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OFMD FIC: Ache
Title: Ache
Pairing: Edward/Izzy, Edward/Izzy/Stede, Izzy/Stede
Rating: PG
Words: ~3,600
Summary: Izzy tells Ed, "Lift up a bit," and slots the pillow under Ed's knee. As Ed settles, he glances at Bonnet. "When it gets like this, it hurts him less when it's bent."
Notes: Once again, I started a twitter snippet and ended up with a whole-ass story. Radelaidegrl's original prompt was Izzy showing Stede how to take care of Ed's knee.
[AO3]
Ache
Wee John must've used two full barrels of gunpowder; the merchant brig erupts into flame with a sound like thunder. Izzy hears cheering farther down the deck—Frenchie, Lucius, maybe Ivan. The fire is orange-bright against the nearly-black night sky, writhing as it climbs the brig's ropes and chases along her slack sails. Izzy watches it burn as he flexes a cramp from his sword-hand. A dull ache is spreading from the base of his spine to the tops of his shoulders.
When he turns back to the Revenge, he finds Oluwande waiting for him, his beanie off and a knife tucked into his belt. His shirt is slashed open at the collarbone, but there's no blood that Izzy can see.
Izzy asks, "Is anyone hurt?"
"Just Fang and Pete," Oluwande replies. "It doesn't look too bad, though. They're down with Roach now."
"And the loot?"
"Cloth and spices mostly. Some food."
Izzy mutters, "It'll do," and glances at the two guys huddled near the mizzenmast. They surrendered during the fight, and Bonnet had insisted on bringing them aboard rather than sending them for a swim. The Revenge doesn't have room for two more hands, but Izzy hadn't bothered trying to explain that to Bonnet. "Find those two somewhere to sleep."
"Got it."
Izzy hesitates before adding, "After that, get us underway." Bonnet's quick to make a nuisance of himself if he thinks Izzy is undermining him, but he and Ed have already shut himself up in their cabin, and the Revenge can't lurk around a burning ship all night. "Have Buttons make for the Republic." That's where they'd been headed before they engaged the brig.
As Oluwande walks away, Izzy kicks a box closer to the mainmast so he can sit in the light from the lanterns. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, then rolls his sleeve up to expose the cut on his forearm. In the fight, he took a glancing strike from a green boy whose only advantage had been the kind of swiftness that comes from youth. It stings a bit, but it isn't bleeding much.
A shadow stretches across his lap as he's debating whether to pour rum over it or leave it alone. He curses his bad luck under his breath when he realizes it's Bonnet. In the weeks since Bonnet's return, they've settled into something that isn't exactly a truce. Mostly, they've just been avoiding each other.
But Bonnet's in front of him now, saying, "Israel," in a voice that's quiet, almost uncertain. He's dressed for sleep. Blood—apparently not his—is smeared underneath his jaw and down one side of his neck. "Do you have a moment?"
Sighing, Izzy stops dabbing his cut. He's tired in a way he can feel in his bones. The raid had gone well enough, but few in Bonnet's lot are genuine fighters. Much of clearing the brig's deck had fallen to Izzy alone, something that had come easily enough when he was twenty-five but has left him wrung out now that he's fifty-six.
"What do you need?" he asks. After a deliberate pause, he adds, "Captain."
Bonnet gets as far as, "I," before stopping and looking Izzy up and down with a frown. "You're hurt."
Izzy shrugs that off. "It's nothing. What do you need?"
"It's Ed. He wrenched his knee in the fight."
The urge to rush to Ed's side spears through Izzy like a knife between the ribs, but he grits his teeth and breathes it away. Taking care of Ed isn't his job anymore. It's Bonnet's. Ed chose Bonnet. He's barely spoken to Izzy since Bonnet returned. Izzy suspects he's only still on the ship because someone needs to run it while the two of them lie in bed until midday.
"It's hurting him something awful," Bonnet continues. "I gave him a bit of laudanum, but—"
"Why the fuck did you do that?"
"He's in pain! I thought—"
"Laudanum does his head in."
"I didn't know that!"
Izzy can't help the rotten, vicious feeling that rises in him, hot and sour like bile. He gave Ed everything. He gave Ed years and years and years. He knows nearly everything about Ed there is to know. And now Ed's tossed him aside for a man he's only just met, and he won't even do Izzy the courtesy of firing him so he can leave without being disloyal.
Something must show on his face; Bonnet's voice goes sniffy and tight as he says, "He's asking for you."
And that—that does it. Izzy's always been weak where Ed's concerned. His resolve ebbs out like the tide.
"Fine."
They walk to the captain's cabin in silence. Bonnet, for some reason, keeps pace with Izzy instead of taking his place as captain ahead of him. Around them, the deck buzzes with activity—Buttons nattering at his seagull; Wee John lugging several bolts of cloth below deck; Jim, Ivan, and the Swede working the ropes; Lucius trying to bully a bandaged Fang into the forecastle.
Bonnet glances up as the mizzen topgallant unfurls above their heads. He asks, "Did you give orders to move?"
"I told them to continue our course to the Republic," Izzy replies, his jaw tight. "I thought we should get clear of the burning ship before the Navy spots her or she starts throwing sparks."
Bonnet slants him a narrow look, but the humming noise he makes is neutral, almost agreeable.
Inside, the captain's cabin is dark, lit only by pair of lanterns. Moonlight is streaming through the windows, but it's thin because she's only four days waxing. The oversized space feels cavernous without Bonnet's old furniture. He's replaced a few things since returning—two chairs, a footstool, a wheeled teacart that will roll around like a loose cannonball if they hit rough waters—but the room is still sparse compared to how he'd had it before. He hasn't yet replaced the rugs Ed tossed overboard; Izzy's footsteps echo off all the bare wood.
Ed is sprawled out on the bed in sleep pants and one of Bonnet's ridiculous robes, dark green and trimmed with lace. He lolls his head to the side as the door opens and closes and cries, "Izzy!" in a heavy, delighted voice. He reaches out, but his arm flops against the bed, as boneless as a gutted fish.
"Jesus Christ, Bonnet. How much did you give him?"
"Just a few drops," Bonnet insists, sniffy again. "Less than the recommended dose."
Ed mumbles, "Iz, Iz, Iz." His hazy, unfocused gaze drags over to Bonnet. "Stede, Izzy's here."
"Yes, love. I know. You asked me to find him."
Love. It feels like a fist to the gut. Izzy's hands shake as he grabs a pillow off the couch and walks over to the bed. Ed's left side is at the wall; he has to lean over Ed's body to reach his bad leg. Carefully, he wraps a hand around that calf.
He tells Ed, "Lift up a bit," and slots the pillow under Ed's knee. As Ed settles, he glances at Bonnet. "When it gets like this, it hurts him less when it's bent. Keep it like that. I'm going down to the galley."
"The galley?" Bonnet asks, frowning. "Why?"
"I need hot water and rags."
Bonnet says, "Oh," with a thoughtful curl to his mouth. "There's hot water in here." He gestures at the fireplace, where a kettle is steaming on a trivet. "I was going to make tea."
"I still need rags."
"Would a tea towel do?"
"I suppose, yeah," Izzy replies. "Soak—"
"Iz?" Ed asks. He gropes around until his fingers catch Izzy's wrist. "You're here."
Out on deck, Oluwande calls for less sail. Izzy says, "Yeah, Boss, I'm here," and tries to ignore Ed toying with his cuff. He looks at Bonnet. "Soak it in the hot water."
Ed mumbles, "Iz," again as Bonnet moves to the fireplace. He fumbles his hand up to Izzy's shoulder and skims it halfway down his back. "I've missed you. I didn't… I don't know…" He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a breath. "Mate, I think I fucked my knee."
"Bonnet's getting you a hot rag."
"Iz." Ed slides his hand down to the dip at the base of Izzy's spine. "Rub it for me, yeah?"
Izzy clears his throat—once, twice. "Bonnet can rub it for you. I'll show him how."
"No." Ed's mouth pulls into an unhappy moue. "He won't do it right. You… you're the only one who does it right." He fists his hand in Izzy's shirt, right at the gap between his vest and his pants, untucking it. "Fuck. My fucking head is spinning."
"That's the laudanum."
"Oh, yeah."
"Why did you take it? You know it twists you all up."
"Been a while. Thought it might be different this time."
Before Izzy can find a response to that, Bonnet comes back, carrying the tea towel on one of his fancy saucers. It's white with blue scrollwork at the corners and folded into quarters. Izzy unfolds it once, squeezes the excess water onto the saucer, and wraps it over Ed's knee. Immediately, Ed lets out a groan so deep it rattles in his chest.
"Heat," Bonnet murmurs, less to Izzy and more to himself. "I should've thought of that."
"He didn't tell you any of this?"
Bonnet shakes his head. "No. I made the mistake of giving him the laudanum before asking what he usually does. Once it took hold, he just kept saying he wanted you."
"I—" Izzy clears his throat again. "When it gets bad, rubbing it helps. I can—"
"Izzy," Ed mumbles, sliding his hand back up to Izzy's shoulder. "You got old, mate. Gone all gray." He tucks a lock of Izzy's hair behind his ear. "You're still pretty, though. Always been pretty. Stede, isn't Izzy pretty?"
Bonnet breathes out an, "Ah," that sounds a bit strangled. He doesn't look at Izzy as he says, "Yes, love. I think Israel is very handsome."
"I know. You—"
"Boss," Izzy cuts in. Whatever this is, he can't—he can't take it. His chest aches, and his gut is twisting like he's sailing into a storm. "Bonnet's going to rub your knee now, alright?"
Ed squeezes Izzy's shoulder. "You. Want you to do it."
Izzy doesn't bother arguing about it. He grunts, "Bonnet," to get the man's attention, then pulls the tea towel off Ed's knee. His skin is reddened and warm to the touch. Izzy presses two fingers underneath his kneecap. "It hurts him all over, but it's usually worse here and to the side."
"I see," Bonnet says, his shoulder bumping Izzy's as he reaches out. He skims his fingers right beside Izzy's. His touch is light, almost tentative. "And I just…?"
"Small circles," Izzy instructs. This close, he can smell Bonnet's perfumes, lavender and clove. "Keep it firm. If it's too much, he'll let you know."
"Izzy," Ed slurs. He fumbles his hand up to Izzy's cheek and brushes his thumb over the X under his eye. "You… stay."
Bonnet is pointedly not looking at them—so pointedly Izzy can practically feel it. He says, "Boss," in a tight voice and tugs Ed's hand away from his face.
"Boss," Ed mimics, almost sing-song. "Used to call me Eddie. Used to…" His eyes slip closed. "Eddie…"
He trails off, snuffling a couple times before settling into sleep. The silence that follows is weighted and horrible, broken only by the creak of the ship and the rise and fall of Ed's breathing—steady but slightly raspy from him being flat on his back. Oluwande shouts for less sail again. Bonnet's hand stills on Ed's knee. A beat passes, then another. He heaves out a sigh.
It's past time Izzy left. He tells Bonnet, "He'll sleep until morning," although he's still holding Ed's wrist. "Get him on his side. And put a bucket by the bed. He'll need it first thing."
Bonnet repeats, "A bucket, yes," like he isn't really listening and straightens from where he's been hunched over Ed. "Stay with him for another moment, will you? I have some oil that might make this easier. Olive, infused with valerian." Without waiting for an answer, he starts moving toward the en suite. "It's rather pungent, I'm afraid, but it'll keep me from rubbing his skin raw."
Izzy's lower back is throbbing from being bent over, but he looks at Ed instead of moving. He doesn't let go of Ed's wrist. Ed mumbles in his sleep and turns his head to the side. He's getting old too; his hair's nearly as gray as Izzy's, and he has faint wrinkles around his eyes. Carefully, Izzy touches the hollow of his throat. He used to fall asleep with his mouth pressed there, back when they'd shared a hammock on Hornigold's ship, and when they'd still shared Ed's bed on the Queen Anne.
"This should—oh."
Izzy pulls away and finally—finally—releases Ed's wrist. His chest still aches, and heat is burning over his face and jaw. He doesn't look at Bonnet as he fixes the mess Ed made of his shirt, or when he says, "I need to get back on deck."
Bonnet hums. "Oluwande hasn't run us aground yet."
"Bonnet, I—"
"He told me, you know. That you two used to be lovers."
Lovers. It's almost too quaint a word for what Izzy and Ed had once shared—how fiercely they'd clung to each other while sailing for Hornigold, how desperately they'd depended on each other in the first years after the mutiny, how creating Blackbeard had ended up blurring too many lines between them, how Ed burrowed so deeply under Izzy's skin that can't figure out how to let go.
Bonnet continues, "I was jealous, of course. I won't pretend otherwise." He gives Izzy a narrow, considering look before leaving the doorway to the en suite and moving toward the bed. "I suppose I still am, in a way. But I—"
"You've got nothing to worry about," Izzy snaps, suddenly furious. Jealous. As if Bonnet's the one who has the right—as if Bonnet's the one who spent decades humoring Ed's whims and jollying his black moods and killing just so he wouldn't have to get his hands dirty. "He hasn't touched me in—"
"Eleven years," Bonnet finishes. "Strange, how he remembers that so clearly when he tends to be forgetful." He sits on the edge of the bed, in the sliver of space left by Ed's shin, and rolls a small clay jar between his hands. "It's obvious that you two still hold a considerable amount of affection for each other."
Izzy scoffs. "He barely speaks to me."
Bonnet is quiet for a long, excruciating moment. Then: "He told me things were difficult while I was gone. That he was… unwell, for lack of a better word." He rolls the jar around a bit more before adding, "Now that he's more himself, he's aware that he hurt you in a way that's—quite frankly—unforgivable."
"Don't," Izzy warns. He should be angry about his toe—he knows he should be. But at the time, it was a price he'd been willing to pay if it meant Ed stopped crying all day and drinking all night, and now, he doesn't see the point. It's not like Ed apologizing for it will magically bring it back. "We're not talking about this."
"We don't have to," Bonnet says agreeably. "But perhaps you and Ed should. From what I understand, he's been avoiding you because he's ashamed of himself. And because he thinks you hate him for it." He looks at Ed, who's started snoring softly, then turns his attention back to Izzy. "He's worried you might leave."
Bile rises in Izzy's throat. He says, "I wouldn't do that," and tries to swallow it down. "I swore an oath to him."
"He knows that. But he also knows you're miserable."
"I've been miserable since we set foot on this godforsaken ship."
"If you're that unhappy, why have you stayed this long?"
Muttering, Ed shifts in his sleep. Izzy lowers his voice when he says, "You know why."
Another pause. Bonnet favors Izzy with a look so scrutinizing that Izzy feels it behind his teeth. His hands start shaking again. More bile rises in his throat.
Before he can go back on deck where he belongs, Bonnet says, "Well," like he's made some sort of decision. He sets the jar on the table at the foot of the bed and stands, "I suppose we'll just have to get to know each other better."
"We—" Izzy just stares at him. "What?"
Voices rise and fall outside the door—Lucius, now nagging who sounds like Pete. Bonnet waits for them to pass before noting, "Like I said, I was jealous when he told me. But nearly losing him made me realize how much I love him. Now that I have him back, I just want him to be happy, and—" He glances between Ed and Izzy again. "There's a part of him that can't be happy without you."
"Bonnet, stop." If Bonnet had said this to him this morning, Izzy probably would've gone for his sword. But he's tired—so fucking tired. His back aches, and his sword-hand is still twinging. His arm feels heavier than a ballast stone. "He doesn't want me anymore."
"I don't think that's true."
"What do you know about it?"
"Only what he's told me," Bonnet concedes. He skims his fingers over Ed's good knee. "And I'll admit, it's unlikely that I have the whole story, since he's only given it to me in bits and pieces. But I—" He cuts off, frowning like he's worried that he's said too much. But he must decide that that rum is already spilled, because he continues, "You and Ed need to talk about this yourselves, but I… I got the impression that as the legend grew, he started believing that Blackbeard shouldn't have a lover. Or that he didn't deserve one."
Izzy makes a noise—strangled, bereft. He grunts, "That," but has to clear his throat before he can finish. All these fucking years. "That's—"
"Talk to him," Bonnet urges. "I'll mind the ship tomorrow morning so you two can have some time alone. But until then…"
He steps closer and rests his hand on Izzy's arm. His other hand is still on Ed's knee. The kiss, when it comes, is chaste, but it pulls at something deep in Izzy's gut—something liquid and warm, something he hasn't felt in a long, long time. Startled, he gasps into it. His mouth falls open, and then Bonnet's tongue is sliding against his, and then he's grabbing at Bonnet's shoulders and arms, his fingers catching in the billowy folds of his nightshirt.
Bonnet's cheeks are flushed when they pull apart. He smiles as he says, "Well, that was promising."
The heat in Izzy's gut is creeping up toward his chest, but he can't stop himself from scoffing, or from grumbling, "Fuck off."
"Israel," Bonnet counters. It's chiding, but there's a curl in his voice—a curl Izzy's only ever heard him use when talking to Ed. "It's an option. Just something to consider."
"And if I don't want… that?"
Disappointment creases Bonnet's mouth, but when he says, "Then we'll think of something else," it's light as anything. "For now, we should probably go to bed."
"Fuck off," Izzy says again. "I'm not sleeping in here."
"Why on earth not?"
"I need to get back on deck."
Bonnet huffs. "Oluwande can handle it. You're always saying he needs more confidence. Let him show us what he can do without you constantly peering over his shoulder."
"Like fuck I peer over his shoulder. He—"
"Besides," Bonnet says resolutely, "it would mean a lot to Ed if you were here in the morning."
Izzy's being manipulated and he knows it, but one look at Ed's sleeping face has him drawing his baldric over his head. He pulls off his boots and strips down to his smalls and ignores the being-watched feeling that prickles up the back of his neck and down his arms. He worries that this is a bad idea, enough that he puts it off another few moments by folding his clothes and piling them on a chair. But he wants it. He wants to be close to Ed again.
He walks over to the bed. Bonnet has positioned himself against the wall with Ed's back to his chest. Despite how close they are, there isn't much room left. That makes Izzy hesitate, but Bonnet catches his wrist and tugs, urging him down. The bedframe creaks ominously. Izzy slides one arm under Ed's head and wraps the other around Ed's waist. His knuckles graze Bonnet's nightshirt.
"Bed's too small," he grouses. "I'm—"
"Iz?" Ed mumbles, grabbing at Izzy's hip. "That you?"
Izzy voices catches. "Yeah."
"Stede?"
"Yes, love. I'm here. We both are."
Ed huffs out a pleased, snuffling sound and drifts back to sleep. He smells familiar, leather and salt water and tobacco smoke, and it starts uncurling something behind Izzy's ribs. He's trying to breathe around it when Bonnet cautiously takes the hand he has at Ed's waist. He threads their fingers together, and Izzy—he doesn't pull away.
Just something to consider.
Izzy closes his eyes and presses his mouth to the hollow of Ed's throat.
Pairing: Edward/Izzy, Edward/Izzy/Stede, Izzy/Stede
Rating: PG
Words: ~3,600
Summary: Izzy tells Ed, "Lift up a bit," and slots the pillow under Ed's knee. As Ed settles, he glances at Bonnet. "When it gets like this, it hurts him less when it's bent."
Notes: Once again, I started a twitter snippet and ended up with a whole-ass story. Radelaidegrl's original prompt was Izzy showing Stede how to take care of Ed's knee.
[AO3]
Wee John must've used two full barrels of gunpowder; the merchant brig erupts into flame with a sound like thunder. Izzy hears cheering farther down the deck—Frenchie, Lucius, maybe Ivan. The fire is orange-bright against the nearly-black night sky, writhing as it climbs the brig's ropes and chases along her slack sails. Izzy watches it burn as he flexes a cramp from his sword-hand. A dull ache is spreading from the base of his spine to the tops of his shoulders.
When he turns back to the Revenge, he finds Oluwande waiting for him, his beanie off and a knife tucked into his belt. His shirt is slashed open at the collarbone, but there's no blood that Izzy can see.
Izzy asks, "Is anyone hurt?"
"Just Fang and Pete," Oluwande replies. "It doesn't look too bad, though. They're down with Roach now."
"And the loot?"
"Cloth and spices mostly. Some food."
Izzy mutters, "It'll do," and glances at the two guys huddled near the mizzenmast. They surrendered during the fight, and Bonnet had insisted on bringing them aboard rather than sending them for a swim. The Revenge doesn't have room for two more hands, but Izzy hadn't bothered trying to explain that to Bonnet. "Find those two somewhere to sleep."
"Got it."
Izzy hesitates before adding, "After that, get us underway." Bonnet's quick to make a nuisance of himself if he thinks Izzy is undermining him, but he and Ed have already shut himself up in their cabin, and the Revenge can't lurk around a burning ship all night. "Have Buttons make for the Republic." That's where they'd been headed before they engaged the brig.
As Oluwande walks away, Izzy kicks a box closer to the mainmast so he can sit in the light from the lanterns. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, then rolls his sleeve up to expose the cut on his forearm. In the fight, he took a glancing strike from a green boy whose only advantage had been the kind of swiftness that comes from youth. It stings a bit, but it isn't bleeding much.
A shadow stretches across his lap as he's debating whether to pour rum over it or leave it alone. He curses his bad luck under his breath when he realizes it's Bonnet. In the weeks since Bonnet's return, they've settled into something that isn't exactly a truce. Mostly, they've just been avoiding each other.
But Bonnet's in front of him now, saying, "Israel," in a voice that's quiet, almost uncertain. He's dressed for sleep. Blood—apparently not his—is smeared underneath his jaw and down one side of his neck. "Do you have a moment?"
Sighing, Izzy stops dabbing his cut. He's tired in a way he can feel in his bones. The raid had gone well enough, but few in Bonnet's lot are genuine fighters. Much of clearing the brig's deck had fallen to Izzy alone, something that had come easily enough when he was twenty-five but has left him wrung out now that he's fifty-six.
"What do you need?" he asks. After a deliberate pause, he adds, "Captain."
Bonnet gets as far as, "I," before stopping and looking Izzy up and down with a frown. "You're hurt."
Izzy shrugs that off. "It's nothing. What do you need?"
"It's Ed. He wrenched his knee in the fight."
The urge to rush to Ed's side spears through Izzy like a knife between the ribs, but he grits his teeth and breathes it away. Taking care of Ed isn't his job anymore. It's Bonnet's. Ed chose Bonnet. He's barely spoken to Izzy since Bonnet returned. Izzy suspects he's only still on the ship because someone needs to run it while the two of them lie in bed until midday.
"It's hurting him something awful," Bonnet continues. "I gave him a bit of laudanum, but—"
"Why the fuck did you do that?"
"He's in pain! I thought—"
"Laudanum does his head in."
"I didn't know that!"
Izzy can't help the rotten, vicious feeling that rises in him, hot and sour like bile. He gave Ed everything. He gave Ed years and years and years. He knows nearly everything about Ed there is to know. And now Ed's tossed him aside for a man he's only just met, and he won't even do Izzy the courtesy of firing him so he can leave without being disloyal.
Something must show on his face; Bonnet's voice goes sniffy and tight as he says, "He's asking for you."
And that—that does it. Izzy's always been weak where Ed's concerned. His resolve ebbs out like the tide.
"Fine."
They walk to the captain's cabin in silence. Bonnet, for some reason, keeps pace with Izzy instead of taking his place as captain ahead of him. Around them, the deck buzzes with activity—Buttons nattering at his seagull; Wee John lugging several bolts of cloth below deck; Jim, Ivan, and the Swede working the ropes; Lucius trying to bully a bandaged Fang into the forecastle.
Bonnet glances up as the mizzen topgallant unfurls above their heads. He asks, "Did you give orders to move?"
"I told them to continue our course to the Republic," Izzy replies, his jaw tight. "I thought we should get clear of the burning ship before the Navy spots her or she starts throwing sparks."
Bonnet slants him a narrow look, but the humming noise he makes is neutral, almost agreeable.
Inside, the captain's cabin is dark, lit only by pair of lanterns. Moonlight is streaming through the windows, but it's thin because she's only four days waxing. The oversized space feels cavernous without Bonnet's old furniture. He's replaced a few things since returning—two chairs, a footstool, a wheeled teacart that will roll around like a loose cannonball if they hit rough waters—but the room is still sparse compared to how he'd had it before. He hasn't yet replaced the rugs Ed tossed overboard; Izzy's footsteps echo off all the bare wood.
Ed is sprawled out on the bed in sleep pants and one of Bonnet's ridiculous robes, dark green and trimmed with lace. He lolls his head to the side as the door opens and closes and cries, "Izzy!" in a heavy, delighted voice. He reaches out, but his arm flops against the bed, as boneless as a gutted fish.
"Jesus Christ, Bonnet. How much did you give him?"
"Just a few drops," Bonnet insists, sniffy again. "Less than the recommended dose."
Ed mumbles, "Iz, Iz, Iz." His hazy, unfocused gaze drags over to Bonnet. "Stede, Izzy's here."
"Yes, love. I know. You asked me to find him."
Love. It feels like a fist to the gut. Izzy's hands shake as he grabs a pillow off the couch and walks over to the bed. Ed's left side is at the wall; he has to lean over Ed's body to reach his bad leg. Carefully, he wraps a hand around that calf.
He tells Ed, "Lift up a bit," and slots the pillow under Ed's knee. As Ed settles, he glances at Bonnet. "When it gets like this, it hurts him less when it's bent. Keep it like that. I'm going down to the galley."
"The galley?" Bonnet asks, frowning. "Why?"
"I need hot water and rags."
Bonnet says, "Oh," with a thoughtful curl to his mouth. "There's hot water in here." He gestures at the fireplace, where a kettle is steaming on a trivet. "I was going to make tea."
"I still need rags."
"Would a tea towel do?"
"I suppose, yeah," Izzy replies. "Soak—"
"Iz?" Ed asks. He gropes around until his fingers catch Izzy's wrist. "You're here."
Out on deck, Oluwande calls for less sail. Izzy says, "Yeah, Boss, I'm here," and tries to ignore Ed toying with his cuff. He looks at Bonnet. "Soak it in the hot water."
Ed mumbles, "Iz," again as Bonnet moves to the fireplace. He fumbles his hand up to Izzy's shoulder and skims it halfway down his back. "I've missed you. I didn't… I don't know…" He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a breath. "Mate, I think I fucked my knee."
"Bonnet's getting you a hot rag."
"Iz." Ed slides his hand down to the dip at the base of Izzy's spine. "Rub it for me, yeah?"
Izzy clears his throat—once, twice. "Bonnet can rub it for you. I'll show him how."
"No." Ed's mouth pulls into an unhappy moue. "He won't do it right. You… you're the only one who does it right." He fists his hand in Izzy's shirt, right at the gap between his vest and his pants, untucking it. "Fuck. My fucking head is spinning."
"That's the laudanum."
"Oh, yeah."
"Why did you take it? You know it twists you all up."
"Been a while. Thought it might be different this time."
Before Izzy can find a response to that, Bonnet comes back, carrying the tea towel on one of his fancy saucers. It's white with blue scrollwork at the corners and folded into quarters. Izzy unfolds it once, squeezes the excess water onto the saucer, and wraps it over Ed's knee. Immediately, Ed lets out a groan so deep it rattles in his chest.
"Heat," Bonnet murmurs, less to Izzy and more to himself. "I should've thought of that."
"He didn't tell you any of this?"
Bonnet shakes his head. "No. I made the mistake of giving him the laudanum before asking what he usually does. Once it took hold, he just kept saying he wanted you."
"I—" Izzy clears his throat again. "When it gets bad, rubbing it helps. I can—"
"Izzy," Ed mumbles, sliding his hand back up to Izzy's shoulder. "You got old, mate. Gone all gray." He tucks a lock of Izzy's hair behind his ear. "You're still pretty, though. Always been pretty. Stede, isn't Izzy pretty?"
Bonnet breathes out an, "Ah," that sounds a bit strangled. He doesn't look at Izzy as he says, "Yes, love. I think Israel is very handsome."
"I know. You—"
"Boss," Izzy cuts in. Whatever this is, he can't—he can't take it. His chest aches, and his gut is twisting like he's sailing into a storm. "Bonnet's going to rub your knee now, alright?"
Ed squeezes Izzy's shoulder. "You. Want you to do it."
Izzy doesn't bother arguing about it. He grunts, "Bonnet," to get the man's attention, then pulls the tea towel off Ed's knee. His skin is reddened and warm to the touch. Izzy presses two fingers underneath his kneecap. "It hurts him all over, but it's usually worse here and to the side."
"I see," Bonnet says, his shoulder bumping Izzy's as he reaches out. He skims his fingers right beside Izzy's. His touch is light, almost tentative. "And I just…?"
"Small circles," Izzy instructs. This close, he can smell Bonnet's perfumes, lavender and clove. "Keep it firm. If it's too much, he'll let you know."
"Izzy," Ed slurs. He fumbles his hand up to Izzy's cheek and brushes his thumb over the X under his eye. "You… stay."
Bonnet is pointedly not looking at them—so pointedly Izzy can practically feel it. He says, "Boss," in a tight voice and tugs Ed's hand away from his face.
"Boss," Ed mimics, almost sing-song. "Used to call me Eddie. Used to…" His eyes slip closed. "Eddie…"
He trails off, snuffling a couple times before settling into sleep. The silence that follows is weighted and horrible, broken only by the creak of the ship and the rise and fall of Ed's breathing—steady but slightly raspy from him being flat on his back. Oluwande shouts for less sail again. Bonnet's hand stills on Ed's knee. A beat passes, then another. He heaves out a sigh.
It's past time Izzy left. He tells Bonnet, "He'll sleep until morning," although he's still holding Ed's wrist. "Get him on his side. And put a bucket by the bed. He'll need it first thing."
Bonnet repeats, "A bucket, yes," like he isn't really listening and straightens from where he's been hunched over Ed. "Stay with him for another moment, will you? I have some oil that might make this easier. Olive, infused with valerian." Without waiting for an answer, he starts moving toward the en suite. "It's rather pungent, I'm afraid, but it'll keep me from rubbing his skin raw."
Izzy's lower back is throbbing from being bent over, but he looks at Ed instead of moving. He doesn't let go of Ed's wrist. Ed mumbles in his sleep and turns his head to the side. He's getting old too; his hair's nearly as gray as Izzy's, and he has faint wrinkles around his eyes. Carefully, Izzy touches the hollow of his throat. He used to fall asleep with his mouth pressed there, back when they'd shared a hammock on Hornigold's ship, and when they'd still shared Ed's bed on the Queen Anne.
"This should—oh."
Izzy pulls away and finally—finally—releases Ed's wrist. His chest still aches, and heat is burning over his face and jaw. He doesn't look at Bonnet as he fixes the mess Ed made of his shirt, or when he says, "I need to get back on deck."
Bonnet hums. "Oluwande hasn't run us aground yet."
"Bonnet, I—"
"He told me, you know. That you two used to be lovers."
Lovers. It's almost too quaint a word for what Izzy and Ed had once shared—how fiercely they'd clung to each other while sailing for Hornigold, how desperately they'd depended on each other in the first years after the mutiny, how creating Blackbeard had ended up blurring too many lines between them, how Ed burrowed so deeply under Izzy's skin that can't figure out how to let go.
Bonnet continues, "I was jealous, of course. I won't pretend otherwise." He gives Izzy a narrow, considering look before leaving the doorway to the en suite and moving toward the bed. "I suppose I still am, in a way. But I—"
"You've got nothing to worry about," Izzy snaps, suddenly furious. Jealous. As if Bonnet's the one who has the right—as if Bonnet's the one who spent decades humoring Ed's whims and jollying his black moods and killing just so he wouldn't have to get his hands dirty. "He hasn't touched me in—"
"Eleven years," Bonnet finishes. "Strange, how he remembers that so clearly when he tends to be forgetful." He sits on the edge of the bed, in the sliver of space left by Ed's shin, and rolls a small clay jar between his hands. "It's obvious that you two still hold a considerable amount of affection for each other."
Izzy scoffs. "He barely speaks to me."
Bonnet is quiet for a long, excruciating moment. Then: "He told me things were difficult while I was gone. That he was… unwell, for lack of a better word." He rolls the jar around a bit more before adding, "Now that he's more himself, he's aware that he hurt you in a way that's—quite frankly—unforgivable."
"Don't," Izzy warns. He should be angry about his toe—he knows he should be. But at the time, it was a price he'd been willing to pay if it meant Ed stopped crying all day and drinking all night, and now, he doesn't see the point. It's not like Ed apologizing for it will magically bring it back. "We're not talking about this."
"We don't have to," Bonnet says agreeably. "But perhaps you and Ed should. From what I understand, he's been avoiding you because he's ashamed of himself. And because he thinks you hate him for it." He looks at Ed, who's started snoring softly, then turns his attention back to Izzy. "He's worried you might leave."
Bile rises in Izzy's throat. He says, "I wouldn't do that," and tries to swallow it down. "I swore an oath to him."
"He knows that. But he also knows you're miserable."
"I've been miserable since we set foot on this godforsaken ship."
"If you're that unhappy, why have you stayed this long?"
Muttering, Ed shifts in his sleep. Izzy lowers his voice when he says, "You know why."
Another pause. Bonnet favors Izzy with a look so scrutinizing that Izzy feels it behind his teeth. His hands start shaking again. More bile rises in his throat.
Before he can go back on deck where he belongs, Bonnet says, "Well," like he's made some sort of decision. He sets the jar on the table at the foot of the bed and stands, "I suppose we'll just have to get to know each other better."
"We—" Izzy just stares at him. "What?"
Voices rise and fall outside the door—Lucius, now nagging who sounds like Pete. Bonnet waits for them to pass before noting, "Like I said, I was jealous when he told me. But nearly losing him made me realize how much I love him. Now that I have him back, I just want him to be happy, and—" He glances between Ed and Izzy again. "There's a part of him that can't be happy without you."
"Bonnet, stop." If Bonnet had said this to him this morning, Izzy probably would've gone for his sword. But he's tired—so fucking tired. His back aches, and his sword-hand is still twinging. His arm feels heavier than a ballast stone. "He doesn't want me anymore."
"I don't think that's true."
"What do you know about it?"
"Only what he's told me," Bonnet concedes. He skims his fingers over Ed's good knee. "And I'll admit, it's unlikely that I have the whole story, since he's only given it to me in bits and pieces. But I—" He cuts off, frowning like he's worried that he's said too much. But he must decide that that rum is already spilled, because he continues, "You and Ed need to talk about this yourselves, but I… I got the impression that as the legend grew, he started believing that Blackbeard shouldn't have a lover. Or that he didn't deserve one."
Izzy makes a noise—strangled, bereft. He grunts, "That," but has to clear his throat before he can finish. All these fucking years. "That's—"
"Talk to him," Bonnet urges. "I'll mind the ship tomorrow morning so you two can have some time alone. But until then…"
He steps closer and rests his hand on Izzy's arm. His other hand is still on Ed's knee. The kiss, when it comes, is chaste, but it pulls at something deep in Izzy's gut—something liquid and warm, something he hasn't felt in a long, long time. Startled, he gasps into it. His mouth falls open, and then Bonnet's tongue is sliding against his, and then he's grabbing at Bonnet's shoulders and arms, his fingers catching in the billowy folds of his nightshirt.
Bonnet's cheeks are flushed when they pull apart. He smiles as he says, "Well, that was promising."
The heat in Izzy's gut is creeping up toward his chest, but he can't stop himself from scoffing, or from grumbling, "Fuck off."
"Israel," Bonnet counters. It's chiding, but there's a curl in his voice—a curl Izzy's only ever heard him use when talking to Ed. "It's an option. Just something to consider."
"And if I don't want… that?"
Disappointment creases Bonnet's mouth, but when he says, "Then we'll think of something else," it's light as anything. "For now, we should probably go to bed."
"Fuck off," Izzy says again. "I'm not sleeping in here."
"Why on earth not?"
"I need to get back on deck."
Bonnet huffs. "Oluwande can handle it. You're always saying he needs more confidence. Let him show us what he can do without you constantly peering over his shoulder."
"Like fuck I peer over his shoulder. He—"
"Besides," Bonnet says resolutely, "it would mean a lot to Ed if you were here in the morning."
Izzy's being manipulated and he knows it, but one look at Ed's sleeping face has him drawing his baldric over his head. He pulls off his boots and strips down to his smalls and ignores the being-watched feeling that prickles up the back of his neck and down his arms. He worries that this is a bad idea, enough that he puts it off another few moments by folding his clothes and piling them on a chair. But he wants it. He wants to be close to Ed again.
He walks over to the bed. Bonnet has positioned himself against the wall with Ed's back to his chest. Despite how close they are, there isn't much room left. That makes Izzy hesitate, but Bonnet catches his wrist and tugs, urging him down. The bedframe creaks ominously. Izzy slides one arm under Ed's head and wraps the other around Ed's waist. His knuckles graze Bonnet's nightshirt.
"Bed's too small," he grouses. "I'm—"
"Iz?" Ed mumbles, grabbing at Izzy's hip. "That you?"
Izzy voices catches. "Yeah."
"Stede?"
"Yes, love. I'm here. We both are."
Ed huffs out a pleased, snuffling sound and drifts back to sleep. He smells familiar, leather and salt water and tobacco smoke, and it starts uncurling something behind Izzy's ribs. He's trying to breathe around it when Bonnet cautiously takes the hand he has at Ed's waist. He threads their fingers together, and Izzy—he doesn't pull away.
Just something to consider.
Izzy closes his eyes and presses his mouth to the hollow of Ed's throat.