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The island of Elizabeth was small and mostly uninhabited. It had allegedly been named in honour of its abundant stock of lake view jasmine, a favourite of the late queen and used in her monthly baths, although it was more likely the English just got lazy that far into their 'discoveries'.
That said, what was good enough for British gentry was good enough for Lucius, who found it the very best place to bathe.
There were plenty of fresh water pools on the island, hidden amongst vast and dense forest. Coming from a ship where the 'en suite' was shared amongst an entire crew, the excursion was pure luxury.
When The Revenge hit its shores, Lucius was the first to take to the beach, waving away any suggestion of birdwatching or crab fighting from his shipmates.
He found his favourite spot fairly quickly, having scribbled himself a crude map the last time they had explored the island.
It wasn't a particularly large body of water but it was deep enough to be submerged and then some, with a flat-faced rock overhanging the pool that acted as a lookout point-cum-diving spot.
At this time of year the surface of the water was scattered with the white-gone-beige petals of old Lizzie's preferred blooms and the entire area had a decidedly strange smell of sweet flowers turning to mulch.
Lucius pulled his shirt over his head, unconsciously listening to the sound of any crewmates in the vicinity. Nothing, not even the distant sound of bird call or the faint grunts of roughhousing from the beach.
He slipped out of his breeches and left them in a pile at the water's edge.
It was probably a wise decision to climb the flat rock and jump in, get the shock of the cool water over and done with, but he was never one for leaping from great heights, especially completely starkers.
Bracing himself for the initial sting, he tested a foot and then another. Okay, yes, it was cool but not cold. A brave step to get most of his legs in. Yes, still not warm. At his third step he willed himself to go waist deep and –
"Fuck," he said, unable to stop himself as the water lapped at the small of his back.
No this was fine, worse was over. A few moments muttering "be brave, be brave" and he submerged his face and hair.
When he broke the surface again he conceded that the temperature was all-in-all not terrible, refreshing was probably the word. A few degrees warmer than bracing.
He swam a bit, idly crossing the width of the pool and back again, happy to think of all the weeks of sweat and grime slipping away from him as he did.
Treading water for a while, taking in the odd scent of the flowers and wondering vaguely if eels lived in freshwater pools, he scrubbed at his hair, palming water over his head and face.
It was pure contentment until, leaning back, eyes still wet, he caught the vague outline of something short and thin poking out from the flat rock above.
He blinked, before the figure of Izzy Hands swam into view.
"What the fuck?" Lucius blurted out, creating a large splash as he lurched forward to cover himself. A fruitless effort, if that was the right phrase. He cupped an armful of the mouldy jasmine petals and dispersed them around his person like a makeshift shroud, but from Izzy's vantage point it was likely a pointless venture.
"Were you spying on me?" He added, unsure whether the question came out as accusing or flirtatious, likely somewhere in between.
"Don't fucking flatter yourself," was the reply, as Izzy stood rigid with his hands on his hips. At least the man had the decency to look away after he spoke, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead and staring off into the thick woodland beside them. He coughed, rocked a little awkwardly like he was fighting with himself, before he spoke again.
"It's..my hand," he said hesitantly. "I cut it a few days ago. I'm looking for brush nettle."
Lucius had already been aware that Izzy had cut his hand, having witnessed the very incident a few days prior.
He really was a strange little man, so tightly strung and crammed with enough toxic bravado it was a primary fault. He had been pulling rope down to the lower deck and as it fed between his hands and the pulley, something must have caught him. He had winced, Lucius had seen, but the ridiculous little man hadn't stopped or shown any other sign of pain apart from that initial knee jerk reaction, even when the rope that was passing through his palms was stained red.
"Well you're not going to find brush nettle here, are you? Unless you suspect I'm hiding it up my arse," Lucius replied.
That irked him, for Izzy gritted his teeth, stooping down on the rock.
Without the sun glaring behind him, Lucius realised that the first mate looked a little dishevelled compared to his usual smart appearance. He was slick with sweat and even at his distance, Lucius noticed he was breathing heavy.
"I know that," Izzy spat. "I thought you might know where to find some since you like poncing around in the flowers."
Um rude, Lucius thought, and not at all accurate – present jasmine pool excluded.
"So you've been following me since we left ship and waited until I was naked to ask?"
An incoherent sound of frustration escaped the man on the rock, he stood up again, turning to leave. But something in his movement faltered, he looked unsteady. He lowered his hands for balance and Lucius was able to catch a glimpse of the injured palm. The cut looked angry and inflamed. Lord knows what kind of gunk brushes against the ropes at the side of the ship, it didn't bode well for a painless recovery if he hadn't sought any treatment for it.
"Everything alright?" Lucius called up.
Izzy's head made a movement somewhere between a curt nod and a twitch.
Lucius waited a few seconds for verbal confirmation before he realised it wasn't coming. He sighed audibly. What a dramatic man.
"Look if brush nettle is anywhere on the island it will be at one of the dryer clearings. It likes sunlight and warmth. But to be honest you really should have just told Roach about your hand, it's-"
He was cut off by a disturbance of water, so violent and so sudden that he thought for a second he had been slapped. Then came the splash and finally the realisation that Izzy Hands had either jumped or fell into the pool some 20 feet in front of him.
He couldn't help but look over his shoulder and around to the bank, wondering with increasing certainty whether this was some strange wind-up and Fang or Ivan would appear from the trees at any moment.
But there was nothing. Lucius then waited for Izzy to break the surface, maybe to swim at him in anger, but the initial ripples from the fall began to settle and any sign of the first mate was lost.
"You've got to be kidding me," was all Lucius managed before tentatively swimming towards the landing spot, his brain doing a mental juggle as to whether to trust Izzy Hands to not pull him under. He didn't fancy a death by water, especially not here, his naked bloated corpse scaring the living shit out of the next poor bloke coming here to bathe.
"Izzy?"
While the water was fairly clear it was deep and the disturbance had kicked up much of the mud and leaves from the bottom making everything not directly below the waterline look hazy.
Stopping at his best guess as to where Izzy landed, he looked directly down into the fog of the pool.
"Seriously, this is not good Izzy, you've made your point, I'll find the bloody weeds for you," Lucius shouted.
He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his superior one last time before plunging himself under the water. As if this was how he was spending his afternoon off. Izzy Hands, what a prick.
In the semi-blindness he felt about, fingers connecting with the slime and crud that lived below wild water and that most bathers did their best to forget about. A palmful of scattered pebbles, slippery vines (definitely not eels), some twigs and then, reaching as far as he could without kicking down further there was a brush with hair, at least he prayed it was hair.
Closing his hands around a good fistful, he was half tempted to drag the man out by that alone but thought better of it, mainly because it didn't give him the best amount of purchase. He instead tugged enough to be able to grab on to leather.
Holding onto what he assumed was the scruff of Izzy's waistcoat he gave a strong yank, enough to propel them both up and to the surface.
A vague remembrance of being called the weak one of the crew came to mind. "No no, not weak babe," Pete had assured, "just, y'know, soft."
Ha! He'd like to see any of them pull someone out of the water with such ease…well, no ease was probably not the right word.
Above water he was able to wrap an arm around Izzy and paddle to the edge.
Once on dry land he unceremoniously dumped the unwelcome load that was the first mate on the banks in favour of stooping over, putting his hands on his own knees and recovering as much breath into his lungs as possible. Not weak, not soft but definitely winded – maybe an exercise regime would do him good.
Remembering that he was still very much naked, he glanced over at his pile of clothes at the other side of the bank before looking back to Izzy's limp form.
Reluctantly he thought better of prioritising garments over Izzy, although that was more due to the fact he didn't want his heroics to be in vain rather than any strong compassion for his crewmate.
"Izzy?" He tried, kneeling down beside him and giving his shoulders a shove.
He didn't look well, grey in the face, mouth slack and even with the distance between them Lucius could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
A second shove and his head lolled back unresponsive.
Lucius couldn't help but groan in frustration. His heroism was still very much needed. Bloody Izzy fucking Hands.
His fingers made quick work of the buttons on the man's waistcoat, peeling the heavy fabric open like folded wet parchment. Then came unbuttoning his shirt, unlooping the cravat at his neck.
Noting that this was quite possibly the least sexy form of urgent undressing he would ever participate in, Lucius tugged open the shirt to reveal the older man's unmoving chest.
He put both hands on his sternum, just above an interesting looking tattoo of a screaming siren – a story for another day he was sure – and pushed down hard.
Nothing.
He did it again, and again until he quickly fell into a pumping rhythm. God, imagine if they were discovered now. What a bizarre afternoon.
Pushing on his chest harder, definitely in frustration not desperation, Lucius was about to go back to shoving the man as a tactic before Izzy gave a violent jerk, turning his head and emptying the contents of his stomach - mercifully mainly water - over Lucius' thighs.
"So much for being clean then," Lucius sighed, getting up from his knees and retreating from the man and his spew as quickly as he could.
Izzy continued to cough, spraying the ground with the swallowed water, pulling himself onto his side and groaning.
"What the fu-" he began, turning his head towards Lucius' direction.
"No, close your eyes, I'm getting dressed. The least you can do really after I saved your life."
"Saved my life? Did you fuck," was Izzy's reply, although he did have the decency to turn away, his good hand massaging his chest.
"You've already ruined my bath," Lucius said, slipping a leg into his breeches. "No need to be a dick about it too or I'll push you right back in."
Bit of a hollow threat really.
"Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try," Izzy replied, although some of its menacing tone was lost to another coughing fit.
Whether it was adrenaline or the much-needed confidence boost courtesy of hauling a grown man out of water, Lucius took a few strides, closed the gap between them and grabbed the back of Izzy's neck, all while still only halfway through putting his shirt back on. He pulled the smaller man up to a standing position and - letting go - gave him a shove.
"Don't think you're in any fit state to be talking back, Dizzy," he said, watching the man stumble and right himself.
Gosh was this what it was like to go roughhousing on the beach, just getting angry and pushing people for a laugh. It shouldn't be a thrill but it was, and an excellent way to dispel overflowing adrenaline.
He finished putting his shirt on.
Izzy backed away, good hand still kneading at his chest, something of a bleary half smile on his lips.
"Fine," he said. "Will you help me find the brush nettle?"
Noting that he must be really sick to respond in such a way, and a little disappointed that he didn't want to carry on fighting, Lucius agreed.
–––––
It was dusk by the time they returned to the ship, Lucius holding the few nettle leaves they were able to find in the woods.
The rest of the ship had decided to stay the evening on the beach, the beginnings of a large fire already glowing on the sands.
It meant their return was to a cold and dark kitchen.
"Sit," Lucius said, directing Izzy to the main bench where they often ate supper as a crew.
He went about lighting some candles and ensuring the oven was fired.
Izzy reluctantly sat and in the absence of any background noise, any need for commands and disobedience, the silence was noticeably awkward.
Lucius filled one of the saucepans with some of the water Roach used for boiling, adding a good amount of salt to the concoction.
As he waited for it to bubble he took the seat next to Izzy and held out his hand.
"Show us then."
Izzy cautiously rested his hand over Lucius' palm side up, the full extent of the injury now visible in the glow of the candlelight.
It was a gash that extended the full width of his hand, raw and oozing murky pink liquid. Though not terribly deep, it was wide, both sides of the injury hot and flared in its attempt to heal the skin back together.
"Rope. Something sharp on the line, I didn't catch what it was," Izzy said.
"But it caught you it would seem."
Izzy exhaled through his nose in what could be assumed was a hollow laugh. "Suppose you could say that."
They looked at each other properly for the first time that day. Izzy still had an unnaturally wet-warmth to his complexion, although the grey tinge to his nose and mouth had brightened. There was a glazed look in his expression and the way he held Lucius' gaze neither in contempt nor hatred suggested this was down to a fever. He was looking at him with what could only be described as curiosity.
The sound of the water pattering on the side of the pan became louder and Lucius placed Izzy's hand on the bench.
"This should help and if not we can just lop it off and start calling you Izzy Hand."
He got up, taking the pan off the stove and dropping the nettles in.
Tourniquets were the next order of business and Lucius had a sneaking suspicion Roach kept them amongst the spice jars. That was one of the surprisingly few downsides of having the chef also be the doctor onboard - ingredients and medical supplies shared similar spaces.
He began assembling his tools, pouring out a few fingers of rum for each of them and pushing Izzy's glass into his hand encouragingly. He cut off a few strips of the tourniquet and set out some clean rag squares before bringing the pan to the table.
If he was truthful he loved playing doctor, loved dressing wounds and caring for people. It only got boring when the patient whined on about how painful things were. Tedious. Thankfully, he didn't think Izzy would be that kind of invalid.
"Hand," Lucius said, sitting back down beside the first mate.
Izzy drained the rum and Lucius followed.
Pulling the table's candle closer, he took the proffered hand, fishing a nettle from the pan.
"Might sting," he warned, laying the nettle flat on Izzy's palm and squeezing it down.
The reaction was instantaneous, the older man straightened, audibly sucking in a lungful of air through his gritted teeth. An indistinguishable curse followed as he tried to tug his hand away. Lucius held tight.
"I've got a surprisingly good grip for someone missing a finger," he said, unfurling their hands and taking another leaf from the pot. "I'm not doing this on purpose, crushing the nettles releases the sap."
The second time was a lot easier – if Izzy did curse him it was internally. Encouraged, Lucius quickly layered on a third and fourth so the entire cut was covered.
He pushed the leaves into the palm, rubbing his thumb over the back of Izzy's hand.
Izzy screwed up his nose in discomfort, whether that was due to the pressure against his cut or the intimacy of his touch Lucius wasn't sure, but he didn't pull away.
When Lucius broke the contact, placing the injured hand on the bench, he thought he saw Izzy flex his fingers.
"Roach would have patched you up before it got this bad," he said, peeling away the nettles.
"I've seen what the man puts in his pies, I'd rather take my chances," Izzy replied with a wince.
"Your funeral."
Lucius dipped a rag into the pan, wringing it lightly so that some of the water was left to drip into the cut.
Picking Izzy's hand up again, he was a lot more gentle with his application this time, dabbing at the palm with as little pressure as he could, although if his dexterity failed him he had the wooden finger to blame.
"I read Bonnet's journal," Izzy said. "Your journal really I suppose."
"Oh yeah?" Lucius raised an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from the task at hand.
"You like to draw plants. Pages of the bloody things."
He was right, while Stede often asked him to document the flora and fauna of some of the places they visited, Lucius often sketched more than was strictly necessary.
"It's nice to look at them sometimes, when you're surrounded by nothing but ocean. Reminds you to stay grounded even when you're at sea," he admitted.
"Makes sense," Izzy said, shifting in his seat. With his free hand he pulled at the waistband of his trousers.
At first Lucius was confused but looking at the skin of the hip now revealed to him he saw the blurred outline of what was once a rose tattoo.
"Maybe you should get something like that," Izzy added and there was a brightness in his tone that was rare.
"What, so we can have matching tattoos?" Lucius laughed.
Izzy's face fell, he tried to tug his hand away. "Fuck off," he said miserably.
Lucius tightened his grip. "It was a joke, calm down."
Unable to escape the hold without further injuring his hand, Izzy instead leaned in. Lucius, busy patting the wound dry now that it was cleaned, didn't notice the sudden change in their proximity until Izzy's cheek was hot, alarmingly so, against his own.
Mouth at his ear, Izzy whispered, "you breathe a word of any of this to anyone and I'll cut your tongue out with a rusty fish hook."
Lucius couldn't stop the smirk despite his best efforts, sucking in his lip in resistance.
"Understood," he said, reaching over for the bandages although hesitant to move away from the strange man making threats in his ear.
He could kiss him now, it was the perfect opportunity and what a power move, the man wouldn't know what to do.
"Good," Izzy said, making a move to fall back. Lucius stopped him, bringing the back of his free hand to the first mate's forehead.
"You're burning up," he remarked as if it hadn't been painfully obvious all day.
Izzy faltered, apparently about to say something but abandoning that train of thought before words escaped him.
Lucius brought the hand down to his cheek, thumb running over the bristles at his upper lip and then down across his chin.
"Like fire," he murmured, watching as Izzy's eyes locked with his, that same odd look in his expression, the usual hatred apparently void.
Lucius tilted his head slightly, teetering on the brink of executing his power move when Izzy closed the minimal gap between them, a kiss with the force of a smack landing somewhere between the corner of his top lip and his cheek.
The bastard had stolen his power move and yet he couldn't find it in himself to be angry. Instead he gently squeezed their still connected hands, ensuring there would be no swift escape, and planting a kiss of his own more accurately, square in the middle of Izzy's mouth.
At this, the older man's eyes slipped shut, Lucius' followed and the next moment of contact was all feel.
Aware of their hands still pressed together, of the unfinished patchwork job they were in the middle of, Lucius let his fingers run the length of Izzy's dorsal side – from wrist to knuckle.
With surprisingly better aim than he had with his eyes open, Izzy kissed him again with less force, his lips parting tentatively but enough for Lucius to slip him his tongue.
Were they doing this out of spite? Did people often kiss like this because they hated each other? Lucius wasn't sure but by the time Izzy broke the contact, panting and looking even more blurry-eyed than he had moments before, the certainty that he did dislike the second in command was rocked.
In fact, so uncertain was his dislike that he tried to close the gap between them again but Izzy pulled away, sitting back in his seat and looking at his hand expectantly.
Now that was a power move, what a total prick, Lucius thought, picking up a strip of bandage and going about wrapping the injured hand.
A few minutes of painful silence ensued until Lucius tightened the last of the dressing, yanking it a little tighter than necessary for good measure.
"Done," he said, unable to meet Izzy's eye.
Izzy turned his hand over, assessing the job.
"Good lad," he said, getting to his feet.
Lucius collected up the tools, piling them into the pan and taking it by the handle. He wondered if it was counterproductive to clobber your patient right after you had just finished dressing his wounds.
He stood up, at least at their full heights, Lucius could claw back a shred of dominance, at least that's what he thought until Izzy was back in his personal space, whispering in his ear with their cheeks pressed together.
"Like I said, this gets out to anyone and I've got a fish hook with your name on, Mr Spriggs," his voice rumbled.
As he pulled away, Lucius felt Izzy's lips on his skin. His mouth, still wet from his own spit, nipped at his cheek.
The man then turned and left the gloom of the kitchen. Izzy fucking Hands.