"You left him alive, eh?"

Stede's lip trembles as he lowers his hand.

"Yes," he says, voice shaking. "No casualties on either side, other than the, uh, jailer I believe Jim killed."

Stede looks down at the floor again, voice small.

"I was quite proud of that," he adds. "At the time."

Izzy's smile is utterly bleak now.

"You should be fucking proud of it," he says. "Stealing Ben Hornigold's bedwarmer from under his nose with one fucking casualty?"

"That's fucking impressive, Stede. Stupid, but impressive."

Stede laces his fingers in front of him, squeezing his hands in some obscure rhythm as he speaks.

"I wish... I wish you wouldn't call yourself that," he says nervously. Izzy looks confused, so Stede keeps speaking. "His bedwarmer, I meant. That isn't-- you're not--"

Izzy shakes his head, looking away from Stede.

"I am," he says, voice toneless again. "As long as he lives, that's what I am."

"S'pose I could just end it by dying myself," he adds. "But if he catches me off guard again?"

"I would come for you."

Stede's voice is louder than he intends. Izzy's eyes widen as they meet his, and Izzy finds himself at a loss for words, something hard to come by at the moment. Stede speaks firmly. Izzy's mouth goes dry.

"If he ever comes anywhere near you again, I promise him," Stede says. "I will kill him."

Silence stretches out between them.

"I believe you," Izzy says finally, voice hoarse. Stede swallows. They stare at each other. Izzy looks down again. "I didn't just think about Ed and Jack. I knew... I thought I knew you wouldn't come for me either, but I thought about you anyway. You're such a stupid fucking prat."

Stede looks away, face falling. Izzy doesn't stop.

"I don't know why I'm always thinking of you. I never knew what Edward saw in you. I kept trying to figure it out."

"You're fucking clueless, and your taste in clothes is ridiculous, and I can't believe you commissioned a fucking pirate ship with secret fucking passages and pay your useless crew a fucking salary and never make one of them do a fucking lick of work and..."

Izzy stops mid rant, breathing hard, face still drawn and pale.

"... and I'm trying to say thank you," he finishes awkwardly. "You put your crew at risk for me, and I appreciate it, I think."

"I..." Stede says, and then, "that is to say--"

And then, with Izzy still curled on the floor, unable to look him in the eye, Stede turns and flees.

He passes Jim as he goes. They draw a knife as he squeezes past, narrowing their eyes at his departing form.

"Hey!" they shout as he disappears around the corner. "Don't make me fucking stab you, hijo de puta!"

He should talk to Ed. He will talk to Ed. He straightens his shoulders, grips the handle firmly. He's going to talk to Ed.

A minute passes, then two.

Stede lets go of the door handle, shoulders slumping again. He wants to talk to Ed, he does, just... later. He slips into a secret passage instead. He has a lot of thinking to do.

*

Ed sits on the bed, staring at the wall in front of him. Izzy's back, he thinks. He doesn't know exactly what they did.

But he didn't. He froze. He let the fucker go and now...

Now the idea of seeing him again, facing him, the idea of what he might be doing to Izzy--it was too much. It was all too fucking much. He didn't expect Stede's plan to work, not really. It seemed fucking impossible, absurd that they could steal Izzy back from Hornigold not just once but twice. So when Stede tentatively asked if he'd come along at least, help see Izzy to safety, Ed didn't answer.

He just turned on his side, staring at the light leaking through the closed curtains. He didn't really expect any of them to come back, if he's honest with himself. And now... Now they're back. Izzy's back. At least, Ed figures he must be. No one's come in to tell him. The thought settles strangely. Izzy's back

Ed doesn't know how to face him

*

Izzy's still sitting on the floor of the larder when Jim comes in. They settle on the floor across from him

They lean back against the wall, arms resting on their knees, casual, comfortable.

"Need me to stab that fucker for you?" they ask, startling a laugh out of Izzy. "Don't even have to kill him. Lo puedo. But I don't have to."

Izzy shakes his head, smiling a little.

"Nah," he says. He bites his tongue, longing for companionable silence. It lasts less than a second. "I offered to suck his dick."

Jim blinks, eyebrows shooting up, and Izzy looks away.

"He take you up on it?" they ask, a knife appearing in their hand as if by magic

"Fuck no," Izzy snorts. "Course he fucking didn't. Look at me. Barely wiped another man's come out of my fucking beard. Haven't even taken a bath. I reek of it. I'm disgusting. The fuck is even wrong with me, that I would offer that? Why would I ever want it again? Fuck, don't even know why I wanted it with Ed, or Jack. Maybe Hornigold's right. Maybe it's all I'm good for"

Jim clicks their tongue, frowning.

"Fuck, man," they say, knife spinning idly between their fingers. "Give yourself a fucking break, eh?"

Izzy snorts again, shoulders around his ears. He feels like he could fucking cry. He doesn't want to talk about this.

"I just--" he starts. He's so relieved when Jim interrupts him that he gives a convulsive little sob.

"Come on, viejo." Jim stands, extending a hand, inviting but not insisting. Izzy takes it.

They pull him to his feet, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's at least get you into a bath, before you decide anything that hijo de puta had to say about you or anything else is fucking true, okay?"

They keep their hand on Izzy's shoulder as they guide him out of the kitchen, towards Stede's extravagant bathroom. It's the first time in days Izzy hasn't felt like screaming.

Or his job for that matter. That was more of the crew's thing.

Now, he finds himself settling down on top of the elegant, burgundy fan-tailed wool overcoat that must have served as Lucius's blanket. It's quite comfortable, Stede must admit. He'll have the jacket cleaned and pressed at the next port, and the rest of it too. For now, he thought, one more person lying on them for a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, probably won't do any more harm.

Or perhaps that's Stede himself. He feels deeply unsettled by the conversation he's just had, or more accurately, the monologue he's just heard from Izzy.

It was clear the instant he saw the man that whatever happened aboard Hornigold's ship had been far more harrowing than anything Stede imagined. In retrospect, he feels horribly naive, not to mention…horrible. The way the crew whispered amongst themselves when he told them who had their first mate.

There had been no complaint when Jim insisted they drill the plan again and again until they were picture perfect.

Still, it hadn't been hitch-free. The mist they counted on to distract and alarm Hornigold's crew did no such thing. They became sharper, more focused. The unearthly wailing Stede's crew let loose, surrounding Hornigold's ship in what Stede had referred to, rather glibly in hindsight, as a fog of eldritch horror, was similarly ineffective.

It did, however, very vividly demonstrate exactly how badly Stede had underestimated this foe.

He presses his palms into his eyes, rubbing firmly

And then, of course, Edward's reaction. That should have told him something. He tried to get Ed to talk to him, to tell him what he was so afraid of. Izzy was his first mate, after all, had been for Stede still doesn't know how long. Ed wouldn't say a word about it. Wouldn't say a word about anything, really

When Stede came to tell him they were going to get Izzy, he didn't even respond. Not a huff or a sigh, nothing to so much as show that Ed heard him.

Stede sighs, dragging his hands down his face. Some part of him still hopes he's misunderstanding what Izzy said to him. After all, he didn't directly say that Hornigold had… misused him. Did he? Stede can't remember Izzy's exact words and that makes his stomach twist. He doesn't want it to be true.

And then there's the thing Stede very resolutely has not been thinking of. It simply wouldn't do. It certainly has no appeal whatsoever under the current circumstances.

"You stop it," Stede says raising a finger and glaring at his own groin. His cock gives another traitorous twitch. "Absolutely not! That would be inappropriate at the best of times, and this is very fucking far from the best of times!"

Absolutely unchastened, his cock hardens further.

God.

I could suck your dick, if you wanted. If he wanted! As if that hasn't been one of his go to fantasies since their first encounter. His mind replays the way Izzy walked towards him, the way his hips swished from side to side. The confidence as he drew his sword, cutting Stede's shirt to ribbons without drawing a single drop off blood. Stede groans, gripping himself through his trousers. The heat of his cock, fully hard, radiates through the fabric

He hisses, throwing his head back as he squeezes it. He remembers the rush of blood in his veins when he turned the tables on Izzy, the thrill of having a dangerous man at his mercy

"Fuck," Stede mutters. He unbuttons his trousers, hating himself. His cock springs free, flushed with blood, clear liquid beading at the tip. He spits in his hand—it feels filthy, wrong. His prick throbs, almost painful. He takes himself in hand, squeezing the base, tugging

His hand slides roughly along the length and rolls over the head, gathering the moisture there, smoothing the glide. "Oh, fuck, Izzy…"

He imagines himself at the end of Izzy's sword again, the little smirk on his face as he holds Stede at his mercy. He remembers the feel of his knife presses to Izzy's cheek, the little twitch that Izzy couldn't quite stop, and god help him, how many times has he dreamed of that moment. Izzy asked him his demands.

How many times has he imagined sweeping Izzy into his arms, like the swashbuckling hero of a novel? Using his knife to cut the buttons off Izzy's vest one by one, exposing the firm, muscular flesh of his chest, ordering Izzy to his knees and…

"Oh god," Stede gasps, cock spurting over his hand, staining the fabric of his trousers. He groans, holding on tight for a moment, and then his head falls back against the pile of clothing behind him. "Fuck."

He grabs a piece of lace that he judges rumpled beyond repair, dabbing ineffectively at the mess. He throws his other arm over his face, shame bubbling up in the pit of his belly.

What kind of man is he to even think of it?

What kind of man is he, that he's not sure he can resist the temptation?

*

The bathroom is fragrant, steaming water making the air soft and humid. The scent of cedar and lime fills Izzy's lungs and he sucks in a deep breath, the deepest he's managed since... He shakes his head. Jim steps back, dropping the hand still on Izzy's shoulder.

"I'll, uh, give you some privacy," they say, turning away. Izzy closes his eyes, swallowing his pride.

"Wait. I... I might need some help," he says. The words taste like ash on his tongue.

Jim nods, face neutral. Izzy's head feels full of cotton balls--he speaks whether he wants to or not.

"Don't think I can get these off on my own," he says, gesturing to his trousers. "Not sure I could get into the tub without cracking my head open. Honestly if I thought it'd just kill me I wouldn't say anything, but I knew a man once, fell from the mizzenmast, cracked his head open. Survived, but he never spoke again. Just looked lost all the time."

"That scares me. I'm not afraid of dying, not really. But losing myself? Living like a fuckin' shell, just a body to eat and shit and piss until someone puts me out of my fuckin' misery?" He shudders. "Fuck, anyway, just... just help me get my fuckin' trousers off, alright?"

Jim laughs, guiding Izzy to sit on a stool next to the tub

"You're fucking weird, viejo, you know that?" they say. They unlace his boots, slip them off his feet and set them aside

Izzy gingerly unbuttons his vest and Jim helps him slip it off over his shoulders. His muscles, locked and knotted after being tied behind his back for however long, scream in protest. He winces

"Hey," Jim says quietly. "Just let me, okay?"

They fold the vest carefully, laying it aside. Izzy looks away as they unbutton his shirt, stained with blood and sweat and everything else. They don't comment, don't ask questions. They place it on top of his vest

Izzy doesn't look down. He doesn't want to know how he looks. He watches Jim's face as they take it in, deliberately blank.

"That bad, eh?" he asks. They just shake their head. Their hands move to the waistband of his trousers. Izzy draws in a shaky breath.

"Okay?" they ask, looking up at him. Izzy shrugs, biting his lips as he tries not to speak. Jim waits patiently.

"I don't know," he says finally. Their expression doesn't change. "It's not you."