulfilled with each other—it was fundamentally impossible. And Mary had discovered that it was hard to resent a man who had been suffering in his way as much as she had in hers, especially once he’d left her with all the tools she needed to build herself the kind of life she’d always wanted.

At least, that’s what Mary had told herself. It was possible though that a leetle tiny bit of that resentment may still remain, buried deeply but unmistakably there.

“Let’s have some brunch,” she said to Ed. “You need to eat.”

“I couldn’t leave—” he began, predictably.

“He’ll be fine here for an hour,” she interrupted firmly. “It doesn’t do him any good for you to hover over him, worrying. Let him sleep.” She felt Stede’s forehead again. “His temperature seems better already and when we’ve eaten we’ll brew him some more calabash. Come on, Ed, you need to keep up your own strength. You’ve had a rough time of it.”

Ed placed his own hand on Stede’s forehead. “He does seem better,” he conceded. “And I could definitely eat.”

“Come on, then,” said Mary. “What do you fancy?”

Eagerness lit in Ed’s eyes. “Got any marmalade?”

“Oh, yeah, this is the good stuff,” he sighed some time later, after polishing off a plate of eggs and ham and three cups of tea so sugary she nearly gagged watching him drink it, and then settling in to a slice of bread liberally slathered with the best marmalade Mary had on hand. “We don’t have it so often anymore. Gotta raid the bloody Spanish for it, and sometimes they haven’t even got any. Friend of ours makes his own out of Florida oranges and it’s good, not saying it isn’t, but this Spanish stuff is the bees’ knackers.”

“I suppose it is nice.” Mary had never given marmalade that much thought.

“This marmalade, it was the first thing Stede and I ate together,” mused Ed. “Up in the crow’s nest of the Revenge, at sunrise. He woke me up and gave me some and God, I knew then—I couldn’t admit it to myself but I knew I was a goner. Never stood a bloody chance against him.”

Mary watched his face closely as he replayed the memory, worried he might lose himself in his fear again, but after a moment he met her eyes with a smile, this one thoughtful with a touch of shrewd. “Can I ask you something?” he inquired.

“Sure,” said Mary.

“How do you know my name?”

“Ah.” Mary returned his smile. “Stede told me. When he came back here, the last time. Just after I tried to kill him.”

Ed blinked in astonishment. “You tried to kill him?”

“Well, I say tried, it wasn’t much of an attempt.” Even as she demurred, Mary couldn’t help feeling a bit smug. It wasn’t every day that a respectable widow could shock a notorious pirate with the tale of her murderous intent, after all. “I was honestly going to. But then I found I couldn’t. And then he woke up.”

“You tried to kill him in his sleep.” Ed chuckled. “Bloody hell. You’re just full of surprises, Widow Bonnet.”

Mary had never thought of herself as being particularly surprising, and found the notion of it pleased her immensely. Equally pleasing was the discovery that she’d read Ed correctly—he didn’t seem especially bothered to hear that she’d once meant to kill the man he loved. “Anyway,” she continued, “Stede woke up and we had a talk. Finally talked through everything we needed to. And he told me he was in love with a man named Ed.”

Mary could still remember, so clearly, the emotions of that moment. Comprehension. Compassion. Soaring relief, for both of them. A weight lifted from their shoulders then, at last, a way out of the mess they were in.

“So did you know that I was Blackbeard, then?”

“No, not then. Stede just said ‘Ed’. But years later I saw a Wanted poster for him, which called him a ‘known associate of Blackbeard’s,’ and I remembered that your real name was Edward, and well.” She gave a little shrug. “The dots weren’t hard to connect.”

“You knew who I was and still you let me into your house, just like that. To save the man who made you miserable for years.” Ed shook his head. “Fascinating,” he muttered, then continued in a louder voice, “You know, I think you’re right. In different circumstances, you and Stede would have been friends. Great friends.” He paused, and Mary would swear his eyes actually twinkled. “Shame you had to fuck it up by marrying each other.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, as laughter bubbled up inside her. “That really buggered everything, didn’t it?”

Ed’s answering chuckle grew into a belly laugh as Mary tipped her head back and let the mirth just flow out of her. Soon they both were roaring, laughing until their bellies ached with it and tears rolled down their cheeks. It felt good to laugh, cathartic. It swept away the final, clinging dregs of Mary’s resentment against Stede, and when she met Ed’s eyes again she felt like the two of them had formed a connection. A friendship, even. Or the seeds of one, at least.

On impulse, she reached out and placed her hand on his. “Have you had enough to eat?” she asked. “If so, we should brew up some more calabash and go check on Stede.”

Ed stared for a moment at her hand on his, then placed his other one on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good. Thanks. I—just thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Mary.

Stede was still asleep when they returned to the studio, and less warm to the touch than he had been. Relief was plain to see in Ed’s eyes as he settled down to wake Stede just enough that he could drink the fresh calabash. This he did with barely a protest, then fell immediately back to sleep.

“Does he need more mimosa?” asked Ed, frowning down at him. “The pain—”

“I think for now it’s best to let him sleep,” said Mary. “That’s the best way to heal. We’ll see how he feels when he wakes up.”

“Er—okay, if you think so.” Ed settled back into what Mary now thought of as his chair and put his feet up on the crate. There he remained, unmoving, for several minutes, absently stroking his beard as he watched Stede sleep.

“I might do some painting,” Mary informed him. “Do you want me to get you a book or something?”

“No thanks, I don’t think I could concentrate on one,” Ed replied. “I’m not much of a reader, though I like stories. Stede reads to me, mostly, and I tell him stories.”

“Will you tell me some?” Mary asked. She was convinced it wouldn’t be good for Ed to do nothing all day but sit and brood at Stede’s bedside. He was clearly a man inclined to get lost in his own head unless he had some task to accomplish, some external thing to focus on.

He looked taken aback by her request, but quickly recovered. “Sure, if you want,” he said. “What kind of story?”

“Just anything you’d like to tell me. The kind you would normally tell Stede.”

“Yeah, some of those I’m not sure you’d care to hear,” said Ed wryly.

“Oh, you think they’re too much for my delicate, lady-like ears?” Mary scoffed. “Try me.”

“You asked for it,” said Ed, then launched into a tale about himself as a lad, in his first year at sea. How he and his mate Jack had followed their captain, Hornigold, into a brothel, not knowing what one was, and once inside were mistaken for employees.

“Turns out we were precisely the sort that their clientele most enjoyed,” remarked Ed, observing Mary closely with another twinkle in his eye.

Mary was rather shocked, she had to admit it, and more than a little horrified by the flippant way he told the tale. She supposed many years had passed since it happened, but still.

“How old were you?” she asked.

“Fourteen.”

“Goodness.” Mary took a moment to absorb that, then said: “Well. Go on, then. How did you escape?”

“Who says we escaped?”

“Did you not escape!” Mary spun around to face him, eyes wide and paintbrush dangling limply from her fingers.

Ed had the grace to look the very slightest bit contrite. “No, we did,” he said. “Sorry, I shouldn’t mess with you like that. We did escape. It was the first fuckery I ever pulled, actually. We were being led away to the back rooms by these two men but I managed to get close to Jack, close enough to whisper to him that he should cry out Edwina, no! when I gave him the signal. Then I tripped on the stairs—that was the signal—and Jack played his role like a star. The man dropped me like I was on fire. Thought I was a girl, you see, pretending to be a boy. Nothing I said after that could convince him otherwise, though I put on a show of pretending. Couldn’t give in too easy, y’know?”

“No,” said Mary faintly. “I suppose not.”

“So the man kicked me aside and said he was going to find himself a ‘real lad,’ to which I replied ‘Well, Jaqueline, we tried,’ then Jack’s bloke dropped him too. They were furious, shouting at the brothel madam for trying to scam them, and in all the confusion me and Jack slipped away and made it back to the ship. Hornigold knew it was us, of course—that bastard always knew everything—and he thrashed us good the next day.” Ed huffed a little chuckle as he shook his head, then his expression grew solemn. “But I’ll tell you, Mary, I’d’ve taken a hundred thrashings over one night with those men. They had the emptiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Worse than my dad’s, or Hornigold’s, or any number of vicious bastards I’ve met in my years at sea. Ice cold and dead flat. Not human.” He paused again and Mary tried to imagine it, imagine him, young and vulnerable, protecting himself and his friend with his wits and clever trickery. She found that it wasn’t difficult. What a remarkable person he was.

“So yeah.” Ed gave himself a little shake. “Jack and I buggered each other real quick after that, first chance we got, so’s if we ever found ourselves in a situation like it again at least we’d know what we were in for.” The smile he offered Mary was faintly abashed. “Er, sorry if I—”

“Don’t be,” Mary heard herself saying. “I did ask you for a story. And that is… well, it’s certainly a story.”

“They aren’t all like that,” said Ed. “Let me tell you about the time Stede and I accidentally captured a Dutch merchant fleet.”

Mary nodded eagerly. “Yes, please, tell me that one.”

Ed launched into the story and Mary listened, laughed and gasped and commented in all the right places, but her mind still lingered on what he’d revealed of himself in that first, tragic tale. It broke her heart to think about the horrors he’d faced at such a young age, and she doubted that was anything like the worst of it. Thank goodness he’d found Stede, late in life to be sure, but still early enough for them to have years together to be happy and in love. She understood much better now the origins of Ed’s fierce devotion, and why his fear of losing Stede was so desperate and so raw.

She really, really wanted to hug him.

They passed the afternoon pleasantly, with Mary painting and Ed telling stories, and Stede sleeping peacefully without visible signs of distress. Mary noted that the sound of Ed’s voice seemed to soothe him, that he only shifted on the chaise when Ed stopped talking, to reflect or to sip more of the tea Mary brought him. For his part, Ed often touched Stede in ways that appeared unconscious—stroking his cheek or running fingers through his hair, or just holding his hand, which he once did for over an hour, their fingers twined together and Ed’s thumb moving in a gentle sweep across Stede’s knuckles.

Many of the stories he told were of pirating adventures but even more were about the life he’d lived over the past decade. The quieter, domestic existence he had with Stede. These stories had an element of contentment to them that the others lacked; they weren’t told to titillate or to terrify, they were simple homely anecdotes of a happy life. As she listened, Mary found herself taking up a fresh canvas, washing it in delicate shades of blue and sandy brown then sketching on the outline of a wooden hut with palms behind it, an image drawn from Ed’s tales through her mind and out the tip of her paintbrush. She could picture it all so clearly—the beach, the hut, the swaying trees. The two men on the porch, sharing a drink or a pipe, or a nap together in their hammock.

Eventually her eyes and arm began to tire and Ed’s enthusiasm for tale-spinning to wane, and she was about to suggest that they take a break and have something to eat when Stede gave a deep groan and opened his eyes.

“Ed?” he croaked, and Ed was instantly out of the chair and crouched by his side. Mary heard a loud crack as he went down and winced, thinking of the knee brace he’d not worn all day.

Ed did not appear to notice any pain; his attention was fixed on Stede. “I’m here, love,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” said Stede. Ed gave a relieved chuckle.

“You seem lucid, at least,” he observed.

“Well, that’s a relief. How long have I been out?”

“You’ve been asleep for almost a full day.”

“Asleep?”

“Yeah.” Ed stroked his cheek. “You weren’t delirious for long. Mary sorted you out.”

“Mary?” Stede, for the first time since he’d opened them, took his eyes from Ed’s face and scanned the room. His gaze landed on Mary who, for lack of any more elegant options, gave him a little wave.

“Hiya, Stede. Glad you’re alive.”

“Mary,” Stede repeated. “You—you did let us in.”

“Of course I did. I couldn’t let you die. Not for real, anyway.”

“Oh good,” Stede nodded and gave her a weak smile. “That’s good. I’m grateful.”

“We both are.” Now that Stede was awake and talking, Ed’s face wore a beaming smile. Relief and joy shone from him.

“Do you mind if I check your wound, Stede?” Mary asked. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, please do. It hurts like a sonofabitch.”

Mary took only a moment to blink in surprise at hearing such a turn of phrase from him—he’s been living with Ed for ten years, woman, and you’ve heard the way he talks—then briskly unwrapped Stede’s bandage and inspected the wound. The skin was still raw and red but the wound had closed and the skin begun the process of knitting itself back together. There were no signs of suppuration. Mary gave Ed a reassuring nod.

“It looks good,” she said. “Should heal quickly now, if you look after it properly. I can put on some ointment to dull the pain before we wrap you back up again.

“I’d appreciate that,” said Stede. “Thank you.”

Mary went to the kitchen to mix up the ointment and a new poultice, and when she returned to the studio Ed and Stede were kissing. She stopped dead in her tracks and turned her back on them so fast she made herself dizzy, though still not quickly enough to miss noticing the way they held each other—Ed’s arm supporting Stede’s back, his other hand cradling his face. Stede’s arm—the uninjured one—curled around Ed’s waist, holding him as tightly as he was likely able in his weakened state. Even a glimpse of them was more than enough to convey the depth of tenderness and intimacy they shared—and the heat that simmered beneath it. Mary found herself feeling rather flushed.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she heard Ed say, gruffly. “I thought you were gone, Stede, I thought—”

“Shhh,” said Stede softly. “I’m here. I’m still here, my love, and I’m not going anywhere. It’d take a great deal more than one measly bullet to get me away from you. Three bullets, minimum, and even that would be a stretch.”

Ed chuckled, but when he spoke again his voice still quavered. “Don’t joke about it,” he said. “You don’t know what it was like to watch you fading away, barely conscious and talking nonsense, having to haul you bodily through a goddamn jungle in a downpour, not knowing where I was going or what kind of reception I’d get even if I—” His words were cut off and Mary recognised the sound of renewed kissing. It went on for several excruciatingly long minutes, during which she debated somewhat frantically what to do.

Then Ed said: “Thank fuck for Mary is all I’ll say,” and Stede inquired: “What did she actually do to heal me?” and Mary figured that was the best cue she was going to get.

“Oh, just a little light witchcraft,” she replied, breezing into the studio with her arms full of potions and a length of clean linen trailing behind her like a banner. “Things I picked up from the other widows. Old medicine, you know. Traditional.”

“Right,” said Stede, “well that’s good, then,” and Mary marvelled yet again. The Stede she’d been married to would never have been so blasé about traditional medicine, and would have insisted on a ‘proper doctor’ being called. He’d changed so much, she knew that from Ed’s tales. But it still jarred to witness those changes firsthand.

Stede sat obediently, gritting his teeth against the pain as she swabbed his wound and dabbed on some pain-relieving ointment, then followed that up by packing it again with the poultice and wrapping it up in linen.

“There,” she said in satisfaction. “How does that feel?”

“Better.” Stede looked at her with surprise and a touch of admiration that made her feel more smug than it probably should. “It really does feel much better. Thank you.”

Mary nodded. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any pain relievers you can take internally that won’t put you to sleep. We can give you more mimosa when you need to rest again, but now what do you say we have some dinner? Cook’s nearly done preparing it, and I don’t know about you but I’m famished.”

“I could eat,” said Ed, and Stede agreed.

“I don’t know if I can handle much but something would be greatly appreciated,” he said.

“She has some of that good marmalade,” Ed informed him. Stede pulled a face.

“Maybe later,” he said. “Perhaps for now just some broth and a little bread—”

“Cook is heating up some oxtail as we speak,” said Mary. “Ed and I will have a roast.”

Ed’s eyes lit up and he gave an eager nod. Stede smiled indulgently at him. “That sounds excellent,” he said. “Thank you, Mary.”

Mary and Ed helped Stede to the dining room where the three of them settled in and after a slightly awkward five minutes or so relaxed in each other’s company and began to genuinely enjoy themselves. This altered Stede turned out to be someone Mary could talk to much more easily than she ever could his former self, and Ed, free now from the fear and anxiety that had been weighing him down, finally convinced that his love was truly out of danger, was the life and soul of the evening—funny, charming, and sparkling with charisma. Mary watched him in mild awe. It was easy to see how this man could command the loyalty of pirate crews and the respect even of his enemies. It was easy to see why Stede would fall so hard that he’d be willing to give up everything he owned to be with him. Mary had honestly thought Stede both foolish and foolhardy, to do such a thing. But now she understood.

They were just finishing up dessert when a knock sounded at the door.

“That’s odd,” said Mary. “I’m not expecting anyone. Doug’s at the school until late tonight, and of course he wouldn’t knock.” The knock came again, louder and more insistent. “I suppose I’d better see who it is,” she said.

When she opened the door all the ease and comfort of the pleasant evening fell away, evaporated into the air like mist beneath the morning sun. The governor of Barbados stood just outside her door, with a naval admiral at his side and a group of armed Marines behind them.

“Widow Bonnet,” said the governor in that oleaginous manner of his that had always made Mary’s skin crawl. “Good evening. May we come in?”

Mary gripped the doorknob tightly but the expression on her face remained cool. “What is this about?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just a few minor inquiries we believe you can assist us with.” The governor’s smile made Mary’s stomach churn. “Regarding a pair of fugitive pirates.”

#blackbonnet fanfic #ofmd fanfiction #blackbonnet fanfiction #gentlebeard #gentlebeard fanfic #ed x stede #ed and mary #edward teach and mary bonnet are friends #hurt/comfort #ed and stede are so soft with each other #mary thinks ed is pretty effing cool #and who are we to argue with her #all that I am led me to you #profdanglaisstuff

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