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Izzy had a terrible secret. He held it close to his chest, so that no one would know the way the thoughts rattled around in his brain.
From the minute he realized that Blackbeard had thrown Lucius off the boat (Thank God Fang and Ivan had pulled him out of the cold and unforgiving water. The boy was annoying but he didn’t need to die. He was the ship's only scribe, after all.) Izzy well, Izzy had regrets.
He didn’t regret the return of Blackbeard. He didn’t even regret losing his toe, although the wound still throbbed in his boot, raw against the edges.
He missed the sound of people. He hadn’t realized how used to the sound of Bonnet's useless crew he had become. But now, with the silence of the open ocean only broken by the waves lapping against the side of the boat, he could admit it. He looked to Frenchie, who was doing his best to coil some rope that was on the deck. They were still loose but even Izzy had to admit that with Ivan's help the bard was getting better at these simple tasks. Repairing tears in the sails, swabbing the deck, keeping things tidy. He even cooked a little, though the meals were nothing compared to the feasts Roach used to cook. (They should have kept the cook, why the fuck didn’t they keep the cook?)
So Izzy thought of a plan, just a little one, to help improve things. And if it was spawned from his own selfish desire to hear noise again, hear something joyful? No one had to know that but him.
Frenchie was having a long day. It started with repairing the sails, because it seemed they had been torn to pieces in the crossfire with the last ship they had raided. His fingers only hurt a little, years of playing his lute had given him calluses that helped a lot with the hours of sewing. His hands still cramped from time to time but it was nothing a little break and some cool water couldn’t fix. He had a sort of brace fashioned out of bits of fabric and metal to help with the worst of the pain, when it ached so bad it went numb. He missed playing.
Jim was being kept in the brig, even Blackbeard was afraid of their wrath it seemed. Ivan let them talk to each other fairly often, but it was usually late at night, at the expense of sleep for the both of them. Jim was getting rather cranky, being kept cooped up like they were. Frenchie was angry, but he had never really known what to do with his anger. He usually just let it dissipate into a song or drank it away. When Wee John and Roach were here he would go and play cards with them until they all fell asleep in a heap, limbs tangled and bodies close enough to provide the comfort needed to settle in his own damn body. Without his lute or his friends, Frenchie felt… untethered.
It was late one night, and he was on watch. Izzy manned the wheel, so it wasn’t really that important that he be up here, but Izzy had insisted, and you didn’t say no to the little man, not with Ed back to being Blackbeard full time. No, right now, Frenchie did as he was told. Maybe he would be able to slip away at the next port.
“Frenchie.” Izzy called down from where he stood, Frenchie suppressed a groan, he wasn’t even doing anything. He trudged up the stairs anyway. When he got to the top he looked at Izzy expectantly, waiting for his orders.
“Watch this for a second, would you?” Izzy asked. It was almost a request, not a demand. Frenchie put his hand on the wheel and Izzy walked off. That made sense, Frenchie supposed. Maybe he just needed to piss.
He came back a few minutes later holding Frenchie's lute, and Frenchie felt panic clawing at his throat. Before he could say anything at all though, Izzy was holding it out to him.
“I figured you could play. At night, or early in the morning. When it's just a few of us around.”
Frenchie stared at Izzy as he carefully took the lute in his hands. It felt familiar, felt like home. A weight he could hold on to, a tether.
“Why?”
“You are a bard, aren’t you?” Izzy sneered, but he didn't sound angry. Frenchie felt his mouth turn up in a grin despite himself.
“You like my songs?” He whispered, unable to stop himself.
“No. Shut up. Just, go down there and play, yeah?” Izzy said, already holding the wheel and pointedly not looking at Frenchie. Frenchie practically ran down the stairs to the main deck, tuning the lute as he went. As he sat down and began to strum out a familiar song he looked up at Izzy. The man had a faint smile on his face, and Frenchie tried his damnedest to figure out why he would be happy about this.
But he had missed playing. So play he did.
Noise. The soft sound of music flowing up from the deck soothed the rough edges of Izzy as he looked to the stars and kept the wheel straight. He did like the songs. He liked music, he was human, he did like things. Frenchie didn’t have to know that though. No one had to know just how much he wanted. It never did any good for anyone to know anyway.