Chapter Text
Izzy creeps along the hallway, leaning heavily on the wall. He doesn’t want to ask the damned cook for help. Why would any of this crew help him? He’s lucky to even have a place here, not be kicked off the ship after everything. Best not to rock the boat.
But each step sends a new flare of pain up his leg, and Izzy can feel himself wobbling. His brain feels foggy and he knows he's not thinking clearly anymore. He won’t hold out much longer, so really, what choice does he have? It’s a wonder he’s made it this long since the reunion without medical aid. He doesn't want to become a liability to his captain.
And Izzy knows Roach knows, from the way that Roach has been watching him. So really, what's the harm? He may not want to ask for help, but his remaining choices are to ask for help or to die. And out of pure stubbornness, Izzy is a survivor.
So Izzy stands, swaying, at the galley door. He had come in secret, in the dead of night, but still he hesitates. So much could go wrong. Better to die alone than to appear weak. To be unwanted.
After several agonized minutes of indecision in the silence filled only with his own ragged breathing, Izzy pushes his way into the galley.
Roach sits there, as if expecting him. Of course he was, the way he watches everything for any sign of danger. The smoke from his cigarillo in the dim red lantern light makes him look like the myths of Blackbeard, head made of dark mist and eyes burning into Izzy’s soul.
“I thought you’d come,” Roach says.
Izzy all but collapses onto the nearest bench. “Let’s get this over with. I need to get back to work.”
Roach’s eyes narrow as he stands. “We shall see.”
Izzy can’t prevent himself from flinching back as Roach reaches for his boot laces. Roach pauses, and examines him with a critical eye. “There is not much I can do for you, if you do not let me see and touch.”
Izzy nods, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. A trickle of sweat runs down his face, and his vision blurs.
Roach does not go again for Izzy’s foot, instead squinting at his flushed face. He places a hand on Izzy’s forehead, and it feels so cool Izzy almost shivers.
“Fever,” Roach says to himself. “You should have come to me sooner.” Then he shakes his head. “I should have made you. We have reason to mistrust each other. It's natural that you would hesitate asking me for help.”
Izzy closes his eyes. That doesn’t make sense. Why would Roach give a damn? “Just patch it up quickly. I have first watch.”
Roach hums noncommittally, extinguishing his cigarillo and reaching again for Izzy’s bootlaces.
***
Roach whistles to himself as he examines the infected wound where the first mate’s toe should be. “This is nasty. How’d you get this?”
Izzy stares at the ceiling, resolutely refusing to answer. “I’m not here to chit-chat. Get on with it.”
Roach shrugs, and gently prods the darkened, damaged skin. “As you like.”
The wound looks like it’s been stitched closed and split open a few times, a ring of dead skin surrounding its edges. That’s not the dangerous part though. It’s the infection that will kill with something like this, not blood loss. And from the looks of it the infection is currently winning. The next toe over is just as inflamed as the wound, and the infection may run deep enough that it’s eating the bone.
Roach traces the red line up Izzy’s foot almost to his ankle, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tries to calculate how long they have. Izzy’s a fighter, and stubborn, from all Roach has seen. But he’s seemed empty since their return to the revenge. And seeking Roach’s help, though the wise thing to do, could mean the proud little man is on the brink of giving up entirely. They need to make land, and quickly. They may not have enough time.
“You need to keep off of this. Each step you take pumps the infection closer to your heart, and even I cannot save you from that.” Roach tells him.
Izzy shakes his head, eyes glassy from the fever. “I can’t. Can’t rest. Have to keep working.”
Roach frowns. He may not trust Izzy Hands, but he has no desire to see the man work himself to death. “You will rest.”
“I can’t let Edward know!” It’s concerning, how feeble this shout sounds compared to his usual barking.
Roach has had enough of flinching from Blackbeard’s shadow. He is having none of Izzy’s self-destructive loyalty. If Izzy Hands won’t accept care willingly, then it’s up to Roach to make him. No matter how much Izzy struggles or how angry it makes him, Roach is taking matters into his own hands. He will help him. Roach tilts his head, considering his options.
***
In the end, Roach had to tie Izzy Hands down to a cot in order to make him rest and to treat the injuries. He’d kept quiet, more afraid of being found out by his captain than of Roach. It was a fight Roach would have had much more difficulty winning, if Hands hadn’t been on the brink of passing out. As it is, he feels nothing but apprehension over how easy it had been to overpower the greatest swordsman in the caribbean.
Izzy still won’t tell Roach what had happened or who had done this to him, though it doesn’t take a genius to guess. Roach is smart, and it’s depressingly easy to put the pieces together. The half fevered mumbling about duty and deserving it? The age of the wound? Hands’ new unwillingness to eat meat since they’d returned to the ship?
Izzy is obviously not quite himself right now, but it's one of the things he's seen in people with severe infections. They sometimes fixate on their most important thing, reduced down to the most central parts of their identity. And for Izzy that's his devotion to his captain.
Roach leans back in his chair. “This was Edward’s punishment for you?” It’s not really a question.
Izzy's gaze skitters across the room, and Roach wonders if Izzy can even see him right now. As flushed as the man is, the way he pales at the question is still noticeable. “Don’t let him find out,” he whispers through trembling lips. “Please. He can’t know. He’ll…”
Roach feels a flash of anger. “He’ll what? Kill you? For needing medical help for the injuries he caused.”
Izzy closes his eyes, shivering, whether from fevered chills or from fear Roach can’t guess. “I deserved it,” He repeats again weakly.
Izzy’s situation is different from Roach’s past struggles. He is in this situation, to a degree, by his own free choice. He chose to give his loyalty to Blackbeard, despite it all. It reminds Roach of all the indoctrination on past ships. The captain is just a man, and treating him as more than that gets good crews killed or worse.
Despite all his attempts to remain detached, seeing someone willingly let themselves be valued so little makes Roach’s temper flare. He’s not even sure who he’s angrier at. Edward, Izzy, or himself for allowing himself to care.
“Please,” Izzy rasps out. “Please, don’t tell Edward.”
Roach sighs, and stares out the dark galley window. A plan starts to form in his head.
“Very well. But I also will not let you die on my watch.”
***
Lucius wakes with a half scream to a foot lightly prodding his side. As so often happens when he first wakes, he’s disoriented, feeling the phantom rush of water around him . Lucius scrambles back, clutching his chest. He’s not drowning. He’s not. “The fuck-” he glares up at the person who’d woken him. “Roach? It’s the middle of the damn night.”
“Yes, it is,” Roach answers in a serious, unreadable tone. “Come to the galley. You have a bad case of pneumonia.”
Lucius’ anger and fear bleed away into confusion. He blinks up at Roach. His eyes and hair are wild, and he’s holding one of the big kitchen knives he’s so fond of. “I. What? I don’t feel-”
Roach ducks down, covering Lucius’ mouth with his hand. “You must come to the galley,” he repeats, his eyes glittering in the dark night.
Beside him, Pete shifts. “Babe, what’s going on?”
Roach considers him for a moment, as if deciding something. “Yes, you come too.”
Blearily, Lucius gets up, still no idea what’s going on. He’s pretty sure he’d know if he had pneumonia? Had Roach heard something off in his snoring or something?
Lucius watches as Roach nudges Fang awake, and shepherds the three of them below deck.
Understanding dawns when Lucius sees the state Izzy is in. He’s unconscious, and looks very unwell.
The man had kept Lucius alive, though begrudgingly, through the days of the Kraken. Izzy had kept him hidden and fed, cursing him all the while. It makes Lucius' heart ache to see him like this.
Roach lets out a breath, before pulling up a stool beside his patient. He wipes Izzy’s forehead with cool water, taking a moment before explaining.
“He begged me not to let the captains find out.”
“So I’m, what, a decoy patient?” Lucius asks.
“More or less,” Roach nods. “Fang, can you guard the door?”
A smart choice. The captains would know that Fang and Lucius were together, and that Fang cared about Izzy from their time aboard the Queen Anne together. He was a believable guard for either of them.
“What about me?” Pete asks.
“You are not a good enough liar to make this convincing.”
“Hey!”
“So you and Lucius will help me keep this old fool alive.”