None of it made a damn bit of difference. Izzy died at Benjamin Hornigold's hands, just like he always feared he would, and Jack didn't do a goddamn thing to help. Just like when they were kids.
"Jack, for fuck's sake, will you stop ignoring me?"
Ed's voice cuts through Jack's thoughts again. Has he been talking this whole fuckin' time? Christ, and people think Jack doesn't know when to shut up.
"I know it's you, you rum drenched wanker."
Ed's voice is sharp and high, like it used to be when they were younger. Maybe this really is just a hallucination.
"Fuckin' talk to me, Jack," Ed whines, and that cracks it, it's gotta be a hallucination, because that's the exact voice Ed used when he thought he wasn't getting enough attention 20 years ago.
"Christ, Eddie, give it a rest," he says finally. No point talking to anybody else, but no reason not to talk to himself at least.
"Jack!" Ed's voice sounds breathy this time, like a gasp of relief. "Fuck me, mate, I thought you were dead!"
Jack grunts, noncommittal. Maybe he is dead, after all. Maybe this is hell.
"Come on man, don't clam up again!" The hallucination is still talking. Jack shakes his head, trying to clear it. As he begins to speak, the door creaks open. Sickly yellow lantern light floods in, blinding. Hornigold stands silhouetted in the doorway.
"Boys," he says, boisterous and booming as ever, and Jack's theory that he might simply be in hell cements itself. "Why, it seems just yesterday that I had you both on my crew--such clever, promising lads. My how things change."
Jack doesn't bother to answer. He doesn't care if he or Ed--real or imagined--die here, slow or fast.
Only one thing interests him now, only one thing could spur him to action.
The chance to kill Benjamin Hornigold
He can hear the whine in his own voice as he begs Jack to speak.
"Christ, Eddie, give it a rest."
Ed's head spins with relief. The voice is rough, too flat, but unmistakably Jack.
"Jack," he gasps, relief flooding through him, and then "Fuck me, mate, I thought you were dead!"
He hadn't seen the cannon ball hit Jack--a bit busy getting caught by the English--but from what the crew told him after... Well. He didn't expect to see Jack again
Though technically he supposes he hasn't seen him, he's only--
The door opening cuts Ed's train of thought short. He squints. The lantern light outside is bright enough to blind him momentarily. Finally, his eyes focus on the silhouette in front of him. The relief he felt at hearing Jack speak bleeds out of him, leaving him ice cold.
"Boys!" And fuck if Hornigold doesn't sound just the same. "The most promising lads I ever had on my crew."
Ed can feel the bastard's smile even if he can't see it.
"My how things change."
The door swings shut behind him. Hornigold carries a small lantern, casting a ghastly light over his ruddy face. Fucker looks the same too. Either that or Ed's nightmares have aged along with him. How many times has he dreamt those eyes on him as he checks the rigging or takes inventory with Jack? How many times has he woken up gasping, calling out for Izzy.
Izzy was always there. Izzy protected him. He supposes that's why Izzy came with him in the end. Jack loved Izzy, but Ed needed him. Izzy liked being needed.
Hornigold watches him. He can feel the fucker's eyes on him, feels like he's 17 again. God he wishes he killed the bastard when he had the chance. He doesn't suppose he'll get another crack at it now. If he does, he doesn't suppose Jack'll be much help. He'll have to make it count.
Stede wonders if it would be alright to ask him. Izzy's been quite clear about questions of any kind as he recovers from whatever Hornigold drugged him with. But surely this is important enough to warrant an exception...
Stede is lost in thought when someone knocks on his door
"Enter!" he calls distractedly. He expects Roach checking on his stitches, or maybe Lucius to keep him company. Perhaps Buttons with an update on their heading!
So he doesn't look up from his rumination until a muttered curse in a familiar, hoarse voice catches his ear.
"Fuck," Izzy growls again, fumbling with the door as he balances a heavy looking tray on one hip.
"Izzy!" Stede exclaims, then winces as his attempt to sit up tugs at his studies.
"Fuck do you think you're playing at, eh?" Izzy demands, stalking forward. He sets the tray down by the bed and starts fussing with Stede's blankets.
"Leave you alone for ten minutes and you're about to rip your fuckin' stitches out and bleed to death on the floor."
Blankets adjusted to Izzy's satisfaction, he turns to Stede's pillows, plumping them behind him until Stede sits at a gentle angle. He mumbles and mutters as he does it, but when he stands back to survey his work, his cheeks are flushed
"Sorry," Stede says, not sure what else to say. They stare at each other for a long moment
Izzy picks up the tray, setting it over Stede's legs.
"What's this?" Stede asks, though the array of fruits and a hearty porridge, shot through with nuts and seeds and finished with a generous dollop of honey make the answer self evident. Izzy huffs irritably, crossing his arms.
"Fuck's it look like, you twat? It's breakfast." His words don't have the bite they used to, Stede thinks as Izzy continues. "Gotta keep up your strength."
Stede looks from the tray to Izzy and back again. Izzy flushes a brighter shade of red.
"Thank you, darling," Stede says at last. Izzy drops his eyes, apparently at a loss for words, and then grabs a spoon from the tray. He scoops up a little mouthful of porridge, thrusting it at Stede, who simply stares at it, jaw hanging open.
"Your arm's fucked," Izzy growls, still not making eye contact. "Just eat the fuckin' porridge, alright?"
And who is Stede to argue with the fearsome Izzy Hands, pirate extraordinaire? He opens his mouth, chewing slowly as Izzy feeds him. After several mouthfuls, Izzy takes a breath, bracing himself. Stede opens his mouth to comment. Izzy shoves in another mouthful before he can speak.
"Got word from one of the gulls, apparently," he says quickly. "Hornigold's left Kingston already."
Stede's eyes widen, but the porridge renders him inarticulate
"Ed's on board. Hornigold's men took him off the street."
Stede manages a squawk of outrage around the entirely too much porridge in his mouth
"We're in luck, though" Izzy continues, pausing only to sip a singularly out of place cup of black coffee from Stede's tray. "They're heading west. We're coming from the east. If we both keep our headings, we'll meet them halfway, on the open water."
The spoon scrapes the bottom of the porridge bowl
"Right," Izzy says, standing up quickly. "You're hurt, and you can't fight for shit. I think you should stay here. I'll lead the raid."
He hustles towards the door. He underestimates Stede's well developed ability to swallow porridge far more gluelike than this--boarding school was a useful education in that regard at least. Izzy's not even halfway across the room before Stede speaks.
"Israel Hands!" he snaps. "Get back here at once!"
Izzy stops with his back to Stede, hands balling into fists, shoulders around his ears. Stede crosses his arms, managing to keep wincing to a minimum as the movement tugs lightly at his stitches. Izzy turns slowly, crossing his own arms and glaring at Stede. That expression has, historically, not boded well for Stede. But then, he's never felt quite like this about any of those arguments. It was quite simple.
Izzy would not lead this raid.
It wasn't, of course, that he didn't have a perfect right to, and more cause than anyone else Stede could imagine to want Benjamin Hornigold dead
But Stede has already seen, all too intimately, the damage that man did. He's noticed, too, the way Izzy's hands shake just a little when he says the man's name. He's seen the way Izzy's ribs still jut a little more than they should. The way he startles at an unexpected noise
It's too soon for him
Izzy's not ready to face Hornigold.
And Hornigold has to die now.
So that means Izzy won't lead the raid.
Izzy's eyes narrow.
"Want me to call, Roach, then?" he snaps, pushing his chest out as he glares at Stede. "Have him declare you unfit?"
Stede glares back, unusually implacable.
"Why don't you?" he says. "And I'm sure you won't mind if I ask for his opinion about your fitness to lead this raid!"
Izzy's face flushes as he sputters.
"I'm afraid you've got a problem, Izzy." Stede presses his advantage. "The crew care about you. Not a man jack of them will see you sent to fight Benjamin Hornigold. And that includes Mister Roach!"
Izzy makes a choked sound, fury and confusion and something too much like relief for him to consider it too closely tangling his tongue.
"Now!" Stede continues, "I will be leading the raid! As first mate, you have a key role in the planning."
"But you will not leave this ship til I call you across to hand you Hornigold's fucking head."
Izzy nearly chokes on a bark of laughter. Stede extends his good arm, hand open.
"Now get back here, for god's sake," he demands again. This time Izzy stumbles forward, letting Stede pull him into the bed to stretch next to him, face buried in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around Stede's neck, not able to ignore his relief any longer.
He takes in his surroundings exactly as uninterestedly as he takes in Hornigold, and in just as much detail. Hornigold wears a velvet jacket, almost identical to the one he wore when Ed served under him. Decidedly démodé, in Ed's opinion. But he wonders if it has all the same features Hornigold's jacket used to have. So many secrets. Izzy washed the captain's clothing. He told Ed all about it.
It's been a long time, though. Ed has to be sure
He stares down at his hands, not bothering to look at Hornigold. His hair hangs lank around his face, sallow and too thin. Fuckin' hell, Jack. Ed keeps his expression blank, looking up at Hornigold like he's waiting for the fucker to explain why he's decided to waste Ed's fucking time like this.
Hornigold looks back at him, trying to stare him down. God, that look would have had him weeping 20 years ago. He pictures Izzy's face, as it was.
He remembers the bruises, the haunted look as he whispered in Hornigold's ear, distracting him, drawing him away from Ed, from Jack. Jack always wanted to fight. Ed held him back, too full of fucking dread for so long. And now...
He tries to picture Izzy as he is now with those haunted eyes, those bruises, furtive and frightened. Rage rips through him like an icy wildfire. And Jack. Stupid, funny Jack, watching Izzy with laughing eyes.
Jack, slumped in the corner of this fucking cell, tear tracks in the dirt on his cheeks.
Ed meets Hornigold's eyes with all that cold fury in his own, and in that moment they both know who is the more powerful man.
Too bad, then, Ed reflects as the butt of Hornigold's pistol catches him across the jaw, that he's also the one in chains at the moment.
Well, that's something real at least.
He still hasn't heard Ed move.
God damn it.
It's not his problem. Ed's not his friend. What kind of pirate has a friend? He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to picture Izzy's smile. The Izzy in his mind's eye glares at him instead. Sad sack Jack, ready to just lie down and die like some namby pamby pining for his boyfriend. Jack almost laughs at that, coughs instead, throat aching from weeks of disuse.
Izzy would kick his ass if he saw him like this.
Izzy would kick his ass for not helping Ed. Edward fucking Teach, who stole Izzy out from under him. The worst part of it was, he saw it coming. He wasn't blind. He saw the way Izzy looked at Ed. It was the same way Jack looked at Izzy. God, Jack never had a fucking chance.
Well. Too fuckin' late now.
In the dark of the cell, Ed groans.
"Shh!" Jack whispers sharply. Ed goes silent again.
Jack listens carefully, trying to hear anything other than Ed's breathing and his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears. He's closest to the door. He shifts carefully, slowly, making sure the chains around his wrists don't clank together as he moves. He leans his head against the wall, as close to the door as he can get, and listens again
Nothing
Good. The last thing they need is fucking Hornigold bursting in before they have a chance to talk
*
Ed shakes his head, groans quietly. Been a while since he took the butt of a gun to the jaw. He doesn't like it any more than he did last time. Hell, he thinks, as the spot where he was struck throbs, hot. He feels blood crusting the wound. He must have been out for a while. He pushes himself slowly to sit, groaning louder at the sharp pain in his neck.
"Shh!"
Jack's voice. Ed falls silent, listening. He can hear Jack breathing softly.
He thinks he hears Jack move in the dark, quiet rustle of fabric, no sound of chains. Jack's being careful. Ed waits. His jaw aches. He wonders vaguely if Hornigold's cracked it. Wouldn't be the first time
Finally, a long, shaky sigh from Jack
"I figure we've got five minutes."
Jack sounds barely interested. Ed'll take it. Right now, he'll take all the help he can get
*
The wind ruffles Izzy's hair. It's getting long, brushing his collar
His hands shake and he presses them together, arms tight against his sides. Breathe. He just has to fucking breathe.
Below, Stede slips again, overextending himself as he tries to block Jim's practice blade, exposing his injured side. Jim shows him his mistake, gently but ruthlessly miming a killing blow. Stede shakes his head, frustrated, serious as he accepts another hand up. He takes his stance again. It's gotten better, that's for sure.
Not enough. It's never more than thirty seconds for Jim to find their way through Stede's meager defenses. A lamb with a knife in its mouth is still a fucking lamb. If it manages to cut you, it'll only be by accident, and your own bloody fault. Stede Bonnet is a fucking lamb. And Benjamin Hornigold is a wolf.
Izzy takes a deep, slow breath. Ed's trapped on Ben's ship. Stede's not ready, not yet. And Izzy, if nothing else, is a loyal dog.
He looks down at the pile of pistols. He picks up the one he dropped, checking it over for damage, then rechecking for any faults. Not a spot of rust remains. The whole pile shines. Slowly, glancing around to make sure no one notices, he tucks a gun into his waistband and another into his boot, concealing them
Crew be damned, and Stede be damned too. He won't be left behind on this raid. And Stede Bonnet will not be the one to face Hornigold
*
"Fuck does he want, anyway?" Ed hisses. He and Jack both shift, moving as close to each other as they can get. Still not very close, but enough that they can keep their voices low. "Revenge? Fuck me, Jack, we mutinied what, twenty years ago? Twenty five? Why now?"
Jack grunts, shrugging awkwardly. He angles his body so he can keep an eye on the door, staying as close as possible to Ed. He stretches his arms long, chain taking his weight.
"Fuck should I know, man," he mutters. Ed's nervous energy fills the cell, making Jack's teeth itch. He got so used to the weight of his despair, almost comforting. Ed's need for action, for explanations, grates on him. There isn't an explanation, not really. Hornigold is Hornigold. Same evil bastard he was 20 years ago. Even if the man laid out his reasoning, plain as day, Jack wouldn't believe him. Not really.
And as for a plan...
Well, Jack's not convinced there's any point to that either. But...
It reminds him of Izzy. Izzy liked having a plan, liked knowing where they were going next, what they were gonna do when they got there. Everything laid out, nice and neat and tidy. Jack used to tease him for it, call him a control freak, a fussy bitch. Always trying to get a rise out of him. Fuck, Iz was always so pretty when he got mad. Izzy'd want a plan if he were here.
And Izzy would kick Jack's ass if he did anything less than he possibly could to save Eddie. So, he supposes, that's that. He's gonna save Edward Teach.
And if Jack doesn't make it out himself, well, after these last few weeks, he doesn't think that's much of a loss.
"Come on, Jack, work with me!"
Ed sounds annoyed. He's been talking, Jack realizes. Fucked if he knows what he's been talking about, though. That explains the annoyance.
Jack takes a breath, tries to focus again. They've been putting something in the water, he thinks. It tastes weird. Too little of the stuff not to drink it, but it makes his head feel fuzzy.
"Jack!" Ed again. Shit. Jack takes another breath, licks his lips.
"They put it in the water," he says. His voice still sounds strange. There's a pause as Ed processes.
"You know what it is?" Ed asks. Jack shakes his head, then remembers that's useless
"No," he says. "Try not to drink too much of it."
He hears Ed breathe in, can feel the gears turning in his head. If Ed doesn't have an idea yet, he will soon, Jack thinks. Crazy, brilliant fucker. No wonder Izzy always wanted him.
The sound of the key in the lock breaks the silence. Jack slides back to the wall, quick as he can, trying not to make too much noise, hoping Ed has the sense to do the same. Lantern light blinds them again.
*
The sun has long since set when Stede finally flops down next to Izzy on the fo'c'sle, covered in sweat. Izzy's hands are covered in cannon grease. His face, too, he realizes, as Stede reaches out and wipes at a smudge with his thumb.
"I think I'm just making it worse," he says, smiling apologetically. He doesn't lower his hand though. Izzy leans into the touch as Stede cups his cheek.
"No sign of them yet." Stede states the obvious.
As if Izzy hasn't been scanning the horizon this entire time, looking for sails. Fucking absurd. Out here in the middle of nowhere, following a lead from a fucking seagull. It's the best they've got. He tries not to think about it too hard.
"Buttons, or Olivia, I suppose, thinks we'll cross paths in about two days," Stede continues, smile a little forced. "Plenty of time to prepare. And we'll have the advantage! They don't know we're coming"
Izzy smiles back at Stede, though he suspects it's more of a grimace. Two days. Two days of Ed locked in that monster's brig. And Jack...
Izzy squeezes his eyes shut. Stede wraps his hand around the back of Izzy's neck, pulling him in to rest against his broad, firm chest. He smells of sweat and steel and somehow underneath it all, lavender and a hint of spice. Ponce. Izzy wraps his hands in Stede's shirt and breathes in deep.
Two days.
The visits seem random at first, no rhyme or reason, no pattern to detect... no pattern...
Ed squeezes his eyes shut, thinking, worrying at the idea, grain of sand in a shell--
"Christ, Eddie, will you shut up for five minutes?"
Ed jumps at Jack's voice. Whatever they've given him, it's affecting Jack too. He seems to drift, unmoored. More often than not, he lapses into silence before finishing a sentence. It's scaring the hell out of Ed.
But--
"Ed!" Jack snaps.
It's the most feeling Ed's heard from him since he arrived, but what--
"Ed, stop!"
An edge of panic in Jack's voice. Ed's guts go cold. He's been talking. Fuck, he's been talking this whole time?
"Yup," Jack whispers, irritation overtaking panic, "mumbling about fuckin' patterns and shit. Only pattern you're gonna have to worry about is the one your brains'll make when ol Horny splatters 'em over the fuckin' wall"
"Told you not to drink too much of that fuckin' water, but you couldn't just fuckin' listen, could you?"
Ed's not listening. Jack hears the sound of fabric ripping, loud in the silence of their cell. A moment later, he hears Ed start mumbling again, muffled this time, incomprehensible, hell, almost inaudible, and Jack almost laughs. Fuckin' Eddie. Crazy bastard gagged himself.
Leaning against the bench he's chained to, Ed shuts his eyes.
He worries at it, at the pattern. It's there, he knows it, can almost see it... something... something about what Jack said seemed to make what was forming in his mind a little brighter, a little clearer.
He can hear himself mumbling now that he's aware of it. The bit of his own sleeve he's stuffed in his mouth tastes of sweat and dried blood. He bites down, grinding his molars into it as he tries not to talk. He focuses on the pattern.
*
Izzy rises before the dawn. A heavy mist hangs over the water, the chill scent of morning air filling his lungs as he steps out onto the deck. He left Stede sleeping. The man had grumbled as Izzy slipped out of his bed reaching out with grasping hands. Izzy shoved a pillow into Stede's arms to replace himself, pretending he wasn't the least bit tempted to crawl back in with him.
Stede will have to rise soon anyway. There's more to be done.
The deck is silent, save the rippling of the sails above. Izzy steps around sleeping bodies, loathe to disturb them. Embarrassing, that. Soft.
But with what's coming, they'll need to be in a fit state. A decent night's sleep will stand them in good stead
He moves to the gun deck, checking the cannons again, counting munitions. He wears the gun he squirreled away yesterday in his boot, sword at his hip as always. They've plenty of ammunition
He runs a hand along the ship's rail. Above him, in the dull grey predawn light, he sees Buttons keeping watch in the crow's nest. The scent of coffee drifts up from belowdecks. Roach is already up, then. On the water around them, the mist has already begun to burn away at the promise of the rising sun, barest hint of a glow on the horizon
Izzy stares out at the sea, focused, intent, not sure if he wants Hornigold's ship to appear or not.
He squeezes his gloved hand into a fist, feeling the leather creak as it stretches with the motion. He wants to see it. Of course he wants to see it. Ed needs him. Nothing else matters.
He swallows hard, willing his heart out of his throat. Footsteps behind him disrupt his thoughts, and an arm wraps around his waist before he can turn.
"That's gotten better men than you stabbed, you know," he drawls, leaning back against Stede's chest.
Izzy's left(ist) nip piercing
Dinosaur with a Juicebox
Liz Sup
WaywardAF
FriskybizFan
Trees