Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[Image ID:
Umber Background with lyrics

They said I would never have my way
Naked, I would cover me with clay
Molded, wounded,I would greet the day
Cuz they said I could never have my way
I could never speak it,
I could only sharpen my blade
I could never mean it, there were always games we could play
But today

They can have the stars
They can have the moon
They have the breaking of the dawn
They can have the bar
They can have the tunes
They have the dance floor that we’re on

For me, it's you
End image ID:]

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Bravado was all well and good, and he knew better than to show fear in the face of this lot— but it was hard to keep his teeth bared and his spirits up as he was practically frog marched over what felt like half a mile of gravel and rain slick leaves. By the time they’d gotten to the Arbodela, his vision had started to blur in both eyes so he could barely make it out and his head spun. It was almost a relief to be shoved into the darkened halls of the building. He was hauled to a stop to stand there, someone’s hand twisted tight at the back of his collar, his own hands bound with rough rope, listening to them argue in Spanish, the sound bouncing off the walls. A song was playing somewhere distant, she was singing somewhere distant. Haunting him, the music unfamiliar, the song he didn’t know, too far away to make out, but it still vibrated in his skull. He could smell the sea, feel of the wind, could almost taste the flat, gray, ocean.

Too long here and Izzy would list into it. Too long here and he would fall anyway. Already he wanted to curl on himself like a roll-up bug. He needed to sit. He needed to stop moving. He needed the ground to stop spinning.

“Can we get a fucking move on?” he snarled, and instantly regretted it when one of them smacked the back of his head, making stars bounce in his skull and black line the edges of his vision.

“Hey, hey,” Geraldo said with false concern. “Don’t do that. We want our guests to be in good condition when it comes to negotiating time.”

“All that just for one fucking club?” Izzy asked. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. Geraldo loomed in front of him so close Izzy could easily make out his features.

“No, man, not a club. A fucking empire.” He patted Izzy’s cheek and smirked. “You’ll see.” Then Geraldo swam out of his vision and they were moving again. There was a small door which opened to a room that seemed like a glorified broom closet, smelling of damp and mold. He stumbled, managing to turn and catch his shoulder instead of hitting his face against the wall, then shifted to press back against the wood, squinting at the haze of sterile light. The Siete Gallos, or whoever they fucking were now, were blurred shapes in the doorway. If he were younger he would have rushed them. If he wasn’t so fucked up he still might have. As it was all he could do was to try to catch his breath.

Then his breath hitched in his chest as he saw the slumped form of Jack. Hands unbound as he was half dragged to the room, then shoved hard right in Izzy’s direction. There was no time to move, no time to think, his hands jerked instinctively, trying to free themselves. There was barely even time to wince before Jack hit— or, Jack’s hands hit, palms slamming hard against the wall on either side of Izzy, making the shelf above rattle. Jack groaned and slumped forward, close enough for Izzy to feel his breath but not close enough to touch, and then he winked and Izzy wanted to kill him; a flood of relief twisting through him like the tingles of a sleeping limb. Idiot had scared the shit out of him.

“You two behave. If you’re really good, we won’t even hurt you much,” said Geraldo, his voice distant, annoying, like an insect whine. The door shut, casting them in darkness. Jack’s breath washed over his skin. He could feel the heat from his body and smell the rain and blood and sweat.

“Bout time I got you alone, sweetheart,” Jack said and Izzy was glad it was dark so Jack couldn’t see his expression. He was just being Jack. He didn’t mean it. He never really meant anything. Or did he? Izzy didn’t want to allow himself to believe it.

“Are you alright?” Izzy asked. It was too sincere a question and he knew it even before Jack made an annoying mocking coo.

“Aww, princess, you in love with me now?”

“Fucking hell take something seriously for once in your life, you twat. Are you fucking hurt.”

Jack was quiet for so long if not for the persistent brush of his breath, Izzy would have thought he was dead.

“Ribs are shit,” Jack said, voice low and solemn. “Got dinged a bit but I’m fine. How are you, Iz?”

“How the fuck do you think?” There was no point in getting into the details and anyway, anger helped, kept his blood going even as his head pulsed and the music thumped in time. He almost hoped there was a radio or speaker on somewhere but knew there wasn’t.

“Aw, it’s alright, baby, I won’t let them hurt you,” Jack murmured. Izzy realized he was trembling. The realization only made the shaking worse and his legs were barely holding him up.

“I’m not afraid, you idiot, I’m fucking exhausted.” Which was only partially a lie. Though he wouldn’t call himself afraid so much as healthily concerned. And if he was shaking it wouldn’t because of the Siete fucking Gallos.

Jack clicked his tongue and murmured something in French. Whatever it was sounded almost tired and prickled at Izzy’s heart for some reason.

“My bad,” Jack murmured in English, sounding just as tired. “Let me get this shit off you and I’ll help you down,” he said. Izzy didn’t want to get down. He wanted to remain standing. Though at the way his legs were going he wouldn't have a choice. There was the quiet snick of a switchblade and the ropes were cut away. Izzy felt a kind of relief as if a weight had dropped though the burn remained around his wrists. Then Jack’s hand was at the back of his head , hurting a little just from the pressure of it even if the tangle of fingers through his hair was oddly soothing. And then he was being gently helped onto the floor, the tile cool under the one palm he used to brace himself. Jack followed a moment after, settling beside him hard, sucking in a prolonged hiss of pain.

“Why did you let them after your ribs anyway?” Izzy said, annoyed, something like panic rising high and sharp in his chest. What if Jack was more than just a little dinged? What if he was really hurt? Izzy could do fuck all for him when his own voice kept echoing in his ears. There was no fucking excuse for it anyway. “If you die, I swear to fuck,” he snapped. “I swear to fuck I’ll kill you. Where does it hurt. Are you still bleeding? You’d better not fucking be.”

“Calm down, Papa, I’ll live,” Jack said. “Bleeding’s nearly stopped.” His voice was distant, from far away. The room spun, his head spun, not that he could see shit anyway but everything seemed darker then before. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Abruptly Jack’s arm was round him, pulling him close. He was solid. Warm. Smelling a bit of petrol and a bit of blood and the lingering weed scent that had probably soaked into his very fucking pores since infancy.

“Calm down, calm down. Breathe with me fucker,” Jack said. Izzy closed his eyes, rested his head against Jack’s shoulder, breathed. Jack squeezed his bicep and let out a soft shaking breath as if he’d been worried too. Music began to slide like silk under the door, distant and soft.

“They said I would never have my way

Naked, I would cover me with clay

Molded, wounded, I would greet the day

Cuz they said I could never have my way.”

Singing his fucking life, again. A chill tightened the back of his skull and he let out a shaking breath, telling himself it was nothing.

“We’ve gotta figure out how to get out of here,” Jack said, distracting him. “Save our strength. Worry about the details later…”

“Edward’s coming,” Izzy said. Because of course he was coming. There were no doubts in Izzy’s mind that he would show up and get them out somehow. He was smart like that, brilliant even.

“He knows where we are?”

“More or less.” Knew enough to go to Jimenz probably; and they might know? Or perhaps someone else would. Or, hell, they all had mobiles. They could google map the road for fuck’s sake.

“He’s gonna need help to find this building. We’re kind if in the armpit of the woods here.” Jack sucked his teeth. “But..we got time to chill and figure it out.” The leer crept back in his voice. “Unless you wanna make out or some shit. Help pass the time.” He made no move to do anything about it, just squeezed Izzy’s arm again as if comforting him. Izzy wouldn’t mind making out and might have even indulged if not for the splintering headache that threatened if he even so much moved his head.

Even that was a risk he was tempted to take because as the silence grew and his own heart rate settled, the reality that he’d tried to stave off came seeping back. He thought of Blackbeard’s closing. Of the tables and chairs stripped away, the music gone, the strobes sold off, nothing left but an empty, cavernous room. He thought of Edward going to build the ridiculous boat with Bonnet, happy and content in a way he couldn’t be with Izzy apparently. He thought of the nothing that awaited him because change was inevitable and there was no use fighting the tide.

But if he was going to go into that water, he was going to go in under his own terms. He was going to get all the hurt out now so nothing else could, so the rawness of it left him numb.

“Edward is selling the club,” Izzy said. Pushed it further. “In fact I’m going to help him. Can’t fucking do it himself can he? Can’t fucking do anything by himself. At least not the details. I hope Bonnet is prepared for that. Really Bonnet is welcome to him but if he breaks Ed’s heart, I’m going to burn his fucking ship to the ground. So he better make him fucking happy.” A pause as a thought occurred to him, acidic in his throat. “Tell me you didn’t know about them. About Bonnet and Ed.”

Jack was silent. A knot settled in Izzy’s gut.

“I’d have told you, babe, I swear, if I didn’t think you’d bust a blood vessel and literally kill yourself.” Jack rubbed his arm. “If it makes you feel any better they’re the same kind of idiot deep down.”

“It doesn’t,” Izzy said. Even though it did. He sighed. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Fucker wants me to be happy about it somehow, but I refuse.”

“Yeah, no shit you’d refuse,” Jack said with a kind of chuckle. “Someone offer you happiness on a silver platter no strings attached and you’d tell them to fuck off.”

“Obviously. It’s a fucking lie. There are always strings.”

“Course there fucking are.” Jack snickered. “Good thing you love strings.”

“The fuck I do.” He didn’t love them or hate them, strings were attached to everything. It was just a fact of life.

“The fuck you don’t,” Jack said. “A happy Izzy is an Izzy tied up. To work. To Ed. To a fucking business. To a fucking plan. Even if just lookin’ pretty in cuffies. You love it because you love to hate it. To prove it can’t cut you down.”

Izzy felt his face flush for some reason at that. Even now, Izzy knew, if he were younger or less fucked up, he would have straddled Jack’s lap and bit him until Jack took it back. Or until Jack made him eat his words, until he was stretched taut, until there was skin scraping under his nails. He didn’t want Jack to be right. He didn’t want to be so easily known. But maybe Jack was right. Maybe it was time Izzy owned up to the truth of himself. Cut free he was nothing, unmoored he was nothing, with no one to work for and nothing to work toward, he might as well be useless.

“And look where it’s fucking got me,” he muttered. “With the club gone… might as fucking well go with it.” How did Edward expect him to be happy about it? Where the fuck did Edward expect him to find it? It was like sometimes that Edward didn’t even really know him at all and the thought made him a little sick. So he pushed it, probed it, thought it full out and made it hurt. Thought of the emptiness, the loneliness, of Edward meeting his eyes across a table, a bar, a bed, but not really seeing him.

Jack’s fingers came warm to the back of his neck, massaging deep, chasing away the bitter melancholy, annoyingly so. Izzy would rather face the harsh reality than give into the physical comfort. Idiot always knew just where to touch him, just when to touch him. Izzy closed his eyes and slipped his hand on Jack’s leg to squeeze his thigh and offer the same kind of comfort. The same kind of…fuck it, affection.

“We’ll figure something out, chouchou.”

“We?”

“Me, you, and Eddie.”

Izzy snorted. It was hard to be annoyed with Jack’s fingers working their magic, but somehow he managed it.

“He has his blond ponce, remember?”

“Yeah, but Eddie’s a sap, he doesn’t give up people that easily. Fuckin’ hoards them more like. And he’s definitely not going to give up you. You’re his anchor, he’s your sail.” Jack scoffed. “And I’m just the dumbass on board trying to keep you idiots from killing yourself or each other. Le plus grand imbécile du monde.”

Izzy could at least imagine Jack was calling one of them a grand imbecile. Maybe all of them were. Maybe he was because like a grand imbecile, he was comforted by that. He wanted to believe it. Even if it did mean that anchors sometimes needed to be raised for ships to sail as best they could. And…Jack was there, which made no fucking sense.

“Until you get what you want,” Izzy said. Though it was almost a question. He didn’t want to make it sound like one because Jack would rip vulnerability open with his teeth. Izzy had seen him do it countless times before. He didn’t want it to hurt. He was so tired of hurting. Jack sighed, a noise like a cresting wave.

“I say shit,” he murmured after a beat of silence. “I say a lot of shit. Back then I said so much shit, did so much shit, getting Ed back into this life that I was born into, just for fun. Fucking with the Sietes just because I could.” It was so quiet, so understated, as if he was seeing the underside of Jack’s skin for the first time. Izzy both wanted to stitch it back in place and peel it up to see what else might be hidden there. “I never thought you’d forgive me. Thought you’d kick me out. Kind of wanted you to if I’m fucking honest. But…you made me help. You kept bringing me back in over and over and over. No bar was too low for you, threats, blackmail, extortion, God, I still remember that time you planted shit on me just so I’d do what you wanted. Where the fuck did you even get rhino horn?”

Izzy had to chuckle at that. “It was powdered sugar. I’m not a complete idiot.” But it had been fun, putting bags of it in Jack’s small flat, in his jacket, threatening to call the police on him if he didn’t fucking shape up and go to rehab. He had been so thin then, so glassy-eyed and feral, like who Edward might have become if Izzy hadn’t worked so hard to bring him back around. Izzy remembered the miserable state of Jack’s flat too. Everything thin and ragged and cheap as if it had come out of the charity shop or rummaged from a dumpster. It had infuriated him in a way he still couldn’t articulate and so he’d made it his mission to…to help, he supposed. He’d spent hours cleaning and dropped plenty of quid on bringing in better clothes, bedsheets, a stunning duvet, appliances; paid off his fucking electric bill. He hadn’t thrown out anything because he knew pride too and he knew sentiment came in odd forms— but slowly he began to see Jack looking better, dressing better, making a life for himself even if it wasn’t much different than the one he left, it was different enough.

“Bitch,” Jack said, devoid of heat. He rubbed his cheek against the side of Izzy’s head, pulled him a little closer. Izzy shifted absently until they were pressed thigh to thigh and he was safely under the crook of Jack’s arm. “You saved my life. Even though I was nothing.”

“You’re plenty of fucking things.” And even if he wasn’t, that wouldn’t have mattered. Izzy couldn’t have abandoned him any easier than he’d abandoned Edward.

“Yeah, well, that I’m still here to be those fucking things is thanks to you. And it wasn’t just the shit you did but…you…you kept us together. Kept us from shaking apart. I went from nothing to having a little fucked up family all my own. Like that kid’s show with the alien. Little fucked, but still good.”

“You don’t owe me for that.” Though to be honest if he’d known that even a few hours ago he might have used it against Jack. Now the thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth— and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the same thing to Jack that he’d done to Edward; holding him back, dragging him down.

“Well…” Jack took a breath as if he was going to speak. Let it out. Took a breath again. “Look, I know you’re worried about the future and shit but, you really don’t gotta be. It’ll be different, maybe, but Ed’ll be here and…I’ll be here and we’ll…figure it out like I said. And it’s not because…I owe you or…because I don’t but…je t’aime.” He said the word like a curse and maybe it was for all Izzy knew. “I like you, Izzy Hands. A lot a lot.”

Funny how strangely normal that felt. Even if he began to feel drowsy, comfortable, knots inside of him beginning to come loose. He wanted to hear Jack say it again. He wanted to pull it from him when they were face to face. When they were fucking. In the sleepiness of early morning and in the middle of the night, a long leg slotted between Izzy’s own. He wondered if Jack would stay in the bed with him if he asked. If he told him to. Just because.

He wondered too if he should say it back. That he liked Jack a lot a lot. But he wasn’t sure if he did. And even if he was, even if he knew in the core of himself that he could reciprocate Jack’s feelings, what would happen then? The somewhat unstable ground he was already standing on would become an absolute fucking bog, that’s what. Or maybe the water would rise even further and it would be a pond, a lake, a sea; something too big and too powerful, ready to sweep him away.

His mouth opened anyway. He breathed. Murmured:

“Jack.”

And then the door shot open. It didn’t slam but with all the blinding light it spilled into the broom closet it might as well as fucking have. Izzy winced, the light like spears boring through his skull. The shadow that stood there was not Edward, he knew that even if he could barely see a thing.

“God, rude much?” Jack said.

“I’d apologize for interrupting your little alone time,” said Geraldo. “But I’m really not sorry. And the boss would like to meet with you, Mr. Hands.” He spoke with the cheerful confidence of a man who was sure he had everything in hand. He didn’t, of course, because he was outnumbered. He didn’t because Izzy wasn’t afraid of him. He didn’t because his hand was still on Jack’s thigh and Jack’s arm was still around his shoulder and so long as they were together, it was hard to be afraid of anything much.

“Well tell your boss he can go fuck himself. I’m not interested.” He would much rather stay on the fucking floor.

“You don’t get much of a choice, hate to say,” said Geraldo. “I mean you could resist but then I could have some guys take a knife and go– ” he made a noise like ‘hweet’ slicing his hand through the air. “ – To your Rackham’s ear, or nose, or other parts if they’re feeling really bad tempered. So I’d come along and not cause trouble.”

Alright, well maybe Geraldo was not outnumbered in the physical sense. He slowly got to his feet, having to grip Jack’s shoulder as the room spun. He felt Jack slip something into the back of his shoe, pulling the denim of his trouser leg over it.

“I don’t know why the fuck you’re here anyway,” Jack said. “Tired of fuckin’ Jackie?” As he spoke his hand roamed warm up Izzy’s calf and thigh, squeezing intermittently as if to remind Izzy he was there.

“Jackie is the love of my life,” said Geraldo, looking insulted. “I would never get tired of her. But no one says no to Alfeo and the guys.”

Jack squeezed the back of his thigh a bit harder, not that he needed to. Izzy might not be as great on the uptake as Jack or Edward, but he knew an opening when he saw it.

“She’s not going to be your love for long if she finds out you’ve been dealing,” said Izzy with a smirk. “She’s already pretty fucking mad at you last I heard. Do you really want to dig yourself deeper?”

Geraldo shifted from foot to foot; looked over his shoulder out into the corridor as if watching out for someone, then folded his arms and shrugged.

“I’m not dealing, man. I don’t touch the stuff. I’m just the intermediary. The middle man.”

“Not sure Jackie would see it that way,” Izzy said. “You sure you want to risk your love for that?” What a strange word that was. Love. He didn’t know if he said it often, but for some reason today it felt like it had weight, as if it meant more than fancy rings and paper hearts on Valentine’s Day.

This time Geraldo stepped into the room directly, grabbing the edge of the door and pulling it close to him as if he wanted to block sight from the corridor.

“Fuck you. I don’t have a choice. Alfeo has shit on me. If I screw with him he’ll ruin me.”

“That depends on how hard you screw him,” Jack said. In a lazy drawl. “Fuck him so hard he can’t stand? Reckon you got a chance. Reckon I can help give you that chance.”

“Reckon you have no chance,” Geraldo snapped. “And why should I trust you?”

“You don’t gotta, but you can either help us out or go down with the ship. Once Ed Teach gets his teeth in this, with all that clout he has? All the shit that I know about you? About Alfeo? You’re going to be lower than a shithole.”

Izzy didn’t know what Jack knew, if anything. But he also knew the truth didn’t really matter. Geraldo cursed in Spanish, something low and guttural and looked over his shoulder again.

“If I show up without Hands we’re all fucked,” he hissed. And Izzy didn’t doubt that was the truth. He didn’t know what Edward would do or how long it would take him to arrive or who he would bring with him– but there might be no fucking getting out of meeting Alfeo.

“Might as well see what the fucker has to say,” Izzy said.

“Yeah, might as well,” Jack replied. His hand traveled back down Izzy’s thigh and over his calf, sending a chill up his leg. He squeezed again near Izzy’s ankle and Izzy felt the length of something press against his skin, something squarish. Like a handle with nothing attached. The switchblade, he realized with a stunning flash. It was a cunning fucking move and Izzy couldn’t help but be impressed, more than impressed. It made him want to bite Jack’s tongue or snap at his earlobes until he squeaked.

“Just bring this fucker back safe or the deal’s off,” Jack continued.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try not to hurt your little boyfriend. Though I can’t help it he pisses off Alfeo.”

“He can take care of himself when he gets there,” Jack said, squeezing his ankle again.

“When we get out of here you’re taking me on fucking holiday,” Izzy said, just to say something, just to make Jack do something, just to have that security, that anchor, that there would be a later ,a tomorrow, a soon. Jack hesitated and Izzy’s gut quivered as if ready to drop straight down to his heels.

“Anything you want, Papa,” Jack said, voice thick and Izzy wanted to haul his hair back and kiss him until their lips bruised.

“You guys are sickening,” said Geraldo. Izzy had a feeling he was jealous. Izzy wanted to make him more jealous. Wanted to curl his fingers in Jack’s hair and declare to everyone that Jack was his and no one could have him.

Of course he would have to survive this if he was going to do anything to Jack, and so far it wasn’t looking very fucking likely. The Arbodela was an old building with creaking wood floors and wood walls that seemed to sag slightly. It had a dour labyrinthine quality of a building that used to be something else. An old fashioned school maybe left to rot, or some kind of office space that no one had visited in the last fifty years until the Siete had taken it over.

Izzy couldn’t tell if the flickers and starts in the corners of his blurred vision were cobwebs or a symptom of his mind shutting down. Maybe the place was haunted, maybe he was on the verge of death. As it was, he didn’t know how much longer he would last as he struggled to keep up with Geraldo’s quick, aggravated stride. He felt old. Worn thin. He wasn’t sure if he could stand up to a feather much less Alfeo de la Vaca.

He was really starting to wonder if maybe he’d pushed himself too hard. If he should have taken more time to rest or, better yet, never gotten fucking involved in the first place. Not that there was fuck all he could do about it now. He couldn’t even really tell Geraldo to slow the fuck down. The man would pounce on any weakness, and if he didn’t, the Siete Gallos which they passed now and then in the hall would. There seemed to be far more of them now and he was fairly certain a good deal of them were not entirely Hispanic; at least given the sour looks Geraldo got when they passed and the muttered Polish, which sounded like an insult but was hard to say.

Anyway his pride wasn’t completely gone, but it was fading by the minute the longer they went on. He wanted to sleep on a soft bed pressed against warm skin, breath feathering his hair. He wanted to go to bed held and wake up held and for it to be alright.

He wanted for the music to get louder– or further away, as he was starting to worry it was all in his head. As if Gravy Basket had infected him somehow. Which was absolutely mad. Madder still was that he wasn’t even sure if he wanted it to be real or not.

“I could never speak it, I could only sharpen my blade,” she crooned. “I could never mean it, there were always games we could play. But today...”

Geraldo stopped so suddenly that Izzy nearly ran into him. They were at a door, painted black, so that Izzy had to blink a few times to realize it was a door and not some unlit patch of hallway. The black seemed to pull him in and he found himself absently looking for stars. But Geraldo was speaking and it was probably fucking important so Izzy drew his attention back to the present and his aching head and tired everything

“…level with you, man,” Geraldo said. “You have one chance not to be absolutely fucked, and it’s behind that door. I would just agree with whatever the boss says, yeah? Make it easy on yourself.”

Izzy wanted to tell him to fuck off, but knew it wasn’t a good idea to push their tentative alliance too far. Instead he managed a jerky nod and was ushered inside.

Alfeo de la Vaca sat on one of the ornate chairs, looking pleased with himself. Izzy noticed with a kind of mixed relief that he switched off a small radio that had been beside him taking the music that had been in Izzy’s head along with it. Real then. A creepy coincidence then, and the least thought of the better. But now that the music was gone, a part of his buzzing brain missed it. That really was barking mad though so he turned his focus on Alfeo.

Though the man hadn’t changed much in the decade that Izzy last saw him face to face. He was more grizzled and his left eye was shit, sunken a little, giving him a cadaverous appearance as if he was already actively dying. It wasn’t that or his twist of a smirk or the way he gestured with a false civility at a wide chair that sat opposite him. It was just the memory of their last meeting that seemed to take up the forefront of his brain. He could smell the dirty alleyway, the blood, feel the anger and the fear, the knowledge that he had to protect what was precious to him or no one else would. The coppery stripe in the handle of the old fashioned pistol at Alfeo’s hip reminded him of the roar of gunfire and the way his bones had seemed to rattle with it, bringing with it the accompanying bite of fear.

“You’ve gotten old, Hands,” Alfeo said as casually as if they were friends. They weren’t, not by a long fucking shot. They weren’t even enemies. But he was grateful to be hauled back into the present and out of that terrible night. Izzy hung onto this thought as he levered himself into the chair. That this had to be a game, a battle of wits, that he had an advantage in that Alfeo wanted something from him, but only an advantage by a slim margin.

“So have you,” Izzy said. He shifted and felt the press of the switchblade against his ankle. Fat fucking chance he had of using it.

“Better old than dead,” said Alfeo. A threat but not at the same time. “Let’s meet this as gentlemen,” he added and poured some brandy into a cut glass tumbler with a gold rooster traced in gold on it. It was a bad idea to add alcohol and Izzy knew it but in for a fucking penny, in for a fucking pound.

“Meet what as gentlemen?” said Izzy. “Because we’re fucking not. And I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but I think we’re both a little too old for that. There must be a hundred clubs out there, why do you want Edward’s?” It was good brandy anyway, mellow and sweet and smooth.

“Oh yes, a hundred. A thousand. But in this economy? Too much effort to even get it off the ground. Too difficult to get your foot in the door. And I don’t have the time to play a losing man’s game. I’m sure you feel the same.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Or it did, but in a way Izzy couldn’t quite grasp. If he thought harder he could maybe understand. But his thoughts were too slippery and it was all he could do just to hold on to the current conversation. “What do you want?”

“A chance,” said Alfeo. “Somewhere already established. Somewhere with a name, a reputation. Somewhere that practically runs itself. I’m getting too old to live with small minded games and I think I’ve earned some respect, don’t you?”

“Ah.” That made sense. The reasoning slowly clunked into place. Alfeo wanted a legacy, one that he didn’t have to work for, one away from the grime and mess of the streets. In a lot of ways Izzy didn’t blame him. A place like Blackbeard’s could really elevate someone. A place like Blackbeard’s you could be proud of having been a part of. Maybe even handing it off to a successor. “That why you wanted to lure one of us in? For fucking business negotiations?” Since Izzy had no doubt that Edward would have been pulled in eventually if he hadn’t been so insistent.

“As if Teach would have listened. The man holds a grudge even though he got his.” Alfeo flipped a hand, his eye seeming more cavernous than before. “Sometimes people need a little push to see the bigger picture, yes? And I have a big picture, a magnificent picture. Replace Teach, grow the business, franchise it, under my own name of course. Montreal, Toronto, Halifax, maybe even down across the border. A place with substance and not just a cheap flash in the pan style that even Rackham could recreate.” The jealousy was evident even though his tone hadn’t changed. Izzy was beginning to remember how smarmy the man was, how confident in his own middling skills at being charming— at reading people. Izzy wanted to ask how his eye was, if he missed it. He could also appreciate Alfeo’s dream, his ambition, the need for something grand.

“And of course,” said Alfeo, leaning forward. “I’d need someone to run the place. I’ll keep you on, pay you well, better than Teach is offering. And all you have to do is to keep doing what you have been doing. Let yourself dwell on that”

Izzy did. Sort of. Closed his eyes even which was dangerous enough. Sipped the warm brandy. God, wasn’t that tempting. Tempting and so easy. He sure as fuck wouldn’t have to drag Alfeo to the club every evening. Alfeo could do his thing and Izzy could go back to administration and the club would continue to function. Izzy would no longer have to worry about Edward and his whims or his moods. He wouldn’t have to worry about Archie or Fang or Ivan…or even Jack. He could tell Jack to fuck off and just put his head down and work and work and work. One club, two, all those places that Alfeo talked about as he built his future one brick at a time….and then at the end of it all he’d have…

What? A name? Maybe. Money, probably. It felt hard, like a marble countertop in a sterile kitchen; like the stone at the head of the grave.

He thought of a holiday instead, of sitting with Jack somewhere sun-washed, or going out to some boardwalk lined with neon lights and music and booze, the ocean night dark, the sky full of muted stars. He thought of talking with Jack in long evenings…and wondered if now he would be able to talk to Edward too, like they used to before Blackbeard’s had consumed him. Some nights it was just him and Jack, watching the headlights pass, listening to Edward tell stories about his former life on screen. What would it be like, he wondered, just to live.

Of course there was always a chance that Jack was dicking around and that Edward would forget him in the face of Bonnet. But what if that didn’t happen? What if Edward remembered him? What if Jack remained by his side, impossible as it seemed, and decided to do all the things Izzy hoped? What if Jack slept with him and woke up with him? What if they ate good food and saw interesting things and fucked hard— but also fucked slow and tender. That was the real dream. The real achievement. He could feel his smile spread at the thought of it.

He could feel himself drifting toward the thought of it, the idea, the dream. The flat gray sea was ruffled now, vibrant, the roar of it distant and beckoning, and the song began to play again in the back of his head, the lyrics tumbling over one another. He found himself chasing the meaning of the words, trying to grasp them, humming them thoughtfully.

“So it pleases you,” said Alfeo, which was good because it made Izzy open his eyes and try to focus. The room seemed to shift, to wobble a bit. Bad fucking sign, Izzy thought, and took another shot of brandy. Or maybe good fucking sign he thought as the brandy fuzzed warm through him. Maybe the sign that it will be alright.

“Mm,” Izzy hummed, not foolish enough to speak anything else for fear he might reveal the truth. The sea was too loud for that and the brandy too sweet.

“Good, I thought it might.” Alfeo leaned back, heel of his hand nudging the butt of his pistol with only the barest hint of subtlety. “I knew that if anyone would sell out Teach, it would be you. I’m glad it worked out this way.”

Would he? Maybe if Alfeo had caught him just a few hours ago he might have planned it with the man, but now? No. Never. And even then he’d like to think he’d have never jerked the rug out from under Edward like Alfeo seemed to be fucking implying.

Izzy took another sip of brandy, a quarter of it left somehow, the sound of the ocean stronger. He wondered what Jack was doing right now. If he’d managed to sneak free. If he was leading Edward in or maybe causing trouble of his own. He thought of Jack’s smirk, the gold flecks in his dark blue eyes, the way it felt to be held under the crook of his arm without expectation of fucking to follow. He wondered if Jack could hear the sea, if he could somehow hear the music tumbling through Izzy’s head, if he would sing along to it badly if he could.

“You and me, Hands, are the same kind of people,” Alfeo said, breaking into Izzy’s thoughts. The man was pouring him more brandy, the amber liquid swirling against the sides of the glass. “We both know that legacy is the only thing that matters.” He poured himself more brandy too, lifting the glass so that it winked in the light. “You’re born alone and you die alone, might as well make something that lasts.”

Carefully, he told himself. Carefully. Or not. Alfeo couldn’t kill him and get what he wanted. If Izzy died, Blackbeard’s was as good as gone. So. Fuck it.

“Legacy can get fucked.” He grinned hard. “You can’t spend money when you’re dead and can’t feel anyone sucking your minuscule dick.” Alfeo’s face darkened – and was thunderous at the insult, but his twisted smile remained in place. “What’s the fucking point if you can’t enjoy it? A legacy doesn’t matter…” So what did? What was it? It felt right on the tip of his tongue. “People…relationships…connection…that matters…”

It wasn’t about the club, really at the end of the day, but the people in it. The people that came into his life. Relationships that he should have treasured more, and he would, starting today. What money could buy that?

Alfeo chuckled, sneering.

“You’re a fool.”

“Better a fool than an idiot.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. No, he definitely should not have said that but he didn’t give a fuck. On the other hand maybe he should give at least some fucks because Alfeo was still smirking as he sipped his brandy.

“You’ve gotten a big mouth, Hands. Rackham is going to regret that I think.”

Izzy’s blood turned to ice.

“You didn’t think I’d let Geraldo be the only guard do you?” Alfeo said, deeply amused. “You see I’m not an idiot. I know what needs to be put on the scale for it to balance out. Rackham’s life for yours.” He grinned showing the edges of his teeth. “Even if we’re going to have to take what’s due.”

Adrenaline was starting to burn through his system. Izzy wanted to ask what the fuck they’d done to Jack. Wanted to tell Alfeo that he’d take his other fucking eye if Jack lost so much as a hair. Even now his hands curled into fists and he would have wrapped them in Alfeo’s collar had the door not slammed open making them both jump.

A man stood there, one of the Siete Gallos probably given the rooster tattoo crawling up his arm. He stared at them, bug-eyed, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What?” Alfeo snapped. The man said nothing. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he tipped forward, face smashing against the wooden floor. A knife was lodged in the back of his neck. A knife which was soon tugged free by the figure in a black hat and a long black duster that swirled around his ankles, their ankles, Izzy corrected himself as the figure rose and he recognized the shape of Jimenez.

“Wow, you know what? Revenge really is as good as it feels.” Jimenez said, their smile more like a snarl.

“Who the hell are you?” Alfeo snarled and reached for his gun. It was knocked from his hand with another flash of metal, leaving a red stripe across the meat of Alfeo’s thumb. The pistol hit the ground and went off, too loud in the small room. Izzy got to his feet in a burst of sheer adrenaline.

Jimenez seemed to cast a look at Izzy under the brim of their dark hat. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine.” He was. He was up. He could walk. He had to find Jack. He had to see if Jack was alright. “Tell me you’re not the only one who came.”

“We’ve got a full house tonight. Oh no, you’re not going anywhere.” This to Alfeo who was scrambling to fetch his pistol. Jimenez drew two more knives from their belt. “Time you remembered who the hell I am. Y lo que le hiciste a mi familia.”

Alfeo returned something in Spanish that sounded like it was meant to be deeply insulting. Jimenez snarled a laugh.

Izzy left them to it, managing to maneuver around the fucking corpse in the fucking doorway to stagger out into the hall. He could hear sounds of shouting now. More gunshots. The faint overlay of police sirens that would get here soon but not soon enough, and hopefully Edward wouldn’t be around when they showed. But Edward was canny, Edward was good, Edward could take care of himself. The only person that was important right now was Jack.

“Brave me, brave me, brave me.” The lyrics echoed in his head, definitely a memory but cold sweat prickled under his skin anyway at the pulse like beat.

Jack was in his heartbeat, Jack was in his pulse, he had to find him and…and do something. What he didn’t know. Save him. Protect him. Treasure him.

Only where the fuck was he? And how the fuck was Izzy going to find him? The blurs had become flecked with black and while he could move at a nice clip now, he knew it wouldn’t last and when it left him— who knew what state he would be in? He had to try though. He had to find him.

“Chasing the coming dawn, bracing for what’s to come. And I want to do it on my own.”

Jack couldn’t die now. Not now. Not when Izzy wanted him so much, not when he knew Jack wanted him too. He didn’t want to do it on his own. Not anymore. Not ever again.

“I’m a pet bull, all I see is red, I’ll follow where you go. Wherever you go.” Izzy pushed himself into a jog, his breath lancing in his throat, hopelessness filling him as he realized he had no idea where the fuck he was going. All the halls looked the same. He was fucked. He was a hairsbreadth from calling Jack’s name in desperation when a figure darted around the corner. Izzy stumbled back and hit the wall hard, knocking the song right out of his head and banging his heel and remembering again the switchblade. No time to reach for it and even if he could he’d never be able to straighten back up again.

“Oh, hey, bro! Fancy meeting you here!”

Archie.

Thank fuck.

He reached for her, wanting to tell her that they needed to find Jack before something bad happened— to help him if something bad had already happened, but all he could get out was:

“Jack. Jack needs he…help.”

“Aw yeah, he’s here too? Full house tonight, mate.” She grinned. “Come on.” She pulled his arm over her surprisingly sturdy shoulder and put the other around his waist. “You’re going to have to take a long break after this. Big boss said something about tying you to the bed and not in a fun way. I’ve never seen him so pissed off. Reckon you’re okay though, probably more mad at these jerks.”

He didn’t care who Edward was mad at. Edward could never speak to him again for all Izzy cared at the moment. All that mattered was keeping up with Archie and finding Jack. Though by the time they got to an intersection in the hallway, Izzy was breathing hard.

“Which way?” she asked. He looked down one dark corridor and then the other. He didn’t know. Couldn’t tell. Couldn’t fucking remember. There was the sound of a scuffle and some explosive French cursing.

“Sounds left to me!” Archie said and Izzy could only nod. They struggled down the hallway, hearing the sounds of a fight grow louder and Izzy’s panic with it.

“Leave me,” he snapped. “Help him!”

“Aw, I can’t do that, boss. They get hold of you it’s all over for all of us. Probably hold you hostage and that’s never a great time.”

Which made him both frustrated and oddly touched. There was no time to be either. He had just enough to keep his feet going one in front of the other as they hurried at a sloth’s pace down the hall.

As they came closer, the sound of a muffled desperate fight grew out of sight around the corner, it occurred to Izzy in a sick horrifying way that they would just bring more problems with their arrival. Archie was unarmed it seemed and he was pretty fucking useless— But then he remembered, the switchblade!

“Wait!” he hissed. “Slow down. Stop. I have a knife in my shoe.”

Archie came to a slow stop and gave him a look.

“Oh wow…” she said as if he’d lost his mind. “That’s a bummer. Do you need to shake it out, you think?”

“No…It …just fucking get it. Left.”

Archie shrugged and crouched with envious ease that Izzy couldn’t do even if his brain wasn’t currently still made of old porridge. She pulled up the denim and whistled.

“That’s a nice one too! Didn’t know you were packing heat!” She pulled the knife out.

“Who’s there?” snapped a voice around the corner.

“Oh, time to go!” Archie said. Izzy found the knife slapped in his palm and had to stare at it a second to register what happened.

“No! Fucking take it!”

But she was already gone just as one of the big Polish men barreled around the corner. He reacted in a split second, swinging at her with a fist the size of a small ham. She grabbed his wrist in both of hers, using his momentum to push herself backwards and then twisted down, throwing him against the floor and the wall so that he hit it hard enough to vibrate. A wrenching twist of his arm was quickly followed by a faint crack and his cry of pain. Izzy was impressed, but then his mate was hurrying around the corner too, saw what had happened and came at her with a huge fucking knife. She blocked it with a tonfa she just had on her for some fucking reason and the blade glanced off it.

As impressed as he fucking was, there were still sounds of a fight coming around the corner and Jack’s low snarl. Archie seemed to have it all in hand as she misdirected the man’s knife blows, cackling and saying:

“Is this all you’ve got? Come on, bro! I’m not even getting a workout!”

Izzy groped along the wall, as fast as he could, as if everything had kicked into high gear, even as the floor pitche and swayed under his feet, sweat dripped into his eyes.Jimenez must have knocked the raido back on because the song came back louder than before:

“They can have the stars

They can have the moon

They have the breaking of the dawn-”

Yes, they could have anything. Anything they wanted. Just so long as he got there.

“They can have the bar

They can have the tunes

They have the dance floor that we’re on.”

He would never fucking set foot in a bar again if he had to. If that was the price. He would easily give up anything for…

He came around the corner. There was Jack, held up against the wall by a man twice his size who had a hand around his neck. He scratched at the man’s wrist and kicked, but it was plain he had a hard fight already, blood soaking his face and a bruise purpling one eye. Jack met his eyes and his whole expression seemed to light up despite the fact that he was trying not to fucking die.

“For me, it’s you~” the words were high, wild, piercing, cutting him right through the heart.

Izzy knew then that it was it. What it was, he couldn’t articulate, but it was there, caught in the brightness of the song, flooding him from all sides like the wild churning sea. Izzy flipped open the switchblade and stabbed the man between the ribs. He howled and dropped Jack, swinging hard for Izzy’s face in pure instinct. Izzy stumbled back, narrowly avoiding getting clipped and hit the wall, then pushed off it to sink the blade into the man’s sternum instead.

He grabbed for Izzy’s throat now, his fingers hard and callused but Izzy grinned up at him, unable to really see much but that didn’t fucking matter.

“Try it and see where my knife goes next, you great fucking twat.”

The man seemed like he wanted to but then the sirens began to sound in here too. The man shoved Izzy back hard enough so that his teeth rattled and ran in the opposite direction, switchblade still sticking from his chest.

Izzy sunk. Jack caught him on the way down. They were a tangle of limbs, his arms around Jack, Jack’s around him, he felt both protective and protected, warmer than he’d ever been. The sea was all around him now, the song louder than ever, and it seemed to move in time with Jack’s heartbeat.

“Alright?” Izzy asked. “Not dying?”

“Sound like I sucked your dick for five hours,” Jack rasped. “But I’m good.”

Izzy nodded, closed his eyes, nuzzled Jack’s shoulder and felt Jack’s grip tighten, felt himself being pulled closer. There wasn’t anything that could be close enough. His vision was fading, his everything was fading, the sea was rising.

Though he was conscious enough to hear Archie say:

“Aww, you guys are sweet!”

Before dropping off into the black.

When he first woke, he wasn’t sure if he was awake at all. He was in hospital, he knew that. He could feel the tubes in his nose and hear the steady beat of his heart. There was a window casting in light, but there was also the sea. It was still gray but furrowed now, dynamic, lapping at the mattress, at his hands, the salt in the air, sweet now. The music humming a strange symphony in the distance.

The Scot was there too, standing by his bedside, eating grapes and looking out at the horizon.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Izzy said, staring himself. The sea didn’t end. The sky was a pale blue. The clouds scudded along casting their gray shadows.

“I’ve been known to fancy a Degas,” said the Scot. “But I’m pretty sure that’s a reproduction. Good quality though, eh? Think I prefer it.”

“Well that makes no fucking sense,” Izzy murmured. In reality he wasn’t bothered. In reality he wasn’t sure if he could be bothered by anything ever again. “You’re right though, everything…everything needs to fucking change…and it’s going to be hard as fuck.” He knew that. He knew that because everything was.

“Aye, but there are good parts too, I’m thinking.”

Yes, there were. Though he was a little tired of it all. He wondered what would happen if he got up and waded out into the gray deep, swam until the ocean ended or he did, sinking down into the muzzy dark.

“I’d be careful where you point your nose, Mr. Hands,” said the Scot. “Some places you can’t come back from, calm as they may be.” His voice was echoing now, becoming part of the dream or maybe the dream becoming part of him.

“Any road, ye’ve got someone waiting, don’t you.”

Yeah…yeah he did… He would remain. But there was nothing saying he couldn’t take in the view. Night was falling softly, sleep was claiming him.

“Oh, there you are,” said Bonnet, his voice as much a non sequitur as anything else. “What have you done with the grapes?”

Izzy wanted to say: Not a fucking thing. But in the end sleep came anyway.

The second time he woke, he wished he would have gone in the fucking water because everything fucking hurt. The water was gone now, left him high and dry and he ached, from the tips of his toes to the tips of his hair. The only good thing was that the blur in his left eye seemed smaller than before.

There was also a shadow by his arm, mercifully blocking the light. Izzy turned his head and the shadow soon organized itself into Edward, who was solemnly staring at a grape, pressing it between his fingers as if testing the resistance of the flesh. He seemed tired. So tired. Izzy wondered how long he’d been tired. How long he’d put up with being tired for Izzy’s sake.

“Tell me the police didn’t see you there,” Izzy said. He knew he must have been dreaming before because even speaking hurt, like he was gargling rock salt. Edward looked up and smiled in a way that Izzy hadn’t seen him do in forever. It was warm. Fond.

“Nah.” Edward slipped from the chair to fold an arm on the bed, pillowing his chin on it. He rolled the grape absently back and forth. Izzy hoped he didn’t burst it there because the last thing he wanted was a strange wet spot. “Didn’t even go. I wanted to, but you know, it would be a bad look and there would be a lot of explaining.” Edward shrugged.“But Stede is helping me set up something to put Alfeo on blast.”

“On…blast…” There had to be a universe where those words made sense but it wasn’t this one.

“Cancel him.” And Izzy must have had a strange expression because Edward smirked. “Ruin his rep, put him away, make sure everyone knows about it. Come on, man, you’re not that much older than me.” His grin widened. “Even though you look it.”

“Oh shut up,” Izzy grumbled. “Fucking feel it.” He sighed. “I’m surprised Jimenez didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, me too, but apparently keeping him alive would hurt more, they said.” Which was fair and Izzy found himself admiring Jimenez all the more.

“Everyone alright?” Izzy asked. “Everyone get out?” And then in a jolt of panic remembered. “Jack!”

He struggled to sit up but Edward pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him gently back down. Izzy couldn’t even put up a token resistance.

“He’s okay,” Edward said. “All he’s got is some stitches and some bruises he’ll be bragging about forever. He wanted to be here but Doctor Olu said that we probably want to ease you in slow. You’re still pretty cracked up there, mate.”

Izzy relaxed a bit. Jack must be alright if Edward said so but Izzy wanted to see him. Wanted to ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing getting all fucked up like that, worrying the fuck out of Izzy in the process. He was getting annoyed and it didn’t help that Edward was grinning like a loon.

“What?” Izzy said.

“You like him, huh? A lot.”

“I …” Do not, Izzy wanted to say but there was really no point to fighting it anymore. “Yeah… A lot.”

“Kind of unnerving, isn’t it.”

“Very.” Because now that he admitted it, now that it was out there, he couldn’t help but wonder: Now what? What would happen? What would they be? What would they become? Could they really still be the same without the structure of the club?

“Yeah, I feel the same around Stede sometimes.”

“How do you…deal with it. Aren’t you ever… worried that…it won’t work out?”

“Yeah sometimes.” Edward frowned and smoothed his fingers over the front of Izzy’s thin hospital gown. “I suppose… Stede makes it easy to forget that I’m worried when I’m with him and…” Edward looked up at him quickly, then down again, shrugged. “I suppose… I know that if things ever went south… I’d always have you and…you’d always have me… We look after each other.”

“Yeah.” Izzy smiled a bit and touched his hair. “Yeah we do.” Maybe not as lovers anymore, but in all the ways that mattered. Edward smiled as if relieved, the tension going out of his shoulders. He looked ten years younger. The mischievous smile only helped matters.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? To talk things through as friends do.”

“Oh go to hell,” Izzy said with a weak laugh, pushing at Edward’s head. Edward laughed too and it was probably one of the best sounds that Izzy had ever heard.

They remained like that for a while, Edward’s hand on his chest, breathing softly in the room. They didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say, but there was something nice about existing. The only sound was the quiet beeping of the monitor saying that he was still alive with a gentle persistence. It was like it used to be… No, better than it used to be, they were both wholly themselves in this space. Whoever they were. Whatever that meant. There was no need to worry about it at the moment.

After what seemed like forever and not long at all, a series of yawns overtook Izzy; each one longer than the last until finally tears ran down his face and into his sinuses and his jaw cracked. Edward chuckled.

“I should probably fuck off. Visiting hours are about up anyway.” He rose, smiled down at Izzy, pressed a hand to his head.

“I’m sorry,” Izzy said, because he was. “For putting you through so much bullshit.”

“Yeah…we…probably need to talk through some shit,” Edward said. “But we can do that later. For right now, get some rest, Iz. Oh yeah, before I forget!” He snapped his fingers and pulled something from his back pocket. Izzy wasn’t sure how to feel at the sight of his own mobile plopped on his chest. “Pete found this, thought you might want it back. Surprisingly it still works. Guess both of you are indestructible little fuckers.”

Izzy huffed a laugh. “Suppose I could ring out for pizza now.”

“Or…check your texts.” Edward gave him a little nudge. “Might give you sweet dreams.” Then with a little wink he left, leaving behind the grape on the bedspread as some kind of strange gift. Izzy watched him go, already wishing he would come back. The room felt a little empty. A little lonely. Izzy didn’t know if he’d always felt this way or if he’d just gotten used to the feeling of an empty space, inside and out. A space that not even work quite filled.

He would think about it later, come to terms with it, ask himself questions he’d always avoided. His mobile lay in his hands, a solemn black brick and he unlocked it. The screen was cracked at a spidery diagonal, but everything else still seemed to function.

Izzy smiled at the half dozen messages from a contact helpfully labeled ‘Jack 2’. Though in all honesty, Izzy probably didn’t need to be told. The first one was a message sent from just this morning— though he had to briefly check the date to be sure— showing Jack with stitches up one side of his face, holding up a fat dick shaped eggplant. The text read:

[morning princess found u in the store jtm]

He scrolled down to apparently yesterday. Jack going about his day. Going to lunch somewhere on the waterfront with Archie and Fang and Ivan who were all giving peace signs.

[wish u were here jtm]

A picture of Bonnet’s ridiculous ship with Bonnet wearing a ridiculous expression, probably caught mid-sneeze, while Edward looked on fondly.

[can u believe some people’s taste? eddie hits that on purpose. cant even touch u jtm]

And there were more, more and more and more. Jack talking to him, including him in his day, in his life, making a space for Izzy there. It made him smile, it made his heart hurt, he sunk back against the fucking awful pillow and read and read and read. There was even a picture of his flat, and then a picture of Jack’s mobile sunk to the bottom of the loo, with the accompanying:

[bitch jtm]

Izzy chuckled. On a whim he checked back to Jack’s old phone number, which went back— fuck, longer than he cared to think.

One of them from two years ago was a sprawl of French he couldn’t hope to understand.

[le pire cest que je croise que jtm et je ne sais pas quoi faire à ce sujet]

Then several more of just [jtm] [jtm] [jtm] and one with a picture of himself drinking champagne at a fancy restaurant they’d gone to for New Years. He remembered noticing Jack was taking the picture and flicking him off, just out of habit. On the bottom edge, in a sparkling blue font Izzy wouldn’t have even suspected Jack knew about: (middle finger) JTM (middle finger).

Izzy stared at the JTM for a while, trying to puzzle it out. It felt like an acronym, but for what? None of the words he mentally slotted in there made any sense and he made himself dizzy with trying. It occurred to him some ten minutes later that it might mean something in French. Who the fuck else did he know who spoke French? Izzy lowered the mobile, trying to think.

Across the way in the snug private room, he noticed a bizarre painting, a flock of softly pastel birds, slightly smudged, that seemed to double as ballerinas. For some reason it reminded him of Archie and he remembered she knew French too.

It took him a while to find her number and even longer to type out the text as his thumbs and brain didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

[what does jtm mean?]

Five minutes later he got: [je t’amie I think!]

Which helped a fucking little. He was in the middle of entering a series of question marks when her bubble popped up. [means: I love you. :) Guess someone’s got it really bad for you, eh?]

Izzy stared.

Kept on staring.

The world seemed to tilt shift harder than when he was hallucinating the fucking ocean. An ocean in the middle of the room made more fucking sense than this. That Jack would say that. That Jack would mean that. Nearly every fucking message seemed to end with JTM, even when Jack was angry with him for something. All that time…

Izzy wasn’t sure if he felt the same way back. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He didn’t want to let Jack down with not being able to return that feeling. He didn’t want to make him sad. Frustrated, yes. Annoyed as all hell, as much as he fucking could but… sad he could never manage.

Archie popped in again.

[You going to say it back?]

He didn’t want to tell her he didn’t know if he could. He thought a moment, hesitated and texted:

[have you ever felt that about someone]

[Oh yeah! Completely bowled over right now! Currently snuggling with my SO and their SO and their SO’s SO is on a zoom call shouting at people. It’s amazing.]

Izzy wasn’t going to even try to unpack fucking that.

[what does it feel like?]

[It feels like] [oh I don’t know!] [great! I mean, not all the time. Sometimes it’s hard but even when it’s hard I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be or no one else I’d rather be with.]

…Right. His heart stuttered a little at that, his cheeks flushing, and the monitor gave a little worried beep but smoothed out. Even his thumbs were trembling as he typed:

[how do you know for sure?]

[Guess the biggest test is if when someone says it to you, how do you feel about saying it back]

He felt… like he wanted to say it, and wanted to see Jack’s face when he said it, and wanted to mean it and maybe he did because all he could think at the moment was that sometimes he could be alone even with Edward in the room, but he never felt alone with Jack. Not even once.

[thank you]

[Now worries! Jim says thanks too. :)]

Izzy replied with a thumbs up and then switched to Jack’s number. He found he wanted to say it and didn’t. Wasn’t ready anyway to say the words aloud. Wasn’t ready to open himself completely because Jack was still Jack, but…he could maybe write it, couldn’t he?

Izzy licked his lips and tapped out: [come see me in the morning, even if I’m asleep]. Because a demand was always a good way to start, helped set the mood, to keep things on an even keel. Then, slowly, cold sweat peppering his temple he typed out the three little letters: [jtm]

And sent it before he could second guess himself.

A heartbeat later and the mobile rang, nearly sending him out of his skin. The monitor gave a few more concerned beeps and Izzy jabbed the end call button and then the mute, concentrating on taking deep breaths so a nurse wouldn’t run into the room, making him explain why he was so flushed. Jack called again and Izzy let it buzz twice before hanging up on him. Jack called a third time and Izzy let it ring even longer, debating whether to pick up or not, but smirked and hung up again just to be a bit of a dick.

A second later, Jack’s text popped up in the queue.

[bitch]

Izzy chuckled.

[you love it]

[i do] Followed by a string of middle finger emojis.

Even though Izzy knew it, seeing him say that and mean it nearly set his heart going again.

[will you come?] he asked.

[yeah, chouchou, i'll be there. jtm]

[jtm] Izzy sent back because he could, then powered off the mobile and pulled the blankets up to his chin. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow.

When Izzy woke the third time, noon sunlight was striping through the blinds and he wasn’t alone. Izzy could feel a warm thigh pressing against his shoulder and when he peeled his eyes open, saw Jack sitting beside him on the narrow bed, one long leg draped off it. He was eating the grapes that Izzy still hadn’t fucking tasted, but Izzy didn’t mind. Music was playing from Jack’s mobile, softly.

If he didn’t have the fucking tubes up his nose and if he didn’t still feel like he’d been run over by a truck, it might have been almost fucking perfect. A lazy…whatever the hell day of the week it was. Izzy shifted to press his cheek against Jack’s thigh, looped a hand around his calf to stroke his shin.

“Cancun,” Izzy said.

“Good mornin’ to you too,” Jack said. His fingers carded warm through Izzy’s hair. “That where I’m taking you on holiday?”

“Mm. For two weeks I want nothing but sand and sea and mixed drinks. Good food. Dancing.” He smirked. “You can come along too if you like.”

“You fucking bet I am. I’m not missing the sight of you in your little swim trunks.”

“They aren’t that little.” It wasn’t like he wore a speedo or anything, but he just didn’t like the feeling of the longer swim trunks. He preferred it tight around the thigh and sleek in the water.

“Little enough that I can’t go with you without bringing a book, and I don’t mean for a beach read.”

Izzy huffed a laugh. “Have you ever considered you might be a fucking nympho?”

“Have you ever considered you might be fucking hot?”

“I know I am, that’s just genetics.” As one of the only men in his family to live this long, he’d better age fucking gracefully. The universe owed him. “Yours sounds like a personal problem.”

“Nah, it’s just you. Grape?”

Izzy opened his mouth and Jack tucked the fruit in, then lingered as if he hoped Izzy would take a nibble. Izzy obliged with the ends of his teeth and Jack hummed as he pulled his hand away. The grape was perfect, because of course it was. It had just the right resistance and the juice in his mouth was a little tart, just how he liked it.

“Been making plans, you know,” Jack said. Which was interesting enough. Jack made plenty of plans, Izzy knew that, but announcing them usually meant it was something big or something stupid.

“It better not have anything to do with Alfeo.”

“No fucking way. That’s done. These are bigger plans than that. But they’re… I mean, you know, fucking good plans. Plans that’ll keep me out of the shit… mostly. Gotta get right after all if I’m going to be taking a honeymoon in Cancun.”

Izzy chuckled. He knew Jack wasn’t being completely serious. That time would come eventually, but for right now it was amusing just to joke about it.

“Jack Hands is an awful fucking name,” Izzy said. “I commend your bravery.”

“For all you know it’s gonna be Izzy Rackham.”

Izzy peeled open an eye just in time to see Jack pulling a face.

“Yeah, okay, no, that sounds like shit.”

“I don’t know, I could get used to it,” Izzy said just to see the flush spread engagingly across Jack’s nose. He could, he thought. Sometime, in the future. Though he’d keep his own last name of course. But it wouldn’t be bad to add another. One day. He closed his eye again.

“Fuckin hell, Iz,” Jack muttered and Izzy tried not to grin.

“Give me another,” Izzy said and was pleased when a grape was pressed to his lips. He sucked it in and took his time chewing, building up to the other thing that was on his mind. “Proud of you,” he said, though he wasn’t talking about the name.

“Yeah…well…” Jack sounded embarrassed, pleased, it was an intriguing combination and Izzy decided to compliment him more often. “I’m proud of you too. For finally unclenching a bit…opening your eyes. Woulda stayed even if you didn’t but… you know…”

“I know,” Izzy said. Anyone might have called Jack desperate or a glutton for punishment, and maybe he was. But Izzy knew too how strong he was and how stubborn and how grateful Izzy was for Jack sticking around. He wouldn’t know what to do alone. He never wanted to be alone. Not ever again.

The song began to drift from the mobile, low and sweet.

“They said I would never have my way

Naked, I would cover me with clay

Molded, wounded, I would greet the day

Cuz they said I could never have my way.”

Bitch, what did they know.

Izzy sighed, letting himself smile, letting himself relax. Jack’s fingers once more began to tangle through his hair. He could spend forever like this. Looking back from where he was now, he wasn’t sure what he’d even been worried about. He knew himself well enough to know he’d remember. That they wouldn’t stop sparking against one another. That Jack would piss him off and he’d annoy Jack too, but so long as he remembered this feeling, this sensation, this comfort; he knew it would be alright.

He hoped Edward felt this way with fucking Bonnet, and Archie too with her tangle of…whatever the fuck was going on. He hoped they felt this comfort, this peace, drifting unbothered on a warm current.

“I could never speak it, I could only sharpen my blade

I could never mean it, there were always games we could play

But today...”

The games would never go away, he thought. That was half the fun of it. But the truth would be there. He’d speak it. Maybe even not always to be a bitch. Jack caught off guard was a beautiful thing.

“I think I want to stay like this,” Izzy said.

“Even if Eddie comes by?” Jack said. It was a joke and wasn’t.

“Even if Edward comes by.” Izzy opened his eyes and reached up as best he could to brush his knuckles against Jack’s jaw. “He has his own life, his own dreams, his own person.”

“They can have the stars

They can have the moon-” Izzy took the mobile and closed the song. Looked up at Jack and his familiar face, familiar and full of possibility, brimming with potential. And Izzy was starting to think Jack might not be the only one who still had things to give. Ways to grow.

In fact he was going to start right now.

“They can have the stars, they can have the moon, they can have the breaking of the fucking dawn,” he said. “They can have the club, they can have the tunes, they can have the dancefloor that we’re on…” Izzy reached up to cup Jack’s cheek, feeling soft skin and prickled stubble both. “For me, it’s you.”

Jack looked like he was going to cry. Izzy even saw wet glint in his eyes before he closed them, took Izzy’s hand in his, pressed his lips to Izzy’s knuckles, mustache bristling against his skin.

“For me, it’s you, too, Papa. Always has been.”

Izzy curled against him. Jack’s arms wrapped around him. Somehow or another the mobile unpaused itself and the music played, warm and embracing, like a sea of their own, moving and thriving and made of swirling melody.