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Stede watches Izzy step forward, and his veins thrum with nervous anticipation. After a week of whispered planning, Izzy is going to walk up to Edward Teach, the man he's loved for a lifetime, and finally confess how he feels.

It's about time, if Stede says so himself. Stede and Izzy had mulled over Izzy's confession for days. Then, yesterday morning, Izzy had quietly shut the door behind him, holding in his hand a hand-carved wooden rose.

And here Stede is, watching from his hiding nook. He knows Lucius is spying from somewhere too, but Stede's begrudgingly accepted it. The scribe's determined pursuit of gossip is ultimately well-meaning.

Izzy's mostly dressed the same, but Stede had insisted on lending him a beautiful green fabric, layering it with his usual black cravat and lending a warm shine to the ring he always wore.

Izzy's voice is low as he approaches Edward, and Stede can't make out what exactly he's saying. "Speak from the heart," Stede had told him, and trusted Izzy's feelings to guide him true.

Edward opened his mouth, and his response rang out clear across the ship.

"The fuck am I supposed to do with this, mate?"

After their duel, Izzy had sailed off, and Stede hadn't given him a second thought.

The arsehole had gotten what he deserved, as far as Stede was concerned. Either way, Stede was much too busy, basking in the bloom of love for the first time in his life. Edward's attention was a fire, and Stede wanted nothing more than to burn.

A month flew by in a blink. But eventually, stores ran low, and they were docking in the Republic of Pirates once more.

Lucius grabbed Stede by the shoulders, marching him along for some 'crew time', a chunk of them piling into a dingy tavern. After so much time spent with Edward, Stede lost himself in the familiar camaraderie. As Olu and Pete made fools of themselves at darts, Jim jeering nearby, Stede felt a strange weight lift from his shoulders.

Eventually, the drink got to him, and he stepped out to take a leak, humming the tune they'd sung wildly in the tavern. But as he turned the corner, he realized there was a figure, laid out in the alley—one that looked familiar.

Izzy Hands. How the mighty had fallen.

There was a bottle of rum, half-clutched in his hands and dripping onto the ground around him. There was a layer of dirt and grime to the man that Stede had never seen—as rude and aggressive Izzy had been, he'd been meticulous in his presentation. But now, Izzy's perfectly kept hair laid limp, hanging in front of his face.

It occurred to Stede all at once that he might not be breathing.

(It also occurred to Stede he might not be able to tell.)

An annoyingly diligent part of him wondered what would happen to Izzy. But regardless of what had happened because of Stede, Stede didn't owe Izzy anything.

He didn't.

Stede said that to himself, over again, but his feet moved before he could stop himself. He found himself hunching down, shaking Izzy by the shoulder, trying to rouse him from his slumber. "Izzy. Oh, for god's sake. Izzy!"

Izzy startled from his slumber, yelping and stabbing him about it.

Stede shrieked with the wound, superficial though it was, blood slipping from his side and staining cream cloth into crimson. "You truly never—this is one of my favorite shirts!" Stede had yelled, even as Izzy flinched backwards, curling up against the wall. Stede loosened the shirt as much as he could, but it was entirely too late already.

Stede's head snapped up to glower at Izzy, but he stopped at the look on Izzy's face.

"Bonnet," the man said, and it sounded faraway; lost. Izzy looked Stede up and down, as if searching for something, and instinct caught the petulant words from leaving Stede's lips.

Their eyes met, and Stede waited; if the man wanted to ask him something, he could damn well spit it out. Izzy finally tore his eyes away, and he stared at the dirt as he mumbled, "How. How is he?"

A rope tightened around Stede's heart like a vice, and a question, one left unasked for selfishness convenience, thundered in Stede's mind.

God damn it.

Stede sighed, as his feet carried him forward once more. This time, Izzy didn't resist as Stede fussed over him. Stede gently wiped away what little of the dirt and mess he could, but he only had a handkerchief. It was little use.

In for a penny, in for a pound, he decided.

"Come on," Stede said, standing up. "We'll need a washbasin."

Izzy's eyebrows furrowed, and he stared at Stede, as if looking for the trick; the game Stede was playing. Stede's mind, all at once, flickered with the sudden and manic visual of Izzy as a sheep in wolf's clothing, the man protecting himself with the skin of a monster that went bump in the night. From what, Stede didn't ask.

"Come on," Stede said again, quiet and earnest. "We'll go back to the ship, get you cleaned up. Then we'll figure out the rest." Stede held out a hand, and hoped Izzy couldn't see it tremble.

Against all odds, Izzy took it, and let Stede pull him to his feet.

They made their way back to the ship, and when Izzy drifted dangerously on drunken legs, Stede caught him by the shoulder, steadying him. Somehow, Stede felt they were at a crossroads, but he couldn't tell where this path would take them.

As the two walked back to the Revenge in quiet resignation, Stede thought of the ring on Izzy's neck with something akin to guilt.

With relief, Stede learned it hadn't been Edward's ring at all.

Stede had helped Izzy wash, clearing away what seemed like a month of drinking and sleeping in the dirt. The seawater scrubbed away the weeks, and if tears had slipped down Izzy's face, Stede would say it was the sting of salt to blame.

The crew had eventually shown up, looking for him, but when Lucius came knocking, Stede had gone out to meet him. With a pleading look, he asked Lucius for mercy, and the boy had done the rest, staving off the inquisition for a night or two.

Stede had his own questions, and the first was for the ring.

"It was Sam's," Izzy answered, more easily than Stede had expected. "We grew up together, with Jack and Edward."

More evidence of their long connection; more weight to something whole and enduring. Something that had, perhaps, been broken by Stede's presence.

They stood in the auxiliary wardrobe, and Stede absently flicked through clothes as Izzy stood beside him, wrapped in a warm robe. Izzy had gone quiet, and it felt wrong; Stede was gripped with the urge to shake him.

"Izzy," Stede said, already knowing he was overstepping. But he had to know; had to understand the damage he had done. "What exactly... is Edward to you, Izzy?"

Even as the words left him, Stede prayed he had been a punctuation mark on a sentence already spoken, rather than a catalyst for unwarranted destruction. But Izzy let out a soft sigh, and then a laugh; a quiet, broken thing that would haunt Stede's dreams.

"Now he asks," Izzy said, and it was a glimpse of that long-suffering sass that Stede remembered. Stede turned to look at him, and thought there could be paintings of the grief he saw there.

Izzy let out the breath he'd been holding for a lifetime, and as the dusk crept over the ocean, Izzy had broken down, and had told him.

Stede had thought it over for a fortnight, as Izzy folded back into the crew, different after his absence. Quieter; more subdued. It was better than the abuse he'd laid on them at the start, but the shift was too drastic. The crew often watched Izzy go through the day in a daze, as if he was waiting for the knife to fall, and take him out for good.

Even the harshest of them grew fussy with concern, and Stede had always been a soft touch.

"Everything, Bonnet. He's everything to me."

"Does he know that?"

Edward hadn't spoken to Izzy, not once since Izzy had returned to the ship.

Did he know how Izzy felt? He must not, if he'd let Izzy go—much less come back, only to ignore him at every turn. Edward and Izzy had spent a lifetime together—and they only had this one life. They owed it to each other to let themselves be happy, no matter what that meant.

Stede was sure Edward would have talked it through with Izzy, had he known of Izzy's feelings: caught in between, and unable to move on.

"We don't own each other," Lucius had said, once. Stede had tucked it away as a curiosity; but then, his curiosity had grown in these past few weeks.

He'd watched as Izzy had spit and fought and steered them clear of danger; had watched as Izzy had realized there were some willing to listen, and had rewarded that willingness with his full attention as an instructor.

He'd been angry and terse and infuriating at times, but he'd also taken seriously the mercy Bonnet had given him, and set himself to protecting those who had become his own.

Izzy had laid his hands on Stede's waist, called him a twat, and shown him the motion of the swing; the twist of the upper torso that would kill an enemy that might have otherwise lived.

Stede had shared a breath with this infuriating, bewildering man, and all at once Stede had realized—

The words were a seed. They were an idea, planted in the corner of his mind, spreading roots until Stede was ready to let it bloom.

Izzy glanced back at Stede, catching his stare with none of the mournful, despondent sorrow that had colored him for weeks, and Stede knew the direction of the winds.

Stede grinned back at Izzy, who carried a heart full of devotion with nowhere to put it, and Stede could finally chart a path forward.

"You've got to tell him," Stede implored.

"You are out of your fucking mind," Izzy shot back, not even looking at him.

"Izzy. You can say it in your own way, but you're never going to—damn it, Israel, put the bottle down."

It hadn't taken long for Izzy to take up the drink again. Edward had finally said, "Hey, man, I'm glad you're back," lighting Izzy up brighter than the sun—only to become smoke in the air whenever Izzy went looking for him.

Stede was certain, now. Edward couldn't know Izzy's true feelings. He'd have set Izzy right, if he had, or taken him for himself. Likely the latter, if Stede's opinions bore any weight—the exasperating, stubborn, ridiculous asshole had grown on him, for all the demons in hell.

Regardless.

Izzy's head turned towards Stede, and his glare was withering. He took on Stede's affect, mocking, "Tell him how you feel, Izzy." Izzy scoffed as the words came free, and as he gesticulated, rum splashed onto the deck of the ship. "That is, well and truly, just about the worst fucking idea you've ever had, Bonnet. And you've had some fuckawful ideas."

Izzy lifted the bottle to his lips, setting himself to ignoring Stede entirely, but Stede grabbed hold of it.

"Oh no, that's enough. Give me—Israel. Give me the bottle!"

"Oh, fuck off, you meddlesome twat! Let go!"

The two tugged the glass back and forth, until Izzy finally whisper-shouted, "Fine!" and let go, Stede pulling the bottle into his chest and splattering himself with rum.

As rum dripped from his ruined hair, Stede glared at Izzy, who laughed—actually laughed! The sound was so strange to Stede's ears he forgot himself, leaning into Izzy's space.

Izzy's mouth snapped shut, and Stede watched Izzy's eyes widen, the surprise there added kindling to the flame.

"I expect you to apologize," Stede whispered, voice low, and Izzy nodded as if in a daze.

"Sorry," Izzy muttered, and his eyes never left Stede's. "Captain," Izzy amended, squirming as if under a microscope.

Stede watched pupils dilate,

and all at once he was back on the deck of the Revenge, looming over a subordinate who was in love with someone else.

Stede stepped sharply backwards, murmuring a quick, "Thank you," raising the bottle to his own lips.

Izzy watched him drink, before tearing his gaze away, staring pointedly out into the sea.

With Stede's needling, Izzy had gone from, "Fuck no," to, "This is a stupid idea," and finally to, "When he stabs me in the gut and throws me overboard, I'm going to fucking haunt you."

That was good enough, and they had set to brainstorming; figuring out the best way to share Izzy's feelings.

Stede had always known there'd be a chance Izzy would be rejected. But it felt so utterly ridiculous—so severe an oversight on Edward's part, that the genius tactician would never commit such an error.

And yet, Stede Bonnet sits in his hiding spot, watching as that exact situation comes to pass.

Edward looks at Izzy with a furrowed brow, hands in the air like the rose had offended him, and Stede felt a rock fall into his gut as he had the feeling he'd misjudged something, and misjudged it to a fatal degree.

Stede looks between the two of them, and Izzy's face has already fallen. Stede wills Izzy to have an ounce of his own courage with matters of the heart, but Edward leans towards Izzy, who stares up at him like a man at the gallows.

"Look, mate, don't rock the boat. We all have a good thing. What is it, you haven't gotten fucked enough lately?"

Stede watches as Edward grins—fully grins, as if offering himself up for a pity fuck was doing Izzy a massive favor.

Izzy turns sharply, and Stede catches his eyes just before he bolts, going promptly below deck while Edward calls after him. "Iz! Fuckin' hell."

Stede should leave, he knows. This wasn't his business in the first place, and now he's done more damage than good. He's destroyed something that existed for decades before he got there; something beautiful. That has to be it; this has to be his fault, right?

Only, Edward had said little on the men he'd thrown away to rescue Stede, hadn't he?

Stede had thought nothing of it, at the time.

Why had he thought nothing of it?

Stede hears a door slam below deck, and it drives him onto his feet. Before he can think, he finds himself stalking towards Edward, watching as Edward tilts his head at the nook he'd missed before.

"Guess you saw all that, huh?" Edward says, taking a cool step over to Stede. But those winds are at Stede's back, and he won't second guess himself now.

"What the hell was that, Edward?" It comes out just a bit harsher than he intends, but he doesn't let himself amend it.

Edward waves him off. "Ah, don't mind Izzy, Stede. I won't let him duel you again."

Stede blinks, and his hand subconsciously reaches down to where Izzy scarred him. He hadn't understood it, then. He did, now. But clearly, Edward didn't—still doesn't. "Don't you think he might be acting weird for a reason?"

Stede has clearly misjudged Edward; he's starting to rethink everything he's learned about the genius of the greatest tactician on the high seas, but then Edward frowns, and says,

"Of course, mate. He's been in love with me forever."

Stede stares; the pieces don't fit in his head. They can't fit this way.

But then Edward Teach chuckles, chuckles like it's a great joke he's told,

and the puzzle that is Edward Teach shifts and resettles, falling into place in front of Stede's treacherous gaze.

"Open your eyes, child."

Stede's father had been terrible. Stede had sworn he would be nothing like his father, throwing away every lesson he'd ever given.

But there's a fraught reality about almost every cruel father and unforgiving mother—on occasion, their anxious hypervigilance, that painful pragmatism—it had the opportunity to catch a fox before it reached the hen house. The fires that burned those closest to them were often a shield against monsters in the dark.

Stede had gone so far against his father, and for the most part, he'd found himself a family for it. He'd given people chances, and some had surprised him. Izzy was one of them; Stede had fought every vicious instinct when he'd reached for him in that alley.

But Edward had shown Stede who he was, and Stede had refused to believe him.

Stede had gone so far against his father, he'd buried his head in the sand. Rather than see Edward for what he was, Stede had let the dream consume him.

But Stede isn't dreaming anymore.

As much as he wants to turn heel and hide, it's time to wake up.

Stede strips the anger from his voice, and when he speaks, there's a touch of humor. If he's truly going to turn away from Blackbeard, he has to know for sure. "Well," Stede says, as if he's just heard a good joke. "That's certainly something. How do you feel about that, then?"

Edward is battling on Stede's turf, for once, and doesn't see the prying trap for what it is. "Fuckin' annoying, really. But it keeps him around, so I deal with it."

Stede Bonnet looks at Edward Teach for the first time, and realizes he should have believed him from the start.

Edward has never been a good person. But Stede had thought—stupid, gullible, hopeful Stede—had thought that Edward would at least be good to people he cared about, or barring that, the people who had earned his loyalty, through thick and thin.

How fucking wrong he was.

Just another pampered little rich boy, seeing exactly what he wanted to see.

Stede turns on his heel, walking away, and he feels his heart break as he realizes the Edward Teach he fell in love with never existed in the first place.

But he doesn't go right to Izzy, oh no. He goes straight to the captain's quarters.

Stede quietly gathers Edward's things, and when Lucius slips into the cabin, Stede enlists him. Lucius is all too happy to help, having clocked Edward after one terrible conversation about Fang's dog. He sends Lucius to quietly gather the crew, but before they're ready,

"The fuck, what's all this?"

Edward is standing between Stede and the door.

Stede takes in a deep breath. He thinks of mornings spent sharing toast and marmalade; he thinks of moonlit kisses and all the things they'd had, and never would again.

He thinks of finding a man who had loved for his whole life, tossed aside on a whim. He thinks of a sensitive soul, pulled on a leash for a lifetime, given scraps of the love he deserved.

Stede turns to Edward and says,

"Get off my ship."

Edward blinks, and before the shock can clear from his face, Stede is picking up the box of his things, carrying it out to the deck. "Stede—Stede, fuckin' wait, man!" But Stede drops the box next to the dinghy ladder, certain. "For Izzy?" Edward says, finally connecting action to consequence. "This is because, what, you suddenly give a shit about Izzy's feelings?"

Stede shakes his head. "Sorry, darling," Stede says with no small amount of spite. "But this isn't about him. Not really. He just helped me put things in the proper context. Helped me see something I should have seen from the day I met you.

"I should have realized something was amiss, from the moment you spoke about the men you'd lost. I especially should have noticed when you told me yourself you didn't have 'friends', when Izzy had been there for an entire lifetime. There was red flag after red flag, and I missed them all—every single one. Because I was desperate, honestly. You came along, and you loved me, but even that wasn't real, was it?

"You are a bad person, Edward Teach. You were right, and I should have listened."

Silence falls across the ship, as the crew watch with keen eyes,

and Edward takes a dangerous step forward, drawing a knife.

It hangs loosely by his side, the threat unspoken but implied.

"Don't you fuckin' say that to me, mate," Edward says, and his voice drowns in malice. "I could feed you your own fuckin toes in front of your whole fuckin' crew, and not one of them would stop me. I'm mother fucking Blackbeard; you still think this is your ship?"

Stede stands with his back to the crew, and a bead of sweat drips down his brow, as he realizes he's unsure. A number of the crew have always chafed with Stede's way of doing things, and a few of them might hold out on taking a side until allegiances are more clear. And then there's the question of Izzy; barring a good throw from Jim, Izzy could take out half the crew on his own.

But Stede has to believe they're with him.

"They're my crew, Blackbeard. Your time with us was more pleasant than could be expected, given your profound self-absorption, but you're no longer welcome here."

The knife had been drifting in Edward's palm, but now it sits firmly, clenched in his fist. Edward takes an angry step towards Stede, and Stede suddenly realizes another critical miscalculation—he somehow failed to imagine that Edward would turn violent against him.

Stede's completely, entirely unarmed, and Edward knows it.

"I'm going to fucking gut you," Edward spits. Stede hears someone shout behind him, as Edward advances, but he knows they're all too far to help. "I told you who the fuck I was, about everything I went through, and you're gonna say that kind of shit to me? I'll fucking strangle you with your own fucking entrails."

Stede steps backwards, but he trips over the grate on the deck, landing on his ass. He scrambles backwards, raising his hands in the desperate hope that he can catch the blade before it hits anything vital,

when the cocking of a hammer cuts through the noise.

"That's enough, Edward."

Edward stops, and turns, and Izzy Hands is standing on the quarterdeck, gun trained on him.

"Iz?" Edward questions, disbelieving.

"Captain of the ship has ordered you off it," Izzy says in a firm tone. "It's time to go."

Edward stares back at Izzy, and after a moment he laughs, a crackling, angry thing.

"Izzy. Izzy, Izzy, Izzy. Think about what you're doing, mate. Think I'll let you live for old time's sake?" Edward turns, facing him with all the authority of Blackbeard, and commands, "Put the fucking gun down."

Stede's close enough to see the way Izzy's body shakes; close enough to feel the indecision floating off him in waves. But then Izzy glances over at Stede, crumpled and pathetic on the floor, and when their eyes meet, the corners of Izzy's mouth tug gently upward.

Izzy's arm straightens out, and all the uncertainty has vanished. Stede doesn't understand it, and then—

"This fucking idiot," Izzy starts, and even as scared as he is, Stede has to resist the urge to glower; to open his mouth, and spar with Izzy right there, the two of them circling each other with malevolent, devouring intent.

"I dueled him," Izzy continues. "Damn well tried to kill him. It wasn't even that long ago. I've questioned his every order, shouted down his every idea, and this fucking ponce still showed me more consideration than you've shown me my whole fucking life."

Izzy breathes in, and his lungs shake with barely-contained emotion.

"I used to think. I used to think that if you'd known—really known what you meant to me, you'd have sent me away. Sure, you were Blackbeard. But even you couldn't be that cruel." Izzy huffs, full of spite and disdain. "But at this point, even I'm not that stupid. I know you were keeping me for yourself. I was fine with it, too."

"The fuck do you even want?" Edward spits. "You want me to fuck you more? You want me to give you a ship? Whatever the fuck you want, you can have it. I'll give it to you."

Izzy stares at Edward for a hopeful, shattered moment,

and he laughs, a broken, grieving thing.

"You never had it to give, Eddie. Don't think you ever fuckin' did."

Izzy brings a hand to his face, and the crew says nothing as he wars with his grief. He pulls his hand away, and it comes away wet, but his hand holds the pistol true.

"Go on, Eddie. Go on, get the fuck off the ship."

Edward realizes, with slow sinking trepidation, that he's never seen this look on Izzy's face before. It looks like after a lifetime of being becalmed, Izzy finally has the wind at his back.

Edward thinks it looks incredible on Izzy, and he fucking hates it.

But as much as he wants to reach out and crush the blooming defiance in front of him, Edward Teach finally realizes that he's overstayed his welcome.

Edward leaves with no small amount of menace, stalking to his box, spitefully throwing a glass to the deck and letting it shatter. He lowers the dinghy on his own, angrily throwing in his things, while Izzy keeps the gun trained on him the whole time.

Stede has stood back up, walking over to Izzy, standing too close too far a respectful distance away. Izzy steps ever so slightly in front of Stede, and Stede realizes with a start that Izzy's standing between Edward and himself.

Edward looks up at the Revenge from the dinghy. "This isn't fucking over," he spits, but the crew of the Revenge have all moved to the side of the ship, staring down at him in silent, unified sentry.

Edward spits into the sea, finally rowing away, and the crew collectively breathes a sigh of relief.

The whole crew watches him go, peeling off one by one as the danger passes. Olu gives Stede a pat on the shoulder, and when Lucius walks off towards the ladder below deck, he catches Izzy's eyes, giving him a guarded but consoling nod. Izzy surprises Stede when he doesn't bite back at the scribe, offering a shrug before turning sharply back to the sea.

Edward finally leaves their sight, and Stede slips away from Izzy's side, withdrawing into the captain's cabin.

Izzy stares at his receding back, and he has no idea what the hell to do with the fact that Stede Bonnet just made an enemy of Edward Teach for his sake. Had been crumpled on the ground, about to die, over him.

Izzy feels, all at once, unworthy of that respect. But he feels like he has a rare chance, here. On this ridiculous, anti-pragmatic disaster of a ship, Izzy has an opportunity to start over.

Izzy's feet carry him into the cabin, and he shuts the door behind him.

Stede is sat on the bed, staring out the window. He glances at Izzy as Izzy strides towards him, stopping next to him. Izzy realizes, all at once, that Stede's hyperventilating.

"Bonnet? Stede." More words grate against his throat, unfamiliar on his tongue—unsafe to say anywhere but here. But Izzy's never been one to shy away from a challenge.

"Are you okay?"

New beginnings, and all.

Stede's head turns to look at him, and before Izzy can realize what's happening, Stede's hands are on his vest, fisting into the fabric, Stede's forehead landing on his chest. The blonde breathes heavily, and after a moment he whispers, "I thought I was going to die. Oh, god. I was sure I was going to die."

"Yeah. That'll happen, Bonnet. You figure it out or you don't."

Izzy realizes with a grimace that it's not the most comforting thing he could have said, but Stede looks up at him, and Izzy watches as pupils dilate; as Stede drinks him in, looking at him like a work of art, rather than a grizzled old pirate.

Izzy feels the blush climb onto his cheeks, and in the blind panic of being dumbstruck, Izzy does the only thing he can think of: He reaches into his pocket, and hands Stede the wooden flower.

Izzy opens his mouth to explain, and is startled by Stede Bonnet grabbing him by the shoulders and kissing him.

"Oh," he thinks lamely.

His next thought is to slide hands under Stede's arms, wrenching Stede towards him. He pulls Stede against his chest as they kiss, and Izzy's hands flex with the strange reality of it; the wanting of someone finally meeting the having of them.

They break for a breath, and dark brown eyes go half lidded, staring back at him.

"Incredible," the word tumbles from Izzy's lips, threaded with want, yes; but threaded too with an underlying panic. "You ridiculous fucking fool."

Stede's eyebrows raise into his hairline, but Izzy barrels forward. "Are you without a shred of sense, Bonnet? Standing up to Blackbeard—mother fucking Blackbeard—no sword, no gun, just a wing and a fucking prayer."

Izzy had meant the whole thing as a snipe; a playful jab. But the adrenaline of his mutiny has been replaced with an itching fear, and a renewed sense of mortality. "He could have gutted you," Izzy chastizes. "I had the sense to know shit was about to go sideways, but what if I'd gotten there even ten fucking seconds later? What if he'd decided he'd take the bullet and kill you anyways? What the fuck were you thinking?"

All at once Izzy realizes he sounds hysterical, and that the hands he'd gently placed around Stede's back are gripping him tight; unwilling to let him go, lest there be wolves that will tear him apart the moment Izzy lets him out of his sight.

Stede, to his credit, doesn't snipe; doesn't meet Izzy's anxiety with ridicule. "I was thinking," Stede starts, and then considers. "I suppose I was thinking about you.

"I thought about the lifetime you spent with him. About how he left you worse for it." Stede's fingertips push impressions into Izzy's back, as if Stede can't hold on tightly enough. "I thought about all the ways things could have gone differently. I saw how you looked at the sea, sometimes, when you thought you were alone. I thought about how I could have lost you to despair, maybe even before we'd had a chance to meet." Stede clutches onto him; holds onto Izzy as if he's an ephemeral thing, lost the moment he isn't possessed entirely.

"I thought about how he might have lost you, and how he'd have gone on with his life like nothing had changed. And I couldn't..." Stede shakes with a striking anger, and he leans down, lips tracing Izzy's forehead. Stede traces the clear, even skin; traces where in another life, there might have laid a self-inflicted scar.

"I couldn't, " Stede starts again, and then nothing.

Izzy tilts his head up to look at Stede, and when he kisses him, it's as good as a vow; a promise to stay, to live, for as long as the waves allow.

Under a warm candlelit glow, they fall together.

Stede holds Izzy with reverence, and when Izzy clutches onto him like a lifeline, it feels terribly like grief.

Stede wipes the tears from Izzy's eyes, and makes a vow of his own.

In the dead of night, a captain and his first mate walk out onto the deck.

Izzy's feeling uncharacteristically sheepish; he's been fucked within an inch of his life by Stede fucking Bonnet of all people, and now he can't bring himself to let go of the fop's fucking hand.

Stede catches his eye and grins, and Izzy thinks it's not too late to duel the poncy twat.

They look up at the full moon together, and Stede lets himself feel some of the loss of the day. Edward had been a flawed man, but he had also been Stede's first love, and that means something, even when it ended the way it did.

But when he looks over at Izzy, looking tragically caught between kissing him and killing him, new feelings take their place. Joy, affection, admiration,

Trust. That's a new one.

Safety, too.

Stede leans over, brushing their shoulders together, and the older man looks up at him with a bemused smile. Stede's only seen it a handful of times, but he intends to change that.

It's not over. Stede knows that; they've made an enemy of Blackbeard, and they've plenty more enemies besides.

But as they lean together under the soft moonlight, somehow Stede knows Izzy has plenty more smiles to come.