Work Text:
"It's not ideal, but at least he's sleeping for now," Stede told the amassed crew of the Revenge, as he slipped out of the captain's quarters. They had all been hovering by the door since he went in there, roughly two and a half hours ago. There had been some debate as to whether or not to try to intervene when they heard shouting, and a vote had actually been taken when they heard sobbing, but the nays had it, so instead, they had all waited outside. Roach had a knife in each hand.
For all they had been an exceptionally soft crew, not one of them was willing to go back to a maroon island. They had certainly toughened up in the time they were away. None of them feared death by a sword or bullet so much as they had come to fear death by starvation, dehydration or exposure. Jim was standing within the circle of Olu's arms, also with a knife in each hand. Black Pete had a ragged bit of wood with nails sticking out of it. Even the gentle Swede was tentatively holding a whip like it was about to leap out of his hand and bite him.
"He didn't hurt you?" Jim asked, their dark eyes flickering up and down Stede's body. Even Stede had toughened up. His hands had proper rowing injuries now, they were raw with blisters, which hopefully would turn to calluses. His arms were stronger, he was less precious about his clothes and about doing 'icky' things. He even smelled horrible and had a few days' growth on his chin.
"No!" Stede protested, "of course he wouldn't hurt me! Although," he looked mournfully at them, "I can see I've hurt him, terribly. Poor man. I never imagined that my leaving would--would do all this." He gestured, quite nonsensically, to the deck, which was actually flawless, as far as pirate ships go. It was scrupulously clean and tidy, almost navy-standard. The rigging was so taut and correct you could almost play a tune on it. The deck gleamed in the sun, the guns shone with oil, the sails, bright, glowing orange where the sunset hit them, were beautifully full.
The crew was thin, ragged. Those who had stayed aboard looked hardly better than those who had been marooned. Frenchie, in particular, looked absolutely haunted. He had deep, dark semi-circles under his eyes, and he flinched every time someone made an unexpected move. He was a tall man, but he was holding himself rigidly, like a soldier, except that his shoulders were turned in, like he was trying to make himself smaller.
"What did he say, Captain?" Black Pete asked, out of kindness and love for Stede rather than care for Ed.
"He was very upset," Stede answered ruefully. The way Blackbeard had reacted when Stede tumbled over Revenge's rail was unexpected; rather than rage or joy, he had spoken to Stede with icy coldness. His eyes had flashed disdainfully over the crew he had marooned when they followed, one by one, crawling back on to the deck of a proper ship rather than a small boat. It was with mingled wariness and gratitude; none of them had forgiven him, but none of them was going back to that island. They were prepared for a fight.
He'd stiffly ordered Stede into the captain's quarters, and then all hell had been let loose. "He got rid of all of my stuff," Stede added mournfully.
"We know," Fang said.
"We had to throw it overboard," Ivan added. Stede looked glum.
"I've hurt him badly," Stede agreed, looking at his feet. "I oughtn't to have expected he would be pleased to see me."
There were murmurs among the crew. There were still some of them among the marooned group who had refused to believe Ed had had anything to do with it, instead choosing to blame Izzy; it was more his thing. But they'd had plenty of time to talk it out, and Roach had pointed out that Izzy was not a man who ever did things under his own steam, if he could help it. "That man's an attack dog," he'd said plainly. "He doesn't do things unless he's told."
"At least I calmed him down long enough to sleep," Stede remarked hopefully. "He clearly hasn't been getting any rest, poor darling."
"'Poor darling'," Jim muttered darkly.
"Hasn't been taking care of himself," Stede continued, valiantly ignoring them. "Although, admittedly, none of us are at our best at the moment."
If that was his way of placating his angry crew, it was decidedly off-target. "Are you kidding?" Jim demanded, "that psychopath tries to murder most of us, me and Frenchie have been kept aboard like we've been pressed, and you think we're not at 'our best'? We haven't had enough food, Stede! It's been one battle after another, we're exhausted! He gives us even his share of the loot, but how does that help when we haven't made port in months?"
Olu mumured something into their hair. He hadn't looked at anything else since he climbed aboard; just seeing Jim, thinner, grubbier, angrier, but still alive, had been enough for him. Stede's face crumpled a bit. "Has it really been awful?" He asked, in a small voice.
"Stede, he was running a suicide mission," Jim snapped. Fang and Ivan made agreeing noises, and Frenchie twisted his mouth, but jerked his chin, 'yes', when Stede looked at him.
"Poor Ed," Stede said softly, a hand on his heart, "poor, poor Ed. He never would have done this normally, he's such a good--"
"Stede!" Jim interrupts, "he would definitely have done this normally. Just not to you. And you need to fucking recognise that, and deal with it, because Izzy literally can't take any more."
"Izzy!" Stede exclaimed, "don't tell me that little arsehole is still aboard this ship?"
Although the marooned crew were inclined to agree with him, there was something about the way the others looked at each other, the way their silence was loaded, which warned them. Stede looked from face to face in a kind of angry confusion. Frenchie gave a little hiccup which may have been a sob, and flinched when Black Pete put a hand on his shoulder.
"What?" Stede demanded, belligerently.
"Oh, Captain," Frenchie mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. Stede turned an incredulous expression to Jim.
"You'd better come and see for yourself," Jim said ominously.
Stede followed Jim; everyone else followed Stede.
Izzy's cabin was one of the smallest, a tiny, cramped little room far foward, near the bow. There weren't many private cabins, and in truth, this one had been largely a store for Stede's shoes until Izzy threw them all out. Jim knocked, once, twice in quick succession, and then once again. The door opened a crack, and one of Lucius' large, dark eyes peered through it.
"Baby!" Pete yelled, shoving forwards.
"Pete!" Lucius gasped, flinging the door open and launching into his arms, "I'm so glad you're here," Lucius sobbed, between kisses, "oh-Pete-I'm so-so glad-you're here!"
"I thought I'd never see you again!" Pete wept, stroking Lucius' hair back, "let me look at you, honey, let me see you, I thought you were dead!"
"I nearly was!" Lucius clung to him, leaning into his hands like a needy cat. "Fucking Blackbeard threw me overboard!"
"What?" Pete was shocked enough to almost stop crying.
"What?" Stede echoed, more forcefully. Lucius seemed to see him for the first time.
"Oh!" He gasped, "oh, Captain, thank God you're back!" He reached out and closed a fist in Stede's shirtfront, but he didn't leave Pete's arms.
"What the heck do you mean, he threw you overboard?" Stede asked faintly, looking down at Lucius' hand.
"I mean he fucking threw me overboard," Lucius replied, immediately more antagonistic. Pete muttered something into his hair, stroking the tears away from his cheeks tenderly.
Stede wrung his hands, starting to feel a little desperate. His actions, pre-piracy, had never had such far-reaching consequences. Nobody had ever been particularly bothered whether he was even alive or not. Certainly, nobody had ever missed him. "My Ed would never--"
"Oh, maybe not," Lucius retorted. "But we're not talking about your Ed, are we? We're talking about his," he let go of Stede's shirt and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "And thank God you're back, because maybe you can stop him."
Stede scrunched his face up in confusion, until a push in the small of his back propelled him into the little cabin. Izzy was asleep on a thin, grubby little mattress on the floor. The room was well-lit with candles, so it was easy to see that the whole left side of his face was almost beyond recognition. His eye was swollen shut, a huge, purple thing, in which one could barely see the slit which denoted his eyelids. Above, his eyebrow had been clearly split and sewn back together in several places. Bruising spread across to his other eye, curiously untouched, though his nose had clearly been broken and reset.
Though the right side of his face was mainly normal-looking, his left cheek was enormously distended, there were surely cracked bones underneath his skin. His lips were split in more than one place, and his skin was littered with little cuts, as if he'd been hit with something which had small, sharper bits embedded into it. Like he'd been hit by someone wearing rings. There was dried blood in his hairline, and inexpertly cleaned around his left cheekbone. The cross below his eye was stretched twice the size it ought to have been.
He was undressed, his clothes in a neat, dark pile atop an upended crate. Lucius had put a thin sheet over him, which had slipped down over his shoulder, revealing more massive bruising, more cuts, even some burns. "What--" Stede swallowed, "what the hell happened to him?"
"Your precious darling," Jim growled. "Turns out Izzy's job is keeping him content."
"Ed did this?" Stede repeated, in a kind of sick horror.
"Any time Ed wanted to fuck someone up," Frenchie said suddenly, his voice hoarse and afraid. It wasn't like him to use such coarse language, or to be so fearful. "We kept getting things wrong, and he kept getting angry, and Izzy, Izzy gets in the way, in between us, and Ed just--just takes him down, just hits him. Sometimes. Or sometimes, he just says, 'Izzy!', and Izzy goes into his room, and he comes out like this."
"Not one other person has been so much as touched," Jim said gravely. "He literally takes it all. It's going to kill him."
"He always did take it," Fang interjected. "Never got fucked up this badly before, though. Sees it as his job, protecting the crew."
"And he takes his job really fucking seriously, Stede," Jim finished, glaring at Stede from beneath their hat. Stede went to his knees at Izzy's bedside, staring uncomprehendingly at the mess of his body.
"I," Frenchie blurted out, in a high-pitched voice, "I kept getting things wrong, I did it, I did this--" He put his shaking hands over his face, his huge, horror-struck eyes visible between his fingers.
"Shh," Fang said quellingly, "you'll wake him."
It was too late; Izzy stirred, and then, with a soft groan, turned painfully on his back. "Frenchie," he rasped, without opening his eye, "for the last time, leave me alone."
"Izzy," Stede said hesitantly. Izzy jerked in surprise, and then hissed through his teeth, his hands flying to his ribs. He opened the one eye he could still open, squinting up at Stede angrily.
"What are you doing here?" He asked rudely. One of the splits in his lip reopened and glittered sluggishly in the candlelight. Stede stared at it, speechlessly. "Get your tongue cut out while you were gone?" Izzy quipped, single eye narrowing, "thank God for that." Slowly, he rolled on to his front and got an elbow underneath his body. He pushed himself up, holding the other elbow close to his side, and moving as though everything hurt. The sheet slid down around his waist; his torso was one enormous, horrendous, violent bruise.
Stede gasped, covering his mouth and closing his eyes. "Look at it," Jim hissed viciously behind him, as he turned his face away. The tip of their dagger prodded Stede in the side, hard enough to hurt, and he wrenched his eyes back to Izzy.
"It's fine," Izzy grunted. He leaned gingerly back against the wall, breathing shallowly, his hand cupped around his ribs. "It's nothing I haven't lived through before. You people make a fuss over nothing."
"Nothing!" Stede choked, his eyes welling up. "Nothing, Izzy!" There were bruises on Izzy's throat, layers and layers of them. Finger marks which extended up to his jaw and down to his collarbone, and clear, livid marks made by something else, rope or fabric, as well. Frenchie was crying, in horrible, stifled, hiccupping sobs, his hands over his face, as if he were afraid they could hear him.
"Christ, get that boy out of here," Izzy snapped impatiently. Stede had assumed his voice was warped with sleep, until he saw the marks on his throat. He was normally hoarse-sounding, but it had turned into something piping and broken, a pipe with a notch in it somewhere. "Every fucking time I turn around, he's crying over me."
"Yeah, maybe we should leave," Wee John whispered, his arms around Frenchie's shoulders. "Come on, sweet dote." Frenchie shook his head, the whites of his eyes showing all around his irises between his fingers. His gaze was fixed on Izzy, but Wee John kept pulling at him, speaking softly, and eventually managed to tug him out of the room.
"Spends most of his time in tears now," Jim sounded savage with anger, their dark eyes flashed as they glared up at Stede.
"What time is it?" Izzy interrupted, as loudly as his ruined throat could manage.
"Must be almost eight bells, boss," Fang replied, and Izzy pushed back his sheets and reached for his clothes.
"You can't seriously be going up on deck?" Stede protested in an incredulous splutter, grateful to have the distraction from Jim's glower. One side of Izzy's face grinned humourlessly, the other side could no longer move enough to pull a grin off.
"Would you like to see what happens when I don't?" He asked softly, his single eye glittering maliciously in the candlelight. He pulled his shirt on, painfully; Jim offering tight-lipped, wordless help by pulling the sleeves straight so that he could push his arms through more easily. Ivan brought his breeches to him, and helped him put his feet into them, painstakingly slowly.
"What did he do to your foot?" Stede asked, in a hoarse, disbelieving voice, dreading the answer.
"Cut off a toe," Izzy replied shortly, without looking at him, and Stede, remembering the conversation he'd shared with Ed, suddenly knew, with horrendous, visceral certainty, what had happened to that toe. He gagged, clapping a hand over his mouth, and gagged again. "Christ," Izzy remarked, so alarmed that the half of his face which could still move looked years younger. Stede clattered to his feet, his hands clamped over his face.
Ivan, by Izzy's feet, suddenly thrust a chamberpot (thankfully clean and unused) under his nose. Stede took it gratefully, and dry-heaved over it for another few seconds. "If he's sick, I'm gonna be sick," the Swede remarked plaintively.
"Did he, did he--" Stede couldn't bring himself to say it. He gestured to his mouth, and Izzy met his eyes unwaveringly. "Oh, God," Stede groaned, lowering his head over the chamberpot.
"Get out of the way, Bonnet, some of us have actual work to do," Izzy said, but it was a muted, shamed form of his normal vitriol. "Anyway, I don't want you puking in here." He held out his arms, like a child, like Stede's children, and Ivan reached back for him, gently helping him to his feet. A crutch was leaning against the wall; Izzy rammed it under his arm, and breathed out gently through his mouth, as though he was settling himself. "Well?" He snapped, jerking the chamberpot out of Stede's hand.
Stede nodded dumbly, staggering out of the way so Izzy could get past him. He could barely move; it was terrible to watch. Every step, every swing of his body with the crutch under his arm, obviously caused him agonising pain, but his face was utterly impassive, and the line of his jaw, on the unmarked side of his face, was tight and set. The rest of the crew parted wordlessly, allowing him through. Stede followed him silently, relieved when the fresh sea air hit him in the face. He still went to the side and gulped a few breaths to try and settle his stomach.
Frenchie and Wee John were up at the bow, Frenchie almost invisible with the strength of the hug John was giving him. Just a mess of dark curls next to John's cheek, and his long legs, twitching fretfully, were visible. Black Pete went up to speak to them, but Lucius hovered beside Izzy, his hands out like he wanted to help, but didn't quite dare touch. Izzy had to move so slowly that Lucius had to inch after him, his face pale and anxious.
"Five minutes with you back, and they're already falling back into their old habits," Ivan remarked suddenly, looking closely at Stede. Stede couldn't remember ever having actually spoke to Ivan before, he felt more like a strong but silent type.
"How do you mean?" Stede asked weakly, swallowing a gob of saliva, instead of spitting it over the side, as he wanted to.
"Well, without you here, they wouldn't all be here, milling around the deck," Ivan pointed out reasonably. "Too scared for that. They've spent the last couple of months hiding everywhere they could find, because if Blackbeard catches you not doing your duty..." he lets the sentence tail off.
"I always thought that was more of Izzy's thing," Stede said bitterly, looking up to where Lucius and Fang were helping Izzy up to the quarterdeck.
"Oh, it is," Ivan agreed. "If Izzy catches you dossing, he'll tear you a new one. Figuratively. Spend a good while telling you exactly why you're a lazy waste of space, and give you extra duties to boot. When Blackbeard's in one of his moods, though, he won't even say anything. You won't know he's there until he's got a dagger against your eyeball, and he's giving you a little cut just to remind you who you're fucking dealing with." He puts on Ed's accent, in a deep, threatening growl.
Then, his expression cleared, and he offered Stede a small smile. "With you back, though," he continued, "straight away, they think they're safe. They think you're going to save them. Izzy can take punishment, takes it for everyone, but he can't get Blackbeard out of his doldrums. Never could."
"I don't know if I can..." Stede gestures fruitlessly, "I don't know if I can. I've hurt him so badly."
"Then," Ivan said, matter-of-factly, "you'd better get ready to fight for their lives. Captain."
"Oh, he won't fight me," Stede said, with a confidence slightly undermined by the quickness of his speech. Ivan raised his eyebrows. "He won't!" Stede protested, "he wouldn't! If he was going to fight me, he would've done it by now. He did some shouting and crying, but I calmed him down enough to sleep."
"Is that right," Ivan mumured. "Well, that's something. God knows he hasn't slept since you left."
"That's impossible," Stede scoffed, continually mortified by the depths he had driven Ed to.
"Well, he passed out regularly," Ivan amended, "but I'm not sure you'd call that sleep."
He walked away, leaving Stede opening and closing his mouth helplessly. Izzy, still only at the top of the stairs, was clinging to both his crutch and the railing in front of him, half of his face dead white and the other half purple, blue and black. He was breathing hard, but Lucius was no longer afraid to touch him, Stede noticed; his hands were on Izzy's side, on his back, his face close to Izzy's and his lips moving rapidly. It made something change in Stede, something snapped or burst, or something. He took the stairs two at a time.
"This is ridiculous," he announced, striding towards Izzy, with his shoulders thrown back. Izzy looked up, turning his head so that he could look at Stede out of his good eye. "This is still my ship," Stede continued, bossily, "and I am still her captain. First Mate Hands, you will go back to your cabin and rest."
"You couldn't have decided to grow a pair before I got all the way up here?" Izzy wheezed, but he was grinning madly, his single eye gleaming. "Fuck off, Bonnet. You're not my captain."
"Your captain has beaten you to a pulp," Stede replied loftily. Izzy's one-sided grin widened.
"Yes," he agreed, with a sick ring of pride, "he has."
"Not all attention is good attention," Stede told him sharply. Izzy gave a harsh, gasping laugh; he had to let go of the railing to hold his ribs, and swayed on his crutch.
"Oh, someone like me takes it where he can get it," Izzy replied, rattlesnake-quick, his voice full of bitter mirth. Behind him, Lucius looked horrified but intrigued.
"Girl, you are damaged," he murmured pityingly, putting his hand on Izzy's back. Izzy ignored him.
"I'm not going all the way back now," Izzy said loftily. "Even if he were here. Mr Buttons, you're relieved," he added, taking a few, shuffling steps forward. Buttons relinquished the wheel to him with a laconic 'aye'.
You'd better get ready to fight for their lives.
Stede summoned the courage of a man in love. "Izzy!" He barked, "get below and rest! That's an order!"
"Bite me," Izzy replied absently, leaning most of his weight on the ship's wheel. Stede drew himself up and marched forwards, fists held at his sides as if he intended to use them. He didn't. Nobody who was looking at the face he was looking at would've thought to add another bruise to it. Or would they?
"Get below," Stede repeated, deepening his voice by a couple of semitones, "or I will make the right side of your face match the left."
Izzy looked him in the eye and laughed, though this time from genuine amusement. "No, you won't," he said, grinning, "and even if you would, do you think I'm afraid of you? But no, you won't. Anyway, that's not following the rules." He tapped the horribly distorted 'x' beneath his eye. Stede frowned, a horrible suspicion creeping up on him.
"What--what do you mean?" He asked, trying to keep the deep, threatening voice up. Izzy laughed harder than ever, in a helpless, uncharacteristic way, almost hysterically.
"Stop the stupid voice," he wheezed, "it genuinely hurts to laugh."
"The voice is pretty stupid, Captain," Lucius supplied, in an undertone, from behind him.
"Shut up, Lucius!" Stede hissed, flapping a hand at him distractedly. "What do you mean, 'following the rules'?"
"Can't have a first mate who can't see," Izzy replied serenely, "he put this here to remind him to hit just the one side when he was drunk." He sounded smug. "Don't look so surprised. 'X' marks the spot, isn't that from one of your silly pirate fictions?"
"It's--it's a target?" Lucius asked hoarsely. "That's what it is? I thought it was a kiss!"
Izzy snorted, turning his gaze out to sea. "What the fuck would I be doing with a kiss tattooed on my face?"
"Oh-h. Baby, I think I can fix you?" Lucius glanced down to Pete, who gave him the double thumbs-up. Izzy rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored him. He was still smiling on one side of his face, as if amused. Perhaps it was just the pain. Perhaps he just liked it that much. Stede was still glaring at him when the deck fell silent; he knew before he saw the top of Ed's silver-black head that he was up. Wary eyes followed him as he turned slowly, raising his eyes and not his head to the quarter deck. Lucius stepped very deliberately behind Stede.
He observed them for a moment, impassively, and then began to climb the stairs with his typical rangy languor, dangerous as a jungle cat. His hair was matted and his face was smeared with black candle grease; a half-empty bottle dangled from his fingers, but his eyes were deadly calm. "Captain on deck!" Izzy bawled, making them all jump. The crew which had not been marooned snapped to automatic attention. Blackbeard ignored them.
"Fuck's going on?" He asked softly, looking at Izzy. Stede began to speak, until Blackbeard turned his dark, blank eyes on him. "Was I asking you?"
"Bonnet's trying to lead a coup, sir," Izzy replied, in a disinterested monotone. Blackbeard narrowed his eyes.
"Is that so?" He looked at Stede, unwaveringly.
"Ed," Stede said pleadingly, "come on, now. Look what you've done to everyone, look what you've done to Izzy! It's enough now. It's enough."
Blackbeard took a step towards him, standing just a little too close. "I say," he murmured, "when it's enough." Glancing back at Izzy, he snapped, "Izzy! Here, now!"
Izzy immediately readjusted his crutch, preparing to walk. "My fucking first mate does not need a fucking crutch," Blackbeard added, sounding revolted. From behind him, somewhere at ankle level, Stede heard Lucius remark, 'maybe you shouldn't have cut off his fucking toe, then'.
"Maybe you shouldn't have cut off his fucking toe, then," Stede repeated loudly, staring challengingly at Blackbeard. But Izzy had dropped the crutch, and even though every step was plainly agony, he limped and shuffled his way to Blackbeard's side. The side of his face which could show emotion was interesting; a mixture of adoration, horror, yearning and disgust, all trying to be carefully blank. His eye never left Blackbeard, and his jaw was set tight. He did not so much as breathe out more harshly than usual.
Blackbeard backhanded him. "That's for taking your fucking time," he said, turning his eyes back to Stede, even as Izzy straightened up to look at him, his single eye glassy and desperate. He put his weight evenly on both feet, and stood to attention at Ed's side, though blood from reopened cuts on his eyebrow and lip began dribbling south. Blackbeard took a hearty swig from the bottle in his hand, without looking away from Stede.
"Ed, for God's sake," Stede said.
"There's no God," Blackbeard replied, "there's only me, and only I tell Izzy what to do. Isn't that right, Izzy?"
"Yes, Blackbeard," Izzy replied staunchly.
"Ed, look at him," Stede tried, "he's dead on his feet, poor man, look at him, he's bleeding!"
Ed did look at him. He looked at the blood on Izzy's face consideringly, and then, leaning close, lapped up a drop of it as it inched down Izzy's chin. Stede heard Lucius give a little gasp. Then, glancing sideways at Stede to make sure he was watching, he closed his mouth over the target on Izzy's cheek. Stede opened his mouth to protest, and Ed grinned, if one could call it that, his lip twitched upwards like an animal snarling, and he sank his teeth into the tattoo.
It must have been excruciating. For a second, even Izzy's phenomenal control slipped; he staggered, just very slightly, as if his knees had buckled. And then he seemed to relax, his single eye closing and his head tilting back, as though in the throes of ecstasy. Lucius gave a clearly audible squawk, as the fingers of Blackbeard's free hand curled around Izzy's exposed neck, his eyes on Stede.
"That's enough," Stede said roughly, authoritatively. "Stop it."
Blackbeard's teeth came out of Izzy's cheek pink with blood. "Are you going to stop me?" He asked, grinning. He still held Izzy by the throat. The semi-circle of toothmarks glittered, and then ran red. He took another swig and swirled Izzy's blood around his mouth, then spat it out at Stede's feet.
You'd better get ready to fight for their lives. Izzy's included.
"Fang," Stede said evenly, "would you mind fetching Izzy for me?"
Fang looked bewildered. His eyes flicked between Stede and Blackbeard, and Izzy himself, who was sagging dozily against Blackbeard, as if he'd been drugged. He took an uncertain step forwards, and then, when Blackbeard's gaze didn't move from Stede's, he lunged forwards, snatched Izzy's arm and dragged him away. Izzy made a choked, mournful sound of pain; when Fang scooped him up in both arms, he began to shake and his teeth were chattering. He didn't cling to Fang, but he didn't look at Blackbeard either. He stared down at his trembling hands as if he were ashamed.
"Izzy," Blackbeard said laconically, without looking up. "Down."
And Izzy, Izzy took a shuddering breath and then pushed away from Fang. Even with a full complement of unbroken bones, Izzy wasn't as strong as Fang; he struggled uselessly for a good few moments, until he had to give up, exhausted. "Take him below," Stede ordered, "and make sure he rests."
Blackbeard's lip curled, scornfully. "What does that prove," he snarled, "that Izzy's fucking weak? We all fucking knew that." He said it loud enough that Izzy, being carried down the stairs, couldn't fail to hear. Stede saw Fang pause, and lower his head as if speaking softly to him.
"Izzy's probably the strongest person I know," Stede said, recklessly loudly. He knew it wouldn't amount to much of a compliment, coming from him, but it was important for him to say it all the same. Ed snorted around his latest mouthful of booze.
"You know, you're right, it probably takes a lot to keep that fucking stick up there," he agreed mockingly. His eyes darted to the side, as if he expected Stede's old crew to laugh. Jim's dark eyes were boring holes in the side of his head, but nobody so much as smiled. Stede took a step forwards, and Blackbeard took an involuntary step back. Stede reached a hand out to him, his pale fingertips just brushing Ed's forearm.
"It's enough," he murmured, "I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry for abandoning you, I'm sorry for making you feel like I didn't care, when I do, I do care so much it feels like I can't control it, like it's too big for my body to contain."
Ed stared at him warily, his body still angled away from Stede's as much as he was able. "Please stop punishing Izzy instead of punishing me," Stede added. "Although, please don't beat me up, either. Let's talk about it."
"I do not want to 'talk' about it," Ed hissed, snatching his arm away suddenly, "I'm fucking done feeling bad over you, Stede."
"Oh, yeah, it looks like it," Lucius remarked ironically, from where he was hiding behind Ivan. Ed looked puzzled; he leaned past Stede searching the deck. For a moment, he seemed to forget himself.
"Did you hear that?" He asked softly, confidentially.
"Oh!" Stede tutted, "oh, sorry, darling. Lucius is alive, come out please, Lucius. Washed ashore on a shoal not far from where you threw him overboard."
"Yes, thanks for that, by the way," Lucius added haughtily. For a moment, Ed's mouth opened and closed on nothing, his forehead twitching in confusion.
"Is this a fucking dream?" Ed asked hoarsely, staring at him in disbelief. "Fuck, what's real? What's going on?" He looked at Stede, uncertainly. "You--didn't you leave? Didn't I...?"
"Yes, darling, I did, and yes, you did," Stede agreed. He reached out to Ed, this time gently wresting the bottle from Ed's fingers. He looked so vulnerable suddenly, so frightened, like the stormclouds of Blackbeard had rolled away, and Stede was left with his own, sweet--
"No," Jim said loudly. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to victimise us and beat Izzy to a pulp--"
"And try to kill me," Lucius interjected.
"--And then just cuddle up with Stede again. No." They looked furious. "You marooned our crew," they added. "Roach, Pete, the Swede, Buttons. Wee John. Oluwande. You left them to die."
"And you tried to kill me," Lucius interjected again, "just in case anyone forgot."
The shadows were deepening; the sun had gone even from the topmost of their masts. Nobody was steering, and nobody was keeping watch. "All right," Stede said forcefully. "I think that's enough for tonight. Either someone needs to steer, or we need to anchor for the night. We need to set up a watch." He glanced at Jim, whose expression was murderous. "I know you're angry," Stede added soothingly, "but let's do this in the morning, when everyone's sober." He glanced at Ed, still staring disbelievingly at Lucius, and his expression visibly softened.
"Do something with this, will you?" Stede added, holding out the bottle of alcohol to Jim. "Just put it back in the--"
Jim tossed it over the side before he could finish, and stormed away. "Well," Stede said cheerfully, "come along darling, let's get you settled with a cup of tea. Do we have tea aboard?" He took a firm grip on Ed's elbow with one hand and his wrist with the other, and began leading him down the stairs.
"Ask Izzy, he knows that shit," Ed mumbled, going with him placidly.
"We've got like sixteen sacks of tea," Lucius interrupted, from behind them, "they kept raiding ships and then trading with nobody," he added, to Stede. "Izzy was doing his nut about it."
"We'll get all that sorted," Stede replied soothingly, guiding Ed through the door to his quarters.
*
Once Ed was safely asleep, or at least in an alcoholic daze, Stede slipped out again, carefully locking the door to the stateroom behind him. The deck was more or less deserted; Ivan had taken the wheel, and the Swede was sitting cross-legged in the crow's nest, gazing soulfully out to sea. Wee John sat at the head, Frenchie curled asleep in his arms. Stede clattered below decks.
Izzy was in his room, though not alone. Fang was sitting on a stool, his back against the wall, crocheting something with surprising quickness. Izzy was hunched up on his mattress, and when he looked up at Stede's knock, it was obvious that he had been crying. Stede paused, his hand still against the door. "May I come in?" He asked, humbly. Izzy twitched his shoulders in an indolent shrug.
"I didn't know you could crochet, Fang," Stede observed, "that's a beautiful...thing you're making, there."
"Wee John taught me," Fang replied, blushingly.
"Would you mind if I had a word with Izzy alone for a moment? Thank you for taking care of him, and for getting him to safety earlier."
Blushing even more deeply, Fang smiled out of the depths of his beard, and, with a fond look at Izzy, closed the door behind him.
Stede got to the floor beside Izzy's mattress with the clumsiness of a man in middle age trying to sit on the floor. "What are the tears for?" He asked gently. Izzy blew out an angry breath through his nose.
"Fuck you," he remarked, turning away.
"I want to know," Stede pressed. "Was it because of what he said? He didn't mean it, Izzy."
"Yes, he fucking did," Izzy replied sharply, and then visibly remembered he was supposed to have been pretending not to care. His head snapped away again.
"I don't think so," Stede said, even more gently. "I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you this badly, either. I must say, I was prepared to be very annoyed with you when I heard you were still aboard. In fact, I was very annoyed. For selling us out. For tempting Ed back into his old ways."
"His ways are my fucking ways, and vice versa," Izzy answered coldly. "This is who he always has been, maybe not to this extent, but this is who he is."
"Well, we're going to have to agree to disagree," Stede said amiably. "The fact is, I thought I never wanted to see you again in my life. I couldn't believe everyone was suddenly sticking up for you."
Izzy made an incredulous scoffing noise. "It's true!" Stede protested, "Jim, especially. And now I see you, and I must say, I think you've been punished more than enough for what you did. And more than that, you protected my crew, when I wasn't here."
"I left most of your crew to die on a spit of sand in the middle of the Caribbean sea," Izzy snarled.
"Yes, I suppose you did," Stede agreed, "but none of them were hurt, so least said, soonest mended, I think. I'm also inclined to believe that you may have had the idea, but you certainly couldn't have done it without an order."
"And yet you are still talking," Izzy said rudely, characteristically ignoring the last part. Stede laughed, putting a companiable hand on Izzy's knee.
"Izzy," he said warmly, "thank you for keeping them safe. Especially Lucius and Jim. I think they put on a very strong front, but really, they're most awfully vulnerable." He looked at Izzy out of the corner of his eye. "A bit like yourself."
"Fuck off, Bonnet," Izzy said, but it lacked his usual venom. Stede squeezed his knee reassuringly.
"It's all right now," he said, "I'm going to fight for their lives, Izzy, and yours. You don't have to do it alone any more."