Chapter Text
Izzy wasn’t the one who’d spotted it. He was grateful for that in a way. Buttons had seen it first. He hadn’t run to go find Stede, Buttons wouldn’t run, but he’d walked with something like urgency. Stede had sprinted out onto the deck, half excited, half terrified.
Izzy had been below deck when it had happened. Roach’d been the one who’d told him about the ship, his words careful. They sat facing each other, Izzy couldn’t quite meet his eye.
“What do you want to do?” Roach had asked.
It hadn’t occurred to Izzy that he was allowed to choose what to do in this situation. In every version of this he’d imagined he was made to be there to see Ed again. Izzy hadn’t even known that he had a choice.
“I’ll stay here.” Izzy had said.
“When the time comes, I’ll be back to tell you what happens.” Roach had promised.
Izzy‘d nodded, then jerked his head towards the kitchen. “Do you need help cooking?”
Roach had smiled, his eyes still concerned. “You’re horrid in there. But, for today, I’ll allow it.”
They worked in the silence that was so known to them. Izzy working as a sous chef really, Roach doing all the actual work. It was so comfortable and familiar. Through the quiet, Izzy found himself speaking.
“Sorry I’m making you wait. For whatever this is.” Izzy froze where he was chopping a carrot, he’d barely meant to say it. He looked over at Roach, who had also suddenly stopped. The spoon in his hand paused mid motion in the pot.
Roach recovered fast and smiled at Izzy. A soft thing, rare and holy, not wild, not bloodthirsty. Gentle. “I don’t mind waiting for you.”
Izzy returned the smile, sometimes the expression still felt strange on his face. A newer thing for both of them.
The morning that the crew hailed and boarded The Revenge, Izzy didn’t leave the galley. It felt cowardly almost, like he was hiding. He ran his hand along where he knew the stitches lay underneath his shirt. He was allowed this.
It wasn’t Roach who found him when the time came. It was Frenchie.
He burst open the door of the galley and laughed when he saw Izzy. He blessedly looked the same. Izzy knew that not much time had passed, but it felt like years. Before Izzy could even say anything, Frenchie caught him up in a hug.
Frenchie hugged like the person he was holding onto was the only thing keeping him from drowning. Frenchie who was afraid of dying alone and cats. Who’d never taken a name he’d chosen himself. Whose mother had taught him to sew. Who was here and alive.
Lucius and Jim followed behind Frenchie.
“See! He’s fine.” Lucius grabbed Izzy by the shoulder, gesturing wildly. He looked better, stronger. As if simply being reunited with the people he’d missed so desperately had lifted a physical weight from his shoulders. “Jim didn’t believe me when I said you were too much of a bitch to die.”
Lucius had this way of smiling when he really meant it. Too sharp and too clever and such a smartass sometimes. And alive.
Jim bumped their shoulder against his, a somehow more tender show of affection from them than even Frenchie’s hug had been. They looked calmer and happier and alive and alive and alive. Izzy hadn’t even fully known how terrified he was that he’d left them all to die.
“Don’t do that again.” Jim told him, an underlying threat.
Izzy couldn’t tell if Jim meant it as a joke. He answered seriously. “I won’t.”
None of them said I missed you, but they sort of heard it anyways. There’s something that happens between you and other people when you’ve all lived through the same thing. Who recognize it in you and, in some way, inherently understand.
It was all so genuine that Izzy wasn’t sure what to do. He paused as he heard steps coming towards the galley, he wasn’t sure why he stopped. He knew the footsteps by now.
“The fuck happened to you?” Izzy asked Roach after he came around the corner. He could see a black eye beginning to form on his face.
Roach shook his head, coming to stand next to Izzy. “The captains are working it out. May take a while.”
“Then you have time to tell me about that.” Izzy gestured towards the bruise.
“Would you believe me if I told you I ran into the mast?” Roach answered like he had all the time in the world, easy and teasing.
Frenchie poorly stifled a laugh. Lucius had the answer. “He punched Blackbeard.”
Izzy frowned and he took a small step back to check Roach for other injuries. From appearance alone, he looked much the same.
“Stede was the one who hit me.” Roach shrugged. “Figured that was fair. He and Blackbeard were making up and he asked to see you and didn’t seem interested in hearing no. So I punched him.”
Izzy was silent for a moment.
“I don’t need you to defend me.” He finally said.
“I know. I want to.” Roach answered. It was so simple to him, casual as anything.
Izzy didn’t have the words, so he just stared at Roach. The other people in the room sort of slipping out of focus as Izzy watched him. Izzy wasn’t sure anyone had ever really done that for him before. It changed something. Izzy wasn’t sure what.
“So do you want to see him?” Roach asked, continuing on. Like he wasn’t forming a black eye for Izzy. Like something remarkable hadn’t happened.
And Izzy thought about his question.
“Not yet.”
So he didn’t.
It occurred to Izzy, at some point, that this devotion went both ways. It might have been when he was helping Roach move back into the kitchen on The Revenge. Listening to him rant about what a disaster the previous cook had left it in. How the people here hadn’t been eating half as much as they should have. Passionate and wild and fantastic.
And it might have been that evening, Roach staying awake too long, half dead on his feet. Izzy making him go to bed. The reassurance that the food and the people would still be there tomorrow.
And it might have been a couple of days later, Roach complaining about his bad shoulder over their morning coffee. Even with the crews reunited, he and Izzy were always the first ones awake. And Izzy offering to help him with it. Not something that Izzy had ever offered before, not to anyone.
And it might have happened long before any of that. From the first time Roach handed him a cutting board and told him to put his hands to good use.
That, at some point, Izzy had changed. And that he wanted to take care of Roach, wanted to keep him safe. It made something in Izzy gentle, something long horrible and angry go soft.
And Oluwande approached Izzy one afternoon.
Izzy liked him well enough. Oluwande was practical and good. As nice of a first mate as either of the captains could want.
Though the way he flustered Jim was the real source of Izzy’s regard. It was almost nice seeing Jim stumble over words, quiet and adoring. Back on the other ship, while Izzy sat and brooded, Frenchie and Lucius would tell stories. Jim wasn’t generally one to talk. But sometimes, if caught at the right time, they talked about Oluwande.
So, to Izzy, Oluwande was more than good enough for the job, meaning he was unprepared when Oluwande asked him to be co-first mate.
“You’re less of a dickhead than you used to be. You’ve gotten better.”
Izzy snorted. Oluwande kept talking.
“I was wondering if you would like to share the first mate duties with me. Don’t feel like you have to say yes. You’re better with financial management, it’d be good to have your help.”
And Oluwande was right. Izzy was better.
An awkward sort of near kindness, not that he had the words to admit it to himself. The first time he snapped at a member of their combined crew, Izzy felt this sudden awareness. Not quite guilt, but something like shock. He apologized through gritted teeth, taught the crew member to tie knots that wouldn’t slip. The rest of the crew watching him carefully.
Izzy could remember so clearly the way Fang and Ivan had hugged him when they’d seen him. Izzy, who was not a hugger, who didn’t know what to do with his hands. Fang cried into his shoulder, his tears wetting the fabric. Ivan hugged him so tight Izzy thought he’d be flattened. It was nice in a weird way. Nice to know that even at his worst there had been people worried for him.
And it hadn’t occurred to Izzy until that moment, standing across from Oluwande, that he’d missed the title. In some way, he would always be Blackbeard’s first mate. And he would be that until he died. He wasn’t so sure about Bonnet, but there was something there. The title and name he knew. He wasn’t the same person he’d been when he’d last used it.
“You’re almost doing the work already. Not much would change.” Oluwande added.
Izzy gave him a nod. “Thank you First Mate Boodhari. I accept.”
And they shook hands. It felt proper and ridiculous. Oluwande smiled like the sun at him and for a moment Izzy got why Jim was so enamored. Though perhaps a little too cheery for Izzy’s taste. He thought of a sharp knives and cigarette smoke. Things got better all the goddamn time.
But Izzy still had bad days. Though they came in more flavors than they used to. It used to all be unkindness. The fear, the anger, the horror of what he had done and who he’d been. It used to spill out of him onto everything else, coloring it with misery and anger and making everything awful.
His bad days were different now.
The first time he woke up really truly angry, he’d snapped at Roach over their regular morning coffee. The man had frowned, considered his lunch preparations, already ahead of schedule on breakfast, and gestured for Izzy to follow him up the stairs.
“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but you’re going to punch me now. No blades. No real injury.”
Izzy growled and swung his fist towards him, Roach ducked, and the fight began. The first fight, in the end, belonged to Izzy. Roach held firmly down against the floor of the deck. His arms and legs pinned. Izzy breathing hard in his ear, seething.
“I yield.”
Izzy rolled off, still pacing. Too much to slow down, to rest. Roach got up a little slower, rolling out his shoulders. “Alright, alright. Again.”
The second victory was Roach’s. Izzy’s arm twisted behind his back, held against the side of the ship. Izzy hissed and squirmed, Roach’s grip held.
“It’s okay.” Roach said it softly. “Just say you yield.”
“Fuck you.” Izzy spat.
Roach leaned a little bit into the grip. Izzy felt feral, some awful caged thing. He fought against Roach’s hold, the other man didn’t budge. And, for a sudden moment, things softened. The anger, the pacing. At least it lessened. Izzy was tired and sad and guilty and he didn’t have to be angry anymore, not really, and he was the asshole who was taking it out on everyone and the grip Roach had on him was almost starting to hurt.
“I yield.”
Roach stepped away and Izzy felt like he was seeing clearly for the first time all day. Roach standing in front of him, smiling, sweating with exertion, practically shining. Who’d taken his rage and asked him to make something of it. Izzy looked at him and for a second he burned. Izzy was used to wanting and not being allowed to have. He thought of the conversation in the kitchen. Roach, willing to wait. And it was overwhelming like Izzy could breathe in this moment forever. Roach, the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
“Best out of three?” Izzy asked and snapped out of it.
Roach laughed. “We have to please our audience.”
And there sure was a fucking audience. Half of the crew at least watching the fight. Placing bets and pleased with the entertainment. Rowdy and gentle in the early morning sun.
For what it was worth, the third fight was Izzy’s, but it almost wasn’t. For all they fought, Izzy was still always surprised when Roach bit him. Teeth stinging into flesh, making him jump. Izzy kept the upper hand.
Roach held for a long time. “I yield.” He finally laughed out.
Izzy gave him a hand up. Roach took a bow to the audience, winking at Wee John’s polite clapping. Izzy rolled his eyes.
This was good. And time passed.
And Izzy knew he’d have to talk to Ed.
It was a fact. Something fundamental. They’d been treating each other like strangers. An unspoken boundary, something not even Stede could fumble around. No one making the first move.
But it was difficult sometimes. The years and years spent together. They would move in sync sometimes. The same order given at the same time, simultaneous opinion. They understood one another. It was rotten.
There’d been a time when Izzy would look at Ed and there‘d be a pang. Something sour and heavy in his chest and sweet and hopeful all at the same time. All he’d wanted then was for Ed to look at him. He was so used to the feeling that he barely noticed it. As he looked at Ed now, the feeling was gone. This was just Edward Teach, who couldn’t cook and who’d once dressed up as a nun to hide from soldiers and was only a good liar when he was about to die and who wanted to be better. Who was his best friend. Who Izzy loved still, only different. Who’d stabbed him.
Izzy looked at him. Just looked.
“We should talk.” He finally said.
Ed didn’t flinch at the suggestion, but there was a surprise in him.
They stood across from each other. Neither of them could even think to sit for the conversation.
“I’m sorry.” Ed was the first to say it.
Izzy nodded. And he was still almost angry. Izzy had always known that he was angry at Ed. Spitting and seething and it burned. There were half a dozen wildly unkind things he could say. He could spit fire. Lay it all bear. Be sick with it. But he wanted to be better than that. He wanted to be good. And mostly Izzy was tired.
“I know.” Izzy paused. “I’m sorry too. For all of it.”
“Yeah.” Ed said. Their silence sat so heavy. This wasn’t reconciliation.
“We’re never going back to how we used to be.” Izzy said.
Ed cracked a half smile. He did a whole lot more of that than he used to. “I am never going back to any of it, Iz.”
“I don’t forgive you. Not yet.” Izzy finally said. “Gave too much of my life to forgive you. Too much time spent taking care of you.”
“That’s pretty fucking reasonable.” Ed answered.
“Don’t forgive me either.” Izzy added. “I spent years making sure you were miserable.”
“You spent years making sure that any growth I ever had died. Molded me into the perfect image you had. But only one of us ever got stabbed and it sure wasn’t me. If I forgive you that’s my choice.” Ed even talked gentler than he used to.
Finally putting to words decades of this. They kept each other alive. Probably killed everyone else the other could’ve been.
“We get second chances.”
“I sure hope so.”
A silence again. A slow grin made its way to Ed’s face, one familiar from the old days, but lazier now, kinder almost.
“I’ve heard a little bit about your boy, the cook. He throws a mean punch.”
“Fuck off.”
Izzy walked away. Leaving a laughing Ed behind him. Same and different. It wasn’t great, it was barely even nice, but it was a start. Better.
It was as if the world had finally opened up for Izzy. Not perfect, not picturesque. But good. The world had laughed and spread its legs and faced him palms up, telling him to finally have something that he wanted. Maybe the world lived in the kitchen. And spat like spices. Maybe Izzy was in love and it didn’t feel like drowning.
Roach was the ideal of imperfection. Feral and terrible, sharp and manic. Izzy loved him. They messed up and said the wrong thing and their tempers flared and they chased each other, their footfalls on the wooden floors. And when Roach caught up to him, Izzy just grinned in his grasp.
So it was good. And everyone knew it.
Izzy had a night watch without Roach. An odd occurrence, but becoming more common as Izzy grew more comfortable with the rest of the crew. Jim stood next to him in the dark.
“You going to tell him?” They said it so suddenly, Izzy almost flinched.
“He already knows.”
Jim rolled their eyes. “Yeah, but you’ve got to say it.”
“Why?”
“Dunno. You just do. It matters.”
A silence.
“Is this what you thought it’d be?” Jim was facing the horizon, as if time was stretched ahead of them and they could see it if they just looked at it right.
“I thought I’d be dead Jimenez.” Izzy answered with a truth.
Jim laughed a little. “Well shit. Me too. Make the most of it.”
“I missed when you were trapped on a pirate ship with a homicidal captain.” Izzy replied, almost smiling.
“Hm. I want the worst for you, Izzy Hands.” And when they said it, Izzy could tell that they meant just the opposite.
And Izzy listened to them.
It wasn’t remarkable or overwhelming. It was easy. Like everything was with Roach.
Izzy had looked at him one morning. Roach quietly tutting at his baked goods, crooning in the early light.
“I love you.” Izzy said. He hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t intended for the words to tumble out of his mouth. They felt so honest Izzy could taste the residue left behind on his tongue.
Roach stopped and looked at him and smiled. “I know.”
And they went back to their work.
Izzy to his charts and planning, Roach to his bread and knives.
And in the middle of it, Roach spoke. “I love you too.”
And he leaned over the counter and kissed Izzy. Gentle and simple. Izzy softened in it, warm and good. Things could be so good. Roach bit Izzy hard as he pulled away, smiling and monstrous and fantastic.
Izzy licked the blood off his own lip and grinned.