Frenchie and Wee John help Roach maneuvre him onto a stretcher as Izzy pushes his hair out of his face. Stede groans again as they move him, eyes blinking open, focusing on Izzy. He reaches out, grabbing for Izzy's hand, holding on tight.

"Izzy, darling, are you alright?" he says, speech slightly slurred. Izzy laughs, a pained little sound.

"I'm not the one who got shot, you idiot," he says, voice breaking.

"Oh," Stede says, looking down at himself.

Frenchie and John carry the stretcher belowdecks, into Roach's makeshift surgery. Izzy stays next to Stede, holding his hand. Stede keeps his eyes on Izzy. Blood spreads across the back of his shirt, no exit wound.

"Flip him," Roach says. "I'm going to dig it out."

Izzy steps back as John takes hold of Stede's shoulders, Frenchie taking his legs. Roach stabilizes his hips as they roll him onto his belly. Stede cries out, the sound harsh and choked off

Izzy hisses, wrapping his arms around himself. He feels fucking useless. Roach glances up at him.

"Come over here," he says, holding up a knife, running a flame over its blade. Izzy approaches slowly, uncertainly. Roach nods towards Stede. "Hold his hands."

Izzy crouches down in front of the table. He takes hold of Stede's hands, lacing their fingers together. Stede whimpers as the motion pulls at his injury, but then looks up at Izzy, smiling tightly

"Not to worry, darling," he says. "A pirate's life, eh?"

His hair is soaked with sweat, face pale. Izzy swallows convulsively.

"Oh, shut up," he says, squeezing Stede's hands.

"This might sting a bit," Roach says, uncorking a bottle of rum with his teeth. "Hold him down."

Stede screams as Roach pours rum over the wound to sterilize it. Izzy holds on to his hands for dear life, Frenchie and John pinning his hips and legs as his body writhes in agony.

"Fuck," Izzy says through gritted teeth. His voice breaks again. Roach holds the rum bottle against Stede's lips.

"Drink," he says. Stede does as he's told, amber liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth as Roach pours it down his throat. Finally, he pulls the bottle away, setting it down on the table with a thunk. "Now hold him tight. If he moves too much, I might hit something... essential."

He passes his blade through the flame again.

Roach makes a triumphant sound, fingers parting the flesh he's carving. He sets the knife aside, picking up a pair of tongs and fishing around in the wound. After a moment, he draws them out, slow and cautious. The bullet clatters down on the table, blood-streaking the dull grey surface. Roach grabs the rum bottle again, pouring another measure over the wound, then taking a swig. Stede moans quietly, still unconscious

"Almost done," Izzy murmurs to him

He doesn't expect a response, of course he doesn't, he's not a fucking child. He must be imagining things, he thinks, when Stede's face seems to relax at the sound of his voice.

"Come on, Bonnet," he says anyway, feeling fucking ridiculous. "Stubborn twat like you, you'll be fucking fine. Just... just hold on, alright?"

Roach picks up a curved needle, stitching the wound with surprisingly tidy sutures, tying each off before moving on to the next.

"He's lucky," Roach says at last, mopping up the last of Stede's blood with an alcohol-soaked rag before tying a clean bandage around the shoulder. "Missed all the important bits. Keep it clean, keep it from festering, and he'll be good as new in no time. Well. Mostly."

Izzy keeps his eyes on Stede's face. Slowly, he lets go of his wrists, feeling the numbness in his fingers, the tightness of the muscles in his back and neck from holding Stede down.

He reaches up, pushing the hair out of Stede's eyes at last, stroking it back, tucking strands behind his ears. Stede murmurs softly, wincing as he shifts. Izzy, absurdly, finds himself cooing softly, petting Stede's hair. A knock on the door startles him. Olu hovers just outside.

"How is he?" he asks, looking from Stede's prone form to Roach, now leaning against the counter, smoking a joint with bloodied hands. Roach shrugs.

"He'll live. Probably."

Izzy stands, ignoring the way his legs shake. He needs to work, to do his fucking job.

"What's our heading, Mister Boudhari?" he asks. Olu's eyes widen as he looks at Izzy, and Izzy realizes suddenly that his cheeks are wet. He swipes an arm across his face irritably. "And where the hell is Ed? Stede's his fuckin'-- he should be here."

He looks away, missing the way Olu, glances to Frenchie and John.

"Um. Well. Bit of a problem, there. He's gone."

He has his numbers, sure, and enough letters to do the books, but no more than that. He squints at the page, blurry letters swimming in front of his eyes, useless.

"Fuck!"

He slams the letter down on the table. He could ask the boy for help, Lucius. There's no time for this nonsense. Stede murmurs in his sleep, calling for Izzy, for Ed. Izzy slumps down in a ridiculously plush chair. He buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

*

It doesn't take long for Ed to find a ship headed in the right direction. He leaves his leathers on the Revenge, ties his hair back. His beard is short, close to his jawline. It makes him look younger. That plus a simple cotton shirt and breeches--"neutral tones, classic," as Stede would put it--and it becomes almost insultingly easy for Blackbeard to travel incognito. All these years to build his reputation and all it takes is a change of clothes?

But no matter.

He has other things to worry about.

He works for his passage--he doesn't want to attract attention by waving around too much gold. And besides. He needs something to do with his hands, to keep him occupied.

If he thinks too much about where he's headed, what he plans to do, he'll go mad, or worse, lose his nerve. He can't afford that.

Izzy can't afford that.

He keeps his head down, follows orders, competent but not too competent.

Just another body on deck. Keeps to himself.

The other men give him a wide berth. He's not unfriendly exactly, it's just... well, spend long enough at sea and you develop a feel for things.

You know when a man has the devil at his back.

And you know when that man turns to walk through the gates of hell, and spit in the devil's face.

Ed follows orders.

The other men cross themselves and mutter charms against the evil eye.

The ship sails on.

"Gone!" Stede winces as the volume of his own voice is enough to send pain ricocheting through the torn muscle fibers of his damaged shoulder.

"Fuck, watch it, you fucking twat," Izzy says, more force of habit behind it than genuine anger. He takes Stede's shoulders, guiding him to lie against the pillows. Stede still looks pale, dark circles under his eyes, souvenirs from the blood loss. He looks up at Izzy. Izzy's eyes are bloodshot, hair unstyled.

He looks like he's been crying. Looks like he hasn't slept. Stede reaches out with his good arm as Izzy fusses with his blankets, muttering something about him catching his death, just you wait and see, and when's the last time Roach checked Stede's temperature anyway and--

The flow of Izzy's words stops when Stede's hand grips his. He looks down at it, breathing too hard, eyes too bright.

"Izzy," Stede says, managing to sound a bit calmer than before

"You said that Edward is gone."

Izzy stares down, refusing to look at Stede. His lashes are thick, hiding his eyes as he picks at Stede's comforter with his free hand. His lashes look a little damp, Stede thinks.

"That's right, sir," Izzy says, voice a little too rough for the formality he clings to. "He left a note. I couldn't... I mean, I should have asked the boy, shouldn't have waited, sir, I--"

"Izzy," Stede says again. Izzy falls silent.

He still hasn't looked up. Stede squeezes his hand. His shoulder throbs, pain pulsing in time with his heartbeat. So. Ed's gone. He left. Stede clears his throat. Right. The note. Izzy mentioned a note. He clears his throat again. His vision swims--he feels the heat of tears bubbling up in his eyes and he blinks rapidly, trying to clear them.

"Where is it?" he asks when he finally thinks he can trust his voice--still, it quavers, traitorous thing.

"Well? Don't just fucking sniff it, read it!"

Stede's eyes snap back up--Izzy's looking at him at last, glaring. It's the best thing he's seen since he woke up.

"Give a man a moment, for god's sake," Stede snaps, "I'm feeling... feelings!"

Izzy bares his teeth.

"Feel your fucking feelings later, right now just read the fucking note!"

"Oh, fine," Stede says, heart hammering with a strange blend of relief and trepidation. He unfolds the paper slowly.

Izzy's eyes fix on him, pleading. Stede reads aloud, faltering a little over some of Ed's more extravagant spelling choices.

"Steade--tell Iz I aym sourry. I shoullde haeve sayvved him froum Hournygoulld mysaelf. I shoullde haeve kielled thaet baestard all thoese yeaers agou.

I goe tou reight thaet wroung."

"Fuckin' what?" Izzy snaps. "Read it again without the fuckin' voice this time."

"Oh! Right! Sorry," Stede says, and then begins again.

"Stede--tell Iz I'm sorry. I should have saved him from Hornigold myself. I should have killed that bastard all those years ago. I go to write that wrong."

"Fuck," Izzy says. He sags down on the side of Stede's bed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Stede makes a face as he looks at the note. "Did he use his own bloody spellings again? No wonder I couldn't fuckin' read it, it's like putting it in fuckin' code"

Stede looks down at the note

"Sorry, his own what?" he asks, wrinkling his nose.

"Spellings," Izzy says, like it were obvious. "He told me there was, like, the standard way, but anybody interesting made their own up, it was way cooler. I never got the hang of it. Rubbish at reading. All the letters look the same anyway, little blurs on a page."

Stede glances from Izzy to the note and back again. He opens his mouth, shuts it again, finally settles on.

"Right. We'll revisit this."

Izzy speaks before he can say more

"He'll kill him," he says, voice small. "Hornigold'll kill him. He can't do it alone."

Stede's eyes narrow, mouth set in a firm line

"He won't have to," he says. "He's right about one thing. It's past time someone killed that bastard. Izzy, we'll leave you and Jim at the next port. The rest of the crew and I will go to rescue Edward."

"You'll what?" Izzy demands, sounding more skeptical than Stede thinks necessary

From the look on his face, you'd think Stede proposed growing wings and flying to the rescue! Honestly.

"Izzy, I certainly can't ask you to participate in a rescue mission!" he protests, "Or to face Hornigold! Why, it's unthinkable!"

Izzy draws back, pulling his hand away from Stede

"For god's sake, darling, you're still healing!" Stede says, "Besides, I'm the captain!"

"Healing my ass, you've just been fuckin' shot," Izzy retorts, crossing his arms

"And now your plan is to send the only two people who can fight--"

"Well, come now, that's an exaggeration--"

"--on this godforsaken death trap of a vessel--"

"Hey, that's just mean!"

"--on a fucking vacation while you rescue my captain from Benjamin fucking Hornigold?"

"I'd hardly call it a vacation!" Stede interjects as Izzy turns away and starts to pace.

"And all this because I'm some, some delicate fucking flower that needs protecting?"

Izzy splutters, face red with fury.

"Oh, for god's sake, Izzy, you're being completely unreasonable," Stede says, badly miscalculating.

"Unreasonable?" Izzy hisses. Stede abruptly senses his mistake. "Unreasonable! Oh I'll show you unreasonable, you fucking twat, if you try to leave me in port like some miserable fucking housewife while you go gallivanting off to save the fucking day, I'll have Roach declare you unfit for duty. He'd do it, you know."

"What?" Stede says. "That's not-- he can't-- he wouldn't!"

"Yes he would, and then you could convalesce in a fucking inn like a fucking maiden dying of consumption while I fucking rescue Ed, you smug bastard."
Izzy stops his pacing, crossing his arms, glaring at Stede. After a moment Stede sighs, exasperated

"Fine!" he says, shortly, "If you insist."

"I fuckin' insist."

"I know, that's why I said fine!"

They glare at each other, both breathing hard

Izzy's eyes shine, still too bright in the low light of the room. His lower lip trembles just slightly. Stede's face softens.

"Izzy--"

Before he can say anything more, Izzy crosses the floor and kisses him.

Anger's always been a good shield for Izzy. Keeps him safe. Keeps him alive. Keeps him... keeps him alone. That's safer, too. He can drape his anger over all his truths like a cloak, keeping him just a little apart from them. Hell, if he gets really lucky, the person he's talking to will just walk away, or at least dismiss everything he says out of hand. Just Izzy yelling again. Nothing to worry about.

It doesn't work on Stede. Stede pays attention.

He snipes back, drawing Izzy out, making him angry enough to be incautious and before he knows it, he's spilling his guts to the bastard.

"That's why I said fine!" Stede snaps at last, voice high and sharp.

Izzy glares at Stede, propped against an absurd, truly self-indulgent number of pillows. He swallows hard. This is what he wanted. It is. He doesn't have to say anything more. He doesn't have to say anything about how frightened he is right now.

More time than he could have dreamed thirty years ago, when Ed turned to him in the night, told him he and Jack had a plan. Stupid, ridiculous, absurd. Fucking brilliant. The thought of Jack brings a lump to his throat. And Ed... well, Ed was never really his at all. But he's Ed's. He always knew he'd die like this.

Stede's eyes are a warm, soft brown. He's not glaring anymore. He looks sad

"Izzy..." he says gently. Izzy could say any of it. All of it

He can feel it bubbling just under the surface, trying to push its way out of him, into the open.

He kisses Stede before it can escape.

*
Stede gasps as Izzy kisses him, both hands cupping Stede's face with ruthless tenderness. Stede reaches up with his good arm, cupping the back of Izzy's neck. Izzy whimpers, tension draining out of him at the touch. They have more to discuss. Even if Izzy insists on staying, he certainly can't face Hornigold himself