"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.