Work Text:
When Izzy finds Roach crying in the galley, he thinks he knows what’s wrong. He brings his voice down a few notches, touches him gently, kindly, the way he’s learned to do when Roach is like this.
Except-
Except he’s not.
Roach twists away from him with a sharp intake of breath.
“I’m not-” he says, his voice thick and choked with emotion, "not him."
“Sorry,” breathes Izzy, before he knows what he’s saying.
Roach is hunched over his chopping block, his head bowed, curls spilling out over his face, obscuring his expression from view.
“Are you-” Izzy can’t finish the question. He’s not good at this sort of thing.
“Fine,” snaps Roach.
Izzy reaches out again, this time slower, more careful.
“Love,” he says softly, “you could - if you wanted to-”
“You think I have not been trying?” snaps Roach, “you think I would be like this if I could just - if I just had a moment-”
Roach’s breath hitches and he buries his face in his hands as a sob shakes him. Izzy’s hands ghost over his skin, still unsure of what to do when the man he loves is in distress, still feeling his way around what he needs.
Roach draws in a long, shuddering breath, then holds it. Izzy can practically feel him shoving the feeling back down somewhere deep.
“Roach-”
“No,” says Roach, “no, I am busy. I need to finish-”
There’s a clatter as Roach pushes past him, grabbing a spoon to stir the pot with even though there’s already one in there. Izzy hears an audible sniffle, and watches heartbroken as Roach tries to surreptitiously wipe his face on his sleeve.
“I’ll put you in this pot too if you do not leave me alone,” says Roach, his voice low and a little hoarse, wavering as he struggles to maintain control.
“I have been wanting to try it with some of the crew. You would make for a good meal, I think. I would - I would-”
He grasps at words, trying to figure out what to say to Izzy that will scare him away, never mind that he’s not in any shape to intimidate anybody right now.
Izzy reaches out tentatively and places a hand on the small of Roach’s back, feeling warmth radiate through his thin shirt.
“Later,” whispers Roach, “later. Please - just let me finish. I have to finish up, Izzy Hands.”
Roach turns his head away from him, and Izzy watches his shoulders shake.
“Can I-” he says helplessly, wringing his hands as Roach interrupts the question before he can finish.
“No,” says Roach, “Izzy, please.”
There’s nothing more to be done about it. Izzy leaves Roach to his silence.
*
Roach looks haggard when he comes to Izzy’s room that night. His eyes are ringed with dark shadows, and the persistent tremor in his hands is more pronounced than ever.
“Oh, love,” says Izzy, but Roach shakes his head again.
“I can’t,” he says, “I can’t - it’s not working-”
They’ve been entertaining guests the last week. Two pirate ships sailing alongside each other, a strange new Captain none of them have heard of before, but she commands the room with a colourful patchwork coat that she twirls as she walks, and everybody’s eager to impress her and her crew. They’ve been having parties up on deck. Roach has been cooking for two crews, excitable himself at first, but now-
But now, Izzy can see he’s worn out, excitement turning to something more sinister as his body tries to get a handle on why he’s been running on adrenaline for so many days now.
“Sit,” says Izzy, “come here.”
Roach sits obediently, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Izzy manoeuvres himself so that he’s sitting back against the end of the bed, and he beckons Roach close.
Roach looks at him, his eyes flitting nervously to the space on Izzy’s chest where he’s being invited to lay his head.
“I’m not-” says Roach, trying to find words for it, this thing they do that’s currently out of his reach.
“I’m not him,” he says finally, “I’m me.”
“And that’s just fine,” says Izzy, “come on.”
Roach lies down slowly, but he does put his head on Izzy’s chest, curling up against him with a sigh.
“There you are,” soothes Izzy.
Roach doesn’t reply, his weight settling against Izzy, crushing the two of them to the bed. It feels good, the pressure of it. But Roach feels strangely rigid.
“Hey,” says Izzy.
“We are all supposed to be having fun,” says Roach, “I feel so stupid-”
“Can’t say I’m having all that much fun trying to make sure those idiots up there don’t crash our ships into each other, or set them on fire, on any number of other drunken escapades they might accidentally find themselves in,” mutters Izzy.
It’s a sentiment he hasn’t held in a while, but the crew has been unusually rowdy these last few days. He can feel the old danger encroaching.
Roach lets out a tired sigh.
“I suppose so. I just… I think I have gotten used to it. Feeling smaller, when something like this happens.”
He jabs a finger at his temple, and Izzy knows what he means. It’s been nice, having somewhere to retreat to. Discovering that there were people around who wanted to help, who enjoyed the two of them when they were their alternative selves.
“Izzy!”
The door bursts open and Roach yelps, scooting backwards as Izzy whirls to see Edward standing in the doorway. His cheeks are tinged with blush and he’s grinning like a madman.
“Come up on deck, what’re you doing down here? Oh-”
Edward’s face falls when he sees Roach, huddled up against the far wall of the bed.
“Not right now, Captain,” said Izzy, staring at the floor, “please.”
“Is he-”
“Please, Captain.”
Edward takes a step back.
“Should I send someone down?”
Izzy shakes his head.
“Don’t bother. We’re managing.”
“Buttons usually likes to-”
“Please. Some peace and quiet. Just for a bit.”
Edward stares at them several moments longer, taken aback, but does as Izzy says.
When Izzy turns back around, he notices that Roach’s eyes look a little wider than usual, his gaze slightly glazed as he stares at the door.
“Is he-” whispers Roach, “is he gone?”
This isn’t what Izzy had wanted. It fucking sucks dropping into this space from fear or from a shock. He always comes back on edge, frazzled and jumpy, or tired in a way he can’t seem to fix with rest. At least it’s a testament to the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind, Roach must still feel safe enough in here to react like this.
“He’s gone, little love.”
Izzy reaches out, brushes the knuckles of his hand across Roach’s cheek, a gesture of easy affection that Roach leans into.
“Not little,” he says, a little petulantly.
“Little in here,” chuckles Izzy, poking at his chest.
Roach lets out a shaky breath.
“Little in here,” he echoes quietly.
“We were cuddling before,” says Izzy, “do you… want that again?”
It’s heartening to see that Roach takes the time to think this over, rather than jumping to do whatever he thinks Izzy wants him to do. Izzy thinks he’s getting better at looking after Roach when he’s like this as well. It’s different to when the two of them together as their usual selves - of course it is. But he finds he enjoys it when he’s able to coax a smile from little Roach, who can be much more shy and reserved than his adult counterpart. Little Roach can be a timid little creature, and he’s tentative as he reaches for Izzy, eyes wide and imploring.
“What is it, love?”
“Cuddling,” says Roach, “I think… I think I would like that.”
“Thank you for telling me,” says Izzy, “let’s do that, then.”
Words and phrases Izzy has learned from the others and committed to memory. He has things to say now, and what’s more, they usually work.
Roach curls into his side and sighs happily, grabbing a fistful of Izzy’s shirt. The poor thing looks so tired Izzy’s astounded that he’s still awake. He brushes his hand over Roach’s hair, smoothing it out of his face as Roach wriggles to get comfortable.
“Better?” says Izzy.
“Mmpf,” grumbles Roach, hiding his face in Izzy’s side.
“That’s not an answer,” he teases.
Roach is silent for several moments, but then he looks up at Izzy. There’s a clarity in his gaze that troubles Izzy.
“Am I allowed to do this later?" says Roach.
Izzy blinks at him in confusion.
"You mean you'd rather - later? How much later?"
A dip appears in between Roach's brows as he frowns and shakes his head.
"Don't know. I - when I'm big, later."
Roach fumbles his words a little when he's like this. Part of it is the fact that English is his fourth or fifth language, but Izzy has the same problem too, and he's just got the one. Sometimes it just gets a little harder to string complicated thoughts together.
Izzy wonders what he should do, and decides that if it were him, he'd want the other person to wait.
So he waits.
Roach thinks about it for a long while, then takes a deep breath.
"When I'm big, later. Can we still - do this?"
Izzy draws Roach a little closer. He has to admit, he's thought about it too - the fact that the two of them can only seem to allow themselves this softness if it comes with this alternative version of themselves. He'd thought it was the only way to let go, to be allowed. Perhaps the daytime versions of themselves are allowed this, too.
"I hope so," says Izzy, "I quite enjoy it."
"Me too."
Roach is entirely too perceptive for the headspace he's currently in. Izzy has a brief vision of a precocious young boy, one who's learned to notice far more than a child should ever know to worry about. He recognises the look all too well. He knows it from himself.
"I'll talk to big you about it later then," he says.
He kisses the top of Roach's head, and Roach huffs out a little laugh.
"Promise?" he says.
Izzy slips his pinky finger around Roach's and gives it a little squeeze.
"Promise." he says.