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Izzy closes his eyes on the deck of a pirate ship and opens them in hell. It’s a tiny dark room with a dirty little window and smells of the sea, even if Izzy can’t hear it. The things he longs for just out of reach. That seems on par for hell. The rest of it—
“Fucking shabby,” Izzy mutters.
“Well, excuse me for not having the coin to put First Mate Hands up in a luxury suite. They did have a newlywed one available, but I thought you’d likely die in protest if I carried you over that threshold.”
Izzy jerks and turns, wincing at pain lancing through his middle. “Fuck,” he wheezes. Then: “twatty.”
“Iggy,” Lucius Spriggs returns from a chair pulled close to the bed.
He’s tidier than when Izzy saw him last, his beard trimmed neatly. From the pile of books next to his chair, Lucius has been spending a lot of time by Izzy’s bedside.
Izzy shifts a little. Only a dull ache with gentle movements. He’s reclined, supported by what feels like a jumble of pillows and rolled blankets.
“So this isn’t hell,” Izzy says, mostly to himself as he prods gently at the bandages wrapped around his middle.
Lucius catches Izzy’s hands and pulls them away from the bandages. He doesn’t let go. Curious.
“You seem sure of that,” Lucius says. He strokes his thumbs over the back of Izzy’s hands. Lucius doesn’t seem to be aware he’s doing it, full attention on Izzy.
“You wouldn’t be here. If it were.”
Lucius tilts his head, eyebrows drawing together. “I wouldn’t be in hell?”
“No,” Izzy confirms. He’s drifting, Lucius’s touch lulling him. “You’re too fucking good for hell.”
He might hear a soft, sharp exhale—something like surprise or amused disbelief. But Izzy’s dreaming again. Smoking cigarettes with Lucius. Showing Bonnet how to make a fist so he doesn’t break his thumb. Sparring with Jim, who wears Izzy’s glove. Sitting as still as he can while Wee John helps Izzy put on his look.
Izzy opens his eyes and knows he’s not in hell. Well, not literally.
“Awake again?”
“No, I’m fucking sleepwalking,” Izzy says.
“Well, that’s a good sign,” Lucius says and brings over a tray to set in Izzy’s lap.
“What is?” Izzy asks. Then looking down: “the fuck’s this?”
“Your bad temper, and that’s lunch.”
Izzy’s mouth twists. Lucius flicks the end of his nose.
“Eat up, all of it, if you want to be a strong boy.”
Izzy does—eat up, that is. It’s awful, whatever it is, and so he knows Roach isn’t here.
“Just you keeping vigil by my deathbed?” Izzy asks between bites.
“Jim nearly stabbed me for it,” Lucius confirms. “But they’re too good a pirate to be stranded on land. We’ve got some debts to settle before we can go back to the Revenge, and the crew’s off being all pirate-y and looting fancy ships or conning rich fucks out of their money.”
“‘We’ go back?”
“Oh Jim would definitely stab me if I left you behind,” Lucius says. “Conveniently, I’m not overly fond of the idea of letting you slip away, especially since Ed and Stede have gone into ‘retirement’.”
Lucius uses air quotes on the last word.
“Retirement? They actually did it?”
And after his heart-fucking-felt speech to Ricky before the bastard shot him. Of fucking course.
“Personally, I think they’ve actually managed to pick an even less restful job, but I wasn’t about to tell Stede that. They think you’re dead, by the way. Sorry.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“Put the rest of the figurehead in a box and gave it to them to bury.” Lucius pauses. “They did seem really sad. For what it’s worth.”
Izzy grunts. “And then you snuck me to shore to play nursemaid.”
“Yep,” Lucius says, with a pop on the p.
“We’re square, then.”
“Mm, yeah, thought you might like that.”
The time away has clearly been good for Lucius. He’s never still, but it’s less twitchy than before. Lucius crosses one leg over the other and takes a leisurely drag from his cigarette. Izzy follows the motion of his wrist and fingers.
Lucius catches his eye. He exhales, the smoke dissolving like ship’s wake.
“Planning to ask me to share this time?” he asks.
Izzy shakes his head. “Can’t trust me to hold it.”
“Don’t think anyone in charge would notice a few singes in those blankets.”
“They might notice if the entire fucking inn burns down around them.”
Lucius considers. He shrugs and leans forward, cigarette pinched between thumb and forefinger, lit end facing away from Izzy.
“Would you be more comfortable if I called you twatty?” he asks when Izzy hesitates. “Or is it my turn to fondle some wood first?”
“Fucking twat,” Izzy mutters and leans forward.
He hasn’t smoked in years, save for the last time the two of them were here. One drag is enough to shake off the lingering fog. Izzy feels a little steadier and leans his head back against the bedframe to let the smoke curl from his parted mouth. His eyes drift shut, even as the bed shifts under Lucius’s weight.
“More?”
“Mm,” Izzy says, opening his eyes.
Lucius smirks, taking a long drag first. He doesn’t change his grip on the cigarette, twisting his wrist and stroking his fingertips over Izzy’s top lip. Izzy holds his gaze.
“I hope you know how lucky you are,” Lucius murmurs. “This is my last cigarette ever. I made a promise I’d quit.”
“Your Pete not like it?”
“No, bless the man,” Lucius says, taking a quick drag before handing the cigarette to Izzy. He leans sideways, carefully draping himself over Izzy’s thighs. “I swear he’d marry me even if I thought the differences between hardwoods and softwoods when it came to whittling was a snore. Well. Actually, I do think it’s boring—I mean, what can you really offer in return about that?”
“Thought you had extensive experience with hard woods,” Izzy replies.
“Shut up,” Lucius says, but he’s smiling. “Anyway, no, Pete didn’t ask me to quit.”
There’s something just on the edge of beginning in the air between them. Izzy waits, watching as Lucius picks at the blanket over Izzy’s legs.
“I, um. I made a promise with the universe—yes, I know it’s stupid, shut up—but I did it, I promised the universe or God or whatever that if you…if you lived—if you woke up, I’d give up smoking. So that’s it. That’s my last one.”
Izzy looks at the cigarette in his hand, nearly burned out now.
Lucius squeezes his eyes shut. “Go on, then. Let’s hear how fucking stupid of an idea it was.”
Izzy says nothing. Lucius’s chest feels tight, already panicked at the idea of trying to quit smoking and breaking his promise. He wonders if he’s cursed himself or Izzy. Lucius winces at the sound of the cigarette being stubbed out and braces for the rejection and dismissal.
Izzy grabs Lucius’s collar and tugs. Lucius opens his mouth to sputter a question or excuse, anything to get out of this mortifying situation and hope Izzy thinks it’s a fever dream, but then Izzy’s mouth is closing over his. There’s an exhale of smoke, the slick heat of Izzy’s tongue chasing it.
It happens so quick, Lucius doesn’t have time to respond. Izzy leans away, a faint flush in his cheeks. Lucius exhales the shared smoke, watching Izzy watch him. Watching Izzy lick his bottom lip. A memory of a stolen taste.
“FYI,” Lucius begins, voice remarkably steady, all things considered; “you’ve never needed the excuse of a cigarette.”
“Good. Because I heard that was your last one.”
“Yeah?”
Izzy meets Lucius’s gaze squarely. He rolls his shoulders back and lifts his chin. “Yeah.”
Lucius grabs the bedframe and hauls himself closer, pressing against Izzy. Izzy loops an arm around his middle, other hand squeezing Lucius’s hip.
Izzy grunts. “Careful,” he says, nipping at Lucius’s lip. “I got fucking shot, you know. Fuck what Edward says, it still fucking hurts on the left side.”
Lucius nuzzles in for a lingering kiss. He cradles Izzy’s cheek with one hand, the other warm at the nape of Izzy’s neck.
“I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs against Izzy’s lips. “You’ve earned it, I should think.”
Izzy expects some kind of objection to come to him, but there’s nothing but the soft sigh Lucius makes when they come together again. Only the firm weight of the younger man perched carefully in his lap, mindful of the wounds Izzy carries.
When Izzy starts to slow, healing still taking its toll, Lucius draws back and kisses the x beneath Izzy’s eye. Over his shoulder, Izzy spots a chipped mug on a side table. A branch of jasmine in bloom set inside.
Lucius eases himself back into his chair. Izzy catches Lucius’s hand and squeezes. Lucius brushes light kisses over Izzy’s knuckles and wrist.
“Rest, Iz. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”
Just before he drifts off again, Izzy remembers what Lucius had not-quite said all those months ago.
Show me a bit of sweetness. I’ll be patient.