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“Edward?” Izzy looks out over the layer of mist covering the ocean like a blanket. Fall is bleeding into winter now, there is a chill in the air.
“Hmm?” Ed takes a swig of rum, passes the bottle to his first mate.
It’s a good day, by their current standards at least. Edward looks tired, eyes bloodshot from crying. But he is lucid and he finally washed the black paint off his face. He is slowly getting bored of his own violence, it seems. Izzy’s last bruises are fading.
“Ed…” Izzy tries again, fortified by the rum. “What happens when I can’t do this anymore?”
“Do what, mate?” Ed stares over the railing, hair silver and rippling as the fog.
“This.” Izzy gestures vaguely into the space between them with his free hand.
“Don’t act like you need me to spell it out, for fuck’s sake.” Izzy hears himself say - he sounds bitter, exhausted. “It’s been thirty years, Edward. It’s not going away. And believe me, I’ve tried.”
“I know.” Ed’s face is like the mist - an impenetrable shroud. “Do you want it to?”
“It’s not supposed to be like this.” It’s not an answer, but it’s all Izzy has got.
“I can’t change any more than you can, Iz. You know I can’t be whatever it is you need.” Ed is quiet for a moment. His fingers brush Izzy’s hand as he takes the bottle again. “Don’t want you to regret all of it though. I don’t.”
“What?” Izzy blinks, confused. Maybe Ed is not fully there after all. Izzy knows he is broken, pathetic, hopelessly tethered to this man who does not want him. Will never want him. Not like that.
Ed rolls up his sleeve, exposing the snake tattoo on his arm, the one Izzy put there during those long nights, just to be close to him, just to pass the time. He takes Izzy’s hand, guides his fingers over the ink, all the way from his shoulder to his wrist.
“That’s not going away, ever,” Ed says.
He reaches over to Izzy’s neck, gently brushing the black swallow there. A monument to thousands of miles at sea, the two of them together. “It doesn’t matter how I feel, Iz. What we had, all that time… nobody can take that from you.”
And for a moment the sun bursts through the clouds and Izzy has to close his eyes at the brightness. Ed is right. Ed is always right. They had a whole life together, didn’t they? A life etched into their very bodies by needles and blades.
“We’re pirates, Iz. We write our stories in scars. You wear all the other ones so well.” Ed places a palm on Izzy’s fluttering heart. Strong, steady. “Don’t wait for this one to go away.”
“It’s not fair, Ed,” Izzy whispers. He wants to lean in, reach out, he wants, he fucking wants…
“I know, Iz. I’m sorry.” Ed takes the bottle and turns to leave, his receding steps echoing on the planks. Izzy is alone on the quarterdeck. He will join Ed in his cabin in just a bit. Snatch up a crumb of affection, pick at the old scab. Tomorrow, if he’s lucky, Ed won’t remember any of this.