Archive of Our Own

Stede has always regarded Izzy as the hands-off type. The man is all sharp corners and elbows, and anytime someone gets within three feet of him, his hand creeps toward his sword, as if in anticipation. All that's perfectly fine with Stede; he wouldn't consider himself friendly with the man. After all, Izzy had sold him out, stabbed him, tried to kill him multiple times, and last week had intentionally ruined one of Stedes favorite petticoats by running it through with a sword. The two of them spend their time either fighting or ignoring each other.

That is all to say, it was an accident, when the whole thing began.

It was a stormy night, the ship had been tossing and turning on the waves since evening and showed no sign of stopping. Stede woke around midnight needing to relieve himself, and got out of bed, careful not to wake Ed.

He made his way up to the deck, where the rain had let up a bit, only a light sprinkle now even as the waves continued to rock the boat. It was quick thinking to tell the crew to sleep indoors tonight rather than on the deck, he thought to himself. They would have caught their death out here, and would be rolling across the deck. If there was one thing he was grateful for, it was that he was not prone to seasickness. As he makes his way back toward his room, he hears it. A soft sound, muffled like it's from another room. It sounds like someone crying out.

He stays still, listening, and after a moment he hears it again. It's coming from below the stairs. Carefully, he steps down one, and holds his candle up to the slats to get a look.

"Hello down there?" He calls softly.

It's quiet for a long moment.

"Fuck off," says a small, hoarse voice.

"Izzy, is that you?" He blinks, holding out his candle further into the space. The space is bathed in flickering orange, and there is Izzy, half curled up on a thin, ratty pillow.

"I'm sleeping," he snarls.

"It doesn't look like it." His eyes are bloodshot, swollen and puffy like he's either been crying or he's totally exhausted. And he doesn't look… well. His face is a sweaty pale, like he's sick. "Are you… are you alright? You look…"

"I was fine before you came."

Stede doesn't believe that for a second. He's proven right when Izzy pitches over, and after what looks like a terrible struggle to hold it in, throws up in the corner.

Then, to Stedes horror, he takes off his shirt and begins wiping it up.

"Don't do that!" he says, quickly coming around to the space under the stairs and taking the offending shirt from Izzy's hands.

"Fuck off, 's'fine," says Izzy, though there seems to be less bite in it than before. Oh, the poor thing looks exhausted. "I've got it handled, please go away."

"I won't hear of leaving until I know what's the matter. Was the chicken from tonight bad, or something? Why aren't you in bed?"

He's quiet so long Stede almost thinks he's fallen asleep, but then he sighs. "Seasickness. I'm prone to it. Surprised the rest of your degenerates haven't let you in on that bit of gossip. I come here to avoid getting sick on my cot."

"Oh dear." He thinks for a moment. "I'll be back in a sec-- Let me clean this up, and we can get you sorted."

He practically sprints to the closet with the cleaning items, grabbing some things to scrub the floor, and a wet cloth for Izzy's forehead. When he returns, Izzy is back to trying to clean it himself with his shirt, even as his hands tremble with exhaustion.

When he sees Stede, he reaches to take the sponge, but Stede clucks at him and holds it away.

"You're not well, that's for me to do. Lie down."

"But--"

"Now," he says, and it must seem sufficiently commanding, because Izzy does.

Stede cleans the mess. He cared for Mary when she was pregnant, and raised two babies, it's practically second nature by now. The sick comes up easily from the wood, leaving only a very faint smell about the space, which he supposes he will deal with later.

Izzy looks so tired. Stede thinks back, wondering if he had looked like that all day, and… yes, he had the same pinched look, but Stede had attributed it to his general pissy demeanor. Now, he sees it in a different light, a man who has not slept.

"Is it the worst at night?" He asks. Something occurs to him. "I haven't ever seen you ill while you were working on deck."

"I go off. Obviously."

"Why not call for some help? I realize you wouldn't want me, but you could've told Ed."

Izzy gets a strange, panicked look at that. "Don't tell him," he says.

Stede wants to ask why not, but he's not sure he's allowed. Besides, the idea seems to freak Izzy out, and he's already feeling poorly. He doesn't want to cause undue stress.

"Alright, you have my word." He relaxes at that. "Have you tried--"

"Whatever you're going to suggest, I've tried it."

"Well, I know a trick that used to help my kids when they felt ill."

"What is it?" He says, sighing defeatedly.

Stede scoots further into the space. He places the candleholder in the corner. "Lay your head on my thigh."

"Are you fuckin' serious right--"

"If you don't want to, that's alright. But it couldnt hurt, could it?"

"...I suppose it couldn't make it worse," he says hesitantly.

"May I?"

He lays his head down, and Stede runs his fingers through his hair, again and again. It probably won't do anything for the nausea, but he's used it several times on other crew members and it seems to help anyhow. Makes them feel cared for.

Stede supposes even men like Izzy Hands need to feel cared for once in awhile… right? Except that this is the only time he's knows Izzy to let anyone but Ed get so near, and even then it's only for those friendly shoulder punches that actually look like they quite hurt. Izzy doesn't talk much with the rest of the crew anyways besides giving commands, so there isnt anyone to do this sort of thing for him. Stede contemplates, and decides that Izzy has never expressed a desire for that kind of thing anyway. Until now, and he's still somewhat surprised Izzy did accept his offer.

Stede turns his attention to Izzy himself. His hair is surprisingly soft, and when Stede is allowed to be this close, he can see that Izzy's jaw isnt so sharp when it's tilted forward like that. His eyelashes are long and delicate over the gentle inclines of his cheeks, and his eyes are puffy with exhaustion. A surge of fondness runs through him, shocking him with it's intensity. He and Izzy are… well. The man still challenges him to duels on a regular basis, he will put it that way, but he's come to consider him part of the crew, after all this time.

"Is that helping?" he asks quietly, but Izzy doesn't answer, his face gone calm and his breathing even. He has fallen fast asleep.

Stede carefully extracts himself, moves Izzy's head back onto that dingy pillow and makes his way back to his own bed.

---

Izzy had a blanket once, when he was on Hornigold's crew. It was small and he kept it clean, as he kept all his things. It wasn't his prized possession or anything. It was a necessary tool, and Izzy… liked it.

No one knows this, but Izzy is a difficult sleeper. It's hard to feel safe when you're surrounded by bloodthirsty pirates and endless water. Even without that, he has conditions. He likes to have something covering him, and he likes to be warm. He runs colder than most. For the longest time he was afraid of the dark, though he's finally trained that out of himself. He comes to sea alone with nothing but the shirt on his back and his blanket, thin and grey and standard issue, and himself.

He sleeps with it for years. It's mothbitten and sewn with patches of cloth, like poorly done surgeries that never healed. They're a generally successful crew, but that only means something when you're big and burly enough to demand a share of the spoils. Izzy, small as he is, lives on hard tack and scraps, and he only has one blanket.

And then there's Ed. Izzy watches him, and sidles up to him when he gets the chance, striking up conversation. Ed is different. He's not the biggest guy, but he's the smartest. Not the most physically capable, but he's the most well liked. Izzy is… obsessed with him. Naturally, it doesn't go both ways, at least not as much as he wants it to.

(All Izzy has is a blanket. What is there to like?)

Ed says there's plenty of things about Izzy that somebody could like. He's a planner and plenty dependable, scrappy, good in a fight and can keep books. Yeah, Ed says, when I'm captain, you're coming with.

That night he's overwhelmed at it all, heart pounding at the idea of being somewhere that he's wanted.

(No one has ever loved Izzy before. All Izzy has is a blanket.)

He tries to tell him, only once. A cloudy night, the two of them sitting on the deck by the railing, keeping watch.

"Fuck," says Ed, "t's chilly tonight."

"Here," he says, hoping he doesn't sound too eager as he digs through his bag and passes his blanket over. It's stupid to give it away, he knows that. Still, he wants Ed to have something of his, for once, to show that the two of them are… something.

He takes it and frowns. "Is this yours?"

"I don't need it," he says. "I run hot. I don't need a blanket."

"Makes sense. This things ratty as hell, it's falling apart at the seams. Couldn't keep anybody warm."

He's only joking around like always. He doesn't realize, Izzy tells himself, a lump in his throat that he swallows quickly. "Keep it."

"You sure?" He's holding it between finger and thumb, like it's dirty. It isn't dirty, Izzy wants to say. He kept it clean. He keeps everything he cares about tidy.

"I'd have thrown it out anyway."

It doesn't mean anything to him at all. Izzy is abruptly relieved that he had been so calm about giving it to him, because if Ed had sensed what it meant, he would have laughed in his face.

It's not the last time he gives Ed a gift. But it is the last time he expects Ed to understand.

---

The next morning Izzy is snarling and pissy as ever, but he looks well rested, and that's what matters. He's carrying a coil of rope, probably on his way to do something important. Stede appreciates that, Izzy really does keep things in tip top shape.

"Good morning!" He says brightly. "How are--"

"Bonnet, just because you put your soft, womanly little hands in my hair, does not mean we're suddenly friends. Don't talk to me unless it's about the ship." He turns to leave, then whurls back around. "And if it's about the ship, I probably already know. Now I've got to go do some actual fucking work around here since no one else will."

Then, he stalks off toward the mast.

"Fine. See if I help you again, you ungrateful oaf!" Stede sniffs.

Something wet falls on his shoulder and he looks up. The sky is dark and cloudy. Looks like another rain is coming.

---

The storm rages over them another full day, and the crew is beginning to get restless.

He helps how he can, securing things and trying to keep the ship from being destroyed in the storm. It's a long, hard day.

That night, there is a knock at Stedes door. He rolls over from where he had been spooning Ed, who is still fast asleep. He gets up to answer it, expecting Mr. Buttons with some news; perhaps in the night they had lost a piece of the ship, or the storm seemed to be abating.

But it is not Buttons. It's Izzy, looking as haggard as he had the previous night, and with an expression that could kill.

"What is it?" He asked. "Has something happened?"

"I need you to do that thing again."

"Pardon?"

"The thing," he grits out like it pains him. "Can you do the… hair thing. I need to sleep."

Stede must admit he's suprised. Not that Izzy is sick again, but that he feels bad enough to come to Stede of all people for help, especially after throwing such a fit earlier.

"Why should I help you? You said you didn't want my help. It would serve you right."

Stede expects an argument, a bit of give and take before he eventually agrees and goes, but Izzy only nods, and doesn't say a word.

He sighs and relents. "Go on down, I'll be right there." He closes the door, and goes to fetch his candle. He pauses by the bed, considering, and then grabs one more thing.

He makes his way down to Izzy's spot, and finds Izzy sat up, tense. That won't do. The whole idea of the thing is to relax. Stede sets his candle down and hands Izzy what he brought from his room: a fluffy down pillow.

"I've got a pillow already," says Izzy.

"Now you have two," he says, patting his thigh. Izzy lays on his thigh, still so tense, and Stede begins running his fingers through his hair. As his breathing slows and evens, Izzy finally relaxes, and Stede places the soft pillow beneath his head.

---

After that, Stede makes it a point to seek him out when theres a storm. Every time, he's in that hidden area-- Stede suspects the small space makes him feel safer in some way-- curled up and miserable. However, Stede has been trying to introduce a little more comfort to the space. First the pillow, then some dried mint leaves and water and things he knows to quell a sick stomach. His hands are no longer limited only to Izzy's hair, as he had mentioned one night the tenseness of Izzy's shoulders and how he might rub some of the knots out, and Izzy had agreed. He's come to enjoy their time together, the only time Izzy tolerates his presence for longer than a few minutes.

Then, he starts coming on nights it isn't storming, when Izzy just seems especially tired out. He worries that Izzy might send him off, saying he isn't sick, but he doesn't. So, more nights than not, he stays until Izzy is asleep, and then makes his way back to his and Eds bed. Of course, he has told Ed about these excursions, but Ed seemed skeptical, like he didn't think Izzy would allow such a thing.

"And he lets you pet him? Serious?"

"What's so hard to believe?"

"It's just that I saw you two having a slap fight this morning. Thought you hated each other."

"We… do. I think." He's not sure what their status is now, actually. Friends? No. But enemies? Not exactly that, either, at least not always. They're something else, in between the two. "Does that bother you?"

"A little bit," he says. "I don't want you to fight."

"And...Would it bother you if we didn't? Hate each other, that is?" He pauses, and continues. "If we perhaps rather liked each other?"

"Not at all, it wouldn't."

"Good," says Stede, snuggling closer.

---

It's nearly every night now. Bonnet comes by, either finding Izzy in his bunk or, if the seas are rocky, in his spot under the stairs, and he just… stays. It's the strangest and most unnecessary shit he's ever fucking experienced.

Izzy can't decide if he trusts it. Sure, it's nice. But nothing is free, and when it comes down to it Bonnet has so many fancy things and so many people who care for him, these moments don't mean anything to him the way they do to a gnarled, ruined old man like Izzy.

Izzy can't help but think he's going to ruin it, the same way he had when he vomited on Bonnets coat and tore his shirt and dirtied Bonnets pillow with his sweaty hair. He's not built for this kind of tenderness, and the tension between them feels less and less like hate. More like softness, weakness. He had promised himself he wouldn't be weak in front of anyone, not ever, and yet he doesn't mind it like he thought he would.

Izzy sighs, contemplating it as he patches a hole in the sail alongside Black Pete. The two of them work silently, only the sounds of the flapping fabric between them.

"You're fast at that," says Black Pete, motioning to Izzy's patchwork.

"Lot of practice," he says.

"I always thought it was women's work."

"Sewing is a vital skill out here. You never know what you'll need to patch up."

The crew is making an effort, Izzy will give them that. He's not sure if it's because of him, or if Ed has said something to them. It makes it a tad bit more bearable to be onboard the Revenge, anyway; he no longer considers taking a dinghy in the night and running off. At least, no more than once a week. Stormy as it's been of late, things onboard are settling down.

---

It's one of the most intense storms they've encountered, and Stede has Izzy's head buried in his lap, gone completely boneless under his ministrations.

Stede stops for a moment to re-light the candle, and Izzy makes a plaintive sound.

"Sorry. It's hard to move about here when I'm sitting like this. Tight space and all."

"Might be easier if you just," Izzy shifts, making room, and Stede must have misunderstood because it almost seems like he wants him to lie down there. Next to him.

He does, lying down on his side, and he's careful to leave a little space between them so as not to seem too forward. He doesn't know what do do with his hands, because certainly Izzy wouldn't want them on him, he would cut them off for trying.

"For the love of--" Izzy scoots backwards just slightly, and the gap is closed, and oh God they're spooning. This is spooning.

"Is that okay?"

"Of fucking course it is. If it wasn't I'd have said."

"Okay. Okay, good," he says. "I'm still getting used to reciprocation, in a sense."

After years of reaching out to hold Mary's hand and having her move it away, years of her trying to talk to him and him having a convenient excuse to avoid it… but it's different for both of them now.

"Me too," says Izzy. "I still hate you."

"Likewise. I don't see why you're so uptight."

"Yeah, well, I can't see why we don't have a Captain who knows the difference between port and starboard."

Stedes hands are buried in his hair again, stroking in slow trails across his scalp.

"Are you still feeling sick?"

"Mhm," he mumbles sleepily.

They lie there for quite some time, when all of a sudden, Izzy stiffens, jerks away and vomits.

"There you are," says a voice behind them.

--

Izzy freezes. No, it couldn't be. He had chosen this spot largely because no one would notice it, especially not him. He can't have Ed seeing him like this, so… fragile. It would be like the old days, before he had built a reputation as the hardass who took no shit.

"Izzy the Spewer," calls Jack. "Maybe we ought to rub his face in his sick like a puppy. That way we won't have to clean it for him next time."

His cheeks burn in anger and humiliation. His face is hot, feverish, which is why he had sought Ed, but he only got halfway through asking him for help when he had thrown up. He turns to Ed, and Ed is laughing.

"I'll clean it," says Ed, and it's kind of him to offer. He takes a rag from his back pocket. Izzy stares. It's grey, and the edges are jagged like it was cut from something larger. He would recognize the fabric anywhere.

Jack is still talking. "That is more vomit than I've seen from anyone with sea legs. Izzy the goddamn Spew--"

Izzy punches Jack in the face. "Shut the fuck up," he hisses. It isn't the first or last time he will tell Jack to stop being an idiot. He doesn't really give a shit what Jack has to say. Izzy turns to Ed. "Dont clean that, I'll-- I'll do it. Let me get a fuckin' mop."

Ed is staring, that damned rag still in his hand. Izzy can't even look at him right now. Ed seems to sense this, and lays a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"It was only a joke, Iz."

"Everything's a joke to you," Izzy says, because of course he wouldn't get it. "Fuck off."

He goes to find a mop, and when he gets back, the two of them are gone. Thank God for small miracles. He gets to work cleaning it, and afterward he finds himself a dark corner to be sick in. He's never felt so ill in his life, not from seasickness or anything. He could die here. But at least he would be spared the humiliation of asking for help and no one caring at all.

From then on, when he's ill, Izzy hides in the stores, and rests his head on the cool metal sidings, staving off the nausea. Alone. It's better that way.

"You told him I was here?!" Izzy growls at Stede.

"No, I…"

Ed sniffs the air and his face scrunches in disgust. "Izzy the Spewer made an appearance did he?" He chuckles. "I know you two don't get along but throwing up on him is a little far, isn't it?"

The two of them are making fun of him, aren't they.
He should have known, it was all one big joke. He isn't thinking clearly, mind clouded with nausea, he knows that, but he has to get out of here now.
Or perhaps Bonnet actually had been trying to comfort him in earnest, and really hadn't known Ed would come. Either way, it's over now. Ed is right, he's thrown up all over Bonnets fancy jacket, it's humiliating, and Bonnet will never forgive it. He'll never believe it was an accident. Izzy should have put a stop to that shit the first time Bonnet offered to clean up his disgusting mess for him.

Stupid. He knows better. Bonnet doesn't owe him anything. Pirates are always on some stage of fucking each other over, best to avoid it altogether.

---

"Ed, why would you say that! Izzy the Spewer? Now he's run off!"

"He doesn't care about that, it's an old inside joke!"

"Im going to need a bit more explanation than that, dear."

"Well, back in the day me 'n Jack found him puking his guts out a few times a week, and the crew had some nicknames for him about it. He stopped though, guess he got his sea legs. Cleaning up your own sick that many times a week probably trains it out of ya pretty quick."

Stede isn't sure he actually stopped at all.

"...besides, of Izzy had a real problem he would come to me. He just never has problems."

"No one never has a problem dear. I think he simply believes you'll think worse of him if he does come to you. Or that you'll poke fun, like with your 'inside joke.'"

"But I was only kidding. Me and Jack always told that one and he never got that mad."

"Well some people don't like to be the butt of the joke every single time," he snaps, then tries to calm himself. "Sorry. Calico Jack touches a nerve."

"What do you reckon we do?"

"I'm not sure. I need some time to think of a plan."

---

Izzy won't talk to him. Whenever Stede tries to approach him, he finds an excuse. Somehow, he's always busy doing something, all day. And at night, even when the seas are rocky, he isn't in his space below the stairs. Stede brings a bucket as a peace offering, one he had planned to place in Izzy's spot so he could use it if he was ill. But every time he checks it's still sitting there, unused and unmoved.

Stede decides to catch him out of his element. He knows that Izzy sometimes takes the night watch, sitting out on deck to make sure no one is coming and they don't hit anything. He finds him there late at night, and resolves to speak with him, once and for all.

"Izzy. We need to talk. I--"

"No. I think I made it clear I don't want to."

"Yes, but just for a moment. Please?"

Izzy stands slowly, and turns to face him.

"I challenge you to a duel."

"What?"

He throws down a glove. "Here are my terms. We fight on deck for two minutes. Not to the death, only to first blood. If I win, you have to stop talking to me. Nothing but direct orders."

"I… alright. Yes. Let's do it. Noon tomorrow."

"Let's do it here and now."

---

Unlike their last duel, there's not a large audience. Frenchie is there to keep time, and that's it.

"And… go!" Says Frenchie.

They begin, crossing swords. Bonnet has progressed surprisingly well, and holds his own as they clash.

"Why did you run off the other night?" asks Bonnet. Great, they're going to have a conversation while they fight. Wonderful.

"I got your fuckin' vest dirty, aren't you pissed?" He counters, nearly knocking Bonnets sword from his hand.

"Everyone has accidents sometimes. I cleaned it up before, it was no big deal."

"Admit it, you hate me. All of you do." He strikes forward, and Bonnet manages to block. He furrows his brow, looking lost. "There's no need to play nice."

"That's not true! In fact, I've come to quite--"

"I don't know what your game is," he says, striking again, "but it won't work on me."

Stede reaches out his arms and, before Izzy can even think, he wraps them around his shoulders and restraints him.

"What are you doing?!" he struggles, trying to get free.

"It's called a hug."

"I know what it's called, why are you doing it during a fucking duel?!"

Izzy turns his head into Bonnets shoulder as if to bite him, supposing it will threaten him away, remind him that Izzy is not some soft limpet but a creature not to be trifled with. But Bonnet only adjusts to make room for Izzy's face in the crook of his neck, and brings a hand up to cradle the back of Izzy's head.

"I didn't get to name my terms for this duel," says Stede. "You are, like it or not, a part of my crew. That means loyalty, you understand? If I win, from now on you will stop antagonizing me in front of the crew. That is my first term."

It makes sense. Izzy can't pretend that he thinks Ed is his only captain anymore. It's been over a year now, and the two captains show no sign of separating. He may not respect Bonnets methods, but if he wins this duel, he will respect his terms.

"Acceptable," he grunts.

"Yes. As a member of my crew, you are also my responsibility. You will come to me if you are having an issue, even if you think you can handle it alone."

"And if I don't?"

"I will have to find you and make you accept help," he sniffs. "And it will be far less pleasant for us both."

"That's nearly two minutes, Captain," calls Frenchie.

"I'm going to win," says Stede into Izzy's ear.

"How? You've got me in a hug, you can't--" and that's when he sees it.

A knife, held in the hand that is not holding his sword. It's so small Izzy hadn't even noticed it. Stede brings it up to Izzy's cheek, and cuts a tiny slice there, practically a papercut. Then he releases him.

"Two minutes!" says Frenchie. "Captain drew blood first, he wins the duel!"

"Well. I have some things to attend to. But I'll see you at breakfast," says Stede.

"Captain," Izzy says, and nods.

Izzy has to hand it to him. He's soft and weak, naive in many ways… or so Izzy had thought. Perhaps it's an act. Or perhaps he's smarter than he seems, using that to his advantage.

A hug, to win a duel. It's ridiculous. It's something he's never seen before. It's… competent.

---

Stede must get through to Izzy in some strange way, the idea of loyalty and promises, something Ed says he has always been keen on. Because he takes him up on it. Anytime he needs help, he asks for help. Not just when there's a storm either, over time it comes to be a frequent thing, Izzy, coming to the door for something.

It used to be that he would ignore Stede at these times, and call Ed out to deal with whatever it was. But now, if its something Stede can do, he asks. And that's all Stede ever wanted of him.

---

Stede notices things.

The way Izzy shivers when they pass through cold waters, even through his leathers. The fact that the only time Stede had seen the inside of Izzy's room, it had only his bunk, his two pillows, and an abysmally small chest, locked tight. Everyone else with a room had decorated it one way or another, and acquired personal items or objects from raids to make the space their own. Not Izzy, he doesnt even have a blanket for gods sake.

Stede resolves to change that, effective immediately. He's going to spoil the man rotten, whether he likes it or not.

He knocks on the door, his first gift in hand.

"What," grunts Izzy, swinging the door open.

"Just popping by to see if you need me. And I brought you something." He hands over the folded bundle and Izzy takes it, carefully inspecting it with a blank expression on his face.

"This is for me," he says, more of a statement than a question, and there's something thick in his voice.

Stede is beginning to think he has misjudged this whole thing. Izzy is just standing there, not saying anything. "I'm sorry. You don't like it. I'll take it back--"

"No," he says, snatching it, "it'll do."

Stede goes to leave.

"Captain," he calls, and Stede turns. "Is this… something we do now?"

"I suppose it could be," Stede says.

---

That night Stede comes by, opening the door a crack to see if Izzy wants anything before bed.

Izzy lies in his bunk, blanket in his arms, just looking at it. Stede closes the door quietly and leaves.

---

It happens so quickly. One moment he's on the railing trying to tie off a knot while the wind blows hard, the next, he's toppling over the edge. Someone shouts, but he can't make it out over the wind. He hits his head on the side as he goes under, and through the shock of cold water and the searing pain, he can't remember which way is up. Air, he needs to breathe air. He's done this before. He's never been the strongest swimmer, and he can't move, his foot is caught in something, perhaps netting, holding him upside down. He thrashes, trying to get free, but he can't, he's drowning.

Arms reach up below him and suddenly he's being pulled up and he gasps, the fresh air sweeping through his lungs like fire.

He allows himself to be dragged up into a dinghy, and then lifted onto the deck.

"You hurt your head," Bonnet says. His blue coat is absolutely covered in blood. Head wounds bleed a lot, even when they aren't severe, and by leaning on him, Izzy has ruined his coat. Never gonna come out.

"Sorry about the coat," he manages.

"Oh, sweetheart, Im not worried about a silly coat. I was worried about you."

That doesn't even make any sense. He blinks, and his vision is blurry, and there's a lump in his throat.

(Izzy has never been loved.)

"He's going to patch you up, alright?" asks Stede, passing him off to Ed.

"C'mon," says Ed, taking his arm and walking him toward the Captains bedroom.

He sits on the bed, and Ed brings the sewing kit, a cloth, and a bottle of alcohol. The bed is soft, he observes.

"You hit your head hard," says Ed, dabbing at it with the cloth.

"Won't happen again, Captain. It's my fault."

"I wasn't saying--" He looks at Izzy, calculating. "You know I only want you to be alright, don't you?"

He doesn't answer. As if Ed cares for that kind of thing, when it comes to Izzy. He's useful, isn't that plenty?

Ed continues. "Stede mentioned… well, he enlightened me on some things. I want to say I'm sorry I haven't always been open to your feelings."

Izzys gut spikes with irritation. That's easy for Ed to say, he can change, his feelings are good feelings, Izzy's are hard and sharp and messy and they don't make anyone feel good.

"--but I'm listening now," says Ed. "If you're ever having a hard time, I want it to be a two way street."

"Do you remember when Jack came up with that nickname for me?"

"Sure."

"I was so ill that day I thought I might die. I had a fever."

"You always ran hot, though," he says, horrified look on his face."

"Not really."

"But you told me, when you… you said…" something seems to spark in his eyes. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"I'm not good at this emotional stuff."

"Yeah."

"I should have taken you seriously, mate."

"Your little boyfriend always takes me seriously. He gave me a blanket," he says softly, and as he glances at Ed he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the deep scars on his back, the stitches in his forehead, and he looks like patchwork himself.

"I can do that. I can be… I'll be your blanket. I'll make up for it all, you'll see."

He lies down gingerly on top of Izzy, careful not to knock his head, and yeah, it's a start.

---

The thing with Izzy, Stede has learned, is that you have to do things a certain way, and learn his language. He's all about practicality. If Stede wants him to rest, it's not enough to say it would feel nice, he has to mention that it will make him more effective in raids. If he wants him to try a jam, he must mention that fruit is in short supply at sea so he ought not waste the opportunity. The hesitance to accept comfort for its own sake was a difficult hurdle for them.

But once Stede got past that, and gained Izzy's trust, he turned out to be the most high maintenance housecat of a man imaginable.

"You were so brave out there!" he says as they come back from a raid. Izzy had brought him back a lovely ring! Though it is still attached to a severed hand. He sets the hand on his nightstand and looks around for a cloth so he can wipe the blood spattered on Izzy's face.

"I was doing my job," Izzy grumbles. "No big deal."

"Well you looked dashing. Especially when you saved my life, and scraped your poor arm in the process."

"I didn't save your life. The guy would have stabbed you a little, at best," he says, face red.

"Hm. Alright, regardless of how impressive you were, if you don't like it I'll speak no more of it."

They're quiet for a moment. Stede waits patiently for the next part, the part that inevitably comes when he concedes to Izzy's griping and ceases fussing over him.

After several furtive glances at Stede, while pretending to be busy putting books back up on the shelf though they are visibly already all up there, Izzy clears his throat.

"You know, the cannon thing. It was my idea," Izzy says, seeming very focused on swirling his finger through the dust on the shelf.

"That was marvelous!" he says, feeling so very fond.

He's practically preening now, and Stede is fairly sure he doesn't know just how obvious he's being. He's happy to indulge, Izzy is rather starved for praise and attention and Stede absolutely adores how he seems to absorb it like a sponge, nudging him for more and more.

"And the thing with the--"

"The rope! Very creative. Inspired, even, I suppose doing years of fuckeries have trained you in theatrics."

They're quiet again for awhile, Izzy fidgeting by the bookshelf like he is bursting to say something but can't. Stede waits patiently.

"My arm is still rather sore," Izzy says casually.

"Why didn't you say so? Bring it here, I have just the thing."

'Just the thing' is a copious amount of kisses, the two of them situated on the couch. It really is just a scratch, there's no need for even a bandage. But sometimes there are things besides scratches that need to be healed with a kiss. The way Izzy holds his hands out, still so hesitant, with that eager look on his face like he's starving for it… there are wounds there that Stede cannot see, except in these moments, and he hopes that in time it will be enough to heal them over.

Stede ruminates on how things have changed between them over these past months. A year ago he would've been hard pressed for Izzy to even admit to having a stab wound, and now he comes for comfort even for the smallest ailment.
Its like a switch has flipped, and all the sudden Izzy Hands has gone from a cold and distant first mate who never asks for a thing, to the most high maintenance, affectionate sweetheart in history. He sits beside Stede at meals, scooting close, like a demanding pet. Izzy becomes a blanket hog. He requires four kisses per night before he can sleep. He likes to be laid on top of while having his hair petted. He gets sulky if he isn't being constantly showered in affection.

---

"It's like a cat fetching dead animals and leaving them at it's owners doorstep," says Ivan.

Several of the crew watch surreptitiously as Izzy crosses the deck to Stede, holding a trinket. First it had been a severed hand from a raid, for if Stede wanted a memento. (Gross.) Then, an apple that was obviously meant to be for snacking but that was clearly past it's edible stage. (Izzy is not known for his attention to food safety and will eat anything). Ever since then it's just been this and that, and every time, Stede treats it like he's been given something incredibly thoughtful.

"Bizarre," Lucius remarks, and Fang flicks him on the forehead. "Ow!"

"I think it's romantic," Fang says. "Boss can be kind of sweet when he's infatuated."

"Sweet how? Please say he'll make us clean less," says Lucius.

"He's not like that with Blackbeard, and everyone knows he's got the hots for him," says Black Pete.

"He used to be," says Ivan quietly. "They're working things out."

"Anyways, just look at him. He's been keeping that ugly blanket like it's his own child. He's always been weird about people touching his stuff but this is another level. I was sweeping and I did his room, and he just stood there watching me til I left."

"That's nothing. You know what I saw?" says Black Pete. "Him and Captain were snuggling."

Everyone groans in disbelief.

"You sure they weren't wrestling?" asks Jim.

"I know what I saw. They were, like, insulting each other the whole time--"

"Now that's believable."

"--But I couldn't tell if it was for real or some kind of foreplay."

"Come on!"

"Eh, whatever makes them happy."

They watch as Izzy brings his gift up to Stede, who accepts it with a smile.

---

"Oh, dear." Stede gathers Izzy up into his arms on another seasick night. "What's happened, my darling boy?"

"'M'sick."

"Let's have a bath and get you into bed, hm?"

He helps him out of his clothes and puts him in the bath.

"I love you," Izzy says, eyes glazed over in relaxation.

He's never said that before. Stede could do a little dance hearing that, his poor heart is bursting.

He loves me!

But no, no, it won't do to act like that, he doesn't want to scare him off. So he should act natural. Totally cool about it, and normal, yes, that is the key. Dam up your emotions about this and be normal.

"Thanks," he says diplomatically. "I mean-- er, thank you. Very good of you to say."

There is a long silence between them, as Stede dries him off. He manages to towel him entirely without comment, playing the whole thing cool, so cool, extra cool. He walks Izzy to the bed and tucks him in. He's being so normal about this. Just how Izzy would want.

And then Izzy shifts in bed, and makes a relaxed little sigh.

Stedes dam bursts. "Oh, I can't do it," he says, eyes misting, "I've just got to express myself! I love you so, it means the world for you to say it back. Oh, my sweet boy, come here! Let me kiss you!"

"There it is," mutters Izzy, though hes got that tone that means he's going to pretend to be all reluctant despite immediately leaning his face closer at the very mention of kisses. "You're so fuckin' clingy."

"And you hate that so much," he laughs, and acts like he's going to get up. Izzys hand circles his wrist, and he pulls Stede down with him under the sea of blankets.

(Izzy is endlessly loved.)