Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

”Izzy?”

“Oh fuck me,” Izzy mutters to himself, throwing back his drink even though it just got refilled.

He has just a moment to savor how utterly disgusting it is before Lucius fucking Spriggs appears beside him. “It is you! Hey guys look who it is! Izzy the Spewer!”

“Listen here you little shit,” Izzy growls, launching to his feet and grabbing the prat by his collar.

“Ohhh looks like someone’s a bit irritable. What? Not enough men to yell at on your new crew?” Lucius taunts.

At the reminder of his most recent disappointment, Izzy clenches his jaw and shoves Lucius away. “Fuck off you twat.”

He mentally groans when, as if on cue, Stede fucking Bonnet pops up from around the corner while his whole brigade of imbeciles follow in his trail like a group of demented ducklings. “Well if it isn’t our old friend Izzy!” He exclaims. “And how have you been, hm?”

“Peachy,” Izzy grits out, mentally planning how best to skirt past them all to make the most efficient exit.

But as if things couldn’t get any worse, the man who ripped his heart out and stomped on it promptly wanders through the door of the already overcrowded shit of a tavern. “Izzy?” the man asks, stopping in his tracks. Izzy can’t quite read his expression which feels like a hot poker up the ass; there was a time when one glance could tell him Blackbeard’s moods. No, not Blackbeard anymore. Just Ed.

“Hello Edward,” Izzy sighs. “I see I’ve picked the wrong pub.”

“Oh no don’t mind us! We’re just here for celebratory drinks since we’ve finalized our menu!” Stede says in that chipper voice that constantly makes Izzy want to rip his fucking throat out.

“I’m not gonna even ask,” Izzy mutters, turning back to hunch over the bar and glaring at his empty cup in the hopes that it will magically refill itself.

While Stede calls to the bartender who Izzy is 99% sure is pissed off his ass, Ed silently comes up beside him and sits down. “How have you been?” he asks quietly. Izzy only grunts, refusing to look at him. He fights not to cave when Ed releases a quiet sigh. No. Don’t give the bastard the bloody satisfaction. “I was hoping we could at least be slightly cordial with each other. After all our history together.”

Izzy curls his hands into fists until the leather in his glove creaks, desperately longing for something to punch. “Didn’t realise any of that history mattered anymore. Since you threw it out the window the moment you met your lover boy.”

“Christ Iz, I don’t know why I even tried,” Ed sighs with that dejected tone that used to make Izzy wanna call down the fucking moon for him.

And as the scrape of the chair signals Ed walking out of his life once more, Izzy’s mouth betrays him. “Crew mutinied. Seems you’re not the only one who was eager to get rid of me.”

There’s a beat of silence where Izzy is absolutely certain Edward has rejoined his ridiculous crew of idiots who seem to be regaling the whole tavern with tales of their fucking “adventures” when the scrape of a chair sounds again and a body lands heavily next to him. “Fuck Izzy,” Ed blows out. “I’m sorry.”

Izzy scoffs. “Dunno why you would be. You have no ties to me anymore.”

“You were my friend. Are my friend. My offer still stands. You’re welcome back on my ship if you can see Edward and not just Blackbeard.” And finally, unable to stop himself anymore, Izzy turns to get his first proper look at Ed since he was thrown off his ship. It’s a fucking kick in the balls how taking him in feels like the first sip of water after a drought and also tastes like copper. He looks good, but he always looked good. Looks odd with a closely cropped beard instead of the bush he had before, but his eyes are the same, hair’s the same too. Now he leans forward, eyes wide and pleading which is just a fucking cheap shot. “Come with us. At least until you’re back on your feet.”

And never able to say no to this man, even when it would save him the little sanity he has left, Izzy closes his eyes and grits out the word that seals his coffin. “Fine.”

***

“Wait. So he’s back on the ship? I don’t remember voting for that,” Black Pete notes with a twisted frown. Stede can’t help but silently agree with an uncomfortable wince. Ed had reassured Stede that he was fine when he waved them off to catch up with Izzy, but he wasn’t expecting him to return to the ship later that night with the ornery man in tow.

“We do need to remember our democratic process dear,” Stede reminds Ed gently. After the crew threatened to mutiny if Stede didn’t stop vetoing menu options, it was decided that a voting system where majority rules might help the ship run smoother. Ed’s still grumbling weeks later about how stabbing things is a better democratic process but beyond that he hasn’t seemed to have any complaints.

Now the man in question shifts uneasily on his feet, darting his eyes between the gathered unimpressed crew. “I know he’s made some…mistakes,” he begins delicately before Wee John interrupts. “He threatened to cut off my rations just ‘cause I made a very accurate observation!”

“Now listen here you-”

The rest of what Izzy was going to spit out is muffled by Ed’s hand clasped over his mouth. “And he isn’t the most pleasant person to be around at times,” he adds pointedly, “But he was still my First Mate for years and he’s hit a rough patch. Just for a week or two until he gets back on his feet is all I’m asking. Please?”

Now he turns to Stede with beseeching eyes which Stede can never quite resist. “Let the crew confer and we’ll get back to you,” Stede requests, heart aching at the way Ed’s shoulders slump.

And as one, the crew turns into a huddle.

“I say we throw him overboard,” Frenchie suggests. “No need to mess with a good thing.”

“I can probably poison his food?” Roach offers. “If we want to mix things up a bit.”

“I’ll gladly stab him,” Jim replies, twirling their knife with a promising glint in their eye.

While the rest of the crew launch into a debate, Stede simply stands back and pretends that he, Ed, and Izzy can’t hear their very loud whispers.

“I dunno, I mean he’s obviously a massive dick but Captain seems to really want us to give him another shot. And if it turns out to be a mistake like Calico Jack then we can reconsider,” Oluwande finally cuts in. And like how these things often go, the crew take a moment to consider Oluwande’s perspective before grumbling and muttering their agreement.

Turning as one, Oluwande standing before them with arms crossed, they nod. “One week on a trial basis. But if we don’t like it you’re off our ship,” Oluwande decides.

“And who put you in charge?” Izzy spits out.

“We voted on it,” Fang offers, arm wound tightly around Ivan’s waist who seems to be vibrating with nervous energy. “That’s a thing we do now Dizzy Izzy.”

While Stede furrows his brow at the nickname the rest of the crew snicker. “Dizzy Izzy I like that,” Frenchie snorts.

“Welcome back aboard Dizzy Izzy. I’m sure we can find some work for you to help you earn your rations,” Wee John taunts.

“I fucking hate this,” Izzy mutters. “I fucking hate this so much.” Before he can expound on his hatred he lets out what can only be described as a yelp. “The fuck is that?!” he cries, pointing at where Talon has jumped down from where she had been observing the proceedings atop the railing.

“It’s a cat. Have you never seen a cat before?” Roach asks with a judgmental raise of his brow.

“They’re witches disguised as animals but Talon has kindly blessed us instead of cursed us,” Frenchie helpfully explains.

“Why the fuck is it staring at me?” Izzy whispers.

“Looks to me like she’s givin’ you the ol’ fuck eye. I’d be wary of crossing her,” Buttons declares with an utterly straight face, and Stede is only 60% sure he’s joking.

“Well, that settles it I suppose,” Stede declares, clapping his hands together. “Welcome back aboard the revenge Izzy. I’m certain we will have a lovely time together.”

***

“Why do you still care for him? After all he’s done?” Stede asks later that night as he watches Ed studiously clean his gun in what he now knows is a nervous tic.

Ed pauses before letting out a sigh and hanging his head. After a brief hesitation Stede walks up to him and sinks to his knees. Gently prying Ed's hands from where they're gripped tightly around his gun and cloth, Stede sets both items aside. Without a word Stede grasps Ed's hands and presses soft kisses to them, waiting patiently for Ed to gather his thoughts. Eventually Ed lifts his head and gazes at Stede, eyes wide and so very lost. “I’ve had a chance to turn over a new leaf. Seems only fair that he should too,” he mumbles with a self-conscious shrug and oh how Stede’s heart melts at that. Each day he thinks he can't fall more in love with this man and each day he's proven wrong.

"Well..." Stede squeezes Ed's hands and shoots him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "If you see some potential good in him then I will too. Even if part of me wants to respond quite firmly to what he’s said and done to you in the past.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s getting tortured enough having to sleep with the crew,” Ed replies wryly, and Stede can only release a gentle laugh. Making him sleep with the rest of the crew instead of the tiny cabin he used before was a rather satisfying (if petty) rule and hopefully keeps Izzy from trying anything.

“Bets on Wee John rolling over and trapping him in his arms?” he asks, delighting in the twinkle in Ed’s eye as he stands up and guides Stede to his feet.

“Now you know I only take fair bets,” Ed grins, bringing Stede’s hand up to press a kiss to it. “Thank you,” he adds quietly.

Stede steps forward and presses their temples together. “Anything for you darling,” he whispers, and Stede can only hope Ed knows how true that is.

“What the fuck,” Izzy breathes, finding himself pinned between Wee John and the Swede and utterly unable to move. “Oh god,” he adds faintly as he spots the fucking cat with its freaky fucking eyes staring him down. Cats aren’t really witches, right? ‘Cause Izzy swears that thing is cursing him right now.

“Don’t worry,” Frenchie mumbles, as if reading his mind. “S’long as you behave she won’t cast a spell on you.” Izzy can only bite down on a whimper. What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

***

Izzy is organizing the food stores and trying not to bristle at such demeaning and menial labor when Stede fucking Bonnet walks through the doorway with a chirped hello that grates against his skull like a particularly rusty knife. Clenching his jaw Izzy growls out, “What do you want?”

“Oh, I just thought I’d check up on you, see how you were settling into our humble ship on your first full day back.”

“I’m fan-fucking-tastic,” Izzy replies caustically as he stacks another sack of fucking oranges.

“Oh that’s lovely to hear, lovely to hear.” Before Izzy registers what’s happening, he finds himself spun around and pinned to the counter, a knife glinting against his throat. He’s too shocked to respond as he gazes into cold dark eyes, far unlike anything he had ever seen on the prattling twat. Even during the last time he found himself on the wrong side of Bonnet’s knife (and how embarrassing it’s happened twice now), the man had a sort of manic eager energy, far removed from the blank expression he’s faced with now.

“Let’s understand something between us,” Bonnet says with a calm that runs shivers down his spine. “Ed wants you here. Ed cares about you, whether you deserve that honor or not. Ed wants to see you change. And because I love him with all my damn fucking heart, I’m allowing you to stay and giving you a chance to prove yourself. But let me make myself very clear,” he hisses, and Izzy bites his cheek as a trickle of blood runs down his neck where Bonnet digs into his skin. “If you do one thing to betray his trust again, if you do one thing that makes me think you’ll hurt him, I will not hesitate to cut you into tiny pieces and feed you to the sharks. Do I make myself clear?”

Fuck, Izzy didn’t know he had the balls, and beneath his loathing of the man forms a tiny grudging respect, though he’d never admit it. “Crystal,” Izzy says between gritted teeth.

“Wonderful!” And with a solid clap of his shoulder, the Bonnet he’s used to, that annoying cheery prat steps forward once more and whoever took his place shuffles back in whatever darkened corner it came out of. Izzy twitches as the urge to stab a knife through his hand surges through him. Just a little stab. Maybe Ed won't notice? “In that case, enjoy your organizing. Wee John should be down in a bit with some more food stores for you to deal with. Thank you ever so much for helping again.” And with his business done he flounces out of the room leaving Izzy with only his thoughts and the taste of blood on his tongue.

That is, until Wee John trudges down. “Oh you got yourself some blood there,” he gestures towards his neck. “Nick yourself shaving?”

“I know how to shave. I’m not a 12 year old,” Izzy growls. A man can’t even be left alone with his brooding thoughts on this bloody ship.

“Sheesh, just thought I’d help. Well, here you go Dizzy Izzy,” he says, throwing down his armful of food.

“That’s not my name,” Izzy snarls, taking a menacing step forward but Wee John simply shrugs.

“Yeah whatever you say. Later Dizzy Izzy.” And as he turns his back to Izzy with no indication that he’s even slightly worried making himself so vulnerable, Izzy simply gapes after him. When. When did these assholes stop fearing him? He stares down at the stacks of food. And how the fuck did he end up here?

***

“What are you doing here Dizzy Izzy?” Roach asks, glancing up from where he’s chopping some cabbage for the stew he’s making.

“I’ve been…banned from the top deck because I was being too ‘shouty,’” Izzy mutters darkly, and Roach can hear the air quotes without looking up. “And that’s not my fucking name.”

“Hm. Suppose I could use some help. Chop up those carrots, will you?” He asks, nodding towards the bushel.

“Fucking bullshit,” Izzy says under his breath before doing as he’s asked. Roach can only smirk. Oh how the tables have turned.

His eyes reach his hairline however when Izzy picks up a knife and deftly cuts all the carrots in record time. “I guess all that stabbing is a transferable skill, eh?” Roach observes. Izzy only grumbles before throwing the vegetables unceremoniously into the pot. They work in silence with only the occasional instructions by Roach, but he’s grateful with how quickly the other man catches on. It can be hard work feeding their crew alone, and the one time he attempted to get some help the Swede almost poisoned them all. (Which brings up the question how the restaurant will work exactly with just him as a chef. Maybe they can kidnap someone?”)

“The hell are you doing?!“ Roach yelps as Izzy seems to throw a mishmash of ingredients and seasonings in the pot.

“Needed something,” he claims like he has any say in how Roach runs his kitchen.

“If you’re trying anything I’ll have you know-“ But Roach cuts himself off as Izzy takes a sip before humming and- is that what a smile looks like on that man’s face? Weird.

“Better,” he proclaims.

Scowling, Roach snatches the ladle from Izzy’s hand, scooping some of the broth and taking a sip. His eyes widen when a burst of flavors hits his tongue. “What the hell did you do to it?”

“Dunno,” Izzy shrugs. “This and that.”

Roach claps Izzy on the shoulder, unfazed by the way he growls in response. “Dizzy Izzy, this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Touch me again and I’ll cut your fucking fingers off.”

“Sure you will,” Roach replies with a roll of his eyes before turning back to his food prep. Yes, this is certainly promising.

***

“Roach, this stew is delicious!” Bonnet gushes. “Did you put something new in it?”

“That would be because of our new crew member. Apparently he’s a natural in the kitchen,” Roach explains. Izzy chokes on his sip and glares at the other man. This crew already doesn’t respect him; the last thing they need to know is that he helped cook.

Meanwhile Jim spits out their stew and turns their own glare on Roach. “You’re telling me that pendejo made this? It could be poison!”

“Rather delicious poison,” Izzy deadpans with a pointed loud slurp of his own stew.

“People can train themselves to be immune to poisons you know,” Jim retorts, eyes flashing. Izzy only responds with a smile that bares all his teeth.

“Alright, alright stand down,” Ed cuts in, waving his spoon in the air. “But yeah maybe putting Izzy in the kitchen isn’t the smartest idea for the mental well-being of the crew.” And the feeling Izzy has right now is absolutely not disappointment. What would he be disappointed about? If anything it’s a relief! Making him Izzy fucking Hands cook? Fuck that.

“No. ‘Cause unless you can point me to someone else on this crew with a natural gift for cooking, I would very much like him as my assistant since, y’know, we’re opening a restaurant? And I’m the only chef on board?” Izzy is busy trying to figure out what the fuck this man means by a restaurant when Roach adds with a nonchalant shrug, “Besides, I keep all my poisons outside the kitchen. Made that mistake once, never again.”

“The fuck?” Izzy says under his breath, wondering if he even wants to know while the rest of the crew turn to each other with various murmurings.

“That does seem like a bit of an oversight,” Bonnet winces. “And I suppose this could be a nice outlet for you, Izzy! A way to express your deep-seated anger in a more productive way!” chirps the man who threatened him just yesterday. And that’s what makes him snap.

“Fuck off,” Izzy snarls, rising to his feet. “You all may have decided to embrace your identities as the worst excuse for pirates there ever was but I for one don’t need this namby-pamby squishy ohhhh let's talk about our feelings and have arts and crafts bullshit! I’m a bloody pirate and I could cut down every last one of you!”

“Yes yes you’re very scary,” Roach cuts in with a roll of his eyes. “Now I was thinking about trying out a new bread recipe tomorrow so make sure to swing by the kitchen at dawn to help me with prep.”

Izzy opens and shuts his mouth multiple times before releasing a wordless growl, throwing his stew to the ground, and stalking off. “Fucking lot of prattling useless twats can’t run a fucking pirate ship if they tried.”

And if part of him regrets not finishing his stew he’s happy to drown it down with a bottle of rum like a real fucking pirate.

***

“Now that our menu has been finalized, let the 10th official restaurant meeting commence!” Stede declares, banging a gavel on the barrel he’s standing in front of, though Ed can only imagine where the fuck he got a gavel from. And fine maybe he can admit the democracy idea is smart considering they would probably still be fighting over their menu at this point otherwise. To be honest, the fact it only took 10 meetings with this lot is a damn miracle. “So I think the next order of business is figuring out logistics and everyone’s roles. Roach pointed out one issue last night we should probably start with which is we only have one chef.”

“Not true anymore Captain!” Roach pipes up. “We got Izzy now.”

“So you’re actually serious? You’re actually running a restaurant on a fucking pirate ship?” Izzy asks from where he had been loitering off to the side and pretending to coil rope.

“Yes! It’s genius, don’t you think?” The Swede asks, smiling brightly up at him.

“It’s moronic is what it is,” Izzy retorts. “What happens if someone recognizes you as pirates?”

“Don’t worry your little head about it Izzy, though it’s very sweet of you to,” Stede reassures, swinging his gavel lazily and frowning when it drops.

There’s a beat before Izzy replies, “I’m not worried. I’m pointing out the fact that you’re all bloody idiots who are gonna get themselves killed.”

“Yeah but see that’s what the two flags are for,” Wee John points out, gesturing to where Frenchie is sewing the name of their restaurant on some white material, tongue sticking out. “So when we’re pirates we put one flag up and when we’re a restaurant we put a different flag up.”

“I don’t fucking believe this,” Izzy mutters before stiffening as Talon walks up to him and puts a paw on his leg. “What the fuck is it doing?” he whispers, looking like he’s trying not to blink as the creature stares up at him.

“Looks like she’s asking for pets. Remember, she’ll curse you, but only if you deserve it,” Frenchie explains. “So I would suggest petting her.” And at this point Ed’s pretty sure Frenchie’s just saying that to fuck with the poor man, not that Ed can blame him. Who knew Izzy Hands’ weakness was a kitten? He watches with amusement as Izzy slowly lowers himself to the ground without taking his eyes off the animal. Once he does Talon climbs into his lap, making him freeze until Frenchie leans towards him. “Now pet her like this. And don’t panic if she starts to vibrate. That’s called purring and means she’s less likely to curse you.”

“The real question is who will be our manager? It has to be someone firm but kind and someone good under pressure,” Stede powers forward while Izzy continues to stare at Talon without moving.

“Kinda rules out you then Captain. No offense,” Roach adds.

“Now excuse me, I can be quite good under pressure I’ll have you know!” Stede protests.

“But I thought we were gonna co-host,” Ed responds, brow furrowed, finally tuning back in when it’s clear Izzy’s stuck in some kind of trance. He had never been to a fancy restaurant before but when Stede described that there was always a person who welcomed customers and was the face of the restaurant in some ways Ed was interested.

“Oh, of course dear I was just trying to make a point,” Stede waves off. And if the point is that he’s good under pressure then Ed loves this man and his delusions.

“Oluwande should be manager. We were gonna make him captain when we were planning the mutiny on that asshole Izzy. Offense intended,” Roach adds.

While Izzy releases a snarl Oluwande tries to hunch down which can be difficult given his build. “I dunno guys,” he mutters.

“You’re doing it,” Jim declares. “‘Cause you’d be fucking great at it.”

Oluwande peers up at Jim and smiles softly at them. “Only if you decide to be part of our restaurant too.”

“The last time I was in service I, uh, kinda killed a guy. So, think I’m gonna sit this out,” they reply wryly as they flip their knife. And wait what? Oh Ed and Jim really need to get drinks together at some point.

“Yeah, um, I also tried service once and I’m never doing that again,” Frenchie adds with a shudder.

“Well we’ll need entertainment Frenchie, maybe you can do that? And Jim you like threatening people and also hate talking to people. So perhaps you can be our security guard/dish washer?” Oluwande suggests.

“I better get to writing some more songs!” Frenchie exclaims, setting aside his sewing materials while Jim nods with a grunt. “Lucius can you be my scribey guy?”

“I’m everyone’s scribey guy,” Lucius sighs.

Oluwande stands and begins to pace. “That settles you two…Fang and Ivan, maybe you can man the fishing equipment part of the restaurant?”

“Can there be knives in the fishing shop? ‘Cause I like knives,” Ivan asks perking up.

“...Sure,” Oluwande replies. “I’m sure many fishermen would like knives. As long as you don’t threaten any customers with them.”

“What, not even a little?” He sulks, only brightening when Fang draws him in to curl against him, kissing his cheek.

Ed watches as Izzy stares at them, something unreadable in his expression. He had a bit more of an extreme reaction last night when he witnessed them kiss and almost had his neck slit for his trouble. And the way he’s looking at them now tells Ed that he still hasn’t fully wrapped his mind around it, though Ed can’t blame him. There was no room for gentleness or softness on Blackbeard’s ship. Sure you could bugger whoever you wanted and no one would blink an eye, but sentiment? Love? If anyone showed even an inclination for either they were thrown off the ship. Sometimes literally.

Ed is thankfully dragged out of his brooding when there’s movement beside him. “Well looks like I’m out of a job,” Stede sighs, settling down next to him while Oluwande continues to plan the staffing for their restaurant.

“Oh don’t feel bad love, you’ll still have your co-hosting duties,” Ed comforts with a pat of his shoulder.

“Yes I suppose that’s true,” Stede hums, snuggling closer to him.

It’s soon decided that the gift shop will be run by Black Pete and Buttons since Lucius has witnessed both men’s whittling skills and speaks highly of them. Meanwhile Lucius, Wee John, and the Swede will be the waiters.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going through with this,” Ed whispers while a fight breaks out over who can provide Frenchie with backup vocals when needed.

“It’s a lovely idea dear, and it’ll be a nice way to keep things interesting. Don’t want you getting bored of the pirate lifestyle again now do we?”

“With this lot?” Ed shakes his head with a soft smile as Oluwande whistles through his fingers and sends Buttons to their cool off corner and the Swede climbs down from where he retreated into Wee John’s arms. “Don’t think it’ll be possible to be bored.”

***

“Is it weird that I think I could get used to having Izzy aboard?” Oluwande asks as he removes his hat for the night.

“Dunno,” Jim shrugs. “I kinda wanna shove him in a jar and just…shake him around a bit. See what happens.”

Oluwande blinks at his partner. “Your mind fascinates me.”

“Kind of you to say,” they grin before sobering. “Do you mind that I kinda forced you to take the manager position?”

Oluwande scratches the back of his head before settling down on their bed with a shrug. “Nah. It’s just…”

He trails off and Jim hurries to explain themself. “It’s just, I know this was never what you really wanted. Pirating, I mean.” They sit beside him and trace Oluwande’s palm with a gentle finger, tracking the callouses that have formed over the past two years. “You’re too gentle and kind for this sort of life,” they murmur. “Feel like I dragged you into it.”

“Eh, when we met I was already looking for a pirate crew to join,” Oluwande admits. “It was the only way I saw me having a life even close to what I wanted. Having to run with you just gave me the excuse.”

Jim curls Oluwande’s hand closed and kisses his knuckles, peering up at him. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for getting me outta there. And saving my behind every time since.”

Oluwande ducks his head with a small smile. “Well, my reasons weren’t always the most selfless.”

Jim chuckles and brushes a thumb along Oluwande’s cheek. They never allow themselves to be so openly affectionate outside the sanctuary of their shared room, and now they enjoy watching how Oluwande leans into their touch with a flutter of his lashes. “You’re gonna make a great manager just like how you would make a great captain.”

“I wasn’t being humble when I said I didn’t wanna be captain,” Oluwande explains, eyes opening to meet Jim’s. “Way too much pressure. At least as a manager I won’t have to worry as much about life or death.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jim remarks with a wry smile. “Working in service can feel that way at times. And with this crew anything could happen.”

Oluwande groans and gently knocks their heads together. “Let me live in my fantasy, will you?”

Chuckling, Jim presses a kiss to Oluwande’s temple. “Of course mi amor.”

“I still dunno if it makes sense for me to sell my stupid wood at the shop. I mean, who’s to say anyone would wanna buy that crap?”

“Okay first, no calling anything you create stupid,” Lucius corrects sternly. “And second,” He tugs Black Pete until he stops his pacing back and forth on the deck and obediently settles cross legged in front of him. “Look at my finger.” He brandishes the appendage in question. “It’s withstood storms and swimming and that time Wee John threw me in the air like a sack of flour and I landed face first onto the deck when Fang failed to catch me. It’s excellent craftsmanship and I’ve seen some of the other whittling you’ve tried to hide from me. That little bunny rabbit?” He grins softly as Black Pete stiffens, eyes wide. “Adorable.”

“I don’t make anything adorable,” Pete sniffs, crossing his arms with a huff and only faltering when Lucius gazes at him, eyes serious.

“You’re allowed to like something other than pirating Pete,” Lucius whispers, gently taking and massaging the back of his hands, knowing that it helps relax him.

Pete swallows and averts his eyes to the side. “What if I don’t know how to be anything but a pirate?” And Lucius’ heart aches at how lost Pete sounds.

Lucius presses a kiss to Black Pete's open palm. “Well in that case it’s a good thing you have me.” He waits until Pete meets his eyes before smirking and sending him a wink. “I am a multi-talented individual after all.”

He internally celebrates as Black Pete fully relaxes and returns Lucius’ grin before leaning forward and pressing their lips together. “Lucky me.”

“How about this one? So sit down, relax, buy a gift, have a snack-”

“I mean gift and snack don’t really rhyme though, do they?” Wee John cuts in from where he’s laying out his sleeping arrangements.

“And I’m not serving snacks I’m serving meals,” Roach reminds him, scrunching his brow as he continues to try juggling with three oranges.

“I know we’re serving meals but snacks is closer to the rhyme scheme!” Frenchie protests.

“Except it’s not. ‘Cause they don’t rhyme.”

“Hello can I take your order? Hello can I take your order? Hello! Can I take your order?”

“Um. Swede? You're kinda messing with our brainstorming sesh over here,” Frenchie calls.

Swede pauses his pacing to stare at their group, wide-eyed. “But what if I mess up when I’m waitering?”

“Don’t think waitering is a word,” Roach mutters.

“Swede you gotta chill mate, you got some time! We’re not opening for awhile yet,” Frenchie soothes with a strum of his lute.

“Right. I suppose that’s true,” he admits, brow still bunched with worry.

“Here, why don’t you go pet Talon for a bit. Looks like she’s about to try pouncing on Lucius’ quill again and if she manages this time Lucius might throw her into the sea and then we’ll have to stop Fang from murdering him.”

“You’re gonna do what to my baby girl?!” Fang roars, jumping to his feet and interrupting his make out session with Ivan the rest of the crew was pretending not to notice. Fang drags Lucius to his feet interrupting his make out session with Black Pete and starts to shake him. “You lay one finger on her and you’ll have no fingies left!”

“Okay one, I already have a head start and would like to keep the other 9, thanks. Two, what the fuck are you talking about?!”

“Oops,” Frenchie winces. Lucius turns to him with narrowed eyes before yelping. “My quill!” As he begins to chase after Talon and Fang begins to chase after Lucius and Black Pete begins to chase after Fang, the rest of the crew sits back and watches on. “Who even needs entertainment when we have this?” Roach points out before fumbling all three oranges.

“We can never just bask in our moon glow, can we Livy?” Buttons sighs, settling heavily beside Wee John who subtly scoots away from the naked man and the bird perched on his head.

“What the fuuuuck?” comes a rasping voice. Frenchie turns to find Izzy gaping at the scene from where he’s come from doing the dishes ‘cause apparently that’s something they have the power of ordering him to do now.

“Oh hey Dizzy Izzy, glad you can join us! Now tell me: does this rhyme to you?”

***

Stede’s not quite sure how he missed it at first, though he would like to partially blame what he can now in retrospect call his “pining” as one of the reasons he wasn’t as focused on Izzy. But now with Izzy back on the ship and him and Ed settled into their relationship, it’s nearly impossible to ignore.

“Ed, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course love. What’s up?”

“Were you and Izzy ever…together?”

Ed freezes from where he’s finishing pulling on his nightshirt (something Stede gave him once it was clear how much he enjoyed a fine fabric) before releasing a strained laugh. “Me and Izzy? Can you imagine? We’d probably kill each other.”

Ed twitches as Stede comes up to put a calming hand on his arm. “Ed. You know you don’t have to hide anything from me, right?”

Releasing a burst of breath, Ed tilts his head to the ceiling and closes his eyes for a long beat. “I think he’s been in love with me since he first set eyes on Blackbeard. But that’s just it.” He turns to Stede, eyes shadowed. “He’s in love with Blackbeard. Not Ed. It was different with Jack, knew there was never any feelings, just a good fuck, but with Izzy…” He shakes his head. “I kept hoping he would grow out of it and then when I met you that maybe he would see that Blackbeard was just a persona, just one part of me. But instead it was like he doubled down.

"I dunno,” he sighs, landing heavily on the bed. “Maybe inviting him back on the ship was cruel. Maybe it’s flaunting everything I have that he never got. But despite it all I can’t help hoping that if he sees me happy as Ed maybe he can move on and find whatever makes Izzy Hands happy.” He peers up at Stede, looking lost. “Does that make me a fool?”

“Oh of course not dear,” Stede hurries to reassure, sitting beside him and drawing Ed into his arms. “It makes you endlessly hopeful. And a good friend.” Ed lays down until his head rests in Stede’s lap and Stede hums, gently carding his fingers through Ed’s hair. “But if you truly want him to move on I think you know what you need to do.”

Ed blows out a sigh. “Yeah I do. Fuck this is gonna be messy.”

“Well, hopefully not literally,” Stede says lightheartedly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Now let’s move past that for now, shall we? How’s the knee doing?”

Ed gives a noncommittal hum, eyes shut. “Storm’s coming so it aches like usual. Be fine though.”

“Nonsense,” Stede tuts, gently moving Ed fully to the mattress before rising. “No need for suffering, remember what I’ve said?”

Ed releases a grumble while Stede rifles through his supplies. “I’ve told you you don’t need to do this.”

“And I’ve told you I very much enjoy it.” Once he’s made his way back to the bed Stede brushes his knuckles against Ed’s cheek. “I like taking care of you,” he whispers. “And you’re allowed to be taken care of.” He’s drawn to Ed’s throat as he swallows before firmly telling himself that now is not the time. (Though considering how this usually goes, later may very well be the time.) For now however, he rearranges them so a now unresisting Ed is lying with his head on the pillow and his feet in Stede’s lap. “Now tell me if I push too hard,” he murmurs before oiling up his hands and beginning to gently massage Ed’s bad leg.

It wasn’t until Stede entered the cabin and caught Ed grimacing and roughly rubbing his leg that he was able to get the other man to admit that the contraption he wears around his knee at times is a brace and not a fashion statement. Ed was so tense, so on guard with accidentally revealing such a vulnerability. Coaxing him into allowing Stede to help was one of his prouder moments. (And certainly one that might have indicated that they were hurtling towards something a bit more than friendship.) But now it’s become a ritual of sorts between them and one Stede genuinely does enjoy. Ed is always brimming with energy and is in near constant motion which Stede adores in him, but it makes moments like these all the more special when Ed allows himself to slow down and be taken care of.

They pass the rest of the evening in companionable silence, studiously ignoring the shouting and banging above deck so they can be simply wrapped among each other. Besides, history has shown the crew won’t hesitate to burst in if an intervention is necessary at that very moment. (Stede couldn’t look Oluwande in the eye for a week after that particular incident.) But eventually things seem to quiet down and the next time Stede looks up it’s to find Ed sunk into the mattress, eyes closed and chest steadily rising and falling. With a smile to himself, Stede blows out the candle and settles beside his love before following him off to sleep.

***

“Izzy. We need to talk.”

“If it’s something I said to one of your pets-” Izzy starts but Ed shakes his head.

“No. It’s not that.” Izzy stiffens at the unreadable tone before setting aside the knife he was using to prep for tonight’s dinner. And when did a knife for cooking begin to feel nearly as natural as one for stabbing?

“What’s wrong boss?” he asks, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

“Can we go somewhere else? Private?” Ed asks, shifty-eyed. And now Izzy’s really on guard as dread pools in his stomach.

“Well I would invite you to my rooms but I don’t have any,” he snaps out. “Now what the fuck is so important?”

Ed sighs before pulling up a seat and settling heavily into it. “I’m sorry.”

Izzy swallows back what he tells himself is absolutely not disappointment. “Right, trial basis over then? Time to kick my ass off the ship again?”

“What? No!” Ed’s brow furrows as he gazes up at him. “No it seems like the crew’s starting to take a liking to you in their own particular way.”

Izzy scoffs. “Since when did I need people to like me?” he sneers.

“Izzy. Please.” Ed sighs and rubs his face. “I’m sorry for never addressing the elephant in the room.” Panic and humiliation runs through him like a fucking blade. No. They’re not doing this. Not now. Not after years of pretending. Ed lowers his hands and meets Izzy’s eyes unflinchingly. “I’m sorry I could never love you the way you love me. Sorry I could never be the person you loved. ‘Cause Iz, you only ever loved Blackbeard. Not all of me. You know that right?” And how Izzy hates, utterly loathes that gentle tone and those understanding eyes shown his way like Izzy fucking needs the bastard’s gentleness or understanding.

“Fuck this. We’re not fucking doing this,” Izzy snarls, striding towards the door before finding his arm grabbed in a vice-like grip as he’s spun and shoved into the wall. And just for a fleeting moment, Izzy grows weak in the knees, remembering the countless times they did this when Izzy would deliberately poke the beast, the countless times he hoped that when Ed leaned forward to choke him out he would close that last bit of distance and kiss him too.

But now Ed’s eyes look sad, not filled with that mad flame or cold steel Izzy is used to, that he loved. “We’re having this conversation. ‘Cause if you decide to stay on this ship long term, we can’t have this hanging over us anymore.”

“And what makes you think I want to stay on this bloody ship?" Izzy spits out.

“‘Cause maybe if you do you can let yourself be happy for once in your fucking life!” Ed shouts and there’s that anger, there’s that fire. But Izzy is disappointed when Ed releases him and takes a step back, pacing instead of throttling. “Fuck Iz. You’re the most miserable bastard I’ve ever met besides myself before Stede came into my life. We were hurtling towards mutual fucking destruction that was only gonna end bloody ‘cause neither of us saw any other way to fucking live.” He turns on his heel and takes a hesitant step forward, hand reaching out. “But I have now and I can’t help but feel that running into you again was so I could help you find a way to move on too. Just to find what brings you some fucking joy, man. You can’t tell me that this is it! That hate and rage and blood and fucking leather is all you fucking want!”

Izzy shakes, hands clenched into fists as the stepping stones that have led him to this moment lay before him. Being a lad and having his parents cut down in front of him, learning very quickly that love only hurts. Being a teen and having the last precious items of his family stolen from him, and learning that sentiment is weak. Being a young man and learning that being held down and choked during a rough fuck muffles the screaming that bangs through his skull 24/7 otherwise.

And then meeting Blackbeard, the man and the myth and thinking yes, this man. This man he will follow till the end of his days.

“And since when do I get what I fucking want,” he whispers before turning away and finding a far too raw truth slip out. “Happiness isn’t meant for men like me. It’s far too late for that.”

“But it’s not Iz,” Ed pleads, wrapping his hands around his shoulders and gently turning him around. Izzy can’t help but flinch at the softest touch he’s ever experienced from the other man, finding it burns more than the lack of oxygen ever did. “It fucking can be if you just let yourself open up, let yourself be brave.”

Izzy releases a rasping mocking laugh before spitting to the side. “Rather cut off my fucking toe, thanks.” And with a final shove he stalks out, all too aware of how much it looks like running.

***

“Y’know what I realized?” a slurred voice says from the shadows.

“Oh. It’s you.” Stede tries to hide his disappointed scowl as he fully enters the cabin and takes in Izzy sprawled across his couch with two empty bottles by his feet and a half drunk one in his hand. Too bad Ed decided to go one more round of cards with some of the crew.

“Realized none of this woulda fuckin’ happened if I had told the fuckin’ truth. If I made it clear ta you that my boss was Blackbeard or if I told tha truth to Blackbeard none a this woulda happened if he didn’t find you soooooo bloooddyyyy interesting.”

“Right,” Stede says, not quite following and not quite sure if he wants to encourage the clearly drunken man to elaborate.

“S’now here we are with you and Ed ED not Blackbeard of course,” he says, waving his arms through the air and sloshing rum onto Stede’s fine satin couch. “And here I am tossed to the fuckin’ side like a fuckin’ unwanted mistress after fuckin’ everything!”

Stede sighs and sits in the chair across from the slumped man, resigned to play therapist. And perhaps he owes it to him. “Izzy. I was married for some years to a lovely woman. But we weren’t right for each other. I mean, mostly because I’ve never found women attractive but the point stands. Even without that our personalities and interests just didn’t make for a good relationship. And now that we’re not in a relationship we’re very dear friends.”

He leans forward and clasps his hands, meeting the other man’s hazy eyes. “You and Ed would’ve brought the most toxic aspects of your personalities out if you were together. You would’ve burned bright and then simply burned to ash. And I know that’s not what you want to hear. And I know part of you is fantasizing stabbing me in the face right now and probably the only thing stopping you is that you know Ed would throw you off the ship, but it’s true.”

He grimaces as what looks like tears form in Izzy’s eyes. Well that’s an unsettling sight. “'S not fair that you get him an' not me," he croaks.

Stede sighs, feeling the odd urge to reach out and squeeze Izzy's clenching hand but preferring not to be stabbed at the moment. "I can't say I know what it’s like, what you’re going through. I had never loved before Ed. And I’d imagine not being with him would feel quite like a hot poker through my heart. But I do hope that we can be friends, for Ed’s sake if not for our own. And I hope you can find it in your heart to accept Ed for who he is, and accept his choice, even if you dislike his partner.” Stede shrugs. “And if it is too painful, you don’t have to stay on the ship. But I think the crew is starting to come around to you. Lord knows Roach certainly appreciates the extra hand in the kitchen. So, just think about it.” He reaches over and gently pulls the bottle from Izzy’s listless hands. “And perhaps stop the drinking for now.”

***

The next morning Izzy is nursing a hangover and his injured pride and taking both conditions out on some vegetables when Roach comes up beside him. “So wanna tell me what those vegetables ever did to you, eh?”

“Piss off.” Instead of walking away, Roach shrugs and sets up his station beside him, just like they’ve done for two weeks now, and takes half of the cutting.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong but this seems more than your typical brooding. Did Lucius call you Izzy the Spewer again?”

“We’re not fucking friends so stop acting like we are,” Izzy snaps.

“Oh right I forgot.” Roach lowers his voice to a bass and adopts what Izzy is horrified to understand is supposed to be an imitation of his accent. “You’re big scary Izzy Hands and I should fear you. Fie fie fo fum!”

“I hate that fucking story,” Izzy mutters for lack of a better response. And who the fuck does story time to his crew and reads them fairy tales?

“Well if you’re not gonna tell me I can guess what this is about,” Roach hums. Izzy releases a noncommittal grunt and keeps his eyes on his work. “After all, this is still my kitchen and I stop by throughout the day. So for future reference if you’re gonna have heart to hearts with the man you’ve been pining after for years in the middle of the afternoon maybe have them somewhere else,” Roach remarks.

In the next breath Izzy shoves Roach against the counter, knife to his throat. “You better watch your fucking mouth dog,” he spits, blinking when something sharp presses into his stomach.

“And you better watch your hands,” is the serene reply, Roach’s eyes dark and fathomless. They stare each other down before he arches a brow. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

“Fuck. You.”

Roach shrugs, utterly unfazed at the knife digging into his skin. “Eh, I’ll pass. I’m not one to fuck someone hopelessly pining after someone else.”

Izzy grits his teeth and presses his knife forward until a drop of blood streams down Roach’s throat. Yet at the same time he feels a stab, Roach somehow cutting clean through his vest. “I made a vow to myself years ago. I’ll never let a white man make me bleed again without drawing blood myself. So please, feel free to continue. ‘Cause I’ll be happy to introduce you to my torture stick if you’d like,” Roach remarks casually, digging steadily deeper.

At this Izzy blinks and finds himself faltering even as he fights back a wince from the wound that will certainly need stitches at this point. “Torture stick?”

Roach bares his teeth. “Care to meet it?”

“I don’t talk about my fucking feelings.”

“Mhm.”

“That’s for fucking prats like you lot,” Izzy adds.

“Yep absolutely.”

“...This is a clever device.”

Roach grins as he continues to watch Izzy beat apart a sack with his torture stick. “Made it myself,” he says proudly. He kicks his legs back and forth from where he’s perched on the counter. “So, ready to talk about it? I’m happy to leave you to your brooding but Captain’s been teaching us the importance of talking things through.”

“Fucking Stede Bonnet and fucking Edward Teach and this fucking crew with all your mushy fucking feelings and wanting to talk things through and prance around like everything is sunshine and roses and fucking perfect,” Izzy snarls, beating the sack for emphasis until it bursts.

Without hesitating Roach tosses Izzy a new one before asking, “Ever think there’s a reason for that?” Izzy pauses and turns to Roach, brow furrowed. With a sigh Roach crosses his arms and studies the ceiling as he gathers his resolve. He’s still not entirely used to talking about feelings himself, more comfortable cracking a joke and when that doesn’t work, hiding in his kitchen. “None of us chose this life ‘cause we wanted to. We chose it ‘cause we had no other choice. This is the first home most of us ever had. Only family we have left if we ever had one to begin with.”

Finally he meets Izzy’s gaze again who’s looking at him, eyes shadowed. He sees some of his phantom pain reflected in those dark orbs. “We work to make everything sunshine and roses ‘cause our lives have always been anything but. Seems like that’s something you can relate to, even if you are a dick.” He watches as Izzy twitches and tightens his grip on the torture stick. “Feel free to have some more whacks with it,” Roach offers, nodding to the stick. “I'm gonna head back up and spend some time with my family. Took some time for me to come ‘round to the idea but turns out sunshine and roses is pretty nice.” And with a final nod Roach jumps down and heads back to the deck, whistling as he goes.

Not 10 minutes later, Roach fights back a smirk as Izzy trudges through the door and leans against the mast with a scowl and crossed arms, trying far too hard to pretend like he isn’t listening to their current debate over the coolest sea creature.

“Octopus,” He finally cuts in, glaring as the crew collectively turns to him. Izzy shifts on his feet before clearing his throat and continuing. “Smart buggers. One came aboard once. Stole Ed’s rum right outta his hands.”

Roach watches as a hopeful grin spreads across Ed’s face and he laughs. “I forgot about that! Fucking dick just jumped right overboard with it and swam away.” As the ship erupts in questions and comments Roach sits back and smiles to himself. Maybe they can get Izzy bought into sunshine and roses and mushy feelings after all.

***

Talon has a new littermate, Shouty One! Shouty one doesn’t give pets as good as loud one and Papa Talon and is also more shouty than loud one, but Talon thinks that she can teach shouty one how to pet good. Every dark time now, Talon lets herself be pet by all the other two leggeds who like to pet her (which is all of them) before she comes up to shouty one and her hope is that shouty one might learn how to pet her from watching her get pet good by all the other two leggeds. It hasn’t worked yet but Talon thinks that he’s getting there. Shouty one has at least learned that his paws are used for petting and not just for holding Talon. So that’s progress! Now just to get him to understand that pets feel lots better when you pet with your bare paws and not the weird fur that doesn’t feel like fur shouty one puts on one of his paws. Yes, Talon thinks that with a few more dark times shouty one will get a hang of it. Talon believes in shouty one.