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Heat spreads quickly across Stede’s chest. Stark red blossom branching out, dripping out of him slowly, soundlessly. He romanticises it, in his head. It’s Shakespeare. Being saved and being solved. But it’s not; It’s blood and guts and gravel.
It’s disappointing. He grits his teeth and tries not to make any sound as he keeps walking, stumbling across the beach.
The crew are spread ahead of him, before, suddenly, all he can see is blue skies. Grey clouds. No— grey something, in the distance, then closer, closer, closer. Pressure replaces the heat— so much pressure that Stede feels sick with it. He spits into the sand. Red.
He’s never felt this way before.
Captain , he hears from somewhere in the distance. O, Captain.
“Stede.” It’s loud in his ears. He winces. He can’t tell if it was himself who said that— either himself or someone else, he’s too tired to listen. His eyes close.
“Don’t do that.” He hears. The grey becomes clearer and clearer—
Ah. Babe!
“Ed.” Stede says. Pain hits him all at once, sharp, so sharp, like being gut stabbed over and over and over again. “This hurts.”
“I bet it does.” Ed says above him. He’s kneeling. “It’ll be all alright, though. I’ve been shot, like, so many times, and I’m still kicking.”
Somehow, that’s not very comforting. Ed is a superhuman— he has the ability to do so much, to be so much. Stede’s seen his wounds— how he heals like nothing was ever wrong in the first place. Stede is soft. He’s uncalloused, weak. All the pain and struggle and body is spilling out, now, out of one measly gunshot he should be able to survive but won’t, just leaving more weakness in his wake. He’s going to die weak. Ed should know.
“You've just gotta get back to the ship.” Ed says, before Stede manages to say anything at all. “Then you’ll be just fine, ‘kay?”
“Don’t hurt yourself.” Stede says, dead stare on Ed’s bent leg. It was so achy the other day– Stede saw as he limped through their battle. He wrapped it as they lay in bed. “Don’t hurt yourself— don’t. Lay beside me.”
Ed smoothes back the hair on Stede’s forehead. “I’m not hurt. I’m gonna stay here, so that I can see you.” Stroke, stroke. “Handsome.”
Sand shifts below Stede’s back. It’s going to get in his shirt. The thin blouse he’s wearing, quality as it is, is not at all meant for beach trips. Sand sticks right to it. He takes a deep breath. Ed’s right. They’ll get back to the ship and everything will be fine and he’ll take Ed out on a proper beach date where they can celebrate their successes with a pint and a kiss. That’s all he wants. Stede craves a kiss so sharply and so suddenly he fears he will be sick again.
Stede leans upright, desperate. He clings to Ed’s shoulder. Weakness spreads through his whole body. Fuck. Ugh. He hates this feeling.
“Please.” He manages. “Please, please.”
“What do you need? Anything.” Ed says. He sniffs; there’s no chill, just warmth, worry.
Stede frowns.
“No, hey, I’m okay.” Ed says. “What did you want, baby?”
“Baby.” The word sits soft on Stede's tongue. It's silly. Once, that word slipped from his tongue while talking to Mary, but it wasn't real. A trial. She had scowled.
“Mhm.” Ed says. “Do you like it? Or is it too much?”
Stede nods, he thinks.
“Yeah. I'll call you whatever you want to be called.”
Everything. Stede wants to be called everything. Under the guise of candlelight on Calypso’s birthday Ed had called him sweetheart. He may never be called that again. He may never be held or kissed or spoken to, softly, the way Ed did in their bed that day. He may not be remembered.
Ed’s hand moves to cover the wound.
“As long as we get you back to the ship we can talk all about it.” Ed says, into his hair. He kisses it there. “You gotta be strong. You gotta fucking—”
There's a commotion to the right of them— through a haze of pain Stede tips on his side to see Izzy coming over. He’s angry. The thought of being yelled at right now is so much, too much, and Stede lets his eyes close.
“Hey, hey, no, don’t do that.” His shoulder is rattled as Ed pounces on him, anxious.
“Sorry—” Stede tries to say, but he’s interrupted. Izzy yells something loud, crass, indistinguishable.
“What?” He manages.
“I said you’re a fucking twat.” Izzy spits. He’s holding his side. “Jumping in front of me, like that. Stupid fuck— getting yourself killed—”
“Hey.” Ed bites. He turns towards Izzy, quick. As his hands leave Stede’s chest, Stede tries to reach for them, but it’s like he’s lagging, slow, stunted; like his hands aren't on course with his brain, just craving touch and warmth.
“Ed,” Stede tries. The pain is subsiding. “Ed—”
Ed is all he can see. Ed is all he can feel. The pain subsides, and Stede smiles as he drifts into the hazy space between up and down, sand and sea. Man and man. No—
There’s a hand on Stede’s face.
“Please, stay with me.” Ed says. “Please.”
“Okay,” gets caught in Stede’s throat.
“I love you,” Ed says. “I love you, Stede. I love you.”
Stede’s heart warms.
He falls into the feeling.
–
There’s a fairy in Stede’s garden. It has wings of silver and scaling tattoos and the biggest heart Stede’s ever seen. He can see it, beating in doubles, as the fairy flies over a hydrangea bush. Stede waits. He listens. Bumblebee buzz, the fairy tries it’s luck on a daisy. It flies off. Forget me nots? The fairy only glances.
It flies, suddenly, over to Stede’s waiting head. It rests on his cheek.
Stede stays very, very still. He wonders if he’s being mistaken for a flower.
“Sweetheart,” a small voice says, before Stede’s being lifted in the air himself, a thousand flutters a second on it’s pretty silver wings, right up into silver clouds. “Come back to me. Wake up for me.”
And Stede knows he wants to hear the fairy say so many more of those sweet things, so Stede says, “Okay.”
–
He’s under a plush blanket when he wakes. It’s too warm— far, far too warm. He shifts to push the blankets off, but he’s suddenly stopped, a hand lain flat on his chest.
“Shh,” someone says. Stede can hear the twinkling of a fairy’s bell. He smiles.
He opens his mouth, but he can only croak. It kills, and he whimpers, though even the effort of that makes a tear pull at his eye.
“It’s okay, it’s me. It’s Ed.” So, maybe a tear falls. “You’re totally fine.” Ed continues. “You’re amazing, Stede. Just take it easy. I’m going to get you a sip of water, okay?”
Ed tips cool liquid down his throat, and it’s like a balm.
“Don’t talk.” Ed says. “Hurts like a bitch, I bet. Just take it slow. I’ve got the rest.”
Worry overwhelms Stede’s moment of calm. “Iz—”
“Izzy’s fine.” Ed interrupts. “He just got a graze. He’s not mad any more. Well– won’t be, now that he knows you’re up and about.”
Stede nods.
“You’ve been out for a day.” Ed says, practiced script. “You got shot, Stede. In the chest. I was fucking worried that they got your lungs, but you seem to be breathing just fine. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t.” Ed bites. “Don’t be sorry. Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”
“Won’t.”
“That’s good. I never taught you about guns, just swords.”
“Not your fault.”
“Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice.” Ed says. He’s all misty in the eyes, but he does look happy, like Stede’s seen him when he gets a new idea, but just more. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“I missed that.”
“I know.” Ed says. “You were listing off sweet-names in your sleep. Sayin’ all different types of flowers.”
“Forget me nots.” Stede mutters. He flits back into his vision, just for one moment. Of spring air and moth’s wings. “Forget me not.”
“How could I ever?” Ed jokes. “Never again. You just— rest, okay? Heal up. I’ll take care of everything else.”
Stede closes his eyes once again, drifting off into the sound of his love’s voice. “Okay.” He says. “Call me baby.” He pleads. (Later, he’ll flush at the memory of this. He’ll blame it on the medicine. He’ll blame it on the blood loss and the temperature in the room. But now…)
“Sleep well, baby.” Ed whispers, and Stede can’t help but oblige.