Chapter Text
Queasy, Stede looked down at the back of his hand. There was blood—his, Izzy's, he wasn't sure—and the sting of split skin radiating across his knuckles.
Around him: heat, humidity, and the sweet stench of rotting vegetation. The unnatural trill of cicadas, the birdcalls and the hushed whisper of the wind through the thick stand of trees. In front of him: Izzy, crumpled on the shaded, muddy ground, holding his nose with one hand and laughing an odd, high-pitched laugh.
It had been Stede's own poor planning that he had been alone, that the others had been elsewhere, though it was dumb luck that Izzy had apparently planned the same. And he should have noticed the footfalls, the crunch of twigs and leaves, the shift of clothing against the foliage of the forest. He should have better parried the comments Izzy had thrown his way. He should have brought someone with him, any of his men who'd been willing to come.
He should have been able to ignore Izzy's barbs, and he should have been able to brush it off when the degenerate had said, "You were always going to throw him away eventually. Your type doesn't know any better. I'd wager it's not the first time you discarded someone you got bored of."
But he wasn't, and he hadn't.
"Where is he?" he asked, not caring about the desperation in his voice.
Izzy stared up at him, grinned hard, and laughed some more. "With me," he said. "He's finished being the little rich boy's plaything, isn't he?"
Stede had only recently learned a man's body could move instinctually like this. Straddling Izzy, his knuckles got bloodier, and eventually the stinging stopped.
The laughing stopped soon after that.
"Neither a gentleman nor a pirate," Izzy had sneered, eventually, when he'd come to again.
Much, much later, in the dark, creaking belly of their new ship: "So he's our hostage," Oluwande said.
Stede had only recently gotten this new ship, small and cramped, so unlike his own ship but temporarily good enough for the half-a-crew he had now. And he had himself a hostage, as well. Dragged out of the Carolina forest and carried on board, cleaned up to the extent he'd allowed Stede to touch him, thrown in the ship's small brig that was lit dimly through a slatted wood ceiling, and locked up until they'd gotten underway again. Stede stared at him from the doorway.
Izzy stared back, tied to a heavy wooden chair and immobile, and smiled. "You sure I'm the hostage?"
Stede ignored him and said to Oluwande, "Until we can get our real ship back. Until we can find Ed."
There was that laugh again. Almost pained, forced and fading into something even stranger, and Stede flinched at the sound of it. "Oh, I hope you still love him. I hope he still cares for you. You've no idea what all happened, do you? Think all this can be smoothed over with a how-do-you-do and a handjob?"
Stede smiled condescendingly at him. He was moments away from telling Izzy that his crudeness meant nothing to him, that his own tactics would be far more effective than whatever Izzy might have come up with on his own. But Oluwande tapped him on the arm and whispered, "A word."
Casting Izzy one more quick glance through the doorway, Stede took a step away from the door and asked Oluwande, "Is there a problem?"
"What will we do when we see Blackbeard again?" Oluwande asked. His brow was just barely pulled into a frown, but Stede could see a deeper concern in his eyes. "You know, after he split us up, people might have some problems with him."
People, Stede knew, would most likely include the young man standing before him, even though he was nothing but professional about it. "Wasn't it Izzy who had split the crew?" Stede asked.
"I mean he was on the dinghy, yeah," said Oluwande. He shrugged, as if to say that didn't mean very much.
Stede felt a bit faint. The implication of Oluwande's words hit him, an implication that he belatedly knew he should have understood before: Izzy wouldn't have been able to throw anyone off the ship without Ed's knowledge, possibly even his go-ahead.
Taking a breath to steady himself, Stede pushed past the brig's door and walked in. Standing in front of Izzy, he asked, "Who gave the order to maroon my crew?"
"Me," Izzy said with a grin.
"And whose idea was it?"
Izzy grinned harder, spreading himself out in the chair as much as he could. "You already know."
An ambiguous statement meant to make Stede think it was Edward; or, he wondered, a statement to burrow into his own insecurities? It couldn't have been Ed. If it was, it was under Izzy's influence, while he was vulnerable, while Stede had been away. It was easy to shove aside the voice in his mind that said, this was Blackbeard, a ruthless pirate he'd read about long before he'd ever met him. Because this was also Edward Teach, a man he'd come to know as sweet and kind, who had grown to love the crew of the Revenge and all that they gave him in turn.
Stede backhanded Izzy for his efforts; he could feel, more than see, Oluwande shifting away from him. If he found himself drawn to the way Izzy turned back to look at him, he pushed that feeling down and focused on the man now smirking in front of him. "I think I have a clear idea," he said.
"Maybe." Izzy spat a bit of blood out of his mouth and leaned back, his eyes drifting shut. "Do you know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think maybe Blackbeard'll like you just fine, now."
When he was a child of six or seven, his father had taken him to see two prizefighters—a footman and a gardener from a nearby estate—spar for a bit of money. His father had hoped to instill some kind of toughness into the boy; Stede had instead been fascinated by the men at rest, the dirt under the gardener's fingers and the mud under the footman's carefully polished shoes, the way they had worn their strength differently from but not lesser than each other. But he was unable to watch as the match began. Stede hadn't thrown a punch until he was nearly grown, fifteen or sixteen years old and blindly, desperately attempting to defend himself from a boy he'd been unable to run away from.
He hadn't gone back to a fight until he was a young man, eighteen or nineteen years old. He had been unable to tear his eyes away from the fighters: the focused exhaustion and the strange sense of peace that came with it, the defiant pride from both men that they could remain strong throughout their shared brutality, the inevitable surrender of one man against the other.
In front of him now, Izzy doubled over with a wheeze. Or doubled over as much as he could, tied to the mast, thick hemp rope wrapped around his arms and the hardwood, as the crew slept below them in the gun deck. Stede flexed his fingers and stepped back; there was no leather between him and Izzy's punch-softened flesh, only the black linen of his shirt, but he'd been at this work for some time. Long enough to have gotten a bit decent, even. A few short nights ago, he didn't know how far he could go with Izzy.
Now, he'd figured out Izzy's limits. The exact moment he'd turn from cocky to quiet, the moment he'd look up at Stede with a strange sort of hunger, mixed with something like he'd needed to prove himself worthy and had known he'd succeeded. Stede tried not to focus too hard on the ember of pride and warmth he felt over that. He tried not to focus on how he'd been chasing that feeling ever since he'd backhanded Izzy in front of Oluwande nearly a week ago, and on how different it felt with Izzy compared to so many of the other times he'd seen men bleeding or bruised.
"Ed was not where you said he'd be," Stede said.
"No," Izzy said. "He wasn't."
They'd given chase for three days, only to find when they'd come into port that Ed hadn't been in town for weeks. "Where's he going?" Stede asked. "If you're honest, I might cut you down."
Izzy grinned slyly at him. "And if I'm not?"
"I suppose I'll just keep you tied here," Stede said. "Let the heat and the sun have at it, come morning."
"You'll outsource it then," Izzy scoffed. "Hire brokers to purchase another ship, get the sun to do your beatings?"
Up until this moment, Stede had been in a rhythm of sorts with Izzy, but at Izzy's confusing words, he cocked his head to the side. "Purchase another ship?"
Izzy looked around himself and shot Stede a derisive look.
"Oh, no. This is stolen. No money anymore, faked my own death." That shocked the smug look off his captive's face, and Stede decided to take advantage. "Why hasn't Ed come looking for you?"
Izzy flinched at the question.
Curious, Stede thought.
When they finally caught up with the Revenge, Stede didn't know what else to do but offer a prisoner exchange. They were still at least an hour away; Stede had them spotted through the glass, and while the Revenge wasn't making any evasive maneuvers, it certainly wasn't coming to meet him. He wondered if Ed knew he had been trailing after them.
He must, Stede figured, but the fact that Ed wasn't making any moves against them, and hadn't bothered to come find his missing first mate had gnawed at him. The deathly silence that self same first mate had dropped into for days after being questioned about Ed not coming for him, and the strange way that Izzy had confessed to marooning the crew, took up space in his mind and he found he couldn't evict these thoughts no matter what he tried.
But Stede was missing his own right hand man, his own crewmembers, and so he focused on what was needed in the moment. He hauled Izzy back up into the sunlight and said, "I'll hand you back for my people, Jim, Frenchie, and Lucius."
Izzy stared up at him for a very long moment, and then burst into giggles. Unsettling, unwarranted and without any sense, Stede thought, and he forced himself not to let go of the man, not to take a step back. For the first time, now that they were in broad daylight, Stede could see the fear in his eyes that accompanied that raw, uncomfortable laughter.
"You beat him?" Ed asked quietly.
Stede wrung his hands. He'd kept the rest of his crew away when he was with Izzy, after that one time with Oluwande. His reasons had been his own, he'd taken on the task of cleaning him up after himself, and they had remained ignorant. But there had been no denying it when he'd brought Izzy onboard the Revenge, the bright daylight putting Stede's handiwork on harsh display even as Izzy himself walked with a swagger, as though his hands weren't bound and his face wasn't covered with the grime of both dried and fresh blood. No denying it now that Izzy was standing in the middle of what used to be Stede's quarters, staring defiantly at some point over Ed's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," Stede said. "I needed information from him, and he wouldn't tell me otherwise, I think." Stede wasn't sure if this was the exact truth, but he also wasn't sure that mattered in the moment.
Ed was peering at Izzy, his hand on Izzy's jaw as he inspected his first mate; his eyes held no emotion that Stede could see. A prisoner exchange hadn't been necessary once Ed had seen Stede alive on the other ship, but it still hadn't gone as well as he might have hoped. Stede had to admit he had imagined their reunion might have been a happier one. Like some kind of romantic fantasy, where the heroes fell into each other's arms and declared their devotion to one another. A kiss, like the one they'd had on the beach before he'd stupidly decided he was dangerous for Ed.
He hadn't planned for this insubordinate, silent wretch to come between them like this.
Ed sighed almost sharply and said, "He'll be fine." He let go of Izzy's jaw and took a step back slowly, cautiously; the kohl on his face looked like it had been there for days, smudged and messy around his eyes and cheeks. "You left me."
"I didn't," Stede said, his voice cracking. He took a step around Izzy, who was refusing to move, and tried to get marginally closer to Ed. "I came and found you."
"You left me," Ed insisted, "and now you—" Ed ran his hands through his hair and looked back at Izzy; for the briefest moment, Stede saw fear and confusion in his eyes, before the wall came back up.
"I'm sorry," Stede said again. He wasn't sure who he was apologizing to. He looked at Izzy as though he were seeing him for the first time. Underneath the muck and insolence, there was a nearly panicked sort of hopefulness to him. He wasn't paying Stede any attention, looking only to Ed with a gaze that seemed as though he anticipated a reward of some kind.
Izzy made the strangest small sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, and smiled tightly at Ed, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed thin. Stede realized with a sinking feeling that Izzy's insistence on standing between them hadn't been effrontery directed towards Stede. He simply couldn't step away from his captain.
For his efforts and his loyalty, Izzy got a right hook to the face that sent him stumbling into Stede; the sudden struggle to keep them both upright was enough to briefly push any other thoughts out of Stede's head, but in the midst of it Stede thought he caught a curiously distraught expression flash across Ed's face. He may have been mistaken; when he got his bearings again and looked at Ed, he was cold and dull-eyed.
"Clean him up," Ed said as he walked away, "and send him out when he's ready."
"Ed!"
He hadn't meant to take such a tone, but he didn't regret it, even when Ed whipped back around and stalked back over to him. "Don’t try to question how I handle my crew on my ship," he hissed.
"It's my ship, and l and I'll question what I like," he replied, and clearly Ed hadn't expected that. Or at least, hadn't expected the confidence with which Stede had said it. If Stede were being honest, he hadn't expected that confidence himself, or his dismay at Ed's demeanor; it shouldn't have been a problem, he thought, for Ed to be so dismissive of Izzy, and yet some part of him couldn't countenance the treatment. "If he's not my crewman, he's at the very least my guest."
Izzy violently but unsteadily pushed himself out of Stede's arms. "Nobody asked for your fucking sympathy, Bonnet."
Stede would have ignored him completely, if not for the way Ed glanced over at him; something uncomfortable, distressed and panicked, flickered across Ed's face and Stede tried to keep his own expression in check as he realized he hadn't imagined that earlier moment of distress.
"Just help him clean up," Ed said, sounding tired all of a sudden. "Please." He stepped back, trailing to the door in a way that reminded Stede of nothing more than the brutality of a humiliating defeat. He wanted so much to reach out, but there was so much else on his mind.
"Ed?"
Ed paused at the doorway, fingers hesitantly touching the wood frame, and glanced back. "Yes?"
Stede had been through storms on this ship, rolling waves and wind so strong that he'd thought they would be broken apart in minutes if not seconds. Storms where he'd lost his footing and had found himself unable to orient himself, up or down. He'd gotten used to the motion, and had a hardier disposition now than what most would have expected. He could handle such storms without so much as a bit of upset, these days.
Now, something dark and grotesque roiled in his stomach as he said, "I haven't seen Lucius."
There was a touch of what could have been shame, or grief, on Ed's face before he left.
Izzy had stumbled to the bed nook in the cabin window, braced against the glass, and allowed Stede to come in close. With a cloth and a basin, Stede set about cleaning the cuts on Izzy's face, and didn't think about how they got there. Thinking about how gentle Izzy was allowing him to be in the moment was far less complicated, at any rate.
"What happened on this ship?" he asked softly.
"Your fault," Izzy replied. "You left. Worse, you changed him."
He stopped to crush the flicker of guilt he felt. He'd denied it to Ed, but the truth was he had left. And yet he'd come back, hadn't he? And he'd changed Ed, yes, but Ed had changed him as well. Those changes couldn't have been for the worse. "People change each other," he said.
Izzy's gaze flickered over his face and he smiled. "I've noticed. Do you like it?"
Stede cast him a dirty glare. "Shut up," he said. When the smile widened into a grin, Stede closed his eyes and counted down from ten. "Where's Lucius?"
There was a strange noise then, wood creaking as though a door were opening in another room, and then, half muffled, he heard Lucius's voice say, "Here. Captain? Izzy? I'm here, I thought I heard you talking—"