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Stede doesn’t see it happen.
They’re in the middle of a raid — Stede’s first real one since Ed decided to teach him how to be a good pirate. He’s watching in fascination as Fang grapples with a man twice his size, when there’s a howl somewhere across deck, animalistic and pained. It makes Stede uneasy — what sort of creature sounds like that at sea? What new, unknown threat are they facing?
Fang and his opponent both falter, looking around for the source of the noise. So are other people on deck, merchants and pirates alike. It seems none of them were prepared; none of them know what to expect.
But it’s not some wild, rabid animal making that unholy sound — it’s Ed, on his knees, weeping as he clutches at Izzy’s limp body, blood pooling on the deck beneath him.
‘Oh, fuck,’ Stede hears someone say. It might even be him.
He doesn’t think twice before making his way toward them, doesn’t even consider the dangers of the battle around them. All he can focus on is Ed, looking frighteningly young and uncertain as he clutches Izzy to his chest, sobbing. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on the back of Izzy’s shirt, whispering to him like he can order Izzy to stay alive. Based on what he’s seen of the two of them so far, Stede almost believes that it might work; that Ed could give an order, and that Izzy’s body would respond, magically stitching up whatever mortal wound he has, simply because Ed asked him to.
The closer Stede gets, the worse it looks. He can’t see the injury, but the blood soaking into Ed’s shirt is visible even against the dark fabric.
‘Ed,’ Stede says, kneeling cautiously beside them. Ed doesn’t seem to hear him, eyes glassy as he stares down at Izzy. ‘What happened?’
‘Fucker stabbed him,’ Ed says, voice small. ‘I’ve never seen him go down before. I can’t lose him, Stede.’
‘You won’t,’ Stede says, trying to keep his voice soft and soothing. He doesn’t know what to do, can feel the beginnings of panic clawing at him. He’s never been in proper combat before, doesn’t know how to treat serious injuries. He thinks back to all the books he’d read in preparation for heading out to sea, tries desperately to recall something helpful.
‘We need to put pressure on the wound,’ Stede says. ‘So he doesn’t bleed out.’
A bit of awareness returns to Ed’s eyes. ‘Right, yeah.’
Together, they lay Izzy down. He tries not to look at the wound in his torso, a deep and garish red. He feels the bile rise in the back of his throat as he thinks of Nigel, still and silent and covered in gore.
Focus , he thinks sternly.
‘We need something to — to press over the injury,’ Stede says, praying that he’s remembering the book correctly. He’s dressed down today, foregone a frock coat that he could have otherwise sacrificed. ‘Fabric, maybe.’
‘Would this work?’ Ed asks. Inexplicably, he’s holding a tattered scrap of red silk. Where had that come from?
‘It’ll have to do,’ Stede says grimly. Ed folds the fabric in half and presses it down hard. Izzy makes a noise, brow furrowing for a moment.
‘Stay with me, Iz,’ Ed says. Stede places his hands over Ed’s, doing his best to add enough pressure to hopefully stem the bleeding. He doesn’t particularly like Izzy — he’s hostile and rude and, frankly, Stede doesn’t know what Ed sees in him. More than once, he’s thought that they’d all be better off without him — that a reprieve from all the shouting and nagging would be welcome.
He looks down at Izzy now, pale and breathing shallowly. He looks at Ed, terrified, tears still falling openly. Not like this, Stede thinks. He hadn’t meant it like this.
They sit in grim silence as the battle around them eventually dies down. Blackbeard’s crew are victorious, as usual.
Stede doesn’t remember much as they carry Izzy back onto the Revenge — hears voices talking about a stretcher, and surgery. Hears himself offer the captain’s cabin. Someone pats him on the back, tells him he’s doing a good job. He barely registers the praise.
He doesn’t take his eyes off Ed.
They get him settled in the captain’s cabin. Roach had unceremoniously shoved everything off the desk in order to lay Izzy out on it, a makeshift operating table. He keeps Stede and Ed busy, fetching needles, thread, hot water, bandages, rum, laudanum. Everything and anything he might need.
Stede’s grateful; it keeps Ed focused, going about his tasks with grim determination. Anything, he thinks, is better than the lost, heartbroken look from earlier.
Eventually, Izzy is stitched up. Stede fluffs pillows and frets over blankets while Wee John and Fang carry Izzy to the bed, Ed watching like a hawk the whole time.
‘Will he be all right?’ Stede asks.
Roach shrugs, which is admittedly not the reaction Stede was hoping for. ‘We’ll have to wait and see. He lost a lot of blood.’
‘I’ll keep watch over him,’ Ed says.
‘We’ll do it in shifts,’ Stede says decisively. Ed looks like he’s going to argue, but Stede continues, ‘Izzy will be upset if he finds out you’ve been neglecting yourself, Ed. He needs you to be strong right now.’
Stede has no idea if any of that is true. He’s never willingly had a conversation with Izzy, can’t even begin to guess at what he might want or need. But something must ring true, because Ed’s shoulders slump and he nods.
‘I’m still taking the first watch,’ he says.
‘Of course,’ Stede says, placating. He leaves them both there, Ed sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching Izzy’s hand like a lifeline.
The crew are crowded in the galley, clutching mugs of tea that Stede’s sure has been spiked, talking about the raid. Pete is recounting a fight with a merchant sailor that absolutely did not happen, but no one is arguing with him about it. The room is just slightly off-kilter, a nervous undercurrent affecting all of them. Pete’s story is a little too boisterous, Lucius’ responses a shade too enthusiastic. Jim isn’t even pretending to listen, instead thrumming their fingers on the table in an incessant rhythm. Roach is still covered in Izzy’s blood.
‘How’s Izzy?’ Ivan asks, finally noticing Stede hovering in the doorway. At once, the room goes silent, all eyes trained on him.
‘We just have to wait,’ Stede says, echoing Roach. ‘We’re going to need someone with him at all times, so we’ll be taking it in shifts.'
‘Sure,’ Jim says. ‘Gotta make sure he doesn’t die.’
Everyone nods, and that’s that.
On the third day, infection sets in. The wound is red and swollen, the skin around it burning hot when Stede gingerly pokes at it. Izzy is awake, but between the infection and heavy doses of laudanum, he’s not lucid. His eyes are glassy and unfocused. He’s feverish, sweating through his clothes. Every now and then he makes quiet, pained sounds.
Ed has remained quiet and drawn, stressed by the situation. He’d spent the previous night weeping quietly in Stede’s arms.
‘He’s my best friend,’ Ed had whispered, forehead pressed into Stede’s shoulder.
Privately, Stede thinks Izzy might be a little more than that. He said nothing in the moment, just continued to stroke Ed’s hair until he wore himself out.
‘I’ll have to drain the wound,’ Roach says.
‘Ed,’ Stede says, opening the door to the auxiliary wardrobe. He ignores the way Roach stares. ‘Help me pick out some fresh clothes for Izzy.’
He nods to Roach and shuts the door. Ed stares at the racks of clothes, reaching out to feel some of them.
‘I imagine you know which ones Izzy would prefer,’ Stede says.
Hesitantly, Ed picks out a few soft linen undershirts, and a robe.
‘Just something light, so he doesn’t overheat,’ Ed says, and Stede nods encouragingly. He’s already mourning the things Ed has picked out. Izzy’s likely to sweat through them and ruin the fabrics for good, especially if the wound reopens. But it’s keeping Ed distracted while Roach works in the other room, so, really, Stede thinks it’s probably worth it.
Besides, with Izzy’s obvious disdain for Stede’s clothes, it might even cheer him up once he’s recovered to know that he personally had a hand in ruining some of them.
‘What about this one?’ Stede asks, pulling out a frock coat. It’s a bright, sunflower yellow with rather attractive lace ruffles along the cuffs.
Ed laughs for the first time in days. ‘Izzy would hate it.’
‘I think he’d look charming in yellow,’ Stede says. ‘It might encourage him to expand his wardrobe.’
‘Your funeral, mate,’ Ed says. He goes back to rifling through Stede’s shirts, a little more lively this time. Stede’s pleased that he’s at least managed to cheer Ed up a little bit, even if he can’t offer anything more useful.
Roach knocks on the door. ‘I’m done.’
Ed tears out of the room, dropping the shirts in his haste. By the time Stede re-enters the room, Ed’s back to perching on the side of the bed, Izzy’s hand in his.
Izzy’s asleep again, looking marginally better than before. There’s a bowl filled with water sitting beside the bed, a towel folded neatly under it, and Stede finds himself unbearably grateful to Roach.
He offers it to Ed, who silently begins wiping Izzy’s brow. His movements are gentle, affectionate, and Stede watches curiously. They’re both so different; Ed, wild and carefree, where Izzy is reserved and cold. He can’t imagine how Izzy has managed to inspire this kind of love.
The realisation is only a little surprising: of course Ed loves Izzy. It’s clear to him, in the way Ed is hovering now, the way he always looks to see Izzy’s reaction whenever he finds something interesting, the way his eyes are always searching the deck until he finds wherever Izzy is.
For some reason, Stede finds himself a little jealous. He wonders what it is about Izzy that’s so appealing to Ed. Are there hidden depths to him that Stede can’t see? Is there a likeable person in there somewhere, beneath the anger and mean attitude? Or is he tied to Izzy out of obligation, the way Stede was to Mary? Does Izzy love Ed back? So far, Stede’s only seen him following Ed, nagging at him and scolding him like a tired nanny handling an unruly child. He can’t make sense of them.
Izzy shifts in his sleep. Ed freezes.
Stede averts his eyes, feeling guilty for judging Izzy while he’s laid out, possibly dying of infection. ‘Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll keep watch over him.’
Ed casts another long look at Izzy, like he might say no. With a sigh, he stands. ‘Send someone to get me if anything changes.’
‘Of course,’ Stede says, and tries to give him a reassuring smile.
The door closes with a quiet click, leaving Stede alone with Izzy. He frets a little, unsure of himself. Does he sit here and watch Izzy the way Ed does, or should he be elsewhere in the room, giving Izzy space? Should he read to him? Would Izzy be upset to learn that Stede was taking care of him? Should he go and find someone else to take watch, in the hopes that it might make Izzy more comfortable?
With a sigh, he picks up the wet cloth and continues dabbing at Izzy’s too-warm skin. He’s never done something like this before; had relied on doctors and nursemaids whenever Mary was sick. It feels incredibly intimate, almost uncomfortable, to be doing this for Izzy now.
Izzy looks different, like this; fragile in a way Stede wouldn’t have been able to imagine before. He might not like Izzy much, but he can’t deny that he’s a good pirate — he’s efficient and an excellent swordsman, a necessary, if unfortunate, part of the Blackbeard myth. He and Ed both seemed so untouchable, simply too important and highly skilled to ever get hurt. It’s terrifying, in a way, to see him laid so low. If Blackbeard and his crew aren’t safe from death in battle, what hope do the rest of them have?
‘I think that’s the first nice thought I’ve ever had about you,’ Stede says.
‘Fuck off,’ Izzy slurs, and Stede nearly drops the bowl. Izzy is blinking up at Stede, his gaze still a little unfocused and glassy. He’s still not entirely in his right mind, but he’s awake and talking, and that’s better than what they’ve seen in the last few days.
‘Let me go get Ed,’ Stede says, moving to put the bowl aside and stand.
‘No,’ Izzy says urgently, reaching out to grab Stede’s wrist. ‘You can’t.’
Perhaps Izzy isn’t as lucid as Stede originally thought. ‘All right, I won’t.’
Izzy settles back, but tightens his grip on Stede’s arm, eyes moving restlessly around the room. For someone who nearly died, he’s awfully strong.
‘He has to wear the knee brace when it’s raining,’ Izzy says suddenly.
‘What?’ Stede asks. Are hallucinations part of infection? Is he dying? Should Stede go get Roach?
Izzy rolls his eyes. Clearly, even on his potential deathbed, Izzy’s always got the energy to be frustrated with Stede. ‘The knee brace. He hates wearing it, but you have to make him.’
‘Who— Ed?'
Izzy fixes Stede with a look so disappointed and withering that, for a moment, Stede is a child again, being scolded by his father.
‘Make sure he wears it,’ Izzy says, tugging insistently on Stede’s wrist. He’s pretty sure this is the longest conversation they’ve had that hasn’t devolved into bickering or attempted murder.
‘I will,’ Stede replies, mystified. Izzy nods, apparently satisfied, and drops Stede’s wrist. Within minutes, he’s asleep again. Stede decides to chalk it up to a bout of infection-induced madness after all, and resumes wiping down his face and neck. Maybe he’ll check on the laudanum, ask Roach to lower the dosage.
‘Why isn’t he getting better?’ Ed demands on the fifth day, glaring at Roach so threateningly that Stede is abruptly reminded that he is, in fact, currently hosting Blackbeard on his ship.
If Roach is afraid, he does an admirable job of hiding it. ‘He nearly died, and then the wound got infected. You have to give it time.’
‘Why don’t you go get some rest, Ed?’ Stede suggests. ‘You were with him all night, let me take over for a little bit.’
‘Find—’
‘Find you if anything changes, yes, I know,’ Stede says. He waves Ed off with a smile, trying not to look too guilty. At first, he’d agreed to help in order to appease Ed,but it’s gone beyond that now.
Izzy has been strange the last few days. He seems to know whenever Stede is in the room, regardless of how disoriented the sickness and medication are making him. As soon as he senses that they’re alone, his eyes are open, speaking urgently about Ed, holding Stede’s hand in a death grip while he does.
Stede has learned a lot in the last few days — Ed likes oranges, but only if the pith has been removed, because the texture bothers him. He likes his grapes peeled, and only eats apples when they’re sliced. He likes having someone else wash his hair, and likes having his head massaged when he can’t sleep. He’s prone to fits of melancholy , lashing out at whoever tries to help, but he never means what he says. He likes shiny little trinkets; fun puzzles and figurines. He likes silver jewellery rather than gold. He doesn’t like animals, but he thinks birds are funny, and likes to throw bits of food onto the beaches in the Republic to watch the gulls swarm.
‘He gets grumpy in the heat,’ Izzy says this time. He’s still feverish, coated in a thin sheen of sweat. The clothes Ed picked out still sit on the floor; they’ve all been too afraid to move him. ‘Cold compresses help.’
‘Why are you telling me all of this?’ Stede asks. He’s asked every time, but all he does is roll his eyes and look disappointed.
‘Someone’s got to look after him,’ Izzy says.
‘Oh,’ Stede says, intelligently. ‘Wait, why—?’
Izzy’s already closed his eyes again. Stede sits and watches him, brow furrowed, trying to understand. Ed and Izzy clearly have a long history together, and are much closer than Stede initially realised. Why would he willingly teach Stede how to look after Ed, when he hates Stede? Izzy only tolerates him for Ed’s sake. Stede’s sure he’s heard Izzy telling Ed he’d rather die than be friendly with—
Oh.
An uncomfortable feeling settles heavy in Stede’s stomach. Izzy doesn’t think he’s going to survive this. Izzy is apparently so confident that, even in his compromised state, he’s taking the time to coach Stede, to make sure that Ed’s taken care of in the long run. To make sure that Ed still gets his little trinkets and peeled oranges, even when Izzy isn’t around to provide them anymore.
How could he have thought that Izzy doesn’t love Ed?
Stede wonders what it must be like, to love someone so much; to still put them first, even on your own deathbed.
He’d been jealous of Ed and Izzy’s closeness, before. He wonders if Izzy is ever jealous of Stede for commanding so much of Ed’s attention, the way he has been lately. He wonders if maybe they’re both much more similar than he’d initially realised.
How things have changed, Stede muses. A week ago he could’ve sworn that Izzy didn’t have a single redeemable quality.
‘Of course I’ll take care of him,’ Stede says quietly. Izzy’s eyes remain closed, but Stede thinks he sees Izzy’s mouth twitch up into a smile, just for a moment.
Izzy’s fever breaks on the seventh day.
There’s a marked improvement, after that, as slow as his recovery is. The infection heals, and eventually, Roach starts making approving noises whenever he checks under the bandages. The fever dissipates, and on the ninth day Izzy finally gets out of bed, scowling while Ed and Stede fret behind him.
Stede changes the bedsheets while Izzy bathes, complaining loudly the whole time.
‘I don’t need you to fucking watch me bathe,’ Izzy says.
‘Too bad,’ Ed says, cheerfully.
‘If you don’t turn around I’ll reopen the wound myself.’
‘Like fuck you will, mate—’
It’s hard to keep the smile off his face, listening to them carry on. Ed’s relaxed for the first time since Izzy was injured, laughing and joking and clearly excited to dote on Izzy while he’s awake. Even the crew seem a bit more cheerful, even though the Swede admitted they all had a betting pool on what was finally going to kill Izzy.
Izzy continues complaining throughout his bath, all the way until he settles back into bed.
‘I’m fucking fine,’ he snarls, even though he’s pale and out of breath.
‘Humour us,’ Stede says, when Ed disappears to get Izzy more pillows. ‘You gave us all quite a scare. Let Ed fuss a little longer.’
Izzy’s face goes through a number of complicated expressions, before he eventually nods, looking unhappy. Stede is warmed by the depth of affection between the two of them; the way Izzy seems to be willing to do anything for Ed, even when it irritates him.
There was a stray cat that sometimes appeared around the gardens when Stede was a child. She was an ugly thing, old and ragged, patches of fur missing, covered in scars from fights with other wild animals. He liked her anyway. The first time he’d tried to pet her, she hissed and bit him so hard he cried. For a few weeks after that he followed her around, determined to befriend her, leaving bits of fish for her to eat. Eventually, she walked straight up to him and sat beside him, purring loudly when he gathered the courage to pet her.
‘What’s so funny?’ Izzy asks.
‘Nothing,’ Stede says. He can’t imagine Izzy would be pleased to know Stede is comparing him to an old stray cat. ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’
He’s nearly at the door when Izzy says, ‘Bonnet.’
‘Yes?’ Stede asks. Izzy is staring hard at the door frame just left of Stede, an unhappy twist to his mouth. He looks embarrassed.
‘I don’t remember much of the last few days,’ he says, ‘but I remember talking to you. What did I say?’
He thinks of Izzy, his desperate grip on Stede’s wrist, telling him everything about Ed, convinced that he was going to die.
‘You called me a twat a few times,’ Stede says.
‘That’s because you are one,’ Izzy says. There’s no heat behind it. Stede thinks he might even be amused.
‘So I’ve heard, many times,’ Stede says, grinning. ‘If you need anything, just yell. I’m sure Ed will be back soon.’
‘Some peace and fucking quiet, if you don’t mind,’ Izzy says.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Stede replies, shutting the door behind him. He watches the crew work for a few moments, thinking. Izzy doesn’t seem so bad, really — nowhere near as unpleasant as Stede had originally thought.
He’s reminded, again, of the stray cat — ugly and cranky and deeply suspicious of him, and yet surprisingly sweet underneath it all.
Stede wrinkles his nose. He’d won her over through discarded fish guts and small bowls of cow’s milk snuck from the kitchens. Izzy will require something nicer than that. Maybe he’ll start with a nice dinner just for the three of them; surely Roach can be convinced to make something extra nice for Izzy to celebrate his recovery.
Stede can’t help but laugh to himself. Maybe he’ll ask for fish anyway, just to test the theory.