Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘If she’s the girl of your dreams, you love her, everyone sees, well what does that make me then? – I’m your villain.’ – Villain, Maisie Peters

Despite tirelessly serving a man of myth and legend, a figure forged in the fury of Hell, who lived on the nightmares of greedy sailors, Israel Hands had never once feared Blackbeard. After all, what was there to fear of a man made entirely of smoke and mirrors? Izzy had long ago learned that there were far more real, physical threats on each new horizon to fear, such as death on a Naval officer’s sword… or a captain’s dagger. A figure of myth couldn’t wield a blade against you, but a man could, and this man did, regularly. Izzy’s hidden open wounds and strained muscles burned in answer to the mere thought.

He had never truly feared Blackbeard before, but he feared him now.

He feared him enough that he couldn’t so much as knock on the door of the captain’s cabin. Each time, his hand flinching away from the wood before he could reach it.

Izzy also knew that mastering his fear was necessary to do his job, to help lead this ship, for his captain. So, he briefly closed his eyes, inhaling the balmy air slow and deep, attempting to force his light-headedness to settle, ignore the pain, like he had done so many times before. He allowed the icy thrill of adrenaline jumping at the base of his spine to lift him, as he raised his fist to the door again, hoping it would fuel him for what was to follow.

He knocked.

“Come in.” Blackbeard’s voice was unusually quiet and indistinct.

Izzy entered the room as slowly as he could without his captain commenting on it.

Blackbeard was but a blot of darkness in front of the heavily curtained and damaged windows by the bed, barely stirring. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Izzy could see Blackbeard huddled, knees folded up near the chest, hunched over a piece of parchment spread across his lap, his finger tracing the characters.

Izzy frowned, stalling at the sight. Edward had always avoided reading wherever possible. He knew how to do so, enough to fill out a ledger, read lists of objects, or pick out the key points of a letter, but it was slow going and he could barely write, signing documents, like so many of the crew members, with a cross. He’d claimed that the letters tended to jumble in his vision, so Izzy had always agreed to do all the necessary paperwork, as the Navy had trained him.

“Captain? Can I have a word?” Izzy asked, his voice quiet.

“What?” his captain replied, just as quietly, not even looking up.

Izzy hadn’t seen Blackbeard respond so indifferently since before the time of Stede Bonnet.

“The crew are refusing to part with any treasure.” Izzy said.

“Why?” the reply was toneless.

“Because it’s fucking treasure.” Izzy said, his nervousness and irritation at Blackbeard’s indifference seeping through.

“Sort it out.” Blackbeard replied, still refusing to look up, a hint of warning now in his voice.

“I’ve tried to.” Izzy said, forcing himself to return to a milder tone.

Blackbeard stayed unnaturally still and silent.

“Captain?” Izzy said.

Blackbeard’s head snapped to fix Izzy with a glare, dark eyes lost in the smudged kohl surrounding them.

“I said fucking sort it out.” he snarled.

Izzy barely held back a flinch, instead holding himself as still as possible, determined not to give any response that could be seen as provocation.

“Can’t you even do that?” Blackbeard asked, voice filled with disgust.

Izzy couldn’t honestly deny that this job was far too much for him, but Ed had already threatened to replace him, and he knew what that meant, so he remained silent.

“Unless you need more encouragement?” Blackbeard’s fingers fell to the knife on his belt, but he didn’t get up.

Izzy knew what would happen next and couldn’t even find any motivation to resist it, only finding bone deep tiredness.

“Why are we doing this?” Izzy said, a question that had come to him a lot in the despair of the past few months, but he’d never dared voice.

He knew there was no good answer and Edward seemed to know that too, for he ignored it completely.

“Stop bothering me with your bullshit.” Blackbeard said, the tense set of his shoulders turning into a defeated slouch again, hand leaving the knife handle. “Come here.” Blackbeard said, voice surprisingly soft.

Izzy limped across the room, through the maze of boxes that littered the floor, full of trinkets from their latest slew of raids. Blackbeard had absently said he’d sort through them, but there wasn’t much evidence of that.

“Read this to me.” Blackbeard said, holding out the parchment he’d been examining.

Izzy realised what he was holding out was a crumpled piece of newspaper from the box on the floor that had been used as packing, specifically a page of obituaries. Half of the page, however, was taken up with an illustration of a single man someone had forked out good money to buy space for. The sight of the image made Izzy’s breath catch in his throat. If this was what he assumed it was, the portrait was an excellent likeness.

“What’s this?” Izzy asked, unable to conceal the waver in his voice.

“Read it to me, I want to be sure I’ve got it right.” Blackbeard said.

Izzy looked at him in disbelief for a moment, finding Blackbeard’s face carefully impassive still. Izzy didn’t know if what Blackbeard said was true or if this was some new way to humiliate him; watch him read and digest the information and use any stumbles over his words he might have to justify maiming him again.

“Where did you get-” Izzy began.

“Read it!” the booming shout made Izzy flinch.

Izzy swallowed down the lump in his throat, roughly shoving away all other thoughts but for the words on the page in front of him.

“We announce the passing of- of Stede Bonnet, aged 49, on the 10^th December 1717, husband to Mary Bonnet and father to Alma and Louis Bonnet.”

With that statement, what little hope Izzy had been holding onto slipped through his fingers like sand. Two months. Bonnet had been dead for two months.

“What?” Blackbeard asked sharply.

“What do you-”

“The last names.”

“’husband to Mary Bonnet and father to Alma and Louis Bonnet’” Izzy repeated, the words stinging in his throat.

Blackbeard sagged for a moment, head bowing over his clasped hands, eyes squeezed shut and giving a laboured sigh. He was still for far too many seconds.

“Captain?” Izzy said, sharper than intended.

Abruptly, Blackbeard sat up, legs moving down from the bed, fully turning to face Izzy. His eyes, that had been so empty these past few months, were suddenly burning with an alarming level of clarity and focus.

“Once we’ve restocked at Nassau, set a course for Barbados.” he ordered.

Izzy felt a new sensation crawling up his spine as he processed the request.

“Why-” the word faltered, “Why would you want to do that?”

“I want to talk to this Mary.”

Izzy couldn’t even begin to imagine what Blackbeard had in store for the unfortunate woman Stede Bonnet had married, nor what it would mean to the crew. Taking them onto land always came with risks, but taking them onto Barbados, presumably all the way to wherever Bonnet’s rich wife and children lived, likely with her whole team of servants in attendance, was just begging to get them all caught and hanged.

“With due respect, do you think that’s a good idea?”

Blackbeard rose up to his feet immediately, looming over Izzy, toe to toe with him, close enough to feel his angered breaths on his face, Blackbeard’s hand firmly around the handle of his knife now.

“It’s not your job to think, is it?” the words were sharp and wielded with precision. “It’s your job to carry out my will, do I need to remind you of that?”

Izzy’s muscles locked into place, but he still forced his face up.

“It’s my job to protect you, before anything else.” he said, careful to keep his voice emotionless, a statement of an immutable fact.

“I don’t need your protection, I’m Blackbeard.” the other man spat into his face.

Izzy’s jaw clenched. This was the kind of statement Blackbeard was never supposed to make. As ships were captured and surrendered, as crews came and went, as Ed’s brief strange passion projects and a parade of flirtations passed by, Izzy stayed. However warped and distant their relationship had become, Izzy was an immovable fixture of Edward’s life and Blackbeard’s image, just like the well-worn leather of Edward’s clothes, the beard on his face.

“Barbados is crawling with the British.” Izzy said, trying to pull Edward back to reality. “I don’t want you to walk straight into the Navy’s arms, or risk being recognised on land.”

Blackbeard’s hand closed on the back of Izzy’s neck, grasping him firmly, as close as he could get to grabbing his collar, like Izzy was a small badly behaved dog, making him freeze in his grip.

“I am your Captain, and I am telling you to set a course for Barbados.” Blackbeard’s voice swelled in his ears, filling Izzy’s head, until there was space for nothing else. “So, you can either do that, or take your fucking boot off. Options.”

There was a time when Blackbeard standing over him like this, his focus entirely on Izzy, made Izzy feel like he held all the power at the centre of the universe, but lately every time it happened, it was more like only the force of his own will that was keeping his incomplete skeleton together.

This time though, there was a maniacal glint in the man’s eyes, a hint of liveliness, a hint of Edward, suddenly shining through. He could feel the tremble in Edward’s hand on his neck radiating down his spine, see the desperation in his eyes, the yearning for Izzy to provoke him. Perhaps Edward was relying on him to provide direction, as much as he was trying to force Edward to give him direction, each trying to sail towards a North Star that could never be reached.

“Is doing this making you feel better, Edward?” he asked, the question forming all of itself, in a sudden desperation he thought he’d lost.

“What do you care about Edward? Blackbeard is what you wanted. You asked this of me.”

“Not this.” Izzy said.

“No, this,” Edward shook him slightly, “this is what you wanted, it was never about what I wanted.”

“I always try to do what’s best for you, no matter what.” Izzy’s words were stronger now.

“What’s best for me? Right, sure.”

“I do, always.” Izzy said, with urgency. “Even if it’s not what you want to hear. I always want to protect you from harm, no matter what.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You do it because you have to.”

Izzy’s stomach lurched, like he was clinging on a cliff face, that was falling to pieces under his hands. He’d taken it as given that Edward would always understand how Izzy had chosen to follow Edward over and over, that he’d heard and understood the promise Izzy had explicitly made to him to serve Blackbeard not matter what.

“No, that’s not true. We’ve worked together for most of our lives. You know me better than anyone has ever known me and I daresay the same is true for me about you. I have… love for you, Edward.”

Edward’s expression could only be described as disgusted, and he let Izzy fall from his grasp, carelessly, pushing past him.

“Oh, come on.” Edward said, but there was a weakness in his voice that Izzy took to be disbelief, as though Izzy hadn’t spent most of his life fighting by his side.

“I do.” Izzy persisted. “And we’re all worried about you.”

“Oh, fuck off. Don’t pretend.” Blackbeard snapped.

“You think I’m pretending?” Izzy asked incredulously.

Blackbeard scoffed, turning to face him, prowling back towards him.

“No, I know you are.” He said, eyes once again cold, the spark in them gone. “You told me you only answer to Blackbeard. You want the myth, the monster, because you’re too weak to survive on your own.”

Izzy forced himself to step closer, against every instinct, but needing Edward to understand.

“I need you to be Blackbeard, because it’s the only thing that protects you, protects all of us.” Izzy stressed. “You showed Edward to everyone and look what happened. I won’t stand for watching Edward get hurt. Everything I’ve ever done has been to keep you safe, all parts of you. Why won’t you let me help you? Why do you always act like I’m your enemy?”

Blackbeard grabbed Izzy by the throat, fingers biting into his neck for a second, before holding him at arm’s length.

“Because you are my enemy!” he said, voice so low and furious that Izzy could practically feel it, like a distant rumble of thunder. “You wore me down for most of our lives and betrayed me the second I didn’t do what you wanted anymore.”

“That’s not-” Izzy squirmed in Edward’s grip.

“But it is.” Blackbeard said through his teeth.

Izzy wanted badly to defend himself, but he knew Edward wouldn’t listen to him, completely refused to see things from Izzy’s point of view, even before they’d reached rock bottom.

“If you see me as your enemy,” Izzy said, voice straining against the other man’s hold on him, “why do you keep me around?”

“Because I don’t trust you out of my sight.” Blackbeard said. “And because if you wanted this; you deal with it.”

“I didn’t want this.” Izzy said weakly. “Nobody wanted this. The crew certainly don’t, they’re worried about you too. The atmosphere on this ship is completely poisoned. But if we could all just maybe, talk it through.” Suddenly Izzy could breathe fully again, left wheezing as Edward took a step back from him, rage gone, face strangely open and vulnerable.

“As a crew?” Edward muttered.

Before he could respond, Blackbeard was striding out of the captain’s cabin onto deck, where the crew were gathered.

A pit opened in Izzy’s stomach as he stumbled after him, protests falling on uncaring ears.

The crew were spread out across the deck, heads whipping round to Blackbeard with the crash of the opening door. There was something akin to guilt on their faces, like every time Blackbeard entered a room, whether they’d been having a risky conversation or not.

“Hi everyone,” Blackbeard’s falsely jaunty air was jarring. “So, I’ve heard that some of you aren’t happy with the management style on the ship.” His eyes raked over what was left of the crew, the deck unnaturally sparse.

Izzy saw Jim and their newest recruit Archie draw in closer together, Frenchie twitched from where he was slouched against the railing, Ivan gripped the wheel tighter and Fang openly balked.

“Care to elaborate, anyone?” Blackbeard asked.

Everybody was still as statues, as though staying still would somehow hide them from Blackbeard’s sight.

“No?” Blackbeard asked brightly. “Well, good, because I’ve decided on our next move. We’re restocking at Nassau, then we’re going to Barbados.” he announced.

Jim and Archie shared a look, Frenchie frowned confusedly in Blackbeard’s direction, and Fang and Ivan sought out Izzy’s eyes, faces questioning, but the moment he sensed it, Izzy turned his gaze resolutely to Blackbeard’s back, not wanting to risk being caught conferring.

“I thought we were trying to break that record?” Archie said. “We still doing that at the same time?”

“Forget that.” Blackbeard waved a derisive hand.

“Forget it?” Jim’s tone was far too sharp and confrontational for Izzy’s liking.

“Yeah, was kind of a stupid idea anyway.” Blackbeard said.

“But what would you like us to do with the loot?” Fang asked, voice quiet and submissive.

“I don’t know.” Blackbeard said. “Throw it overboard? Fence it? Just get rid of it. That’s not important. Anyway, thoughts?”

The crew’s eyes darted toward each other, but they still didn’t move.

“Come on!” Blackbeard said, bracingly, too loud for comfort. “Fang?”

Fang glanced around at the others as though expecting someone else to step in and save him, before he shrunk away from Blackbeard.

“If that’s what you want to do, Captain.” Fang said, resigned.

“Right!” Blackbeard said. “Ivan?”

Ivan flinched, eyes wide.

“Whatever you say, Captain.”

“Frenchie?”

As relaxed as the man’s posture was, his expression was now strained.

“Um, I don’t have any problems with it, but, um why?” Frenchie asked.

“What does that matter?” Blackbeard asked sharply.

“Well, like, no pressure,” Frenchie said, “but if you’ve got a goal in mind, might be good to like, prepare, or something.”

“What does that matter? We’re going there, that’s all you need to know.” Blackbeard snapped, glaring at Frenchie, his hand straying far too close to the hip where his gun was.

“If you’re going to ask for their opinions, Edward, the least you can do is bloody listen.” Izzy said, eager to draw his attention away from Frenchie.

“Fine. I’m listening, I’m listening.” Blackbeard said and Izzy realised the error in his ways as the other man drew his gun but didn’t raise it just yet. “Jim, let’s start with you. What do you think, honestly?”

“I would like to know why we’ve changed our plans all of a sudden.” their jaw was set, posture like they were ready for a fight and Izzy knew Blackbeard wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Fang seemed to think so too, for he shied away, closer to Frenchie.

“You want to know? You all want to know, huh?” Blackbeard said, maniacal grin back in place. “We’re doing this because I say we are. Because I’m the captain. That’s how things work, when you sign on with Blackbeard.”

“Not all of us willingly signed on with Blackbeard, did we?” Jim returned.

Izzy’s stomach lurched at the way Blackbeard’s hand clenched on the handle of his gun as he prowled towards them, everyone else taking an almost imperceptible step back.

“You’re dissatisfied with my leadership, are you?” Blackbeard said. “Well, there’s an easy fix to that.”

Blackbeard raised the gun to Jim’s head. Jim straightened their shoulders, looking up into Blackbeard’s face, a defiant glint in their eye. Izzy was forcibly reminded of himself; of the many times he’d tried this act with Edward.

Where Blackbeard was concerned, Izzy had thought of himself as special. As young adults, together they had worked with their fellow crewmates to overthrow Hornigold’s tyrannous captaincy. But when their newly built crew on the Marianne had fractured in Edward’s unpractised hands, Izzy had been the only one to stand by Edward Teach. That night he’d sworn his undying loyalty to Blackbeard. He had been completely confident in the fact that he was indispensable to Blackbeard, untouchable, and that taking a firm hand with him would shock him out of his flights of fancy. He’d been arrogant and he’d been proven wrong, like Jim was surely about to be.

“Going to kill me, then?” Jim challenged. “You’ve only got a crew of six. How do you expect to survive with even less?”

“I’ll handle it.” Blackbeard said, with a click as he took off the gun's the safety.

Izzy knew that he wasn’t playing around, not this time.

“Pack it in!” Izzy yelled.

The crew’s heads snapped to him, Blackbeard stayed facing the crew.

“This isn’t about them, any of them, and you know it.” Izzy said. “We all know the reason we’re doing this. Because of your feelings for Stede fucking Bonnet.”

“Stede Bonnet is dead!” Blackbeard roared.

For a moment all that could be heard on deck was the sound of the sails straining in the breeze and the rush of the steady waves.

“Um Captain,” Frenchie’s voice broke as he said the words, “Beg your pardon, but are you saying that for dramatic effect,” Frenchie asked, “like in a he’s ‘dead to us’ way or actually-?“

“He’s dead.” Blackbeard said flecks of spit escaping him.

He shoved the crumpled obituary at Fang’s chest.

Fang took the parchment in his hands, looking at the picture, eyes widening. The crew crowded around the picture.

A wail burst from Fang and Ivan froze. Jim’s jaw tensed and they visibly swallowed, and Archie frowned at them. Frenchie’s gaze fell to the floor, going very, very still.

“He’s not coming back for you. He left you all.” Edward’s voice broke. “They’re dead and none of them are coming back, so get over it. You follow me now, or you die. Understand?”

“No.” Izzy said. “Nobody understands because nothing you’re doing is making any fucking sense, Edward.”

Now Ed turned to face him.

“Are you questioning me again?” Edward said, words a clear threat.

Izzy wanted badly to flinch away, to say whatever it would take to pacify Edward, but he couldn’t, because if Edward didn’t get out his anger at Bonnet soon, the crew would have to suffer for it.

“Yeah, I am.” Izzy said, making a decision. “I know you’re upset, but why is it always them that has to deal with your bullshit. You want to go on a suicide mission, fine, but don’t drag them into it. Pick on someone your own size. You know, I gave you shit for sitting whining about losing your boyfriend, but frankly, this is even more pathetic.”

Edward stared at him for a moment with the same expression he’d worn that time when they were still teenagers and Ed wouldn’t get up in time for battle and Izzy had dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. Then, just like that moment, the shock dissolved and turned to fury. But this time, Edward shot him.

Chapter Text

‘Can't I adore you?

Although we are oceans apart?

I can't make you open your heart

But I can dream, can't I?’

- Irving Kahal, I Can Dream Can’t I

Dearest Ed,

This is the first time I’ve had the opportunity to sit down and gather my thoughts since setting off to find you. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this letter, but I’ve decided to document everything that happens while we’re apart and then when we meet again, I can be sure to tell you every detail. I will find you again, I’m determined to do so, no matter the obstacle.

I was so relieved to be reunited with my crew, even if I am displeased that you left them behind. Nevertheless, I understand your upset that I abandoned you all, for you were not to know any different. I’m confident that when we get the opportunity to talk it out, all will be well, and we will look back and laugh at such silliness on both of our parts.

Fortunately, we managed to make our way back to Nassau, and have been saving up for a ship worthy of my mission back to you. I wish I could share the journey with you, since I always pass the time so easily in your charming company.

I do so miss my dear Revenge. I’m told I shall return to find her redecorated somewhat, but I can hardly blame you. Perhaps it will be for the better, if you leave your mark on her as I left mine and so she can become ours, our home.

On the few occasions I have been able to go out, I can barely turn a corner for being reminded of you (not that I would ever forget you), as your face is plastered across every wall. Or rather, not your face, but a fictional monster, that could only have been made by those who have never properly had the delight of making your acquaintance. I’m sure they could never capture the loveliness of your face, were they to try.

I hope you’re not taking as many unnecessary risks as the posters and rumours suggest. You must look after yourself; so many people are searching for you, but I trust your cleverness will serve you well in protecting you.

I, myself, am fortunate I have not yet been recognised. I have been going by the name of Captain Nicholas Thomas. Do you think it’s cool? I came up with it for when we were to run away together, and I have grown quite attached. It’s refreshing to be known by a name I chose for myself. Since I faked my death so that my family might inherit, I have needed to be cautious. Yes, I faked my death! A marvellous fuckery that I dearly wish you could have seen and I’m simply dying to tell you about when we meet again.

I can scarcely hold back from telling you every detail of each day that we have been apart now, for I do so wish we could have shared them, but I must save something for when we do meet in person, which I’m sure we will do soon.

With all my love,

Stede

Huddled on the floor at the back of the laundry room, in what they’d been told was the ‘worst inn in Nassau’, Stede Bonnet was far from sure he would meet Ed soon. It was the only private place he could find to write his letter. Even their tyrant of an innkeeper, Bob, refused to tread there. Stede and the crew had been working at the inn for what felt like a year but was, in truth, almost two months. Apparently, the previous staff had all left or been fired, for reasons Stede had come to easily understand, upon getting to know Bob better, but it did enable his crew to stay working and living together.

On arrival at the inn, Stede had struggled to find a job he was qualified for. As much as he could lead his crew and manage their squabbles, he’d quickly realised how few useful skills he possessed for innkeeping.

As a curious child, he’d snuck into many places not meant for him, including the kitchen, but was quickly brushed off and told both by his father and the servants that it wouldn’t do for a young gentleman to be seen cleaning or cooking, or caring for animals. Young Stede had never understood why it was encouraged for a gentleman to slaughter animals, yet not tend to his own home, but had decided ‘servant’s work’ seemed rather boring and excessively labour intensive anyway, and quickly developed other interests.

Now however, he had needed to develop an interest in ‘servant’s work’ rather quickly. After cutting himself in the kitchen with Roach and pricking his hand badly repairing bedclothes with Wee John, Oluwande had dragged him to help with the laundry where, so far, the biggest accident he’d had was some spilled water, that had quickly been mopped up. Therefore, Stede had taken responsibility for cleaning duties, a task which suited him surprisingly well, since among the crew he valued his personal cleanliness the most.

Stede sighed, stretching his aching arms above his head, rearranging his now excessively starched, washed-out, and itchy shirt. He put his pen and ink aside on the floor, lifting the page and turning it over. He hadn’t been able to find any parchment to write on, so had resorted to the back of one of the posters of Ed he’d been taking down everywhere he saw them. He gazed into the depths of the eyes of the strange creature depicted on the page, the closest he could get to Ed at present.

Stede had heard a number of conflicting accounts of Blackbeard’s location from Roach, who more regularly snuck out to the market. The list of crimes Blackbeard was accused of didn’t make a lick of sense, unless he’d mastered the ability to be in two completely different places at once. Stede had dismissed the murders on the poster, since he knew Ed wouldn’t kill by his own hand, but that didn’t narrow it down. From what Roach had said, as much as Blackbeard had been on the rampage, so had a number of Blackbeard impersonators. Stede ran his finger over the words he’d memorised, as though a pattern in Ed’s behaviour would reveal itself.

“What are you doing?” a voice whispered directly into his ear.

Stede yelped as a head appeared next to him from between the hanging towels. The Swede blinked at him owlishly.

“What the hell? What are you doing in here?” Stede demanded.

“I did ask first.” said The Swede mildly.

“I’m finishing the laundry.” Stede said, as though the other man wouldn’t see the letter in his hand.

It wasn’t a complete lie. Stede had left the others in the kitchen with the excuse of pressing the laundry, which he’d got through a good half of before his eagerness to write his letter got the better of him.

“Oooh, I see.” The Swede said nodding and pressing a finger to his lips conspiratorially.

“So, what are you doing in here?” Stede asked.

“I’m not in here.” The Swede said, eyes darting from side to side shiftily.

“But you are in here.” Stede said.

“No. I’m not.” The Swede responded.

“But if you were in here,” Stede said slowly, “why would you be in here?”

“Maybe I would be hiding.” The Swede whispered.

“From Bob?” Stede guessed, knowing how little patience the innkeeper had at the best of times, but especially with the other man.

“From everyone.” The Swede said.

Stede heard someone give a wordless scream of rage in the distance, before someone shouted something about trousers and what seemed to be someone protesting in response.

“THOMAS!” Bob’s voice boomed.

Stede glanced towards the door nervously and back to The Swede only finding a swaying towel in his place.

Loathed as he was to leave his hiding place, he didn’t want to have it exposed either if anyone came looking for him. Stede sighed, quickly hiding his ink, pen and letter back in a crack between the shelves, before slowly getting up from the painfully hard floor. He was careful not to rush down the narrow corridor with its peeling paint, finding Bob’s back blocking the doorway to the kitchen.

Through the gap past Bob’s shoulder, he could see Pete and Oluwande sat at the table surrounded by half-peeled vegetables, and noticed Oluwande visibly breathe a sigh of relief as he caught sight of Stede.

“Good morning, Robert.” Stede said amiably.

It always made Bob’s face go a particularly interesting shade of red, but today, as the man rounded on him, it looked like he would burst a blood vessel at any second.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Stede asked, stepping into the room.

Bob lurched towards him, a garment hanging from his clenched fist.

“Perhaps you, Thomas, would like to explain why all of my trousers look like this!” Bob bellowed, waving a pair of trousers in Stede’s face with a prominent hole in the crotch.

Stede contemplated the strange damp grass-stained rips for a moment, some of the edges of the hole shaped like an imprint of teeth.

“Those look like they were bitten.” he observed.

“I can see that!”

“Are you asking me if I bit holes in your trousers?” Stede said perplexedly.

“I’m asking how you allowed her to do it.” Bob demanded, pointing wildly across the room to where, for some reason, the inn’s goat, was stood next to the kitchen table. She bleated as innocently as a goat was capable of.

“Why is Geraldine indoors?” Stede asked.

Generally the animals were strictly only allowed in the garden on Roach’s insistence, after an incident where a chicken had got stuck on a high shelf and had fallen into his cooling pot of stew when trying to get down again.

“Geraldine?” Bob repeated derisively.

“It felt disrespectful to just call her ‘the goat’.” Stede replied.

“We voted on it.” Pete interjected. “I still like Daisy better.”

“We had to bring her indoors.” Oluwande said. “She was off the leash and was um… taking an interest in the laundry.” he said, eyeing Bob like he might attack him at any moment, which, Stede knew, wasn’t an impossibility.

“Now she’s taking an interest in my cooking.” Roach said glaring at her. “I can’t work under these conditions.”

“Well, I don’t see what I could have had to do with it. I wasn’t on goat duty.” Stede said.

“No, your fucking idiotic Swede was!” Bob yelled.

“That’s not a polite thing to say about someone.” Stede replied, meeting Bob’s bulging eyes. “I thought we’d all agreed that would be Buttons’ job from now on, anyway.”

“Apparently Olivia got home and needed him on the roof urgently.” Oluwande said with a long-suffering sigh.

“How could she-” Stede began, before thinking better of it and turning back to Bob. “Never mind. If it’s not The Swede’s job, you can’t blame him for making a mistake.”

“Yes I can! How the fuck am I supposed to wear trousers when all of them have holes in them? Every last pair.”

“Well, apart from the ones you’re wearing- oh, sorry.” Oluwande said, wincing as Bob whipped round to glare at him.

“You could always wear them the other way round.” Pete suggested, waving the carrot he was peeling vaguely in Bob’s direction.

“How the fuck is that an improvement?” Bob demanded.

“Oh yeah, it’s not, is it?” Pete said.

“I could patch them up.” Wee John suggested, idly, not pausing as he continued to peel the potatoes.

“No, you can’t,” Bob said, voice trembling with rage, “because then I would have to explain why I have a huge patch on my dick!”

“You could start a whole new trend.” Wee John replied.

“Fuck you!” Bob screamed, his crew either flinching or rolling their eyes at the sound.

“Alright,” Stede said, trying the tone he took when Alma was threatening to have a tantrum, as he addressed Bob. “It was an unfortunate accident, but there’s no need to be so rude, when we’re just trying to offer solutions.”

“You want a solution, Thomas?” Bob said, pushing his way into Stede’s personal space. “You pay for it.”

“Why?” Stede said, standing firm. “It’s not my fault you refuse to give Geraldine a good meal, so she was hungry.”

“How can she be hungry still?” Roach interjected. “She’s already eaten all my garden herbs. How am I supposed to make the soup you want if all the coriander is in her stomach? What do I do, uh? Cut her open?”

Stede and Bob both ignored him.

“Who’s running this business, Thomas? You or me?”

“Well at the moment we have been-” Stede began.

“That wasn’t a bloody question.” Bob interrupted. “I have overheads to keep up with. We’ve all got to tighten our belts.”

“But Geraldine doesn’t wear trousers,” Pete said, “and just because she eats less doesn’t mean she’ll weigh-”

“I’m saying,” Bob continued, “I have to cut costs somewhere when assets aren’t pulling their weight.”

“Can’t you make reductions elsewhere instead of starving your animals?” Stede suggested, what he felt was quite helpfully.

“I’m so glad you said that.” said Bob with an ominously toothy grin. “Perhaps I should cut my losses and save a set of wages.”

“How?”

“By getting rid of the weakest link. Tell your Swede he’s sacked.”

“You can’t do that.” Stede said, in horror.

“Who says I can’t?”

“I do.” Stede glared at him. “We come as a crew; you can’t fire him.”

“I can do whatever I want. This is my business, it’s my money.”

“If you get rid of him, you’ll lose all of us.” Stede said, firmly.

“And you’ll go where, exactly?”

“Your offer was far from the only one.” Stede lied.

“I thought- ow!” Pete began before flinching away from where Oluwande had presumably stamped on his toe under the table by the way he was frowning at him.

“Fine, then I’ll have to go with the alternative.” Bob said. “You’re all getting a pay cut.”

“We can’t do that.” Stede said in outrage. “We really need this money.”

“And I need the money to pay for my fucking crotches.”

Wee John sniggered.

“Then, deduct the money for your trousers from my wages, just don’t- don’t.” Stede said desperately.

“Fine. But if this happens again, Thomas, I won’t be so kind.” Bob said darkly, glaring down at Stede.

Stede glared back, gritting his teeth trying to contain his panic, as he realised how much longer it would take them to afford a ship, but before he knew what was happening Bob was stumbling into him a wordless scream escaping his mouth. The sound of tearing fabric filled the room.

“Oh shit!” Pete yelped.

Everyone’s eyes fell to Geraldine, who was happily munching on the seat of Bob’s trousers.

“The little bitch!” Bob yelled.

“Um, I think you’ll find she’s a nanny goat.” Stede said.

Bob only shoved him into the door frame as he ran out of the room, tails of torn fabric flying in his wake.

Chapter Text

‘There's a reckoning a-coming

And it burns beyond the grave

With lead inside my belly

'Cause my soul has lost its way

Oh, Lazarus, how did your debts get paid?’

- Blood on My Name, The Brothers Bright

“Are we truly going to hide away in a corner like some cowardly puppies while Blackbeard tears our world apart?” Captain Banks demanded in a booming voice, as if he were a particularly passionate actor delivering a soliloquy to a crowd.

“No!” answered the said crowd, a mismatched collection of fifty or so pirates gathered on the deck around him.

Since taking the Queen Anne’s Revenge from Blackbeard’s disenchanted, abandoned crew, Banks had been able to form a hybrid crew between those who’d opted to stay and the sailors he’d brought with him. Although there’d been a few hitches along the way, as he brought them around to his way of thinking, he was satisfied with the committed group of sailors he’d collected.

“Um, ‘scuse me.” a gruff voice said as the cheers died down.

Part way down the deck, a greying Irishman, clad head to toe in leather, and visibly armed to the teeth, shyly raised his hand. Banks identified him as McKensey, the gunner he’d recruited from the old crew of the ship when he acquired it, a competent sailor with a lot of experience.

Everyone stared at him, and he blushed.

“Why wouldn’t we want to be like puppies?” he asked.

“What?” Banks said, some of his bravado slipping away in an instant.

“Well, they’re nice.” McKensey answered. “They’re so soft and small and they have their little eyes and ears and little paw pads.” he said, raising his large hands delicately as though he was holding an imaginary puppy.

“It’s a metaphor.” Banks replied.

“What’s a metaphor?” McKensey asked.

“It’s a form of figurative-” Banks began, before thinking better of it. “Never mind. The point is, puppies are weak and helpless and pathetic,” Banks stressed, “they let their mothers drag them about by the scruffs of their necks.” Banks took a step to McKensey’s side, placing a firm hand on his back. “I want you, McKensey, to be a grown hound, a bloodhound, to be fierce and intelligent.”

“Oh, that’s alright, then.” Isha, Banks’ young navigator, whispered to McKensey from what had become her usual place by his side, her low voice warm. “They’ve still got the cute floppy ears and the wrinkly jowls.”

“I don’t have wrinkly jowls, do I?” asked McKensey worriedly.

“Not at all, but you would still be beautiful if you did.” Isha said, giving his arm a friendly pat.

McKensey gave her a smile.

“Okay,” came Marion’s impatient voice from where she was leaning against the mast, arms crossed, and Banks saw his daughter roll her eyes. “Bloodhounds are cute and fierce, we’ve got it, can we get to the point?”

Banks cleared his throat and straightened the front of his frock coat.

“Yes,” he continued, “the point is that I would like to propose to you, my crew, that we set out for Nassau, where I have it on good authority that he’s headed, and finally stop Blackbeard once and for all.”

“I don’t know, guys.” Bram, Banks’ carpenter, scrunched up his nose. “Blackbeard is scary. I heard that he made a deal with witches, and he can hurl balls of fire.” he said in a stage whisper.

There were several gasps and a little whispering as the crew questioned the validity of this statement, but a few of Blackbeard’s ex-crew members could be heard snickering.

“That’s a myth.” said Banks firmly. “But I do recall him putting fuses in his hair once, to make it look like he was on fire. He stopped that pretty quick when he burned a hole in his beard.” Banks’s mouth twitched at the corner.

“You’ve sailed with Blackbeard before, Captain?” Bram asked in surprise.

“A while ago.” Banks said.

“Then is it true that he eats babies?” someone else near the back of the crowd called.

Banks blinked rapidly in disbelief.

“Unless he’s changed a lot since I knew him,” Banks said. “I can’t picture that. He was never big on cannibalism, or getting children involved in violence.”

“Yeah,” McKensey agreed. “Blackbeard could be an… intense captain, but he was very against that sort of thing. He once had a guy keelhauled for hitting a child on a raid.”

“I heard that he bites the heads off of turtles.” contributed Drissa, Marion’s fellow lookout.

The crew gasped and Marion poked at him, glaring reproachfully.

“That one’s not just a rumour.” said Banks darkly.

“That’s horrible!” said Isha. “You should treat turtles with respect, they’ll bring you prosperity, that’s what my mum says.”

“The way I see it,” Marion said. “Blackbeard’s casual cruelty is all the more reason for us to go after him. There’s a reason there are so many myths like this about him. Most of them are ridiculous, but they come from distorted reporting of the awful things he’s actually done.”

“I agree,” Banks said, “but we also have to remember, he’s just one man. He’s not invincible.”

“Yeah,” said McKensey. “You all don’t know. I joined up ‘cause I heard the myths, but truth is, he’s just a kind of shitty pirate captain. He was good on raids at first, then, he got it into his head he wanted to go after this aristocrat. So, he sends us off after the Spanish, gets loads of us killed, then fucks off and forgets about us for months. I lost some friends in that battle.” McKensey said, tearing up.

Isha rubbed his arm sympathetically.

“As long as I’ve known him, he’s very inconsistent with long term strategy.” Banks said. “Look at what he’s been doing lately; he’s been having his crew raiding day after day. That’s the height of stupidity; his crew will be tired and weak. Given that fact, I know all of you, I know what good fighters and strategists I have the honour of working with and I have every confidence you could take him like any other knave we might come across.”

The crew gave a murmur of agreement.

“You can’t be serious about this.” said Aretta’s voice, cool, clear and a touch judgmental, as the tall woman stepped forward, everyone parting around her.

“Yeah,” Drissa was heard muttering, “calling someone a knave is so 1690s.”

“You weren’t even born in the 1690s, Drissa.” Marion responded.

“Exactly.” Drissa said.

Marion frowned, but didn’t respond, seemingly forced to concede to this point and Banks heard a few people mutter words of agreement.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the crow’s nest?” Banks asked, and the young man raised his hands in defeat and hurriedly disappeared up the mast.

“Captain.” Aretta said.

Although, as boatswain, she would refer to him by his professional title around the crew, it was apparent that Aretta begrudged having to use it.

“I still don’t understand,” she said, “why you can’t leave it to the three different Navy’s that are after him?”

“Nonsense!” Banks responded. “They’re not going to just pick him out of the crowd and let the rest of his crew be on their merry way this time around. They want to crush all pirates to dust.”

“It’s a fair point. I heard they already wanted him to become a privateer.” said Kiaan, the helmsman. “Who’s to say they’ll deal with him properly this time?”

“Exactly.” said Banks. “We’re the only people out here who’ll give him a fair trial and make a judgement that makes sense.”

“This is a cute idea, but why don’t you tell them, why you’re really doing this?” Aretta said, gesturing to the crowd.

“Love, that’s personal for him, don’t you think?” said her husband, Jean, in French, appearing at her elbow.

“I think everyone here deserves to fully know what they’re getting into before we vote on anything.” she said, severely.

“My personal history with Blackbeard is irrelevant.” said Banks. “The last time we met was twenty years ago and we haven’t had any conflict or worked together for almost ten years before that.”

“Then why don’t you want us to know?” asked Kiaan.

“Yeah, what are you hiding, Captain?” asked Bram suspiciously.

“It’s not a question of hiding anything. It just involves other people.” Banks said.

“We’re going on a mission to capture maybe the most dangerous pirate in history.” said Aretta, stepping closer. “They deserve to know your real reason for it, especially when your feelings can impact the mission.”

“I won’t let that happen.” Banks persisted.

“Won’t you?” she challenged him, but her expression was gentle and concerned.

“What feelings?” Isha asked, curiously.

“You knew Blackbeard personally, Captain?” McKensey asked, in surprise.

“I knew him before he was Blackbeard.” he replied hesitantly. “At least a little.”

“Wow.” said several crew members.

“Is it true his sword steals the souls of its victims?” one of the kitchen assistants, Will, chipped in and was ignored.

“That’s the problem.” said Aretta. “How do you know you’re going to be able to deal with him when the time comes? You’re too close.”

“It’s because I know him that makes it better that I deal with him than any of the Navies.” Banks said. “He knows all of their tricks too well. They’ll never catch him, not really. He’s like an octopus, it’s like he can shift into any shape and size he wants to become something new and trick you, and he can slip out of anywhere they might try to confine him.”

“Not another animal metaphor.” Marion said under her breath.

Banks ignored her.

“I’m one of the few people who has the right kind of insider knowledge to be able to outwit him.” he continued. “I can give us an edge nobody else has.”

“Both you and I know this isn’t about Blackbeard.” said Aretta. “But if you won’t say it, I will.” she stepped back, turning to the crew. “We’re all doing this because Captain Banks has a crush on one of Blackbeard’s crew members.” she announced.

“Aretta!” Jean said reproachfully.

“Oh my gosh, you want to go and save them from Blackbeard?” Isha said, clasping her hands under her chin. “That’s so romantic!”

“Really?” McKensey said.

“I do not.” said Banks, blushing, sounding for all the world like a teenager, denying their crush. “Aretta, why would you say that?”

“It would be okay if you did, Captain.” said McKensey.

There was a murmur of agreement.

“Yeah, we’d help.” someone else said.

“Who are they?” asked someone.

“The Captain doesn’t have to share if he doesn’t want to.” Jean reminded everyone.

“Oh, come on!” said Bram.

“What makes you think he’ll want to see you, after all this time?” Aretta said to Banks.

Banks was silent, frowning, face anguished.

“It’s not about Izzy.” he said.

“Bullshit.” she replied.

“Oh, is his name Izzy.” Isha whispered none too quietly.

“Oh my God, not his first mate, Izzy Hands?” Drissa’s voice came from above. “You have a crush on Izzy Hands?”

“Never!” said McKensey.

“Well, if Captain has a crush on this guy, we have to go and save him, right?” Bram said.

There were murmurs of agreement.

“No!” Banks protested. “The point is, I know how Blackbeard treats him, how he treats people generally. What he’s doing now is just an extension of that. This situation is bad enough to merit action without taking my feelings into account.”

“But we do need to take them into account.” Aretta said, severely. “I understand what you’re saying, but I want to be sure, if we’re going to use all of our resources, risk our lives, that we’ll be doing it for the right reasons, that we’re all of us properly prepared.”

“Yeah, I’m still a bit worried about the soul-stealing sword question.” Will said.

“We’ll keep you out of his way, then you don’t have to worry.” Isha offered.

“Well, I don’t want any of your souls to get stolen either.”

“There’s no such thing as a soul stealing sword.” said Marion.

“You don’t know that.” Will returned.

“That’s just a myth.” said Banks dismissively. “Aretta, I understand and you’re completely right, but I’m confident in our ability to go up against him.”

“He hates you, though, and he’s vindictive, this isn’t a normal situation." she said. "I don’t know if this level of risk to everything we’ve built here these past few months is justifiable.”

“Why does Blackbeard hate you, Captain?” someone asked.

“Did you try to steal his first mate?” Isha asked.

“Blackbeard and I have never got on, but we’ve never fought seriously, not about anything important.”

“See, I think that’s the problem here.” said Marion. “You’ve let him get away with acting like this for nearly thirty years. You could have done something back at the start before he gathered all this money and resources. I understand why and I’m not blaming you, but the fact is; this is way overdue. It was always going to come to the two of you going up against each other and I think we all need to come together and put this thing out of its misery before things get way out of control.”

“I do worry that it’s inevitable at this point.” Banks said. “I mean look at where we’re all standing. Sooner or later, he could come after us for stealing from him anyway. Taking the offensive, under those circumstances could have its benefits.”

“So, we don’t even have a choice about fighting him?” Bram said, worriedly.

“We could attempt to evade him without any guarantee of success, or we can make the first move.” said Banks. “That’s the choice we’re making here.”

“We’ve heard both sides, haven’t we?” Marion said. “Can we vote on it now?”

“Does anyone else have any questions?” Banks asked.

“Yes,” Drissa called. “Is it true that Blackbeard hangs from the ceiling to sleep?”

“Why are you worried about that?” Marion called back.

“I’m not worried about it; I just want to know.”

“No, he doesn’t.” said Banks, rolling his eyes. “Now, all in favour of pursuing Blackbeard?”

Chapter Text

‘It’s gonna stay like this forever

Riding our tiny carousel

You've got a hold on me forever

Unless I get up and break the spell’

- Waste Me, The Jordan

Lucius Spriggs was monumentally bored. There were only so many times you could count the number of floorboards in a tiny room and then the knots on those floorboards before the grain of the wood became superimposed across your vision. Lucius rubbed his eyes hard enough that he saw stars, reaching for his sketchbook, always close to hand and flipping through it, hoping inspiration would come to him to write or draw something, anything, but the dark clammy little room offered nothing.

There hadn’t been a moment he hadn’t felt clammy for the last two months, no matter how much he wiped away his sweat using the tiny bowl of freshwater Frenchie brought him every other morning. Lucius had complained about this, but apparently, they’d rarely made port, and when they had there had barely been enough time for the crew to get freshwater and acquire supplies, let alone time for Lucius to safely sneak off unseen.

Since his attempted murder, when Fang had fished him out of the sea and deposited him, dripping wet, into this secret room behind the galley, he had not dared to leave the room even once, other than to venture cautiously down the adjoining passages. He’d heard far too much of what was happening feet away from him on the other side of the walls to even consider doing such a thing.

Two weeks into what he’d come to think of as his imprisonment, Fang had managed to sneak him a sketchbook to doodle in. Lucius flipped the pages over, barely looking at the drawings, instead turning to the back, where there were rows and rows of his own neat writing.

As soon as he’d got the book between his sweaty hands, he’d started meticulously recording every raid, any information Fang had been given about their location, any unusual sounds or yelled conversations he heard through the walls, in a desperate bid to keep track of the passing of time. Lucius had counted 89 consecutive raids, sometimes multiple raids in one day. While Lucius wasn’t exactly a professional pirate, he gathered that this was a bit excessive.

As grateful as he was to be left out of whatever ungodly things were happening on the ship mere feet away from him, Lucius couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself. He was very much not designed for spending his days and nights on this thin straw mattress on the hard floor. It was murder on his back and despite his dislike of exercise, he’d resorted to pacing the floor two hundred times per day before stretching and seeing how many press-ups he could manage before he collapsed in agony. Then he would try to write.

Lucius stared at his last entry, of a particularly bloody-sounding raid that had happened, by his estimation around an hour ago. He couldn’t be sure it was an hour, but it had certainly been enough time for him to count all the floorboards at least ten times over.

He twirled the pen in his fingers, listening to the creaking of the ship around him, wondering what he could possibly add when he heard it, a singular gunshot in the distance.

The sketchbook fell to the ground as he leapt to his feet, flinching at the loud slapping sound it made as it hit the floor. He froze for several seconds straining his ears, hoping with all his heart that nobody had heard anything.

His first thought was that the ship was under attack, but that couldn’t be true; he’d become accustomed to those noises, the cannon fire, the thundering of feet, the shots back and forth. This had been a singular gunshot that seemed to come from vaguely overhead, without preamble. This meant only one thing; a crew member had been shot.

Lucius didn’t move, eyes on the ceiling as though he’d be able to see through the layers upon layers of wood and know which of his friends might have met their end.

That was the worst thing about this experience; not knowing how close to danger he could be, how close to danger the crew was. All he could do was sit and imagine what horrors might be going on, knowing that the crew members that came to see him wouldn’t tell him, to shield him, which somehow made his imaginings worse.

Had Fang let his softer side show at the wrong moment? Had Jim been that bit too rebellious? Had Frenchie made a sailing mistake once too often? Somehow Lucius knew it had been Blackbeard that had shot someone.

He’d heard Blackbeard yelling at whichever crew member had upset him for arbitrary reasons through the wall often enough, several times followed by Izzy’s agonised screaming.

Lucius didn’t know how long he stood there, rooted to the spot, but soon realised there were strange noises getting closer and closer and he scrambled away from the door. Now he listened more carefully, there were multiple pairs of feet thundering their way over the floorboards in the galley and the sound of people struggling to argue quietly, overlayed with someone sobbing in pain.

“Oh my God, what do I do?” Frenchie’s frantic voice came, faintly muffled. “Why would he make me first mate? That’s totally insane. I can’t lead, I can barely follow sometimes.”

“What made you think he was anything like sane in the first place?” Jim could be heard grumbling.

“And I can’t read words, how do I read a map, let alone chart a course?” Frenchie said, as the door to Lucius’ room was flung open with a crash.

Fang’s figure filled the doorway.

“I’ll help you in a minute.” Fang said, staggering in with what appeared to be a profusely bleeding Izzy thrown over his shoulder, depositing him unceremoniously at Lucius’ feet. Izzy doubled over and yelled in pain the moment he reached the ground, and the crew, struggling to fit through the doorway all at once, began hurriedly shushing him.

“Oh my God, Fang, what the fuck is this?” Lucius asked, hysterically, hopping away from Izzy’s crumpled form, as though he would bite.

“I don’t have to actually kill him, do I?” Frenchie asked.

“Kill me, Jesus Christ!” Izzy pleaded.

“Shhhh!” everyone said.

“What’s happening?” Lucius demanded, gesturing wildly in Izzy’s direction. “How did this happen?”

“Blackbeard shot him, what do you think?” Jim said abruptly.

“Why?” Lucius said in bafflement.

Everyone fell still and silent for a moment, but for Izzy’s laboured breaths, exchanging dark looks with each other, as though silently debating whether to speak up.

“Lucius,” Jim said their voice trembling ever so slightly, eyes on the floorboards. “Stede is dead.”

Despite the anger and frustration for Stede that had been festering inside of Lucius at the man for getting cold feet and disappearing, leaving them all to Blackbeard’s mercy, he felt his stomach drop.

“How would you know that?” Lucius asked, weakly. “He left.”

“Blackbeard saw a newspaper,” said Frenchie wringing his hands, words rushed, “and he got pissed at Izzy for bringing it up and they argued, he shot him and Blackbeard told me to kill Izzy.”

“What?” Lucius repeated, at a higher pitch.

“Do I have to kill him?” asked Frenchie, eyes darting to each of the crew members in turn, beseeching them.

“We’re not doing that.” said Jim, not even looking up at him, instead snatching a roll of bandages from Archie’s hands and kneeling by Izzy’s side.

“Then what can we do?” Archie asked. “That’s not going to do shit.” she said, pointing at the bandages Jim was struggling with.

“We can’t hide him here.” Ivan said. “He needs a medic.”

“If you fuckers don’t-” Izzy began, breaking off into a yelp as Jim moved the leg.

“Please be quiet!” Fang said urgently and Izzy glared up at him, panting harshly. “It’s okay,” Fang said, “I have a plan.”

“You have a plan?” Lucius asked in surprise.

Fang nodded, turning to him.

“We’re not far off a pirate friendly island.” he said. “We need to wrap his wounds and keep him quiet. The moment it gets dark, I need you to take him on the rowboat.”

“Me?” Lucius’ voice was practically a squeak.

“Who else?” said Fang. “We can’t hide you here any longer, it’s not safe.”

“No.” Izzy whined.

“I can’t row!” Lucius protested. “I mean, I managed down the river at Oxford once, but my arms hurt like Hell for a week afterwards. I’m not being funny,” Lucius said, “but how do you expect me of all people to row all that way?”

“Find a way, we need both of you gone.” Ivan said.

“Get your shit, Spriggs, you’re going.” Jim said, brusquely, tying off one roll of bandages and reaching for another.

“I can’t.” Lucius said, looking down guiltily at Izzy, imagining being stuck in a rowboat with him, alone on the dark ocean. “I’m not cut out for this. I’d rather Blackbeard kill me.”

He was physically jerked out of his imaginings, finding himself face to face with Jim, their hand dragging him by the collar.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” they demanded. “We’ve kept you alive this long and now you want to just lay down and die for that fucking piece of shit? You pathetic little bitch.”

“Wow, harsh.” Lucius said, shakily.

“After everything we’ve all been through, especially him,” they pointed a finger aggressively in Izzy’s direction, “He laid his life on the line for us all just now. If you waste that, I’ll fucking castrate you.”

“Well, there’s no need for that.” Lucius said, slipping out of their grasp.

“If you don’t, he’ll die or be killed.” Jim spat at him.

“I suppose that would be bad.” Lucius said.

“You can do it.” said Fang, squeezing his shoulder.

“Yeah!” said Ivan. “You’ve nearly drowned once. If you capsize the boat, you’ll know it’s your time.”

“If not, we’ll know the sea gods are on your side.” Frenchie said.

“Wow thanks, babe.” said Lucius, wincing.

“Please.” said Frenchie. “I don’t want to kill him.”

Lucius saw the other man’s worried face, the dark circles, took in his bloodied clothes for the first time.

“But,” Lucius said, hesitating. “I can’t leave you all here.”

“You have to leave, you have to.” Ivan urged. “We’ll all be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Trust us.” Jim said, looking up, at him with a burning gaze, ferociously committed.

“Can you do it?” said Fang, looking at him with soft brown eyes. “For me?”

Lucius took a breath, looking down at Izzy’s contorted face, looking at the gathering pool of blood and looking away again.

“Yeah, I can do it.”

Izzy’s hand darted out, grabbing Fang’s wrist.

“No.” Izzy said through gritted teeth.

“Boss, let go.” said Fang, trying to pull Izzy’s hand off of him.

“Don’t send me away, don’t-” Izzy said, beginning to cry.

“Izzy, he’ll kill you if you stay.” said Ivan, in a softer voice than Lucius had ever heard him use.

“I need- I need to stay. You all, you can’t-”

“You can let go.” Fang said. “We’ll be fine. We’ve got this.”

Chapter Text

‘So I write him all these letters and I throw them in the trash

'Cause I miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh

Yeah, I pour my little heart out, but as I'm hitting "Send"

I picture all the faces of my disappointed friends’

- Get Him Back, Olivia Rodrigo

By the time he finished all his extra chores, Stede’s narrow bunk bed seemed like the finest bed in a palace, that he wanted nothing more than to curl up in. He was determined to make back the money as soon as possible, the confrontation earlier that day having filled him with a new sense of urgency. He knew the crew had to get out of this place and return back to The Revenge, return things to normal. That new motivation had only lasted so long however, as all of his limbs now ached unbearably from cleaning the entire inn from top to bottom, in far too short a space of time.

Hearing raised voices from their bedroom, therefore, had not been in his plans and he winced at the sound, letting out a big sigh.

“Oh, what, did she grow thumbs and do it herself?” he heard Roach’s voice on the verge of shouting.

“I don’t know about that.” The Swede could be heard replying. “She could have.”

“Or you just forgot to close the gate!” said Oluwande, as Stede opened the door to find Roach holding The Swede by the throat.

Oluwande was perched on the edge of the bed that Stede so desperately wanted to collapse into, twisting what looked like Geraldine’s leash in his hands. Wee John was already propped up in the upper bunk glaring as he sewed two pairs of Bob’s less badly ripped trousers together.

“What, may I ask, is going on in here?” asked Stede, unable to mask the exasperation in his voice.

Roach hurriedly dropped The Swede who rushed to hide next to Oluwande, stumbling against the bed frame in the confined space.

“Nothing important, Captain!” said Oluwande, voice high-pitched, scrambling with the blankets to ineffectually hide the leash in his hands.

“The Swede lost the goat.” Wee John said, eyes not leaving his sewing.

The room was filled with everyone else’s’ groans.

“We agreed not to tell him!” said Pete, poking Wee John’s leg roughly.

“Oi, watch it!” said Wee John. “Or you’ll become my pin cushion.”

“Seriously?” cried Stede, aghast.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” said The Swede, eyes pleading.

“She’s still gone, isn’t she?” Oluwande complained.

“And you were in charge of her.” Roach said accusingly, waving a finger at The Swede, who clung to the bed post as though it would hide him.

“It’s not my fault.” he said weakly. “It’s Buttons’ job, anyway.”

“Where is Buttons anyway?” asked Wee John, glancing up at Stede. “I thought you went to the roof to look for him.”

“I did. He wasn’t there.” said Stede, shoving his sweaty fringe up off of his brow. “Since then, I’ve had more urgent things to do.”

“Well,” said The Swede to Roach, “Threaten Buttons, not me.”

“How did you lose a whole goat?” Stede demanded, hands waving to encompass Geraldine’s whole being.

“How could he just lose parts of her?” asked Wee John. “It’s not like goats are assembled from a kit.”

“A goat is large. If it was a lost chicken, I would understand.” said Stede.

“I felt bad for her.” The Swede said. “She looked so sad on such a short leash, so when you took the laundry in, I thought I should take it off, so she could be allowed to roam a little.”

“Yeah, and he left the gate open.” Roach said. “So stupid!”

“Why would you do that?” Stede asked, a little hysterically. “Do you want Bob to throw us out? We’ve already lost all that money and I’m having to work extra for it.”

“You didn’t have to tell him you’d pay.” Oluwande said. “Now the money is just coming out of your wages alone instead of everyone’s. Instead of sharing the extra workload, it’s just you doing all of it.”

“I was trying to do something nice, I… didn’t think about that.” Stede said, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Yeah, we know.” Wee John said, irritably.

“All of this is a stupid idea anyways.” said Pete, crossing his arms. “Why are we working in this shitty place at all? We’re supposed to be pirates, we should be stealing and cheating and- and menacing people out of money.”

“There’s no way we’ll make enough money for the kind of ship you want at this rate.” said Roach.

“And even if we got one,” Oluwande said, “nobody is sure where Blackbeard is anyway.”

“He’s on his way to the Republic ‘o course.” Buttons voice floated through the door.

Stede twisted around so fast his neck hurt. Buttons only gazed back at him, as eerily impassive as ever.

“Buttons, where have you been all day?” Stede demanded.

“Olivia brought word that The Revenge approaches the Republic.” the man replied.

“Wait really?” Stede said hopefully.

“Her cousin Rolf down on the beach confirmed it.” Buttons said. “They should arrive tomorrow.”

“You’ve been out all day meeting a gull called Rolf?” said Wee John.

“Aye.” said Buttons, unperturbed.

“Tomorrow?” Stede said in alarm, having learned not to question Buttons’ methods by now. “But we’re nowhere near ready. Is Ed with them?”

“Aye.”

“How- how is he?”

Buttons shook his head mournfully.

“A strange darkness clings to him,” Buttons said gravely. “It might swallow the ship whole.”

“She said that?” Stede asked doubtfully.

“All who set foot aboard are dragged into his waking nightmare.” Buttons said, gazing past Stede into the distance.

“We’ve definitely got to get back to them, then.” said Wee John.

“Yeah, I’ve got to find out where Lucius is.” said Pete.

Stede frowned, seeing Ed in his mind’s eye as he’d last met him; the soft openness of his face, the sparkle in his eyes. Stede could feel the imprint of Ed’s hand squeezing his arm, feel how his infectious excitement had curdled with Stede’s guilt deep in his stomach.

“Yes, we must save Ed from himself.” said Stede absently.

“You’re not going to get back together with him, are you?” said Oluwande, sharply. “After all this?”

“He did leave us to die.” said The Swede eyeing Stede suspiciously, arms now tucked in around himself, as though he were giving himself a hug. “That makes me a bit uncomfortable.”

“I thought Izzy left you to die.” Stede said.

“But Blackbeard told him to.” Oluwande pointed out.

“Too fucking right.” Roach said. “What do you think is going to happen? Blackbeard’s going to see you and just drop his weapons?”

“Well, I-” Stede said.

If he were completely honest, he had imagined exactly that. He couldn’t honestly picture Ed attempting to harm him, not when Ed had previously been left curled in a bathtub, tears pouring down his cheeks at the prospect. In some scenarios he’d imagined Ed arguing and pushing him away at first, but he knew Ed wouldn’t harm him, that he couldn’t. Stede cleared his throat.

“It’s clear that he’s not himself,” he said slowly, “and we need to stop him from going down this path.”

“Have you thought about what you’re actually going to do, like at all?” Oluwande asked, in alarm.

“Of course I have.” Stede said. “We’ll handle it.”

Stede had thought about it, but honestly didn’t know how to begin planning how to prepare to meet Ed, when he had no idea what the circumstances would be. Would they meet in battle? Would they have to save The Revenge from attackers? Would he arrive to find Izzy had taken control again? Or would Ed be open to allowing them to simply visit? Stede had attempted to imagine every single one of these scenarios playing out, but his mind had a tendency to skip to the end, picturing being reunited with Ed. He tried to map out their conversation, imagine how he would explain, each point and counterpoint, what he could say to make sure that they could get back together again as quickly as possible.

“Ach, his darkness is more than any mortal man can handle.” said Buttons, darkly, shaking Stede from his thoughts.

“Nonsense.” Stede said. “Ed’s just a man himself and we have this crew. There’s nothing we can’t do together. We’ll settle things. We will.” he said, more for himself than for his crew.

“How?” said Oluwande.

“We could go down the docks and try and get on board when he arrives.” said Pete, expression intense. “Demand answers.”

“Can’t see Blackbeard’d like that, seeing how he left us to die.” said Roach, bitterly.

“Then we’ll force our way on.” said Pete.

“If Olivia and ‘Rolf’ are even right,” said Oluwande, “in the meantime, we need to get the goat back, if we don’t want Bob to throw us out, if the seagulls are wrong.”

“When a goat wants to roam, it’ll roam,” said Buttons, “and when it yearns for home, it’ll come home.”

“We can’t all operate on Geraldine’s time frame.” said Stede. “Oluwande is right; we need her back now, then if and when Ed arrives, we’ll go and confront him.”

“Aye, Olivia will bring word when he arrives.” Buttons said.

“How do we get Geraldine back?” asked Pete.

“We have to just go out and look for her, don’t we?” said Wee John.

“No!” Oluwande and Stede yelled at the same time.

“No, we can’t.” Stede said. “I’m supposed to be dead, remember? And you’re all supposed to be working as privateers for the Navy, but you ran off. There are prices on your heads too, I’ve seen some of the posters.”

“Yeah,” said Oluwande, “and I heard Jackie’s not happy with us since we messed up her plans with the Navy, and you know, the nose jar thing.”

“What if we went out in disguise?” Pete said.

“Disguised as what?” Oluwande asked.

“What about nuns?” Wee John suggested.

“Why nuns?” Stede said in disbelief.

“We have fabric for that, and the outfits cover you up.” Wee John said.

“Why on earth would there be nuns wandering in the Republic of Pirates?” Stede said.

“Seems like a great place to go if they want to save people.” Wee John said. “Loads of sin going on.”

“Or we could be cool revenge nuns like Jim’s nana.” said The Swede. “Oh sorry, Olu.”

“That’s boring.” said Pete. “Maybe they’re here because a prophecy is about to come true, and the sea is supposed to part so they’re warning everyone. That’s so much more interesting.”

“While I would applaud your commitment to a suitable backstory under literally any other circumstances," Stede said, "we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Choose whatever disguise will give you the best coverage and get after the goat, please.”

“You’re just sending us out?” Olwande said.

“The Captain has been working for fifteen hours today.” said Wee John. “We’ll figure something out.”

“How are we going to catch her anyway?” said Oluwande. “How do you actually catch a goat?”

“She’s too much trouble to catch.” Roach said decisively. “Permission to kill the goat on sight and blame a passerby, Captain.”

“No!” Stede yelped in alarm. “Somehow I don’t think bringing him a dead goat is going to get us on Bob’s good side.”

“Personally, I think all of Bob’s sides are bad.” said Wee John.

“What if we just coax her with food and put a leash back on her?” Oluwande suggested.

“Yeah, then I think two of us should grab either end.” said Pete. “I’ll go for the back and someone else can take the bitey end.”

“I don’t think that’ll work, she’s too strong.” said Roach. “Don’t you remember seeing how she bent the washing line post to get to the coriander?”

“Alright, enough about the coriander.” said Stede.

“What about throwing a fishing net over her?” suggested Wee John. “We’ve got a couple spare.”

“That seems quite sensible.” said Stede.

“Where do we even begin to look for her, though?” Oluwande said.

“Yeah, did ‘Rolf’ say anything about that?” asked Wee John.

“He and Olivia does nae often need to concern theirselfs with four-legged land creatures.” said Buttons.

“That figures.” said Roach. “I reckon if you want to find the damn goat, go anywhere they sell food.”

“That seems like an excellent plan,” said Stede exhausted. “You go out and do that. Now please move, I’m going to bed.”

Chapter Text

‘It was raining, dark and stormy

Nobody was around to warn me

When the chill first went up my spine

Swallowed by the great big bad

I cut my way outside him that night

He’s the one who taught me how to bite.’

- Here Come The Wolves, Lola Blanc

A murky twilight was falling on the Caribbean, barely enough light for Lucius to see the cracked compass Fang had pushed into his hand. He’d been given strict instructions to just keep rowing south-east… or was it north-west? The longer Lucius squinted at the compass, held in a hand that trembled from the overexertion of rowing, the hazier his memory of Fang’s instructions had become. He continued to row into the gathering fog, through the drizzle, across the seemingly endless grey water stretching in every direction. He could swear he hadn’t actually made any progress in his journey, like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up a hill.

Being locked in the walls of the Revenge, at least he’d been able to extrapolate their progress across the ocean from the crumbs of human interaction he had.

Here, he was truly alone, with only an unconscious man for company. He’d never felt more weak and exposed, at the mercy of the sea, the ever-changing elements and the whims of any sailors who might be passing.

He chanced a look down at Izzy, lying worryingly still in the bottom of the boat. The man, already looking sick when he’d been dragged into Lucius’ hidden room, had now turned a worrying shade of pale grey, blood soaked right through the heavy bandages. Lucius was too scared to check for a pulse, for fear of not finding one. As much as the other man grated on him, he fervently wished he could have been rowing with a conscious Izzy, who would surely have known what to do better than Lucius – and be able to tell if the shore was south-east or north-west.

He turned to look out to sea once more, searching desperately for anything in the distance, but then, in the gathering darkness, there was a tiny spot of light. Lucius blinked, but the light remained, flickering, getting brighter, a dark silhouette with it, perhaps the tip of a mast.

He shoved the compass back into his pocket, scrambling for the bag of essentials he’d been given, taking out a spyglass and after a moment of thought, taking out the dagger he found in there too. He didn’t have to wait too long to have his fears were confirmed. It was a ship, and a large ship at that.

This really was less than ideal. A pair of pirates being picked up by the Navy surely wouldn’t go well, but being left to the mercy of some unknown merchant or pirate crew didn’t sound any more attractive. There was nowhere for him to hide. The best he could do was row on past and hope they didn’t interfere.

He continued rowing, despite the figures on the railing of the ships deck, pointing at his boat, until he was close enough to catch sight of the ship’s name painted on the hull through his spyglass; “Queen Anne’s Revenge”.

“Oh shit!” Lucius yelped, dropping the spyglass into the boat and immediately yanking at the oars to turn the boat around.

Had Blackbeard heard the crew plotting to save Izzy? How had he contacted the Queen Anne? Where had the Queen Anne been? Were they trying to kill him?

“Oi!” a distant man’s voice came across the water. “Come back!”

“Cooie!” shouted a woman, merrily.

“We’re engaging with potential enemy pirates, Isha.” a different man faintly replied. “You cannot shout ‘ cooie ’.”

An unbidden whimper made its way out of his mouth as he began rowing hurriedly away from the ship faster than he would have imagined his strength would allow.

He almost jumped out of his skin as there was a loud crack and a bullet sailed past his ear. Lucius dropped the oars, almost bashing his teeth as he curled up in a ball next to the bench.

“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!” he chanted.

“For the love of God, Spriggs, swab the deck.” a grouchy and tired voice mumbled in his ear.

Lucius peeked up through his fingers to see Izzy’s sleeping face now in a deep frown, eyes still closed, but twitching. If he weren’t being shot at, Lucius would have been more relieved to know Izzy was still alive.

“Don’t fire at them, pea brain !” a different woman with a higher pitched voice snapped, finishing in French.

“Sorry.” a man replied.

“Come back, we’re trying to help!” the woman called Isha yelled, exasperated.

“He nearly put a hole in their head, do you think they’ll be convinced?” the woman who’d spoken French replied.

“No, McKensey’s aim was too awful for that.” a young-sounding man said, his voice coming from higher above them.

“Hey!” the shooter, McKensey, replied. “I’m more used to cannons, not guns, you know that.”

“Don’t be mean.” said Isha.

“Ahoy there!” the man who had reprimanded Isha earlier shouted across them all, tone authoritative, causing everyone to quieten. “State your purpose here.”

Lucius didn’t dare to move a muscle, sure that if he did, he would be shot at again.

“Hellooo! Do you need help?” Isha shouted again.

“We can see you have a man down.” the other more authoritative man called again. “We’re sending someone out.”

“Oh shit.” Lucius hissed.

If they could see Izzy, it wouldn’t be long before they realised it was their unconscious first mate he was carrying. There were the sounds of much scrambling and suddenly another rowboat was in the water, heading straight for him.

“Oh shit!” Lucius muttered, daring to poke up his head and begin to row again desperately, no matter the pleading shouts that came.

It quickly became clear, however, that he was no match for the crew of the Queen Anne as he found them gaining on him with alarming efficiency. As they came up beside him, Lucius scrambled up from his seat huddling next to Izzy, holding the dagger up in shaking hands, pointed in their direction, but instead of a threat, he cried out the only thing he could think of.

“Please don’t kill us!”

“Stand down.” the man with the authoritative voice said firmly, standing up in the rowboat and making to board.

“Captain?” the woman at his side, the one who spoke French, placed a hand on the other man’s elbow, looking between him and Lucius warily, with dark serious eyes.

The man was not at all someone Lucius had imagined would be left to captain Blackbeard’s flagship, dressed as he was in an outfit reminiscent of a British Naval officer’s uniform, with a deep blue frock coat and tricorn hat, but lacking the garish gold piping, and with the noticeable addition of a sash holding four shining pistols.

To be honest, Lucius thought, four pistols seemed a bit excessive. The man seemed to listen to the woman, pausing before boarding, raising his hands in what was clearly supposed to be a non-threatening posture.

“We can help you.” the captain said, the assertiveness leaving his tone, in favour of something softer, but his eyes were fixed on Izzy, not Lucius. “He clearly needs care urgently. If you come back to the ship, we can talk about it.” The man’s voice trembled now and whatever that meant, Lucius didn’t trust it.

“Who are you?” Lucius asked.

“My name is Captain Banks.” the man said, glancing up at Lucius.

“He sent you to kill us, didn’t he?” Lucius challenged.

The captain blinked in surprise, frowning and glancing at Izzy again.

“Who do you think sent us?” he asked, slowly.

“You know who.” said Lucius.

“No, I don’t, actually.” said the captain. “Look, we can take you to Nassau and get a physician. It’ll be faster on the ship.”

“No.” Lucius said, panicking as the man made a move closer.

Something in the man’s face shifted back again and it made Lucius flinch.

“Why?” he asked cooly. “Did you do this?” he gestured towards Izzy and Lucius saw the woman’s hand subtly drawing her gun.

“I didn’t, I swear!” Lucius said. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I can’t even take the mice out of the traps! I couldn’t do this to someone.”

“Enough.” said the woman at the captain’s elbow. “Let’s do this the hard way.”

Before Lucius had a second to think, his tiny boat was filled with pirates. He took a vague slash with his dagger at the pirate who was reaching out for him, and before he knew what was happening, he belly-flopped towards the side of the boat, bashing his head hard.

Chapter Text

You made heartbreak look elegant, abused me with intelligence

I could have sworn you were heaven sent

Next to you, I was crumbling, the power balance stumbling

You wrecked it all and it's sinking in

- You Need me Now?, girl in red, Sabrina Carpenter

In the past twenty-four hours, Frenchie had fully forgiven Izzy Hands for every single cruel thing he’d ever done to them. After the day he’d had, Frenchie was half convinced he would dissolve into a puddle on the floor at any second. As soon as they’d hidden Izzy away, Frenchie had received a crash course from Fang and Ivan on ship management, blundered through charting his first course, seen off Lucius and Izzy, before going through a ridiculous amount of loot, interspersed with coaxing an extremely drunk and crying Blackbeard back to bed twice.

If Frenchie was overwhelmed by one single day, while able bodied, he couldn’t begin to imagine how Izzy must have felt doing this every day for so many years. He completely understood why Izzy had gone to such extreme lengths to try and get Blackbeard back into line, however much damage he’d done in the process. By the early hours of the following morning, he finally managed to flop down on the deck, leaning against the railing, while around him an equally worn-out crew slowly continued the pack away the loot they’d decided to keep.

Yet in his deathly tiredness, one thing became very clear; this couldn’t continue.

“If Captain Bonnet’s dead, what are we going to do?” Frenchie asked.

Movement on the deck ceased for a moment.

Ivan froze, impassive, Fang winced from his place at the wheel and Archie raised her eyebrows.

“We’re assuming he’s dead.” Jim said, cautiously.

“He’s got to be. That was an obituary, right?” said Frenchie, looking to Fang for corroboration.

“It said ‘died’,” said Fang, his voice wavering on the word, “and it’s definitely from Bridgetown.”

“Does it say how he died?” asked Jim, suspiciously.

“I’m not really sure.” Fang said, “I didn’t know a lot of the words. It said he has a wife and children though!”

“He does?” asked Ivan in surprise.

“What’s the deal with this Bonnet guy, anyway?” Archie piped up. “Is anyone finally going to tell me why we can’t say his name?”

“You can’t say his name in front of Blackbeard.” Jim said, severely. “You saw how he lost his shit.”

“But why?”

“He was our captain.” said Jim, with a certain reverence, as though this would explain everything.

“And Blackbeard stole this ship from him, right?” Archie persisted.

“Sortof.” said Frenchie. “He left and Blackbeard was…” he paused remembering how unnervingly docile Blackbeard had become. “He was sad.” Frenchie said, the word sounding awkward.

“Heartbroken more like.” said Ivan.

“So that’s why he’s gone all…” Archie whistled. “Why did Bonnet leave, anyway?”

“We don’t know.” Fang said thoughtfully. “He got taken away by the Navy and Blackbeard came back all sad without him.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Frenchie said. “The Captain seemed really happy.”

Frenchie could vividly picture the absolute delight on Stede’s face on the last day they’d seen him when Blackbeard had come back for them, the affection in his eyes when his crew had proclaimed him a ‘real pirate’, how he’d been practically floating about the deck for weeks.

“Maybe he went back to his family.” said Ivan. “Y’know, since he was there when he died.”

“Maybe that’s what Blackbeard thinks.” said Jim contemplatively. “Maybe that’s why we’re going back to Barbados.”

“To meet his family?” Fang asked, frowning.

“No, to kill them.” Jim said darkly.

“I don’t feel good about that.” said Fang, shaking his head.

“Oh Hell, no.” said Ivan, crossing his arms. “I’m not doing that.”

“I don’t want to hear a fucking word from you.” said Jim, turning to Ivan. “You made this possible.”

“I know.” said Ivan quietly, shifting his feet on the spot. “I thought he was getting back to normal, not this.”

“We’re here now.” Fang said, sounding tired. “It’s too late for regrets.”

“Yeah, and here is sort of shit.” Archie said.

“Then maybe we should do something about it.” Jim said, looking out to sea for a moment, eyes unfocused.

“Not to be a negative Nancy, but how?” said Frenchie. “Like, I’m actually asking. I mean, Blackbeard’s having a breakdown, Izzy and Lucius are gone, the rest of the crew probably starved to death and Captain Bonnet’s dead. Honestly, I’m beginning to feel a bit insecure.”

“Well,” said Jim, looking at him, disconcertingly focused. “Blackbeard was right about one thing. If the captain’s dead, nobody’s coming to save us.”

“Thanks, that’s comforting.” said Archie, rolling her eyes.

“So,” they continued. “Why don’t we do the saving? We don’t have to worry about Izzy getting hurt for it anymore, so we might as well have a go.”

“But how do we-” Frenchie began, before jumping as he heard footsteps, the others shushing him.

Everyone scrambled to pretend to be busy with something on deck, Frenchie rooting through a the nearest box and picking up an object from inside.

“Heeey!” Blackbeard said, cheerily as he strode across the deck, stopping in front of Frenchie.

Blackbeard was now fully dressed, swollen eyes cleaned of most of the kohl and a lot brighter.

“How’s the course going?” Blackbeard’s words were brisk, but his voice was rough.

He looked at Frenchie expectantly.

Frenchie lowered the strange guilt parrot figurine he’d picked up back into the box again, painfully aware of how foolish he must have looked.

“The course?” he said slowly, taking a moment to process the request.

He could see Fang frantically waving two fingers in the air at him from behind Blackbeard.

“Oh!” said Frenchie in comprehension. “We should arrive in Nassau in the next two hours or so, Captain.”

“Good.” Blackbeard said briskly.

“I was going to ask,” Frenchie said, “is there anything specific we need to get there?”

“You tell me, you’re first mate.” Blackbeard responded, smiling at him with faux joviality.

Frenchie winced.

“Um, could you give me a clue?” he asked.

Blackbeard rolled his eyes.

“Do you have the inventory, so we know what we’re missing?” he asked, impatiently.

“Yes, but I can’t read it.” Frenchie said.

Blackbeard huffed.

“I don’t know man, figure it out.” he said, making to walk away.

“How?” asked Frenchie, having no desire to face the consequences if he got this task wrong.

“Get Izzy then.” said Blackbeard, looking Frenchie directly in the eye.

Frenchie’s mouth fell open. He heard Archie and Jim stop rummaging through their box abruptly.

Blackbeard only stared back, no longer smiling, as though he hadn’t said something obviously ridiculous.

“Sorry?” Frenchie replied, convinced he’d misheard the other man.

“Get Izzy.” Blackbeard repeated, obstinate.

Frenchie’s mind raced, trying to decode what on earth Blackbeard meant. Blackbeard was prone to pretending things that he’d said or done hadn’t happened, or perhaps he forgot them. It was impossible to tell anything from his blank expression. Frenchie couldn’t imagine why he’d pretend not to remember that Frenchie was supposed to have killed Izzy, unless he knew Frenchie hadn’t and was taunting him with this knowledge, before punishing him for sport.

“Well, where the fuck is he?” Blackbeard said, a touch too loud, making Frenchie jump.

Frenchie opened his mouth, waiting for an explanation to come out, but his mind was utterly blank of anything that would satisfy the man in front of him. Thankfully, Fang came to his rescue.

“He’s gone, Captain.” said Fang, the words sounding convincingly choked up.

Blackbeard’s head snapped to look at him, scowling.

“Gone? How can he be gone?”

“Dead.” said Jim, openly glaring back at him.

“No.” said Blackbeard slowly, as though everyone around him was being deliberately obtuse.

“You shot him, remember?” Frenchie said, rearing back away from Blackbeard, when Blackbeard’s focus returned to him, “and you told me to-” Frenchie awkwardly drew a finger across his own throat, before hurriedly folding his hands in front of him.

Blackbeard didn’t respond for an agonising number of seconds, staring directly into Frenchie’s pupils as though he could see into his head.

“You killed him?” he said, slowly and softly.

“Yeah, you said-”

“No, you didn’t.” Blackbeard shook his head, eyes glittering, to Frenchie’s alarm.

“I kindof did though.” Frenchie said, clutching at his own fingers.

“You weren’t supposed to do that.” Blackbeard whispered, his mouth quirking at the corner like he was holding back a smirk, but his voice trembled.

“But you told me to.” Frenchie replied, uncomprehending.

Suddenly, he found himself bent backwards halfway over the railing of the ship, stomach lurching at the fleeting thought of the depths of the water behind him. Frenchie found he could only take shallow breaths, unable to tell whether it was from Blackbeard’s hand closing around his throat or the stale alcohol fumes rolling off of the other man.

“You weren’t supposed to do that!” Blackbeard spat.

“I don’t understand, Captain.” Frenchie protested, hands slipping as he struggled to hold onto the rail behind him.

“Just because I tell you to do something doesn’t mean you do it!” Blackbeard bellowed.

“Then why did you ask him?” Jim shouted back.

Blackbeard’s wild eyes didn’t leave Frenchie, who struggled to swallow.

“I’m not disobeying!” Frenchie yelped, squirming against his better judgement, desperate to get the man off of him. “I don’t want my toes cut off.”

Blackbeard shook his head in a frantic kind of denial, eyes darting across Frenchie’s face.

“You’re not supposed to be like that.” he said.

“Like what?” Frenchie asked, voice high-pitched.

“You just killed my oldest friend!” Blackbeard yelled, shaking him.

“You told me to!” Frenchie protested, fingernails digging into the wood of the railing to force himself to stop from pawing at Blackbeard’s hands. “He begged me to kill him! So- so I did.”

Blackbeard fell still, still holding him firmly, blinking furiously.

“No.” Blackbeard said, voice wabbling as he said it. “Not Izzy.”

“Sorry?” Frenchie wheezed.

“Izzy wouldn’t do that, not Izzy.” he said with more conviction.

“Well, he did.” said Ivan harshly. “I was there.”

Blackbeard’s hand on Frenchie loosened as he turned his head to look at Ivan in evident shock.

“Izzy’s not like that, he doesn’t give up.” Blackbeard persisted. “He’s an indestructible little fucker.”

“No,” said Ivan, resolute, “He’s a man. You tortured him and shot him, what did you expect?”

Blackbeard dropped Frenchie, focus fully shifting towards Ivan. Everyone else on deck subtly stepped away from him.

“What did you say to me?” Blackbeard said, voice low and dangerous once again.

Frenchie saw Ivan take a trembling breath, eyes darting away towards Jim and back again. Frenchie felt a brief burst of relief at escaping Blackbeard’s attention, before it was replaced by a sinking sensation as he realised Ivan was about to sign his own death warrant.

“You heard him.” said Ivan, that same foolishly proud tilt to his head that Frenchie had seen on Jim hours before. “Don’t blame Frenchie for what you did. The least you can do is grow some balls and admit it.”

Fang gasped. Archie winced. Jim frowned at Ivan, troubled. Frenchie didn’t dare to move.

“Oh, so you want to complain now?” Blackbeard challenged, advancing towards Ivan. “Didn’t see you speaking up yesterday.”

“Yeah, that’s before you shot the best sailor here. Fuck that. I didn’t sign up for this shit.” Ivan said, looking as angry as he was scared.

Blackbeard, stepped toe to toe with him, leaning into his face.

“You signed up to follow me wherever I go, even if that’s into the centre of Hell, got it?”

“No.” Fang said, causing Blackbeard’s head to snap in his direction, but Fang didn’t sound confrontational, only tired. “Ivan and I signed up with Izzy.”

“What difference does it make? He’s my first mate.” Blackbeard said.

“A lot.” Ivan replied. “I signed up with a first mate who was the best swordsman I’d ever met, who promised me a captain who was undefeated, a genius strategist, not this.” Ivan said derisively. “And you killed him.”

“I didn’t kill-” Blackbeard’s words were undercut with a whine.

“When you dragged us to this ship,” Fang interrupted, eyes soft, voice clear and passionate, “Izzy told us he was worried about your leadership. He was determined to do anything it took to keep himself and us alive. You pushed him to a point where he was begging to die.” he said, sounding choked up.

At this, Blackbeard physically recoiled, stepping away from them all.

“No.” he said, his voice suddenly small. “No, he can’t be dead, he can’t. You’re hiding him. You have to be!”

“You can search every corner of this ship.” said Jim. “He’s not here. You caused his death, own it, you fucking coward!”

Frenchie braced himself against the railing, looking away, waiting for a shot to ring out. What he hadn’t expected however, was a sob exploding out of Blackbeard and the sound of running feet as Blackbeard disappeared below deck. He exchanged shocked looks with the rest of the crew. None of them followed him.

Chapter Text

  ‘And lately I've been thinkin'

What if I keep sinking?

If I drown will they make me a star?

When you drown

Do they know who you are?’

-Mirror, The Last Dinner Party

“What are we doing?” demanded the ship’s boatswain, Aretta, in despair, hands waving wildly, before leaning on the heavily scratched desk, to look down at Captain Banks who was seated behind it. “Are you one slab short of a cart?”

Lucius winced as her voice, a little shrill with stress, pierced its way through his aching head.

“Um, I think you mean one brick short of a load.” he said uncertainly.

She threw him a withering look and Lucius squirmed against the chair he was tied to.

Since his arrival on the Queen Anne, most of the few crew members he’d met conducted themselves with a kind of ruthless efficiency, utterly refusing to provide him with any details that might give away their position, with the notable exception of Isha, who had been tasked with guarding him.

“I don’t know.” Isha, mused.

She idly waved the knife she was supposed to be holding to his throat worryingly close to his eyes as she spoke.

“I think the saying still makes sense that way. Personally, I prefer a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but, I don’t believe in calling people crazy as a rule. What does it even mean to be crazy? Is it a bad thing?”

Lucius craned his neck to stare at her in disbelief.

Aretta let out a quiet hiss of annoyance through her teeth, ignoring Isha.

“This is a poorly judged decision.” she continued to Banks.

“I feel like I’ve already heard this conversation.” Isha whispered, leaning closer to Lucius’ ear. “They had this row on deck, in front of everyone…”

Lucius, not for the first time, wondered what kind of pirate ship he’d found himself on, but then, he was also yet to find himself on what he imagined a normal pirate ship to be.

“We can’t just let Blackbeard wander onto our ship.” Aretta, said, glancing back at the door as though she expected him to come storming in at any moment.

The Queen Anne had been docked in a safe spot on the coast of the Republic of Pirates for a few hours now, a spot carefully selected by Isha, so she had proudly told Lucius. Apparently, the crew had barely had the opportunity to ask around, when a pirate who Banks knew to be an old contact of Blackbeard had brought news that Blackbeard had agreed to a visit with the captain of the ship. Banks had readily agreed, rushing back to his cabin (where Lucius sat in agony on the hardest chair he’d ever experienced), Aretta hot on his heels.

Banks straightened in his chair, folding his hands on the desk.

“Blackbeard’s not going to be wandering onto our ship.” said Banks, coolly. “He’s made an appointment.”

A weak laugh escaped Lucius lips.

Banks’ stormy eyes, darted to meet his, wordlessly challenging him to speak up.

Lucius’ tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, forcing himself to be still, clutching at the arms of the chair, sensing every unbidden tremor of the muscles in his overworked arms.

“Do you have an objection?” Captain Banks asked, his tone curious, but Lucius didn’t trust it.

“Well,” Lucius’ voice cracked as he said it. “Blackbeard tried to kill me, so yeah, I don’t feel great about all this.”

“And what do you think he’s going to do to us?” Aretta asked Banks. “You’re not thinking about this seriously.”

“I am.” Banks argued. “For the record, I’m not exactly confident in your decisions since we arrived here, either. Do you think allowing Marion to venture into the Republic of Pirates unattended is wise?”

“She’s not unattended.” Aretta replied. “Drissa is accompanying her.”

“Exactly.” said Banks.

“Hey!” Isha interrupted, now pointing the knife in their direction. “I’ve seen Drissa fight really well, when he has to,” she paused thoughtfully, “if he’s paying attention -  and Mossy’s amazing!”

“Do you doubt my mentorship?” Aretta said, head raised high.

“I wouldn’t dare.” said Banks hastily.

“Who’s Mossy?” Lucius mouthed at Isha.

“Mossy, Marion.” Isha shrugged, “Same thing.”

“Well,” Aretta said. “I understand your concern, but she’s one of the few sailors here I trust to complete errands efficiently without getting distracted. We need a medic for Izzy as quickly as possible. I’m more concerned about you being killed by Blackbeard.”

“He’s consented to come onto my turf.” Banks stated. “I have control here.”

“Onto his ship that you stole.” Aretta said. “I’ve seen Edward scoop out a man’s eye with a spoon for one wrong word, please forgive me if I have concerns for our safety.”

“Edward?” Isha interrupted. “Oooh is that Blackbeard’s name?”

“Yes, it is.” Aretta replied, barely glancing in the younger woman’s direction.

“Hm.” Isha considered this fact for a moment. “That’s not a very menacing name.”

“What would you consider to be a more menacing name?” Lucius asked, a little hysterically.

Her head tilted to the side, eyes becoming unfocussed.

“I don’t know,” Isha said. “Something that doesn’t sound like an English King or a farm boy.”

Banks shook his head in disbelief for a moment, before focussing on Aretta once again.

“I don’t need to be babysat, Aretta.” Banks continued.

Aretta, stepped away from the desk, shaking her head in despair, long braids falling over her shoulders at the gesture and she pushed them away irritably.

“Isn’t it a bit weird though,” Isha said, “that he just agreed to meet up with some brand-new pirate who’s demanded to see him. If I were in his position, I would be pissed off that some upstart had stolen my flagship. I’d be all-” she balled up her hands and made rapid punching motions into the air.

“Yeah.” Lucius agreed, fervently. “It’s really weird.”

“I can handle Edward; do I need to remind you?” Banks addressed Aretta.

“When you led a mutiny against him,” Aretta said, “you were merely taking control of what he’d lost control of. They were not your crew.”

"You lead a mutiny against Blackbeard?" Lucius interrupted, shocked.

"A long time ago." said Aretta.

"No wonder you're enemies." Isha said.

“I have control here, like I did then.” Banks was defiant. “I have filled his ship with an excellent crew who are loyal to me, half of which are my own.”

“They haven’t been working for you long.” Aretta argued. “If half of them switched their allegiance from him to you so quickly, who’s to say they might not switch it back?”

“You always imagine the worst possible scenarios, Aretta.”

“It’s my job to prepare for every contingency.” she said. “We know so little about the situation you are walking into. We don’t even know if he wants to kill you. You don’t know that he doesn’t know exactly who you are and if he exposes that, it could bring all kinds of trouble after us.”

“Who you are?” asked Isha. “What does that mean?”

At once, Banks and Aretta both flinched.

“I think,” said Banks hurriedly, “Aretta is referring to the fact that as I’m an ex-collaborator of Blackbeard’s, and that could bring a lot of unwanted attention upon us.”

Lucius frowned at Banks eagerness to come up with this excuse.

“Oh, I see.” said Isha. “Well, if you’re worried about all that, you could just kill him on the spot.”

Lucius’ neck made an ominous crunching noise as his head snapped to look at her, like everyone else in the room.

“What?” Banks said faintly, staring at her as though he’d seen her for the first time.

“Well,” said Isha. “If we’re worried about him plotting to attack us, we should get in there first, don’t you think? Everyone says he’s a mean guy, the world would be better without him.”

“He is!” Lucius agreed. “A really mean guy.”

Banks gaped at the young woman for a moment.

“Where’s the honour in that?” Banks said. “We have to at least give him an opportunity to explain himself. That's the only thing that prevents us from being like him.”

“Honour?” Lucius repeated doubtfully.

“Yes?” Banks said, questioning. “Of course.”

“But you’re pirates.” Lucius said.

“That doesn’t mean we don’t have our own code of appropriate behaviour.” Banks replied, like a scolding parent.

“You do?” Lucius asked.

“Once we’ve captured them, we give everyone we go up against the opportunity to cooperate with us with grace and dignity. No exceptions.”

“Even Blackbeard?” said Isha, frowning. “Even knowing everything he’s done – and to your Izzy?”

“I told you," Lucius said. "We can't be completely sure what he did.”

“That’s another thing.” said Aretta, pointing accusingly at Lucius. “You’re trusting him? So far, we only have his word that Izzy’s injuries are the result of Blackbeard. He does a convincing impression of a coward, but we don’t know that it’s real.”

“It’s not an act, it’s who I am!” Lucius said hotly.

“We’ve only got your word for that. You show up on a boat coming out of nowhere with the exact man we’re searching for, seriously injured. That sounds like a plot to me.”

“Plot? Me? I can’t do all that. I was hired to read and write, that’s it!”

“You haven’t been exactly open with us, have you?” Banks admitted.

“Oh, I'm sorry," said Lucius sarcastically. "I woke up with a splitting headache earlier, to find you standing over me, covered in blood and you told me you’d shoot me if I didn’t admit to hurting Izzy when I didn’t even do it! Forgive me if I don’t feel like chatting.”

“At least he was polite about it.” said Isha. “He could have been scarier.”

“Oh, he didn’t shout it in my face, thanks for that, that makes everything better!” Lucius said.

Whatever Banks' defense of his actions would have been was stopped by a knock at the door,  and a man with a head of short curly hair appearing round it.

“He’s here!” the man declared, with no small measure of excitement.

“Oh my!” Isha gripped Lucius’ shoulders, making him yelp. “Sorry.”

“Where is he, Bram?” Banks asked, leaping to his feet.

“On deck. They’re patting him down for weapons.”

“Well, when you’re done bring him in here.”

A thrill of fear ran through Lucius.

“You’re not going to keep me here while he visits?” Lucius said. “You can’t.”

Banks only smiled at him terrifyingly polite and professional.

“You’re staying.” said Banks. “How else are we to prove that you are who you say you are?”

“No.” Lucius shook his head. “No. Can’t you take my word for it? Or Izzy’s when he wakes up?”

“No.” said Banks.

“He might kill me!” Lucius shouted.

“Nobody is killing anybody today.” Banks responded, unmoved.

“He’s here, Captain.”

Lucius eyes widened in horror, before narrowing. A tall man with a dark beard strode into the room in a floor length coat, a ridiculous decision in the Caribbean heat, even more ridiculous than Blackbeard’s usual skin-tight leathers.

“Nice to meet you, Captain Banks.” the man said, with the most shit-eating grin.

“That’s not Blackbeard.” Lucius said.

“Oh, it’s you.” Banks said with unconcealed disdain for the visitor.

Aretta’s face contorted in disgust.

“What?” Not-Blackbeard said. “Thought it’d be Ed, did you? Why? Want to get your head ripped off?”

“I was promised a meeting with Blackbeard.” Banks said.

“I’m him, ain’t I? I’ll tell you what, my beard’s blacker than his at least.”

“You’ve brought me an imposter.”

“We did?” Bram said, taking a step back to examine the man next to him. “Are you sure? He’s got the…” Bram waved a finger in a circle over the man, “look.”

“I don’t know what you mean, I am Blackbeard.” said the imposter. “Aren’t, I, Captain Banks?” his tone was mocking.

“No, you’re really not.” Aretta agreed. “You realise it works both ways, don’t you? You might benefit from Blackbeard’s mythology, but if you set foot on land anywhere outside of here, you’ll have to answer for his crimes too.”

“They’d have to catch me first.” the man said arrogantly.

“Do you want us to send him back?” Bram asked.

“You want me to go back into the Republic, Captain?” said the other man. “Maybe I will. Find a good inn and have a drink and a gossip? Or I could stick around and you could hear the deal I’m offering? What’s it to be?”

Lucius expected Banks to deny him immediately, but instead Banks stiffened, Aretta watching her Captain every bit as closely as Lucius was.

“Isha,” Banks said. “Take Mr Spriggs to the galley and make sure he gets fed.”

“What? Since it’s so dangerous, can’t I stay?” Isha asked.

“Why would you want that?” Lucius hissed.

“No, you may not.” Aretta agreed.

“Oh, come on!" Isha pleaded. "Surely you need someone else to keep watch, in case things get stabby.”

“You should be so lucky, love,” the fake Blackbeard said, “they nicked all my best knives.”

“Aretta will be more than sufficient.” Banks replied.

Isha pouted.

“Mr Spriggs- Lucius, can I call you that? I’d be a good bodyguard, wouldn’t I?” she said.

“Why are you asking me?” Lucius asked in alarm.

“I’ve been holding you prisoner well, haven’t I?”

“It’s a miracle you haven’t poked my eye out.” Lucius replied, eyeing the knife still in her hand.

“Yes, please be careful, Isha.” Banks agreed.

“Sorry!” Isha said.

“Just a moment, why did you choose her, anyway?” Aretta asked. “It’s not her job.”

“He didn’t,” Isha said. “I volunteered. I want to know what’s going on. How can I navigate properly if you two are so secretive? Also, I needed an excuse because Jean wanted me to help him chop the onions and I don’t like doing that, because it makes me cry.”

“If Jean needs you, you’re definitely leaving.” Aretta said. “Out, both of you.”

Chapter Text

‘His hand so calloused from his pistol

Softly traces hearts on my face

And I could see it from a mile away

A perfect case for my certain skillset

He had a halo of the highest grade

He just hadn't met me yet’

- I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can), Taylor Swift

Dearest Ed,

This morning, I dreamed of you again, which is remarkable in itself, given how little sleep I got, but you’re always a welcome visitor. It’s been a very busy past few days at the inn we’re currently working at. There are so many things to do, yet somehow, I can’t leave my dreamworld easily, so I feel compelled to sit down and tell you about it as quickly as I can, so please forgive my handwriting.

I dreamed that I was on a beach, clear sky and land and sea stretching in all directions for what seemed like miles, a little eerie in its emptiness. I don’t remember how exactly how it came about, but I was fighting quite the duel against Izzy. I can clearly remember the ugly burning rage taking over me, the likes of which I’ve never experienced before. I felt drunk with it, fighting more brutishly than I would have imagined myself capable of, Izzy matching me in every strike, but I was victorious, my blade sliding through him with no more resistance than butter. In that moment, I was exactly the man I’ve always wanted to be; skilled and strong and unwavering in the face of hostility, yet something in me is unsettled by it.

In my dream, there was no such hesitation though, as within seconds, there you were, running towards me. We collided in a way that surely would have been a bone crushing hug in real life, resulting in several bruises, but as is the nature of dreams, instead it felt no more painful than falling onto a firm mattress. I was so relieved to see that charming smile once again. Each time I see you smile, I marvel that out of all the outcomes of every action I’ve ever taken, I could be lucky enough to not only meet you, but be able to cause you delight, contentment or mirth. There are so few people I’ve managed to do that for before, so I know how rare a bond such as ours is. I felt bereaved to leave you, before Roach dragged me out of my dream, insisting I start work.

However, as much as I’m missing you in my waking life, I must admit that in the cold light of day, I cannot shake a sense of disquiet at the world my mind has manufactured. I’m told that you’ll arrive in the Republic this very day, if Buttons’ is to be believed, although his unusual methods are yet to fail us, so I’m inclined to do so. As much as I am aching from the depths of my soul to see you, I’m quite concerned for your welfare.

I am well aware that the Izzy in my dream is not the real Izzy, any more than dream Stede is the real me. I know Izzy isn’t some terrible villain you need to be saved from. He is nothing more than a spite-filled little man, who you are more than capable of handling, no matter how much resentment I harbour for him, and the way in which he was so intent on tearing us apart.

I found it surprising when my crew told me that you’d allowed him to remain on board, despite their mutiny against him, and his constant defiance of you. In the real world, I certainly won’t advocate for his death, but I do worry. Do you think it is quite safe for you to keep him around, when he’s shown such disregard for your wellbeing and for that of our crew? He has proven himself quite cunning and I suspect he is largely behind the recent unnecessary violence reported on your raids. I wish there was more I could do to protect you from his machinations.

I may have killed him in my dream, in the manner of a gallant knight slaying a dragon in a fairytale, but I doubt I’d be capable of doing so in real life. Driving a blade through a man’s chest seems quite difficult and, even if I am now directly responsible for at least two men’s deaths, I’m no less unsettled by the thought of murder. I know you will empathise with this, since you confessed you too were troubled by such things.

Nonetheless I would very much like to be more like the Stede of my dream. Between my nighttime adventures and receiving word that we might meet so soon, it has led me to wonder how well I would be able to protect you, or indeed my crew, should I be called upon to do so. As excellent as your tutelage has been, I find myself falling short in a several areas. One of my main priorities as I plan to return to sea is to become as capable of a ship’s captain as I can; someone who can protect you and love you as you deserve to be loved. That is my true fantasy.

Forgive these incoherent musings, I am rushing to write this as I fear my presence will be required by the crew soon, in fact, I believe I hear them calling for me now! I hope to see you soon.

Yours always,

Stede

Stede clumsily shoved the letter into its spot with the others, as he heard his crew bickering in the corridor outside. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to give Ed that particular letter, even if he did wish he could discuss his worries with the other man, who always had something to say to reassure him. Stede did wish he could be stronger for Ed, but the longer they spent on land, the more his crew questioned him and the more he questioned his own judgement. If Stede were honest with himself, he was glad an accomplished pirate like Ed wasn’t around to witness it.

That morning, Roach had needed help with the food, as it seemed the crew who had gone out to look for Geraldine were yet to return. Stede, sleepy and preoccupied, had been startled by an impatient customer coming up behind him too quietly and, mistaking him for an attacker, dropped the plates of breakfast and pinned the customer to the table. Roach had yelled at him in front of the customers, before remembering himself and hurriedly apologising. Stede had rushed off, offering to help elsewhere, going to hide in the laundry again and exorcize his thoughts before they caused any more accidents.

Privately, Stede suspected Roach had only felt compelled to apologise because Stede was the captain, a title that felt less earned by the day, as they all were forced to answer to the ever-ill-tempered Bob.

Stede swiftly left the laundry room, as he didn’t want to be caught leaving the work to others after such an incident, curious about what had provoked such a spirited discussion amongst his crew.

He hadn’t expected to find two nuns in the kitchen, although maybe he should have.

“I mean look at my eye.” one of the nuns whined, in a deeper than average voice.

“I’m impressed she didn’t miss; she was as drunk as a skunk.” the other nun replied in an even deeper voice. “You’ve got to have respect for that.”

“You’re back?” Stede said.

Both nuns jumped, turning to look at him, outfits looking rather crumpled. Pete lowered the metal dish he’d been examining his reflection in, revealing the white of his headdress to be stained with a suspicious substance and that he was sporting a black eye. Wee John didn’t look too much the worse for wear, but he was inexplicably carrying a pile of Bibles. The rest of the crew were around the table eating soup, apart from Buttons who was gardening, and Geraldine was still conspicuously absent.

“Didn’t you find her?” Stede asked. “Wait, what happened to you?”

“It was a bleeding disaster.” said Wee John. “We ran into some actual nuns. They were not pleased.”

“They were giving away Bibles at an inn.” said Pete, gesturing to Wee John who dumped the Bibles on the table.

“Why?” said Oluwande. “Who around here can read them?”

Stede idly picked one up, flipping through it, pausing as he processed the headings he’d just read.

“I think they were counting on that.” he said. “These are misprints, they have the Gospels labelled as Matt-Hugh, Lark, Mule and Joln.”

“Is that not what they’re supposed to be?” said Pete.

“Nuns are out here conning people?” Wee John said, shaking his head in disappointment. “You can’t trust anyone these days.”

“Why were you looking for Geraldine in an inn, anyway?” asked Stede.

“Some shopkeeper told us to look for this guy who buys and sells stolen livestock there.” said Pete.

“Did you even find him?” Oluwande asked.

“No.” said Pete.

“I think the Mother Superior had been trying to blend in, if you know what I mean.” Wee John said. “They challenged us to a pub quiz of Bible trivia and wouldn’t take no for an answer, then they figured out we weren’t nuns. Things got out of hand.”

“The Mother Superior threw a tankard at my head!” Pete whined. “It could have killed me.”

“It didn’t though.” Roach muttered under his breath.

“Did you know,” Wee John said, “sometimes you need to train for at least like five and a half years to become a nun? I didn’t until last night.”

“If I’d studied that long to be a nun,” The Swede said contemplatively, “and found pirates just pretending for a day, I suppose I’d also be upset.”

“Upset?” said Pete incredulously. “They started a bar fight!”

“Guys, can we keep to the point, please.” Stede interrupted. “Did you get any leads on Geraldine at all?”

“No.” Pete and Wee John said at once.

Oluwande groaned.

“Fantastic!” said Stede sarcastically. “That’s just brill .”

“Do you mean to say,” came a furious voice from behind them, “that you’ve lost my fucking goat?”

“He did it.” Pete said, pointing at The Swede, moving away, as Bob stomped into the room.

“Not on purpose!” The Swede said, backing away.

“Okay, that’s it! Pack your things.” Bob demanded.

“No!” said Stede. “You’re not throwing him out.”

“Yes, I am.” Bob said, smiling with far too many teeth showing. “And while we’re at it, you can go too.”

“Me?” Stede pointed at himself in disbelief. “Why me?”

“Did you think you’d get away with what happened this morning?” Bob said.

“What happened this morning?” asked Pete.

“You know,” said Bob, “I woke up in a good mood. I would have considered overlooking the plates and the fact that you nearly killed a customer-”

“That wasn’t intentional, I-”

“But what I can’t overlook,” Bob raised his voice over Stede, “is what you said.”

“What did he say?” Pete whispered loudly.

“Um,” Roach whispered back, “A customer said, ‘The menu might have been basic last time I came here, but at least I wasn’t worried I’d get an ear in my salad’, and he said, ‘If I wanted a good dining experience this is the last place I’d go.’”

“I mean it's true, but that’s probably bad for business.” said Pete.

“We offer a fine dining experience, Thomas!” Bob snapped over them.

Stede couldn’t help but scoff.

“You can hardly market yourself as offering a fine dining experience, when you’ve budgeted to offer two course meals at most.”

“You’re in no place to judge my management when you’re fucking useless.” Bob spat. “What do you have to offer my business? You can’t cook, you can’t sew, you certainly can’t wait tables, you barely clean properly, and you upset my customers.”

“I could learn those things.” Stede said.

“You’ve had long enough.” Bob said. “I’m hiring someone qualified.”

“How exactly do you imagine you can do that,” Stede said tetchily, “when you have such a poor working environment to offer? I certainly wouldn’t want to work here if I had any other choice.”

“Congratulations! You no longer have to.”

“No.” Stede shook his head.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I told you, if you send any of us away, we’ll all go.”

“Uh, yeah, about that-” Oluwande interrupted, raising a hand awkwardly.

“We don’t think that’s a good idea.” Pete said.

“Sorry.” Oluwande said awkwardly.

“If we do that, none of us will have anywhere to live.” Wee John said.

“I’m sure you two can figure something out.” said Oluwande, sounding like he was not sure at all.

Stede looked between them in disbelief, heart sinking as none of them came to their aid. This had been, deep down, exactly what he’d been afraid of. Stede knew he hadn’t been able to show his capabilities lately, but he wanted to prove himself to them badly and wanted them to be able to trust his leadership, so straightened his shoulders.

“Fine!” he said, sharply. “Fine, I’ll figure something out, come on.” he said to The Swede.

The Swede stared at him gormlessly for a moment.

“Out!” Bob yelled at the man, who leaped into action.

So, Stede found himself hastily grabbing his meagre possessions and being bodily pushed onto the doorstep, The Swede stumbling into him as he followed.

“Right.” said Stede, turning to him. “Let’s find the damn goat.”

Stede might not have many skills good for innkeeping or gaining any other kind of well-paying job in the Republic, but if Stede could prove that he was self-sufficient enough to find Geraldine on his own when they couldn’t, surely that ought to help rebuild some of their respect for him.

“Oh,” said The Swede’s mouth fell open and he blinked at Stede for a moment. “How?”

“Captain!” Button’s voice rang out across the garden.

Stede stepped off of the porch, looking around and finding the man, sat on top of the shed, Olivia returned to his shoulder.

“Oh, Hello Mr Buttons!” Stede shielded his gaze against the sun to look up at the other man. “I’m afraid we’re being forced to leave, but never fear, we’ll find Geraldine and return very soon.” Stede did his best to infuse the statement with a confidence he didn’t feel.

“But Captain,” Buttons said, seeming a little startled, “the darkness descends upon The Republic!”

“Really? I thought it looked rather nice out.” Stede returned, looking up at a mostly clear sky, holding out a hand to test for rain.

“It’s getting cloudy.” The Swede said.

“A bit.” Stede agreed.

“But Captain, take heed-” Buttons began.

“Oh, later, Buttons-” Stede said dismissively, worried the other man might say something to discourage the man next to him, leading the Swede down the garden path, careful to close the gate behind them. “We can’t waste any more time. We have to find Geraldine.”

“We’re really still doing that?” The Swede asked, doubtfully.

“It seems the best course of action to get back in Bob’s good graces. You know, I think Roach was right. She would go where there is food.”

“The others tried that. They didn’t find her.” The Swede said.

Stede hummed in agreement.

“I think we should…” he began, knowing the other man would be expecting a strategy, “I think we should think like a goat.”

“How?” The Swede asked, sounding twice as perplexed as before.

“Well, Geraldine’s not human.” Stede said slowly. “We don’t know if she’s been out in Nassau before. Why would she know where all the food is? Wouldn’t she go wherever is closest she can smell it or something?”

“But we don’t have goat nostrils.” The Swede said.

“Maybe we should look for where the next thing a goat might eat is and let it lead us to her.”

“Oh.” said The Swede uncertainly. “We could try.”

“Come on then.” Stede encouraged.

They began at the edge of Bob’s garden, looking for any upset plants or rubbish that might look tasty to a goat, finding several hoof prints along the way, spending a painfully long time arguing over which patch of weeds looked tastier. As they slowly made their way out, down a few back alleys that connected the property to the more populated area adjoining it, the air became increasingly humid, shadows racing over the ground, the clouds shifting as the breeze picked up. Stede was so focussed on his search for Geraldine, he barely noticed their surroundings until The Swede tugged on his shirtsleeve, leaning into Stede’s side,

“There are more people here.” he said nervously. “What if we get recognised?”

“We’ll have to fight our way out.” Stede replied.

The Swede wordlessly side eyed him.

“Besides.” Stede said. “I don’t think there’s any danger of people recognising me dressed like this.” Stede wrinkled up his nose, returning to his search, glancing up and the rare passersby.

“Buttons said Blackbeard arrives today.” The Swede said. “What if he finds us?”

“Well, that would be fortuitous.” Stede said, brightly.

“Why?” said The Swede. “He marooned us all. I’m not very happy about that. He could have killed-” he broke off for a second, voice hitching, “Our friends could be dead.”

Stede remembered the state he’d found his crew in and felt a swell of sympathy for the other man.

“I don’t think Edward would do that.” Stede said, more gently. “Besides, our crew can take care of themselves.”

The Swede tugged Stede away from the patch of chewed-looking weeds he was currently examining, with an unexpected amount of strength, frowning at Stede through the starting drizzle.

“You’re not taking this seriously.” The Swede complained.

“I am.” Stede replied. “I’m very serious about finding Ed.”

“You always defend him, when he marooned us.” The Swede repeated, expression sourer than Stede had seen it before. “It feels like you’re not listening to us. It feels bad.”

“I am taking you seriously,” Stede promised, “I just think that…” Stede bit his lip, remembering all the moments alone he and Ed had shared; watching the sun rise while idly chatting and eating breakfast in the crow’s nest, the late night confessions over drinks in his cabin, Ed beardless, gentle arms around Stede and eyes filled with hope as he suggested abandoning his old life and being with Stede.

“You don’t understand.” Stede said. “I’m not defending him blindly; I just know Ed better than you all do.”

“No, we’ve known him the same amount of time.” The Swede said defensively.

“What I mean is I have information you don’t. He told me that he doesn’t kill by his own hand, and he told me he was tired of having to live up to Blackbeard’s myth.”

“He has committed a lot of crimes.” The Swede pointed out. “Olu says the posters-”

“I don’t think blindly trusting everything on the Navy’s wanted posters is wise, either.” Stede said briskly, returning to look at the weeds. “He slipped through their fingers, so of course they want to make him into a monster that he isn’t.”

“Why would he do these things, if he didn’t want to?”

Stede hesitated. If this was what he had chosen to do, was this what Ed had really wanted? Ed’s main complaint with being Blackbeard was his boredom. If Ed was so busy with so many raids, surely he couldn’t be bored now. If he was no longer bored and had fully stepped into his role as Blackbeard, what need would he have for Stede? Stede didn’t even have the fine things to offer Ed that had so intrigued him. Stede himself had nothing to offer but himself and his love for Ed and Stede had no idea whether that would be enough.

“I know it seems like he’s relapsed and maybe he has, but he’s still Ed.” Stede said, attempting to convince himself.

If Ed had resorted to doing all of these things he’d said he no longer wanted to, he couldn’t be coping well with Stede’s absence. If that was the issue, Stede’s return would surely solve matters and if it didn’t, Stede could show him the care he needed until he returned back to normal, surely?

“Ed is still quite terrifying.” The Swede whispered to him with a hint of awe, cringing away from a drunk passerby stumbling past them.

“He isn’t.” Stede rolled his eyes.

“Captain!” The Swede shouted in his ear.

Stede jumped, staring at him in shock.

“We’re worried about you.” The Swede said, earnestly.

“You are?” Stede said, touched.

“The crew have talked,” he continued, “and we’ve decided we like you, and would like Blackbeard not to kill you.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Stede promised.

“He might, and I don’t want that.”

“I can look after myself.”

The Swede shook his head, frowning at him, pitying.

“Not really. He’s better at fighting than you. And cleverer.”

“Alright, alright!” Stede said. “Perhaps. He might be in a bad way at the moment, but I know he won’t harm me, not seriously. I know it.”

“If he’ll harm anyone else, that’s still not good news for the rest of us. Don’t you care about us at all?”

“Of course I do.” Stede insisted.

“Then why are you more worried about him than the crew?” The other man questioned, accusing.

“I-” Stede was at a loss for words.

Stede, admittedly, had been preoccupied with finding Ed above the crew much of the time, but he hadn’t considered that they might actually feel hurt by his lack of attention. Despite the affection he had for them that he hoped was returned, realistically, Stede had always assumed they were tolerating him at most and hadn’t expected any more. Stede’s eyes became focussed as he struggled to formulate a response. He badly wanted to defend Ed, but Stede had to admit, he hadn’t been much help to the crew of late and had nearly made them all lose the roof over their heads once again. Out of the corner of his eye Stede saw something black and white moving over The Swede’s shoulder.

“Geraldine!” he cried.

Stede shoved his bags into the hands of the other man, darting past him after the goat, who froze as she saw him coming, before bleating and turning tail and disappearing down and alleyway.

“Hey, come back!” Stede called, all thoughts of strategy forgotten in his desperation to reach her.

Thunder rolled overhead and the heavens opened.

Geraldine, it turned out, was a shockingly fast runner, disappearing down alley after alley, made all the more difficult to follow in the pouring rain. Stede rounded the corner to find an empty archway, tripping his way to a standstill as he was confronted with a wall completely papered in layer upon layer of increasingly monstrous and unrepresentative art of Blackbeard. Geraldine was nowhere in sight. Stede ducked into the archway breathing hard, turning round in a slow circle at a loss to explain where Geraldine could have escaped to, heart sinking as the rain got heavier.

Once again Stede’s over-enthusiasm had got the better of him and scared off his chance at redeeming himself.

“Oh, Ed.” Stede said in despair to the posters. “Things are terrible, I think I’m afraid to see you. I’m not afraid you’re going to kill me, I’m afraid that your life is better without me.”

“Well, maybe you should be afraid.” he felt the soft words prickle on the side of his neck, like a landing fly.

Chapter Text

‘Your face in fluorescent

Looks different in the daylight

Like, was it a love affair

Or just a lot of late nights?’

- Coming of Age, Maisie Peters

“Oh, Ed.” Stede said in despair to the posters. “Things are terrible, I think I’m afraid to see you. I’m not afraid you’re going to kill me, I’m afraid that your life is better without me.”

“Well, maybe you should be afraid.” he felt the soft words prickle on the side of his neck, like a landing fly.

Stede’s dagger was in his hand without a thought.

“Unhand me!” he commanded, knocking aside his attacker’s hands, pinning the other man up against the wall. There was a clatter as whatever weapon the other man had raised fell to the pavement.

Stede’s breath got caught in his throat.

Ed was within his grasp.

Or perhaps, from the look of the man in his hands, Stede had somehow caught a monster that had jumped straight out of the pages of myth pasted behind him. Not in a single one of his fantasies had Stede imagined Ed would look so dishevelled, staring back at him in blank shock, black tears of rainwater falling from strangely hollow kohl-smudged eyes. The sight made him feel like he’d woken up back in his cabin to find everything as he’d left it except that every item had been moved half an inch without his knowledge.

In a second, the shock on Ed’s face had evaporated and he began to strain under Stede’s hands, an almost feral hiss whistling through Ed’s teeth. As Stede’s hands relaxed, Ed shoved him, somehow landing a kick at his ankle, making Stede stumble back and drop his own dagger.

“What the fuck, Bonnet ?” Ed’s voice was nothing short of venomous.

Stede flinched.

Stede couldn’t tell if Ed was shivering from the cold or trembling with rage. From the look on his face and how rain drenched he was, either was a fair bet and Stede’s heart ached at the thought.

All of the carefully-crafted apologies, explanations and love confessions wilted away under the heat of Ed’s rage.

“Ed, I’m sorry.” Stede blurted out.

“Ed isn’t here.” he responded.

There was the shriek of steel and Stede was the one at the tip of Ed’s sword.

“Whoa, Ed, Ed what are you doing?” Stede said, backing away.

“You’re dead.” Ed said.

Stede couldn’t tell if it was an accusation or a threat, but from the sword nearing his throat, he would take a guess at the latter.

“I- Can we talk?” Stede asked. “This is a bit uncivili-”

“No!” Ed snapped, jabbing his sword forward. “You don’t get to do that.”

Stede stepped back once again, realising there was only a wall to back up against. Stede thought fleetingly of his own sword left behind at the inn in his rush to leave, so there was no way for him to defend himself. Except, this was Ed, Stede reminded himself, and Ed wouldn’t harm him. However, as Ed glared down his sword at Stede, Stede quickly corrected himself. Perhaps Ed might hurt him, but he wouldn’t kill him, surely?

“You don’t get to- to bewitch me again. You’ve taken enough from me.” Ed’s voice was trembling, and he was blinking hard.

“Ed,” Stede began in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

“No!” Ed shouted over him. “I can’t take it again! This ends, now .”

Stede stumbled back into the wall behind him, unable to do anything but stare at Ed as he realised the other man had every intention of actually striking him.

“Stop!” someone yelled into the archway, followed by the loud and rapid thudding of feet over the damp ground and Ed gasped as a bucket of water was thrown over him.

As the sword was lowered, Stede turned to find a young man aged no more than twenty stood next to them, staring at Ed with his mouth open as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done. There were more running feet and a woman around the same age appeared at the man’s side, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him back from them. Stede noted that she was dressed in a strange combination of a maroon pinafore dress over a shirt, skirt hitched up with a tied scarf at the waist, with rain-splashed white britches and heavy boots underneath.

“What are you doing?” she demanded of the young man.

“It's what my Nana used to do when the local cats started a fight.” he said. “I found a fire bucket.”

“He’s not a cat!” she snapped.

“What the fuck?” Ed yelled at them, brandishing his sword in their direction.

The girl drew her own rapier in an instant shoving the boy behind her, surging forward and attempting to land a strike against Ed. Ed barely dodged it with his upper body, before gathering his wits and hurriedly taking up a fencing pose as he stepped back, his sword raised.

“Mossy!” the young man protested, but she paid him no attention, instead entirely focussed on thrusting her blade towards Ed. He nimbly backed out of reach, out of the archway and into the pouring rain, ‘Mossy’ lunging towards him.

“Stop!” Stede shouted, instinctively stepping forward, wanting to pull her away from Ed, but he found the young man roughly dragging him back by the elbow, keeping him back in the archway.

“I wouldn’t.” he said to Stede. “Mossy’s got this.”

“We can’t just stand here.” Stede protested.

“Yes, we can.” he replied. “If you don’t want to get stabbed.”

Stede couldn’t honestly argue with this logic, unarmed as he now was, his eyes glued to the two beginning to fight.

There were none of the wide swings that generally characterised Stede’s own swordplay. On all of the raids Stede had been on, most of the time Ed and those of his crew who favoured swordplay, had been able to beat their opponents in seconds, but as he watched Ed and the girl dancing backwards and forwards around each other, the tips of their blades barely making contact, he realised there would be no such quick resolution.

Mossy was swift, attacking and parrying with steady ease, Ed responding with worrying sluggishness, the sword looking heavy in his hand. Her fighting style reminded Stede of Izzy; she was just as light on her feet with the same speed and perfect posture. However, her movements were a lot less showy than Izzy’s during Stede’s own duel with the man, her face an immovable mask of concentration, possessing none of Izzy’s ferocity.

She neatly avoided Ed’s blow against her rapier, drawing back ever so slightly and thrusting the blade forward, piercing the vulnerable skin between Ed’s glove and sleeve. Stede winced as he heard the man he loved give a short sharp cry. Ed skipped backward, but Mossy was unyielding, making a direct blow against the handle of Ed’s sword and Stede’s heart skipped as he saw it slip in Ed’s hand, barely holding on to it. Ed stumbled back, foot slipping on a now slippery paving slab, falling to one knee.

Mossy paused, to Stede’s surprise, taking a few cautious steps back, not delivering the killing blow Stede was expecting, her rapier still aloft, a glint of red visible on the tip of the blade. Stede saw her shiver in her rain-drenched clothes.

“Do you yield?” she asked breathlessly.

“Fuck, no!” Ed replied, stumbling to his feet, aiming a wild swing nowhere close to her.

She backed away out into the open without urgency, allowing him to choose whether to pursue her.

“I’ve already won this duel.” she said. “I drew blood.”

He laughed humourlessly in her face, an alien sound that made chills run down Stede’s spine.

“This isn’t fencing, your ladyship.” he said, mockingly as he advanced on her. “Don’t pick a fight you can’t finish.”

He aimed a swinging motion towards her dominant hand, which she easily dipped out of reach, undeterred.

Stede could see Ed getting more and more frustrated with her, his movements increasingly erratic. Ed seemed determined to land a strike on her body, now, not just her arm or leg, but Mossy seemed to have switched tactics accordingly, jabbing unexpectedly at Ed’s upper arm. He yelled, sounding more enraged than pained.

He lunged gracelessly and grabbed the tip of her rapier in his free gloved hand, tugging it towards him with a wordless yell. She stumbled to the ground, rapier falling with her. Stede got a head-rush of horror as Ed narrowly missed stabbing her midriff, instead stabbing into the earth.

“Stop!” Stede yelled at the top of his voice, running out, the rain soaking straight through his shirt, hands raised. “Stop it, Edward!”

Ed glanced up at him for a moment, uncertainty in his dark eyes. That moment of distraction was Ed’s mistake, as out of the rain Geraldine charged towards him from behind, delivering a firm headbutt.

Ed crumpled to the ground.

Mossy scrambled for her rapier, kicking aside his sword as he made a grab for it. Geraldine ran in between them and began biting at Ed’s belt.

“Get off, creature!” Ed made to shove her, but she bucked her head, batting his hand away and straining for the cuff of his glove and latching on.

Mossy heaved herself to her feet, edging around them in indecision, rapier half-lowered, seeming unwilling to risk hitting the goat. Ed hurriedly backed away, Geraldine determined to follow and eat his clothes. He tried to yank his hand from the goat, but Geraldine wouldn’t be shifted.

“For pity’s sake.” Stede muttered to himself, walking with determination toward Geraldine, Mossy not making a move to stop him.

Ed, however, backed away more rapidly from both Stede and Geraldine.

“Geraldine, please.” Stede pleaded, not to be deterred, reaching for her collar and yanking her back, tearing Ed’s glove in the process.

She meekly stood in his hold as though she hadn’t been determined to escape minutes prior. The rain that had been hammering down on them, faded away to drizzle again. Ed’s eyes met his, clearer somehow, widening in shock for a moment, slowly backing away.

Then Ed bolted off down the adjoining alley.

“Ed!” Stede called after him.

Stede made to follow, but a gleaming blade entered his vision, pointing towards his throat.

“Oh.” he said foolishly, meeting Mossy’s gaze down the blade.

“You’re welcome.” Mossy said curtly.

“I’m welcome?” he said.

“Yeah!” said the young man, bounding up to Mossy’s side and beaming at her. “She just saved your life!”

“We did.” Mossy corrected.

“I didn’t need saving, you know.” Stede protested.

“Yes, you did.” she replied.

“Oh my God, Mossy, I can’t believe you won a duel against Blackbeard!” the young man said.

“He got headbutted by a goat and ran off, that’s not the same thing.” she replied.

“But you put up a good fight. Your dad is going to be so proud.”

“He’s going to be fuming.” she argued. “It’s Blackbeard. He’s dangerous.”

“Excuse me, but who are you?” Stede interrupted. “And where did you learn to fight like that?”

From her clothes Stede took her to be a working woman affiliated with one ship or other, as the breeches, shirt and boots under her dress looked like they’d been appropriated from a naval uniform. While he expected she was a pirate, he couldn’t discount that she could be the wife or daughter of some man on a merchant vessel.

“Who are you and what do you want with Blackbeard?” she demanded.

“Perhaps, I might answer your question if you answer mine.” Stede said, cautiously.

“The boatswain on our ship taught me.” Mossy said. “What do you want with Blackbeard? He’s supposed to be on our ship, speaking with our captain right now. What’s his business with you?”

“He is?” Stede frowned.

“Yeah,” said the young man. “He made an appointment and everything.”

“Or someone did.” Mossy said contemplatively, before addressing Stede again. “Answer my question. You’re clearly on familiar terms with Blackbeard.”

“Blackbeard…” Stede said hesitantly. “He stole my ship along with half of my crew and marooned the rest. I’m without a ship, I need to find him and get back what’s mine.”

Mossy hummed contemplatively, her eyes raking over him, cool and analytical and all the more disconcerting for it.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Nicholas Thomas, pirate captain.” he offered a hand to her cautiously.

Slowly, Mossy lowered her rapier, stepping forward to take his hand and shake it firmly.

“What’s yours?” Stede asked, curiously. “I take it Mossy isn’t the name you were given at birth.”

“We’re-hmph-” the young man began before Mossy poked him in the ribs with her elbow.

“None of your concern.” Mossy reprimanded him. “I sail with Captain Banks.” she said, cooly.

“Oh? I can’t say I’ve never heard of him.”

Mossy’s eyes searched Stede’s face for a moment.

“My captain also has a mission to find Blackbeard.” she replied.

“Is your ship affiliated with the Navy?” Stede asked, doubtfully.

The young woman’s expression hardened.

“I would never bend the knee to those bastards!” she spat.

“You were in the British Navy, Mossy.” her companion said. “I mean technically you were kidnapped, but-”

“Like three quarters of pirates were in the Navy originally.” Mossy criticised.

“Three quarters?” said the young man. “Is that a fact? Do you think there’s been a survey?”

“Drissa, please!”

“You’re pirates?” Stede guessed.

“Well, duh.” said Drissa.

“You know,” Stede said, thoughtfully. “I have a crew, if your captain would be needing any assistance on your mission.”

“Do you have a surgeon on your crew?” Mossy asked.

“Yes.” Stede said, brightly. “He’s also a cook.”

“Is he a good surgeon?” she asked.

“Yes, very good.” Stede promised.

“What other skills do your crew have?”

“Um,” said Stede. “Well, we have someone who can sew… and knit, all that sort of thing. Altogether my crew are quite creative. Buttons is a good navigator with lots of sailing experience. Pete can whittle well. Oluwande is generally quite competent - and he speaks Spanish. The Swede speaks, well, Swedish.”

“We are lacking good Spanish-speakers.” The young man pointed out.

Mossy nodded.

“And you, Captain?” she said. “What do you do?”

“Me?” Stede said in surprise. “Well, um, I’ve been trained by Blackbeard himself, so I’m perfectly good at swashbuckling. Um, also, I can read, including Dutch and some Latin. I think I also have a good eye for valuable items a lot of pirates might miss, since I grew up around them.”

“I see.” said Mossy, frowning at him. “My captain needs to complete his crew, needs a surgeon in particular. We can ask if he’s interested in allowing your surgeon to join us.”

“We could sail with you if you’re offering,” Stede said. “But I’m afraid we come as a set or not at all. I won’t negotiate on that.”

“We could always bring him to the captain, Mossy, see what he thinks.” Drissa suggested.

“Alright.” she nodded, decisively. “I have errands to run. You and your crew meet us this evening and I’ll take you to talk to him, if you’d like to discuss this further.”

Chapter Text

‘I can see very well

There's a boat on the reef with a broken back

And I can see it very well

There's a joke and I know it very well

It's one of those that I told you long ago

Take my word I'm a madman, don't you know’

- Madman Across the Water, Elton John

Nassau was as close to a hometown as Ivan had. The docklands of London had never felt like home. Coming from a family of poor dockworkers, Ivan had fled as soon as possible, taking whatever menial work the merchants down at the docks would offer. Like most pirates, he’d stumbled into the job, when his ship was raided by pirates, and never looked back once. Having spent most of his life at sea, and as a pirate at that, there were very few places on land where he felt a sense of belonging. Since being part of Blackbeard’s crew, however, every inn in Nassau they set foot in, there were sailors were falling over themselves to offer them free drinks and pats on the back for their exploits. Even now, as Ivan set foot on land after so long, he could feel the tension leaving his muscles. Sadly, this wasn’t a visit for pleasure, but he would have taken any excuse to have a brief reprieve from the tense atmosphere on The Revenge.

He and Fang had made a beeline for their contacts in town to stock up on supplies. They both quickly realised something was different this time. Ivan had noticed, a much greater volume of people seemed to scatter the moment they saw them. Furthermore, Ivan wasn’t convinced the prices they’d been offered so far were as good as usual. Despite that, he and Fang had both agreed that they were too tired to get into any arguments, especially with the sky threatening to rain.

They were able to finish their errands quite quickly, shrugging off any inquiries about Blackbeard and ignoring most of the more snarky comments they’d received. However, as they wandered further into the market, Ivan could tell from the set of Fang’s shoulders that the lingering hostile stares of passersby were beginning to trouble him too. They were at a stall selling dried fruits when it finally happened.

“We don’t take your kind here.” the grey-haired woman told Fang, glaring openly.

“What kind?” asked Ivan.

“Blackbeard’s lot.” she replied.

“Oh, come on, Bessie.” said Fang, as warm towards his acquaintances as ever. “We’ve been good customers for ages.”

“Well, not anymore.” she shook her head. “As much as I like you, Fang, I’m can’t have people think I’ve been associating with Blackbeard. I don’t need the trouble.”

“Why not?” Fang asked.

Whatever Bessie had been about to reply with was drowned out by a commotion behind them.

“Oi, look everyone!” yelled a stumbling man with a bottle of rum in his hand. “It’s Blackbeard’s bitches!”

Ivan’s free hand twitched towards his sword handle, and he stepped in closer to Fang whose arms were too occupied with a large pile of boxes to defend himself.

“’Scuse me?” Ivan said, fixing his best mask of indifference firmly in place.

He surveyed the man, finding a vaguely familiar pirate in a beer-stained shirt swaying on the spot. He wasn’t visibly armed with any kind of long-range weapon like a sword or gun, and Ivan doubted he’d be any serious threat if he was determined to start a fight.

“You heard me.” the man said, spitting at his feet. “You sank my friend’s ship! Killed the lot of them.” he suddenly sounded close to tears. “Call yourself pirates? You fucking traitors.”

Ivan bit his tongue. One of the reasons Blackbeard had been so revered was because he so rarely indulged in petty feuds with other pirates. It was something Ivan had respected about the man. Lately, though, Blackbeard had insisted they raid more than one pirate vessel, against Izzy’s advice.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ivan swallowed down the guilt that was swelling in his throat, tugging Fang away.

Even if it meant he was blatantly lying; Ivan was more concerned about removing Fang and their supplies from the scene, so pushed down all of his misgivings and continued walking.

“Cowardly cocksuckers!” the man yelled after them, the sound of his bottle smashing against the pavement behind them.

Ivan saw Fang flinch and quickened his pace.

“Oh, fuck off.” Ivan muttered, dragging Fang away, ignoring the mutters around them. “Let’s go the long way back.”

“Tell your boss, if the Navy doesn’t kill him, I will!” the man shouted.

“Ha, get in line!” someone else shouted as they retreated.

Ivan would normally have made sure any man questioning Blackbeard’s legitimacy would regret it for the rest of his life, but with Blackbeard’s present reputation it felt like his efforts would have been futile. Ivan rushed them to the backstreets, relaxing a little as it got quieter.

“Do you think we should tell Blackbeard?” Fang muttered, as they walked. “That he’s making so many enemies.”

“He knows,” said Ivan, “he just doesn’t care.”

Fang gave a defeated sigh, the likes of which Ivan had never heard from him before.

“Ivan,” said Fang. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Ivan looked up at his friend in surprise. They’d never dared use the word ‘friend’, but Ivan knew that’s what they were. Where Fang went, so did Ivan, and vice versa. Everyone knew that fact and respected it, even Izzy, who’d made his thoughts about getting attached to your fellow crew members very clear.

One night, half drunk, crumpled on the galley table Ivan had got up the courage to ask Izzy about why he’d made an exception for them, always assigning them work that allowed them to stick together.

“Because I can trust you to do the job.” a sober Izzy had replied, removing the empty bottle from Ivan’s loose hand, swiftly wiping away the spillage it left behind. “You keep the crew I’ve built in order.”

It was true. When Ivan had sworn to protect Blackbeard with his life, he’d meant it, and knew Fang had meant it every bit as much as he did. He wasn’t sure when that had stopped being true.

“Yeah.” Ivan said to Fang.

“Have you ever considered…” Fang began, voice hushed, “Have you ever imagined what would happen if we just wandered off and didn’t go back?”

“I can imagine.” said Ivan to Fang, seriously, “Blackbeard would kill all the rest on board.”

“I- wouldn’t actually do it.” said Fang, sighing. “I was just imagining. I’m-” there was a hitch in Fang’s voice, “I’m so tired.”

“Just a few weeks longer.” Ivan said. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Are you sure we will?” Fang said.

“Yeah.” said Ivan, bracingly. “Can’t let him go and murder those kids of Bonnet’s, or their mum.”

“Do you think he really would?” Fang whispered.

Ivan thought back to all of the excruciatingly awful raids he’d struggled through over the past few months. In the face of Blackbeard’s new reputation, they’d been met with an unprecedented level of violence and been forced to respond accordingly. While Ivan had always been willing to do whatever it took to survive and generally found being thrown into conflict stimulating, Blackbeard had been exhibiting a level of sadism, both towards their opponents and crew, that had left even him disturbed.

“We should get back;” Ivan said instead of answering. “By the look of the sky, it’s going to chuck it down in a minute.”

The rest of their journey back to The Revenge went without a hitch, even if they did get caught in a quick but heavy shower of rain as they approached the ship. Once they arrived there, however, they both hesitated on the rowboat before climbing onboard. Although they couldn’t make out the words, they could hear Blackbeard’s voice thundering on deck. Ivan and Fang exchanged a look of trepidation.

They found the three remaining crew members huddled on deck being shouted at by Blackbeard.

“I did see him!” Blackbeard insisted. “I swear!”

Yet something in Blackbeard’s tone struck Ivan as strange. Recently, when Blackbeard shouted, it had been laced with threat to harm. Now, he sounded much more like a child protesting that they hadn’t stolen the last cookie.

“Is everything alright, Captain?” Fang, asked hesitantly, as their feet hit the deck.

“Oh, you’re back!” Frenchie looked almost pathetically relieved when he saw them. 

A rain soaked, wild-eyed Blackbeard turned to them. Ivan noted he’d once again applied the awful makeup, but it had run half down his face, leading him to look even grubbier than he’d come to be lately. His damp hair had half-escaped its bun and his right arm was bloody in several places, hanging loosely by his side.

“You’re injured?” said Fang.

“Just a couple of scratches.” said Blackbeard, gruffly, ignoring the blood steadily dripping down the arm that he seemed barely able to use.

“Shall I get the first aid kit, Captain?” Ivan suggested.

“I’m fine.” Blackbeard insisted.

“What happened to you?” asked Fang, cautiously.

Ivan examined his Captain more closely, noticing that Blackbeard’s sword and knife were missing from their places.

“Where are your weapons?” Ivan asked.

“Oh, I got into a fight.” said Blackbeard absently.

“And they won?” Ivan asked in surprise.

“No!” Blackbeard said, a whine in his voice, a little petulant. “I just…” he tailed off, eyes gazing sightlessly out across the ocean. “I saw him.” Blackbeard whispered as though confessing a secret.

Ivan froze, wondering if somehow Blackbeard had found Lucius, or worse, Izzy.

Fang had sent them to an island not too near to Nassau, but Ivan privately hadn’t trusted Lucius’ ability to navigate whatsoever.

“Who?” Fang said, in a panicked voice that made it clear he’d had some of the same thoughts.

“Stede Bonnet.” Blackbeard whispered.

“Right.” said Ivan.

“Um, I thought you said he’d- died.” said Fang cautiously, voice catching on the word.

“Yes, but I saw him.” Blackbeard said with more conviction.

“Where?” asked Fang.

“In Nassau, of course.”

“You went into Nassau?” said Ivan in alarm.

“Yeah.” said Blackbeard, face contorting in a way that told Ivan he would be offended at anyone suggesting he needed to justify himself.

“Are you really sure you didn’t see a ghost?” Frenchie asked.

“No, I saw him.” Blackbeard insisted.   

Everyone looked at Blackbeard with different levels of concern, nobody willing to contradict him.

“I did!” Blackbeard said defensively.

“Are you feeling alright, Captain?” Fang asked, cautiously.

“I’m fine, I’m great! Never been better.”

“No, you’re obviously not, plus you’re bleeding on the deck,” said Jim irritably, “and I just cleaned that. Are you sure you haven’t just been drinking?”

“Yeah,” said Frenchie, “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”

“I haven’t been drinking.” Blackbeard snapped. “I know what I saw.”

Ivan had learned over his time at sea that there were many strange things in the world. Working with Blackbeard, he’d learned how to convince people they were seeing things that weren’t there. On the other hand, he’d also seen things that he was yet to hear any plausible explanation for. Whatever the reason behind it, once someone was convinced they’d seen something improbable, reasoning with them rarely did anything to help.

Ivan could see Jim opening their mouth, glaring at Blackbeard, so he cut over them. Ivan would not allow this to end with anyone being shot, or Blackbeard ending up in another one of his sulks that always lead to something even worse.

“Okay, Captain.” he said, patiently, using that same voice he’d heard Izzy used when asking for a strategy. “How would you like us to proceed?”

Blackbeard blinked at him, his defiance melting away.

“I don’t know.” his shoulders slumped, suddenly making him look defeated and small. “I need… I need to know what happened.”

Jim clicked their tongue and rolled their eyes, but Blackbeard appeared to have wandered too far into his own mind to notice.

“You want us to stay here?” Frenchie said in concern.

Ivan tensed, subtly shaking his head at Frenchie. Blackbeard frowned for a moment, fingers twitching by his side.

“I… No, no,” Blackbeard said, seeming to come to a decision. “We go on. We’re going to Barbados. I’ve got to know what happened there.”

“Right.” Frenchie said, sounding unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

Fang waved at Frenchie in alarm from behind Blackbeard’s back, shaking his head.

“No?” Frenchie guessed and Fang hurriedly began nodding. “Yes! Yes, yes, we should do that, we should absolutely go to Barbados.”

“Well,” said Fang. “We’ve got everything, so we’re ready to go when you are.”

“Alright.” said Blackbeard faintly looking around himself aimlessly, seeming strangely lost. “Alright, I’ll be in my cabin.”

The crew watched him leave in silence, waiting a good minute before uttering a word.

“What’s with you two?” asked Jim, the second it was safe, approaching Fang and Ivan. “Why are you humouring him? He’s obviously losing his mind.”

“Yeah,” said Ivan. “That’s the whole point. Don’t poke the bear!”

“He’s been hallucinating.” Jim objected.

“We don’t know that, we don’t know what he saw.” Archie said.

“You don’t believe that shit, do you?” said Jim.

“What if Blackbeard saw Captain Bonnet’s ghost?” Frenchie asked.

“Why would he haunt the Republic?” said Fang. “Aren’t ghosts supposed to haunt their homes, or objects that were important to them?”

“Don’t say that! I don’t want a ghost here.” said Frenchie.

“I don’t know.” said Fang. “Captain Bonnet’s nice. He might be good company. And maybe he could talk some sense into Blackbeard.”

“Forget ghosts.” said Jim. “Blackbeard’s clearly completely lost his mind and he’s the one captaining the ship. He’s going to get us all killed.”

“He was going to get us killed anyway, at least we might die in a more interesting way.” Archie said.

“No.” said Jim. “I’m not just following Blackbeard’s whims any longer.”

“Yes, you will.” Ivan told them. “This gives us a better chance of survival than not believing him.”

“You don’t actually believe him, do you?”

“I don’t know what I believe.” said Ivan. “All that matters is Blackbeard is convinced he saw Captain Bonnet.”

“So, we just go along with his delusions?” said Jim, voice rising to a worrying volume.

“We’re trying to survive here.” said Ivan. “Let him waste his time going to Barbados. We need to get away from here as quickly as possible. Maybe Blackbeard hallucinated Bonnet, maybe he saw a ghost, it doesn’t matter, because those injuries on Blackbeard are real. Someone fought him and someone could have followed him back here to get us all.”

“But Barbados-” Jim began.

“If he’s focussed on getting there,” Ivan continued, “he’s not wandering ports like this one, risking getting us all caught and hanged, and he’s also not got us out raiding every ship we come across.”

“I agree.” said Fang. “Plus, if Blackbeard did see a ghost, maybe we can figure out what’s going on along the way.”

“Yeah, you don’t question a delusional captain.” Archie agreed. “That’s asking for trouble. They never change their minds, and they’ll go to any lengths to justify their actions.”

“So, you expect us to just follow him into Hell, like he said?” Jim challenged her.

“I’m just saying,” said Archie, “If he was fine having the best sailor on the ship killed, you need to be more careful. I don’t want to see that happen to you. There are other ways to rebel other than pissing him off.”

“You’re saying we just help him go and murder Stede’s family?” Jim demanded of the rest of them.

“If we get ourselves killed, there will be nobody left who cares or knows to protect them.” Fang said. “We need to get him there and make sure the family is safe, then we deal with him.”

“Why don’t we just kill him now?” asked Jim.

There was silence.

Ivan could hardly start to comprehend the can of worms that would open.

“I don’t think Captain Bonnet’s ghost would like that.” said Frenchie.

“After being with Blackbeard all these years, I don’t want to give up on him just yet.” said Fang.

“Who else would captain this ship anyway?” said Ivan. “I know Blackbeard’s not much help lately, but he’s a good sailor, if he feels like helping, and we’ll need him to fight if anyone attacks. There's not many of us and it's not safe to recruit anyone else.”

“I don’t like it.” Jim scowled.

“Look, I don’t like it either,” said Ivan “But we don’t have a lot of options right now. Me and Fang were lucky not to get attacked ourselves. Blackbeard’s made it so we don’t have anyone else to turn to for help.”

“Fine.” Jim said, crossing their arms. “But don’t fuck this up.”

Chapter Text

‘On a gathering storm comes

A tall handsome man

In a dusty black coat with

A red right hand’

- Red Right Hand, Karliene

The gigantic man-o-war loomed over the harbour, its jolly roger flying proudly in the wind. A truly staggering number of cannons lined its side, far more per square foot than Stede had requested on The Revenge. Even from a distance, he could easily see the deck bustling with its crew. There was a worn figurehead of a woman at the bow, her hands outstretched with a bowl in one and a staff with snakes twisted around it in the other. The latter, Stede knew, was a symbol of peace, ironically.

“Wow.” Stede said.

Although he hadn’t yet met Captain Banks, he couldn’t deny being impressed. Stede couldn’t imagine captaining such a magnificent ship. Stede had marvelled at the engineering of such ships, since he’d been old enough to comprehend what he was seeing. How was it that people could build such huge structures that could house a whole community, and not only could it float, but take such incomprehensibly long journeys? Since commissioning The Revenge, this interest had only intensified.

“Oh God, oh shit!” Oluwande hissed, apparently not sharing his enthusiasm.

Stede returned his attention to his crew, gathered around him.

“Who the Hell is this Captain you’ve got us involved with again?” asked Wee John, evidently worried.

Stede sighed at having to answer this question for the fifth time.

After his confrontation with Ed, Stede and Geraldine had found The Swede wandering a nearby street. They had then trudged back to the inn, the rainwater soaking through their clothes. Ed’s panicked eyes swam before Stede’s vision all the way home, the sound of his rageful cries ringing in his ears, just as loudly as when he’d heard them for the first time.

Ed was in a bad way; Stede now had it confirmed. In fact, he seemed to be doing far worse than Stede would have imagined of him. Stede had felt the desperation with which he’d fought as though it were his own, his heart heavy as he imagined Ed feeling such a way for months on end.

It had taken some persuading, but Stede had persisted until the crew admitted that taking up Mossy’s offer might be their only route back to sea. They’d gathered all their things, and Geraldine, and left before Bob could do a single thing about it.

So, here they stood, staring at the ship that might take them home, yet after months of the crew pleading with him for this exact outcome, Stede found himself the only one who seemed at all happy about this.

“Is something wrong?” Stede asked.

“Don’t you recognise it?” demanded Roach, equally as aghast as Oluwande.

“That’s Blackbeard’s ship, isn’t it?” said Wee John.

“Yeah!” said Oluwande.

Stede took another look at the ship. His memories of the Queen Anne’s Revenge were hazy. He’d only seen it briefly, sailing alongside the Revenge, but all of his attention had been consumed by Ed. Now that it had been pointed out, he did see a resemblance.

Stede had done his reading before coming to sea and knew that Ed had renamed the ship The Queen Anne’s Revenge, from its original name the Concord when he had won it off of the French Navy. It would make sense that it be guarded by a figurehead of what Stede suspected was the Roman goddess Concordia.

“It was Blackbeard’s ship.” Mossy corrected, materialising beside Stede.

“Jesus!” Stede said, the rest of the crew making exclamations of alarm beside him. “You could have said ‘Hello’ first.”

Mossy made no response to her less than warm welcome.

She looked much neater than she had hours ago, clothes dry, hair neater and hidden under a tricorn hat, her skirt returned to its proper place, concealing her breaches.

“If the man’s fool enough to leave it docked with only a skeleton crew for three whole months, he’s just asking to get it pinched.” she continued.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Wee John.

Stede opened his mouth to reprimand Wee John for his manners towards the person who had fought on his behalf, however misguided she'd been, but was interrupted.

“She’s Mossy.” came Drissa’s voice from behind them and the dark-skinned young man appeared. “She saved your Captain from Blackbeard. And I’m Drissa, I helped!”

“You really stole Blackbeard’s ship?” Stede asked, incredulously.

“Yes.” Mossy said, as though this fact was of little consequence.

“That takes balls.” said Wee John.

“Not really.” said Drissa. “We’ve got a lot of people who don’t have those on the crew.”

“That’s the Queen Anne?” said Pete, still gazing at the ship. “It looks different.”

“Having spikes on every rail isn’t really our Captain’s aesthetic.” Mossy said dryly.

“Also,” Drissa chimed in, “they poke you up the arse when you swing onto deck on a rope and land wrong. It’s impractical.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” asked Pete.

“No.” Drissa denied unconvincingly.

“Not to mention the skulls.” Mossy said.

“There were so many!” Drissa said, shaking his head. “They were a bit tacky, in my opinion.”

“I thought something was missing.” Stede said, squinting at the ship against the sun.

“You’re late, by the way.” Mossy said to Stede.

“We came as quickly as we could.”

“The captain wanted to change his outfit.” Pete said.

“It was just the shirt!” Stede protested.

“Captain Banks values punctuality.” she responded coolly, before her eyes latched onto Geraldine, ducking out from behind Buttons. “What is that?”

“That’s Geraldine.” said Stede. “You’ve met before.”

“Yeah, she saved your life.” Drissa said, grinning and nudging Mossy, who didn’t seem amused.

“That was a rhetorical question.” Mossy said. “You can’t bring her onboard.”

“Why not?” asked Stede.

“It’s a kidnapping,” said Pete, looking far too gleeful.

“It’s for her own good.” said Oluwande.

“Her previous owner was a shithead.” Wee John agreed.

“And she did nae want to stay behind.” Buttons said.

“She’s quite headstrong.” Stede said.

“And strong in other parts of her body.” The Swede agreed.

“Oh, you two have something in common then.” Drissa teased Mossy.

She glared back in a way that would have had Stede quaking in his boots, but it only seemed to delight Drissa.

“Come on, Mossy,” said Drissa, “having a goat might not be bad. Jean might find the milk useful.”

Mossy hummed doubtfully.

“We’ll see what the captain has to say.” she said. “You should come aboard and meet him.”

It was a little surreal, finally standing on the vessel where Blackbeard had fought to make his name. Yet, Ed’s presence had been mostly erased, as though it had never been there. The deck was abuzz with people chattering as they worked, meeting Mossy with a merriness Stede had never seen Blackbeard’s crew exhibit. Although, Stede noted, it didn’t seem that they’d been entirely replaced. He saw more than one hardy, leather-clad man among the rest of the sailors, who were dressed less conspicuously as pirates. In addition, as Drissa had said, there were several women on board, some in practical sailing clothes, others in dresses or clothing that seemed to be influenced by whichever culture they’d come from.

“Ooh hello, do we have guests?” said a brown-skinned young woman approaching them, a long plait trailing out of a bright green length of fabric sat loosely over her head. “Ooh and a goat, how nice.” she said, smiling down at Geraldine.

“Something like that.” Drissa replied. “We’ve got some more crew.”

“Oh, hello! I’m Isha, I’m the navigator.” she said, waving.

“Nice to meet you.” Stede replied. “I’m Captain Thomas.”

The rest of the crew murmured greetings uncertainly.

“Why do we have a goat?” a dark-skinned young man in breeches and a shirt asked, hopping down from the rigging. “Is she house-trained?”

“Definitely not.” Roach replied.

“Are the rest of them house trained?” Isha joked, not unkindly.

“Hey!” said Pete.

“I certainly hope so, Isha.” Mossy replied, a smile gracing her face for the first time since Stede had met her.

“The sea is my home.” said Buttons, seriously. “No house can compare.”

“Some of us are house trained.” Wee John conceded.

“Is my gunpowder being delivered soon?” a pale, grey-haired man with an Irish accent interrupted, addressing Mossy.

“Yes, within the hour.” Mossy replied.

“Did you find a surgeon?” asked a man with a wood saw in his hand. “I checked in on the guest earlier and he’s not smelling good.”

“Yes, I found a surgeon, Bram.” Mossy replied.

“Marion, you’re late!” a man’s voice called across the deck and the chatter around them quietened a little, people backing off.

“Told you.” Mossy muttered to Stede, the man apparently addressing her.

Stede looked up, to find the perfect pirate gentleman striding towards them. He was notably tall, likely in his early fifties, with slightly suntanned light skin. He was beautifully yet practically dressed, in a midnight blue coat and britches, with a perfectly matching length of midnight blue satin ribbon tying back dark, greying hair. Even if the cut of his clothes wasn’t the most fashionable within the upper classes, Stede could see the materials would have been expensive, the colour of his jacket shifting as he moved with flares of a more vibrant blue. Stede was painfully aware of how underdressed he was by comparison, how he wasn’t sure he'd ever been able to carry his clothes like that.

Captain Banks regarded them all with curiosity, hands clasping behind his back, standing tall and highlighting his angular fame. Stede felt himself twitch as the grey eyes met his for a moment, flitting over him like he was reading a letter, before darting on to the rest of his crew.

“This looks like more than a surgeon, Marion.” he chided Mossy, gently.

Matching Mossy, he had an English accent with excellent diction, that Stede would have identified it as upper class, but for some sort of regional accent underneath.

“That’s right,” Mossy replied, unfazed. “I’ve got you more crew, more supplies, and I can tell you that you’ve been on a fool’s errand. Blackbeard’s current ship was docked to the East. They were already setting sail by the time I found it.”

Far from reprimanding a member of his crew for criticising him, the man clicked his tongue in an annoyance that didn’t seem directed at Mossy.

“Thank you, Marion.” he said. “Unfortunately, we discovered the man planning to meet me was not the true Blackbeard.”

“Someone showed up then?” Mossy said in surprise.

Banks grimaced.

“Yes, perhaps we might discuss it later, after you’ve explained how we came to have an extra six men and a goat aboard my ship?”

Internally, Stede bristled at the man referring to Edward’s ship as his. Although, Stede knew he had been foolish to forget for a moment that this man presumably wanted to take down Blackbeard.

“The goat defeated Blackbeard!” said Drissa, excitedly. “After Mossy duelled him.”

“What?” Banks' voice boomed, turning to her.

“Wow!” Isha said in awe. “I wish I’d been around to see that.”

“We were in the area,” Mossy began, “and saw Blackbeard about to kill Captain Thomas here, and since we’re looking for Blackbeard anyway, I took a calculated risk.”

“Are you hurt?” Banks was at Mossy’s side in a second, a hand on her shoulder, examining her, with unexpected concern.

She shrugged the man off.

“I’m fine.” she insisted.

“Marion!” he reprimanded. “What did I tell you right before you left?”

“You told me not to do anything you wouldn’t do.” Mossy replied, promptly. “And defending the weak seems exactly like something you would do.”

“The weak?” Stede repeated, affronted.

“Well,” Drissa said to him apologetically, “you were wandering around the Republic of Pirates barely armed and tried to reason with a guy with a blade at your throat who implied he wanted to end you.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Mossy told Banks. “Duelling Blackbeard wasn’t as hard as I thought. He’s much sloppier at swordplay than I imagined.”

“To be fair, he did look pretty rough.” Drissa chipped in again. “Sick even.”

“Marion,” Banks said weakly, fingers pressing against his forehead for a moment. “Marion, you can’t just go around challenging Blackbeard to duels.”

“Look, he was going to kill Captain Thomas here. I didn’t have much time to consider other options, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”

Banks shook his head in disbelief, opening his mouth, likely to berate her, so Stede made the decision to interrupt before they became too sidetracked.

“Allow me to introduce myself.” Stede said. “I’m Captain Nicholas Thomas and this is my crew.”

There was a brief chorus of introductions from the crew.

Banks pressed his lips together, exhaling, likely displeased to be interrupted.

“Of which ship, may I ask?”

“We don’t have one.” Pete said.

“Not at present.” Stede corrected him, tensing in embarrassment.

“Blackbeard stole it.” said Roach.

“My ship, The Revenge, was… taken from me.” Stede admitted.

“So he’s also after Blackbeard, Captain.” Mossy interjected. “They want to help.”

“Why do you call him Captain?” Drissa whispered to Mossy, none too quietly. “He’s your-”

“I’m trying to be professional, now shush.” she returned.

Banks ignored them.

“Blackbeard took your ship?” Banks confirmed, and Stede was the subject of his intrigued gaze.

Stede swallowed down the excess saliva that his mouth suddenly was filled with.

“Um, yes.” Stede said.

“Nicked half our crew too.” Wee John said.

“And marooned us.” Roach added.

“Fortunately, I was able to find the marooned crew,” Stede gestured towards them, “but we are in need of passage to get back to the remainder of our crew and recover our ship.”

“I see. How did you become involved with Blackbeard in the first place?” Banks asked briskly.

“He saved us from a Spanish warship.” Oluwande replied.

“Wanted to execute us.” Wee John said. “And loot the ship.”

“Fortunately,” Stede said, “we were able to strike up an amicable and equitable relationship, where we helped each other out for a fashion, but after we were attacked by the English Navy we… were separated.”

“That’s when he took our ship and tore apart our crew.” Buttons concluded.

“He betrayed you?” Banks asked Stede.

“I-” Stede hesitated.

It would have felt like an additional betrayal to call what Ed had done a betrayal, when Stede was the one who’d arguably betrayed him, so Stede wondered if there was a more appropriate way of phrasing things.

“Yes.” Roach interrupted. “He betrayed us.”

“There’s no shame in that.” Banks said to Stede, misinterpreting Stede’s unwillingness as embarrassment. “Blackbeard is a smart tactician, you’re not the first pirate he’s outwitted, and you certainly won’t be the last. We have some history, and I know he often has passing fancies of working with other pirates, but once he’s got what he wants from the arrangement, he always leaves. I presume you want revenge on Blackbeard?” there was a hint of suspicion in Banks’ voice.

Stede hesitated.

“Yeah!” said Roach, “We do!”

Stede stared at him in shock. Explaining they'd been wronged by Blackbeard to garner sympathy was one thing, declaring themselves as enemies was quite another when they weren't fully sure of Banks’ allegiances.

“Do we?” said The Swede.

“I mean,” said Oluwande. “I want to get our crew back as much as the rest of you, but revenge sounds… risky.”

“We must restore the natural order of things.” Buttons said. “I enjoy a bit of revenge meself.”

“Well,” Stede said hesitantly. “Blackbeard… Blackbeard took half of my crew and my ship, and we do want them back. And I want to speak to him, I need answers about what exactly happened, as long as I have those things, I’ll be content.”

“Yeah,” Oluwande agreed. “That sounds good.”

Banks’ face transformed into a sympathetic smile that Stede thought suited him very well.

“I understand.” he said. “In that case, I think we might be able to come to an arrangement.”

“If we’re going to work with you, can we know how you know Blackbeard, sir?” Oluwande asked, nervously.

Captain Banks considered the man for a moment before speaking.

“Blackbeard and I sailed together awhile, maybe 30 years ago and drifted apart.” Banks replied.

“So why'd you want to stop him now so much?” asked Wee John.

Banks’ brow creased, looking pensive and troubled.

“Lately, I’ve heard he’s been on the rampage, raiding and killing without rhyme or reason, including raiding other pirates.” his voice was low, with obvious disgust. “That kind of behaviour is truly no better than the Navy, who rob the poor and innocent under the cover of law and chicanery, where pirates are meant to plunder the rich under the protection of our own courage. Something must be done about it.” he stressed.

“Oh,” said The Swede, mouth wide open.

“Also,” Isha piped up again. “he might have really harmed someone the Captain really likes.”

“Isha .” Banks scolded.

“Well,” she said, apologetically. “Mrs Traore said the crew had a right to know, so if they might join the crew, they should know too.”

“You’re after revenge, then?” Oluwande asked.

“No,” Banks replied. “I wouldn’t say I’m after revenge, but I am committed to finding him and stopping his current reign of terror. Then, my crew will decide how best justice will be served for his crimes, and what to do with any loot he’s gathered.”

“That seems very fair and democratic.” Stede said cautiously.

“I do try to be both of those things.” Banks smiled politely. “If you’re amenable, perhaps we can work together. I have a small crew of excellent sailors, but I need more people to do chores, and look after this ship and I desperately need a good surgeon. If you can provide those things, in exchange for what you’ve requested, and your split of our loot, we might have a deal.”

“How much is our split of your loot?” Pete asked.

“The same per person as the rest of the crew.”

“Can Geraldine come?” asked The Swede, pointing to the goat.

“We can probably find space for her, if she's willing to donate a little milk.”

“How do you feel about seagulls?” asked Buttons.

Banks blinked, a little bemused.

“As long as they’re not attacking anyone for food, I’m not adverse to them.”

“Olivia might like to join us; she’ll just need a perch.”

“Olivia is a seagull, I take it?”

Buttons nodded.

“As long as she doesn’t bother anyone, I’m sure we can find her a perch.” Banks smiled indulgently. “We once had someone keep a parrot, didn’t we Marion?”

“Bloody thing.” Mossy said.

“As long as it stays out of the galley and doesn’t distract anyone, I’m open to it.” said Banks.

“Oliva mostly likes to keep to herself and fly alongside.” Buttons told her.

“Very well.” Banks replied. 

Banks turned to the crew members who'd been listening in.

“What say you all, would you welcome some help?”

“Yes.” the Irish man said. “I need someone to help clean all of these bloody cannons. They're a disgrace.”

“Jean would probably like some help.” Isha said. “Onion duty is not my job.”

“Would be good if I could get an apprentice for repairs.” said Bram. “They've been neglecting them. And some furniture needs doing up for resale.”

“Does anyone sew?” asked the young man from the rigging. “We've got loads of spare sails need fixing.”

“I don't see why we shouldn't be able to help with those things.” Stede said.

“Wonderful!” Banks said. “Captain, do we have a deal?” Banks stuck out a hand for Stede to shake.

Stede looked behind him, finding the crew nodding. 

“I’d say we're more than happy to uphold our part of the bargain.” said Stede.

Stede shook Banks’ hand, finding his grip firm, his palm a touch rough.

“Since that’s settled, Captain,” Banks said, “Might you and your surgeon accompany me, as a member of my crew needs urgent medical care? I’m sure Mossy can find my boatswain who can show the rest of you the ropes?”

“Now?” Stede said, surprised.

“Yes. I don’t want to waste another minute.”

“Oh, of course.”

“This way.” Banks said. “Back to work everybody!”

Stede abandoned his bags and stumbled after him, Roach in tow, as Banks swiftly led them below decks.

“He arrived last night.” Banks said, before Stede could so much as catch his breath. “He was already in quite a bad way, with a fever on top of his injuries. I gave him some laudanum for the pain.”

“What are the injuries?” asked Roach.

“He’s lost three toes and got a gunshot wound.” Banks said.

“Poor bugger.” said Stede, wincing.

“Indeed.” Banks said.

“Are the wounds clean?” Roach asked.

“We’ve tried.” Banks said. “With limited success. I worry they’re already infected.”

“What did you use to clean them?” asked Roach, as Banks led them deeper into the ship.

“Rum?”

“Alcohol should help,” Roach said, “but you’ll want some honey, to make the blood clot and heal faster.” Roach said.

“We have some of that. I didn’t like to meddle too much.” Banks said. “Medicine is not my area of expertise.”

“I’m sure Roach is more than capable of helping.” Stede said.

“We’ll see.” said Roach, as they were led into a cabin.

As soon as the door opened, Stede knew Bram had been correct; the guest was not smelling good.

The small cabin had two cots, was dimly lit, and it took a moment for Stede’s eyes to adjust so he could properly see the unconscious figure lying in there.

Stede gasped, immediately regretting it, as he breathed in far too much air.

“Izzy?” Stede said, taking in his figure.

Izzy Hands was paler than Stede had ever seen him, stripped to the waist, visibly sweating, under a light sheet. Izzy had always seemed to be tense, ready to fight at the slightest provocation, but there he lay, hand drooping over the edge of the cot, eerily still.

“You know him?” Banks asked. “I suppose you would, if you’ve worked with Blackbeard.”

Stede glanced between Banks and Izzy, wondering when exactly he’d become involved with a man like Banks’. Izzy had been uncomfortably devoted to Blackbeard, so Stede couldn’t imagine what had caused him to leave his side. What exactly had happened while he was away?

“Yes, we’re acquainted.” Stede said, hesitantly.

Roach sniffed in derision.

“What do you mean? He’s the one who actually marooned us all! I’d slit his throat.”

“No! Absolutely not.” Banks moved in front of Izzy, one hand held up, other on the handle of his sword, glaring at Roach, with unexpected steeliness. “You tend to his injuries, and I let you stay on this boat. That’s my only demand, or I drop you at the nearest port, is that clear? If you cause him harm, there will be consequences.”

Despite the threat in Banks’ voice, Roach still looked none too happy.

“We need him alive, Roach.” Stede said. “Or how are we going to find Blackbeard, or know what happened to the crew?”

“Fine,” said Roach. “I’ll tend to him, but once I’ve done what I have to, he’s someone else’s problem.”

“That’s acceptable,” said Banks, “I just need initial treatment and instruction on what exactly to do about his injuries. I can provide you with whatever resources and help you need. Just make sure you do that.”

Banks carefully lifted the sheet covering Izzy’s lower half, making Stede gasp and hurriedly flinch away.

“Jesus!” Stede said reflexively.

Roach stepped forward taking a closer look.

“Yeah, that leg’s going to have to go.” Roach said, sounding far too pleased about this fact.

“Are you sure?” Banks said, anxiously. “You can’t do anything?”

“Not if you’ve got your heart set on him surviving.”

“Very well.” Banks nodded, shoulders straightening as if trying to steel himself. “Alright. What do you need?”

“A cleaver, some strong alcohol, honey, plenty of gauze and bandages or something like that. Also, something to put in his mouth like a thick cloth or leather, if you don’t want him to bite his own tongue off.”

“Alright,” Banks began rummaging through a medical bag, and handing him those items that apparently had been gathered in anticipation.

“And I’m going to need someone to hold him down, in case he tries to fight us.” Roach added.

“Come on, Thomas.” said Banks, gesturing to Stede abruptly, suddenly taking off his own belt to Stede’s alarm.

Banks walked over to Izzy, easing his jaw open with care and placing it between his teeth and closing it again.

“Who? Me?” Stede said in horror, as what was about to happen fully sunk in.

“If you’re not able to do what it takes…” Banks said, leaving the sentence hanging ominously.

Stede didn't know if that meant he'd be run through with the sword Bank had seemed so keen to draw earlier, or if they'd simply be thrown off the ship, but with Banks looking at him the way he was, either seemed like a distinct possibility. Stede looked to Roach beseechingly.

“For fuck’s sake.” muttered Roach.

Stede swallowed down his nerves. If this was what it took to get back to Ed, he reminded himself, he would do it.

“What do I do?” Stede asked.

Banks laid the bag aside.

“Come here.” said Banks more gently, beckoning Stede closer. “Can I show you?”

Stede nodded jerkily.

Banks took Stede’s wrist in his own faintly trembling hand, gently tugging him and arranging him so that Izzy’s hands were above his head, placing Stede’s hands over his wrists. Izzy’s wrists were cooler and bonier than expected, completely unresisting in his grasp. Stede realised he’d never seen Izzy without his glove on, or the old blistered scarring on his hand.

“Now hold down tight,” Banks said, “he might try to fight you.”

“Shouldn’t he be unconscious?” Stede said, looking down at Izzy’s lolling mouth and closed eyes, feeling his unresisting wrists in his already sweaty hands.

It was so strange to be touching the other man at all, knowing Izzy would surely punch him for doing this if he were conscious. All of it felt wrong.

Stede had witnessed violence and death during the chaos of a raid, but this felt different. He’d never intentionally inflicted a measured act of violence to save a man’s life before.

“He should be unconscious,” Roach said, “but there’s no guarantee to that. Some people are more resistant to laudanum than others.”

“Right.” Stede said uncertainly.

“Do you want to swap?” Banks asked, from where he was holding Izzy’s good leg.

“No.” Stede said hastily, not having any desire to watch what was about to happen up so close - or get covered in blood. “I’m fine.”

“Right.” said Roach. “Let’s go.”

Stede pressed down more firmly, hearing Banks’ breathing slow measured breaths from where he stood so close, and attempted to mimic him, while minimising inhaling the sour stench of decay as much as possible. His shoulders tensed at the ring of Roach sharpening the cleaver one more time.

The second after it happened, Stede felt Izzy wake up, his wrists jumping in his hands. Izzy screamed through the leather, eyes squeezed shut and it was all Stede could do to force himself to focus on continuing to hold the man down.

“Got it.” Roach said after far too long.

Stede made the mistake of glancing back behind him. Luckily he didn't get the chance to see anything. Unluckily, before he had a chance to think, Izzy’s neck stretched as he spat out the leather, lurching forward and sinking his teeth into Stede’s forearm, hard, moans of agony vibrating through his flesh.

“Ow!” Stede yelped, his hands locked in place somehow, despite the burning pain.

Izzy’s eyes were open, meeting Stede’s, before flickering to Banks’ worried face looming over him. Izzy released him.

“Oh fuck, I’m in Hell.” he muttered through bloodstained teeth before promptly passing out.

Chapter Text

‘When you think your wounds are greater

Victim can be perpetrator
Does the name of justice justify?’

-   Here Come the Wolves, Lola Blanc

It was several hours since they’d left Nassau before Fang gathered the courage to follow the freshest trail of blood drops back to the captain’s cabin.

Outside the door, he hesitated, adjusting his grip on the First Aid kit and cleaning supplies, glancing at Jim over his shoulder.

“I can manage on my own.” Fang whispered to them, as they both approached the door.

“We agreed.” they stated, stony-faced. “Nobody visits him alone unless they absolutely have to.”

Fang sighed, hoping Jim’s presence wouldn’t upset Blackbeard.

Jim had been allowed more freedom of late, out of necessity, to help keep the ship afloat. Despite this, Fang knew Blackbeard didn’t really trust them and with good reason; Fang still wasn’t entirely convinced that Jim wouldn’t find a way to sneak out of their locked cabin at night (locked on Blackbeard’s orders) and kill Blackbeard.

Jim was stubborn, though, and these days Fang didn’t have the energy to argue with them.

“Alright, but don’t provoke him.” Fang said.

Jim rolled their eyes, but didn’t argue.

Entering the cabin, they found it a little brighter than it had been recently, as the torn curtains at the bedside window were drawn back. Blackbeard was curled up among crumpled, bloodstained sheets, spyglass held to his eye as he gazed out of the window. His wounded arm was laid loosely on the bedsheets, untouched since the last time Fang had seen it. The room smelled a little stale from rum, lack of airing, and Blackbeard’s recent lack of hygiene.

Fang took a deep and careful breath, his nerves hardly helped by the sensation of Jim’s breath on the back of his neck.

“Captain?” Fang said hesitantly.

Blackbeard startled at the noise, head snapping round, the state of his face making it even more evident he hadn’t made any effort to tidy himself up since he’d arrived back on the ship.

“What?” he asked, blunt, but mercifully, not annoyed.

“I wondered if you needed your wounds bandaged?”

Blackbeard blinked at him, head tilted in bemusement, before looking down at himself and seeming to become aware of his body again. Blackbeard examined is arm for a few seconds, before humming in acquiescence, offering his arm, the other one lifting the spyglass once more.

Fang glanced back to Jim doubtfully, but they only silently shoed him in Blackbeard’s direction.

Fang virtually never came into physical contact with Blackbeard, not even receiving those rare pats on the back anymore. Nevertheless, he edged towards the bed, perching at Blackbeard’s side. As he took the arm in his hands, it was unsettling how docile Blackbeard was, a state that rarely lasted long. He barely twitched throughout the cleaning or stitching of the wound, only stirring when the bandages were tied.

“Fang, see that ship?” Blackbeard said suddenly, pointing out of the window as Fang tied off the last bandage. “I want to raid it.”

Fang gaped at him.

“I thought we weren’t doing that anymore?” said Jim sharply, startling Fang.

“Well, I want to, now.” said Blackbeard, jutting out his lower lip childishly. “I can change my mind, can’t I?”

“Why?” Jim asked.

“I thought we were good for supplies.” Fang said slowly, hoping if he distracted Blackbeard by more practical issues, he’d ignore the venom in Jim’s voice.

“You can never have too many supplies.”

“Yes, you can - we’ll end up sinking.” Jim responded immediately. “And you’ve got a fresh injury. How can you expect to fight?”

Fang knew that argument wouldn’t go down well. Blackbeard had always possessed a worryingly high level of pain tolerance, to the point of it being a source of pride. Fang supposed that was useful in some ways in their line of work, improving Blackbeard’s endurance when fighting, and it certainly made Fang’s task of treating the wounds easier. However, people with such a pain tolerance often ignored injuries to the point that they were in danger of getting reopened, or even infected, like Izzy had been wont to do.

“Do you doubt my ability to fight?” Blackbeard uncurled from the blankets.

“In this state, yeah.” Jim said.

Blackbeard slipped out of Fang’s hold, standing and edging towards Jim without hesitation, despite being unarmed.

“Do you want to fight me?” he challenged.

“Sorry for giving a fuck about your health,” they said, raising their hand in surrender, “Don’t worry, I’ll never do that again!”

“Of course you’re a great fighter,” said Fang, recoiling as Blackbeard turned to him. “And we’re all really great pirates, like amazing,” he said awkwardly, “but this seems… ambitious under the circumstances. Is it really so important that-”

“Do you think you can do my job better than me?” Blackbeard demanded. “You think you’re cleverer?”

Fang wondered if Blackbeard was trying to get a rise out of him, but Fang never took slights to against his intelligence personally. He was used to those from Izzy, and knew it was just insecurity talking. He decided to take Ivan’s advice of pacifying Blackbeard instead.

“What I mean is,” Fang began carefully, “what does it have on board that you’d like us to take?”

Blackbeard’s posture relaxed a little, passing Fang his spyglass.

“Take a look.” Blackbeard said. “It’s a pleasure vessel. Small. Carries around 30 people at most, maybe. Doesn’t look too well armed. Shouldn’t be hard.”

“We have 6 sailors.” said Jim, dryly.

“One to every 5 people then.” Blackbeard remained brusque. “It’ll be fine.”

Fang quickly found the ship out of the window; it was a small pleasure vessel, draped with lilac fabric anywhere it might be pinned, any gaps overflowing with white flowers. The deck was bustling with people swathed in an array of shades of impractical pastel-coloured fabrics, adorned with feathers and flowers, yet this was clearly not the average party. The guests were seated in rows, a gangway down the middle, a man dressed as a priest at one end and what looked like a tall, tiered cake at the other. Fang had obviously never attended an event quite like this one, but from word of mouth, even he could tell what the deck was set up for.

“Captain…” Fang began, standing up. “Captain…”

“What?” Blackbeard challenged him.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Come on guys, I’m Blackbeard! I can do anything.”

“Right.” said Jim. “Is there something about this ship that’s special?”

“It’s a wedding ship.” Fang said, voice weak. “He wants us to raid a wedding ship.”

The cabin was silent for a moment, Blackbeard glaring at him as though stating this fact was some kind of betrayal, Jim staring at Fang silently in disbelief.

“You got a problem?” Blackbeard asked, moving to stand toe to toe with him, but Fang forced himself to stand firm.

“No,” Fang said slowly. “I’m just… not sure if it’s a good use of our resources.”

“’ A good use of our resources .’” Blackbeard mocked. “For fuck’s sake! I only just got rid of Izzy, thought I might at least free myself of getting nagged to death.”

Fang flinched, eyes falling to the floorboards, hearing Jim give the softest gasp.

The spectre of the words was a malevolent presence in the cabin between them, that even Blackbeard wasn’t unaffected by, stepping back.

“I-” Blackbeard faltered, from somewhere within him unearthing the grace to look guilty.

“No, don’t say anything.” Fang interrupted, unable to bear hearing Blackbeard offer empty words of regret, not for what he’d said, nor for anything he’d done to Izzy.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Blackbeard said, the words coming out like a weak plea as he fiddled with the edge of his bandages.

“Doesn’t raiding a wedding ship seem in poor taste, a bit?” Jim asked, voice rough.

This seemed to distract Blackbeard.

“It against your religion or something?” Blackbeard scoffed.

“ Yes , actually.” Jim replied. “It seems like it would be.”

Blackbeard’s face scrunched up in derision.

“Fine,” he spat, “If ‘ your God’ doesn’t like it, we’ll do it without you.”

“With 5 sailors?” Jim snarked.

“I don’t see how we can do that.” said Fang.

Jim was unquestionably their best fighter and trying to raid a vessel without them seemed like the height of foolishness.

“What do you mean you don’t see how we can do that?” Blackbeard repeated. “I decide what we do.”

“I’m not trying to defy you,” Fang said, “and this isn’t nagging. I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious.” said Blackbeard, more impassioned. “We’re pirates, this is what we do. They’re a party of rich people, flaunting their wealth and their happiness and their- their romance in front of everyone.”

“In front of who?” asked Jim. “They’re in the middle of the ocean. Weird place for a wedding if you ask me.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Blackbeard demanded. “It’s our job to break up that kind of thing.”

“But not a wedding .” said Jim.

“Are you serious?”

“What would Captain Bonnet’s ghost say?” said Jim, mocking him in return.

“No!” Blackbeard yelled, this only seeming to incense him further. “They won’t let us have fine things, they steal those things from us, so we have to take them back.”

“Take them back, not destroy them.” Jim argued.

“What’s it matter? They leave us to be destroyed all the time, if they don’t do it themselves. They just- just see us as nothing, just playthings.”

“What we do,” Jim persisted, “is steal from the rich in order to survive and do what we need to protect ourselves from them. That’s it. This isn’t that. It’s not even justice, or revenge, this, ” they waved their finger in a circle to indicate Blackbeard, “this is just jealously. They’re happy and in love and you’re pissed.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.” Jim said. “I get it; Bonnet was rich, they’re rich. You loved him and he abandoned you and died, so you think attacking them will make you feel better. It won’t. I’m not risking my life for another one of your tantrums.”

Fang couldn’t prevent the pained hiss that escaped from his teeth as he watched Blackbeard take a startled step back. For a second he was still, a blotchy flush working its way to the surface, before making a clumsy lunge for Jim.

Fang stepped between them, grabbing Blackbeard’s reaching wrists.

“I’ll show you a tantrum.” Blackbeard yelled, breathing hard as he struggled in Fang’s grip, but Blackbeard, smaller and running only on rum, rhino horn and the force of his own fury, was too weak to break free.

Fang heard the shriek of steel behind him, knowing that Jim had drawn a knife to protect themself. He was sure that if it came to blows right now, Blackbeard wouldn’t be winning.

“Stop it.” said Fang as calmly as he could.

“This is so fucking embarrassing.” Jim said behind him.

Blackbeard only struggled harder, making an indescribable cry of pure rage.

“Quiet.” Fang said, more for Jim’s benefit. “We’re not doing this again.” Fang said, forcing himself to meet Blackbeard’s gaze. “We’ve already lost Izzy.”

Blackbeard went limp in his grip, the fury in his eyes giving way to pain, but Fang didn’t let go.

“We can raid this ship,” Fang said,

“What?” Jim said,

“We can raid this ship,” Fang repeated, ignoring them, eyes only on Edward, “if it means so much to you, but this is the last time.”

Chapter Text

‘And every girl I ever talked to told me you were bad, bad news

You called them crazy, God, I hate the way I called them crazy too’

-   Vampire, Olivia Rodrigo

Stede finally felt human for the first time in months. After the amputation and subsequent cleaning up, Banks had brought him a bowl of water to freshen up and a clean change of clothes from a ship the Queen Anne had previously raided.

Stede had been left alone with an unconscious Izzy to change. As much as he was grateful for a moment of quiet to care for himself and his frayed nerves, he felt vulnerable in front of Izzy. He’d had half an eye on the man’s slumbering form, not that it looked like he’d be paying any attention to Stede’s state of undress any time soon. Stede could see flickers in his mind of the rapidly growing pool of blood Izzy had been lying in that had covered Banks’ and Roach’s bare hands. He remembered stepping away, arm stinging, feeling as though his soul was contracting, being dragged backwards into the claws of a paralysing panic, watching the events from down a tunnel.

Stede shook himself. Izzy wasn’t lying in a pool of blood any longer, cleaned up, heavily bandaged, a fresh sheet over him, but he certainly didn’t look too well, having only got paler.

Stede looked away again, feeling that he was trespassing, focussing back on tucking in his shirt. The clothes were a little loose on him, but they were considerably less coarse and better quality than he’d come into contact with in recent months. Stede admired the ruffled collar and cuffs on the otherwise plain shirt. Coming back to sea, he’d wanted to dress the part. It was a symbolic gesture; giving up everything for love, and showing up as the rugged pirate Ed surely deserved, but he had to admit, this was a relief for the time being.

“Are you decent?” Banks’ voice rang out from behind the closed door, making Stede jump.

“Yes?” Stede called back, hands quickly darting over his hair, hoping it wasn’t too out of place.

“Hello,” Banks’ entered the room, smiling politely.

Since Roach had seen to Izzy, Banks had returned to a much more amiable attitude. The man was also now in similar clean and casual clothes, in his blindingly white shirtsleeves. Banks' hair was beginning to come loose from its bow, a few dark curls now falling onto his brow, which he carelessly pushed away as he approached Stede.

 “I brought some extra bandages and alcohol,” Banks said, holding the package and bottle, lifting them slightly, “for your arm?”

“Oh, thank you.” Stede replied, opening his hands for the items and closing them uncertainly.

“Would you like a hand with it?” Banks asked.

“Are you qualified for that?” Stede asked doubtfully.

“Hey!” Banks chided, gently, corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “I can do simple wounds, but amputations are a bit beyond me. And I’m told I’m quite neat at sewing.”

“Alright then,” Stede agreed.

Banks crossed to the empty cot across the cabin from Izzy, patting the space next to him for Stede to sit, Stede obeying quickly. Banks rolled up his sleeves, placing the spare pillow across his lap.

“May I?” asked Banks, reaching for Stede’s hand and he nodded in response.

Banks took his hand in his own, examining the bite marks. Banks' hands had been scrubbed very clean and Stede noticed the other man had several smooth, sturdy gold rings none too showy, but for one. Stede’s eye was caught by a more delicate ring on his little finger that stood out against the rest. The ring was silver, with a shining clear light cold blue stone, so bright Stede would guess it might be genuine aquamarine. Stede wondered what its origin story was, but was sharply distracted by the sting of alcohol gently being dabbed onto the bite wound.

“Alright?” asked Banks, presumably having felt him tense slightly.

“It’s fine.” Stede replied, honestly. “I’ve been bitten before.”

“By an animal?” Banks asked, curiously.

“By a human.” Stede replied, then feeling the need to clarify, “My son went through a phase as a toddler. He’s exceptionally well behaved most of the time, though.”

Stede bit his lip, wondering if mentioning his children was an error in judgement, but thankfully Banks’ smile warmed considerably.

“Ah, I see. Thankfully, my daughter never was prone to biting. She did stab me once though,”

“Oh dear!” said Stede in alarm.

Banks only exhaled with the smallest laugh, as he threaded the needle to stitch Stede’s arm.

“It was an accident and my own fault. It’ll happen when you let a thirteen-year-old loose with a rapier.”

“Oh, I suppose it would.”

“I’m sure you know she’s got much better by now, though.”

Stede blinked, taking a moment to realise what Banks was referring to.

“Oh, is Mossy- Marion your daughter?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s right.” said Banks. “It’s a bit of an open secret. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m favouring her, but thankfully she’s very good at her job.”

“She is.” Stede agreed, remembering her fight against Edward.

Stede hissed through his teeth as the needle entered his skin.

“Sorry, sorry.” Banks muttered soothingly. “I’ll try and be quick. This bite is deeper than I thought. Looks like Izzy has a bite to match his bark after all. Thank you for your help with him, by the way.”

“I don’t min- well.” Stede winced, eyes straying in Izzy’s direction.

“There’s no need to be polite.” Banks said. “I’m sorry to hear Izzy marooned your crew.”

Stede’s eyes found the bottom half of Izzy’s bed where there was a notable absence on one side under the covers and shook his head.

“It’s difficult to hold much of a grudge for Izzy under the circumstances, even if I’m sure he will be back to fighting me once he wakes up.” said Stede.

“That’s when we’ll know he’s back to himself.” Banks said, in a poor attempt at levity. “All the same, I’m aware that asking you to do this yourself wasn’t part of our deal, but I am grateful, nonetheless.”

“You’re welcome.” said Stede, relaxing as the wound was fully closed and his arm returned to him. “Can I ask, Captain Banks-”

“Come now,” the other man interrupted, “we’ve amputated a man’s leg together, and you’re my fellow captain, I think that’s enough for you to call me Sam, if you’d like?”

“Very well, in that case, you might call me Nicholas.” Stede suggested, smiling shyly.

“I’d be honoured.” Sam said, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Sorry, what were you going to ask?”

Stede considered the other man for a second.

“If it’s not too personal, I can’t help but be curious; why is it so important to you that Izzy Hands lives?”

Sam’s smile slipped away, Stede struggling to hold himself still as the other man studied his face again. Then, seeming to come to a decision, Sam rose abruptly from his seat.

“Let me show you something.” he said, walking to the chair next to Izzy’s bed.

Stede followed him as Sam began rooting through Izzy’s clothes and weapons that were collected there, drawing out Izzy’s rapier.

Stede took an instinctive step back, for a moment worried the man was considering stabbing him with it, but instead he approached closer, offering it for Stede to hold.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

“Um, a rapier?” Stede replied.

“Yes.” Sam said. “Naval issue, for officers. They haven’t issued ones like this since 1680.”

“Oh?”

“This one’s special. It’s got this nick in the handle, see? I remember it from the day I won it off a so-called superior officer in the Navy who’d been giving Izzy trouble.”

“And he kept it?” Stede said, feeling the weight of the rapier in his hands, wondering how many people had died at the end of it.

“Apparently.”

 “You’ve known him since before 1680?” Stede said. “That’s a long time. You must have been young.”

“Mere children.” Sam confirmed. “We were in the Navy together and later we were pirates together.”

Stede glanced towards Izzy and back to the man in front of him. He attempted to turn back the years in his mind, to a time before Izzy had had those tattoos, his scars, or perhaps his beard or even his horrible attitude.

“Forgive me, but I can barely imagine Izzy as a child.”

“He’s always been rather… intense.” Sam smiled wistfully. “We always looked out for each other, before he chose to follow Blackbeard. I swore my loyalty to him a long time ago, whether he wanted it or not, and thus I cannot allow him to die on my watch.” Sam said, taking back the rapier and returning it to its holder. “In addition, I want to hear from him what exactly Blackbeard has been doing.”

“He’s the reason you’re going after Blackbeard? Because you were worried about him?”

“One of the reasons.” Sam admitted. “Everything else I told you was also true.”

“I see.” Stede said. “That seems like a good reason.”

Stede didn’t know what to make of this. No matter how foolish, Stede had almost imagined that Izzy had been put on Earth, fully formed, to be the fearsome first mate of Blackbeard. He’d assumed the man was much too emotionally stunted to have any friends or relationships out of devotion to his captain, which seemed ridiculously short-sighted upon reflection.

“But now you know my story,” Sam interrupted his musings, “tell me, how did you meet Izzy?”

“Um, he stole my hostages and cut his name into my shirt.” Stede said, wanting to be specific enough to sound realistic, but remain vague about details.

“He did?” Sam said, a playful smile lighting up his face. “He really still does that?”

“Yes, I convinced him to give one of the hostages back, though.”

“Just the one?” Sam teased.

Stede grimaced.

“The other one was too irritating. None of us missed him, really.”

“Of course, an annoying hostage is the worst.” Sam said, as someone rapped on the door. “Come in.” he called.

The door was opened hesitantly, a head poking around it.

“Um, Captain, I was told that you-” a familiar voice came through the door as a man stepped through.

Stede gasped.

“Lucius!” Stede rushed to his side, grasping Lucius by the elbows, finding himself beaming so hard it hurt.

Stede badly wanted to hug Lucius, but the boy was frozen under his hands, gaping at him, a new sketchbook clutched tightly to his chest.

“Oh… hi.” Lucius said, weakly, taking a halting step back.

The young man was dressed in clothes Stede didn’t recognise, and had developed a large amount of messy stubble. Nonetheless it was definitely Lucius, apparently all in one piece, wooden finger and all.

“You’ve met before, Nicholas?” Sam asked.

“He- I-” Lucius began, looking between Sam and Stede in shock.

“Lucius is part of my crew!”

“I was, yeah.” Lucius said, voice low and gruff.

“I must say it’s a relief to see you are who you say you are.” said Sam to Lucius.

“I’m sorry?” Stede said.

“Mr Spriggs was kind enough to row Izzy to safety.” Sam explained.

“Yeah!” said Lucius, looking at Sam in a way Stede didn’t understand. “I was.”

“But why were you sailing together?” Stede asked, frowning, remembering Izzy’s dislike for the younger man. “I thought you left The Revenge or something?”

“Not exactly.” Lucius said stiltedly, glancing at Sam.

“Well, it’s so good to see you!” Stede said, “We’ve been so worried.”

“Have you?” Lucius said, an undercurrent in his voice that Stede couldn’t place.

“Yes, of course. Pete has been beside himself.”

“Pete’s here?” Lucius said, brightening a little.

“Oh yes.” Stede said. “And Wee John, and Oluwande and The Swede and Roach of course.”

“They survived?” Lucius asked sharply.

“The marooning? Yes. They’re all fine though. I mean mostly. I mean, The Swede won’t be alone in a room with Buttons or Roach now, but apart from that, everything’s fine.”

“Excuse me, what?” Lucius asked. “Why?”

“There was a small, um, contretemps before I reached them.”

Lucius frowned, searching Stede’s face.

“They’re working through it.” Stede reassured him.

“Um,” Sam interrupted. “Should I give you some time to chat? I do have things to do.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” Lucius said.

“Oh, of course.” Stede said to Sam. “Thank you.”

“Thanks again for your help, Nicholas.” Sam said, patting Stede’s shoulder. “Mr Spriggs, come to my cabin, I’d like a word with you, afterwords.”

“Of course, sir.” Lucius said hastily, nodding to the captain in what was halfway between cowering and a bow.

“No need to worry,” Sam was back to his perfunctory smile. “I’d just like to assign you a job, since it seems that you’re here to stay.”

Lucius looked visibly relieved.

“Oh, thank you, sir.”

“See you later.” Sam said.

“He’s really lovely, isn’t he?” Stede said to Lucius, as the man left.

“He’s been… helpful.” Lucius admitted, a little stilted.

“I really am so glad to see you.” Stede stressed, taking in the boy’s unhealthily pale face. “We were stuck working in Nassau for so much longer than I’d hoped. At an inn. It was awful! The innkeeper was a dreadful man, but we managed to get away, thanks to Captain Banks. I’ve really missed the sea and the crew, including you and the Revenge - and Ed of course, but it took us so long to get back on the sea-”

“Are you even going to ask how I am?” Lucius interrupted; voice severe in a way he’d never used with Stede before.

Stede suppressed a cringe, internally berating himself for talking to much about himself, something he’d been accused of more than once.

“Oh, how are you?” Stede asked.

“Fuck you! That’s how I am.”

Stede stared into Lucius' glowering face for a moment, bemused.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked.

“You abandoned us all, that’s what’s got into me.” Lucius replied.

“That’s not exactly…” Stede stopped himself, stomach tightening at the betrayal in Lucius' gaze.

“Then what the fuck happened, Stede?”

“I…” Stede faltered.

As much as he wanted to defend himself and explain what had happened, he’d sworn that he wouldn’t make any excuses, either.

“Exactly.” Lucius said through his teeth.

“I am sorry.” Stede said, earnestly.

“What good is that to me?” Lucius asked immediately, barely seeming to hear what Stede had said.

That wasn’t right at all; Lucius, although occasionally cranky about it, was one of the best listeners Stede knew.

“Lucius… has something happened to you?” Stede asked.

“You could say that.” Lucius said, crossing his arms, and glaring at Stede, silently.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Stede wondered if he was expected to give some kind of response.

“Am I supposed to guess what it is?”

“Blackbeard pushed me off the Revenge.” Lucius said.

“Ed pushed you?” Stede said doubtfully. “Why would he do that?”

“You broke him when you left and then he broke me.” Lucius said, like a particularly nasty teacher explaining to a naughty child. “Everything that’s happened since has been your fault.”

“I-”

“And this,” Lucius pointed at Izzy’s slumbering form, “ this is your fault.”

“I don’t see how.” Stede said, honestly. “Izzy’s not-”

“Shut up. You don’t know what happened. You don’t have a clue, but Fang was telling me all about what Blackbeard was up to.”

“You know something?” Stede said, unable to contain his eagerness and what might be the most reliable source of information about what Ed had been up to recently.

“Um, yeah. Day after days of raids, barely any stops for food or supplies, apparently Blackbeard was killing everyone on sight in some cases, without provocation. And I don’t know what fully happened to Izzy, if it was a raid that caused this or what, but I heard Izzy screaming through the walls and Blackbeard yelling at him not to be a baby. He might have made some big mistakes, but he didn’t deserve whatever the fuck was done to him on your ship.”

Stede frowned. As much as he trusted Lucius not to intentionally lie to him, that didn’t alter Ed’s unwillingness to kill or return to ‘the old days’, or that Lucius had implied that he hadn’t personally witnessed all these events.

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” he asked.

“Mistaken?” Lucius said, halfway to a hysterical laugh.

“Ed’s not a killer. Not like that anyway, and I know he was cross with Izzy, but he wouldn’t seriously harm him.”

Ed threatening Stede, after Stede had left him, made sense. Ed fighting Mossy when she’d attacked him also made sense. However, Ed intentionally hurting Lucius, the most conflict averse and essentially kind person Stede knew, made no sense whatsoever.

“Ed tried to murder me, Stede!”

“I’m not doubting that he somehow pushed you off the boat, or that it put your life at risk, of course I believe that, but-”

“But nothing! He tried to kill me!” Lucius insisted, now shouting.

“How can you be sure it was on purpose?” Stede asked him, hoping an appeal to reason would help.

“Because he looked me in the eye and pushed me off the ship.”

“I can’t picture that.” Stede said.

“Fuck you!” Lucius shouted so loud it made Stede flinch.

“Lucius,” Stede began reproachfully, glancing to check Izzy was still unconscious.

“No!” Lucius said vehemently, shaking his head, sounding choked up, to Stede’s horror. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know anything. I was there, I know what happened. Blackbeard pushed me off the ship, Fang pulled me out of the water and hid me in your secret passages. There were raids every day until one day Fang brings Izzy down to me with a shot to the leg, missing a load of toes, and a fever, begging us to kill him. They tell me I need to row Izzy to shore to get away and go somewhere Blackbeard can’t find us, because Blackbeard ordered Frenchie to kill Izzy. Thank God Captain Banks found us.”

“Oh.” Stede said, for what was one really supposed to say to being told such a series of events?

“That’s what happened.” Lucius asserted. “You didn’t witness that; you didn’t go through it; I did.” Lucius jabbed a finger towards Izzy. “He went through it. All of this is because of whatever the hell you did to Blackbeard. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

Stede’s gut clenched at this statement. Mistaken though Lucius might be about the details of what had happened on The Revenge, Stede couldn’t deny that he was responsible for Ed’s current state, or the hurt caused by leaving his crew behind.

“Lucius, I didn’t mean to-” Stede protested.

“You never mean to, Stede,” Lucius said scathingly, “you’re just chronically incompetent and ignorant.”

The words to defend himself stuck in Stede’s throat as he saw the glistening of Lucius eyes. Hearing something like that wasn’t something Stede hadn’t been told, or even thought about himself before, but it hurt more coming from a friend’s lips.

“But if you decide you want to be less ignorant,” Lucius continued, “maybe you should spend less time defending that- that sicko and more time looking at his list of crimes.”

Lucius shoving what Stede had presumed was his sketchbook into Stede’s arms, Stede wincing as it bumped into the newly bandaged bite.

“I recorded everything I could;” Lucius continued, “every raid, everything I heard, everything the crew told me. If you want to know what Blackbeard’s really been up to, you should read it. Maybe then you’ll be able to clean up the mess you made.”

Stede clutched at the book, struggling to swallow with a prickling throat and burning eyes as Lucius turned for the door.

“Lucius, wait, the crew-” Stede pleaded.

Lucius paused, slowly turning back.

“What is it?” he asked impatiently.

Stede took a shaky breath,

“Lucius, Captain Banks doesn’t know who I am.” Stede said, urgently. “I told him what happened with Ed, but not the nature of our relationship. I faked my death so my family could inherit. If nothing else, I’d appreciate it if you could keep up our cover, for all of our sakes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lucius said, shakily, “but I’m not doing it for you, okay?”

Chapter Text

“Oh, pull your boots on, boys

And push me down

I'm only here for your entertainment”

-   The Feminine Urge, The Last Dinner Party

Patience Carrington was extremely relieved to be getting married. In an ideal world, she wouldn’t have been getting married at all, and in that world, nobody would have had a damn thing to say about it. However, in this particular world, where many people had many things to say about an unmarried heiress, she’d been lucky enough to find a tolerable companion willing to help her move far, far away from her family.

“I don’t understand why he will insist upon meeting you out here.” Lady Carrington sniffed, yanking none too gently at Patience’s carefully styled curls, as she put one last flower into place. “Who knows what could have happened to his ship. He could have been caught in a squall – or set upon by pirates.”

“Oh, maybe he fell off deck and a whale swallowed him.” Patience said, sarcastically. “Let’s hope it finds us and regurgitates him on deck within the hour.”

“Don’t be facetious.” Lady Carrington reprimanded, reaching for her champagne glass once again and taking a sip.

Patience took a calming breath, thinking once again of how grateful she would be when, in a few days, she would no longer be subject to such inquiries.

“He likes the ocean, Mother, and we agreed, it’s more economical to be married out here.” Patience replied coolly.

“If you’d have chosen a more modest dress, we could have afforded to hire a nice church.” her mother argued.

“I like this dress.” Patience said, smoothing down the shimmering blue skirt. “Look, it’s our wedding. What does it matter if one of us is late? It’s not as though they can start without us.”

She glanced at the gilt carriage clock on the dresser, that was worryingly close to approaching the hour. As thrilled as she was for her wedding and the carefully planned party that would follow, she did wish that Richard could have been more punctual just this once. She’d done everything she could to make it an enviable wedding that would quiet whispers that she wasn’t fully invested in this marriage once and for all, and she certainly didn’t want to see her efforts or journey from England go to waste.

“They might.” her mother argued. “Don’t you remember your Uncle Bertie at your grandfather’s funeral? He delivered the same speech from your christening, and the coffin hadn’t even arrived yet.”

As the clock chimed, there was a rap at the door and the priest’s voice came from behind it.

“Miss Carrington, My Lady, I’m sorry to intrude.”

“Come in!” Lady Carrington commanded, before Patience could draw breath.

Patience bit the inside of her cheek as the priest entered, to prevent herself from causing an argument on today of all days. The man, now fully dressed for the ceremony, smiled at her in an avuncular fashion, a piece of parchment clasped between his hands.

“Excellent news, my dear,” he said. “The groom’s ship appears to be approaching.”

“There, you see, nothing to worry about.” Patience told her mother briskly, gathering her bouquet from the dresser.

“We shall see.” her mother said. “I do hope he’s dressed in a more refined manner than he was at your engagement dinner. I’m not sure the lynx population will ever recover from that ugly coat of his.”

“Miss Carrington,” the priest interrupted. “The groom had left this note with me for safekeeping to give to you. He insisted I only give it to you on the hour.”

“Did he say why?” Patience asked, “Did he say why can’t he speak to me in person?”

“He didn’t say, Miss.”

Patience frowned as she took the folded parchment sealed with Richard’s own coat of arms, feeling a sense of foreboding. She and Richard had no sentimental feelings towards one another, so it certainly wasn’t a love note, and they had discussed all facets of their arrangement in countless letters. As far as she had seen, there was nothing more to say on the matter, especially if they were about to meet in person, with the rest of their lives together to discuss anything important.

She ripped the letter open.

Dear Patience,

I’m ever so sorry about this, but I just can’t do the wedding. I don’t think I can face tying myself to any woman, and Robbie isn’t at all happy about it. I just can’t live my life following all my family’s whims. I mean, they’ll insist on us having an heir and neither of us wants that, do we? Anyhow, I have a little saved, hidden from my parents, so Robbie and I are going to go travelling for a while, just journeying where we want as we please, free of expectations, nothing like those dull trips back to England. So, you’re free of me! I hope you can go and do exactly what it is you want to, as well.

Best wishes for your future,

Richard

Patience turned the letter over in disbelief, as though expecting a disclaimer or further explanation to magically appear on the back, but it remained a blank, curt note and nothing more.

The parchment crumpled in Patience’s grip, sick dread filling her stomach with the knowledge that, at best, she was going to have to go through all of this again, for the third time. At worst, with this and the scandal of before, this might even be the end for her; she’d officially be declared unmarriageable, imprisoned in her family’s home for the rest of her life.

“What is it?” Lady Carrington asked.

“Richard… Richard is gone.” Patience said in a wavering voice.

Her mother scoffed.

“He can’t be gone. How can he be gone?”

“He doesn’t want to get married.” Patience said, her voice seeming to come from somewhere far away. “He’s gone travelling.”

Lady Carrington gaped at her like a halibut, too stunned for words. Patience had always wished for the power to make her mother go silent, but not under these circumstances, not with the knowledge she might be stuck with this woman forever.

Richard really was the most inconsiderate arse she’d ever met. If Patience had the resources to run away from her family and move to Barbados of her own accord, she’d have done it long ago. As a woman, she’d needed to become Richard’s wife to lend her legitimacy and protect her reputation, before fulfilling her own desires. She had told Richard so in as many words, sure he was listening, but apparently his freedom was more important than hers.

“God damn him!” Patience yelled suddenly, tearing the letter in half, eyes filling with tears.

“As upset as you are,” the priest piped up, “one shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Yes, God damn him!” Lady Carrington yelled. “This is a financial disaster! What are we to do? We’ve invested everything into this union!”

“You can’t send me back,” said Patience pleaded, “you’re not sending me back, not when I’ve got this close to Barbados!”

“What choice do we have to return to England?” Lady Carrington said. “Really, Patience you have such abysmal taste in men. First that dreadful deviant of a nanny, now this.”

“At least he didn’t abandon me on purpose. Things would have been perfectly fine if you hadn’t interfered.”

“He was having an affair with Lord Leighton’s son, Patience.” Lady Carrington said, “In the greenhouse of all places. I mean, think of the soil – and all those windows. It’s not seemly.”

The priest gasped.

“You didn’t have to tell Lord Leighton that, did you?” Patience argued.

“It was bad enough that he was a commoner, even if he could have given you an heir.” Lady Carrington said. “I should never have agreed to it in the first place.”

“Lucius didn’t deserve to be exiled for it, though, did he? Don’t act all holier than thou when you were having an affair with Lord Leighton.”

The whites of Lady Carrington’s eyes flashed in her fury, but whatever horrible thing she’d been about to say was interrupted by the sound of gunfire.

“What on Earth is that?” Lady Carrington demanded, voice turning higher pitched.

Patience looked upwards, listening as closely as she could, hearing some crashes and what sounded like screaming. Patience's breath caught in her throat as a horrifying thought occurred to her, instinctively grasping for her mother’s elbow.

“Oh God,” she breathed, “if Richard isn’t coming, whose ship was that?”

The other two in the room stared at her in dawning horror.

The door of the room was flung open, crashing against the wall. Patience leaped in her seat, fingernails digging painfully into the arms of the chair.

The doorway was filled with dark-leather clad figure, messy hair streaming behind him with the force with which he’d opened the door, a sword, blood dripping from it onto the clean floorboards.

“What demon is this?” the priest said, aghast.

“Demon?” the figure repeated, in a chilling voice, with a hint of scorn. “I’m the fucking devil.”

None of them had a second to breathe, before the priest was bleeding out on the floor, a sword hole through his chest. Patience stared at the fallen man, unable to believe what she was seeing, that the man speaking to her a few moments prior was just… gone.

“Why… did you do that?” she heard her mother ask faintly, as though there could possibly be any kind of sensible explanation, making a laugh fight its way out of Patience’s throat.

She looked up to find the man looking at her, head tipped to one side, with a gleam of bizarrely innocent-looking curiosity, behind the dark smudged makeup and wild curls. Her smile fell away.

“Answer me… creature!” Lady Carrington cried.

The man looked up from Patience, expression darkening, raising his sword to point in Lady Carrington’s direction.

Her mother stumbled back into the dressing table, eyes wide for a few moments, before inexplicably swallowing the rest of her champagne in one gulp, bashing it against the dressing table, shattering it, before turning and taking an ineffectual stab in the man’s direction.

He blinked at her, bemused for a moment, before raising his sword and aiming it at her hand, cutting clean through her wrist.

Lady Carrington gave an ear-splitting scream and ran from the room, hand left behind at Patience’s feet, splattering blood up the hem of her dress, leaving Patience once again the centre of the man’s attention.

Patience might as well have been glued to her chair as he stood over her, able to smell pipe smoke and body odour on him.

“You’re no devil.” Patience heard herself say. “Who are you?”

“I’m Blackbeard.”

Patience’s breath got stuck in her throat as she stared at the messily dressed man in front of her, the most renowned pirate on the seven seas, who she knew she had none of the skills to fight against.

“You, you’re getting married, yeah?”

“I- no!” Patience said honestly before she could think about it.

“You’re dressed as a bride!” Blackbeard waved a hand at her dress. “All… fancy.”

“I’m not getting married.” Patience protested.

He rolled his eyes, whites flashing alarmingly among the smudged dirt on his face, or perhaps it was meant to be kohl?

“Then who is?” he asked, waving his sword to gesture around them and she flinched.

Patience faltered, wanting to lie, but knowing it was painfully obvious she was the bride.

He huffed with impatience.

“The groom, where is he?” he demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“Where is he?” he lifted his sword in her direction.

“I don’t know! He stood me up!” she cried. “He-he stood me up, he left me a note. He promised he’d help me get to Barbados and he just…”

“Oh,” the man suddenly looked scandalised on her behalf. “What a prick!”

“Yes, he is rather.” Patience agreed, uncertainly, at the whiplash of the pirate’s changing mood.

“Definitely!” he said, patting her shoulder, sympathetically. “A real prick! You can’t trust men.”

“You are one - aren’t you?” Patience said.

“Well, yeah, but like- I wouldn’t do that.” he said, passionately.

“But you’d kill a priest? And cut a woman’s hand off?” she asked with a nervous giggle.

“That’s different.”

“It is, it’s very different.” Patience said shakily.

“Well, yeah, but at least I’m honest about being a shitty person, I don’t pretend to be better than everyone else.” he said, scathingly, frowning with unfocused eyes.

Patience thought this all seemed more personal to him than expected, as though he felt some kind of misplaced camaraderie with her. He shook his head, seeming to return to the present moment.

“Hey,” he said, “if you’re going to Barbados, wanna come back to the ship with us? That’s where we’re heading.”

“Pardon?”

“Our ship is going to Barbados. Want to come with us? I mean, since you’re not getting married and your family is, well-”

He paused and only the sounds of screaming and gunfire remained.

“How can I possibly refuse?” Patience asked.

Chapter Text

"So I know that you did bad
But if one more person says it I might go mad"

Want You Back, Maisie Peters

As someone familiar with the myth of Pandora’s box, Stede had decided that the best place for Lucius’ journal was stuffed down the side of Izzy’s cot. He could only hope that Mossy, who he’d left Izzy under the watchful eye of, wouldn’t take it upon herself to make the bed too thoroughly any time soon. It perhaps wasn’t the best hiding place, but on an unfamiliar ship, not knowing where his minimal luggage was, it was the only place he’d been able to think of.

Stede’s insides clenched as he walked down the long corridor he’d been told led to the galley, where a meal might be awaiting him. His steps began to drag, and he glanced over his shoulder, feeling as though the journal was exerting some kind of force over him that strengthened the further away he got.

Stede was willing to accept that things were worse with Ed than he’d thought, but he knew that once he saw whatever it was that Lucuis had written, there was no going back, whether all the details were accurate or not. Perhaps it was cowardly or even ‘selfish’ to remain purposefully ignorant of the more unpalatable parts of Edward.

On the other hand, Stede knew that Ed didn’t want to be the man contained within the journal and had said as much. So, wasn’t judging him by a handful of rage-inspired actions more of a betrayal to Ed than ignoring those actions was a betrayal to his crew? Stede really wasn’t in a position to judge when he was one of the people who’d made Ed angry in the first place, was he?

Stede’s shoulders twitched as though he would be able to shake off his guilt at the thought, trying to ground himself in his surroundings. He checked each door in the corridor as he passed it, hearing chatter from behind several of them, as people moved around. In the distance, though, from what he feared was the galley, he could hear some familiar voices answering a woman’s slightly raised one.

“If I find myself having to scrape Little Princess off the walls,” the woman said, “it won’t be cannon balls we’ll be firing off the ship, it’ll be you!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he heard Roach say with something akin to awe in his voice.

Stede crept into the galley, finding a much larger room than expected, full of long tables, fit to seat a hundred men. All of them were unoccupied except one, where his crew were seated. Stede thought he had found the source of the angry voice in the imposing woman dressed like a merchant who stood before them, on one arm holding a cat that was covered in a mysterious dark powder. She glowered down at his entire crew who all looked rather sheepish, apparently half-way through eating a stew. The cat hung in her grasp defeatedly, giving a sneeze. A man was busy working beside them all at the huge stove and looked up at the cat worriedly, shielding the pot he was stirring.

“Is everything alright?” Stede asked.

“Oh, Captain, you’re back.” said Oluwande, in relief.

“Ah,” said the woman, turning to him with a look that compelled Stede to take a step backward, “so you’re the one to blame for the state of my cannonballs.”

“Your cannon balls?” Stede repeated.

“My cannonballs.” she repeated impatiently.

Stede blinked, looking to his crew for a clue, unable to meet any of their eyes as they all had bowed heads like guilty school children, apart from Buttons who stared back at him blankly.

“Sorry, but,” Stede said to the woman, “who are you?”

“I’m Aretta Traoré, the boatswain. You must be Captain Thomas.” she said, looking down at him in a way that left him acutely aware that he was shorter than her.

“Um, yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” he said, offering his hand, which she did not take, so Stede returned it to his side hesitantly, “Have- have I done something wrong?”

“I understand you’re responsible for this lot.” she said, jerking her head towards the crew.

“Um, yes.” Stede said.

She gave a humourless smile.

“Would you mind making sure, in future, that when they’re told to count and stack the cannon balls, they actually stack the cannon balls instead of playing boules with them. I signed up to run a ship, not manage a creche.”

Stede turned back to his crew who shifted restlessly in their seats.

“Were you doing that?” Stede asked, his exhaustion evident.

“Actually, it was bowling, I believe, Cap’n.” Buttons said, leading to groans from those around him.

“Some of us were stacking them.” Oluwande said, giving Pete and The Swede a significant look.

“Look,” said Pete, looking at Lucius who seemed to be glued to his side. “Lucius is back, so we were just relaxing for a minute.”

“Can you relax on your own time?” Aretta said, “It’s not a lot to ask.”

“We’ll do that in future, won’t we?” Stede said.

The crew mumbled in what may or may not have been agreement.

“Will that be all?” Stede asked, hopefully, rather eager to sit down ready for the meal he’d been promised.

“No, that will not be all.” Aretta said, coldly, “When I woke up this morning, Little Princess was a ginger tabby. Now look at her.”

Aretta held out the cat, who gave a sneeze so strong ‘Little Princess’ herself seemed startled by it.

“Do you mind, darling,” the man at the stove interrupted, “I don’t particularly want gunpowder or cat snot in the stew.”

“Of course, Jean.” she said, softening for a fleeting moment and shifting the cat to her other side, before looking icily back at the crew again.

“We didn’t mean to push her into the gunpowder.” said The Swede. “We were just playing.”

“A munitions room is no place for this foolishness.” Aretta said. “She’s a working animal, she’s not to be toyed with, especially around gunpowder. Furthermore, and I can’t believe I have to say this, but no sources of ignition in the munitions room either.” she said, scowling at Roach.

“Sources of what?” asked Pete.

Aretta’s jaw clenched.

“She said no smoking, love.” said Lucius.

“I hope common sense should tell you why that’s a bad idea for all of us. Did none of you see the sign on the door?”

“Well, none of us, apart from the Captain, can read – and Lucius.” Wee John said.

“There’s an illustration of a lit match struck through, surely that should have given you a clue.” she said.

“Oh,” said Oluwande. “I thought that was an illustration of a flame lily. If I’d known, I would have been more careful.”

“It wasn’t a very good drawing,” said The Swede.

“Oh, you should get Lucius to do one, he’s very good at drawing.” Pete suggested.

The woman let out the quietest of hisses and everyone flinched.

“Perhaps,” Stede interrupted, “Mrs Traoré would prefer you just didn’t bring cigarettes or matches into the munitions room in future. I mean, we’ve been told now.”

“You’d better not.” said Aretta, returning her attention to Stede. “Captain Thomas, get your crew in order. I expect better.”

“I will, ma’am.” Stede said, inclining his head to her ever so slightly, on instinct. “Whatever you need.”

“Good.” she declared. “Now, what I need is one of you to watch over our guest overnight. You-” she pointed at Roach, “you’re the surgeon, aren’t you?”

“Oh,” said Roach, “No thanks.”

“It wasn’t a request.” Aretta said.

“Izzy did try to murder us all.” said The Swede, Roach having presumably informed them all of Izzy’s presence. “I wouldn’t like to look after him either.”

“Nor me,” said Pete.

“Captain Banks, in his wisdom,” Aretta said, disdainfully, “has decided you are on this ship to keep Izzy alive. We expect you to keep up your end of the bargain.”

“I told him,” Roach persisted, “I’ve saved his life and given Captain Banks my advice, now I’m done.”

“Your presence on this ship is dependent on Izzy’s survival.” Aretta said. “You can’t expect to just chop his leg off and sit around smoking cigarettes for the rest of the journey.”

“I’ll work for you, but someone else can look after him.” Roach said, crossing his arms.

“Why do we have to?” said Wee John. “I wouldn’t have minded if it was some random guest, but it’s Izzy. He left us for dead. Whatever happened to him, he’s only got himself to blame for.” said Wee John.

“No,” said Lucius, stiffly, “He’s got Blackbeard to blame.”

“Why are you defending Izzy all of a sudden?” Pete asked, loosening his grip on Lucius.

“I heard enough to know that he’s not the man that marooned you all.” said Lucius.

“But he is .” said The Swede. “It was definitely him.”

“Yeah,” Pete said, “just because he got injured, doesn’t make what he did to us okay.”

“He’s not injured, he had a limb amputated.” Lucius said, severely.

Stede shuddered.

Stede wasn’t sure Lucius had been right that he was responsible for Izzy’s current state. If the man had been injured on a raid there was nothing practical Stede could, or would have wanted to do, to prevent it. Nevertheless, with the gory ordeal of the amputation so fresh, and the knowledge that Ed had only been embarking upon increasingly risky raids, since Stede’s desertion, he couldn’t help but feel some level of sympathy and guilt, justified or not.

“ You defile beautiful things. ” Chauncey had said.

Struggle as he might against the accusation, even if he weren’t responsible for Izzy, Stede had managed to ruin things on The Revenge by leaving, and it was impossible to know how far reaching the consequences of that decision had been. Lucius himself had, allegedly, suffered them.

“You do it then.” Roach told Lucius, “Since you’re all chummy now.”

Lucius balked.

“I’m not suited to it. Anyway, Izzy hates me.”

“What are you suited for, Mr Spriggs?” asked Aretta.

“I’ll do it.” Stede heard himself say.

“What?” asked Aretta.

“I’ll watch over Izzy tonight.” Stede said.

“ You? ” said Lucius incredulously.

“Are you sure that you can handle this on your own?” Oluwande said, dubiously.

“Of course I can.” Stede said.

Unwilling as he was to go back to that stuffy little cabin, Stede thought it was one task on the ship he could definitely do.

“Riiight.” said Lucius.

Stede couldn’t help but bristle a little at this. He was used to being doubted, but after Lucius so honestly stating that he was incompetent, it stung even more.

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after a sick man for a few hours.” Stede said, defensively. “I’ve done it before.”

“You’ve paid people to do it before, you mean.” said Lucius.

“What’s with you today?” muttered Pete. “Are you alright?”

“No, I’ve done it myself.” said Stede, hotly. “I do have children, you know, they got sick sometimes, and I looked after my father when he was sick when he was convinced the nurses were poisoning him. I can handle it.”

Lucius looked unconvinced, but Aretta nodded in satisfaction.

“Well, that solves that problem.” said Aretta.

Chapter Text

 ‘I could never give

The curse to her

I- I could never live with the guilt of lying

That people are kind’

- The Feminine Urge, The Last Dinner Party

“What the fuck?” said Jim as their cabin door was flung open and a pale woman in a veil and the most expensive dress Jim had ever seen in their life stumbled in, propelled by Blackbeard.

The woman was left standing, in the centre of the cabin, tense, blue eyes widening as they took in Jim, yet she stood perfectly still, her probably well-trained posture still intact. It was then that Jim noticed the flowers in her hair, the blood on her skirt, the long train of snowy white tulle flowing from her head down her back.

“Oh, are we just kidnapping brides now?” Jim demanded in disgust.

After two hours of being locked in their cabin like a naughty child, while everyone else embarked on their raid, Jim had been given plenty of time to marinate in their anger and this only fuelled it further.

Jim glared at Blackbeard openly. It took a special sort of entitlement to think you could go round doing whatever you pleased to the people around you and assuming you wouldn’t face consequences. It was an extra special kind of entitlement to turn some random stranger’s wedding into what they were sure had been a massacre and kidnap the fucking bride.

Blackbeard barred the doorway, smiling dangerously as Archie’s face appeared, peeping past his shoulder. Jim thought they could faintly hear Fang sobbing in the distance through the open door.

“Oh no, she’s my guest.” said Blackbeard, casually.

“Your guest ?” Jim repeated incredulously.

“She is?” Archie said, sounding like this was news to her too.

“Yeah.” said Blackbeard, with a hint of impatience, as though somehow this should have been obvious. “She needs a ride to Barbados, so we’re escorting her.”

“Right,” said Jim, “Right. So, we’re just chauffeuring rich people around now, the people who a few hours ago you said were our enemies?” they demanded scathingly.

“Not rich people, just this one.” Blackbeard corrected. “She’s alright.”

Jim saw the woman raise her eyebrows at Blackbeard’s side, looking as bemused and disturbed as Jim felt.

“What’s your name by the way?” Blackbeard asked, turning to her.

“Don’t you know ?” Jim asked.

“Um,” said the woman unwillingly, eyes flitting between the two of them, shoulders tensing as Blackbeard looked at her expectantly, “My name is Carrington.”

“That’s a weird first name.” Archie commented in an undertone.

Jim rolled their eyes. As much as Jim usually appreciated Archie’s more light-hearted approach in even the darkest times, they were not in the mood.

“It’s Patience,” said Patience, in a high wavering voice, “Patience Carrington.” she gave a strange sort of cringe, half-way to a curtsy in Blackbeard’s direction.

“Why Patience?” asked Blackbeard. “Are you a patient person?”

The woman blinked rapidly at him several times, fiddling with the cuff of her own sleeve.

“Oh,” she said, “all of the women in my family are named after virtues; Charity, Modesty…”

“Is there one called Chastity too?” Jim asked sardonically, unable to believe the situation Blackbeard had landed them in.

“Um, yes actually,” Patience Carrington said, “my great aunt, and apparently she wasn’t very happy about it.” she offered a tiny, uncertain smile, which disappeared upon taking in Jim’s expression.

Jim turned to glower at Blackbeard, who looked faintly amused by proceedings.

“Seriously, what the fuck are we doing right now?” Jim demanded of Blackbeard.

“ You are going to keep an eye on her for me,” said Blackbeard, “here in your cabin, which you’re staying in, got it?”

“No.” Jim said, crossing their arms.

“No?”

“I’m not babysitting your latest project.” Jim said. “What are you planning to do while I’m doing that anyway?”

Blackbeard paused, eyes becoming unfocussed, scratching his beard.

“I dunno, I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Well maybe, if you want to lead a whole ship, you should think about it!” Jim retorted. “I’m sick of you lying around doing nothing until you spring another stupid scheme on us. You want to be captain; start captaining!”

Blackbeard’s face contorted into an ugly scowl.

“I am captaining. It’s not my fault you won’t follow my orders!” he protested.

“I’m not here for your entertainment.” Jim said obstinately. “Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? You know, you could at least have the decency to be a genuinely incompetent captain, like Stede was at the start. At least he did his best for us. Instead, you could be a great captain, but apparently we’re not worthy of you putting in some fucking effort. Is it funny to you to see us bending to all of your stupid whims? Does it make you feel good about yourself? Because it’s insulting .”

Blackbeard’s face became thunderous, drawing himself up to his full height, advancing on Jim, who fought the instinct to shrink away.

“I’ll do it!” Archie more or less yelled, everyone turning towards her.

“What?” Blackbeard barked.

“I’ll look after Carrington.” Archie said. “Get her food and show her round and you know… make sure she doesn’t wander off the side of the ship or anything.”

Blackbeard examined Archie for a moment, before, miraculously, relaxing.

“Well alright,” he said sulkily, “she’s not wandering the ship unsupervised, understand?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Archie said.

“Right, well, you do that, I’ll be in my cabin.”

Archie let out an audible breath as Blackbeard retreated and Jim took a moment to look her over, checking for any obvious injuries. There was blood on Archie’s face and clothes, but there were no visible wounds and thankfully she was moving freely.

“Why d'you do that?” Jim asked her.

“I didn’t want him to kill you.” Archie hissed.

“I didn’t need you to interfere.” Jim said reproachfully, but not unkindly.

“Of course you didn’t.” Archie said, smiling, tiredly. “But you know, you don’t have to launch into battle every time you see him.”

“I’m not taking this anymore; being treated like his personal fighting dog.”

“Then why are you behaving like one?” Archie challenged.

“I’m not.” Jim grumbled.

Patience sniffed pointedly and Jim scowled.

“Look,” said Archie, in a more gentle voice than Jim had ever heard her use. “You know I think you’re right about everything. That was kinda brave – and stupid maybe, but brave, just… be careful.”

“Thanks?” Jim said doubtfully, a little touched, stealing a look at her surprisingly sweet smile.

When Blackbeard had collected Archie from another pirate ship they’d got into a fight with, Jim had been dubious. Blackbeard had been spouting some nonsense or other about her having hid from him inside a snake and strangling several sailors with the said snake (‘Fucking Fantastic!’ he’d proclaimed, heartily patting an abashed Archie on the back) that Jim wasn't at all sure they believed. Jim didn’t trust people, it had never been safe to; apart from Olu, but he was a special case. They had only just got used to living on a ship where the crew didn’t seem to want to murder them in their sleep, so they hadn’t been sure they were ready to bring a new person into the mix, especially with Blackbeard in this state. Archie however, hadn’t been an unpleasant addition.

She could be uncomfortably cheerful in the strangest circumstances, tended to overshare, but she worked well with Jim when protecting the others in battle, pulled her weight, had what Jim had to admit was a pleasant smile and often complimented Jim’s skills and hard work. Those compliments tended to make Jim’s insides flutter in a way that was worryingly familiar.

Jim cleared their throat.

“Um, How was the raid anyway?”

Archie grimaced.

“Pretty fucking horrific. Never been to a wedding before. I’m guessing most of them aren’t like that.”

“No, they’re not.” Patience said, voice shaking.

“So did the crew live or-” Jim asked, nervously.

“They’re fine.” Archie winced as Fang could be heard sobbing louder in the distance, “Well, sort of fine. Got all their limbs still attached.”

“Good.” Jim said, meaning it.

Jim heard the rustling of fabric and looked to see Patience shifting on the spot awkwardly, as though unsure where to put herself.

“Sit down.” Jim said, jerking their thumb towards the crate in their room that was used by visitors.

She eyed it doubtfully, but perched on it nonetheless, primly tucking in her bloodstained skirts as they puffed out around her, looking a little absurd.

“Want a change of clothes?” Jim asked her.

She jumped as she realised they were addressing her.

“Yes, it would be nice to wear something without my mother’s blood on it.” she said, tone incongruously meek.

Jim winced.

“Yeah,” Archie agreed, seeming to want to comfort the younger woman. “Shame, I bet it looked really nice before. If you want a change though, we should have something from a raid, not as nice as this though, I don’t think.”

“Yeah, we have way too much stuff.” Jim agreed.

“Uh,” Archie said, looking towards Patience sheepishly, “Sorry we ruined your wedding.”

“It was ruined before you all got there.” said Patience, voice high and shaky. “My fiancée didn’t show up.”

Jim hissed as they realised the reason Blackbeard had been so keen to bring this woman back.

“ Fucker .” Jim muttered in Spanish under their breath.

“Quite.” Patience agreed with them. “I, um, don’t recall you being there. You’re a prisoner too?” she asked them.

Jim grinned ruefully.

“Sometimes I’m a prisoner, until I’m useful to Blackbeard again.”

“Useful for what?” she asked, nervously eyeing Jim up.

“Fighting, killing people, those things.” Jim shrugged.

“Oh,” said Patience, eyes wide, tucking her hands safely into her lap.

“Don’t worry,” said Jim, giving what they hoped was a friendly look (although Olu had once told them to ‘Never do that again,’ so they couldn’t say how successful they were), “I’m not likely to kill you, not even if Blackbeard told me to.”

“Unless you attack them first.” Archie interjected. “Then they might stab you.”

“Let’s hope I won’t need to do that.” Patience said, with a short laugh that sounded a little delirious.

“It had better not.” Jim said, “You want to live, don’t you?”

“I mean, I suppose, yes.” Patience said.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to have to kill you.”

“Nor me.” Archie agreed. “If you’re the guest, I guess that means you’re crew now, and crew protects crew round here.”

“I suppose, but I don’t know how much help I can be.” Patience said nervously. “I can’t fight, or sail... but I suppose I do know archery, but I wouldn’t like to use it on anyone.”

“I thought rich women sat around all day doing pootit pwant or whatever it is ladies do?” Archie said.

“' Petit point' " Patience corrected gracefully, "Well, yes, I do enjoy that too. Actually, fiancee’s cousin taught me archery, that’s how we met; I nearly shot him.”

Archie laughed, evidently delighted.

“I swear I’m better now,” Patience said, “and I may be cross with him, but I wouldn’t want to shoot him – not fatally.”

Jim frowned are the implication of this statement.

“You love your fiancée, right?” Jim asked abruptly.

Patience blinked rapidly at the question, a line appearing between her eyebrows.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Patience asked, slowly. “I mean, I liked him well enough?”

“You love him.” Jim corrected her.

“But I don’t, really. I mean we get on but-”

“No, you do.” Jim insisted.

Patience frowned, piercing blue eyes finding them directly this time.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, sharply, suddenly not seeming at all happy to be contradicted.

There was a steeliness about her, suddenly, that was a relief to see; maybe she’d stand a chance against Blackbeard after all.

“Yeah,” said Archie, “What are you talking about?”

“You want to live, don’t you?” Jim asked Patience.

“I- would prefer it.” she said.

“Then take my advice and tell Blackbeard you love this man. You’re pissed at him for dumping you, okay?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the only reason he’s kept you alive.”

“Ohhhhh.” said Archie.

“I don’t understand.” Patience said, seeming more intrigued by this than confused.

“You don’t need to understand, you need to trust me.” Jim said, gravely.

“Why would I do that?”

“Not got a lot of other options have you?”

Chapter Text

‘I heard that you're an actor, so act like a stand-up guy
Whatever devil's inside you, don't let him out tonight
I tell them it's just your culture and everyone rolls their eyes’

- Sabrina Carpenter, Please, Please, Please

Dearest Ed,

I am finally on my way back to you! As difficult as the past few days have been, it’s so wonderful to be back on the sea; to taste the salt air on my tongue, feel the deck shift beneath me and rock me to sleep. Whatever the circumstances, looking out at the sea, I am always certain this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

The expanse of sky and water before me always makes my decisions feel inestimably miniscule, a bizarrely empowering sensation. With each gust of breeze I could swear I feel your breath on my face, that you are standing beside me, a world of infinite possibilities in front of us, ours to explore, and I feel a gaping hole beside me once I realise your absence.

It was such a relief to see you in Nassau, even if I am disappointed that we couldn’t speak properly. I’m sorry that my leaving unexpectedly caused you such deep hurt. Rest assured, I don’t blame you for your reaction; you had every reason to mistrust me. Fear not, I do not hold it against you; a love like ours can’t disappear in an instant. Next time we meet will be different, and if not, the time after that; I refuse to give up on you. After everything you were willing to sacrifice for me, I will gladly do the same for you.

After our meeting in Nassau, I was lucky enough to gain passage with a Captain Samuel Banks in exchange for us providing medical attention to a guest on the ship he is captaining – the Queen Anne's Revenge of all ships! I don’t know what became of your crew exactly, but a number of them seem to have built a good working relationship with his crew.

Captain Banks tells me you sailed together when you were younger. He doesn’t seem to have a very high opinion of you, but then I suppose perhaps he didn’t know you as well as I do. He’s quite competent and good-natured, but I fear I may not meet his standards, but I am confident I can prove myself to him.

I was quite shocked to discover the guest Captain Banks was so keen to get medical care for was Izzy of all people! I’m not sure what he sees in him. Unfortunately, we were forced to amputate Izzy’s leg, since his wounds were in a very bad way. It was quite the ordeal. As much as there is no love lost between us, I feel quite bad for him. I hope you will be pleased to hear that I have been tending to him in his subsequent sickness, which has been quite rough for him, but we shall have to wait and see if he will make a recovery.

It seems that you have been putting yourself in dangerous situations, for how else would someone as experienced and skilled at fighting as Izzy gain such a gunshot wound? I do wish you’d be more careful in my absence. I hope with all my heart that you can stay safe and healthy until we reach you again and I can offer you the gentle care you deserve.

Yours always,

Stede

It felt blasphemous to shove his letter into the back of Lucius’ otherwise untouched journal, but after several days aboard the Queen Anne, Stede still hadn’t found a better hiding place.

Stede got up from the worn armchair that had taken up residence next to Izzy’s cot, checking on the man. Izzy’s face was set in a deep frown, but he was quite still and breathing deeply, hopefully in the land of dreams. Deciding it was safe, Stede hastily stuffed the journal at the foot of the cot, careful not to jostle Izzy as he did so.

Stede had spent more time than he would have liked in this cabin over the past few days. Roach had, at Aretta Traoré’s insistence, continued to offer basic advice, helping Stede to check on Izzy’s wound daily. Now he’d got used to it though, Stede had mainly been left to his own devices, giving him far too much time for rumination.

Izzy had remained mostly unconscious, sweating profusely as his body fought off infection and recovered from his concerning level of blood loss. He’d swum into consciousness several times seeming completely unaware of where he was, or even who Stede was.

Stede hadn’t had any trouble convincing him to trustingly swallow the soup, water and laudanum he was given, even if some of it had a habit of coming back up again and being deposited into Stede’s lap (thankfully, Sam had been very gracious about having his breeches ruined). Izzy had only resisted Stede when the soup had chunks of meat in it, spitting up the first mouthful, shoving Stede back as well as he could, shrinking away and panting through bared teeth. It had been unsettling to watch and after that incident, Stede had requested from Sam that more vegetarian options be prepared, before taking a long break on deck to stare out at the sea.

Izzy still looked so small and frail under the blankets, skin waxy and shimmering with a fine layer of sweat, loose strands of hair stuck to his forehead. As Stede watched him, he had to remind himself why he was supposed to hate this man, but his dreams of murdering him seemed so very long ago, as if they belonged to someone else. Stede had promised he would do his best to care for this man and, if he was going to do it, he was going to do it right.

Stede frowned towards the once hot, now warm, bowl of water and soap beside him that he’d acquired from the galley earlier. Stede had decided this would be the evening he would give Izzy the more thorough wash he desperately needed, hoping to both relieve the stale smell of the cabin, and get Izzy more comfortable. Stede carefully placed the back of his hand on Izzy’s forehead, finding it still hot, although thankfully not as alarmingly hot as on past days.

Stede hung back for a moment, as he surveyed where to start, before carefully drawing the sheet down to Izzy’s waist. Coming into contact with Izzy was slowly becoming less strange, but there was still a tiny, fanciful part of Stede that expected to receive static shocks off of his skin to repel him. It had never happened though, as Izzy was just warm skin and bone like any other slightly feverish human being.

Stede decided to wash Izzy’s arms and work from there, since they were the most accessible, and in manoeuvring him about, he’d found touching them rarely disturbed his sleep. Stede would wait until the man was stirring before seeing if he could ask to wash elsewhere.

At first, things went smoothly as Stede washed from his hands to his shoulders, but it was as he moved to wipe Izzy’s face that Izzy started to fidget and whimper in his sleep. Suddenly he fully kicked out with his good leg, making Stede jump away, worried he’d move too much and aggravate his wound, but unwilling to touch Izzy for fear of making it worse.

“Edward, no, no no, no.” Izzy started chanting under his breath, twisting in his sheets, jaw clenching and teeth grinding, head pressing back against the pillows and squirming, as though shying away from some unseen attacker.

Stede felt his stomach clench as he wondered again what had happened to Izzy. What was this reaction to a person he’d assumed was Ed? Izzy had always reacted to Ed with annoyance, anger or even awe, but never once had Stede seen Izzy fear him like this. As much as he hated to admit it, Stede’s absence had clearly driven Ed to desperate measures and Ed had done something that had terrified Izzy, a man who Stede had seen be fearless in battle.

“Izzy?” Stede said cautiously.

Izzy’s head turned, eyes flying open, flinching away from his voice.

“ No .” the word tore its way through Izzy’s vocal cords, barely a human sound.

“It’s alright.” Stede said uncertainly.

“No, Edward.” Izzy said more assertively, but the effect was ruined as he further shied away.

Despite it all, his eyes seemed to actually focus on Stede for the first time.

“I-I’m not Edward.” Stede said as calmly as possible, hoping that Izzy wouldn’t recognise him.

Izzy’s breathing slowed, fear turning into a mistrustful frown, eyes darting left to right for a moment as he examined Stede.

“Not Edward.” Izzy mumbled in agreement under his breath, but without any indication he recognised Stede.

“Definitely not.” Stede affirmed.

They tensely surveyed each other for several seconds, Stede somehow feeling that all thoughts had been stolen from him with the intensity of those hazel eyes, but thankfully, Izzy still didn’t show indications of recognition.

“Um,” Stede eventually forced out, “I was going to wash you, if that’s okay?”

Izzy watched him for a moment, taking in the cloth in Stede’s hand.

“Mm.” Izzy hummed with an exhausted sigh, “M’kay,”

Stede hung back, cooling water dripping uncomfortably down his arm, half expecting Izzy to withdraw his permission,

“Don’t just stand there.” Izzy grumbled quietly, instead.

Stede drew a relieved breath; At least Izzy was still in there somewhere , Stede thought, cautiously moving to start cleaning his shoulders.

The task turned out to be far easier than expected, as while Izzy watched him a little suspiciously as he fought his heavy eyelids, he was strangely content to just lay there, sighing and relaxing into the mattress, once he’d decided Stede wasn’t a threat. Stede did his best to work quickly, in case Izzy became uncomfortable and changed his mind.

Stede was a little concerned at the scars, barely healed wounds and bruises he found as he went, but he cleaned and dressed the worst as gently as possible, and Izzy didn’t so much as flinch. Some scars seemed old, but clearly there had been a lot of raids on The Revenge lately and if Izzy, such a skilled fighter, had been injured like this, he worried for the other members of the crew who might have been put in harm’s way, let alone Ed.

It wasn’t until he’d finished that he realised in shock that Izzy was now fully asleep once again. Stede heaved a sigh of relief as he tucked him in.

Someone rapped lightly on the door.

“Hello? Need any-” Sam’s voice began from the doorway, cutting himself off, eyes wide as he took in the scene. “I was going to ask if you need any help, but you seem to have it all handled.”

“Yes, everything is fine.” Stede said, realising for once, it was true, laying the damp cloth over the side of the bowl.

“How is he?” asked Sam, coming over to the bed, not sparing Stede so much as a glance, something he had quickly learned not to be offended by.

Sam had come in to watch over Izzy like a hawk on several occasions while Stede was able to venture outside the cabin, and sometimes had come to sit and watch him even when Stede was already there, yet he seemed unwilling to take over the task himself.

“I think his fever is starting to ease,” Stede answered. “And he woke up and spoke to me and fell asleep again.”

“What did he say?” Sam asked eagerly, eyes alight.

“He said it would be alright to wash him, but I don’t think he knew it was me.” Stede said.

“Oh, I see. Perhaps he might wake up soon.” said Sam, watching Izzy as though he could will it to come true.

“Maybe,” said Stede, wondering what on Earth he would do if confronted with a fully lucid Izzy, “Anyway, I think he’s settled.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, turning to him with the most genuine smile Stede had seen on him yet.

“It’s what I’m here for.” Stede replied, nervously.

Sam gave him a pat on the back.

“You’ve been working hard and staying up late.” Sam said, “I was wondering if I help you clear this away, would you care to sit and have a glass of wine with me?”

“I would like that.” Stede said, smiling back.

“I think my eyes are going to fall out.” Stede whined, propping himself up against the wall behind him.

Sam laughed heartily from next to him. They were both sat on Stede’s cot, Sam in his shirt sleeves, long dark curls loose and an impish gleam in his eyes, sharp features softened by the lamplight.

“I should’ve known something was wrong when the French surrendered their ship full of the stuff that quick.” Sam said.

“It tastes quite good though.” Stede said, lifting his glass for another sip.

“And it’s bleedin’ dangerous for it.” Sam muttered, the regional accent Stede had noticed when they first met suddenly coming out in full force.

A giggle bubbled out of Stede, deciding there and then that he much preferred this more carefree version of Sam.

“Shhh!” Sam hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. “Wouldn’t want to wake the baby.” Sam said, gesturing towards Izzy.

“I think Izzy’s less baby, more toddler.” Stede said seriously. “Like he got stuck in the terrible twos.”

Sam snorted.

“Thanks for looking after him, though,” Sam said, “I know to some people he’s an acquired taste.” Sam pronounced, rolling the words around in his mouth experimentally.

“I don’t mind.” Stede said, finding he meant it.

It wasn't glamorous work, but it was certainly better than any of the work he'd had to do at Bob's inn.

“But I get the impression you like him a bit more than I do," Stede continued, " so how come you don’t look after him?”

Sam looked at Stede, raising his eyebrows.

“If- if you don’t mind me asking.” Stede added.

To Stede’s relief, Sam smiled.

“Well, I’d do it myself, but I’ve had a lot to see to - and I’m a bit hopeless with sick people, unfortunately.”

“Well, I have some experience with it.”

Sam hummed sympathetically.

“Yes, Aretta said - with your father and your children. I mean, I should have learned from my daughter but…” Sam nibbled on his lip for a moment, staring down into his wine glass, “I always felt so inadequate looking after her when she got sick growing up. I was terrified of making mistakes and you feel so powerless, wondering how bad it’s going to get. I don’t know what I’d have done without Aretta and Jean to help me.” he confessed.

Stede nodded, patting Sam’s arm.

“I’ve found it’s best to not worry about what might happen next and just try to do your best in the moment. When she arrived, I was terrified of holding my daughter for fear of doing something wrong, but I got better. My wife is very capable, but the children getting sick was a bit much for her, so I did it.”

Stede knew how their sickness made Mary especially anxious, having a fear of getting ill herself, after being a sickly child herself. It came easier to Stede to sit in bed with the sick children feeding them, cleaning them and distracting them with stories or low energy games, than it did to try and keep their brains engaged when sitting down and learning things, or disciplining them on an average day.

“You’re married?” Sam asked, curiously.

“I was.” Stede admitted. “We’ve settled things between us and split up. It was a good thing for both of us, and the children. We parted on good terms.”

“That’s good news.” Sam said, examining the edge of his wine glass, eyes unfocussed.

“Are you married?”

Sam’s face sobered, the glint disappearing from his eyes.

“No, unfortunately.” he said. “There was a girl I wanted to marry, but the odds were not in our favour. She… passed away.” he said, absently twisting the ring Stede had noticed before on his little finger.

Now that Stede looked at it, he could imagine it on a lady's finger and wondered if it was hers. It would explain why it looked so out of place.

“I’m so sorry.” said Stede, genuinely.

“Well, It was twenty or so years ago now. It’s difficult, but I’m doing well, and my daughter is healthy and seems content, which is all I could hope for.”

“And your daughter fought Blackbeard and won – sort-of. How many people can say that?” said Stede.

“That’s true.” Sam said with evident pride. “She did well, even if I wish she’d be more careful.”

“I suppose when you taught her to fence you weren't quite imagining that.” Stede said.

“No, I wasn't.” Sam agreed. “I didn't imagine I'd have a goat to thank for saving her life either.” he said with a chuckle. “It’s important to me that the people I care about are equipped to protect themselves, and I seem to have done well with her in that regard,” his eyes strayed to Stede’s arm lingering where Izzy’s bite mark was hidden under a bandage still, face falling, still twisting his ring, “but sometimes that’s not enough.”

“Izzy?” whispered Stede.

Sam nodded, licking his lips.

“I was always afraid that this would happen,” he said, quietly, “but I always thought… I don’t know… that Izzy was different.”

Stede frowned at the anguish on the other man’s face.

“Edward and Izzy were always inseparable,” Sam said, “and he used to be quite territorial about him. He hated that Izzy and I were close.”

Stede tried to imagine a younger Ed and Izzy, always together, best of friends, and failing. In Stede’s experience, Izzy had always been trailing around behind Ed, two steps back, but Ed had mostly seemed keen to brush him off whenever Stede was around. It was sad in a way, thought Stede, that Ed had someone right beside him so devoted, yet not a single steady friend to speak of before Stede came along. What had happened between them? Was it Izzy that had pushed Ed away with his absurd expectations, or something more that Stede didn’t know about?

“Maybe I should have known better.” Sam continued. “Edward always was too willing to let Izzy run into danger for him for my tastes, or any of his crew.”

“Can I ask, did you and Izzy-” Stede flinched at the piercing look Sam gave him, “did you sail together long?”

Sam's shoulders lost their tension.

“In a manner of speaking. We were in the Navy together for three years. Then he disappeared during a battle. I thought he’d died, but we met again when I ended up on a pirate ship, which is where I met Blackbeard and we all sailed together for a while longer, before we split up. We used to meet on occasion…” Sam paused, expression thoughtful, “but the last time we saw each other was twenty years ago.”

“What was Blackbeard like back then?” Stede asked.

“Oh, that’s what you really wanted to ask, didn’t you?” said Sam, corner of his mouth lifting, “Everyone really wants to know about Blackbeard.”

“Would it be bad if I said I did?” Stede asked, shyly.

Sam exhaled through his nose in the tiniest laugh.

“No, it’s natural to be curious.” Sam said, “But most people wouldn’t like the truth.”

“I would.” Stede said, before he could think about it, “I think I want to know what he was really like.”

Sam side eyed him, but Stede didn’t want to back down, unable to tamp down on the smouldering curiosity that had been lit inside of him the past few days.

“Well if you really want to know…” Sam said.

“I do.” Stede said.

“Honestly, he was a crafty little bastard. What he lacked in skill as a sailor he more than made up for in ingenuity and a silver tongue. Could charm the pants off anyone.”

“He was lacking in skill as a sailor?” Stede asked incredulously.

Sam’s nose scrunched up for a moment.

“Well, in my time on the Marianne, he was a good sailor, but nothing exceptional.” he replied, “He never excelled particularly at swordplay, nowhere near Izzy’s level of skill or anything, but he fought very well in a dirty fight. He was an alright carpenter, but lazy when it came to maintaining a ship and he struggled with reading, so couldn’t navigate too well or do the bookkeeping. Don’t get me wrong, he was always very clever at finding ways around his weaknesses and had all the makings of a successful pirate, but that’s not the same as being a good sailor.”

“But he is a good sailor.” Stede couldn’t help but defend him. “He’s Blackbeard!”

“Like I said, good, not exceptional.” Sam persisted. “What really makes him stand out is his charm.”

Stede pouted. As much as he wanted to continue defending Ed, point out that there was so much more to Ed than his charm, he knew Sam would find it strange if he did.

“Ed can really talk to anyone, if he feels like it.” Sam continued. “That’s special. He just has the skill of knowing how to make people like him in a way I’ve never been able to.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Stede said slowly thinking about how quickly Ed had been able to charm his crew. “When I first met him, I didn’t even know he was Blackbeard.” Stede confessed, “I didn’t expect him to be so… well, friendly or funny or sympathetic.”

“Exactly.” said Sam, “I could never do that.”

“I don’t know, you’re quite charming yourself.” Stede said.

“Thank you, but I know myself.” Sam smiled politely. “Some people just don’t take to me, whereas Ed can make anyone at any level like him, or at least listen to him. He just knows what to say to get people to engage with him. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since. And when it came to making tactical plans for raids, he was a genius. Is it any wonder that made people want to follow him so devotedly?”

“You sound jealous.” Stede said, the words slipping past his lips before he could think, before realising how rude that sounded and feeling his cheeks burn.

Thankfully, Sam only smiled.

“Isn’t everyone jealous of him?”

“I’ve just seen most people look up to him.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“That too,” he admitted. “Yes, I was jealous of him for a long time, but not because of his fame or success or mythology, but because some of the most skilled pirates I’ve ever met were all falling over themselves to gain a scrap of his attention. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hold anyone’s attention like he could.”

Stede nodded, remembering the party boat, everyone hanging onto Ed’s every word in a way Stede had never experienced. Then he remembered the bitterness Stede had tried to push down as Ed forgot about him, along with everyone else.

“I understand.” Stede said, “I don't think you need to worry about that, though. Your crew seem to really like you.”

“They do, but for a lot of them, I’m simply the best career option for them, right now. When the time is right, they’ll leave.”

Stede thought of his crew, their camaraderie, the laughter and bickering, and imagined losing it all just because someone with more money or influence was passing. Stede was worried he could feel them slipping away, lately. Hopefully, when they all reunited, things could go back to how they were, but there was a part of him that worried they wouldn’t. He imagined the holes left behind if some of them started to leave; none of Oluwande and Pete bickering, none of Lucius’ snarky comments, none of Frenchie’s slightly strange but charming songs, no more of Roach’s cooking. To remove any one of those things would have felt wrong; them being split down the middle was bad enough. How would it feel to live in anticipation of that loss every day?

“That sounds really... lonely.” Stede said.

“I’ve made my peace with it,” Sam said, softly, eyes fully on Izzy, “but it’s not the same as the kind of loyalty Blackbeard inspires in some people. Who wouldn’t be jealous of that?”

Izzy, Stede thought, not ‘some people’, but Izzy specifically ; that was what Sam was talking about.

Ed’s crew had abandoned him for Sam, Ed himself claimed that he didn’t have any friends, yet Izzy had stayed. No matter how twisted and obsessive, Stede had seen first hand how Izzy was ready to fling himself into danger on his behalf, even betray Ed out of loyalty to Blackbeard. Stede was sure he, himself, would never have anyone that devoted to him, never have that power over a person.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been jealous of him, I suppose,” Stede said, “but I definitely aspired to be feared and revered like he is. I thought it would protect me.”

“You see, then?” Sam said, “That’s it; that’s what makes Blackbeard special; it’s a smokescreen for what he actually is; just a man.”

“It’s funny,” Stede said, “everyone I talk to about him, talks about him like he’s a mythical creature or something. I’ve never met anyone else before who just describes him as well… just a man.”

“He is just a man.” Sam agreed. “But I’ve sailed the seas a long time and there’s no monster I’ve ever heard of that can wreak as much destruction as men can. He’s always had a nasty temper and been far too eager to lash out. As much as I’m jealous of it, it also frightens me how far I’ve known people around him to follow him without question. And I’ve seen his rages first hand and they can be…” Sam tailed off, staring into the middle distance with a creased brow as though seeing something Stede couldn't. “He always had a nasty temper, and was prone to sadism," Sam said instead of finishing his sentence, “but to raid every ship that passes mercilessly and letting this happen to Izzy… it is beyond comprehension, even for me.” Sam said, voice deepening, eyes dark in the low light as they latched onto Stede.

There was weariness, a deep-seated disgust in the man’s face, like a dark void behind his eyes that made Stede suppress a shiver. Worse than that; Stede found himself agreeing.

Stede didn’t want to revisit the memory of what had happened in Nassau, however much the late hours, with Izzy mumbling his way through his nightmares, often forced him to. However, deep down, Stede knew Ed was capable of extreme violence and had confessed as much.

“It’s time that I ended it.” Sam declared.

There was a finality to the statement.

“How do you plan to do that?” Stede asked slowly, the words seeming to echo from somewhere outside of him.

“I think a simple raid is the best way to go, if we don’t, he’ll raid us first, since he seems to be raiding every ship he encounters.”

“Aren’t you worried he’ll win against you?”

“No.” Sam replied calmly.

Stede balked at the statue-like composure of Sam's face.

“He’s Blackbeard, isn’t that a bit… arrogant to assume?”

Sam's mouth turned up at the corners in a mechanical way that Stede did not like whatsoever, wishing for the man of a few minutes ago to return.

“There’s a reason that Ed once described me as the worst enemy he’s never fought." Sam said, his accent slipping away again and into the crystal clear annunciation Stede had heard before as so many men had looked down their noses at him.

Despite the pretentiousness of the statement its delivery sent an icy wave through Stede that washed the soft haziness induced by alcohol clean away.

“We had an agreement to never raise arms against one another," Sam said, “but I no longer see why I should honour that when he has shown himself incapable of conducting himself with anything resembling integrity. I understand that I might look arrogant, but I know my own limitations. He might be cleverer than me in some departments, but I’ve always had better resources than him and if what you told me is true, we have him easily outnumbered.”

“He’s been attacking so many ships recently.” Stede said, “If he’s fully committed to overcoming anyone in his path and prepared to do anything to win, isn’t that something you should be more concerned about?”

“You’ve seen the list of vessels he’s raided; they’re mostly rich party boats, merchant ships, small fry, hell, there’s even a fishing boat on the list! None of these ships are designed for fighting someone like Blackbeard, but we are more than prepared. I would never take my crew into a battle I think they’re unprepared for. Besides, a majority of them are committed to this mission too. We voted on it. And when the time comes, they’ll decide what to do with him.”

“You’ll just leave him to the mercy of your crew?” Stede said in disbelief.

“They’re my crew.” Sam said, with a shrug.

“But if you don’t agree to their verdict-”

“Who am I to go against my crew? They make the choice to follow me every day, and I repay their loyalty by listening to them.”

“Even if they make the wrong decision?”

“I might think it’s the wrong decision, but I’m only one person. The biased and fallible judgment of a single man should never take precedence over the needs of a whole crew, especially one as large as mine, you surely know that.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Stede said.

Stede bit his tongue, thinking of his crew’s recent complaints, Lucius’ accusations. Stede wanted to be like that for his crew so badly, give them agency and input on important decisions in a way the world so rarely offered, but he wasn’t sure he’d been doing that lately. The crew had hated working for Bob, had been divided about this mission after Blackbeard and certainly didn’t share Stede’s view of him. Stede had been sure he’d made the right decisions, but did that matter if they all didn’t agree?

“You don't seem very committed to this mission." Sam commented. "After all he's done to you, surely you want to do what's right."

“Well, I-" Stede faltered, "Although I want my ship back more than anything, he- He's not entirely to blame for what happened."

“Then what happened?" Sam asked, his tone demanding a response.

“It wasn't all his fault." Stede said, the words sour on his tongue.

He could have told Sam that it wasn't Ed's fault at all, but he was rapidly realising that might not go down too well.

“If I'm honest, some of it is mine and some-" Stede said cautiously. 

Stede’s gaze shifted to Izzy for anywhere else to look. Stede wanted to tell the truth, but he worried that anything too harsh about Izzy wouldn’t be well-received by Sam. Stede decided to start again.

“We sailed together for a few weeks and I’d like to think he thought of me as a friend.”

Sam didn't respond, face impassive, leaving an aching silence as Stede's mind raced, wondering what on Earth Sam was thinking of him for defending someone he disliked so strongly. 

“We… we got into some trouble with the Navy." Stede said. "Ed and I were supposed to escape, but we were… separated, and a naval officer got to me first and so I panicked and left. He got back to the ship somehow, marooned half my crew and now… I don’t know.”

“Wow, that’s truly reprehensible behaviour.” Sam said, sounding disgusted.

Stede winced.

“I know I shouldn’t have left him-”

“Whoa,” Sam reached out and placed a warm hand on Stede’s elbow, “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“You weren’t?”

“No, of course not.” Sam said softly, such an abrupt change of tone from a few moments ago. “He would’ve surely known something was wrong when you didn’t show up, so he just took your ship and did that to your crew? That’s awful.”

Stede stared at the man’s sympathetic expression, his guilt a crushing weight on his chest. Sam didn’t understand, someone like him couldn’t.

“But I left him.” Stede protested.

“What difference does that make? Unless I’m missing something here, what else were you supposed to do? You said the Navy was after you.”

“I should have gone to find him and-”

“Did you know where he was?”

“Well, no, not really from where I was.”

“So, how’s that supposed to work?”

Stede faltered for a moment.

“But I was a coward, I went home to my family instead of looking for him right away, or even trying to get back to my crew. I told him I would go with him, and I ran off because I got cold feet.”

Sam shook his head, curls bouncing, looking troubled.

“Perhaps, but that’s not a reason to maroon your crew to a likely slow and painful death, or take your ship, let alone do everything else he’s been doing lately. Anyway, the Navy were after you, weren’t they? I can’t say I wouldn’t have panicked in that situation. You’re looking for him now, aren’t you, doesn’t that make up for it?”

“That’s not-” Stede began to protest, but cut himself off.

If he were honest with himself, there were parts of what Sam was saying that made some sense. Stede hadn’t known where he was in the forest, he didn’t know what time it was, and he’d been scared out of his mind. Perhaps, now, he could recognise that he should have tried to find Ed or at least leave him a note, but Stede wasn’t completely sure Ed could read very well, and Stede didn’t know how he could practically have done any of those things, alone in the dark, with just the clothes on his back.

“Look,” Sam continued, more gently, “it could be that I don’t know the full story of what’s happening here, but sometimes when you’re in the middle of conflict it’s difficult to assess all your options and make the right decision, right? It’s easy to berate yourself for making the wrong decisions all you like with the knowledge that you have now, but at the time, did you see any other options?”

“Running off with no explanation still wasn’t right.” Stede persisted.

“Very well,” Sam sighed in resignation, “even if we pretend that’s what happened, you understand yourself better now and you know what you’d do better in future, don’t you, so you can do it?”

“Maybe.” Stede said.

Sam leaned over, clasping Stede’s elbow reassuringly and, feeling undeserving, Stede tensed, fighting the urge to shake him off.

“So don’t be too harsh on yourself over it, Nicholas.” Sam said, “Don't worry; we’ll find your ship and your crew.”

Despite Sam’s assurances, or perhaps because of them, Stede did not sleep well that night. As he listened to Izzy shifting and mumbling in his sleep through the darkness, a heavy weight seemed to settle on his chest. No matter what Sam might have said, Stede knew it was his decisions that had led them all to this point; Ed, his crew, Izzy, even Sam. However misguided Stede thought Sam was, he had been entirely sincere in his support of Nicholas, and Stede had lied to his face. He had no idea that Stede loved Sam’s enemy, that he planned to help Ed escape from whatever repercussions Sam’s crew might plan for him. He wasn’t sure how he could continue riding on this ship knowing he was trespassing on the man’s hospitality, he thought, as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

It was as the cold light of dawn began to filter in through the curtains that Stede heard Izzy’s breathing get heavier, speeding up before it seemed to catch and change, like a drowning man surfacing.

Izzy was awake.

Chapter Text

‘They're tortured and I wouldn't understand it

Plus they got a lot of unexamined father-son baggage

They don't wanna talk about it, is that a challenge?’

- Not Another Rockstar, Maisie Peters

Patience had honestly expected life on a pirate ship to be much worse. Granted, the food was horrendous, the straw mattress she and Jim took turns using each night was beyond agonising, but she was alive, unharmed and the crew were surprisingly friendly.

As promised, Archie had found a trunk of unwanted clothes secured on a raid and let Patience have pick of the bunch. Patience had found some sturdy boots and selected several more practical pieces of clothing that she suspected had belonged to servants or sailors’ wives. As much as she was drawn to the prettier dresses, she'd decided on something more hard-wearing and also comfortable for the heat of the Caribbean. The clothes didn’t fit as well as she would have liked, but they were clean and helped her feel somewhat like herself, despite her lack of freedom under the circumstances.

Patience was certain though, that her positive experiences so far had a lot to do with the fact that she hadn’t seen Blackbeard once since her arrival on The Revenge. She’d heard him, though, his wails piercing through the night above the rush of the sea, as everyone around her insisted they hadn’t heard anything. The pirates seemed unwilling to so much as mention his name in her presence, yet in the broken off sentences and pregnant pauses that followed, he was a malign presence.

It was several days before Patience saw him in the flesh again, and, when she did, she was baffled by the change in the man.

Jim had escorted her above decks to help repair some fish nets, instructed by a kind sailor named Fang. The crew had seemed quite happy to include her in their chores to keep her occupied, and the longer Blackbeard stayed away, the more they relaxed into friendly camaraderie. To her shock, Patience found herself enjoying the tasks and conversation more than she had with her peers in the aristocracy. It wouldn't last long, however, as after one peaceful hour, Blackbeard came bounding onto deck like an overeager puppy. His face was scrubbed clean, hair tied back and much neater, and he’d stopped at Patience’s side, greeting her like an old friend.

“Have tea with me,” he’d demanded, “in my cabin, come on!”

She hadn’t even had time to protest, only gaping after the man as he disappeared below decks once more.

“Get up.” Jim grunted, the first words Patience had heard them speak in hours.

“What if I would prefer not to?” she asked, uncertainly.

“He might kill you.” Archie shrugged at her other side. “Or throw a knife at you or something. He’s been into that lately.”

So, Patience had been forced to put aside the pair of gloves Fang had given her, and make her way to the captain’s cabin, with Archie at her side like a rather strange guardian angel.

Patience winced when she saw the Captain’s cabin; a cavernous room that looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Pages ripped out of books littered the floor, heavy curtains with brocade hung in tatters, the carnage causing her to idly wonder what this room had looked like before it had been ripped apart. Overall the room had, in the past, clearly boasted a strange level of attention to detail in its décor. The walls and doors had carefully painted panel edges in warm golds and reds and, for some baffling reason, the cabin had a fireplace.

Blackbeard appeared from behind the door, causing Patience’s heart to attempt to escape her chest.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“You asked me.” she squeaked, before realising his eyes were on Archie behind her.

“You wanted me to keep an eye on her, protect her?” Archie said.

“Not for this. I’m not going to do anything to her, am I?” Blackbeard grumbled.

Archie raised her eyebrows and Patience grit her teeth.

“She might need me,” Archie said, “for… ladies' things.”

“What 'ladies' things'?”

“You know, ' ladies' things' .” Archie whispered, nudging Patience as though they were both in on some secret.

Patience just stared back at her, nonplussed.

“Urgh, fine, you can stay, but just be quiet.” Blackbeard huffed, sounding too impatient to care.

Blackbeard ushered Patience towards a pair of armchairs set by one of the broken and boarded windows.

She reluctantly perched on the claw-footed armchair that looked like someone had taken a knife to its upholstery. She sensed Archie take up position behind her shoulder, grateful for her presence. Patience wasn’t convinced Archie would actually carry through with protecting her against Blackbeard, but it was nice to have someone around who had been friendly towards her.

Patience reluctantly offered Blackbeard a polite smile, instinctively wiping her hands on her skirt, a nervous gesture her mother had always told her was ‘disgustingly common’. All she knew was that it felt comforting.

There was a tray sat on a box between the chairs, containing a teapot and mismatched tea cups without saucers. There was also a pile of some baked goods that might have been an attempt at bread rolls, alongside some marmalade that had been dumped directly onto the tray. Patience tried not to stare at the tray too judgmentally, but was not sure she was successful.

“Shall I be mother?” she asked, instinctively.

“What?” Blackbeard asked, as though she’d spoken a foreign language.

“I’m the oldest woman present.” Patience said.

Blackbeard looked perplexed, blinking at her with big brown eyes.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to pretend to be my mother,” he said.

“No, no!” she felt herself blush, “I’m asking if you want me to pour the tea. I mean usually, it’s done by the oldest woman present.” Patience cast an uncertain glance in Archie’s direction.

“Why would that matter?” Blackbeard asked, thankfully sounding more curious than annoyed. “You’re my guest. Shouldn’t I pour it?”

“Well... you can.” Patience admitted, feeling a little rebellious, only being able to imagine her mother’s face if she could see this – if she was still alive, that was.

Things had been so chaotic as she’d left her ship, and Patience wasn’t entirely sure about every detail of events. She’d seen some of her family members definitely hadn’t made it, her father for one. A chill ran through her body. She hurriedly pushed the thought aside; she would focus on surviving the present moment for now, and processing what had happened could come later.

Patience stared in disbelief as Blackbeard gracelessly poured tea into both teacups, a generous amount of leaves swimming on top, her eyes widening as he shovelled a total of seven sugars into his teacup. 

In the softer light filtering into the cabin he suddenly looked so very human, a total contrast to the terrifying dark figure she had met on her wedding boat, that had sliced off her mother's wrist or shot her father. 

He was the same man, though, Patience reminded herself.

“Is that a thing?” Blackbeard asked suddenly, “The mother thing?”

“Yes.” Patience replied. “It’s usual.”

“He never told me that one.” Blackbeard muttered.

“He?” she repeated.

Archie could be heard drawing in a sharp breath.

Blackbeard raised his eyes to Patience's, flicking over her face frantically for a second before he gave a curt nod.

“My- a gentleman friend. He was teaching me about… this stuff.” Blackbeard made a gesture somewhere towards the tea tray or perhaps Patience herself.

She wondered if this meant ‘a friend who was a gentleman’ or a ‘ gentleman friend ’. With the strangely shy way Blackbeard was now refusing to look at her, either seemed like a fair bet, or more likely both.

“Ah, I see.” Patience lied. “Well, if there isn’t a servant or member of wait-staff around, it’s normal for the oldest woman present to pour the tea in polite society.”

“’ Polite society ’” Blackbeard repeated, as though testing how the words sounded. “What’s that mean?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever found out.” Patience admitted. “It depends on who you ask.”

Blackbeard hummed, frowning at her.

Disconcerted by his gaze, Patience reached towards the handle of her cup and then thought better of it.

“It’s not poisoned.” Blackbeard read her mind.

“Right.” she said.

His eyes were heavy on her in anticipation, and politeness compelled her to lift the cup full of dubiously coloured liquid to her lips and take the smallest sip. Patience’s face involuntarily scrunched up, despite her best efforts.

“You alright?” he asked, actually sounding nervous at her reaction.

She swallowed again, the bitter aftertaste lingering in her mouth.

“Did- did you make this?” she asked, before she could think better of it.

“Yeah.” Blackbeard said, slowly.

“Have you made tea yourself before?”

“Yeah.” Blackbeard said, too quickly, too sharply. “Once. Many years ago.”

“Ah.” Patience said, understanding.

“Is it bad?” he asked, seeming genuinely worried.

Patience noted he hadn’t touched his cup yet and she didn’t want to be caught lying when he did, but hurting his ego also didn’t seem like a smart option either.

“It’s unique.” she said.

“That sounds like rich-people speak for 'bad'.” Blackbeard looked unimpressed, but not angry.

“I didn’t say that.” Patience said, carefully.

Blackbeard still looked dubious.

Patience rummaged around in her mind for something to fill the silence with; she certainly didn’t want him to decide he was offended.

“May I offer some advice?” she asked. “To make it more palatable?”

Blackbeard looked relieved, as though for some reason he had been terrified of her judging him.

“What?” he asked.

“Next time, maybe use less leaves?” she suggested. “And let it steep for several minutes, but not too many, and also strain it as you pour it. Perhaps, then, you won't need seven sugars.”

“Oh yeah! There’s supposed to be a thing, isn’t there?” he said, thoughtful, cupping his hand. “Like a tiny sieve.”

“Yes, a tea strainer.” Patience said, allowing herself to relax a little at this positive reaction.

“Fuck.” Blackbeard muttered. “Should’ve remembered that. I wonder if we have one somewhere.”

Blackbeard began looking about the room as though it would suddenly appear, before turning back to contemplate his teacup.

“I thought it just tasted better because he was drinking it with me but really, I was always doing it wrong.”

“Well, you know, now,” said Patience, “how to do it properly, whether he’s there or not.”

Blackbeard didn’t seem at all comforted by this, instead looking mournfully down into his cup reminding Patience strangely of a lonely puppy.

“How did you get to know him?” Patience asked.

She regretted it immediately, as Blackbeard’s expression darkened, eyes boring into her. Archie made a strange choking noise. Patience held herself as still as possible, fighting to keep her expression open and friendly. Apparently this was a very unwise question to ask.

“He Captained this ship.” Blackbeard said, eventually. “Then he left it.” his tone changed, low, like an accusation.

“Oh,” Patience said, non-committal.

“But he’s dead now, so...” Blackbeard shrugged looking unnaturally stiff, like he wanted to convince her this wasn’t of any significance to him. “Or at least that’s what everyone tells me.”

“Oh,” Patience turned her gaze downwards to the edge of the table.

“Anyway,” Blackbeard said, loud and bright, the whiplash making Patience jump, “I was going to ask; how did you meet your fiance?”

Patience lips parted at the change of subject.

“Um, on my cousin’s estate. I nearly shot him with an arrow.” she replied, trying to sound light and humorous.

Blackbeard’s face unexpectedly lit up.

“It was an accident.” Patience added, hastily. “I was still learning.”

Blackbeard smiled.

“I bet you wish you’d hit him now,” he said.

Patience was so shocked she couldn’t help but laugh. She shouldn’t have been shocked; she was speaking to a pirate renowned for his ruthlessness, but she still couldn’t imagine why he would assume her capable of such a thing.

“Not really!”

“Oh come on,” Blackbeard, pushed her, “he convinced you to abandon everything you know, didn’t he?”

“Well, I did want to come to Barbados with or without him.” Patience protested, biting her tongue to stop any more details coming out.

Patience did not want to bring Bea into this. As Jim had warned her, the less this man knew, the better.

“No, that’s not the point.” Blackbeard said passionately, “He was going to marry you! He made you feel special,”

“Well, I don’t know about that-”

“He let you think he was doing to spend his life with you and he just… just tossed you aside like an old shoe. Doesn’t that make you want to just.. just- just want to tear him apart ?”

“No, not really,” Patience said weakly, “and I’ve never thought of myself as an old shoe.”

“You can’t let men do that!” Blackbeard continued with surprising passion, no longer even looking at Patience. “This world is full of bastards. You’ve got to put them back in their place or they’ll worm their way back in again. If I met this man of yours, I’d rip out his heart and feed it to him!”

Patience saw the whites of his eyes flash and she was taken back to her childhood, at the stable with her friends. They’d sneaked out to watch the groom try and coax a ‘problem’ mare into a bridle. It had always been a marvel to watch the groom work, turn unruly horses three times his size into gentle, docile creatures. The mare had seemed to calm down, slowing to a nervous pacing up and down the paddock. He’d edged towards her, posture as relaxed as possible, allowed her to move towards him, take an interest. Patience had watched, heart in her throat, as he’d lifted the bridle, but the mare’s eyes had widened. The mare had kicked him hard in the head. The man had lived, but she’d heard he had never been quite the same afterwards, somehow had lost his magic touch.

There was a loud crack, and Blackbeard's teacup fell to the floor, his grip having wrenched the handle clean off. Patience flinched.

“Oh shit.” he said, looking down at the smashed china, seeming shocked.

Archie jumped into action.

“I’ll get the broom.” she said, rushing out of the room, Patience staring after her.

An uncomfortable silence swelled in the room, Patience painfully aware that the two of them were alone as they both stared down at the broken teacup.

“Shit,” Blackbeard repeated, reaching to touch the back of his neck awkwardly, “didn’t mean to do that, just get… angry sometimes.”

“Accidents happen.” Patience said, soothingly.

“Don’t s’pose you ever do that, being a gentlewoman and all.”

“Everyone gets angry sometimes.” Patience said, despite the fact she’d never broken anything in anger before.

Blackbeard sniffed, running a hand through his hair and seeming unable to look at her.

“But do you ever get-” he cut himself off before starting again, “Do you ever get so pissed it’s like… it’s like you’re not you anymore, like there’s... a monster inside of you.”

“A monster?” Patience prompted.

“Yeah,” he said, “like a- a Kraken or something.”

Patience frowned.

“You see yourself as a giant octopus-like creature when you’re angry?” she asked, doubtful.

“No!” Blackbeard said defensively, “Yes... Maybe!” Blackbeard said. “It’s like… a dark thing clinging to your insides, strangling you, like you but… not? If I could get rid of it…”

“I don’t think emotions work like that, unfortunately.” Patience said.

“No, guess not.” Blackbeard’s shoulders sloped downwards in defeat.

“I don’t think anger itself is bad or wrong, we all feel it sometimes.” she said, trying to sound gentle, “Anger is a part of you as much as happiness is. It’s not like you can drain it and it’ll be gone. I suppose it has to be expressed somehow.”

“You don’t seem that angry with your fiance, though. How are you not angry?”

“It’s not that I’m not cross.” Patience said, “It’s just, I do understand, on some level. Marriage is a huge commitment, so I can understand getting cold feet. I suppose I resent him a little, for leaving me behind without thinking about what it would mean for me.” Patience said unwillingly. “If he didn’t want to marry me he could have told me to my face. I just think it’s rather cruel to back out at the last minute.”

“It is!” Blackbeard agreed, “Really fucking cruel.”

“But I must admit I don’t particularly feel the need to go around feeding people their organs because of it.”

“But you’re supposed to want that!” he said passionately, wild eyed.

“I’m sorry?” Patience apologised, confused, shrinking back in her chair.

“You can't just let them get away with it. That's how they win.” Blackbeard insisted.

Patience hesitated. She knew she couldn't empathise with whatever Blackbeard appeared to be going through; some man had abandoned him, that much was obvious, and he seemed to want to punish this man, perhaps. These were things Patience hadn't exactly experienced, but she had been wronged by men, certainly, and she'd experienced heartbreak. She'd been separated from Bea by her parents and her father had a lot of very cruel things to say about the entire situation. Patience had been furious about that, certainly. There were times when she'd desperately wanted him to feel her pain, but she was intelligent enough to know that no matter how hard enough she might try, she couldn't force him to understand, and it certainly wouldn't have made things right.

“Well,” she began slowly, “I see it less as 'letting him get away with it' and more as prioritising myself over him.”

“Like how?” Blackbeard frowned.

“Well, I would rather make a success of my life than have him control it, I suppose,” she replied. "Although if I did meet him again, I can't promise I wouldn't slap him."

Blackbeard hummed in thought.

Patience didn't have long to wonder exactly what he was thinking, though, as the door was flung open.

“Captain!” the youngest pirate’s head appeared round the door. “There’s a ship passing.”

Frenchie was his name, although Patience was yet to find out why.

“Yes, and?” Blackbeard snapped.

“Do you want to maybe… do anything about it?” Frenchie suggested, cringing as he did so.

“Leave it.” Blackbeard waved him away, “Unless they look like they’re going to attack, ignore them. We need to keep going. We can’t waste time. Oh, and bring me some more boiling water and fresh tea leaves. Miss Carrington is going to show me how to make a better cup of tea.”

Chapter Text

‘He’ll wrap you in his arms,
 tell you that you’ve been a good boy

He’ll rekindle all those dreams 
it took you a lifetime to destroy’

- Red Right Hand, Karliene

On one of the occasions he’d floated into consciousness, Izzy had determined he wasn’t in the infirmary any more, but a private cabin, which struck him as strange. He was surely still on a Navy vessel, since he remembered waking several times, finding Sam sitting by his bed, holding his hand, sometimes whispering self-flagellating nonsense and apologies into his ear.

He’d tried straining to remember the battle that had resulted in the injury. He remembered fighting for his life on the deck of the HMS Marigold. It had been impossible to tell who was friend or foe in the chaos, yet in the midst of it all, he'd seen Conyngham sneaking off and made the mistake of following him. He should have known better than to let the man, who had been harassing him for months, corner him below decks, where nobody would be able to hear him over the battle. Izzy hadn't been prepared and had paid the price. Things were hazy after that, but there was one thing Izzy remembered clearly; Sam running Conyngham right through, something Izzy knew he had never done before.

Beyond that, he couldn’t remember much that had happened, which was unfortunate as he really wanted to know why his leg hurt like hell. On the few other times he’d awoken, it had been to have his bandages changed or to be fed and washed by a nice blonde-haired surgeon. Most Navy surgeons were rough but efficient, but this man was unusually gentle and patient. 

“Izzy? Izzy? Can you hear me?” a voice came to him through the darkness.

"Urgh, yes, Sam, I can hear you." Izzy grumbled.

“Can you open your eyes?"

It felt like he had to engage all his brain power to force his eyelids open and he immediately regretted it, as he was assaulted by the blinding light of the morning.

"Fuck, no thanks." Izzy said, reflexively, dry eyes snapping shut.

Sam hummed. Izzy flinched at the cool and gentle hand landing on his heated forehead, before relaxing into it and sighing as the tension in his head eased slightly.

“Could you get your captain, please?” Izzy heard Sam say to someone else in the room and heard a murmur of agreement.

Izzy made an unwilling noise of displeasure as the cool hand was removed and he heard Sam shift away. There was rustling and the brightness behind his eyelids eased. Izzy reached out a hand, trying to find the other man, hand catching his wrist and clinging to the cuff of his shirt, material softer than expected and, to Izzy’s surprise, edged with a light edge of lace.

"Bloody Prince of Pirates." Izzy muttered under his breath, without malice.

He expected a laugh to follow, but instead felt Sam stiffen.

"I'm going to need you to sit up and drink some water." Sam said. "Alright?"

Izzy swallowed uncomfortably, detaching his tongue from the roof of his dry mouth and humming in agreement. Izzy forced his eyes open slightly. Sickly yellow light filtered through familiar curtains that he could barely see across the room with. He let himself be propped up against a surprisingly plump pillow. The man at his side was quick to lift the glass to his lips and Izzy drank it down greedily, the moisture soothing his mouth.

“Slow down. You'll be sick again.” the man said, drawing the glass away and Izzy’s sluggish brain finally caught up. That accent was decidedly not that of Samuel Bellamy.

That was when Izzy realised the cabin was familiar because it was on a ship called the Queen Anne. It took several seconds for his eyes to focus on the other man hunched over him, a man shorter and more broad-shouldered than Sam. He got a blurry impression of a man with light looking hair, and a white shirt. The surgeon then? Izzy blinked again to clear his vision, finally bringing the man’s face into focus, finding Stede Bonnet blinking owlishly down at him.

In a rush, he remembered everything that had happened; Sam was dead, he’d been dead for years, Izzy had followed Edward, Edward had chosen Bonnet, Bonnet had abandoned Edward and… Panic washed over him, curdling as it paired with the feeling of weakness and feverishness and before he could stop it, he found himself lurching up to lean over the side of the bed, the water he'd just drank forcing its way back up his throat, burning hot. Bonnet leapt up, ready with a bowl to catch it, there at his side, rubbing his back.

“Get your fucking-” Izzy began to protest.

Izzy was interrupted by a dry retch and Bonnet’s hand stayed firm.

“Bonnet.” Izzy choked, raising an arm that felt unnaturally heavy and shaky to push him away, only succeeding at pawing ineffectually at Bonnet’s side. “I’m warning you.” he rasped.

As he lurched forward again, his vision was filled with stars that he had to blink hard to clear.

“Take it easy.” Bonnet said, softly, detaching Izzy’s hand and returning it to his side with ease.

Before Izzy could stop him, there was a handkerchief dabbing at his mouth. Izzy took a shallow breath, hunched over the bowl, trying to swallow down the nausea.

Bonnet’s hand haltingly made its way to rub his back again as though he were a sick child. In his weakened state, Izzy could admit to himself, though, that the feeling of Bonnet’s cool hand laid on his bare feverish skin was a little relieving. Wait-

“Where- where the fuck are my clothes?” Izzy said, realising his modesty was preserved only by his smalls, a lightweight pair of grey breeches he’d never seen before and a light cotton sheet. He struggled to untangle himself to better hide himself below the waist.

“Careful. The wound is delicate.”

“Bonnet, my clothes, my ring.” the words came out as more of a desperate plea than the demand he’d meant it to be.

“Oh, your ring is on the side there.” Bonnet said pointing to the bedside table. “Your clothes are being cleaned.”

Izzy grabbed the ring the moment he saw it, forcing it safely onto his finger.

“That’s a nice stone by the way.” Bonnet said, nodding towards his hand.

Izzy hid his hand beneath the covers, not wanting to welcome any personal questions.

“Why?” Izzy said, raising his voice.

“Why what?”

“My fucking clothes. Why d’you take them?”

“They were dirty probably, or too hot, maybe. That was before I got here. Your fever got quite bad. I had to give you a sponge bath, I hope you don’t mind.”

“You what ?”

“I mean,” Bonnet looked embarrassed, “I did ask you and you said it was okay, but you were quite sleepy, so I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember. I wasn’t sure what else to do to help lower your temperature.”

Izzy did remember, unfortunately, even if he hadn’t recognised Bonnet. At the time he’d been grateful for the refreshing feeling of the cool cloth on his burning skin, Bonnet’s hands gently moving him about as Izzy had watched him, fighting sleep, trying to prepare himself to push the other man away if he needed to. Thankfully Bonnet had worked quickly, tucking him back into bed again afterwards. Izzy’s stomach churned again, as he realised Bonnet, of all people, had seen him in such a pathetically weak state.

"You can get back if you don't want me to throw up on you, Bonnet." Izzy threatened, breathlessly.

"That would hardly be the worst thing you've done to me. It's a bit late for you to worry about that, anyway,” Bonnet said briskly, patting down his poorly-fitting breeches, “You've been quite sick these past few days."

Izzy rushed to sift through all his fragmented memories, all of those he now knew Bonnet had been present for.

“How long-?” he began croakily, cutting himself off.

“I think you've been on this ship for a week, at least.” Bonnet said, uncharacteristically sombre, as though that would soften the blow of any of this.

“Oh Christ.” Izzy muttered.

“You were asleep for a long time, we were worried you wouldn’t wake up.” Bonnet said, quietly, as though this made such an absurd statement convincing.

“You should have let me die.” Izzy said, looking down at the gap under the covers where his leg should have been. “Why the fuck didn’t you?”

Bonnet cocked his head to the side, mouth falling open, as though his stupid brain couldn’t comprehend the statement.

“Why would you want that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Izzy returned. “Would finally get me out of your way, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s not… I- I don’t like you very much,” Bonnet spluttered, “but I’ve decided I don’t particularly want you to die! That would just be unnecessarily cruel, especially since it seems like you’ve already suffered quite a bit lately.” Bonnet said, eyes straying towards Izzy’s leg.

Izzy clutched the blankets tighter, feeling like a wild animal caught in a trap. He would have sworn he could feel the leg there, even if he knew it wasn’t. He didn’t want to think too hard about what it would mean for him just yet, about exactly how helpless to Bonnet - to anyone - that that made him.

“Why are you looking after me?” Izzy asked, accusingly. “How the fuck are you alive? And why the fuck are we back on Annie?”

“Am I supposed to be dead?” Bonnet asked foolishly.

“Blackbeard found a newspaper.” Izzy said, glaring at him.

“He did? I didn’t know Ed could read.”

“Enough to read an obituary.”

“Oh,” Bonnet’s eyes became unfocussed. “Oh dear,”

“Oi!” Izzy persisted. “Answer my question. What the fuck are we doing back on the Queen Anne?”

“The captain of this ship captured her.” Bonnet replied. “I asked for passage back to The Revenge in exchange for working on the ship and getting you medical care. Apparently, the captain knows you.”

Izzy’s lip curled.

“You’re no physician, Bonnet .”

“No, but Roach has some relevant knowledge.” Bonnet said, calmly.

“Roach?” Izzy repeated, uncomprehending.

“Yes. Lucky for you my crew survived you marooning them, isn’t it?” Bonnet returned to his normal petulant tone of voice. “I know you don’t care for my crew, but hadn’t it occurred to you that keeping a surgeon might be wise?”

“It’s not for me to question my captain’s orders.” Izzy parroted.

“Were they Edward’s orders?” Bonnet’s eyes narrowed, dubious.

“They were Blackbeard’s orders.” Izzy glared at him. “And who’s your Captain on this ship, Bonnet?”

Bonnet drew himself up to his full height, looking down at Izzy.

“Well, firstly,” he began, haughtily, “I’m supposed to be dead, so I’ve told him, and I’m going under the name of Nicholas Thomas, which I hope you can stick to-”

“Tell me, Bonnet.”

“We’re sailing with Captain Samuel Banks, but I’m still-”

“I’ve never heard of him in my life.” Izzy said.

Banks wasn’t an uncommon name, but he couldn’t recall any Captain Banks who might be invested in keeping him alive, unless this man wanted information out of him about Edward.

“Well, he definitely knows you.” Bonnet said. “He sailed with you and Ed on the Marianne, so he says.”

Izzy frowned. He didn’t recall anybody called Banks on the Marianne, someone called Samuel however…

“Samuel? Shiiiit.” Izzy hissed.

“What?” Bonnet asked.

“Bring me your captain.” Izzy commanded.

“He’s hardly my captain,” Bonnet said, snootily. “I’m just cooperating with him so we can reach Ed.”

“Bring him to me, Bonnet.” Izzy insisted, too tired to offer any insults about Bonnet’s ability to captain a ship, even if he would have loved to.

“You’re hardly in a position to make demands, Izzy.” Bonnet said, all obnoxious smugness. “He’ll be here soon; you and I need to talk first.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Izzy said, turning his face a way to stare down at the blankets.

“How did you get injured?” Bonnet asked.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Was it a raid? Did someone beat you in a fight, is that why you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Something like that.”

“But the toes-”

“It was a shark.” Izzy spat, before Bonnet could begin speculating.

“A shark.” Bonnet repeated, doubtfully. “How?”

“It’ll happen, when you dangle your legs over the side of a ship. Serves me right.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. I can’t imagine you being that careless. And why would the water be that high up the hull? What were you carrying on board? And why-”

“It’s none of your fucking business.” Izzy snarled.

Bonnet frowned, seemingly troubled. Another version of Izzy would have spat in Bonnet’s face that his boyfriend had been the one to do it, but Izzy was too exhausted.

“Where’s Ed?” Bonnet asked.

Izzy exhaled on a defeated laugh.

“Somewhere I don’t think even you can reach him.” Izzy said.

“You know where he’s going?” Bonnet persisted. “You can either answer my questions now, or answer the same questions when Banks asks you. He’s very intent on stopping Blackbeard.”

“Then I’ll wait.” Izzy decided.

“You will answer my questions.” Bonnet asserted, as though the words alone would compel him.

“Or what?” Izzy asked.

“Well…” Bonnet said, apparently unable to think of something to threaten him with.

If Izzy had been in good health, he’d happily have walked out and left Bonnet alone to bluster, but as that wasn’t an option, he wanted nothing more than to shut him up. So, Izzy pulled the best smirk he could manage as he looked up to meet Bonnet’s eyes.

“If you really want to know, Bonnet, Blackbeard’s on his way to kill your wife.”

Bonnet’s face was a picture of disbelief, followed by horror.

“What do you mean?”

Izzy didn’t say a word. He wanted to feel satisfied by getting the reaction out of Bonnet that he’d hoped for, but he was too tired down to his bones to remember why it had been so important to him in the first place. Izzy didn't want to imagine what might happen when Blackbeard got to Barbados any more than Bonnet did.

There was an almighty crash as the cabin door bounced with force off of the wall, making Izzy jump and reach for a weapon that wasn't there.

“Izzy!”

Izzy might have suspected what was coming but he hadn’t yet dared to believe it.

In the doorway stood Sam Bellamy, leaving Izzy as tongue-tied as he ever did. Out of his fever haze, Izzy realised that he did look different than when they'd last met twenty years ago, but the years had been kind to him. His long dark hair might have been rather grey at the temples and his deep blue coat was less ostentatious than the black velvet coats he’d taken such pride in, but he looked no less sharp and well cared for. 

“Izzy.” His name was infused with pure relief.

Sam was on his knees at Izzy’s side in seconds, cool fingers biting into Izzy’s wrist, leaving no doubt that this man was flesh and blood, not a ghost manufactured by Izzy’s feverish mind.

Sam’s expression was almost hungry, eyes darting across his face as though determined to memorise every detail. Izzy felt powerless but to return his gaze, finding new lines on the other man’s face, laugh lines and frown lines, a subtle scar on his chin; the product of twenty years of experiences Izzy hadn’t been around to witness.

Izzy could barely breathe for the aching that filled his chest. Izzy had imagined the man's death a hundred times; him being swept off of deck by a wave, or knocked down by some piece of debris, or maybe the slow and agonising descent of a sinking ship with his crew that Sam would, of course, refuse to leave. Every scenario ended with the strong, fiercely kind, force of nature that was Samuel Bellamy being dragged to the depths like he was nothing.

Every storm he'd survived since, Izzy couldn't stop the panic that engulfed him when he imagined Sam's last minutes. There was even a part of him that wondered how Sam might have been able to enjoy this life better than Izzy had, that was resentful of the fact that the world had taken him away first. A man like Sam had deserved to live a full life, he'd thought, would know how to enjoy it in a way Izzy didn't think he ever could, as he fought to survive each day. Yet, all of it had apparently been a lie.

Sam had abandoned his crew. He'd abandoned Izzy.

Izzy wasn’t sure where he found the energy, but he did, somehow lifting his arm, slapping the man across the face with all the force he could muster.

“Ow, what was that for?” Sam whined, clutching his cheek.

The mature man was gone in an instant, replaced by the teenager who’d trailed around after Izzy, begging him to teach him to fight like he did.

“Can’t you be a little grateful?”

“Grateful?!” Izzy repeated, “You cheeky fucker! For the last time, I don’t need saving!”

“But Izzy-”

“What the fuck, Sam? You let me think you’d died!” Izzy’s eyes burned, Sam becoming blurry before him.

“That was the idea. Worked well, didn’t it?” Sam said,

Izzy grabbed him by the collar with a trembling hand, pulling him down to his level.

“You’d better not give me a bullshit explanation, or I’ll slit your throat myself.”

“I’m sorry Izzy, but I had to.” Sam said with the kind of soft eyes Izzy had a very unfortunate weakness for. “I did miss you.”

“Fuck you Bellamy.” Izzy let him fall from his grasp.

“Bellamy?” Bonnet’s jarring voice cut through the room.

Izzy glowered at Sam, unable to peel his eyes away, despite himself.

“It’s Samuel fucking Bellamy.” Izzy spat.

“Izzy!” Sam protested.

“The Prince of Pirates!” Bonnet gasped, staring at Sam like someone witnessing the second coming of Christ. 

It was sickening to behold.

“Who else?” Izzy said.

“Oh my!” said Bonnet, clasping both hands to his mouth.

“Izzy!” Sam repeated in horror.

“Shut your gob, you lying scumbag.” Izzy spat.

“People can’t know I’m alive.” Sam persisted, leaning closer to Izzy. “It’s too dangerous. The Navy will be after me.”

Izzy shrank back, shaking his head, his throat tightening. Not only had Sam hidden away like a coward, he actually wanted Izzy to lie for him.

“It’s been twenty years , Sam.” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“I know, I’m sorry it had to be like this. I had other people to consider.”

“Bullshit, I know what-”

“Sam! Sam!” Bonnet cut him off, clutching at the man’s shoulder. “Izzy said Blackbeard is on his way to Barbados.”

Sam blinked.

“What? But that’s ages away and it’s crawling with the Navy right now. That’s a suicide mission.”

“I don’t think Blackbeard is too concerned with his own safety at the moment.” Izzy said.

“Are you sure that’s where he was going?” Sam asked.

“Izzy said he wants to kill my ex-wife.” Bonnet said.

“Is that true?”

“It’s what he was planning.” Izzy said, tiredly.

“Why would he want to do that?”

“Because this dickhead betrayed him for her.” Izzy said, jerking a thumb towards Bonnet.

“That’s not what happened.” Bonnet said.

“Do I look like I give a fuck about your excuses?”

“Right, right I see.” Sam said, “So, I suppose we’re going to Barbados, not that I can see how we can get past the Navy.”

“Oh!” Bonnet said. “I might know a small bay you could stop at that might be safe. It’s where I hid my ship when I had it built. I can try and find it on a map, if that would help.”

“Um yes, that would help a lot actually,” Sam said, brightening as he looked at Bonnet, “thank you!”

Of course Sam would like Bonnet , thought Izzy, it was just his luck.

“Oi! Bellamy, I haven’t finished with you yet.” Izzy interrupted.

“I go by Banks now,” Sam corrected him, “have done for almost twenty years. I can’t have people knowing who I am.”

“I’m not calling you that.” Izzy said. “You've got some damn cheek telling me to lie for you after everything.”

“Please, Izzy.” Sam's grey eyes were soft and Izzy hated how it made his heart melt. “It's not just for my safety.”

“Maybe we could talk about it later.” Bonnet said, nervously. “It's my family's safety I'm worried about.”

“You didn't seem worried about them before when you were off cavorting around playing at pirates, why start now?” Izzy said, Bonnet's constant interruptions grating on his nerves.

Bonnet's expression hardened.

“Don't pretend you've ever even tried to understand me, Iggy .” he replied.

“Okay, okay.” Sam said, “Let's not argue. Nicholas is right, we can't afford to waste time. Look, Izzy I swear I'll explain later, but this really is more important.”

“Well, if it's what Nicholas says, I s'pose I don't have a choice.”

Chapter Text

‘He was sunshine, I was midnight rain

He wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride, I was making my own name

Chasing that fame’

- Midnight Rain, Taylor Swift

When Edward tried to involve him in a drunken game of 'truth or dare' with Jack on the beach, that was when Izzy knew it was time to leave.

“Are you sure you won't join us Iz?” Ed had said, “It'll be fun.” 

“Yeah," Jack had piped up, "and have a drink with us; you're a funny drunk."

On the two occasions Izzy had been drunk around Jack, he recalled Jack doing most of the laughing, so this didn't exactly encourage him. Besides, much as Izzy wanted to share in Ed’s joy, he knew that it wasn’t his function in Ed’s life; he simply wasn’t suited to it.

“I'm fine. I just want a bit of quiet.” Izzy replied.

“' Quiet '.” Ed's nose scrunched up. "What for?”

“Look, you ordered me to relax, for five minutes; that's now I relax.” Izzy said.

In truth, he didn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything close to relaxed.

“Come on,” Jack said, tugging on Edward's arm, “It'll do you good to get away from the old ball and chain for a minute.”

Even if he was a little offended at the phrasing, Izzy privately agreed. Ed had been rather restless lately, and when that happened, working some of that tension off by fooling around with Jack usually made him a lot easier to deal with afterwards.

“Okay, well enjoy your 'quiet' ” Ed said, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he was dragged away.

Izzy had decided he was better placed finding a nice patch of shade under a sea grape tree nearby, to whittle a new top to the banister post to repair the one Ed had blown off of the Marianne the previous week during a fit of pique. From his current vantage point he could look across the beach and both keep an eye on the ship and see Ed having fun with his adoring circle of fans, while making sure he didn’t get into an excessive amount of trouble.

It might have been a peaceful spot; with the rush of the waves, the rustle of leaves around him, and Edward’s carefree laughter on the breeze, yet peace never came easily to Izzy, especially on shore leave. It was their third day anchored in Cape Cod and Izzy was beginning to get especially unsettled; the longer they stayed in one place, the higher the risk of attack. As much as he trusted Read, who they’d left in charge of the Marianne, he hated being forced away from his ship.

The Marianne was a strange sort of home; once a sight of such squalor, pain and humiliation, since stripped bare and reshaped in Blackbeard’s image. Izzy couldn’t imagine making his home on a different ship any more and had no desire to try; after all the blood and sweat and tears Ed, Izzy, Sam, Jack, Anne and Read had shed to earn the Marianne, they would have to pry it away from his cold dead hands.

Yet even more than the Marianne, he worried about Ed when he was let loose on land in one of his more restless moods. The last time Izzy had let Ed wander to shore on his own to get drunk, he’d returned with blood running down his face, excitedly telling a story that somehow involved a monkey trained to steal earrings, Jack standing on his head, and Ed nearly getting his ear sliced off. Izzy hadn’t been able to make head nor tail of Ed’s drunken ramblings, but he’d figured out enough to determine that he wanted to avoid a repeat performance.

Therefore, despite his personal preferences, he’d taken up his current spot, with Ed in view. Yet, even here, there was no quiet to be found.

“I’m just saying, we could’ve easily taken on that British ship. It must’ve carried one hell of a lot of gold.”

After being laughed out of Ed’s circle, one of the much younger crew members had, for some reason, decided he wanted Izzy’s company to unload all of his ideas about how the ship ought to be run. Izzy didn’t know his name, or feel any need to learn it. If Izzy knew the name of a crew member on this size of ship, it was either because they were skilled enough to be worth knowing, or because they were troublemakers, and this boy fell into neither category. Izzy did know, however, that he was annoying.

“And it had enough guns to blow us out of the water.” Izzy said, gruffly, not looking up from his work.

“It’s just when Blackbeard took over,” the young men said plaintively, like a child trying to get round their parents to get them a toy all their friends had, “he said things would be different than with Hornigold, but he still acts like he’s scared of the British.”

“Watch your tongue.” Izzy snarled. “It’s common sense to be careful with the British – and I’ve got more sense than to listen to strategy advice from some kid who can’t get through a target practice without setting his own beard alight.”

 “I only did that twice!” the boy complained.

 “Twice is two times too many. Trim it, for God’s sake. I want to be confident my crew aren’t going to spontaneously combust.”

 “I think it looks cool.” he pouted, “Anyway, you didn’t say that about the captain when he used them fuses to make it look like he was on fire and got a bit burned.” the boy said sulkily.

 “He’s Blackbeard, the beard is part of the job. We can’t have two Blackbeards.”

 “One is already more than you can handle.” a low teasing voice came from behind Izzy.

Izzy twisted round, knife ready in hand, words of chastisement on the tip of his tongue, only to find Sam grinning down at him. His long black curls were especially shiny in the sun, despite the salt air, suntanned skin glowing, clothes hugging all his curves and edges perfectly. Unfortunately for Izzy, these days, Sam always looked like that, but today, something was different. Izzy’s eyes were drawn downwards to his stockings, white as newly-fallen snow.

“Why are you all dressed up like a dog’s dinner?” Izzy asked.

“Go to see that pretty Hallett girl, did you?” chipped in his companion cheekily.

“Who?” Sam asked, frowning.

“Oh come on, Bellamy, the girl you were all over last night.” the kid said, a borderline vindictive gleam in his eye, as he glanced at Izzy.

Izzy looked away. He'd noticed Sam across the room having what looked like a deep conversation with a woman at the tavern Ed had dragged them all to. Izzy wouldn't have described the woman as a 'pretty girl', for those words felt too immature to describe her. 'The Witch of Wellfleet' one of the sailors in the tavern had called her, known for bewitching men with her beauty, but never letting any man too close. She'd had medium tan skin, with long shiny dark hair in plaits, and while Sam had been talking to her, she’d smiled at him, large dark eyes twinkling, as though she knew something Sam didn’t. It took a strong person to stay cool with Sam when he was trying so hard to charm you, but she certainly had and while they hadn't seemed to do more than talk, watching it had unsettled Izzy a little.

“Can’t a man just enjoy a lady’s conversation?” Sam asked.

“No.” the younger man responded smugly.

“Nonsense. You should try it, sometime.” Sam responded. “Now buzz off, the grown ups need to talk.”

“Hey, I was here first!” the boy complained.

“Go on, piss off.” Izzy shooed him away.

The boy huffed, stumbling off back in the group’s direction.

“What are those, then?” Izzy asked Sam, once he was gone. “ Silk stockings?”

“Yeah, look nice in 'em, don’t I?” Sam said, having the audacity to pose exactly like he was a rich man ready to have his portrait painted.

Sam did not look ‘nice’, Izzy thought; Sam looked fucking radiant. Looking at him, Izzy felt like the malnourished little urchin he’d been before he’d been convinced to join up with the Navy, when he’d sneaked down to the docks to longingly watch all the well-dressed merchants strutting about.

“Can’t you spend your hard-earned money on something more useful?” Izzy forced the words out.

Sam settled on the branch beside him.

“Like what? I have everything I need, besides I have nice calves, might as well show them.”

“I s’pose she’ll like them.” Izzy muttered. “Mary or whatever her name was.”

“It's Mari, actually, but you know I didn’t buy them for her, Izzy.” Sam said, looking him in the eye, “Besides, I want to be appreciated by everyone.”

“Tart.” Izzy grumbled, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch, pretending to glare at Sam’s legs as he crossed them proudly.

As expected, Sam’s smile only widened, canines showing.

“You must like them, you’ve been staring at them long enough.” he said.

Izzy felt his cheeks burn.

“Oh, shut up.” Izzy said lightly, kicking a little bit of sand in the direction of Sam’s feet, but Sam only laughed, knocking their shoulders together and Izzy felt himself smile too.

“You’ll ruin them.” Sam whined, pinching Izzy in the ribs.

“Good.” Izzy declared. “You can’t walk back to the ship looking like that.”

“Like what? Irresistible?” Sam tossed back his hair.

Izzy reached out, pretending to tug on one of his curls.

“Like a rich prick.” he returned.

“Oh good!” said Sam, “If I can manage it, I will be a rich prick someday.”

Izzy rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Sam,” Izzy said softly, “You know it won’t go down well.”

“And you know I’ve never cared too much about what people think.”

“It’s not about what they think, it’s what they’ll do that I’m worried about.”

“Let them try anything.” Sam said confidently.

Izzy frowned. Unlike Izzy, at best the other crew members might carry through on their threats to dirty the stockings, or steal such fine materials to sell, or make fun of Sam worse than Izzy had. At worst, Izzy didn’t like to think of the outcome. He’d seen the lustful looks a lot of them threw in Sam's direction, some of them more predatory than others. 

Despite being beautiful and drawing attention, someone like Ed looked and behaved in a manner that intimidated most out of the people who pushed unwanted attention on him. If any occurred, Izzy trusted Ed to render his attackers incapable of repeating their actions in the future. While Izzy knew Sam could hold his own in a fight very well, sometimes better than Ed, he was known for having a more easy-going, refined nature, and didn’t resort to violence until things had escalated far further than Izzy himself would have allowed.

“Well, fine, but I certainly won’t be coming to save you.” Izzy warned, hoping the threat would keep the younger man on his toes.

“Of course you won’t.” Sam’s eyes twinkled. “Besides, half the crew are parading round with jewels they nicked from dead rich men, I don’t see how this is any different.”

“It just is.” Izzy said.

“How?” asked Sam, sounding genuinely curious.

“They don’t stick on a false accent like they’ve got a gob full of marbles with it, acting like they’re something they’re not.” Izzy chided, trying not to sound too harsh about it.

“It gets people to sit up and take notice, doesn’t it?”

“Because you sound like a pretentious prat.”

Worryingly, Sam only looked more delighted upon being insulted, leaning in to look Izzy up and down, closer than was usually socially acceptable for men in public places.

“We’re pirates, lovely,” Sam said, “Authenticity isn’t in the job description. Everything we have is stolen.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.” Izzy replied, daring to meet Sam's eyes with his own, giving in to the temptation to stay so close.

“Really,” Sam tutted, “all this, just because you’re too scared to admit that I’m pretty.”

Izzy felt his cheeks burn more strongly.

“You’re conceited, that’s what you are,” Izzy said, “And I’m not scared, I’m-”

“Hey Izzy!” Ed’s shout interrupted them.

Sam’s playful expression dissolved almost immediately, squinting into the sun in Ed’s direction as he made his way away from the group, Jack on his heels. Izzy surreptitiously, inched down the log away from Sam.

“What?” Izzy yelled back.

“Hey, Iz, come here.” Ed said, eagerly, motioning towards him.

Izzy sighed, in annoyance, not wanting to walk all that way and get any more sand in his boots than absolutely necessary.

“No, you come here.”

“Ugh fine.” Ed said, rushing towards them as much as one could across sand, and stopping a few feet away “Um hey?”

He stood there silently for a moment, pensively surveying Izzy, fiddling with his belt loops.

“Did you just come over here to say ‘hey?’” Sam asked in confusion, when no explanation was forthcoming.

“No, of course not.” Ed said, looking away again. “I just… Izzy, I sort of noticed earlier that you…” Ed edged closer until he was standing over them, “You have something in your beard.”

If he didn’t know better he’d have said Ed was blushing. Izzy didn’t often see Ed so unsure of himself and Izzy hated how it made him feel, or maybe, the problem was that he didn’t hate how it made him feel.

“ I have something in my beard? ” Izzy repeated, in bafflement.

“Yeah,” Ed said, “I meant to mention it, but let me-” Ed lurched towards him, reaching for his cheek.

Before Izzy could form a thought, Ed’s lips were on his. Ed was kissing Izzy.

He was being gentle, though, just slowly moving his lips against Izzy’s, Ed's lips were as chapped as his own from the exposure to the elements, and he tasted of cheap rum. Ed carefully cupped his cheek, his fingers tickling him where they met his facial hair.

When Izzy had imagined him and Ed kissing it had usually been a mutual moment of passion as they came together, triumphant, after some victory, unable to deny the strange volatile chemistry between them any more. He thought it would be something burning, biting, hungry. He’d never dared to imagine something like this.

Izzy felt Ed’s fingers twitch and realised he was backing away, finding himself instinctively pressing forward, trying to prolong the connection of their lips as long as possible.

“Well fuck me.” he heard Jack say, laughter in his voice, as Izzy surfaced.

Distant laughter and whistles pierced through the rush of the waves around them. Izzy opened his eyes to find Ed’s eyes wide, so dark they made Izzy feel like he was resisting the pull of being sucked into a void. A crease appeared between Ed’s eyebrows. Something was horribly wrong.

“What the Hell’s going on, Teach?” Sam’s voice trembled as he said it.

Izzy’s stomach dropped and the realisation settled in that everyone had just witnessed Ed kissing him. Izzy risked a look at Sam, finding anguish etched into his face.

Jack was laughing.

“I was right, I knew I was right!” he said triumphantly.

“Right about what?” Izzy heard himself ask.

“The bet.” Jack said.

“The bet? ” Sam repeated, almost shrill, making Izzy flinch.

Sam never sounded like that. Izzy couldn’t speak, he could barely breathe. Ed seemed unable to look at him anymore, instead looking at something in the sand.

“Yup,” Jack said, gleefully bouncing on his toes, “I said if this one tried to kiss you, you’d probably lean in and he didn’t believe me.”

“And I said you’d try and break my nose.” Ed mumbled.

“So, you didn’t even want to,” Sam said, in horror, “you just-?”

Ed shrugged, a forced-looking movement. Izzy couldn’t comprehend how Ed could stand there so meekly, as though he hadn’t been the one to decide to kiss Izzy, as though it had been something outside of his control.

It felt as though a gallon of iced water was being poured straight down Izzy’s spine. He thought he might throw up on Jack’s shoes.

Izzy wished fervently that Ed had never kissed him. He thought he’d made his peace with the fact that Ed was well out of his league and unlikely to ever properly look at him. That was just fine, Izzy had told himself; he had something better. He could make himself invaluable to Blackbeard, the mighty figure they were building together, sew himself to the fabric of their creation in a way that could never fully be ripped apart.

Only now, he knew what it was like to have Ed in his grasp, feel his touch, to breathe the same breath as him, just to have it snatched away within seconds.

“What the fuck ?” Sam said, standing up.

Izzy had never seen Sam’s face so red. Sam’s hand strayed towards his weapons belt as he stepped towards Edward. Why oh why had Ed insisted on doing this in front of Sam of all people, who wasn’t Ed’s biggest fan on the best of days?

“Sam, leave it.” Izzy snapped.

“No, I won’t leave it! This isn’t right.” Sam said.

“Come on, Princess, lighten up.” Jack raised a hand to touch Sam’s shoulder, but was brushed off.

“No, I will not!” Sam snapped. “And don’t call me that, you know I hate it.”

“Alright,” Jack smirked at Sam, eyes running over his body, reaching as though to pull the man towards him, “just ‘cause you’re jealous. Come here.”

“Oi!” Izzy interrupted, getting up to pull Sam back, glaring at Jack. “Try it and someone here will have worse than a broken nose.”

“Okay, okay.” Jack raised his hands, backing away hastily, as though he were an aggressive dog. “I wasn’t serious.”

“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it, Iz.” Ed said, pleading. “It was just some fun.”

“Fun.” was all Izzy could bring himself to say. “Right.”

“No use saying that to him, he doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” Jack scoffed.

“You know what,” Sam said, a vicious brightness in his tone, “maybe someone should start breaking noses around here.”

Ed’s eyes widened. Sam was not commonly prone to casual threats of violence like the rest of them.

“Hey, relax, man.” Ed said hastily. “It was just a joke. No big deal. Izzy’s fine with it, aren’t you Iz?”

He felt his body betray him by starting to tremble. He couldn’t risk Ed noticing that. He tried with all his will to hold his muscles still. It wasn’t working.

Of course a kiss wasn’t serious to Ed; Izzy should have known that. Among the pirates Izzy knew, even for those who hoped to leave piracy and settle down one day, sleeping with men was common enough, but seen as a means to get by between shore leave. Even then, anyone who showed genuinely fond feelings, even for a woman, was teased or harassed mercilessly until they were suppressed. Declaring your love for a person was to declare an object that could be used to manipulate you later. There were no friends or lovers at sea, only allies. If treating this like a joke would keep Ed’s reputation safe, keep his own heart safe, he would do it.

“It’s- it’s fine.” Izzy said, finding himself unable to look at Ed.

He wanted this to end.

“Izzy-” Sam protested.

“I said it’s fine, Bellamy!” Izzy snapped.

“Come on, let’s leave these two old sourpusses to their knitting.” Jack muttered, tugging Ed away.

“Oh, right.” said Ed, sounding uncertain.

Izzy didn’t watch Ed be dragged away, more focussed on Sam glaring after him. Once Ed was what Sam deemed a safe distance away, he turned back to Izzy.

“Are you okay?” he asked, so gently it hurt.

“I said I’m fine.” Izzy said, the words coming out empty of conviction. “He was just fucking around. It was just a joke.”

“To him, maybe, but you didn’t ask him to, and it’s obvious that it upset you.”

“I’m not some schoolgirl whose feelings got hurt.” Izzy said, scornfully.

“It wouldn’t matter if you were or not, it’s not okay for him to touch you without asking or humiliate you in front of everyone.”

“I know he’s a fucking idiot.” Izzy said, shakily, “What else is new?”

“It’s more than that.” Sam said slowly, “He doesn’t respect you.”

“’Course he does. He’s just in a stupid mood.” Izzy said, wishing he believed it.

“ Izzy .” Sam said.

Both of them knew full well that while Ed didn’t hold any of the reverence for him that Izzy held for Ed, even if he did profess admiration for Izzy’s skill – which was enough. It really was.

“Why are you making an issue of this? You know I’ve had much worse done to me by worse men. He wouldn’t do anything to me. I just want to forget it.”

“Because, you deserve to be kissed by someone you want to be kissed by who appreciates you, Izzy.”

“And you want that person to be you, or some shit?” Izzy said, with a cold laugh.

Sam's pained gaze bored into him, pausing a moment too long. Izzy’s throat felt like it was closing up.

“That wasn’t why I said that.” Sam said, but it was already too late.

“But you do.” Izzy whispered in realisation.

He was accustomed to Sam flirting with him in order to tease him; it felt safe and fun in a way it couldn’t with anyone else. Sam was an anomaly among sailors in that he spoke of his lovers, men or women, with a certain level of reverence and seriousness. It wasn’t that Izzy didn’t know Sam had a soft spot for him; Izzy wasn’t ignorant of the muttered words of awe Sam had spoken of Izzy to his friends, or how he still would take any opportunity to sneak into Izzy’s bunk, despite Edward having outgrown such a thing some time ago. However, they’d known each other long enough that if their attraction to one another was going to come to anything, it would have done by now, back before Ed came into the picture. Sam understood Izzy’s newfound loyalty to Ed after all they’d been through, despite Sam and Ed not exactly getting on – didn’t he?

“Izzy.” Sam said, pleading, “Let’s not do this now. This isn’t about me, this is about you. Ed kissing you made you uncomfortable and that’s-”

“I wanted him to, alright?” Izzy interrupted, unable to help himself. “So whatever you’re making this out to be, it’s not.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he should have asked, and he certainly shouldn’t have done it in front of everyone just because Jack thought it would be funny .”

“Jack’s right, you’re no fun.” Izzy said, attempting to brush Sam off.

It didn’t work, or course; Sam had the bit between his teeth now.

“Trust me, if it was something you’d both agreed to, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Wouldn’t we?”

“Of course we wouldn’t.” Sam insisted.

Izzy had to scoff at that.

“’Cause I think we would, because this isn’t about you defending my honour, this is about your hatred of Ed. You’ll say anything to demonise him.”

“I don’t have to demonise him, Izzy. He literally just walked over here, forced a kiss on you without asking and then let his friend laugh in your face and said it was a joke. His actions speak for themselves.”

“I’ve told you, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Excuse me, but I’ve seen you stab men in the hands for doing less.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. Some of us can’t strut into town and have everyone we want falling at our feet. Some of us have to take what we can get.”

A nice-looking young man like Sam, who’d mastered the ability to feign respectability quite convincingly, when it suited him, would surely find a nice girl at some port, someone like Mari Hallett. He’d be able to cash in his assets, settle down and start a family. Izzy, however, was destined to die young and violently. He’d made his peace with it, though; to die fighting on Ed’s behalf would be honour enough.

“You could have so much better than him, if you only asked the right person.” Sam said.

“I could have you , you mean.” Izzy said, face contorting into a sneer.

“I know you’re trying to distract me from what we’re talking about.” Sam said, “But if this is the angle we’re going with, you know what, I’m not the only person who has a problem with Teach. We’re not children anymore; he’s a captain responsible for an entire crew. It’s time he started conducting himself like it.”

Izzy rolled his eyes. Of course this wasn’t about Ed’s treatment of Izzy; this was about Sam’s ego. It hadn’t escaped Izzy’s notice that Sam had voted against Ed when he’d been elected as Captain.

“He’s new to it,” Izzy defended, “He’s not going to be perfect right away. They should be grateful; he’s a genius strategist with lots of potential.”

“Potential.” Sam scoffed.

“What’s funny?”

“You’re seeing what’s not actually there. You can’t judge someone by what they haven’t even done yet.”

“He’s clever and has ambitions.” Izzy defended.

“Having ambitions is just a fancy way of saying he’s a dreamer. That doesn’t mean you can deliver on your dreams.”

“He can though, he led the mutiny, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did very well, but plotting a one-time scheme doesn't mean you’ll be a good long-term captain, not if you’re so willing to sacrifice your crew.”

“What do they matter?”

“If you’re not captaining to get a steady income for the sake of the crew, what’s the point?”

“Money, glory and safety of the captain.” Izzy said, “That’s what this has always been about. We wouldn’t have our crew if they weren’t greedy enough to care about those things.”

Sam snickered.

“Spoken like a true officer of the Royal Navy.” he said, smugly.

“ Don’t. ” Izzy said, glaring at him, taking a step closer.

Coming from Sam who had seen first hand how The Navy had treated Izzy, this was the worst possible insult Sam could have lobbed at him.

“Don’t act like you don’t want to get rich as much as the rest of them; you said so.” Izzy said.

“Not by unnecessary force, not at the expense of the crew. What you’re suggesting, what yo ur Eddie has been doing, is exactly what they do.” Sam argued. “They look after the rich bastards at the expense of everyone else.”

“You’re one to talk, walking around pretending to be one of them. At least Ed earned his place.”

“ We earned it. His schemes would be useless without competent people to carry them out, especially if the faith of those people is waning because they’re being mistreated. Call me crazy, but maybe shooting a crew member in the leg because he was losing a card game to them, or randomly chasing people around the ship with knives for literally no reason other than that ‘it’s funny’ aren’t exactly endearing behaviours. The crew elected Teach because he was supposed to be a better option than Hornigold, but I’m not seeing it.”

“A healthy bit of fear of the Captain does the crew good.” Izzy parroted, “Keeps them in check. You’ve seen the rabble we have to deal with.”

“There’s a difference between respecting your Captain and a crew member coming to me after falling asleep on watch because he’s having nightmares in his hammock and is convinced Blackbeard’s going to come by and cut off his toes in the night and feed them to him for fun, because he saw him do that to a member of the crew last week for a laugh."

“It wasn't just for a laugh. That bastard was a little weasel who was nicking our weapons and selling them off in secret, stealing from all of us. It's not like he was innocent.”

“That's beside the point! He could have done literally anything else to deal with him, when I’m hearing pirates say they were better off in the Navy, that’s when you know you’ve fucked up.”

Izzy’s eyes narrowed.

“Who was it that said that?”

“You’re not getting me like that.”

“If mutiny’s brewing, as First Mate I need to know about it.”

“If you think I’m facilitating a witch hunt, you can think again.” Sam said.

“Why, got your eye on the top spot, have you?” Izzy returned.

Sam let out a hiss of frustration, shaking his head.

“You won’t understand, will you? That’s not the point of all this. Those men that Teach has maimed or got killed…” Sam seemingly winced at the thought, before taking a step closer to Izzy, looking down at him, beseeching, “More than anything else... I don’t want you to become one of them.”

 “You’re full of shit Bellamy." Izzy said, “You can act like this is you being all noble, and you can walk 'round faking being a rich toff to make you feel like you’re better than Edward, but nobody will ever follow you, because it’s not real, none of it. You can’t accept how painfully mediocre and boring you truly are.” the words Izzy had heard Ed say about Sam tumbling out of his mouth.

Any vindictive pleasure he was supposed to feel at hitting the mark was ripped away at the sight of Sam. Sam flinched as if slapped, betrayal in his eyes. Izzy wished he could take the words back, but he knew from the look on Sam’s face that he wouldn’t be able to forget them now. Izzy hadn’t really wanted to hurt Sam, he’d wanted him to back off, but he couldn’t give up the ground he’d gained now, or that would be admitting Sam was right.

“Wow, Izzy,” Sam’s voice was icy, like someone else, no trace of the country boy Izzy had grown up with left, “Are you really so painfully insecure ?”, yet worse than angry, Sam looked disappointed, “You could have much better if you’d only accept that you’re worthy of it, but you never will, will you? What a damn shame.”

Chapter Text

“This is the only thing

I know how to do

Make the keys turn red

And my lips turn blue”

Mirror, The Last Dinner Party

Spending the day with Isha had made Stede really wish he’d spent less time daydreaming during geography classes. Granted, she had a head start, since she’d told him she came from a family of cartographers whose skills were highly sought after in pirate circles. Nevertheless, needing to have the basics of map reading explained to him by someone who was presumably half his age was rather humiliating.

What was even more humiliating was the knowledge that Samuel Bellamy, of all people, was watching him struggle to find his own home town on a map.

Finding out Ed was Blackbeard had been one thing, but finding out Sam was Samuel Bellamy, Prince of Pirates, was something altogether different. Stede had read many a fantastical story of Blackbeard, and while he’d eagerly devoured them, the Blackbeard from the pages of his books had been such a mythical being that he had seemed unreachable. While Stede aspired to be feared like him, he knew deep down that he could never be him.

When Stede had consulted his books for inspiration in crafting a pirate persona, the stories told of Samuel Bellamy made it easy for him to imagine himself in the man’s shoes. Bellamy had been described as well-mannered and well-dressed, allegedly using less violent tactics towards his crew and prisoners. All of this seemed far more achievable and in line with Stede’s personal values. Furthermore, Bellamy was dead and his career as a pirate had only lasted a couple of years. It shouldn’t have been too hard to do what he had done, but last longer than he had, so Stede had naïvely thought.

Yet Stede knew the actual Samuel Bellamy now; not the handsome young man from books who’d lost his life so tragically early. Bellamy was everything Stede had hoped for; fierce and skilled, yet chivalrous and generous, walking the decks of a stolen ship like it was his god-given right. On the other hand, there were many ways in which Bellamy had differed from Stede’s expectations. Stede had found a mature pirate captain with a daughter, a man who’d held Izzy’s hand at his bedside, a man Izzy had accused of being a liar – and a man who claimed he was Ed’s enemy.

He wasn’t supposed to like this Sam, he wasn’t supposed to idolise him. However, even with this knowledge, somehow, there was a growing pit in his stomach, as Sam looked at him as though, through Stede’s lack of knowledge, he’d let the man down. Stede was not supposed to want the man’s approval – but he did; he wanted it terribly.

As Sam had sat in the imposing high-backed chair that had once been Ed’s, while Isha explained to Stede what a pilot book was, and then what a log line was, Stede felt the man’s judging eyes burning into him, could hear Isha sighing in frustration at his constant mistakes. Thankfully, half way through being shown how to operate a strange instrument that measured the sun, or something ridiculous, Sam was called away, so Stede could actually focus on what Isha was saying.

Despite everything, Stede was extremely grateful for her persistence. Bellamy aside, Stede needed to restore some sense of control over this mission. Stede didn't want to believe that Ed would try and kill Mary, but with the crew, Lucius and Izzy all sharing startlingly similar accounts of an Ed who had gone completely off the rails, if there was the slightest chance of Mary and the children being put in serious danger, Stede needed to take it seriously.

Anyhow, being better at navigation would open up new possibilities for him as a captain, meaning he didn’t have to be as dependent on Buttons’ when deciding their destination. Furthermore, Stede was glad to have Isha of all people as a mentor. She was good at explaining such a technical subject in a way he could understand and offered lots of encouragement—mostly.

It was later on, as they sat amongst the chatter of a busy galley that she shouted “You’re not an experienced captain, are you?” directly into his ear.

Stede flinched at the volume of her voice. It has taken them so long to chart a course, that they’d been late to dinner, so everyone else had already finished their food, but they were still lingering to talk before bedtime. Stede knew her question wasn’t an insult, but of course he didn’t like to be reminded of his weaknesses in front of an audience.

“I have experience!” he protested.

“How many years?” asked Mossy coolly, from across the table, where Isha had insisted they join her and Drissa.

Stede tensed. Seeing Mossy dressed simply, in a shirt and breeches like a traditional sailor, it threw the resemblances between her and Sam into sharp relief.

Stede couldn’t stop wondering if Mossy knew her father’s identity. By what Sam had said to Izzy, presumably he’d hidden his original name in the first place in order to keep her safe, but that still left him with a lot of questions about her existence.

From all the accounts of Bellamy’s life Stede had read, some had suggested that he might have had a child with a woman in Cape Cod shortly before his ‘death’ around twenty years ago, and allegedly the woman had been convicted of the child’s murder. That would explain Sam’s story of a woman he’d planned to marry but who had passed away, but it also raised more questions. If Sam had left his fiancee behind purposefully or otherwise, and their child had died, how was there an around-twenty-year-old Marion Banks-or-Bellamy sitting in front of him? Had Sam stolen the child away and let the mother pay the price? Or, had there been someone else Sam had taken an interest in around the same time? Neither of these options painted a flattering picture of the man.

“Captain Thomas, are you alright?” Drissa asked, his voice a little sharp.

Stede blinked at the suspicion in the young man’s gaze, realising he’d been staring at Mossy for too long.

“Y-Yes.” Stede said, looking down at his plate, hurriedly. “Yes, I am – and in answer to your question, I’ve been at sea maybe… a third of a year?”

“ A third ?” Isha repeated, eyes cartoonishly wide.

“If you include all the time we were stuck in Nassau.” Stede clarified.

“Well, I wouldn’t.” said Mossy.

“You’ve been at sea for four months tops ?” Drissa repeated incredulously.

“How did you even end up as a captain?” asked Mossy.

Stede cringed at the eerily familiar look of judgement on her face.

“Well, I commissioned the ship, so naturally I became the captain.” Stede said, trying to convey a confidence he didn’t currently feel.

“You paid for a whole ship to be built?” Isha said, “All of it? How big is she?”

“Not… too big. She’s a sloop-of-war.” Stede said uncomfortably.

“You had her built ? From new?” Drissa said, dropping his spoon into his bowl with a ringing chime that made several people look round at them.

One of the people, Stede couldn’t help but notice, was Lucius from the next table along, who glanced at him from his seat among The Revenge’s crew. Whatever Lucius was thinking of him, by his expression, it certainly didn’t look positive. Since their argument, Stede had been doing his best to steer clear of him.

“What’s all this about having a ship built from new?”a voice came from Mossy’s side.

Stede identified it as belonging to Bram, who invited himself to their table.

“Captain Thomas paid for a sloop-o’-war to be built.” Mossy repeated.

“Is that so unusual?” Stede asked.

“Yes!” Everyone at the table cried in unison.

Stede jumped, unable to help but feel a little attacked by the response.

“The only people I know of who have the money or time for brand new ships to be built for them are wealthy merchants or Naval officers.” Bram said, “Everyone else steals theirs, or buys them second hand and repairs them. That’s what keeps me in a job.”

“No wonder it’s so important for you to get it back to your ship,” said Isha, “if you had a part in making it, and had to wait so long. It’s like your baby.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Stede said.

Stede vividly remembered how over a few years he’d had the pleasure of watching The Revenge transform from a small model he could hold in his hands to a home he could live in, much like watching a child grow up.

“Not to mention the price,” Drissa said, “If I paid that much for something and someone nicked it from under my nose…”

“I suppose if you have enough money to buy a whole custom ship,” Mossy said, “It must be easy to become a captain.”

The words weren’t said with any venom, but Stede winced anyway.

“Mossy!” Isha reached across the table to poke her arm in reproach, upon seeing Stede’s face.

“I mean it’s true,” Drissa said, “but you didn’t have to say it like that .”

“It was hardly easy.” Stede said, trying to reassure himself, “If I’d been all that awful a captain, my crew wouldn’t have followed me this far.”

“I mean I wouldn’t say that .” Lucius said from the next table, snidely.

“What do you mean, Lucius?” Isha asked, innocently.

Stede met Lucius’ eyes over Isha’s head. He wanted to stop Lucius from embarrassing him by making whatever cutting remark he was clearly tempted to, but a twinge of something like guilt made him bite his tongue. Lucius’ expression was unreadable for a moment, lips pressed firmly together.

“Actually,” Wee John chipped in, “we were going to mutiny at one point.”

“But the Captain got better at captaining,” Pete said at Lucius' side, oblivious, “so it was okay.”

Stede couldn’t help but notice that neither Mossy, Drissa, nor Isha looked convinced by this. For all his ability to sell himself in his desperation to be allowed aboard this ship when he’d arrived, Stede found himself floundering as he felt the three younger sailors’ expectant gazes on him. Isha knew first hand how severely lacking in even basic sailing skills he was, and Mossy wore her capability as a sailor in the way she walked and spoke , so overselling his prowess seemed rather foolhardy.

“It occurs to me,” said Stede, awkwardly, “that I might have been instructed on the more action-packed parts of piracy, and neglected some of the practical parts of sailing – and I can see how that might be a little problematic in a captain.”

Lucius didn’t look satisfied with this response, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Yeah, 'could say that.” Oluwande said, softly, from Lucius’ other side. “No offence.”

“Yes, I must admit, you are a little bit lacking when it comes to navigation,” said Isha.

“Wi’ all due respect,” said Buttons, piped up, still focussed on scraping the remains of his stew out of his bowl with a painfully sharp screech, “the captain could nae navigate his way out o’ a wet paper bag.”

“I wouldn’t say that!” Stede couldn’t help but feel defensive.

“I would.” said Mossy. “I saw Isha showing you how to use a sextant, for Christ’s sake! Any captain should know that.”

“A what?” Stede asked, before he could prevent himself.

“Yeah,” said Drissa, “you probably shouldn’t lead people if you can’t tell them where you’re supposed to be going.”

“Or if you’re going to get your fancy-pants ship dashed to pieces on the rocks.” Bram agreed.

“I would like to be better at it.” Stede admitted.

“Well, that’s no problem, I can teach you.” Isha said, smiling at him. “I don’t mind.”

“As long as Mrs Traoré will let you take some time out to do it.” Drissa pointed out, glancing at the woman in question.

She was seated next to the stove, Little Princess curled up in her lap, while she held hands with the friendly man, Isha had pointed out as the cook, the pair looking to be in an intense conversation with Roach. It was strange to see her looking so relaxed and affectionate with someone else and, after her animosity towards him earlier, he didn’t fancy disturbing her.

“Thank you,” Stede said, “Perhaps I might ask her tomorrow.”

“Aretta would be a good mentor herself,” said Mossy. “It's her job to train new recruits. But I warn you, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

Stede nodded having little doubt of that from his encounters with the woman up to this point, but unlike many of the pirates he’d met so far, at least she didn’t seem to go in for gratuitous cruelty.

“If you want to gain her respect,” said Drissa, “it’s probably best to start with an aspect of captaining you can already do a bit of, and build on it.”

“Yes, what are you good at?” asked Mossy.

“I, uh…” Stede floundered for a moment, his memories of struggling through his pirate training lessons rushing past him, “Well, I-”

“Hello Captain!” The Swede’s head appeared at his shoulder.

Stede jumped in his seat, only just realising the man hadn’t been with the rest of the crew and blinking in shock as he took in the man’s appearance.

“You look different!”

The Swede’s hair was smoothed back into a bun and he had forgone his usually bright and loose outfits in favour of a simple black jacket and trousers that fit him well.

“Yeah! You look hot!” Lucius said, the surprise apparently forcing him to temporarily forget he was supposed to argue with everything that Stede said.

“Thank you.” The Swede smiled shyly. “I’ve been experimenting. Some of Blackbeard’s old crew lent me their things.”

“I’m glad to hear you’ve been settling in,” said Stede, genuinely.

After his conversation with Lucius, Stede had been struggling to face his crew, but he was relieved to see them settling in with the Queen Anne's crew in his absence. It was reassuring that his hasty decision to bring them aboard was one of his better judgements, especially after their experiences with Bob.

“People here are nice,” said The Swede. “Um Captain, actually, I was chatting to, um, the lads,” The Swede gestured to two men hanging back behind him, one of whom Stede remembered as McKensey, who gave a little wave, “and I was telling them about story time and we were going to ask, could you maybe tell us a story?” 

“Oh yeah!” agreed Black Pete.

“That’ll be nice, actually.” said Oluwande.

“A story?” asked Isha, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” The Swede said, “back on the ship the captain always tells us a story before bed.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” said Isha. “We should do it.”

“Well-” Stede began.

It was already too late though, as Isha was on her feet, clapping her hands.

“Gather round everyone!” she raised her voice, “Captain Thomas is going to tell us a story.”

Any protestations Stede might have had were lost as a few dozen chairs screeched across the floorboards, the other crew members herding round them, a cacophony of questions coming from every angle.

“ Wait, what’s happening? ”

“ A story, what kind? ”

“ Will it be a scary one? ”

“ Hé !” Aretta’s voice cut above the noise, making everyone fall silent.

She was standing next to the stove with Little Princess in one arm and her other hand on her hip. She glared at the mess of plates piled on the other tables and the empty chairs strewn across the room.

“What is this mess, uh? What could be so important that you leave Jean all this mess?”

The crowd mumbled to one another sheepishly, but nobody dared to say a word against Aretta.

“Come on,” Jean encouraged, a lot more softly spoken, “You know I can’t do all of this with my foot.”

A few crew members broke away from the crowd to tidy up.

“Svante suggested we gather the crew and have a story before bed.” Isha addressed Aretta, “Is that okay?”

“Who is Svante?” asked Lucius.

“Me. I am Svante.” said The Swede.

“Why didn’t you tell us that was your name?” asked Roach.

“You never asked,” he replied. “Isha asked.”

“And I asked.” Buttons said.

“Why didn’t you tell us, then?” asked Roach.

“Names are personal. To know someone’s true name is to have power over them – and I forgot it.”

“Oh well, did you want to be called Svante?” Oluwande asked the man in question.

Svante-or-The Swede contemplated for a moment.

“I wouldn’t mind.” he said slowly, “‘The Swede’ is also fine. I am happy to carry the name of my home with me.”

“Oh right.” said Wee John. “Good to know.”

“What do you think, Aretta?” Jean asked, a smile on his face. “Will you allow these poor souls a moment of relaxation to hear a bedtime story?”

Aretta rolled her eyes in Jean’s general direction, but she did smile, unexpectedly, before returning her attention to Stede’s crew.

“I don’t see why not, you’ve worked hard today. If it’ll help us all sleep well, I don’t mind, just behave yourselves.”

She drew her seat closer, settling her cat back into her lap.

“Awesome.” said Pete.

“Just a minute! I haven’t agreed to it yet.” Stede protested as the crowd turned back to him expectantly.

“Oh come on, Captain, it doesn’t need to be a long one.” Wee John said.

“I don’t have my books with me.”

Books that were allegedly now at the bottom of the ocean, but Stede tried not to think too hard about that.

“Then make one up,” said Svante.

“Or retell one.” said Oluwande, “You had all of those books, you must know hundreds.”

Stede could hardly argue with that assessment, but as he found himself unexpectedly surrounded by the several dozen eager faces, his mind was filled only with a suffocating silence.

“I- I can’t think of anything at the moment.” Stede said.

“Oh, come on!” said Wee John.

“I have a story.” Lucius said suddenly, blushing once everyone’s eyes turned to him, but staying resolute.

“Oh,” said Stede in surprise. “Well in that case, maybe we should listen to Lucius’ story.”

Lucius’ forehead creased a little, as though confused by Stede’s endorsement. Lucius didn’t generally seem to like this level of attention on him, Stede had noticed, and seemed a little too practically-minded for telling stories. However, if, after everything he’d been through, he’d gotten up the courage to share one, Stede certainly wasn’t going to begrudge the boy.

“I love you,” Pete told Lucius, placing a hand gently on his forearm, “but you’re not good at telling stories.”

“You don’t do the voices.” Wee John complained.

Lucius looked rather sour in response to this, but despite their falling out it gave Stede no pleasure to see.

“Come now, give Lucius a chance.” Stede said.

“Yes, go on.” Isha encouraged him.

“Um, right, okay.” Lucius glanced between Aretta and Isha, uncertain, adjusting his sleeves, as everyone shifted their focus firmly to him.

Stede tried to give him a tiny nod and smile of encouragement, but he couldn’t tell if Lucius saw, or if he deliberately ignored him.

“Well, uh, once upon a time there was a man called Bluebeard.” Lucius began shakily, but he finished the first sentence with a defiant look in Stede’s direction.

At the name, Stede’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh, Lucius, I’m not sure about this one.” Stede interrupted.

He had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps Lucius’ new-found desire to try out storytelling wasn’t a sudden increase of confidence, but had more malicious intent.

“I’m sure there will be a moment for scary stories, but-”

“I thought you were going to give me a chance.” Lucius glared resentfully.

“I… well, of course.”

“Bluebeard?” said The Swede innocently. “Is he a pirate?”

“No, he’s a nobleman.” Lucius replied.

“A nobleman called Bluebeard?” asked Isha, doubtfully.

“What’s he called that for?” asked Drissa. “How can anyone have a blue beard? That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Maybe he dyed his beard.” McKensey suggested, fingers running through his own neatly-trimmed beard thoughtfully.

“Using what?” asked Pete.

“I have heard of more unusual-coloured hair powders being used in the French court,” Stede offered, “although, I’m given to understand that pink is more en vogue .”

“Look, I don’t know.” Lucius waved them all off, with an abrupt shoeing gesture, “His beard’s not important to the story.”

“Okay, so what happens?” Oluwande prompted hurriedly, as more than one person could be heard drawing breath to argue.

“So, Bluebeard was well known in the neighbourhood, not only for his riches and power, but because he’d been married six times before, but every wife of his had vanished.”

“What happened to them?” asked The Swede.

“He killed them, ay?” asked Buttons.

“Yeah, I was gonna ask that.” Pete pouted.

“Can you wait a minute?” Lucius asked irritably. “Anyway, one day he visits a neighbour to ask for one of his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“ Again ?” said Bram.

“After six wives, I’d just give up. Sounds exhausting.” said Wee John. “Not that I’d want to get married to anyone in the first place.”

“Maybe he just really likes weddings,” said Pete. “I love weddings!”

Lucius ignored them.

“All of the daughters are scared, but the youngest daughter becomes his wife.”

“Did she decide, or did her parents decide?” Mossy asked.

“She decided - I think.” Lucius said.

“Why would she do that?” asked Bram. “Wasn’t she suspicious?”

“He’s rich, why do you think?” Lucius said.

“Or she’s just not very smart,” Drissa said, rolling his eyes.

“How can he get married again?” asked Aretta, “If the wives are just missing, surely that’s bigamy?”

“All I know,” Lucius said, “is he marries her and moves to his big fancy place away from her family. At first, things go really well, but then he has to go away on a trip and leaves her home.”

“Why couldn’t he take her too?” asked Pete, “I’d rather stay with my partner, myself.”

“I don’t know, maybe she doesn’t like travelling.” Lucius said impatiently, “That’s not important.”

“Hey, I’m just asking for a bit of background here.” Pete said, “You’re not making these characters very interesting.”

“It’s a folktale, there’s not a lot of detail.” Lucius rolled his eyes.

“You could make things up.” Stede suggested.

“Who’s telling this story, you or me?” Lucius snapped, glaring at him, “Look, Bluebeard leaves, but before he goes, he gives his wife all the keys to the house,” Lucius eyes were still on Stede, “but he tells her she can go wherever she likes in the house, except for one room that’s forbidden.”

Lucius threw down the last part like a challenge, eyes fixed on Stede.

“Lu-” Stede began, but Lucius broke his gaze, raising his voice as he continued,

“ So , she goes off and she explores the house and finds all kinds of riches-”

“Like what?” Pete interrupted.

“Um, really nice furniture.”

“Nice furniture .” Roach repeated doubtfully.

“Nice furniture might be entertaining,” said Bram. “Depends on the furniture.”

“The wife loves interior design, okay?” said Lucius stubbornly. “So, she explores everywhere, but she can’t stop thinking about the locked room and wondering what’s in it, but she knows she can’t go in it, or Bluebeard will be really angry. To distract herself she calls her family and friends for a big party, but she still can’t keep thinking about the room, so she sneaks away-”

“And unlocks the room?” Oluwande prompted.

“Yes.”

There were a few quiet gasps and a long awkward pause.

“So, what’s in it?” The Swede asked.

“I don’t think we need to know that.” Stede said, hurriedly.

“Why? Are you scared?” Lucius challenged him.

“No I just think-” Stede said.

“Let him get on with it!” someone said, to murmurs of agreement.

Lucius' mouth twitched in a vindictive smile.

“It’s flooded with blood,” Lucius said, “so she steps inside and finds all of Bluebeard’s old wives dead and hanging in the room.”

The room was filled with gasps.

“That’s horrible!” said Isha.

“You’re telling me!” agreed a lad Stede thought he remembered being called Will.

“Called it!” said Pete, triumphantly.

“Buttons called it.” Oluwande argued.

“He said they’d died, he didn’t say how.” Drissa argued. “But you definitely did not call it.”

Lucius ignored them, speaking before an argument could happen.

“So, she’s so scared she drops the key in the blood. She picks it up and runs out and locks it up again, but the key has blood on it, so she rushes to try and wash it off, but it won’t wash clean, for some reason-”

“For what reason?” interrupted Roach,

“I don’t know, a curse or something,” Lucius said, “but then, then as she’s doing that, her husband arrives home.”

“Oh no!” said Isha, lifting her plait to hide her face.

“He catches her and he’s furious and tries to kill her, but thankfully her family get to her in time and kill him instead. She inherits his fortune, remarries and moves on with her life.”

“Oh, thank God it has a happy ending,” said Pete.

“Right! I was scared for a minute.” said Isha.

“Not a happy ending for the other wives though.” McKensey said.

“Yeah,” Isha agreed, fervently.

“That was a shit ending,” Wee John complained, “I don’t know how you can make a story like that sound so boring.”

“It’s not like you can do better.” Lucius returned, snarkily.

“I think you should have let the Captain tell it.” The Swede said.

“No,” Pete shook his head, “the Captain’s not good at scary stories either.”

Stede chose to ignore this slight against him for today.

“I think Lucius did rather well,” he said, “for a beginner.”

“What I don’t understand is why she agreed to marry him in the first place.” Bram said.

“Lucius said because Bluebeard was rich.” Oluwande replied.

“Yes, but if you’ve heard all his previous wives went missing, makes it pretty obvious it’s a ‘him’ problem.” said Wee John.

“I wonder what would have happened if she’d just decided not to open the door,” said Svante.

“What difference would it have made? He’s still a killer.” Mossy said.

“Well, if she hadn’t opened the room, he might not have tried to kill her,” said Stede. “We can presume all his previous wives did that and that’s why he killed them.”

“Are you saying it’s their fault?” Lucius asked, sharply.

Stede paused for a second, feeling the eyes of the rest of the crew on him. Stede understood what Lucius was getting at, but he really didn't want to have this argument again, especially here and now.

“No, of course not.” he said.

“It sounds like you are.”

“No,” Stede said, carefully, “I’m saying that this particular story is less a story and more of a fable, that lots of people use to try and argue that women should be obedient.”

“That’s what I wondered.” Drissa mused. “It seemed like Bluebeard was giving her the key as a test of obedience.”

“That’s fucked up.” said Wee John.

“Yeah, but being disobedient worked for her, didn’t it?” said Isha. “She got his fortune all to herself in the end, so I can’t see how it convinced any women.”

“There are some versions where she doesn’t survive.” Stede said. “It can also be used as a fable meaning that there are some things about your loved ones, you’re better off not knowing for your own safety.”

“She’s not better off, though, is she?” Lucius said, sharply, “Even if she doesn’t know it, she’s still married to a serial killer.”

“You’re not wrong, if we take the story out of context,” Stede said, “but historically, I’ve read that some people argue the story is more of a cautionary tale, like the opposite of the Beauty and the Beast.” Stede said.

“The Beauty and the Beast?” asked Pete, leaning in with curiosity. “What’s that?”

“Perhaps I’ll tell you that one another time. The general concept is, some people were thought to tell stories of a monster with a heart of gold, to comfort young women who are being married off to older husbands, whereas some people consider Bluebeard to be a story to warn young women that not all attractive gentlemen are what they seem, some are monsters on the inside. They’re two sides of the same coin.”

“So, the whole thing’s a ploy to encourage women to stay compliant and go into arranged marriages?” Mossy’s nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Gross!” Isha agreed.

“That’s just one of the theories. Not that I’d personally recommend arranged marriage to anyone – even if neither of the parties are serial killers.” Stede winced. “But the interpretation depends on who’s telling the story and how they’re telling it. I would say that the overall idea of not judging people only by their appearances, is a preferable interpretation.”

“As Marion is so keen to remind me-” a familiar voice came from the doorway, and Stede instinctively leapt to his feet as he heard Bellamy’s voice, “allegories have their limitations, sometimes it’s preferable to speak with exactitude.”

The scraping of chairs on the deck filled the room once again as everyone except for Mossy also surged to their feet.

“I don’t think I used those fancy words to say it.” Mossy responded, “How long have you been lurking there?”

“Please, don’t let me interrupt you.” Bellamy smiled benevolently at them all. “I’m more than happy to let you have another story, as long as I can have a word with Captain Thomas when you’re finished - and, Marion, I believe Izzy needs attending to.”

“Can’t you do it?” asked Marion.

“ Marion .” Bellamy chided her gently, and she rolled her eyes, hauling herself to her feet.

“Don’t you want me to do it?” asked Stede.

Bellamy smiled at him, a twinkle in his eye that Stede wasn’t quite sure was benevolent.

“Not tonight,” Bellamy said, “Since I gather this story hasn’t proved all that relaxing, perhaps you should tell another one.”

Stede wasn’t sure why he felt like he was being challenged.

“Yes?” The Swede said, hands clasped together in excitement, “Please?”

“Yeah go on!” said Wee John.

“Yeah, how about the one about the Beauty and the Bear?” Oluwande said.

“Beast.” Drissa corrected.

Stede looked around at the eager faces surrounding him, buoyed by their enthusiasm. Since he now had a story in mind, one that he was rather fond of, perhaps he might as well tell it – not to mention, he could finally show Bellamy there was at least one thing he was good at.

“I suppose I could.” Stede said, “Yes, alright then.”

He nervously cleared his throat.

“It’s a dark and stormy night, and a merchant is travelling home all alone, through a deep, dark forest, when, suddenly, he finds the most beautiful palace among the trees...”

Chapter Text

‘Can't you see I'm sorry? I will make it worth your while
Made a dead man's money, you can see it in my smile
Oh, Lazarus, how did your debts get paid?’

-The Brothers Bright, Blood On My Name

As Izzy awoke in unbearable pain to the sound of Marion Hallett’s voice, he was forced to reconsider the possibility that he might actually be in Hell. It would have been nice, Izzy thought somewhat hysterically, if just once since his return to Annie, he could awake to the sight of a face that didn’t belong to someone resurrected from his past to torment him.

He blinked rapidly, trying to push past the pain, force his eyes to adjust to the darkness and focus on her face. Once he managed it, he clutched hard at the sheets beneath him, as the ship seemed to lurch away under him for a moment.

It felt like only yesterday he’d looked into those same eyes through the bars of a cell in the basement of a courthouse in Cape Cod. Mari had reprimanded him for coming to see her, even with his sub-par disguise.

“It’s no good if they capture both of us, is it?” she’d said.

Izzy remembered how unnaturally pale her newly hollowed-out cheeks had been in the low light, her figure jarringly slight for someone who had given birth less than a month ago.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” he’d said briskly.

“I thought that about Samuel.” she’d replied in a whisper, before looking away, lips pressed together.

They’d sat in silence, breathing careful breaths of musty air, the thought of Sam’s death threatening to choke them both.

Except now, in present day, Izzy knew better; Sam was alive, and Mari… Mari…

“Oh good, you’re not dead.” the Mari before him said coolly, moving out of his line of sight, the chair beside his cot creaking as she sank into it, “It’s time to take your medicine.”

Izzy realised something was horribly wrong. Her accent was far too English; an attempt at Received Pronunciation with an unshakable hint of a West Country accent, just like Sam. This Mari looked younger than even she had been when he’d first met her. As Izzy stared, he could pick out the differences between Mari and the woman before him; for a start, her hair was curlier than Mari’s and tied back in a ponytail. She possessed a sharper face, a longer nose, skin that was enough shades paler that lack of exposure to sunlight or sickness couldn’t have explained it away.

He struggled to lift his head from the pillow a little, to properly meet her gaze.

“You’re not Mari.” he said.

“You’re correct, I don’t like that name.” the young woman replied. “My name is Marion – or Mossy, Mossy Banks.”

Izzy’s frown deepened and his head ached all the more aggressively as he tried to interpret this statement. “Your name is Mossy Banks?” he croaked.

“Yes.” she replied, tonelessly, “I picked it up in the Navy. They thought it was the funniest thing ever - probably because they were fairly hammered at the time.”

“You were in the Navy? Now that’s just taking the piss.”

“Yes me.” she said a little haughtily. “Why don’t you believe me? Because I’m a woman?”

Izzy rolled his eyes, immediately regretting it, as it made his head throb sharply. He’d worked alongside enough woman sailors to know that they were very capable – if not more capable than men, as they’d often had to keep their heads down and work twice as hard to avoid detection.

“No, I mean, because I’m guessing you’re...” he cut himself off, as he looked at her trying to accept what seemed impossible, “related to Marion Hallett somehow.”

“I’m told you knew my mother.” she said.

“I did, but-” Izzy pushed the words through his painfully dry vocal chords, “Mari’s baby died- or was killed and she…”

“Was executed for it.” the girl finished, with jarring bluntness.

Izzy shivered despite the lingering feverish heat trapped under his skin.

Marion seemed oblivious, turning to a side table and pouring him a glass of freshwater and offering it to him. Instinctively, Izzy made a grab for her wrist, preventing her from coming any closer; there where matters far more important than hydration.

“Mari- she was killed- wasn’t she?” he said horsely, not knowing if he wanted it to be true, or not.

A crease formed between the girl’s eyebrows, as she surveyed Izzy, hesitating for a moment, before sighing and taking the offered glass away again.

“Unfortunately, yes.” she said, impassive, “but for a crime she never committed.”

Izzy’s head fell back onto the pillow, suddenly feeling much too heavy for his body, his fingers tightening as they gripped the creases in his bedding for support.

This confirmation of a fact he’d known for twenty years shouldn’t have caused him to feel so adrift, but, for some reason, it did.

Back in her cell, Mari had sworn she hadn’t killed her child, and Izzy had told her that he knew that. In the short year he’d known her, Izzy had grown to trust Mari and, above all, he’d trusted Sam’s judgement of her. He’d watched her and Sam together and seen their mutual excitement to build a future together with his own eyes. He’d always believed without question that the child had simply passed away, like so many infants did.

Izzy had been sure of that for so long. The day that had followed visiting Mari in that cell had been branded into his memory. He’d offered her help to escape, but she’d completely refused and once their time had run out and Izzy had needed to rush away and return to Ed. Ed had been in one of his moods, so had really needed him close by, so he’d gone back to the ship to have a rough night of sleep while he decided what to do. What Izzy hadn’t expected, though, was to wake up to discover the ship in the middle of the ocean.

Ed had claimed that he needed to catch the weather and had no idea of Izzy’s mission. Izzy didn’t know if that was true or not, but then he hadn’t told Ed of Mari’s plight for fear of his request being denied if he knew Sam was involved. In all honesty, Izzy thought that even if Ed did know, he didn’t care enough about Izzy’s priorities to maliciously interfere. Izzy had been furious nonetheless; with Ed, with himself, with the English Navy, but he had known in his heart it was already too late. Marion Hallett had been executed the following day and there had been nothing Izzy could do about it, or so he’d thought.

“How?” Izzy breathed.

“When I was born,” the girl said, “my aunt took me to keep me safe from the King’s men until my father could arrive, but well… he was too late.”

“No.” Izzy shook his head. “That can’t-”

“When the Whydah sank,” she interrupted, “my father survived and tried to get to my mother, but he had no ship and he had to evade the Navy. He heard she’d been killed for murdering her baby, but it was just an excuse, of course. My aunt had hidden me when I was born, because my mother knew the Navy would use me against my father, so my father and his friends knew we had to get away.”

Except, thought, Izzy, that couldn’t be true because neither Sam nor Mari had uttered a word to him about it – or, Sam had chosen to lie to him.

“So where have you been all this time?” Izzy said, choked up.

“England, mostly. One of my aunts on my father’s side hid us for a while until things died down, until well… we ended up here.”

Izzy’s immediate instinct was to challenge her as Sam had hated England, so he’d told Izzy many a time. It had been one of the many things they’d argued over for sport when they’d exhausted every other topic. Izzy found a temperate climate more bearable, whereas Sam had complained the cold, dark winters made him feel too melancholy.

However, in the present moment, he held himself back. It seemed there were a lot of things Sam had hidden from him.

“You didn’t just appear on the other side of the world.” Izzy said instead, “What happened? He has to be off his trolley bringing you back here.”

“He didn’t bring me back here.” she said, “The Navy did.”

“Yeah, you’re going to have to explain that.” Izzy replied. “You want me to believe The Navy would employ Samuel Bellamy’s daughter, of all people.”

“I wasn’t didn’t go looking for employment, I was press-ganged.”

“Explain.”

She considered him for a moment and Izzy was very careful not to break eye contact.

Now that the initial shock of the resemblance between her and Mari had worn off, Izzy could see Marion’s demeanour was more severe than either of her parents, her posture a little tense, no polite smiles to help him feel at ease. She was being cautious, which, Izzy thought, was sensible of her.

“Well, Dad used to be a bit overprotective,” she began, slowly, “so I had to take what freedom I could get. We were in Bristol one day and I wanted to explore, so I thought I would steal some men’s clothes, to go out. The press gangs were out and, well, they mistook me for a boy, so I ended up in The Navy.”

“Are you serious?” Izzy said.

“Yep.” Marion grimaced.

Izzy, found himself believing her. It would be silly to make up such a lie, and with her clothes, the weapons in her belt, and the way she carried herself, it wasn’t hard to imagine her on the deck of a naval vessel.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Dad came here to get me, so we’ve made our home in the Caribbean.”

“For how long?”

“A year or two.”

“A year or two?” Izzy repeated, through bared teeth. “And your father just… didn’t think I would like to know?”

“I’m not here to apologise for my father making the decision to save our lives by living in secret, if that’s what you’re upset about.” she said, the words a thinly veiled reprimand as she flicked back an errant curl from her forehead, “Take it up with him.”

Izzy was silent for a moment. He couldn’t honestly argue with that logic; it made sense that Sam would want to keep himself and his daughter safe, as he should. However, he should have known after all their history that Izzy would have wanted to know such a thing and he was certainly no gossip.

“He could have trusted me.” Izzy muttered.

“Could he?” Marion challenged him.

“Of course he could.”

“You’d have kept our secret?” she said, sharply “Even from Blackbeard?”

That gave Izzy pause. The honest answer was no. If Edward had put pressure on him to explain everything that happened with Sam, back then, Izzy would have revealed it all without a second thought. Blackbeard had been his priority, his life’s purpose for so long, and the horrific failure of his attempt to maintain a friendship with Sam and Mari had only confirmed that it was all he was good for.

“Exactly.” Marion said, “That’s why he didn’t tell you, so you didn’t have to make that choice.”

“Let’s say I believe all of this,” he began croakily, “if he went to all this trouble because he wouldn’t even trust me to keep you hidden, then why the fuck did he bringing you back to sea?”

“Why not? I’m a good sailor.”

“This is Blackbeard’s ship.”

“Not any more.” she shrugged.

“Blackbeard doesn’t like other people touching his things.” Izzy told her severely.

“I don’t care what he likes or doesn’t like.” she replied, raising her nose in the air, “I’m not afraid of Blackbeard.”

“Well that’s just stupid of you.”

Marion’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, but then suddenly she let out a laugh, reminding Izzy so much of Sam’s delight at his insults that it hurt.

“God, you’re exactly as Dad described.” she said. “He’s been telling stories about you for as long as I can remember.”

Izzy wondered exactly what Sam had told her, what the sanitised version of him looked like, the one suitable for a little girl’s bedtime stories. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Sam would have had to say about Edward – would he have tried to shield her or if Edward would have become the villain of his stories.

“Well, if you’ve been paying any attention,” he said slowly, “you should know how dangerous Blackbeard is.”

“I’m well aware,” she said, more seriously, “that’s why I asked to come, even though Dad wasn’t happy about it. I wasn’t going to let him go off into danger on his own. Besides, I’m reasonably capable of holding my own against Blackbeard.”

Izzy couldn’t help but scoff.

“No matter how good a sailor you might be, he’d make mincemeat of you.”

“I have duelled him, you know, and I’m here, aren’t I?” she replied.

“You’ve fought Blackbeard?” Izzy scoffed.

“Yes.” she replied simply.

She was either arrogant enough to tell such a bare-face lie, or was telling the truth and either option made her dangerous.

“Do you have any idea what your mother would have to say about that?”

“No.” said Marion, indifferent, “I never knew her.”

Izzy flinched.

“Sorry about that.” he said, gruffly, the words unpractised and uncomfortable in his mouth.

He didn’t like to give up ground like this so easily, but she deserved to hear it from someone.

“You liked her.” Marion said, a surprised observation, leaning towards him a little, “I wasn’t sure if that was wishful thinking on Dad’s part, given how you and he-”

She cut herself off abruptly.

“Given how we what?” Izzy asked.

She blinked at him, a knowing look in her eyes all too similar to the one Mari had given him and Sam sometimes.

“I suppose,” she said slowly, “he’s fond of you, so his view might not be the most objective.”

Izzy hesitated. He knew exactly what she was getting at, but just because she was Sam and Mari’s daughter, Izzy wasn’t so naive as to believe that it made her automatically trustworthy. Marion seemed like a headstrong young adult who would do as she pleased and he couldn’t know her motivations or guarantee that she had her father’s best interests at heart - or that she had the experience to know how to handle information that might give her a hold over him.

“No,” Izzy said carefully, “I used to care about what was best for your father, and your mother was well-suited to him. She was a good person and, yes, I liked her.”

This statement was honestly insufficient to describe Mari, but Izzy wasn’t about to spill his heart to this relative stranger. The truth was that Mari had been special to Izzy. He vividly remembered the day he had properly met her; it had been the height of summer, and after months stuck on the Queen Anne suffering the scorching heat, they’d called in to Cape Cod. Ed and much of the crew had actually run into town the moment they docked, in search of cooling drinks, much to Izzy’s displeasure.

Once Izzy had dragged back a few crew members to acquire their supplies, he decided to go in search of Ed and his current herd of followers. At the door of one of the many taverns he’d searched, he’d been swept up into a hug by a man, his face forcibly shoved into a velvet-clad chest that smelled strongly of rum, gunpowder, and jasmine.

“I’m getting married!” Sam had declared, dragging him to meet the woman in question.

In a second, all the tension that had grown between them since Sam’s mutiny against Edward had faded away in the light of Sam’s unstoppable joy. Though Izzy also remembered the iciness coursing through his veins, once Sam had left his side and flung his arms round a beaming young woman with who seemed to glow gold in the lamplight.

Yet, despite his fears that Sam wouldn’t want him any longer now he’d found a nice, respectable wife, Mari had readily welcomed him and they’d forged a new friendship. In the following months, Izzy remembered how, to his own surprise, he’d come to look forward to calling in to Cape Cod; his meetings with Mari over her kitchen table, her intelligent conversation and no-nonsense approach to life. It had been a refreshing reprieve after spending weeks at sea, surrounded by men, having to threaten and manipulate them into behaving themselves for five minutes. His bond with Mari had been special; they didn’t want anything from one another, they simply enjoyed each other’s company. Over the months he’d watched her get more obviously pregnant and for a moment, to his surprise, Izzy had felt hope for the future – both his and Sam’s - until it had been snatched it away.

Marion Banks had lived a life never knowing Mari and had only heard stories of her and of Izzy so he couldn’t expect her to understand any of this.

“Well, since you cared about her, can I ask you a favour?” she asked and Izzy tensed.

A ‘favour’ favour from a fellow pirate rarely meant anything good.

“You can ask.” Izzy said. “But don’t think you’re distracting me; I still think you’re very stupid for wanting to fight Blackbeard.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion about me, even if it’s wrong.” the girl said, the corners of her mouth twitching upward, “Anyway, my request is this; if you won’t keep Dad’s identity a secret for his sake, will you do it for mine? It’s what my mother wanted – to keep me safe.”

“Is that all?” Izzy asked, relaxing onto his pillows. “Oh, fine.”

“I need to be sure you will.” she said sharply, leaning forward, hands on her knees, “I won’t tolerate anyone threatening what we’ve built here.”

“If I go blabbing you’ll kill me?” Izzy guessed, “Yeah, yeah, got it.”

“Oh no!” she said, “I can’t do that, Dad would cry and be unbearable. You don’t want me to deal with that, do you?”

“Would he really?” Izzy said, not sure if he wanted to believe it or not.

“Yes, he would.” she insisted.

“Then what will you do to me if I spill the beans?”

“I- I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.” she said, “Do you give me your word or not?”

It didn’t escape how powerless Izzy was in this instance. She was young and fit and allegedly a good fighter and he was newly down a leg and drowsy with the dregs of his last dose of laudanum lingering in his system.

“I won’t tell anyone.” he said solemnly, looking her directly in the eye. “But it’s not me you need to be worried about. Thomas knows.”

“Is he not trustworthy?” she asked.

“It’s more that he’s not even smart enough to use it against you. He’d probably just let it pop out by accident.”

“He does seem scatterbrained.” she agreed.

“He’s barely got two braincells to rub together.”

“That’s harsh.” Marion said, and observation, not a judgement.

“Am I wrong?”

“I don’t know him well enough to judge yet.” Marion said, “What have you got against him? I thought you two got on, since he’s been caring for you.”

Izzy sniffed in derision.

“No we don’t,” he said, “isn’t the fact that he’s an upper-class prick reason enough?”

Marion smiled.

“I suppose. Is that the only reason?”

“What more do I need?”

Marion stared deep in his eyes and Izzy did his level best not to flinch. He knew she didn’t believe him, but she seemed intelligent enough to tell that she wouldn’t be getting any further information out of him.

“Nothing at all.” she said. “I'll bear that in mind. Anyway, since that’s settled, it’s time for your medicine.”

Chapter Text

“You’re an excellent storyteller.” Bellamy said, pouring two glasses of amber liquid.

“Oh, I don’t know about excellent.” Stede replied politely, finding himself blushing at the compliment.

It was a relief to discover he hadn’t made an irredeemably awful impression on Bellamy earlier, after all.

Stede had barely finished The Beauty and The Beast before Bellamy had been at his side, more or less demanding he share a drink with him.

Stede now found himself back in the captain’s cabin, hovering uncertainly next to the threadbare chaise longue that Bellamy stood beside, wondering if it was impolite sit down before the far more experienced captain before him. To avoid the instinct to stare at Captain Bellamy like he was a museum exhibit, he cautiously eyed up a few nearby heavily-loaded boxes that had been pushed out of the way. Stede saw ornate compasses, ink bottles, the odd vase and inexplicably, a taxidermy puffer fish sticking out of them, realising they were probably Ed’s former possessions. He itched to rifle through them, but he certainly didn’t feel comfortable doing so with Bellamy present.

“Won’t you sit down.” Bellamy said, more of an instruction than a request, offering Stede a glass.

Stede took the glass and stiffly walked to take a seat next to where the man stood and took a careful sip of the liqueur. Whatever the substance, it was was significantly better quality than the wine Bellamy had previously drunk with him. The liqueur was rich and honeyed, with a perfume of almonds and a violently sharp aftertaste that made Stede suppress a wince.

Bellamy took his own glass and settled beside Stede.

“I meant it, you know” Bellamy continued, “I’ve never seen my crew so quiet. Holding a room’s attention like that is a rare skill.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” Stede replied, shyly.

In all honesty, Stede hadn’t really been trying that hard to hold anyone’s attention, he’d just been relieved to lose himself in a familiar story, with his crew gathered around him.

“In all my years of captaining,” Bellamy said, amused, “if only I’d realised the best way to get my crew to listen was to tell them a bedtime story.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Stede said, with an uncertain chuckle, “My crew don’t always listen to me for the other twenty-three hours of the day. Besides I’m sure your methods have been more than successful – you have a lot more experience managing a crew than I do, Captain Bellamy.”

Bellamy winced.

“Oh, call me Sam, for God’s sake.” he said, “As I said to Izzy, I haven’t gone by that name in a long time. You know, I thought everyone would have forgotten it by now, but it certainly seemed to mean something to you.”

“I’ve read a lot about you.” Stede admitted. “I mean, you’re one of the most successful pirates in history. People are going to talk about that for a long time, I suspect.”

“I don’t know why people are bothering write about me in books.” Sam said, smiling as though the concept amused him, “Personally, I don’t see my career as all that worthy of being celebrated. I didn’t even ‘die’ in battle; I misjudged the weather and sank most of my fortune – that’s one of the most foolish mistakes you can make as a pirate.”

“Don’t be modest,” Stede said with a smile, “A lot of people have sunk their own ships trying to find it. I mean before it sank, I read that you captured at least 50 ships within a year! That was quite a record for the time.”

“It was 56 to be exact.” said Sam with a hint of pride. “Don’t misunderstand; I am proud of my achievements, but after the life I’ve led since, they all seem rather trivial now. Besides, lately Edward seems to have really put my record to shame.”

Stede’s smile faded, looking down into his glass. During his research, there had been various numbers of raids thrown about by different sources that Stede was sure had been exaggerated for dramatic effect, but even people’s more conservative estimates certainly overtook Bellamy’s record. He’d tried to avoid thinking for too long about the level of destruction that meant, nor the toll it would have taken on Ed or his crew.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Stede muttered.

“Oh well,” Sam said, “It hardly matters now. I’d rather be forgotten forever than renowned for such unnecessary bloodshed.”

Stede frowned. Sam’s unrelenting assault on Ed’s character was beginning to irk him more than a little.

“Then do you see the bloodshed you’ve caused as necessary?” Stede asked before he could think better of it.

“For my crew’s survival, yes.” Sam replied without hesitation, “That’s the nature of piracy. There is a difference, though, between doing what is needed for survival and stirring up conflict for the hell of it, as Edward is prone to.”

“I suppose.” Stede said, eyes becoming unfocussed.

He sipped his drink and wondered how Ed felt about what everyone thought of him. As eager as he’d seemed to give up his identity and surrender all his achievements, he certainly now seemed to be embracing the monstrous myth he’d claimed to abhor. Was this a self-destructive spiral, or had Ed, after a tiny taste of the alternatives, found this was what he truly wanted after all?

“Tell me, how are you feeling about facing him?” Sam asked suddenly, shaking Stede out of his musings.

Stede’s mind came to a grinding halt at the magnitude of the question. He couldn’t possibly tell Sam of the way his skin now itched like a hundred tiny bugs were crawling around under his skin, every time he thought of it.

“I… don’t know.” Stede said, “It’s difficult to imagine what it will be like.”

“I think it’s natural to be a little intimidated.” Sam’s tone was carefully neutral.

It was a little too neutral for Stede’s taste, making it obvious that Sam didn’t share the same sentiment.

“But I know I shouldn’t be intimidated.” Stede said, a little honest frustration seeping through, “I’ve had dealings with him before.”

When he’d started rowing away from Barbados he’d been so determined not to let anything come between himself and Ed, but that felt like a memory belonging to a different lifetime already.

“You’ve not dealt with him as an enemy, though.” Sam said, contemplating his own liqueur as he swirled it in his glass, but not taking a sip.

“Well, no, I suppose not.” Stede admitted, “It’s still a little strange to think of him that way.”

“When you arrive with me, on his flagship, you are aware he will see you that way?” the other man asked, his tone a little sharp.

Stede sat up a little straighter.

“Well, yes, of course.” he said hurriedly, “Of course, I know that.”

The other captain raised his eyebrows a fraction, tilting his head to the side.

“Do you?” Sam challenged him, placing his glass aside on the table beside him with a piercing clink.

Stede frowned at the question. Sam was staring at him, almost as though he wanted to make Stede uncomfortable. However, Sam had started off this exchange by complimenting him, so that couldn’t be the intention behind it, could it?

“Ed stole my ship and my crew.” Stede recited the words he kept repeating to every member of this crew he’d interacted with, but even he could hear something empty about them now, “I know he’s my... enemy.”

“I think you’re aware of that fact,” Sam said slowly, “but you don’t seem to fully comprehend what it means.”

“I comprehend.” Stede insisted.

Sam’s mouth twitched upward at the corners and Stede found he didn’t like the expression.

“Then what is your strategy for when we encounter him?”

“I, um..” Stede began slowly, clearing his throat, “Well, you said just a simple raid, hopefully, if we reach him before he reaches Barbados. I suppose we won’t know the exact conditions until we get there.”

“I think some form of plan is necessary, though.” Sam replied.

“Well, maybe we can hope he’ll surrender when he sees a ship this big after them?” Stede said uncertainly.

“I don’t think we should assume that, when his strategies of late have been downright suicidal.”

“No, I suppose you’re right.” Stede admitted, wincing, “He might not accept defeat easily.”

“So what are we to do?” asked Sam, as though genuinely expecting him to have an answer.

“Well, I shouldn’t like to fire at my own ship and my own crew.” Stede said. “Maybe try hoisting a white flag at first?”

“And if he fires at us?”

“I… uh.” Stede stuttered for a moment,

“And if he gets to your family first?”

Stede squirmed in his seat, feeling Sam’s eyes boring into him as he waited for a response.

“Well, I-I…” Stede began, desperate to alleviate the aching silence.

He wondered why the man wasn’t letting the subject be, or offering him anything to work with. Stede felt his cheeks impossibly burn brighter, a terribly familiar sensation.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know,” Sam interrupted, him. “I know why this is difficult for you. For all your skill as a storyteller, you’re not a very good liar.”

Stede fingers tightened around his glass, the embossed patterns pressing into his skin. Sam couldn’t know about him and Ed, could he?

“What do you mean by that?” he asked slowly.

One of Sam’s arms settled along the back of the chez beside Stede, yet not touching the other man. The gesture ought of have indicated friendly intimacy, yet Bellamy – yes, it was Bellamy now – had fallen too inhumanly still as he watched him, his posture and velvet coat lending him an almost unsettlingly statuesque quality.

“You know, In the time I’ve been away from piracy I’ve met a lot of people.” Bellamy said, “Obviously, I was successful enough to build a nice life for myself and Marion. I’ve dined with Dukes and danced with Duchesses. I’d spent long enough observing trying to understand gentlemen as marks that I thought I could pass unnoticed amongst them." he smiled ruefully, "I miscalculated. It’s as though they can smell the sweat and sea salt and blood on you, no matter how many expensive soaps you use to wash it off.”

Bellamy leaned towards Stede as though inviting him into his confidence.

“You see, Nicholas,” Bellamy said softly, in that uncannily precise imitation of an upper-class accent he favoured, “I don’t smell enough blood on you.”

Stede’s skin crawled at the words.

“I know you’re not prepared for what confronting Blackbeard will require. In fact,” Bellamy continued, “I find myself not at all convinced of your commitment to this mission.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Stede said, “Of course I’m committed!”

Bellamy smiled, but there was no humour in it.

“You don’t have to pretend;” Bellamy said, “I know you’re not used to this world. When you arrived here, you weren’t entirely honest about your skill level now, were you?”

Stede’s shoulders lost a fraction of their tension. Bellamy didn’t know about Ed then, Stede realised, he was just disappointed in Stede’s lack of prowess as a sailor. Having people be disappointed in him, while intensely uncomfortable, was something he was accustomed to.

“I’m not as unskilled as all that,” he protested weakly.

“Please, don’t insult my intelligence,” Bellamy interrupted, impatient, “you barely know aft from your elbow.”

“That’s not fair, I know that- Stede snapped, “well, I know now, Isha told me what that means. Look, alright, I may have exaggerated a little because I haven’t had time to learn all of the nuances of sailing, but I was worried you wouldn’t take us in if you knew.” Stede said, earnestly, “And we need to get home.”

“That may be, but nobody becomes a captain of a ship by accident. You decided to lead your crew while fully aware that you’re entirely unqualified for it – and you decided to deceive me,” Bellamy said severely, sounding a little too much like scolding parent, “and if you can lie to me in that way, I can’t help but wonder what else there is. Such a lack of trust between us might somewhat impede our working relationship.”

“With all due respect,” Stede said, irritated now, “you haven’t exactly been entirely honest with me either, Captain Bellamy.”

“That’s true,” Bellamy replied, “My identity is something I only generally share with people I have developed an extremely high level of trust with and you, Nicholas, do not fit into that category. Both you and I know that I would be foolish to place all my trust in you so early in our relationship. You’re a parent, so I’m sure you can imagine why.”

“I suppose.” Stede admitted. “Well, you might not trust me, but honestly, I have no reason to use it against to you – and I wouldn’t want to if I did, I promise.”

“Hmm.” Sam contemplated Stede for a moment. “Be careful of who you make promises to.”

“I mean it,” Stede said, “I won’t tell anyone, not even my crew. As fascinated as I am to meet you, I’m not here to expose you. I’m here for Blackbeard, nothing else.”

“We do seem to have the same priorities at present.” Sam conceded. “But I’m concerned about the point where that is no longer true, so I think it’s about time we talked about what measures we take in light of that.”

“What do you mean?”

Bellamy’s eyes raked over Stede’s being before he spoke again.

“As long as you’re around, you’re in possession of highly sensitive information and once you leave here you can share that information with anyone.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Stede said, earnestly.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I told you, I won’t tell anyone.”

Bellamy stared at him long and hard, unblinking.

“Sadly, that’s not a chance I’m willing to take.” Bellamy said, a coldness about the words, “I think it’s safest we make quite sure you’re incapable of telling anyone anything.”

“What do you mean?” Stede said slowly. “You say that like you’re planning to kill me or something.” Stede gave an uncomfortable laugh.

Bellamy stared back at him wordlessly, without a hint of humour or any other emotion on his face, the sight sending chills down Stede’s spine.

“You’re not actually considering it, are you?”

Bellamy still didn’t move.

“I’m not considering,” he said, “I’ve already decided. About an hour ago.”

“Pardon?”

Bellamy gave a resigned little sigh.

“You can’t be allowed to roam freely with that information, so… your alcohol was poisoned.”

“It can’t have been, you’ve already drank…” Stede tailed off, his eyes falling on Bellamy’s glass on the side table.

Try as he might he couldn’t seem to remember seeing Bellamy sipping it even once.

“I haven’t.” Bellamy confirmed. “But don’t panic just yet. I have an antidote. If you can convince me within the next quarter of an hour or so that you’re trustworthy, I might just let you have it.”

“Are you joking?” Stede said weakly.

“No.”

Stede could hear his own heart thundering in his ears, he swayed from light-headedness. His hands started to tremble, yet one of them was somehow still locked around the glass. It was impossible to tell how much of it was the effect of whatever Bellamy had given him or if it was just from the pure panic flooding through his being. Would it matter if he could tell? How much time did he have?

Stede couldn’t begin to understand how the other man still looked so unshakably calm. He grabbed at the lace of Bellamy’s cuff, tugging, needing a reaction out of the man- something, anything, remotely human in this moment.

“You… can’t do this.” Stede whined, no longer caring how he sounded.

“I can.” Bellamy didn’t move, allowing Stede to paw at him.

“If you’re going to kill me, you can’t do it now!” Stede cried, “Not right now. I think now is a really bad time to do it.”

“Well, I considered waiting until after breakfast tomorrow, but honestly, you’re just too much of a liability.”

“You can’t do this. My crew need me-”

“They like you, but do they need you..?” Bellamy said.

“They’ll miss me.”

“Probably, I’m sure your sudden illness will come as an unpleasant shock, but rest assured they’ll be well-looked after.”

“My family-”

“By your own admission are perfectly content without you and you have my word I’ll do everything in my power to ensure they remain so.” Bellamy promised. “Don’t worry.”

“Ed…” Stede’s voice caught on the name, despite himself.

“What about him?” Bellamy asked, indifferent.

Stede opened and closed his mouth, searching his face in desperation for the faintest whisper of sympathy.

“You promised.” he choked, eyes burning, “You promised you would get me back my ship and my crew and…” Stede pushed out the words that it pained him to utter; “He could do anything to them.”

“He could.” Bellamy agreed. “I’m glad you understand that.”

He said it in a manner so utterly devoid of emotion, that Stede found the whirlpool of panic and desperation he was being sucked into turning to anger.

“How?” he hissed, “How can you speak of unnecessary bloodshed and preach honour and- and- integrity and this is how you treat people?”

Inexplicably, Bellamy’s expression softened, tugging his wrist out of Stede’s grip and placing it on his shoulder, the touch making Stede’s skin prickle beneath his shirt.

“Because, Nicholas, I need you to understand exactly how serious I am about this and the severity of the dangers we are facing.”

It was said in a manner so grotesquely condescending that Stede felt a surge of pure fury burn through him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a weapon, or that he might be minutes away from dying; he refused to suffer the indignity of being taken down by this smug bastard without a fight.

Stede smacked the other man’s hand away, throwing his glass to the ground where it smashed and lunging forward to grab Bellamy by the collar and pining him to the back of the chez with his bare hands.

“Ouch” said Bellamy, sounding more offended than alarmed by the action, before, to Stede’s shock, grinning up at him, “Well, this an improvement.”

“What are you talking about?” Stede said through his teeth, glaring down at the other man.

Bellamy braced himself against Stede’s wrists.

“I knew you had it in you.” Bellamy said through a heavy breath, “Perhaps you will stand a chance of facing Blackbeard after all. More of this, please.”

“You don’t want me to be around to face Blackbeard!”

“Oh, but I do, that’s why I’m doing all this.”

“What are you talking about? Just give me the antidote!”

“Why should I do that?”

“Give it to me. Give it to me!” Stede shouted, shaking the other man.

A crash reverberated through the room as the door flew open hitting the wall, a tired voice coming with it.

“What is all this shout- Mon dieu!”

Stede looked up, to see Aretta frozen in the middle of the room, one hand on the hilt of her rapier, the other over her eyes.

“Is this consensual, Samuel?” she asked. “Do you need me to do anything or should I leave?”

“Everything is perfectly fine, Aretta.” Bellamy said, “Captain Thomas is merely under the impression that I’ve poisoned him.”

Aretta uncovered her eyes, peering at Bellamy.

“And why is he under that impression?”

“Because I told him so.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No.”

“What?” Stede yelped. “What- what is wrong with you?”

“Many things, I’m sure.” the man replied. “Please can you get off of me, now.”

“How do I know you’re not lying about this too?”

“It’s sensible of you to be sceptical,” Bellamy replied, “but unnecessary in this case.”

Before Stede could open his mouth, he found himself being dragged off of the other man by the scruff of his neck by Aretta.

“Okay, that’s enough.” she said, but once she let Stede go, he saw she was glaring at Bellamy, not him, “I think both Captain Thomas and I would like an explanation.”

“Nicholas,” Bellamy said breathlessly, as he adjusted his cravat. “The simple explanation is that I like you and would not be best pleased seeing you die.”

Stede couldn’t help but scoff at that, hearing Aretta also sniff pointedly at his side.

“Really,” Bellamy insisted, “I needed a way to impress upon you the necessity of being more alert and capable than you have been. Tonight I have been merciful, but I need you to understand that Blackbeard will not be.”

Stede shook his head in utter disbelief. It was one thing for Bellamy to quietly poison him instead of openly facing him in a fight, it was quite another to pretend to poison him and behave as though he'd done Stede a favour.

“How magnanimous of you.” Stede said, resentfully. “You thought pretending to murder me was the way to tell me that? You could have just said.”

“Yes, Samuel,” Aretta agreed, passionately, “You should have – and you should have asked me to mentor him, as is my job with new recruits.”

“Would you have listened?” Bellamy challenged him, ignoring Aretta.

“That’s not the point!” Stede snapped.

“I meant it, Nicholas,” Bellamy said, words softer, “I don’t want to see you die by Blackbeard’s hand. You’re not ready to face him – but I want you to be, for your own sake and that of your crew whose lives are in your hands. Don’t you also want that?”

“Don’t act like you give a damn about me.” Stede spat.

“But I-”

“No!” Stede yelled, getting to his feet, unable to stand being in the same room as Bellamy for a moment longer, “You know, maybe you're right! Maybe, I don't belong here - but you were wrong about what you said before. You fit right in with the upper classes; all those monsters dressing up like gentlemen, getting off on using their power to back those who don’t fit in into a corner. You should go back to them.”

With that, Stede left, too furious to even notice the remains of the crystal glass crunching under his boots.