Chapter Text
“Fuck off!” Ed twists away from the offered cup of tea, away from Izzy who stands his ground, unimpressed.
“You know I won’t,” the first mate says, but sets cup and saucer down on the desk, eyes locked on his captain. It’s the third day of this bullshit and Ed looks like death warmed over, the single candle painting skull-like shadows on his sunken face. He hasn’t been eating or sleeping, just drinking and pacing and tearing out his hair. Stede’s long gone and scurried off somewhere for the day, admitting defeat the first time Ed threw an empty bottle in his general direction.
Ed buries his face in his hands and snarls.
“And why is that, huh? Are you enjoying the show? Happy I finally got what’s been coming to me? The great Blackbeard reduced to a pathetic fucking shell of a man who can’t do anything except- Who can’t even-” Ed’s voice breaks, shoulders trembling in a wretched coughing sob. Izzy sighs heavily.
“Edward, please. We both know you’ll be fucking fine in a couple days. Drink your tea and then get some fresh air. This place reeks.” Izzy doesn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the times they’ve been through this. Ed gets that way, all doom and gloom, and it will last about a week before it stops as suddenly as it started. Yet, somehow, Izzy always seems to be the only one to remember that pattern.
Ed grumbles something hateful, reluctantly slurps his over-sugared tea. That’s good enough for now, Izzy decides.
“Right. I’m late for my watch. Feel free to join me once you’re done moping.” Izzy turns towards the door, chair legs scraping ominously on the planks behind him.
“Moping?” It hangs in the thick cabin air - Izzy can hear the sharp edges of Ed’s smile around the word. “Fucking moping? Do you have any idea what I’m going through? What it feels like when you can’t shut your fucking brain off for even a second, thoughts all dark and twisted, full of death and guts and blood, and every breath feels like drowning and everything fucking hurts-”
Izzy lets the words wash over him. He knows them well, knows as long as Ed is still ranting and whining it could be worse. When he stops complaining, goes all quiet and stiff, that’s when Izzy starts to worry in earnest. As it is, he just grits his teeth and keeps walking out toward the deck, trusting his captain to follow. His hip twinges and his stump is rubbed raw from running after Ed all day, dragging him out of bed, making him eat half a fucking biscuit, keeping him away from the more noxious of his assorted powders and drinks… It’s left Izzy with a headache brewing and a knot in his gut.
The fresh night air is a relief for both, at least a little bit. Leaning against the rail to take some weight off his bad side, Izzy looks up at the starry sky. Eventually, Ed comes to join him, if only to stare down into the dark water with a chilling sort of longing etched around his eyes.
“Just wanna make it stop, sometimes. Make everything stop. You wouldn’t get it, you can’t…”
The scar on Izzy’s forehead prickles, his right hand heavy with a gun that isn’t there. And that’s it. He’s had enough. Compassion turns to anger like a tide rolling over the shoreline. He faces Edward, jaw set.
“You know what, captain? Fuck you.”
Ed flinches, hurt upon more hurt. His damp eyes flash like he’s contemplating tossing Izzy over the railing but then he just mumbles weakly, “Yeah. Fuck you, too.” He turns without another word and shuffles back below.
From his place by the helm, Buttons glances over. For a moment, Izzy thinks his eyes reflect the moonlight, eerily bright like a cat’s. Then he’s looking straight on again, nude and whistling in haunting harmony with the bird on his shoulder, but otherwise fully human. Izzy shakes his head. This whole ship is fucking insane. He settles on the stairs with a groan, golden hoof shining where it’s stretched out in front of him. Four hours until Fang’s watch - should be just enough time to recover from the sudden urge to stab his boss.
***
When Izzy wakes, his head feels… buzzy. Thoughts too fast and too slow all at once, like he’s had too much rum the night before. He doesn’t remember getting drunk, and he certainly doesn’t recall falling asleep in the fucking captains’ bed, either.
Stede grumbles sleepily beside him, turns under the covers and nudges Izzy’s left calf with icy toes. It feels odd, like his leg is too long, his knee joint uncomfortably loose… wait.
His left… ?
Izzy throws the thick blanket off, looks down at slender brown legs covered in ink-black tentacles and sparse hair. Two of them, scarred but undeniably present. The buzzing in his head condenses into a deafening roar. He opens his mouth to say something, anything… There’s a blood-curdling scream of panicked agony from the next room.
Good. So Ed is awake, too.