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"Izzy? Izzy, get in here!"
Izzy has learned to dread the sound of Edward calling him from Bonnet's cabin. He's long since lost patience for feigning interest in whatever ridiculous toy Edward has found, Bonnet included. Gritting his teeth, he goes to see what it is this time: a toast rack, a cocoa pot, a fucking chandelier...
But it's none of those things. It's something far worse.
"The fuck have you got on?" Izzy asks, appalled. Blackbeard, the legendary pirate, the scourge of the seven seas, is draped over a sofa, wearing a velvety purple coat and enough lace to smother a small child. The coat has fucking sequins on it.
It was weird enough the first time Edward and Bonnet swapped clothes. This is downright alarming.
But Edward gets to his feet and does a weird little flourish as though he expects Izzy to be impressed. "Look at this outfit, man. Isn't it great?"
"Yeah. Sure. Edward—"
"Me and Stede and some of the crew, we're going to this fancy party thing. With posh people."
"And, what, you're going to rob them?"
"Nah, mate, it's a party. We're going to... hobnob."
This conversation, like most of his conversations with Edward lately, is starting to feel like a bad dream. "Okay..."
"I need your help," Edward continues, and Izzy thinks, Yeah, you fucking do. But then Edward holds up a handful of ribbons, the same purple as the coat, and Izzy's frown deepens. "I thought, some bows for the beard." He waves his hand in a gesture that he clearly thinks is conveying something, but Izzy has no idea what. "Add a touch of flair, you know."
A touch of flair. He's even talking like Bonnet now. "Why do you need my help."
"Can't do the bows myself, can I?" Edward says. "Give me a hand."
He's grinding his teeth so hard he thinks he feels something crack in his jaw. "Ribbons? Boss, you're Blackbeard, you can't go out in public with fucking ribbons in your beard. You're supposed to have, I don't know, lit fuses, or..."
Edward scoffs. "Fuses? Yeah, if I wanted to set my hair on fire. Or put my own eye out. Besides, I'm not going as Blackbeard. You can call me," he says with a flourish that makes Izzy's heart sink still further, "Jeff."
"I don't think I will."
"You're no fun, man. Now are you gonna do this or not?"
Gratifying as it would be to tell him to fuck off, Izzy knows that Edward will go straight to Bonnet instead if he refuses. And the thought of that ninny dressing Edward up like a toy poodle is more than he can bear. "Fine," he growls. "C'mere."
Edward lowers his head obligingly. Izzy shuffles closer and gingerly separates out a strand of Edward's beard. The ribbons are fucking fiddly little things, because of course they are, and after a moment of struggling he peels off his glove to get a better grip. The curls of Edward's beard tickle his fingers.
"Edward," he says, desperate, "You don't have to go to some stupid party just because Bonnet's going."
"Oh, Stede didn't want to go, but I talked him into it—Careful!" he adds, as Izzy fumbles the ribbon and has to stoop to pick it up off the floor, muttering curses.
With an effort, he manages to twist one ribbon into a neat little bow, just at the corner of Edward's mouth. A shipshape knot: it'll stay, so Edward can look ridiculous all day if he wants to. He moves on to the next one, trying to ignore Edward's breath warm against his knuckles. They're practically standing on each other's toes, but at least that makes it easier to avoid his eyes.
The second bow is easier; he finishes it quickly and steps back, nearly tripping over one of the plush armchairs. Edward gives one of the bows an experimental poke. "How do I look?"
Like a massive fucking twat. Worse than that, he looks like he's settled in. One more fancy decorative thing with all the other fancy decorative things on Bonnet's ridiculous impractical ship. He should've killed that man days ago, should've talked Edward into leaving him to bleed out on the deck of that Spanish warship. Should've gutted him back on that fucking island.
But there's a light in Edward's eyes like Izzy hasn't seen for months, a light that's been there ever since they started hanging out with Bonnet and his merry band of morons. Something like the sparkle he used to see when Blackbeard pulled off another brilliant trick.
He remembers the horrible fascination in Edward's voice as he said, I haven't died yet, have I?, and thinks, there are worse things than Edward indulging this whim for a bit. Probably.
"Izzy."
He sighs. "You look fine, boss. Really."
Edward flashes him a grin, sharp as a knife. God, Izzy has missed that grin, even though he's used to seeing it grimy and covered in blood rather than framed by ribbons.
"Could put your hair up, too." He'd never ask. But if Edward tells him to...
"Hmm. D'you think it'd look better that way?"
Izzy shrugs.
"Fine, go ahead." He flops back down on the sofa. "Thanks, Iz."
"Yeah."
It's been ages since he's done this. Not since that time when Edward couldn't lift his arm for a couple weeks after a Portuguese captain had stabbed him in the shoulder. Ed's hair had still been more black than gray, then. Izzy swipes one of Bonnet's ludicrously filigreed combs and sets to work.
He's efficient about it. That's what the captain appreciates, efficiency and competence. Still, gathering up Edward's hair takes a while—good god, there's a lot of it—and Edward sits quietly, fiddling with the lace at his cuffs. Izzy unpicks a tangle carefully, and bites his lip as he notices the scent of lavender soap under the usual salt and leather, tobacco and gunpowder. Eventually he gets it all into a neat coil. Nothing fancy, just a tidy bun that will keep Edward's hair out of the way, like he used to do. He ties the knot off carefully with another of the ribbons.
There are still a few strands hanging loose at the back of his neck; Izzy gives Ed's hair one more pass with the comb, sweeping them up, and of course that's when Stede fucking Bonnet walks in.
Izzy drops the comb like it's burned him. But Bonnet's not looking at him; no, Bonnet's looking at Edward, and the way his puppyish face lights up turns Izzy's gut to acid. "That purple really brings out your eyes, Ed; I'd hoped it would."
"You think so?" Ed says. Why he cares about the opinion of a man currently wearing a wig with paper flowers on it, Izzy has no idea.
"I do. Just one more thing?"
"Oh?"
Bonnet steps past Izzy, reaching for the back of Edward's head. Izzy grabs for his wrist, but Edward catches his eye and glares, and so Izzy has to watch, seething, as Bonnet obliviously steps into the place where Izzy had been standing a moment ago and winds a string of paper butterflies into Edward's hair.
Izzy isn't sure which is worse, the sight of Bonnet's hands on Edward's hair, or how Edward just sits there tamely like this is the most normal thing in the world. There was a time when Edward would have broken someone's arm for getting that close to him without warning. What the fuck has Bonnet done to him?
"There," Bonnet beams. "How's that, Ed?"
"His name," Izzy snarls, "is—"
"Jeff," Edward says. "And yeah, that's nice. Thanks, mate."
They look at each other, Edward and Bonnet, in a way that's almost conspiratorial. Like they're speaking a language he doesn't understand, the two of them in their silk and velvet and lace. It scares him.
"The bows are a nice touch," Bonnet says.
"Oh, yeah, well, Izzy helped with those."
"Really?" Bonnet turns a surprised smile on Izzy, who meets his eyes while imagining in exquisite detail exactly how he's going to kill him when the time comes. "Well, I have to say, I'm impressed, Izzy."
That does it. "Fuck off," Izzy spits, and stalks away.
He almost makes it out before Edward calls after him. "Izzy!" There's enough steel in his voice that it brings Izzy to heel, pausing with his hand on the door. He doesn't look back, though.
"Yeah?"
"Keep an eye on the ship while we're gone."
"Yeah." I will, he thinks, I'm gonna whip this sorry excuse for a crew into shape for you, because someone has to keep this ship afloat and the Spanish off our backs, and you can't get your head out of the fucking clouds. He slams the door closed, shutting out the sound of Bonnet's voice, and heads off in search of people to assign more cleaning duties than they've ever seen in their lives.
His glove is still tucked into his belt. Izzy pulls it back on and tightens his hand into a fist until his knuckles ache, but it's a long time before he can stop thinking about how soft Ed's hair had felt slipping through his fingers.