Work Text:
Stede is halfway across deck when something is shoved right into his chest. Hard.
It’s a matter of some pride that his first instinct is to reach for the dagger he has sheathed underneath his coat.
But they are on The Revenge, in the middle of the ocean, and they’ve seen neither ship nor land for miles. The likihood of it being an internal problem is also slim. He would trust his crew with his life. Besides, he is almost certain he has done nothing mutiny worthy recently. There is no need to suspect any real danger.
There is a need, perhaps, to say, “what the hell?” rather loudly and take a few steps back, so this is what he does.
And on further inspection, what he finds is Israel Hands glaring at him from where he appeared seemingly out of nowhere two seconds ago to shove something into Stede’s chest.
Izzy glaring at him? Not unusual.
Izzy glaring at him while holding in his hands what appears to be a few wilted weeds wrapped in a dirty scrap of cloth? That is very unusual.
It requires some further inspection.
Or quite possibly, it requires that he runs in the opposite direction. You never know with Izzy (though Stede thinks their relationship has improved marginally since Izzy, all be it reluctantly, sought Stede out in order to help tame The Kraken once more).
Before his brain makes up its mind about what is the wisest course of action, there is that thing being shoved right into his chest again. That thing he has now come to realise is Izzy’s bizarre, ugly little bouquet.
“Um…?” he trails off, uncertain. Even if his relationship with Izzy has improved as of late but there is still no precedent for this, whatever this is. “Flowers might be a little bit less effective than the sword you used to stab me with last time. Unless you’re trying to challenge yourself?”
Apparently, they are not yet at the point where they can joke about their past in such a jovial manner. Izzy’s frown increases, if that’s even possible at this point.
Stede sighs and decides to try for a more direct approach, “Izzy what—”
“Just fucking take them,” Izzy insists before Stede can finish, shaking them now. One sad little leaf dislodges itself and falls in an aimless fashion towards the ground. No doubt Izzy will find someone to bully into cleaning that up later.
“But why?” Stede insists. It’s not like they’re his. Where did Izzy even get flowers from? They were in port a few days ago…maybe that explains their wilted appearance, if Izzy had been keeping them without water in improper conditions since then.
The question is clearly the wrong one. If looks could kill, Stede Bonnet would be dead.
Rather than shoving them at Stede again, which is what Stede expects, Izzy holds them close to his chest, a splash of colour against all that black. Stede finds himself thinking, in an absent sort of fashion, whether Izzy would ever accept any accents to his attire. Just something small, something to draw the eye. Oh! Maybe in fact something to make his eyes stand out, wouldn’t that be something, although it would need to be a little more blue than green…
“You keep talking about all the fucking flowers you used to fucking pick,” Izzy begins to grumble, pulling Stede out of his musings and back to the real world. If this is the real world. It’s a bit suspect, considering the fact that Izzy is holding flowers.
“I suppose…” Stede had been making a few comments. The only thing he really misses on his ship is access to diverse botany. And maybe he’d hoped…
“And Edward is a fucking idiot who doesn’t know how to fucking take a hint and—” he’s shaking the flowers again, dislodging a few more leaves and some white petals from the daisies nestled in the bunch. Stede is half reaching out for them on instinct, to protect them from further vicious manhandling when what Izzy says actually hits him.
Wait.
What?
“You got me… flowers?”
It is one of the most bizarre notions Stede has ever heard.
“I’m going to kill you,” Izzy grits out. His teeth are clenched, and he’s given up glaring. Instead, he’s staring at the floor. Stede wonders if he’s waiting for it to open up and swallow him whole, save him from this whole scenario he’s clearly not enjoying. Which is silly, because he started it. But on he goes, “I’m going to stab you right fucking now you fucking ponce, I’m going to—”
Stede takes the flowers.
Izzy shuts up.
It’s a delicate moment; when they’re transferred from Izzy’s hands to Stede’s. Stede is hyperaware, for some reason, of their fingers brushing. He has just the moment to be glad that Izzy has been holding them with his ungloved hand, that it’s bare finger against bare finger as they pass the gift between them, before he realises that’s really something he shouldn’t even be focusing on at all but—
But Izzy got him flowers.
Israel Hands got him flowers.
“Thank you, Israel,” and the words aren’t enough, not really. Stede has become used to these sorts of gestures from Ed (though Izzy was right, Ed never did pick up Stede’s…well, he wouldn’t call them hints but his like of flowers, yes, that’s more like it) but from Izzy? He doesn’t have the words for it. It’s certainly a shock but it’s also…rather nice. Their relationship has mellowed recently from hostile bickering to affectionate bickering, if Stede did so so himself.
Stede’s never had anyone to affectionately bicker with.
It’s actually rather fun. What was it he’d said to Izzy in the beginning? Izzy had told him it wasn’t over and Stede had said he’d enjoyed it. And he had. And these days, he did. His weird little interactions with Edward’s right-hand man.
It’s nice.
So are the flowers.
Maybe that’s what compels him to Izzy’s cheek.
The sensation is odd. He can feel the rough of Izzy’s goatee against the side of his face. It’s unfamiliar, unlike Edward’s beard which still isn’t quite the length it once was, but is getting there.
When he pulls back, there’s a dusting of red on Izzy’s cheeks.
I put that there, Stede thinks, and there’s something prideful lingering in the thought, something that makes him want to do it again and again and again, until Izzy is that delightful colour all of the time.
But unfortunately, Izzy is already turning on his heel to flee.
Ah well, that was to be expected, Stede supposed.
He glanced down at the messy bouquet in his hand. Ugly, a little wilted, his first impression had been right in that regard.
But there was more to life than first impressions weren’t there?
Because the little clump of weeds in his hands? They were beautiful. Truly, utterly beautiful.
-///-
Later, much later, when they’ve dropped anchor to keep themselves steady for the night there is a conversation somewhere up in the crow’s nest.
“You got him flowers? Oh Iz, I knew you’d come around.”
“Shut up.”
“No seriously, you’ve never even gotten me anything like that—”
“If you’d done your fucking job as a fucking boyfriend and gotten them yourself, we wouldn’t be in this mess—”
“Mess? What mess? I’m having a delightful fucking time.”
“I hate you, Edward.”
“Nah, you don’t, man. And look at you! You don’t hate Stede either! Reckon you want to cuddle him actually, maybe give him a kiss—”
“I’ll push you overboard.”
“You’re not fucking contradicting me though, are you, Iz?”
“Fuck you.”
“Or, say, you know what would be better? We could fuck him—”
“You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”
“You love it.”