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Another empty bottle is added to the pile, and Lucius finds his concern rising again. For all he’s emptied another bottle in record time, his lover is showing no signs of inebriation as he stares out over the horizon, in search of something that nobody can find.
Edward Teach tried, but in doing so, he broke Israel Hands. He took a soul so perfect and left it fractured and flawed, fearful and furious in equal measure.
Roach tried with recipes and remedies that failed to find the rot buried deep inside, leaving the First Mate frozen, fretful and fearful.
Wee John tried with self-care and freedom, hoping to encourage confidence from the man the crew relied on so heavily. And, to an extent, he had some success. He helped Izzy come to terms with the things he had shouldered on his own for as long as Lucius can recall.
Stede Bonnet only made things worse. He pushed Izzy into a mould that didn’t fit; he pushed the carefully crafted boundaries that Lucius helped his lover create, and for all he shoved, Izzy’s walls grew higher.
Only one person saw those walls crumble; one man was lucky enough to witness the vulnerability revealed when Israel Hands confessed his truth. It doesn’t make it easier for Lucius when he sees his boyfriend downing bottles of rum the way the others drink water. It doesn’t make it easier when he sees the tears at midnight, buried into the pillow before Lucius can react. It burns, it stings and aches and stabs. Lucius hates that his lover is in so much pain, but what he hates more than that, the only thing he hates more than his lover’s pain and agony and trauma, is that he doesn’t know how to help his Izzy.
Their days are spent apart, concerned glances from the deck up to the Crow’s Nest, and if Lucius is feeling particularly brave, he’ll go to his lover’s side. It rarely happens; they prefer to keep their affection isolated in the First Mate’s small cabin, a room barely big enough for the pair. But there’s nowhere else that Lucius would rather be.
“Hey, I’m uh, I’m goin’ to bed,” his lover’s voice pulls Lucius from his thoughts.
He looks down into Izzy’s eyes, finding familiarity and comfort. It’s not merely informational, it’s invitational.
“Lead the way,” Lucius hums, reaching down to slowly entwine their fingers at their sides, the small sign of their affection that they willingly reveal to the others. They don’t show a lot, but that which they do show is always their choice. Hand in hand, they’ve faced the world trying to beat them down, and they survived.
Turning away from the rest of the crew, Lucius lets himself be guided as much as he guides his lover, following the winding path to their private chambers, the only place they can lower their walls, remove the masquerades, and reveal their truest selves. It’s only once the door has closed that Lucius can see Izzy curled up in his arms, revealing the small reassurance he desperately needs, but loathes to ask for.
Lucius has witnessed his Izzy transform from an emotionless shell into a man with tears in his eyes and joy in his soul, and somewhere deeper in his soul, love. Love for the world around him, love for the crew he once detested, and love for Lucius - a love unlike anything he’s ever felt.
It terrifies him. When he confessed his emotions, he told Lucius as much. He admitted his fear, his anxiety, his silent self-hatred from the upbringing that thrust him into faith and religion. It’s no surprise that he turned away from that part of his story as soon as he could, and it surprises Lucius even less that his lover struggles so severely when he hears the things that Izzy was told as a child and the hatred he was forced to endure when he began to realise the parts of himself that should never be shamed.
Who he loves is not something shameful, regardless of their class, creed, gender, race, or anything else. Love is love, and Lucius has reminded Izzy of that more times than he cares to recall, and he will continue to do so until the day he dies if he is so asked.
“How are you doing, Iz? Like, really, are you okay?” Lucius asks quietly. The walls hear everything around here, and Lucius doesn’t want anybody else to hear this, but he can’t not ask the question that has weighed on his mind.
It’s painful to see the spiral, to see the decline in his lover’s mental health, and to know there’s only so much he can do to help.
A quiet sigh breaks the silence, it’s almost inaudible. Lucius hears it, though, and he’s not sure if he’s going to get the answer he needs.
Izzy’s head lowers as he pulls a key from his pocket. His hand trembles as he tries to push it into the lock. “Not really.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the emotion, but the key doesn’t enter the lock as smoothly as it usually would. Lucius watches, frozen to the spot. It’s the closest to a confession he’s had in months. Every time he’s asked, Izzy has the same response - I’m fine, kid. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.
But tonight, something is different, something has changed. And Lucius feels inadequately equipped to handle this.
He’s never been particularly good at talking about feelings, but when he’s with Izzy, he finds it easy. Talking about love, pain, joy, anguish, it all comes easily when it’s with the man whom he loves with his heart and soul.
“Do you… can I… is it…”
Nothing feels right. He doesn’t want to say he can fix it; Lucius knows he can’t. He knows he’s ill-prepared for the weight of his lover’s pain. The man has had a life of trauma, exacerbated as their lives together have grown, at the hands of his captain.
“Fucks sake…” Izzy mumbles, glaring at the key in his hand, as though the fury in his eyes will scare it into submission.
Carefully, cautiously even, Lucius takes Izzy’s hand in his own, helps him to unlock the door, and they step into the cabin together. Almost pressed together, they shed their clothes, the garments landing at their feet. Lucius can’t stop himself, unable to resist the urge. He wraps his arms around Izzy, nude bodies meeting in a soft embrace. They never get moments like these with the others around. These moments are hidden, shielded to protect Ed’s fragile mental health, his supposed guilt for the pain he caused. Lucius hates it; he hates that they do so much for the man who nearly killed them both.
Lucius would’ve drowned if not for Izzy; he would be fish-fodder, swimming with the mermaids - and not from the Jim variety. It was only the First Mate’s quick thinking that he was rescued, a rope thrown overboard, a strong hand to help Lucius pull himself back to the safe, steady ground of the ship they still call home. It was only because of Izzy that he’s still alive to tell his tale and comfort his lover.
And he’s not sure Izzy would be alive if not for Lucius.
It feels like he’s inflating his ego, exaggerating his actions when he thinks about it. He didn’t do a lot. He found Izzy, a broken soul, with a gun in one hand, an empty bottle in the other, and blood pouring from a wound that should have killed him. And Lucius acted blindly.
He picked up the nearest rag and tied it around Izzy’s head, hoping it would stem the bleeding or just do something. It was a shot in the dark, but with the makeshift bandage, he took the gun and stored it far away and out of sight. It wouldn’t make it better, but it would make it easier if they didn’t have to face the sheer horror of what had happened. The empty bottle felt insignificant then, but Lucius should’ve picked up on it sooner. It wasn’t the first empty bottle he’d seen next to the First Mate, and it hasn’t been the last. Empty bottles have become a part of the man as much as his walking stick, and the glove that hides the scars on his hand.
By a miracle, Izzy survived. Roach plucked as much of the metal from the wound as he could and stitched it into a neat scar that would bring no attention.
Lucius stayed watch, day and night. He left an imprint in the old chair he found in the stores from being sat for so long, unwilling to move, not just reluctant but refusing. The others offered - Roach, Frenchie, Jim and Oluwande, even Pete offered to watch over Izzy for a few hours, giving Lucius the chance to freshen up, have some proper rest, and eat something.
But Lucius didn’t budge.
Looking back, he’s unsure of how he survived. He didn’t eat, he barely slept, and he didn’t shower - for days, weeks even. When the First Mate finally awoke - dazed and confused - he was bitter. He was angry. And Lucius expected it. The man wanted to die, and Lucius brought him back, perhaps cruelly. It wasn’t intended to be cruel, and he said as much. He told Izzy the truth - the crew loves him, Lucius loves him, and that Izzy was not the burden he believes himself to be.
It was agonising to see the man break down, to see the strong First Mate reduced to quiet sobs and tears that were badly hidden, but Lucius knew it was necessary then, and he doesn’t regret it now.
“You are loved.”
It comes easily. Saying I love you feels too…
It’s hard for Izzy to hear that somebody specific loves him, and strangely, Lucius does understand. He’s seen Izzy grow from believing he was wholly unlovable to not only accepting love and affection but also reciprocating it with Lucius. But putting a name behind it, putting the weight and expectation, is where Izzy crumbles.
If he needs Lucius to find creative ways to say those three words, he will do so. It’s a truth that applies, regardless of how Lucius says it. And the truth is that Israel Hands is loved. The rest of the crew love him, and if Lucius is lying, the others still claim to love him.
Izzy’s reasoning was illogical. Lucius still struggles to make sense of it, but in a way, he can see what Izzy is trying to say. He doesn’t believe Lucius; he can’t bring himself to believe that one person loves him, that somebody has seen the deepest, darkest parts of himself, the things he hates the most, and they still choose to love him.
Izzy’s grip tightens around his shoulders, his sniffle is almost silent, and Lucius feels his heart twisting.
“Iz?”
It’s inescapable.
They know they need to talk about this, they know they need to see this to the end. And they know, deep down, that the painful truth needs to see the light of day.
“Why do you say you love me?”
It’s a question loaded with a burden, but the answer comes easily to Lucius, even if it is something he’s unsure of saying. “Because I love you.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have said it so brazenly, the thought flitters through his mind for a brief moment. He knows Izzy crumbles under the weight of affection, but it’s a truth Lucius cannot, and will not, deny.
He’s never pretended to hide his affection; he has never silenced the signs of his affection, but he won’t keep the words buried deep in the pit of his stomach, hidden away from the man who needs to hear them the most.
“I love you, Iz. And I know you’re uncertain about hearing me say that, I know you don’t believe it. But I don’t, I can’t… I…” he sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Izzy as he tries to make sense of what he’s trying to say. “Seeing you in pain is killing me. I hate that you hurt so much, I hate that life has been so unkind to you, and I hate Teach for what he did to you. You didn’t deserve any of the things that happened to you; you never deserved to have him leave you for dead, or to be abandoned by your family…”
It’s a painful journey that his lover has walked, on which he’s traipsed along, alone for so long that Lucius can’t begin to imagine the things Izzy has seen. For all the promises Lucius could make, he knows they mean very little if he doesn’t keep them. Others have promised to stay, others have promised to care for him, but none have kept their promises. They have all left for far lesser things than what Lucius has stayed through.
Lucius will be different.
He presses his lips against Izzy’s belly, just above the hem of his trousers. It’s a gentle touch, soft and laden with affection, and Lucius hopes it says all the words he’s struggling to say. His fingers dance along Izzy’s ribs as he looks up at his lover again, “You deserve to be loved. And you are loved.”
The tears in the First Mate’s eyes betray the strength he’s trying to maintain. Lucius knows, just as much as Izzy does, that those tears are no signs of weakness. They are the strength he needs to overcome the trauma of acknowledging all that he has survived.
They’ve spoken about as much, that surviving Hell is one thing, but to face the knowledge of what has been is another thing entirely. Silent and trembling, Izzy’s grip on Lucius’s shoulders tightens. His tears fall faster, harder, and he slowly lowers into Lucius’s lap.
“You’re good to me,” Izzy’s voice, ever soft and gentle, is barely a whisper. And curled up in Lucius’s arms, he feels…
It should feel pathetic. He was raised to be stronger than this. He was raised to be a man - never showing his emotions, fucking cunt at any chance he gets, and commanding power from anybody beneath him. But here he is, curled up in the scribe’s embrace, letting his anguish be seen for the first time in days. And he feels strong, he feels brave, and he feels whole.
“You deserve it, Iz, you deserve to be good to yourself, too. I know it’s hard, it’s been a long and painful life, but you deserve to be kind to yourself…” Lucius grazes his thumb over Izzy’s beard, and then his bottom lip, “not getting through each day with a bottle to cope, or taking the watch so you don’t have to close your eyes…”
Izzy nods, leaning into Lucius’s gentle touch. His eyes drift closed, relaxing in the simplicity of their embrace. “I… I know…”
Lucius remains steady for a moment, unsure of what to say. Anything could be the wrong thing; it would be so easy to hurt Izzy. But he knows his Izzy needs him now; he needs Lucius’s wisdom, if he has any to give. And while he’s not sure it’s the right thing to say, Lucius quietly speaks. “Sometimes, it’s easy to be drunk because it’s hard to be sober…”
Izzy nods and pulls back, ever so slightly, just enough he can wipe his eyes, “it’s always there, in the, in, in the back of my mind and I, all the words he said, all the things he did…”
While it’s unclear who Izzy is talking about, Lucius knows his lover will get there; he’ll get to where he needs to be with the right encouragement, with a little time and space.
“He’s been dead for more of my life than he was alive… but I… every day, he’s here. In my head. In my actions. The words I say and the things I do… I’m just like him, for all I tried not to be, I’m exactly like he was.”
His father.
There is a long list of things that Lucius could say, the reminders of the differences between Izzy and his father, or he could point out how his father beat his mother, and Izzy has never laid a finger on Lucius in their time together.
But he starts small, because that’s what Izzy needs. Small, simple, and not overwhelming.
“You’re not like him, Iz,” Lucius promises, “if you were anything like him, do you think you'd be here now?”
Here. Not just alive, not just on this ship, but his location - held in Lucius’s gentle embrace, open to another man’s affection.
Izzy slowly shakes his head, hand trembling as he slicks his hair back. He tilts his head back and lets out a shaky breath, a silent sob buried somewhere deep inside. Lucius hears it, though, no matter how Izzy tries to hide it. And then Izzy shakes his head, no. It seems so small, but it’s a confession and a revelation at once, releasing tension he’s held for forty years, and maybe more. “You wouldn’t be here…”
Lucius smiles slightly and traces the grey hairs in Izzy’s beard, “I wouldn’t be here if you were anything like him, Iz. I wouldn’t love you if you were anything like the man who raised you. But I don’t think you’d be here either. Not just here with me, but alive. Whole. Loved.”
Izzy nods, but he’s crumbling, arms thrown tightly around Lucius’s shoulders as he sobs. The things he hates to reveal, the weakness his father tried to beat out of him, are all plainly on show. And he doesn’t hate it.
With a little wriggling, Lucius lies back on the bed and holds Izzy in his arms. “You’re safe with me, Iz. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”