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