Chapter Text
Ed had been looking for Izzy for a few hours, growing more and more angry. After fencing the spoils of their last raids and restocking the ship, he and Stede had wanted to push off that morning, and Izzy was nowhere to be found. He hoped that Izzy hadn't decided to head off for good, but he also wanted to slap the bastard. The December rain made the alleyways slick with muck. He smiled briefly, imagining Stede tiptoeing his way through the streets, never quite losing the habit of avoiding dirt.
A barefoot young man, dirty and scrawny, tapped him on the shoulder. "Mr. Blackbeard, sir?" he asked. Ed was impressed by the brazen look in the boy's eye. "I was sent to find you."
"Who the fuck are you?" Ed asked.
"No matter," the boy replied. "Just follow me."
He took Ed through a tangle of pathways until they were at the entrance of a molly house. There, on the ground, damp through and caked in mud, was Izzy Hands. When he looked up at Ed, he sputtered and turned bright red, struggling to get up. His upper body was tied in a rope harness, his hands pinned behind him. A chubby, blond-haired man dressed in a linen shirt, muddy brown boots with buckles, tight buckskins, and a grey wool wrapper flipped a coin to the boy, who promptly evaporated. He had a confident air that impressed Ed.
“Figured this was yours, Blackbeard.” the man said nonchalantly, tapping Izzy with his foot. He sneezed mightly twice, then rubbed his nose. “Sorry, got a cold. Anyways, your friend here hurt his ankle on his bad foot last night during our…escapades. He needs help getting back to the ship.” The man hoisted Izzy up by his harness. “I left him tied up for you in case he’s feisty.” He pulled a flannel handkerchief from the cuff of his sleeve, and blew his nose like a foghorn.
“He won’t be,” Ed said, taking his knife and slicing Izzy free. “I guess you tarts don’t get sick days.”
The man gave him an appraising look. “Oh, darling,” he said to Ed. “You’d be surprised how much extra I get paid when I’m in this state." Ed put that detail away for later thought. The brothel worker clapped Izzy on the shoulder, winking at him. "Ta-ta. Looking forward to the next time you dock your boat here, dear."
Eyeing Izzy, Ed frowned at the cum dried in his beard, the bruises on his neck, the winces of pain in Izzy’s face as he shook out his hands, and the shivers that Izzy couldn’t seem to control. Now wasn’t the time though–they needed to leave. “Here,” he said, throwing Izzy’s arm over his shoulder. “We wanted to get out of here early this morning. How fast can you walk if I help?”
“I don’t know,” Izzy said, clearly mortified and tongue-tied. His face was so red, Ed could barely see the cross tattoo beneath his eye.
“Fuck, Iz,” he said. “You need a rinse off. No time for that, though. Let’s get a move on.” Without another word, he helped Izzy limp through the freezing drizzle as quickly as possible back to the Revenge.
A few days later, the telltale signs of a cold erupted in Izzy's sinuses. He desperately ignored them, hoping sheer force of will would keep it from worsening or at least becoming noticeable. Unluckily, his sniffles turned to a dripping, itchy nose that was more congested by the hour. It got worse over the day, turning into a sleepless night and an miserable morning the following day. He wanted to hide behind the barrels in the store room in miserable loneliness till he felt better, but someone had to literally keep the ship afloat. Ordering Lucius and Pete to take stock of the ammunition, he sneezed painfully, earning a wrinkled nose from Lucius and a whiny outburst of disgust from Pete. “Blackbeard would NEVER sneeze on his crew!” Pete cried, as if Izzy himself hadn’t caught scores of illnesses off his frequently careless captain. Fang took one look at Izzy as he approached with an order and turned the other direction, running away at a remarkable clip. Dabbing at his nose with a scrap of linen, he took a weary post in the crow’s nest before lunch. He admitted to himself he’d have been at risk of nodding off if it wasn’t for the freezing winds that whipped around him, making his ears ache. Exhaustion overtook him, and a rattle started up in his chest that he brushed off.
A few hours passed and it was time to swap shifts. Each step down from the crow’s nest was agonising on his twisted ankle. He was surprised how much the loss of his little toe affected his balance climbing the rigging. Almost half down, a coughing fit wracked him and he almost slipped, a jolt bolting through his gut.
“Ahoy, Iz!” cried Buttons from below, ready to take over his post, “Watch yer step!”
Izzy’s face flushed and he steadied himself self-consciously. Slowly, he lowered himself to the deck of the ship, stifling a sneeze just as his boots touched ground.
"The cap'ns want ye in their room," Buttons said. He stood about six feet away from Izzy, rotating to maintain distance as he moved forward.
"What the fuck for?" Izzy spat, the sniffled and dabbed his nose with his gloved hand.
"Seems ye are carryin' a plague," Buttons said omniously. "The cursed grippe."
Izzy groaned. Thinking to the state that Blackbeard had found him, his shame knotted up in his belly. He didn't want anything to remind Blackbeard of him unable to stand especially after being debased at a brothel.
"Go on now," Buttons said, climbing the rigging.
"You don't order me about," Izzy raged. But then, an itchy sneeze doubled him over.
Buttons scrambled away from Izzy as quickly as he could at that. Indeed, the whole deck seemed empty of the crew, as if everyone were avoiding him in this wretched state. A pang bloomed in his heart; he didn't deserve care or attention at the best of times, but certainly not the worst.
Stepping into the rosy glow of the captains' quarters, Izzy noticed that Blackbeard and Bonnet had almost restored the room with the same amount of frippery that had cluttered it before. In raids, he himself had crankily searched for books and knickknacks to restock the bare shelves (when he should have been looking for loot, or food, or weapons). A warm fire crackled in the hearth, and his ears popped with excruciating relief at the change of temperature. Blackbeard--well, Edward, he had to admit--was lounging on the couch, draped in the red silk banyan that had been carefully washed and patched upon Stede's return. Ed's hair was half up, half down, his face clean. Ed looked up as Izzy entered the room. Izzy held back a cough that finally sputtered out of him, caught in his fist. Ed frowned.
"You're going to work yourself to death if you don't take care," Ed admonished.
"I'm a man," Izzy said. He swiped at his nose again, the leather glistening. "Not a weakling."
"Hmpf," Ed replied, suddenly standing. He walked over to Izzy and focused an almost expressionless, assessing gaze on him. "Here's what's going to happen," he said calmly. He gestured towards the window bed, where silk scarves fluttered at three corners. "I'm going to tie you here and make you rest, while Stede and I take care of you. Well, mostly Stede."
Izzy stumbled backwards, horrified, almost falling. His head hurt and his vision was swimming. Ed caught his arm and supported him till he was upright again. "Now, Izzy. I'm not asking. I'm ordering," he chided softly. And Izzy would never disobey a direct order from him.
"And what does your precious Bonnet have to say about this?" Izzy sneered, his voice almost so hoarse that it was inaudible. He cleared his throat painfully. The heat of the room was settling on him and he realized how wet and cold he was.
"He's delighted to take care of you," Ed said with a wan smile. "More than I would be , to be certain. I'm a bit of a germaphobe these days."
"You would never have said that before," Izzy said, before sneezing harshly into the crook of his arm.
"Ah, yes!" cried Stede as he entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Good job, my dear Izzy. Catch those in your arm." Stede was carrying a tray with a teapot covered in a cozy, with various stoppered bottles.
Dazed and unable to come up with a retort, Izzy allowed Ed to lead him to the bed. A lump formed in Izzy's throat as Ed stripped him of his clothes, then dressed him in a soft, worn shirt with a drawstring neckline and loose britches. Ed pointedly ignored his erection. He offered Izzy a pair of soft wool socks, looking away as Izzy slid off his almost stiff stockings and put them on.
“Sit upright,” Ed commanded gently, patting a frankly disgusting number of pillows that Izzy settled into. “It will help you breathe better if you nap.”
“Why are you tying me up?” Izzy asked, a thread of petulance in his stuffy voice. He watched Ed tie his feet to the bed posts, with enough slack that he could move around, even roll over to lay down, but not enough that he could get out of bed. Or kick Stede too hard.
“First, I know you’ll enjoy it,” Ed said, matter-of-fact. “Especially since I know how you caught this cold. Second, we’re quarantining you here till you’re better. Third, I don’t want you to kill Stede.”
“Oh, Ed,” Stede replied. “No need to be so dramatic.” But Stede did look slightly relieved that Izzy would be restrained. He had set the tea tray down on a side table placed near the bed, with a padded chair standing by.
“You’ll have one hand and arm free,” Ed said, tying Izzy’s right arm down, with a little less range of motion than his legs. “To help you keep your germs corralled and to flail about.” He tested the final knot. “All right, that’s done,” he said, moving to kiss Stede on the head. “I’ll leave you to it.” Ed quickly left the room, which hurt Izzy more than anything else that was going on.
Stede took the tea cozy off the pot and began making Izzy a cup of tea. “Always a pleasure to serve a tactical tea,” he said. “Now I had Roach blend up a special brew for you with some of the medicinal herbs. Slippery elm, willow bark, and peppermint for the taste.” Stede poured a cup, then unstopped some of the vials. “A little honey to soothe your cough. A dash of laudanum. Lemon juice for the vitamins–should also help ward off scurvy!” he said with a wink, stirring with a tiny spoon.
Izzy leaned in, pretending to examine the cup, his nose tickling fiercely. When Stede looked up, he sneezed wetly twice, directly in his face.
“Well now,” Stede said, “You must be feeling bad if you’re that surly.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped himself dry, then handed it to Izzy. “Remember,” Stede admonished, “Sneeze in the sleeve. Like a vampire.” Stede demonstrated, his loose sleeves fluttering.
“You’re a fucking twat and I hate every fucking thing about you,” Izzy replied.
“Now, now,” Stede said. “You haven’t tried my tisanes yet. Edward finds them perfect.”
It spoke to how badly he felt that he took the teacup in his left hand and sipped without further efforts. His ears popped painfully again and he cried out.
“Too hot?” asked Stede worriedly.
Izzy didn’t respond. His ears always clogged when he got sick now, after a bad summer cold he’d caught off a hustler a few years ago that wrecked both his ears. The tea soothed his throat, relieving his pain and diluting the thickness gathering in his throat.
“There’s a good chap,” Stede chattered. He stood and tucked the blanket around Izzy. “Are you hungry at all? What would you like?”
“For you to jump off the ship and get eaten by a shark,” Izzy said. He started a spluttering cough, and Stede grabbed the tea cup from his left hand. Mostly to not feel disgusting, Izzy caught the long coughing fit into the handkerchief Stede had given him.
“Well, I can’t say that’s in the cards,” Stede said cheerily. He sat the tea cup on the edge of the window. “That’s within reach if you want more. I have a whole pot and I brought a little tea light to keep it warm for you. Need to get fluids in you!”
Izzy sniffled contemptuously.
“I bet your feet are tired,” Stede said, uncovering his right foot. “You work so hard. You probably walk five miles a day up and down this ship.” Izzy pouted as Steve took his foot between his hands. “I always did like a nice foot rub when I felt under the weather.” He began kneading Izzy’s foot, using his thumbs to rub deep circles into the arch. Izzy sighed involuntarily, then looked away towards the fire. Warm and dry, the smell of the minty tea occasionally breaking through his clogged nose, his foot relaxing out of an almost cramp, Izzy sunk into the bed, resigned to his lot.
Stede finished with his right foot, then started on the left. “Oh dear,” he murmured, accidentally feeling the stub of his pinky toe through the wool sock. Izzy’s sore ankle twinged. Contrasting memories–the flash of cruelty he had endured at Blackbeard’s hands, the vision of Blackbeard watching over Stede after he had gotten himself stupidly stabbed and hanged–shot through Izzy’s mind. Stede kept up his massaging, humming tunelessly.
Confined and forced to take Stede’s ministrations, Izzy felt a nauseating mix of relaxation, overwhelming fatigue, and reluctant pinpricks of desire form in his core. He figured he'd be pulled under by the laudanum soon, a slightly giddy tinge painting the edges of his vision. “Why are you doing this?” he asked plaintively.
“I like taking care of people when they’re ill,” Stede said, deepening his massage till Izzy hissed. “Oh, a little too hard there, I think.” He backed off, but Izzy almost told him to knead even harder. “Have a knack for sickbed sitting,” he said. “One of my few strengths as a father. I have a sense for what hurts and rarely seem to catch the bug. I have a feeling you’ve never had someone sit up and take care of you.”
Izzy’s mouth formed a hard line. “No,” he said curtly.
“I have quite a talent for neck and head massage that might clear some of your congestion,” Stede offered. “Interested?”
Izzy said nothing, which Stede in this case took as consent. Tapping his jaw with his finger, he sternly said “Sit up,” and Izzy was mortified by his body springing up with the command.
“Now, I don’t want to untie you because I do think you’ll clean my clock,” Stede said, sitting behind Izzy and putting a layer of pillows between their bodies. He brought his arms around Izzy’s shoulders, loosening the drawstring at Izzy’s neck. He began making short strokes at the dip of Izzy’s throat. After minutes, Stede held his fingers flat and grazed them repeatedly under Izzy’s neck. Izzy swallowed, the pressure in his head loosening almost like magic. Stede resumed humming. His fingers formed a v-shape next, stroking down from Izzy’s ears; as he breathed, they crackled, and he felt air wheeze into his sinuses. Finally, Stede used the pads of his fingers to stroke down from the base of Izzy’s skull down the back of his neck.
“Oh my,” Stede commented. “You’ve got lumps as hard as rocks back here. Like a horse with strangles." Stede's touch was soft, almost a caress. Izzy could feel the calluses forming on Stede's hands, now that he actually worked alongside the crew.
The relief from the massage was unbearable. Izzy felt a gulf open in his gut, wanting more, more…he cleared his throat, his sinuses draining and his stomach queasy. "Feels good," he grunted.
"Shall I rub your neck and shoulders?" Stede asked.
Izzy gave the slightest of nods.
Stede leaned over and retrieved a vinegarette of camphorated oil. He uncapped it and shook the oil into his hands. The smell exploded in Izzy's nose. He crooked his arm and sneezed. Stede clucked, pleased, and began kneading Izzy's shoulders. At several sensitive points, Stede would use a fingertip to gently explore a knot in Izzy's muscles, as if mapping them out. After a few silent minutes, Stede asked, "Can you take a firm touch?"
"Do your worst," Izzy replied. His sore throat was ramping up again. "I want some more tea first."
Stede smiled and refreshed Izzy's cup from the tea pot. After swallowing down to the dregs, Izzy settled back into the pillows between him and Stede.
"Sit up straight," Stede ordered gently, and Izzy did.
Stede undid the neckline of Izzy's shirt, baring Izzy's shoulders and back. He spread oil across the expanse of scars and ropy muscles. He tapped various freckles lightly with his fingers, making Izzy twitch. Then, Stede dug his elbow into the first knot he had located.
Izzy saw stars as Stede firmly pressed into his upper shoulder muscles. Pain radiated through his whole body, a sweet pain that he had never experienced before. Tears spilled from his eyes and he cried out, "Oh, harder. Please."
Stede removed his elbow and Izzy moaned in protest. Stede wrapped his other arm under Izzy's left arm and around his chest. Izzy's swollen armpit ached at the grazing pressure. Then, Stede flattened his hand on Izzy's chest, opposite the knot. He leaned in with his elbow on the knot again, pushing Izzy back into him firmly.
A thick sob escaped Izzy, relief mixing with pain in a pleasure so intense he wanted to black out. The camphor was opening up his head and chest even more. Stede began to slowly move his elbow in a circle. Tears, snot, and drool all spilled from Izzy as he wept. He was so hard he was worried he would come just from this. When Stede released him, he cried, "No! Don't stop!--" but Stede had already moved to the next knot in his back. The pressure here caused him to twitch and almost scream. Stede backed off, returning with a more gentle pressure until the knot eased enough for him to again press Izzy against him.
When Stede had worked over all the knots, he kept his arm around Izzy and pulled him gently against him. Izzy coughed into his elbow, feeling gelatinous. Stede plucked the handkerchief from the blankets with his other hand and held it to Izzy's nose. "Blow," he instructed. Izzy did.
After this, Stede unwound himself from Izzy and fluffed the pillows behind him. The laudanum had set in and Izzy was flying. He didn't even protest when Stede mopped his face clean with a damp cloth, then kissed him gently on the head. "You're a good patient," Stede said and Izzy could only look up at him.
Stede took the empty cup from the sill and arranged it on the tray. He produced another handkerchief from his pocket–a creamy lace number–and shook camphor oil on it. He tightened Izzy's shirt neck and tucked the handkerchief in. It was surprisingly soft against Izzy's skin. Stede pulled the blankets around him and tucked him in tightly. "Now get some good rest," he said with a smile.
"Stede Fucking Bonnet," Izzy rasped, but without the usual hatred, as he was pulled into the undertow of sleep.