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It was supposed to be a fucking resupply stop. Let the men blow off some steam, restock their rations and ammo, not even two days at port. Izzy had only been down that street ‘cause he’d heard some fella named “Captain Thomas” had picked up the Revenge and was in the area and he was curious what kind of man would actively choose to sail on Blackbeard leftovers.
Unfortunately, the answer was Stede fucking Bonnet.
Izzy had been pointed in the direction of where the ship had last been seen by an old fortuneteller and had just caught sight of the galleon when there was suddenly a knife at his back and a bag over his head. He struggled, and managed to headbutt one of the fuckers in the face while they were trying to restrain him, but then another stepped on his bad foot and he buckled.
One pommel to the back of the head later he peeled his eyes back open to find himself tied to the mizzenmast of a ship he’d sworn never to set foot on again.
“Fucking—do you bastard shit-stains even know who I am?” he spat, struggling against the ropes lashed around his torso and arms. They’d even tied his wrists together on the opposite side, though his legs were still free.
“Oh don’t worry, Izzy,” a familiar voice said and Izzy felt the blood drain out of his face in horror when he recognized the face of the man who’d managed to capture him.
Stede fucking Bonnet stepped in front of him with a self satisfied smirk on his face and Izzy swore on his own life that he’d carve that face off and feed it to the sharks himself if it was the last thing he’d do. “We know exactly who you are.”
“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve Bonnet,” Izzy said. He spit on the deck for good measure and the fucker didn’t even have the grace to look disgusted. Something had changed—and not just looks wise. He still wore one of those foppish embroidered waistcoats but at some point got himself a pair of sensible boots and kept a rapier at his waist now. There was also now a thick golden beard coating his chin and cheeks, perhaps some half-attempt at a disguise? Still was a twat, clearly.
More familiar faces stepped up on either side of their so-called captain—Oluwande and Black Pete—and after a glance around he spotted the rest of the leftover crew, plus a few new ones. How in the world had Bonnet managed to get even more nitwits to follow him? “See you managed to pick up our trash. Guess boot camp taught you something after all.”
“Oh I’ve learned quite a few things since we last saw each other,” Bonnet said, stepping closer. Izzy glanced down. He was still a couple feet away.
“So you brought me here for a little show and tell?” Izzy said.
“No, actually. I asked for you to be brought here to answer for a few thing, such as leaving my crew marooned on a sandbar.”
“Not my orders. Gonna have to talk to Captain Blackbeard on that one.”
Bonnet's face twitched slightly at the name and now it was Izzy’s turn to smirk. “Still, I’m sure you jumped at the opportunity.”
“Oh yes, I enjoyed it a lot,” Izzy said. “Case you haven’t been brought up to speed they did all try to throw me off the ship while you were back off playing house.”
“You deserved it,” Black Pete chimed in and Izzy snarled. He at least had the presence of mind to look startled.
“There’s still more. The state of the ship when we found it, the decimation of our rations, the utter destruction of my library—”
“Not my orders there either,” Izzy butted in and finally Bonnet looked actually taken aback. He grinned. “Remember that? My Captian’s fuckin’ Blackbeard, and after he returned to the ship alone mind you, he decided the place needed some redecorating and a functional crew.”
Bonnet's mouth was pressed in a tight line. He took another step closer and Izzy met his glare beat for beat. Just one more Bonnet. “Where’s the rest of my people, Hands?”
“Who?” he said, putting on an air of distracted ignorance.
“You know who we’re talking about,” Olu said, stepping forward so he was next to Bonnet’s shoulder. “What did you do with Jim? And Lucius? And Frenchie?”
“Oh, well,” Izzy said. “Fuck if I care.”
“You better watch your mouth, you—” Black Pete moved towards him with dagger drawn but Bonnet threw out an arm to stop him, never even glancing away from Izzy.
“They’re on his ship still, aren’t they?”
Frenchie probably was, unless he’d done something idiotic again to get him stabbed in the gut by another one of the men. That twat Lucius he hadn’t seen since before Blackbeard came and cut his toe off, and Jim had slipped away from the guards back when they had stopped and ditched the Revenge in the first place. He had tried to send out a search party when he had found the men doubled over behind the rocks, one with a knife still in their shoulder, but Blackbeard had stopped him. Shame, Jim was the only one of Bonnet’s original crew he wouldn’t have actually minded keeping around.
Of course, it’s not like Bonnet needed to know any of that.
“Few of your little playthings had something approaching skill at least. Blackbeard’s never been one to ignore potential, and he’s been much less distracted lately” he said and Bonnet’s face twisted into something serious.
“Where is he?” Bonnet asked. “Where’s Ed?”
“Where Blackbeard is is none of your damn business,” Izzy spat. The Queen Anne’s Revenge was already about to sail out when Izzy had made his detour, telling his Captain that he had some personal business to settle and would catch up in an hour or so.
“You know his plans, where is he headed next?”
And Izzy had to bark out a laugh at that because fuck if Blackbeard told him jack shit about whatever he was planning nowadays until it was directly relevant. If he was being honest with himself, Izzy was the one making actual plans lately; where to sail, what targets were worth a raid. He’d formulate an attack and present it to Blackbeard, who’d grunt and wave his hand or grunt and say: “take care of it”. Occasionally he’d hover around the deck, watching the sea or the sky, until he eventually pointed out a direction to sail and everyone would scramble to comply while Izzy barked orders after them like he’d known the change in route the entire time.
He was still First Mate, Blackbeard still let him stand beside to him and run his crew, but fuck if he ever talked to him anymore. Edward spent the majority of his days in his cabin, smoking and drinking and whatever the fuck else Izzy was no longer privy to. The man would probably be content with letting the ship drift around aimlessly, attacking whoever happened to wander into it’s path indiscriminately if it wasn’t for Izzy actually tracking merchant routes, steering them clear of English flags that peeked on the horizon (those fuckers sure held a grudge), and planning resupplies and ship maintenance. Blackbeard was back, but in name and savagery only.
But Bonnet didn’t need to know any of that.
“Hah! You think I’d betray my Captain so easily?”
“Why not? You did so once before.”
Izzy snarled, jerking forward on the ropes. Several of the crew drew weapons, including Oluwande and Black Pete who were the only ones in range to potentially be a threat, but Bonnet barely stepped back.
“I was protecting him from himself you absolute….fuckin’….ponce.”
“And now look where we are,” Bonnet said. He stepped closer and finally. “Your plan didn’t work. I’m back, and I’m going to find the rest of my crew, and I’m going to find Ed again, and you...well.” Bonnet’s head cocked to the side, mouth pursed in a contemplative frown. “I suppose your future is still to be determined, dear Izzy.”
Izzy grunted, then smirked right before jerking his leg up and nailing Bonnet right in the balls.
There was a lot of shouting. Bonnet doubled over, stumbling back but not quite loosing his footing unfortunately. Izzy laughed despite the blade now at his throat. It had felt good to get a hit in, but he had slid down the mast a bit in the process. He couldn’t stand up properly anymore and had to hold himself awkwardly on bent knees. Still worth it.
Izzy was expecting one of the crew to give him a knife to the gut for his troubles but Bonnet held up a hand, quieting the crowd and stilling any motions against him. “No no, it’s quite all right,” he said in a pinched voice. “Can’t expect him to just take these things lying down can we?” Olu was helping keep him upright and Bonnet eventually straightened, letting out a long breath before meeting Izzy’s eyes again. “I do have an idea on how we might convince our visitor here to give us some more useful information, however.”
---
Izzy knew Bonnet was a nutcase of a pirate, but even this felt ridiculous for him.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Izzy said. Three of Bonnet’s men were circling around him with weapons trained; Black Pete had taken his sword up with gusto and that Swede fellow had gotten his hands on a spear and was having great fun jabbing it at Izzy’s backside. The taffrail door had been open and one of the gangplanks strapped down so it hung over the edge of the ship, over open water instead of the deck of a raided ship. Izzy stood at the base of it, forearms lashed together at his back.
“Don’t let my generally affable nature deter you Izzy, I am most certainly not,” Bonnet said. “Now. You will tell us what we wish to know or you will be forced to walk the plank, and take your chances with the sharks below.”
Izzy highly doubted there were any sharks in these waters, plus it was still the middle of the day, but Bonnets idiocy was a dangerous thing all on it’s own. “I’m not telling you shit, Bonnet.”
“Pity. Boys?”
The men pressed forward, ushering Izzy further down the plank—Black Pete managed to get a rather pointed jab into his side. He growled as he reluctantly stepped out, now the battered piece of lumber the only thing between him and the sea. This was absolutely humiliating. Izzy wished they had just tied him up and pitched him off the side like they’d tried before. At least then he’d drown with some dignity left.
“It’s not too late Izzy,” Bonnet called out as they men’s jabs pushed Izzy out to approximately the middle of the plank. “We can still work something out. Work together!”
“Trust me Bonnet, this is much preferable,” Izzy yelled back. The wood was bowing dangerously under his weight and his natural self-preservation instant was kicking in, heart thudding in his chest. He instinctively started to shift back toward the edge of the ship, but a sharp jab from the Swedes spear had him right back. As ridiculous as this entire performance was, he knew once he was in the waves, he was a goner.
“Last chance Izzy, neither of us want to have to do this.”
“Fuck you Bonnet!” Izzy snapped. His heart was pounding and the wind buffeted him from both sides, pulling at his hair and sleeves. He laughed, half mad from nerves. “Fuck you and your fancy linens and your fuckin’ asinine dreams of being a pirate and what you fuckin’ did to my fuckin’ Captain! Both of us would be better off if we’d just left you to bleed to death on that fuckin’ Spanish ship!”
Bonnet stood on the main deck, looking actually shaken as Izzy stared him down, back to the sea as his legs struggled to keep his balance. Blades blocked his path back onto the ship but Izzy wasn’t thinking about that right then, his only target was the man in the silk waistcoat on the other side.
“You want to find Blackbeard and his ship? Think you’re going to reunite like a story in one of your fancy books? Sail off into the sunset to live happily ever after together humm? You fuckin’ had your moment Bonnet, and you know what he did? He threw your library into the ocean and dropped your crew on a sandbar and left your mid-life crisis of a ship to rot in the shallows. You want to know who you are to Blackbeard now? You’re fuckin’ dead Stede Bonnet.”
Bonnet swallowed thickly and Izzy grinned wildly. The wind was picking up, even swirling around the gather crew on deck. “Oh you think that little bit of news never reached out here? You were the talk of Nassau! That silly little Gentleman Pirate fellow, with the fancy ship and third-rate crew, ran off back home once it got too real out there and then got himself run over by a carriage. Poor Bonnet, too much of an idiot to make it on the sea and too shitty of a pirate to even die like one! Hah!”
“Now you listen here buddy,” Black Pete said, gesturing with his sword, but Izzy was so far out on the plank nothing from the deck could touch him.
“You want to know what Blackbeard said when he’d heard the news?” and Bonnet actually flinched. Izzy’s grin grew wilder. “Fuckin’ nothing. Not a damn peep.”
It was simplifying things, because yes, it was true that Blackbeard hadn’t actually said anything about Bonnet's death, but Izzy could tell something had changed in him. He’d shut himself off further, and one of his random course changes had taken them nerve-rackingly close to Barbados when they needed to stop at port to repair a sail. It was only two days later when he had decided to ditch the Revenge and return to Queen Anne.
In the weeks that followed, even more rumors had come about around Bonnet’s death, especially from those that had heard Blackbeard had been traveling with him shortly before and how they’d taken the Act of Grace together. Some were saying that Bonnet’s death wasn’t an unfortunate accident but that Blackbeard followed him to his home after a betrayal at sea and gotten rid of him, that the obituary was simply a cover-up story by the family to either save face or protect against further retaliation (If Blackbeard was in earshot for any of these particular rumors the teller tended to have a dagger blade uncomfortably close to their anatomy shortly after). No, he didn’t say anything—at least not to Izzy—but something had deeply changed in Edward after the news of Bonnet’s death.
But the clearly actually alive Bonnet didn’t get to fuckin’ know that.
“To him? You’re not a concern, or a threat, or even an old friend. You’re an unfortunate memory. An ill-fated dalliance to be brushed off and forgotten. To him, you’re fuckin’ nothing.”
Bonnet made a broken, strangled half-sound and it was the best thing Izzy had heard in his entire life.
A moment later, however, was the crack of uncomfortably close thunder and everyone looked up to notice that the sky had been steadily darkening along with the strength of the wind. They were sailing right to the middle of a fuckin’ squall.
“What in the—Pell!” Bonnet called out, turning around.
“Despite the trust you’ve seemed to place in me Captain, I do not in fact control the weather,” a man Izzy didn’t recognize called back from the quarter deck. The wind was picking up and he had to place a hand on his head to keep his hat from flying off.
“Well isn’t this just a cherry on top,” Bonnet said, throwing his hands up and turning towards the crew at large as if this was some summer picnic where it had started to sprinkle.
Izzy wasn’t paying as much attention to Bonnet anymore, the wind had picking up in not only speed but ferocity. He hissed, legs spreading apart as he struggled to maintain balance, but his bad foot was starting to throb and the waves were getting choppy. A particularly rough one slammed into the side of the boat and with a curse Izzy was plummeting into the sea.
Izzy had ended up in the water plenty of times over the course of his tenure at sea—both on purpose and involuntarily. He wouldn’t call himself the strongest swimmer but he could get his head above the water and over to a life line when needed. However that was when his forearms weren’t tied together at his back and his legs weren't already aching with strain from trying to not fall off that damn fuckin’ plank in the first place. Add to that the fuckin’ squall bearing down overhead and even the most bullheaded sailor would know when they were a goner.
Still, the self-preservation instinct was a hell of a thing and Izzy thrashed about in the waves, trying to get his bearings enough to at least know which way the surface was. He pulled at the ropes but for all of their faults the men knew how to tie a mean knot. Izzy was pretty sure the only way they were coming off with any speed was with a blade and all his had been taken off of him before he’d regained consciousness. He kicked out, seeing if he might be close enough to surface still to break it, but ended up kicking the hull of the ship instead which send a jolt of pain up his leg.
His lungs burned, his muscles were screaming and his eyes were stinging in the saltwater. The sky overhead was already so dark that there was no light to guide his way, and even so at this point he’d nearly run out of energy. Even if he knew where the surface was he doubted he make it. He pulled at the roped again, thinking for a moment he might end up dislocating something, but no. He relaxed, lungs exhaling in the process, and let himself drift.
Izzy Hands’ final breath bubbled up towards the surface and he had just enough blurry eyesight to watch it leave as the calmness of his fate settled in. He stopped kicking, let the waves push him to the side and it was funny almost. For so long he’d assumed he’d die at the end of a blade or a barrel, he hadn’t feared drowning since he was 12. Yet here he was, a death and burial all in one. Some errant bit of debris slid across his stomach and Izzy wondered if Edward would even care that he never arrived at the ship.
Then he was above the waters surface and the thing around his stomach tightened and Izzy coughed as his world snapped from calm darkness to utter chaos.
“I’ve got him, I’ve got him! Pull us up!”
“You’re fucking crazy!”
“Just leave him—”
Izzy continued coughing as he blinked water out of his eyes. He shook his head to try and get his hair from dripping into his face and managed to weakly glance over his shoulder and fuckin’ Bonnet.
“You…” he croaked out, voice raw and barely audible.
Bonnet turned to look at him. He had one arm hooked around Izzy’s waist, holding him up with a surprising amount of strength, and the other was gripped tightly to a rope in turn tied around his own waist. He was also drenched now, hair darkened and curled against his forehead and white undershirt (he’d stripped the silk waistcoat off before his dip, of course) clinging to his skin. “Yes, me.”
“Fuckin’…” There was something else Izzy wanted to say but his mind wasn’t working properly, to busy trying to catch up with his near death experiences. He opened his mouth to try again and found himself vomiting seawater instead.
If Bonnet made a disgusted face he didn’t see it, and if he made a concerned one he definitely didn’t see it. Izzy decided that maybe he did actually drown and him thinking that Bonnet had jumped into the sea after him to save him after being the one to put him in such a situation was just his own personal hell. He had no qualms about the being in hell part—Izzy knew what kind of man he was—but he didn’t think even the devil would be that cruel. But, if he was in hell anyway that meant he didn’t have to actually pay attention to anything, so he let himself be hoisted back up to the ship like a wet sack. Listened mutely as the crew yelled and argued about whether or not that was a stupid decision to fish Izzy out of the waves (yes), what to do next (weather the fuckin storm clearly), and how to get out of this storm (oh).
Izzy threw up seawater again, this time on the deck, and another wave had the entire boat tilting nearly onto it’s side and they all slid halfway down the rain pelted wood. Strong hands were on Izzy’s shoulders and he wondered idly that if he rolled back out into the sea if he’d be able to go to a slightly nicer part of hell that wasn’t shaped like the Revenge. There was more shouting, something resembling actually competent orders, and Izzy felt himself being pulled to his feet and lead away.
His foot hurt, his muscles ached, his head was pounding and his throat was raw. He barely registered his surroundings until he suddenly felt his arms drop free and back to his sides. He blinked his eyes open in surprise, casting around but not taking in any of his surroundings before a blanket was thrown over him and a door was shut. Izzy didn’t care, he supposed it wasn’t much fun to torture someone who wasn’t mentally present so the Devil was letting him rest. Fine by him. Izzy gathered the blanket around him tighter with trembling hands, fell to his side, and straight to sleep.
---
When Izzy woke up the first thing he noticed was how bloody cold he fucking was. The second being that this wasn’t his cabin. He sat up, joints stiff from having seized up during his rest, and fought against the slight tremors as his body tried to warm itself up. There were about three blankets draped over him and he pulled the bundle of them tighter around himself as he tried to regain his bearings. His hair and clothes were still wet—which was probably why he was still freezing—and starting to crust from the drying saltwater along the edges.
He rolled through a particularly violent shiver and managed to convince himself to peel the blankets off and discard the bottom-most, and therefore dampest, one and fling it to the side. Once it was free he quickly snatched the other back around himself and finally started to feel a semblance of warmth. As he sighed softly to himself, letting his back rest against the wall behind him and eyes shut, the door opened and he was suddenly, painfully, aware of why he was in the predicament in the first place.
“Ah, excellent. You’re awake,” Bonnet said with a smile way too friendly for a man who’d just tried to kill him. His hair was damp still as well and uncombed, though he had changed clothes at some point, now wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers. He’d also left his weapons somewhere, which Izzy would have taken full advantage of if he’d had the energy to stand let alone strangle the life out of Bonnet.
The man also had a bundle of blankets in his arms, which he held up awkwardly. “Got you some more blankets and the nice down comforter. Sorry to leave you in such a state earlier, but, storms and all.”
Izzy just grunted and glared at Bonnet. He knew how ridiculous he looked, wrapped up in ratty blankets with only his wet head sticking out, which only served to make him more angry and annoyed at the whole situation. “You really don’t know how this whole taking hostages thing is supposed to work.”
“I’ll remind you Izzy, that when we’d first met I had already captured two British naval officers completely without assistance.”
“Yeah and if I recall you also lost both of them to me and the boys that same day.”
“Yes, well. I was a bit green still,” Bonnet admitted, not taking the bait. He moved over to the opposite side of the cot and set his bundle of blankets down and Izzy followed the motion with his eyes. “Even so, I do remember managing to win one of them back from you.” He glanced over at Izzy and the fucker actually winked.
Indignation rose in his chest and Izzy groaned and let his head drop. “You should have let me fuckin’ drown,” he said into his chest. In the corner of his vision, Bonnet straitened back to his standing height.
“The intention was never to kill you, Izzy. Just...frighten you a bit.”
Izzy rolled his head to look at Bonnet. “Frighten me?”
“Yes, well.” Bonnet shrugged. “It’s worked before. They never really know what to expect.”
Something about the thought that the whole “walking the plank” business wasn’t a special torture just for Izzy but something Bonnet and his crew had done before caused a laugh to rip out of his throat. And then he just kept laughing and then that turned into coughing and for all his bravado the rest of the day Bonnet stood there looking rather startled.
Izzy eventually calmed himself down (without any more vomit, thank fuck) and leaned back against the wall fully. He was exhausted and starting to suspect the only reason he’d woken up in the first place was ‘cause of the cold. Now that he was a bit dryer sleep was threatening to take him, which was the only reason he sat there silently with his eyes close as Bonnet draped what he assumed was the “nice down comforter” over him and leaned in to press a hand to his forehead.
“I’ll get you some tea, help warm you up,” Bonnet said.
He didn’t respond and Bonnet moved away, the door creaking open and then pausing. A better Izzy would have tried to make a break for it, chill be damned. Faced whatever bits of Bonnet’s crew were on the other side, hijacked a dinghy and hit the open sea. This Izzy though just wanted to sleep.
“I thought you should know,” Bonnet said and Izzy’s slight eyebrow raise was the only indication he was actually hearing what was being said. “We’ve caught sight of the Queen Anne’s Revenge and are making pursuit. Assuming no further distractions, it should be a day or so before we catch up.”
Catch up? Hah! The Revenge was fast but the Queen Anne, well...Then again it did depend on who was on helm. And if perhaps Blackbeard had a similar thought to him and wanted to meet the Captain who decided to take up Bonnet's old ship and then have the gall to follow him. That or they’d see the trailing ship and lose them at the first opportunity and if then who knows what would happen to him.
At some point during his musings, he must have fallen asleep, because when he next opened his eyes he was on his side again. Most of the blankets had been kicked off (save for the down comforter) and he must have had enough sense at some point to peel his boots off and strip his soaked vest and shirt. He looked around blearily, spotting a figure through the slats of the door outside, standing guard, so Bonnet had some sense still with him.
Izzy looked next to him and paused when he spotted a delicate floral teacup sitting on a crate next to the cot, a presumably matching teapot beside it covered with some kind of knitted cozy. He blinked a few times, sitting up and eyeing the offering suspiciously. It certainly could be poisoned, but even Bonnet wouldn’t risk his own neck to pull him out of the water just to turn around and slip him something in his tea.
If his head wasn’t already throbbing at his temples and his mouth parched he would have ignored it on principle. As it was he hadn’t had a thing to drink most of the day so he took the already full delicate cup and necked it in one shot. It was ice cold and had a bitter hint to its aftertaste and something almost floral in it. Like chewing a rose. Was that ginger? Regardless, it was liquid.
Izzy poured another cup from the teapot and drank it with similar speed, and if the cozy had managed to preserve a small core of comforting warmth that slid down his throat and settled in his belly.
Well.
Bonnet didn’t need to know that.