"Blackbeard's missing," he says. The hostage strains to hear what's being said, not sure whether or not it affects him.

"Don't quote me on this," Olu continues, turning so that his lips are close to Jim's ear. "But I think we might be in for another rescue mission."

"Ay, dios." Jim rolls their eyes, slumping down the wall to sit, arms draped over their knees. "I'm telling you Olu, estos estúpidos will be the death of me."

Olu shakes his head ruefully

"They'll be the death of somebody, for sure," he says, eyes a little distant. He slides down to sit next to Jim, slipping one hand into theirs. "But I mean, look at Stede. Man should be dead five times over by now. At least. Luck like that and a solid plan? Maybe they can be the death of somebody else this time."

Jim laughs quietly, squeezing Olu's hand, then looks over at him, curious

"Where the hell did ese idiota go, anyway?" they ask. Olu grimaces

Jim's eyes widen.

"No," they say. Olu doesn't reply. Jim lets their head thunk back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.

"Yup," is all Olu replies, tangling his fingers with theirs.

"Seriously?" Jim groans. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Olu says, "That's pretty much what I said."

"Good work, captain," he'd said, smiling affectionately.

"What, getting shot?" Stede asked, baffled. Roach shrugged.

"If you have to get shot, this is a good way to do it," he said, before categorically forbidding Stede from getting out of bed without his say-so for the next few days at least. So, here Stede sits, looking absurdly chipper for a man who's just been shot in the shoulder. He'd whined a little when Izzy refused to get back in bed with him

Truth be told, it was harder to resist than Izzy liked. The warmth of it, the feel of Stede's hand in his hair, the steady thump of his heartbeat where Izzy's cheek rested against his chest... It was nice. Too fucking nice. Dangerous. And so after Roach left, when Stede patted the bed beside him with that infuriating, heartbreaking little smile, Izzy just shook his head.

He ignored the ache he felt when Stede's smile faltered.

He paced instead.

He just about jumps out of his skin when someone knocks on the door.

"Come!" Stede calls, at the same time that Izzy barks, "What!"

Olu sticks his head around the door hesitantly.

"Yeahhh," he says, looking between Stede and Izzy. Stede smiles encouragingly. Izzy glowers. "It's just, you said you wanted to see us, captain?"

"Yes, I did!" Stede says brightly. Izzy crosses his arms, too self-conscious to resume his pacing. His skin feels too tight.

"Come in, come in, all of you!" Stede continues, waving the crew in with his good arm. Izzy stalks over to stand by the bed, arms still folded. The crew pile into the room, standing awkwardly on the carpet or, in the Swede's case, staring up at the chandelier, open-mouthed.

"Right," Stede calls, "First thing's first! As I'm sure many of you have realized, Ed is. Um. Gone."

Most of the crew nod, murmuring in the affirmative as Stede nods encouragingly.

The Swede looks a touch surprised to Izzy. But then, if he really thinks about it, he doesn't think he's ever seen the Swede with any expression other than a kind of amiable startlement. The man's still staring at the fucking chandelier, for fuck's sake.

"So," Stede continues. "Thoughts?"

The crew shuffles, looking at each other uncertainly.

"Um, just on that?" Frenchie asks after a moment. Stede nods encouragingly. Frenchie glances at Wee John.

Stede waits patiently, still smiling. Izzy wants to throw himself out the window.

"Well, it's, um... bad?" Frenchie says at last. Stede nods again.

"Yes! It is bad, Frenchie, you're quite right! Anyone else?" he looks around the room expectantly. The crew exchange glances again. Izzy sighs deeply, running a hand over his face.

"If I may, sir," he says, as politely as he can manage. Stede, of all the stupid fucking things, reaches out to take his hand

"Izzy!" he says, apparently delighted by this turn of events. "Please, if you have something to contribute don't hesitate!"

He squeezes Izzy's hand. Izzy doesn't know whether he wants to shoot the fucker or kiss him again.

"Right!" he shouts, glaring at the assembled crew like he's daring them to comment on the fact that he's holding the captain's hand. "We need a plan, and we need it now! First thing's first, we need to figure out where Ed's gone!"

"That means figuring out where Benjamin Hornigold will be next!"

The temperature in the room seems to drop when he says Hornigold's name. The crew mutters darkly. Jim's hand flexes on their knife. Even the Swede seems suddenly to be paying attention. Izzy shifts, clearing his throat.

"We'll have to make port if we're going to find out anything new," he says, "and with the fuckin' bounty on my head that's not a simple prospect."

He hesitates, thinking

They probably need some sort of fuckery. This part, the brainstorming, coming up with absurd solutions to impossible questions... that's Ed's thing, really. He still hasn't let go of Stede's hand. It feels like that's the only thing tethering him to the ship. Fuck. How are they supposed to do this without Ed?

"'Scuse me..."

Izzy blinks, knocked out of his spiral by Wee John's quiet voice.

"What is it, Mister Feeney?" he snaps. "Speak up, come on!"

Wee John and Frenchie exchange a look. John shifts from foot to foot.

"Do we actually need to make port, though?" he asks. Izzy frowns--the crew may not be the sharpest on the seven seas, but they're usually quicker than this.

"'Course we fuckin' do," he snaps, "How the fuck else are we gonna find out where Hornigold's headed? Ed'll have found out by now, and that's where he's going--I guarantee it. So unless one of you knows Hornigold's schedule--"

"--yes, Swede?" Izzy snaps as the gormless-looking man raises a hand shyly.

"Well," the Swede says slowly. Izzy feels like his teeth will explode if he grits them any harder. "If we don't know where Hornigold is going, but the man in the cupboard does, shouldn't we just ask the man in the cupboard?"

Izzy stares at the Swede blankly, wondering if the man is slower than he'd already allowed for.

"Sorry," Stede says. "There's a man in a cupboard?"

"He means our hostage," Jim supplies.

"We locked him in the galley," Roach adds, then smiles unnervingly. "That's where I keep my tools."

Stede's eyes widen in excitement.

"And we believe he knows where Hornigold will be next?" he asks, breathless.

"One way to find out," Jim shrugs.

"Alright," Izzy says, trying not to put too much stock in the sudden hope that surges through him. "Time for an interrogation, I'd say."

Roach's grin widens.

Izzy's the first out of the room, ignoring the worried note in Stede's voice as he calls after him.

"Izzy, darling, wait, are you sure this is a good--"

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of what Stede might have said. Izzy straightens his shoulders as he heads for the galley. It's not as if he was ignoring an order. Stede was posing a question and most, and besides...

"Still not my captain," Izzy mutters to himself, unconvincingly

"Hey, wait up!"

Izzy tenses as Jim jogs up to walk beside him, Roach only a stride or so behind. Neither of them tries to stop him, though he feels tension in the way they look at him, the way they meet each other's gaze.

"You gonna get in my way?" he growls. His blood is up, heart pounding in his ears. He doesn't have time for any nonsense, and he doesn't have time to coddle anyone. Part of him knows he's being unreasonable, acting before he thinks.

He could almost laugh at that thought--usually that's Ed's job.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Jim sounds more confused than angry. Izzy's jaw flexes. He wants to shout at them, tell them to let him handle this alone, but if he opens his mouth he won't be able to stop talking and god only knows what nonsense will come pouring out of him. "Hey!"

Jim grabs him by the elbow, spinning him to face them. Izzy reacts automatically, shoving them away.

They stumble back a step and, fuck, they still don't look angry. Izzy's hand clutches the pommel of his sword.

"Gonna stab me, viejo?" There's irony in their voice, a touch of a smile at the corner of their mouth. Izzy's hand flexes, then slowly relaxes as he breathes in through his nose.

"We don't have time for this," he says, body radiating tension. "Ed doesn't have time for this."

Roach steps forward, hands raised. He and Jim watch Izzy warily.

"That's why we need to be sure we're on the same page, little man," he says, sounding so reasonable that Izzy wants to scream. "Come on--this is not my first interrogation."

Izzy knows. He does. He doesn't know why he's being so fucking difficult.

"Hey, Izzy, look at me."

He raises his eyes to Jim's. They take a slow step towards him, then another. When he doesn't balk, they step into his space fully, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Breathe, viejo"

Izzy sucks in a breath, taken aback by the sudden realization that his lungs are burning. Jim nods encouragingly and he breathes in again. As he exhales, words come flooding out of him

"I don't know why I'm doing this," he says, face flushing. "I just. I know Ed's already found Ben. I know it. When we first started together, we were both just deckhands, stupid, inexperienced, no fucking sense. And Ed..."

His voice breaks. Jim and Roach don't interrupt

"Ed was so beautiful. He was fucking perfect. Looking at him was like... It was like looking at the fucking sun, like staring too long would strike me fucking blind. And Ben... Ben was looking too."

Jim squeezes his shoulder, comforting him. Izzy wants to throw up. He looks down at his feet, not wanting to see the way they'll look at him when he stops talking.

"I was older. By a few years. I'd been on board for about six months before Ed showed up."

"Ben had..." Izzy trails off, clears his throat before pressing on. "He'd already had me. And when I saw him looking at Ed I... Fuck, listen, it was already too late for me, but I just... I just wanted to keep Ed safe. So I did everything I could to keep Ben content." His mouth twists with bitter irony. "And it worked. Ben never touched him. Not like that, anyway. And now..."

His voice breaks again. He stares down at the carpet beneath his feet.

He still can't look them in the eye. He wants to curl into a ball and disappear, doesn't want to face the disgust they must feel. Jim squeezes his shoulder again.

"We're gonna get him back, Izzy," they say. "Just, trust us, yeah?"

He risks a glance up. Jim regards him calmly. There's no disgust in their face, and precious little pity--he's fucking grateful for that, at least. Roach leans against the wall, arms crossed, picking his nails with a cleaver

He looks almost like he's trying to give Izzy some privacy, like that's not fucking impossible right now. Izzy appreciates it anyway.

"It's-- I'm--" Izzy stammers. He doesn't know what he wants to say, and for once, his stupid mouth doesn't either. Roach pushes away from the wall tucking the cleaver back in his belt.

"Let me do the work, Dizzy Izzy," he says, a little twinkle in his eye easing any sting in his words. "After all, it's my kitchen."

*
Jim drags the hostage, chair and all, out of the larder, into the galley proper. The man is gagged, arms tightly bound behind him and secured to the chair. From where Izzy leans--close to the door, toying with a filleting knife Roach slipped him with a wink--he admires the knotwork.

"You've been holding out on me," he says as Roach takes out a clean, white cloth and lays it over a tall stool. "Where were those knots when you rigged the mainsail?"

Roach just shrugs, smiling mischievously.

"I like to keep an air of mystery," he says, eyes twinkling. Some of the cold terror at the base of Izzy's spine ebbs away, and he snorts.

"Like to keep away from the fuckin' work more like," he says, meaning it to sound stern--a touch of a smile creeps into his voice too, and Roach just smiles wider.

That smile, Izzy notices, doesn't budge an inch when Roach turns to their prisoner. The man pales a bit.

The thin man watches, too. His skin, already sallow, looks absolutely pallid now. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, all the way up to the crown of his thinly-haired head.

Roach hems and haws, hands on his hips, staring down at his collection. The prisoner's eyes flick from the tools to his face and back again. More slowly, and apparently with great thought, Roach begins removing items from his apparent inventory. The man's eyes dart around the room.

Izzy leans back, watching closely. As Roach narrows his selection down to five, he looks up at the thin man, who whimpers quietly behind his gag.

"Now," Roach says, sounding supremely satisfied. "Did you know that each of these knives serves a specific culinary purpose?"

Roach nods encouragingly at the man, waiting for him to respond. After a moment of terrified confusion, the man shakes his head, whimpering a muffled negative through his gag.

Roach's eyes light up, apparently delighted by the man's response.

"Today you will learn how each of them is used."

The man begins to shake. Izzy tucks the filleting knife into a pocket of his vest--he has a feeling he won't be needing it. The man's quiet whimpering stretches into a constant whine as Roach holds up a long, thin blade, wickedly curved and split at the tip. He grins amiably as he begins to carefully explain its function to the hostage.

Izzy crosses his arms over his chest and smiles, feeling suddenly at ease. He wonders if Roach would mind if he made drinks. After a moment, Jim slips over and sits on a stool next to Izzy with a casual nod.

They cross their arms, too, leaning their head back so they can watch from under the brim of their hat. They meet Izzy's gaze for just a moment, but he understands them perfectly.

It's not often you have a chance to watch a master at work.

The man's chest heaves as he breathes too quickly, still babbling as Roach impatiently pulls the gag from his mouth, letting it fall over his chin.

"What?" he says, clearly irritated by the interruption.

The man's voice goes high and reedy with panic.

"Wait, wait you didn't-- you-- you didn't ask me anything, you didn't ask me anything!"

Roach folds his arms, unamused.

"I asked you if you had heard of these knives," he says, nodding to his tools.

"And-- and I answered! I... please, wait!"

Roach bends to his task, knife pricking deeper into the hollow of the man's throat this time. The man screams, hands flexing in terror as the ropes hold his arms and legs mercilessly pinned.

"Wait! Wait! Please!" he screams, "Please, please, what do you want to know, anything, please!"

Roach clicks his tongue, irritated to be interrupted again. He doesn't bother to stand this time, knife unmoving in his hand

The prisoner whimpers, a desperate, almost animal sound, and Izzy could almost feel sorry for him.

"You are ready to talk already?" he says, nose wrinkling in disgust. The man draws in a convulsive breath. A drop of blood rolls down from the place where Roach's knife pierces his flesh.

"Yes," the man replies on a sobbing exhale. Roach narrows his eyes. The knife still doesn't move, another drop of blood rolling down the rivulet laid down by the first.

Finally, it overflows its banks, sending a slow but steady trickle down the man's chest, over his belly. The man shudders, watching Roach fearfully.

Izzy shakes his head, impressed and amused despite himself. Roach is a man of hidden depths and talents. Here he's barely spent a thimbleful of this man's blood, and the fucker's already gagging to spill all his beans. He feels a tap at his elbow and glances down to see Jim offering him a flask

He glances at them out the corner of his eye--they wink at him and he barely suppresses a laugh. He accepts the flask, takes a swig, surprised by the pleasant, earthy burn of whiskey, and then turns his attention back to Roach

Roach takes the prisoner's chin in his hand, holding him tight as he bends forward until their cheeks are brushing. His lips are almost close enough to touch the man's ear as he speaks

"What is Hornigold's next port?"