Work Text:
When Stede hears the knock on the door, he's curled up on the floor of his auxiliary wardrobe, his hands clutching at his sides as he clings onto his yellow silk dressing gown and tries to pretend they're Edward's hands holding him, not his own.
"Come - come in!" he calls, his voice broken and crackly, the distinct quality of it that obviously shows his crying not quite disguised by that overly cheerful tone he tries to use with the crew. He can't stand the idea of them seeing him like this - the ghosts of tears still on his cheeks, ruminating about his own lack of worth and competence - but the idea of making them wait outside, or worse, turning them away, makes him physically recoil. So he tries to dry his eyes the best he can, stumbling to his feet, and attempts to look vaguely put together.
Instead of Lucius or Frenchie coming through the door, it's Izzy. Best to make this conversation short, then. He knows Izzy would be all too happy to explain to him exactly why everything about the way he presents himself and attempts to appear competent reveals the clear fact that he is obviously an idiotic, bumbling, foppish excuse for a man. Not like Stede needs anyone to explain that to him. He knows perfectly well himself.
Izzy lingers on his way over. He idly runs his fingers over every surface, the expensive table laden with trinkets, the sheer curtains, the polished glass of the cabinets. His mouth is downturned, soured, as if he can taste the indignity of everything in this room and is disgusted by it. Stede isn't about to explain to him that this room is pretty much just him in his entirety, a physical manifestation of him as a person, and he feels Izzy's displeased gaze on every object as if Izzy is looking right into Stede's soul itself and declaring it a waste of space.
It's not like Stede wants to care about Izzy's opinion, anyway. The man's incredibly hostile, unnecessarily cruel, controlling and abusive towards his crew and generally awful. He's also very competent, and, well. He's about as close to Ed as Stede can get, with Ed gone and all. However, regardless of whether Stede wants Izzy's approval or not, Izzy is still a generally unpleasant human being and Stede would very muchly like him gone so that he can stew in his misery in peace, thank you very much.
"Bonnet?" Izzy calls, and Stede won't admit it, but maybe he has been shut up alone in here for too long because the familar crack of Izzy's hoarse voice eases something in Stede's chest. "You in 'ere?"
"Yes, just a second," says Stede, gathering himself up and walking back into his room. Izzy's eyes are especially piercing when they find his, and he looks Stede up and down and seems to see right through the attempt at a smile he has on his face.
Izzy seems to visibly slump as he clocks Stede's condition. He wanders over to the decanter and lazily pours himself a glass of Stede's brandy before slouching on his sofa.
"Well, make yourself at home, I suppose," mutters Stede, pouring himself a drink. To his surprise, Izzy chuckles at that, but it's not exactly a friendly sound.
"What's going on with you, then?" asks Izzy.
"And why would that be any of your business?" asks Stede sharply. Izzy looks at him, eyebrows raised.
"The crew haven't seen you in two days. Personally, I'd count that as a blessing, but they seem concerned."
"Ah," says Stede.
"So?" asks Izzy, "What is it that's got you hiding out in your room?"
Stede sighs. "I wouldn't exactly expect you to understand," he says in a tone that Lucius would probably describe as 'bitchy'.
"Try me," says Izzy. Stede huffs and takes a sip from his glass. It's good brandy. A shame to waste it on Izzy Hands.
"Would you believe me if I said I was engaged in a very good book?" he asks. Izzy looks amused.
"No," he says, "No, the fuck I wouldn't. This is to do with Edward, isn't it,"
It's not a question. Stede's not surprised that Izzy knows; he's more surprised that he brought it up. Izzy tends to avoid the subject of Edward as much as he possibly can, tiptoeing around the name and diverting course if he catches so much as a glance of a ship that looks vaguely like Blackbeard's without even telling Stede. It's quite annoying, but Stede can't find it within himself to chastise him for it. Things with Edward were complicated for Izzy, Stede knows. He's not about to drag up their past. And he doesn't like Izzy enough to want to help him work through it.
"Maybe," says Stede, "Maybe not."
"You're doing a very good job of reminding me exactly why I fucking despise you right now," says Izzy, "What is it, then? You're worried you're unlovable because he up and left on you?"
If he hadn't hit the nail so firmly on the head, Stede might have been able to choke down the wave of oncoming tears, but as it stands, they come pouring out of his eyes at a frankly alarming speed. He hurriedly tries to wipe them away to no avail and stumbles across the room to grasp a handkerchief lying on the chest of drawers.
"Oh, fucking hell," he hears Izzy murmer, "Fuck me."
His face now burning in humiliation, Stede forces himself to dry his eyes and force down the rest of the tears before making his way back to the sofa. Izzy awkwardly hits him on the back as if he's coughing. Stede's not entirely sure if Izzy's trying to help him or make him choke on his own tears.
"It's not exactly that-" he starts, and Izzy interrupts him immediately.
"If it's not that, why did you burst into tears?"
"I don't know!" says Stede, "Maybe because I'm fucking losing it! Maybe because Ed was the only person who actually appreciated me and enjoyed my company and liked all my little... quirks and now it turns out he got bored of them! Or never liked them in the first place! ... Fuck!"
There is one saving grace in this situation, and that is the fact that Izzy looks more uncomfortable than Stede feels, if that's even possible. He's probably so repressed that he's never even considered the concept of an emotional outburst similar to the one Stede just had. At least Stede's teaching him about how to express emotions.
"What about your crew?" suggests Izzy, and the shock Stede feels at the fact Izzy is actually trying to be helpful overrules the part of his brain that's trying to think if his crew actually appreciate him. "They love all your prissy bullshit."
Stede's gut tells him they don't, and his memory provides the disapproving, disappointed faces of various members of his crew, so he scoffs and spits out a harsh, "Piss off. And don't even try to tell me you like it. I know you hate everything about me."
Izzy looks thoughtful for a second, but angrily so, as if he's considering something that makes him want to throw himself overboard. Stede's fully in favour of Izzy throwing himself overboard, as long as he comes back up again to run Stede's ship and provide suitable, if shameful, eye candy as he makes sure the crew aren't all going to die horrible deaths at sea.
"What would it take to convince you that you're lovable?" he asks slowly. Stede shrugs.
"I don't know. I don't think I could be convinced. But I'd like to see you try."
And that seems to be what pushes Izzy over the edge into his bad decision, which turns out to actually be a awful decision, as he practically launches himself at Stede and - and kisses him.
It's a harsh thing at first, aggressive, Izzy's fingernails digging into Stede's throat as he bites his way into Stede's mouth. Although he freezes initially, Stede's surprised at his own readiness, and he can't deny that he's thought about kissing Izzy before. This is everything he'd imagined it'd be: Izzy's just as antagonistic as ever with his body pressed against Stede's, one hand almost choking him, the other pulling at his hair. But when Stede's senses finally kick in and he starts kissing back, it's almost as if Izzy gives in. Stede certainly isn't expecting the soft noise that escapes Izzy's mouth, nor is he expecting Izzy to clasp at Stede's collar and pull them closer. His fingers twist in Stede's hair and the sensation's almost pleasant, and Stede can't help but think about Ed as he winds his hands around Izzy's waist. That doesn't last long, though, as Izzy's gentle whines demand the entirety of Stede's affection, and he can't help but notice just how warm Izzy is, how suddenly relaxed and imperfect and incredibly human. It shouldn't be a surprise, but Stede's far too used to viewing Izzy as some kind of untouchable embodiment of rage and the sort of pirate Stede will never be and it's jarring to see Izzy so rapidly soften in Stede's arms. Within seconds, the kiss has turned from bitter and brutal into almost...affectionate.
When he comes to that realisation, Stede pulls away, breathing heavily. Izzy doesn't stop, though, nuzzling into the crook of Stede's neck and pressing hot kisses to his skin with the fervor of a man enamoured.
"Izzy," breathes Stede, "Izzy, are you-"
"Don't," growls Izzy before Stede's mouth can even begin to form the words in love with me. But he stays there, nestled into the arches of Stede's body, for a few seconds more, as if he's relishing in being so close to him. Stede doesn't know what to think.
"Okay," he murmers, "Okay."
Slowly, Izzy extracts himself from Stede's embrace, not even having the decency to blush. He looks as furious as always, if not more, and is successfully avoiding Stede's eyes.
"Well?" he asks bluntly, "Are you convinced?"
Stede doesn't know how to answer that. He looks Izzy up and down as if what he's meant to say is going to be tattooed on his skin, and then his gaze finds its natural path to the floor.
"You're, um, dismissed, First Mate Hands," is what comes out of his mouth, and Stede watches Izzy as he briskly walks out of the door and spits on his way out. It's unnecessary and rude, and Stede tries to force himself to care as a way to reduce the rapidly spreading flush he can feel on his face.
Stede doesn't like to think of himself as easily stunned, but as he stands there unmoving, unable to do anything except numbly lift a hand to where Izzy's lips had been kissing his body as thoroughly and frustrating competently as he does everything else, Stede can't help but think that that's another trait to add to his list of inadequacies.
Eventually, he comes back to himself, and his eyes search the room for something to do that involves him not thinking too much about what just happened. And Stede may have finished his brandy, but Izzy's glass is still half full. So Stede sits himself back down on the sofa, wraps the robe tighter around himself and drinks what remains, his mind lingering on the marks on the glass where Izzy's lips has been minutes before. He retreats back to his auxiliary wardrobe after that. He's not sure what else to do. He can't face the crew now.
At least, Izzy will take care of everything happening above deck. For the time being, Stede can just hope that, eventually, he comes back.