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”I want her back in one piece,” Mary says, standing on the pier with a frown on her face. ”School starts on the first of September. Don’t forget.”
”I won’t.”
”He might,” Ed grins, looping his arm around Stede’s waist and pulling him close. ”We’re currently on the run from some fabric merchants because Stede here forgot he owed them a bunch of money.”
Mary looks like she’s beginning to regret this. Ed turns his head. ”Hey, Iz!”
Izzy looks up from the dinghy where he’s been gruffly instructing Alma on boat etiquette. ”Yes, Captain?”
”School starts September the first. Make sure we’re back by then.”
”Yes, sir.”
”Give my love to Louis,” Stede says, turning to Mary. ”Next summer, we’d love to have him too.”
”Let’s see how you fare with just one of your children first,” Mary says, but it sounds like a gentle tease and not the (rightfully) bitter accusation it would have been earlier on, when they were still married and Stede was still (legally) alive.
They hug goodbye. Stede sees Mary mutter something to Ed and Ed nod in response, eager and solemn. He wonders what Ed makes of her, or what she makes of him. He knows Mary hates the ocean and is unlikely to ever set foot on the Revenge, but maybe he and Ed could visit her and Doug some time, ships guided to the shore by her lighthouse.
Maybe one day they can be a family again. Maybe this is how it begins.
xxx
”So. Did you get good grades at school?” Stede opens the conversation once Izzy is rowing them back to the ship, powered by a seemingly infinite amount of pent-up anger and resentment.
”Yes,” Alma replies, tiny fists clutching her seat.
”Made any friends?”
”Yes.”
”Good.”
They row on in silence. After a while, Ed clears his throat.
”Are you excited to be sailing with us, Alma?”
”Yes.” This is followed by a silence that doesn’t exactly reek of excitement.
Panic stirs in Stede’s chest. Is it really going to be this hard? He’s picked up an entire life’s worth of pirating skills in the past year, for Christ’s sake. How can he be so bad at being Alma’s father after almost a decade of practice?
(One obvious answer whispers itself into his mind: he’s always wanted to be a pirate, and he’s never particularly wanted to be a father. But that doesn’t bear thinking about.)
”Want to make yourself useful, Miss Bonnet?” Izzy says into the strained silence. Stede nearly interrupts to insist that his daughter doesn’t have to start making herself useful five minutes after setting off and besides she has no skills to even do so, but –
”Yes,” Alma says.
”There’s a rope that’s attached to the bow there. Do you see it?”
Alma nods.
”When we reach the ship, I want you to give it to me so we can tie up the boat. Can you do that? Coil it up nice and tidy and keep it ready.”
Alma’s eyes shine when she takes the rope and holds it in her hands like it’s something precious. When they finally climb aboard the Revenge and Izzy thanks her for a job well done, it’s the first smile anyone’s got out of her since she arrived in the harbour with her mother.
The crew have gathered on the deck to welcome Alma. In preparation for her arrival, Stede had found Jim threatening to cut Frenchie’s throat if he so much as mentioned anything about crystals in women’s bodies, and Lucius had announced a total ban on male nudity in the communal areas of the ship, looking like he'd been about to weep. Now, they’re all on their best, if somewhat confused behaviour.
”Are children really supposed to be that small?” Lucius whispers to Pete, who shrugs.
“I don’t know, babe. I don’t think I ever was.”
”M’lady,” Frenchie says with a small bow. Buttons lets her know that Olivia is very pleased to have her on board.
”Is there a girl on your crew?” Alma asks, eyes wide.
”Livvy isnae really on the crew. Nor a girl.”
”She’s the bird,” Stede explains, pointing at the seagull sitting on the railing. Alma pouts, disappointed.
”My friend Isobel has a canary.”
”I once ate a canary, once,” Buttons replies.
Stede buries his face in his hands. Good Lord. It’s going to be a long fucking summer.
xxx
The first days pass by in a blur of activity. They’ve agreed not to raid any ships for now, but there’s still plenty to take care of on a ship with a not-hugely-competent crew and a small child running around. Ed offers to do most of the captaining so Stede can spend more time with his daughter, and Izzy and Oluwande both tell him to stop fussing (Izzy says ”fuck off” and Oluwande tells him to ”go do dad stuff, Captain”). But truth be told, Stede rather wants to keep busy with captain stuff because it’s much, much easier than the dad stuff. And anyway, Alma has brought toys and books with her and seems quite content left to her own devices.
At night though, Stede reads everyone a bedtime story on the deck – well, everyone minus Izzy, but that’s normal. He then tucks in Alma in the room that Oluwande and Jim have kindly, if reluctantly, vacated, and finally crawls into the captains’ quarters, bone-tired, and falls asleep in his favourite place in the world, in their new double bed with Ed’s arms around him and the steady beat of Ed’s heart against his skin. Sometimes Ed reaches for him in the dark, his fingertips like a burning candle tipped into a bag of dry gunpowder, and the sleepiness makes way for a white-hot lust that has him touching Ed back until everything that matters is slick and sweat and skin. When Ed gets loud, Stede covers his mouth with his hand to stop him from waking Alma. Ed doesn’t seem to mind.
And in moments like that, it almost works. It feels like the sort of thing a family man would do: oh God, like that darling, but shh, you’ll wake the kids. It’s certainly something Stede never had with Mary. Ed’s no better than him at parenting, though, and his biggest contributions remain not saying the f-word in front of Alma (not very often at least) and fucking Stede more quietly than he used to.
Meal times are another one of Stede’s favourites in their new routine. The whole crew – minus Izzy, but one takes that as read – eats together and the conversation is usually lively enough to cover any awkward silences between Stede and Alma. Sometimes they even talk, really talk, about little things that are going on in Alma’s life, and Stede almost feels like a real father.
xxx
One day after lunch, Stede finds Alma and, bafflingly, Izzy sitting together on the deck. Alma is holding a length of rope with a look of utmost concentration on her tiny face. She pulls at it, and the knot she’s been attempting unfurls in her hands. Her face falls in disappointment.
Izzy picks up the rope. ”That’s okay. You missed a step. Remember the snake?”
Alma nods gravely and takes the rope Izzy is holding out. ”The snake comes out of the pond,” she mutters, and pokes the end of the rope through a loop. ”It goes around the tree –” she loops the rope around itself, ”–and goes back into the pond.” She tugs, and the knot tightens and holds.
The girl lets out a little squeal of delight and Stede’s heart jumps when she throws her little arms around Izzy. He’s fully armed, dangerous, bloodthirsty – and he reaches up to gently pat Alma on the back.
”Well done. That’s the bowline knot. Simple but useful.”
Alma beams at him. ”I bet I’m the only girl in my class who can tie real pirate knots.”
Izzy looks away, but Stede catches a glimpse of a genuine smile on his face. Stede considers going up to them and congratulating Alma or thanking Izzy or something, but he doesn’t. Soon enough, Roach shows up with a question about pancake batter, and, well, that’s important work, isn’t it?
”Have you ever…” Stede asks that night, a hair’s breadth from falling asleep with his head on Ed’s chest. ”No, nevermind. Of course not.”
”Of course not what?” Ed mutters into his hair.
”I was just wondering. If you’ve ever had children on your ship before. You and Izzy.”
”Children? Nah – like you said, of course not.”
”And Izzy’s never… I mean, he doesn’t have family anywhere?”
Ed’s fingers gently coax his chin up so they can look at each other. He’s frowning.
”Izzy? No. No family. Dead parents in England. Why?”
”He just seems like…”
Like what? Like he’s softer and kinder and better around Alma? Like he treats her nicer than Stede has ever seen him treat anyone? Like he’s almost a person, when he’s with Alma?
”He taught Alma the bowline knot today.”
”Did he? I’ll put her in charge of rigging, then.”
”Am I a shit dad? For not teaching her that?”
Ed shrugs, his body shifting under Stede. ”I don’t know. Probably not. At any rate, you’re far from the shittiest dad I’ve known.”
”Between your father and mine, the bar’s pretty low.”
“Bottom of the fucking ocean.”
“Yeah.” Stede turns his head and kisses the warm, inked skin on Ed’s chest. Ed’s hand smooths its way down his back.
”You can teach her the clove hitch tomorrow. Dad of the year.”
”Maybe I will.”
But the next day, Alma seems busy with her dolls and Stede feels silly, acting like he’s got anything to give her. Best to just leave her be. Probably.
It’s what Stede wishes his own dad had done.
xxx
One night, Alma doesn’t show up for the bedtime story. Stede shoves his book onto Lucius’ lap (Wee John: ”come on, Captain! He can’t even do the voices!”) and goes searching for his daughter.
Alma is sitting on her bed, head bowed in concentration. The book she’s holding looks huge in her tiny hands.
”What are you up to?”
Alma looks up. ”Izzy said if I learned all these constellations I could stay up late and help him map out our route.”
”Oh,” Stede says. ”I don’t think Izzy is the one who sets your bedtimes.”
”But can I though, Daddy? Please?”
Stede looks at his daughter’s hopeful face and thinks of Izzy trying and failing to hide a smile when Alma mastered a simple knot. He thinks of his father killing a goose, and he thinks of Ed killing his own father. And here is Alma, learning constellations instead of cruelty.
”Alright. But only if you study really very hard and don’t bother Izzy when he’s working. Okay, my darling?”
Alma beams at him. ”Okay!”
Stede shuts the door of her room with a heavy feeling in his chest.
Back on the deck, in the lavender-tinted twilight with Lucius’ terrible attempts at ”doing the voices” ringing out in the background, Stede finds Izzy leaning against the railing of the upper deck, a folded map in his hand and a faraway look in his eyes.
”Izzy,” he says quietly.
Izzy straightens up and looks just past him.
”Yes, Captain?”
”I heard you’d promised to teach Alma how to navigate by the stars.”
There’s a barely noticeable pause. Izzy’s eyes flick up to meet his, and then away. ”I just gave her a book to read. Something to keep her occupied.”
”Oh. Well, she seemed quite keen on the lesson. Although I daresay the prospect of staying up way past her bedtime probably had something to do with it too.”
Now Izzy visibly recoils from him, tense like he’s expecting violence when really Stede was going for humour.
”We won’t do it then. She’s your daughter, it’s – whatever.”
Stede changes his tactic. ”Do you know who taught me celestial navigation, Izzy?”
Izzy shrugs and shakes his head, half turned away.
”No one. Still don’t really understand it, if I’m being honest. I’ve read some books, and Ed’s, well, we’ve done a bit of stargazing. But I rather think it’s time I had some real lessons too.”
Izzy doesn’t say anything. The scornful angle of his eyebrow delivers the usual message of Stede not being worthy of calling himself a sailor, never mind a captain.
Do it for Alma, Stede tells himself. You have nothing to teach her, so find someone who does.
”First Mate Hands,” he says, forcing his voice to be light and airy. “Will you do me the honour of teaching me and my daughter the basics of celestial navigation? A crash-course, if you will.”
“You’d know all about crash-courses, running your fucking ship aground,” Izzy mutters.
“What was that?
”Yes. Yeah. Okay.”
xxx
They lie down on the blanket: Izzy, then Alma, then Stede, then Ed.
Izzy points up.
”North Star. Do you know how to find it, Alma?”
”Uhmm. Wait. Yes! There it is above the Big Dipper.”
Ed’s warm fingers find Stede’s in the velvety dark. Stede steals a look at him, staring up at the night sky with glittering eyes and breathing slowly, the way he does when he’s about to fall asleep. He’s unfairly gorgeous, it’s insane that a fuck-up like Stede Bonnet could get this lucky. And not just with him either – he's lucky to have found an entire family here at sea. God knows he hasn’t earned it, and yet here it is.
An unfamiliar noise brings him back to the present. Alma is pointing at something in the sky and Izzy laughs, a lovely, raspy sound Stede’s never heard before. Alma giggles.
”It does! It looks like a rabbit.”
”That’s one way of looking at it, I guess,” Izzy says, and Stede has to fight the urge to lift up his head, to witness with his own eyes the smile he can clearly hear in Izzy’s voice.
”Daddy? Do you know where Orion’s Belt is?” Alma’s breath is suddenly warm against his cheek. ”Izzy said you don’t, even though that’s like, something babies learn.”
Stede huffs. ”No, I guess I don’t. Can you show me, darling?”
”It’s… Can you see those three stars in a straight line, next to the really bright one?”
”Where?”
To Stede, the purpose of a starry sky has always been to just look pretty, make him ache for faraway places and dream impossible dreams. Trying to see patterns in it, to turn it into a tool or a map, doesn’t come naturally at all.
”Izzy was right,” Alma huffs. ”You don’t know anything.”
On Alma’s other side, Izzy clears his throat.
”Captain Bonnet – your father – has other commendable qualities, Alma. Even if he doesn’t know that much about celestial navigation.”
”I guess,” Alma says, unaware of the way her father suddenly feels like the ship has capsized. Did Izzy just stand up for him? ”Look! Is that a shooting star?!”
”Make a wish,” Ed says, his fingers tangling with Stede’s.
Stede closes his eyes. I wish… he thinks. But isn’t this everything he could ever wish for? A family, a home, a life where his soul is at ease. His heart feels empty and full at the same time.
”I wish for a pony,” Alma says. All three men laugh.
”You’re not supposed to say it out loud, mate,” Ed says. ”Now it might never happen.”
”I don’t know,” Stede muses. ”Perhaps sometimes it’s good to say what you want out loud.”
”A pony,” Alma repeats, for emphasis.
”A nice day on the beach,” Ed says.
”I want you and your brother to visit us very frequently.” Stede takes Alma’s hand and feels her tiny, soft palm squeeze his. A silence falls.
”Your turn, Izzy,” Alma says.
”I…”
Stede finds himself holding his breath. Anything could happen next. Izzy could say, I want a whore in every port, or I want to shoot your idiot dad in his stupid fucking face, Alma, or he could just brush her off. Or he could say – will say – does say:
”I want us to do this again tomorrow night. Make sure Bonnet’s done his homework. Reckon you can teach him a constellation or two, Alma.”
”Yay! Mummy’s not going to believe I got to stay up two nights in a row.” An edge of worry creeps into her voice. ”I can, can’t I? Daddy?”
Stede turns and kisses the top of her head. Izzy is looking at them, but it’s hard to make out his expression in the dark.
”Of course, darling. You and Izzy will make a pirate of me yet.”
Izzy lets out a breath that’s half laughter and half exasperated sigh. Stede’s heart swells.
xxx
Two weeks after their navigation lessons, Alma comes to him in tears. She’d been practising fencing with Izzy and tiny wooden swords last time he saw them, and some kind of primal fear and rage raise their heads in his chest when he sees his daughter’s blotchy, tear-stained face.
”Alma! What’s the matter?”
”Izzy –” Alma sobs, and Stede decides, suddenly very calm, that he’s going to kill the bastard, today.
”What did he do, darling?”
”He got upset with me!” Alma throws herself into his lap and wails. Stede thinks of a sword piercing a person’s skull through the eye socket, and for the first time, that thought feels good.
”Oh, Alma. What did he do?” Stede repeats, gently stroking his daughter’s messy hair and clutching her heaving shoulders.
”He – I –” Alma hiccups. ”I called him dad by accident and h-he, l-left. And we were supposed to practise p-parrying!” Giant sobs wrack her tiny body.
Well. This is odd.
”Are you… Are you sure that’s all that happened, honey?”
”Yes,” Alma lifts up her head, snotty and teary-eyed. ”He said, don’t say that, all angry. Should I call him Mr Hands, like we do at school?”
”Well, you probably shouldn’t call him dad, if that upsets him.”
”I knooow,” Alma’s lip quivers and she melts into tears again. ”It was an accident!”
The door opens, and Ed steps in.
”Everything alright?”
”Yes,” Stede says. ”Alma’s just a little upset. So is Izzy, it seems.”
”Izzy?” Ed frowns. ”What’s he done now?”
Stede considers telling him, but somehow this, whatever it is, feels private. It’s between him and Izzy, at least for now.
”Ah. Nothing, I think – can you sit with Alma if I go and talk to him?”
Ed slots himself onto the sofa and Stede disentangles himself from his crying daughter. Ed reaches out gingerly to pat her shoulder.
”It’s gonna be alright, mate. Your dad’s gonna sort things out.”
The last thing he sees before closing the cabin door after him is Alma curling up against Ed’s leather-clad frame, asking in a quivery voice if he’s ever had a fight with Mr Hands. Stede hopes – trusts – that Ed will spin her a tale that doesn’t involve stabbings or severed toes. Not the audience for that kind of talk.
Stede looks everywhere for Izzy, but the crew either shrug or give him uncomfortable looks when he enquires after the first mate. Eventually, his search takes him to the door of Izzy’s cabin, the last place on earth he’d ever dream of entering. He knocks softly.
No answer.
He knocks again.
”Fuck off.”
There he is.
”Izzy? It’s Stede.”
Stede can hear footsteps on the other side, but the door remains closed.
”I just came to see if everything was alright.” This seems like a too-private conversation to have by half-shouting through a closed door. ”I spoke to Alma about… what happened.”
The response comes immediately this time.
”Is she alright?”
”Alma? Yes, she’s fine.” Stede’s heart feels like someone has stepped on it and he doesn’t quite know why. ”She’s just upset about having upset you.”
”I’m not upset.”
”Alright. Well, I’m sorry either way, if she was out of line.”
The door is yanked open. Izzy’s breathing is a little shaky, his eyes a little red. ”Wasn’t her fucking fault.”
”Oh, good. So everything’s… we’re, good, then?”
Izzy leans against the doorframe, somehow imposing even though his eyes are about level with Stede’s collarbone.
”Like fuck we are.”
”Oh,” Stede repeats. He’s vaguely aware that a captain shouldn’t let a first mate talk to him like that, but it’s Ed who’s set the precedent with Izzy, frankly.
”You’ve always just had it all handed to you, haven’t you?” There’s no anger in Izzy’s voice, just a deep tiredness weighing down every word.
”Well, no–”
”Money, social standing, a beautiful house I presume.”
”Well, yes, but –”
”A captaincy you didn’t have to work for at all. Edward. Two kids.”
It sounds like an accusation. It sounds like a dream. Stede sighs.
”No, you’re right. I’ve had so much luck – entirely too much for one man. But I’d like to think I have been generous with what I have.”
Izzy rolls his eyes.
”I want to be generous with what I have,” Stede insists. ”And… turns out others may have things – skills – I don’t.”
Stede watches curiosity get the better of Izzy. Finally, through gritted teeth, the first mate says, ”Like what.”
It’s not even a question, like he’s too proud to admit he wants to know. It’s all the more infuriating since Stede has decided to let go of his own pride and admit,
”I’ve been a terrible father. But maybe you can undo some of the damage.”
Izzy scoffs, his eyes a bit shiny. ”Yeah, right.”
”In fact, I think you already have.”
Izzy turns away, blinking hard.
”It’s not too late, you know. Alma adores you. We… we all appreciate you.”
He’s not sure what he’s saying, exactly, but judging by the quick shrug of his shoulders Izzy seems to understand.
”How many fathers is too many, do you think?” Stede tries to lighten the mood. ”Alma’s got Doug at home, then me and Ed and you here. Is four too many? Or is the problem that she only has one mother?”
”Fuck off.” Izzy moves to close the door in Stede’s face.
“Right you are,” Stede replies at the closed door.
xxx
”You wanted me?” Izzy appears in the doorway of the captains’ quarters late one night.
Against all odds I somehow do, Stede wants to reply. Certainly I want something from you, I want things to be different.
”Yes,” Ed replies, raising an eyebrow at Stede. Stede clears his throat.
”Please, sit down, Izzy. I wanted to thank you.”
”What for?”
Izzy walks towards them slowly, eyes narrowed like a cat that’s holding a grudge for some old trespass. God, why does he always have to be like that?
(Not always, Stede reminds himself. Not always, which is what he’s here for.)
”For going above and beyond your duties as a first mate.” Stede gets up and walks over to the drinks table. ”Sit,” he repeats.
There are two options: the sofa where Ed is lounging, sprawled over the armrest in his t-shirt and Stede’s linen trousers, or the armchair. There’s a flash of panic over Izzy’s face when he considers the alternatives before seating himself carefully in the lone chair.
Stede pours three glasses of the nice whiskey and serves Ed, then Izzy. Their fingers brush when he hands over the glass. Izzy keeps his eyes on the golden liquid sloshing against the cut crystal.
”Thank you, Captain.”
”You might experiment with calling me Stede, you know. Everyone else does.”
”Fine.”
Stede sighs and sits down in the centre of the sofa, thigh brushing against Ed’s. There’s an empty space on his right side, where Izzy could have chosen to sit.
”How are you, Izzy?”
”How’d’you mean?” Izzy’s tone is immediately defensive.
”I’m simply making conversation. You should try it some time.” Stede’s reply, in turn, comes out unnecessarily bitchy. He notices Ed observing them both with something like curiosity in his dark amber eyes.
”What I meant is,” Stede tries again. ”You must have been busy, taking care of your duties and taking care of Alma. Not too busy, I hope.”
”Are you not happy with my performance, sir?” Izzy grits his teeth and looks at Ed.
”No, no, mate.” Ed’s voice is warm and the corner of his mouth quirks up. ”I’ve no complaints whatsoever.”
Izzy turns to Stede and raises an eyebrow. Fuck you, Stede thinks.
”I feel like you’re deliberately misinterpreting me, Izzy. I’m trying to be nice.”
Well, now he sounds whiny and petulant. Weak. And Izzy senses that weakness, like a fucking shark smelling blood in the water. He smiles, and before Stede can stop himself he’s added,
”You know nice? Do you even have a word for that where you’re from?”
Two things happen at once. One, Ed goes very still next to Stede. Two, Izzy stands up, breathing hard.
”Fuck you, Stede.”
Izzy slams the empty glass down on the table and storms out.
xxx
After a tense week of Stede and Izzy avoiding each other and Ed pointedly ignoring the strain between his co-captain and first mate beyond calling Stede out on his outburst –
(”That was a fucked up thing to say, mate. Wherever you think he’s from, I’m from somewhere worse.”
”I didn’t mean it like that,” Stede said miserably. ”I was trying to insult the English in general.”)
– Stede returns to the cabin one night, having put Alma to bed after listening to her breathless recount of today’s fencing lesson.
Ed is on the sofa with Izzy sitting at his feet. Ed’s eyes are closed and his head is resting against the back of the sofa, his breathing shallow – the weather is turning, he said so that morning. It must be his knee, then. Cloying, herbal smoke curls out of the pipe in his hand.
Izzy, at his feet, locks eyes with Stede. Slowly, he kisses Ed’s leather-clad knee, right where he’s taken off the brace. Stede fucking Bonnet, his eyes seem to say, I fucking challenge you. Ed moans quietly and – oh God – his fingertips brush the top of Izzy’s head before his hand falls back against the cushions.
A sweet heat, unexpected but unsurprising, runs through Stede at the sight. He crosses the floor on shaky legs and sits down next to Ed. Izzy’s gaze follows his every movement, and the tense set of his shoulders is back, like he’s expecting to be struck or kicked. Stede presses a kiss to Ed’s sweaty temple and turns to Izzy.
”Thank you,” he says softly. ”For taking care of us.”
Izzy’s fingertips trace an uncertain line down Ed’s shin. What do you do when your opponent comes over to your side?
”I was thinking,” Stede continues into the heavy silence. ”You don’t need a beautiful house, or social standing, or two kids, to have a family. Although, we’re very lucky to have the kids, aren’t we? I can’t wait for you to meet Louis.”
Izzy’s face twists like he’s in pain. ”We’re not family.”
”If we weren’t, I would have had you shot for touching Edward like that. Do you concur, my love?”
Ed opens his eyes, nudges Izzy with his bare foot. ”Yeah. I would’ve keelhauled you years ago for insolency. If we weren’t family.”
”That’s settled then. You can stay there or get dressed in your finest keelhauling clothes, Mr Hands.”
Izzy snarls up at him and brings his fingertips to Ed’s knee, pressing slightly. Ed lets out a gasp.
”Shit – right there, Iz. Fuck, that’s nice.”
”I know.” Izzy’s voice is soft and smug, and the words carry an imprint of years of intimacy.
Izzy curls up his legs under him like a contented cat and starts massaging Ed’s knee. Stede wraps his arm around Ed and pulls him close until his head is tucked into the crook of Stede’s neck and he’s whispering small, satisfied noises against his skin.
Stede can imagine them like this with the kids too. Izzy bandaging up scraped knees, Ed tempering his language until he’s almost kid-friendly, Stede reading them all bedtime stories. A real family, bonded together by love and commitment instead of convention and a suffocating sense of duty.
Eventually, Ed slumps against him, lulled into a deep sleep by his first mate’s experienced hands.
Izzy lingers, tension slowly creeping back into his posture.
”Sit with me?” Stede whispers. He pats the cushion next to him – half invite, half command, he hopes.
Izzy hesitates, his thumb rubbing small circles over the inseam of Ed’s trousers at his knee.
”You could even pour us drinks, if you were feeling generous with your time.” Stede nods towards the drinks tray.
Izzy shakes his head but doesn’t move. He looks like he’s trembling slightly, or maybe it’s just the flickering candlelight. But he doesn’t move. Fuck that man.
”Drinks, Israel,” Stede says, low and commanding. He loves the feel of his name on his tongue, its weight similar to Edward, which Stede has taken to using on special occasions like a finely embroidered waistcoat or a set of smooth silk sheets. This feels like a special occasion.
Now, Izzy definitely shivers. A muscle moves in his jaw as he grits his teeth, and then he gets up and goes to pour them drinks.
The smoky, sweet scent of whiskey accompanies Izzy back to the sofa. Stede takes the glass he’s offered and pats the cushions again. On his other side, Ed sighs against him in his sleep. Izzy looks at Ed, then Stede, with a poorly concealed look of desperate longing on his lined face, and sits down next to Stede.
A second chance, then. Stede steers clear of incendiary topics, such as enquiring after the wellbeing of his first mate.
”So. What’s your drink of choice, Izzy? We’re pretty well stocked but if there’s anything else you’d like we can add it to the shopping list.”
”Brandy, I guess.” Izzy’s voice is quiet and soft, like he’s trying not to disturb Ed. Its gentleness is surprisingly disarming. Stede’s pulse quickens.
”And yet you went for whiskey.”
”It’s what I’ve seen you drink.”
”Well. That’s kind. Ed’s quite partial to a good brandy, isn’t he?”
Some private memory moves Izzy to an almost-smile. ”Yeah. He is, yeah.”
”I’ll make sure there’s plenty for us all, then.”
Izzy doesn’t say anything, but he gives a tiny nod, doesn’t resist being included in ”us”. Little victories, Stede thinks.
They talk, in lowered voices, about this and that, mostly business and a little bit of parenting. It’s weird – and relaxed in a way he never was with Mary.
”I’ve kind of enjoyed this,” Stede says, nudging Izzy’s shoulder.
And maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe Izzy leans into the touch just the tiniest bit, his body heat bleeding through Stede’s light linen shirt. He smells nice, Stede realises. Like gunpowder and sage and leather.
”I remember one time,” Stede says, the late hour and low candlelight shaking something loose in his brain. ”Mary and the kids all got sick with some kind of stomach bug. I sent for a doctor and he quarantined them, told me to stay away from their rooms while they got better. Apparently it wasn’t appropriate for a man to see his wife or children in such a state. Now, we weren’t a very… close family, by any means. But every night that week, I’d sit up alone and think about them suffering upstairs, and I wanted so badly to help. But I didn’t. I thought I couldn’t. I followed the doctor’s orders and stayed away.”
Izzy glances over at Ed. Stede adds,
”That’s such a shit way of living your life. Kept at arm’s length from the people you want to call family. It poisons everything.”
”I used to think,” Izzy says slowly, so quiet his voice is almost drowned out by the creaking of the ship and the crackle of the fire. ”I’d rather kill him than let anyone see us like this. Or that I’d rather kill myself than let us be like this.”
The shock must show on Stede’s face when he glances down to see if Ed is still asleep. Izzy’s laugh is soft and joyless.
”Oh, he knows.”
Izzy exhales, long and tired. ”And it is. God, it’s such a fucking shit way to live. But you get used to the poison.”
”I never could.”
”Well, you’re soft.”
”Suppose I am a bit.”
”It’s…” Izzy swirls the drink around his glass. ”Not a bad thing, entirely.”
He’s so close, and Stede is feeling so pleasantly warm and relaxed and suddenly he’s wanting more. Trying to seem casual, he puts his hand on Izzy’s thigh. He feels a twitch of muscle under the sturdy warm leather – in many ways, it’s like touching Ed. Izzy goes very, very still, glass halfway up to his lips. Stede removes his hand.
Izzy makes a low noise, deep in his throat, and. And his fingers wrap around Stede’s wrist, hard, and pull his hand back onto his thigh. The leather is smooth under Stede’s fingertips when he rubs it, and Izzy’s breath hitches a little. Stede spreads his fingers, palm flat against the tense muscle underneath, and squeezes gently.
”Captain,” Izzy gasps. His eyes are closed and his knuckles are white around the cut crystal glass.
”Izzy,” Stede says softly. It’s a bit like petting Ned the leopard – the beast had seemed terrifying at first, then tense under Stede’s timid hands, but once he’d found the right spot right under its chin, the terrifying killer had given itself over completely, pushing against Stede’s touch and purring like a kitten. Stede longs to see that side of Izzy, wants to be the one to bring it out. Smooth out the tension and the bitterness until he melts into something sweet.
Ed stirs and yawns against Stede’s neck.
”Bed,” he mutters. Stede’s hand abandons the solid warmth of Izzy and cups Ed’s face. This time, Izzy doesn’t protest.
”Of course,” Stede says.
”Both of you,” Ed continues, and now there’s a sleepy smirk on his face.
”I should go.” Izzy gets up.
”Come on, Iz. You don’t have to fuck us. Just… stay the night.”
His words run through Stede warm and tempting like the best brandy, like a blade that’s been held to a flame. Is that what Ed wants? Is that what they all want?
And the impossible happens: Izzy is looking at him, at Stede, for confirmation. Stede nods.
”Yeah. I think I’d like that.”
”That’s settled then.” Ed gets up, with some difficulty. Stede and Izzy linger by the sofa.
Ed peels off his trousers and flops down in the middle of the bed in his t-shirt and underwear. Stede feels Izzy’s hesitation rub off on him, and he suddenly feels shy.
”Come on,” Ed says again, dark eyes roaming between them. ”It’s bedtime, dads. Captain’s orders.”
Izzy moves, slowly. It’s fascinating to see him undress for bed, his methodical movements as he takes off his boots, his necktie, placing the ring at his throat in his pocket. He’s efficient and doesn’t fumble, but there’s a quiet look of shock on his face.
”The new bed’s quite comfortable,” Stede says when they’re both in their shirtsleeves and underwear in front of Ed. ”You’ll like it. Probably. I think it’s nice.”
(God, stop talking.)
Ed scoots closer to the window, head propped up on his hand. Some unspoken thing passes between him and Izzy, and the first mate climbs into bed, settling on his back. And God, it’s weird and it’s wrong and it’s right, having them there, looking at each other and then at Stede.
”You gotta make room for him, Iz,” Ed says, and then his arm is around Izzy’s waist, pulling him closer until Izzy’s back is pressed against Ed’s chest and his eyes are fluttering closed, mouth falling open in a gasp. Ed’s eyes find Stede’s and Stede finds himself blushing.
”Okay,” he says to himself, and gets into bed.
Ed’s hand finds his and pulls it against Izzy’s chest. He’s warm under the black linen shirt, like he’s a real person. He’s looking at Stede like he wants this to be real.
“Good night, you nutters,” Ed mumbles. “Let me know if you decide we should fuck.”
Stede lets out a shocked little laugh.
“We’re good, I think. Good night.”
The tiniest possible smile plays on Izzy’s lips. “Night.”
xxx
Stede is woken up in the middle of the night by a small, clammy hand on his shoulder.
”Dad? Daddy? I threw up.”
Stede blinks his eyes open. Starlight falls on the bed, faint and silvery, and he’s at the bottom of a pile of limbs and blankets with Izzy’s face buried in his neck and someone’s hand grabbing his ass. Ed’s hair is in his mouth. He spits it out and turns to look at Alma standing by the bed.
”Darling?”
”I threw up, Daddy.”
Stede’s first instinct is to tell her to go bother the maid about it. Then he remembers that out here, the closest thing they have to a maid is probably, like, Wee John.
”Alright. Um.”
”I’ll go.” Izzy’s voice is sleep-rough and lovely. ”You don’t even know where to find a fuckin’ mop.”
”Well, then show me. Let’s go, honey.” Stede starts extricating himself from the bed.
Alma looks pale and confused. ”All three of you?”
Ed laughs, stirring. ”You can probably manage without me.”
Stede picks up two dressing gowns from the foot of the bed and throws one of them to Izzy.
“Come on, Izzy. Dad duty awaits.”
Izzy doesn’t protest that.