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“I need you here.”
Edward was long gone, probably somewhere below deck, but those four words were still rattling around in Izzy’s skull like marbles. He rolled them this way and that, felt them bouncing off his insides, until his whole world contracted to include only that one sentence and the lingering warmth of Edward’s hand on his back.
It had been minutes, ten, maybe fifteen, and still his skin remembered. On his right side, just where ribs met spine, not painful, just a jovial little pat, like one would give an obedient dog. Izzy could not even say why his nerves were clutching at the sensation like a drowning man clinging to a raft.
Not like Edward had never touched him before. On the contrary, the man was an annoyingly physical presence at times, constantly slapping shoulders, bear hugging, playfully nudging… When the Blackbeard legend had been in its infancy, Izzy had reprimanded him more than once to keep his hands off the crew. Painted the wrong picture.
So yes, Izzy had been touched by Ed before, and maybe he had cataloged every single time, and perhaps that’s how he could tell that it had never felt quite like this. The instant Edward’s palm had met his body, an inaudible little gasp had escaped Izzy as the feeling ran him through like a blade to the gut.
Ed had probably not noticed it, had not seen his face crack open in shock and awe for that one split second. Ed’s head had already been turned as he was off to the next, more interesting thing. None of the crew had been looking either - it seemed to be the common consensus that one did not look at Israel Hands unless one had several fingers to spare.
Izzy remembered to breathe again, his eyes focussing on his interlocked hands upon the railing, one bare, one gloved. Yes, that might have been it. Ed usually wore gloves too, but now, in Bonnet’s ridiculous frilly outfit, his hands had been bare. Just skin on cotton on skin. It felt different than a slap with a leather-covered palm. Warmer, more human.
Or maybe it was just the whole turmoil of the entire fucked up situation. Izzy was loyal, but not suicidal. Calling Ed a shell of a man, threatening to resign as his first mate, to leave him there and let him deal with the consequences of his own actions for once … It had seemed like the only reasonable thing to do, considering his captain might actually, finally have lost his fucking mind. But no. He had doubted him too soon. His Edward was still in there, still a scheming mastermind, a trickster god in a cloud of silver smoke. And he needed his first mate by his side.
With the bitter taste of shame on his tongue, Izzy unloaded his meager belongings from the dinghy and carried them back to the tight little cabin he had been assigned on the Revenge.
He sat on the edge of the narrow bed and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. The humid Caribbean heat was especially stifling today. He peeled off his sweaty layers and folded them neatly on the table by the bed. This was not so bad after all - privacy, quiet, a place to sleep and write. More luxury than he had ever had in the shared sleeping quarters on the Queen Anne, in any case. And very soon, that imbecile Bonnet would be dead, Edward would be content again, and the ship would be his to command.
Izzy wrapped his left arm around his torso, bare fingers extended. He could just about reach the spot where Edward’s palm had met his skin, gingerly prod it with his fingertips, remind himself that it was real, that he was real, and Edward was, too. Still held in the embrace of his own arm, Izzy sank back to lie in his bed.
I need you here.
And here he was - eager, devoted, patiently waiting for all the great gifts he knew his Captain would soon bestow upon him aboard the Revenge.