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“They’re pirates!” Prince Ricky shouts.
In that briefest of moments between adrenaline laced determination and the naked chill of terror there are three thoughts that flash through the mind of Izzy Hands. The first is a predictable “Fuuuuuuck,” with fewer syllables than he thinks the situation deserves thanks to the time constraints. The second is the echoing sound of Stede Bonnet’s irritating voice saying “It’s only suicide if we die.” The third thought, a half second after the first two: I didn’t search him .
Pistol fire shatters the still air. Izzy has just enough time to turn a little to the left. His eyes widen and his breath is ripped from him. He’s been shot before. Quite recently actually. Even knowing how it feels is sorry preparation for the feeling of steel tearing through your flesh.
Battle erupts around him, but he’s seeing white. He can hear the whistling of Jim’s knives, the splitting cracks of gunfire, the dull thuds of bodies landing on the forest floor. This , he thinks, is no time to be blind. Move, Izzy. Move .
The crew take off through the trees and Izzy follows as best he can. “It’ll take you a while on your horsey leg,” he remembers Stede saying, and fuck, won’t it though. Ten, twenty paces behind he stumbles as fast as his leg will carry him, more a cruelly apt gallop than a run. One hand holds the bullet hole as closed as he can get it, the other reaches out in front of him. There’s no pain yet, but he is slowed by a different sensation. Far more visceral than ordinary pain is the awareness of one’s own body. The clumsy, bruising clash of his residual limb against the heavy prosthesis, the foreign sharpness of the bullet in his side, the blood pounding like a churning river in his ears, the blood flowing endlessly from him, turning cold as it soaks his clothes. For the second time in as many weeks Izzy Hands feels alive the way only a man on the brink of death can. Flesh and blood and wood and steel and leather and linen. The tangible agony of being.
“Izzy!” Ed’s voice. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck off, I’m fine!” The words tear themselves from between gritted teeth. This is all Ed’s fault but Izzy doesn’t know that. He refuses to know it. If you told him, he wouldn’t hear you. So don’t waste your breath.
His sight is blurring over but Izzy can make him out—Edward, ridiculous navy jacket flapping in his wake, barreling towards him like a charging rhino.
Stop it. Leave me , he thinks, but can’t force the words out. Edward is shouting something indecipherable, throwing Izzy’s arm over his shoulder, and now Frenchie is here too, and Jim, and they carry him. They burden themselves, risking capture, risking death, staining the white cuffs of their stolen jackets with his blood. It’s high noon but it’s getting dark, and despite it all, as consciousness abandons him Izzy Hands smiles.
Family. My family will carry me home.
***
Aboard the Revenge , Ed’s hands are achy and blistered from rowing with a new and furious strength. That strength has left him now and he leans listlessly against the wall of the tiny hidden room in which, not much more than a week ago, he had tortured the man he is now desperately praying will survive.
The room is too small for all of them, really. Jim, having performed their second impromptu surgery in as many weeks, both on the same guy, sits grasping Izzy’s hand. Their own hands are slick with his blood, and their face is a mask of anger and pain. They don’t say a word, but Archie and Olu each hold a trembling shoulder. Fang holds Izzy’s other hand. His thunderous sobbing shakes the tiny room and for once nobody tells him to stop crying. Frenchie hasn’t put down the first aid kit yet and Roach is still holding the bullet they pulled from his side. Wee John has crammed himself behind the cot and is busily moving lank strands of hair from Izzy’s eyes. Next to him Lucius fidgets with something small and wooden, turning it over and over in his hands. Even Black Pete is silent, his blank gaze moving back and forth between Lucius and Izzy.
And there he sits, at the foot of the bed, feeling claustrophobic. Stede is behind him, gently squeezing his shoulders, and Ed is grateful because the more he sits here and stews, the more he realizes that if Izzy dies Stede will be all he has. The walls of the room are pushing him in, the crew of the Revenge is pushing him out. They tell him with their eyes what they can’t with their voices. “If he dies today, it was by your hand as much as the man who shot him.”
There is too much time for reflection in these bitter waiting minutes. Moments ago he placed two fingers on Izzy’s neck and felt a pulse so slow that if he were any more impatient he would have missed it. Now Ed is seeing clearer than he has in weeks and he wants more than anything to be blind again. Izzy . The man lying gaunt and lifeless before him is Izzy. Now, in this all consuming silence, with time dragging on around him he remembers. This is Izzy, who taught him everything. How to tie a knot, how to swing a sword, how to love fiercely and painfully with every fiber of his being. Izzy, who watched the stars with him at night and the clouds in the morning. Izzy who stayed by his side for as long as he had had a side to stay by, soothing his tempers, calming his fears, patiently and quietly loving him. How long have I taken him for granted?
I forgot him , Ed thinks. I lost Izzy in my storm. He came to me in my blindness and my fury and said horrible, unthinkable things to me. He wounded me and he begged me on his knees to make him my scapegoat. And I did. That was the moment that I lost Izzy. I could never hurt Izzy. But the stranger he became to me was another matter. That stranger was so easy to hurt.
Ed’s mind is racing. The room is pressing in on him from all sides, crushing him with the weight of all the unforgivable things he has done in it of late.
He loved me. He loved me like only an idiot could. He put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger just because I told him to. He loved me and I made sure he knew he was nothing to me anymore. I wanted so badly to hurt someone, and he wanted me to hurt him. I thought he wanted me to hurt him. Edward, you fucking idiot, he wanted you to love him. You of all people should have known what it looks like when a person thinks that love and pain are one and the horrible same.
He buries his head in his hands as if pressing it between them will take it all away. It’s futile.
Don’t die, Izzy. You can’t die until I’ve told you I’m sorry. Until I’ve told you that I see you again. Until I’ve told you that I love you, and that I don’t deserve to. You can’t die.
Abruptly he stands, and maybe they’ve all seen the tears running down his face. But they are all lost in their own pain, and they do not comfort him or berate him, and they do not try to stop him as he runs up the stairs and from the tiny claustrophobic room where not long ago he tried to kill his best friend and first love, and where now that same man lies, walking the paper thin line between life and death.
Stede follows him, though, and he’s grateful. Stede loves him unshakably, unconditionally. Stede loves him at his best and at his worst, and no matter what that says about him Ed is grateful for it. It’s been a whole lot of worst recently.
Stede sits by his side, and for a rare moment the two of them are silent. The tears hit Ed in spasms and Stede holds him until they subside enough for him to speak.
“I’m not a good person, Stede.”
Stede’s voice is gentle. “We’ve been through this, Ed. You—”
“Yeah, but I—I’ve just realized something. I do have friends, or I did, but I fucked it all up. And now things can’t ever go back to the way they were.”
Stede takes a moment to think. He’s no stranger to hurting people. But he’s had a good solid streak of fixing things lately, or at least he’s willing to believe he has. All he can do is try, anyway. He tries.
“No. Things can’t ever go back to the way they were. But that means that from here on out, anything is possible. All of that darkness, all of that hurt, it’s what comes of believing that a man can only ever do good or do evil. You’ve hurt a lot of people quite badly. So have I. Maybe they will never forgive you, and that’s their right. But for whatever life we have left, we can do better.”
“Where could I possibly go from here? What could I possibly do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know, I-”
“There are no wrong answers, just hit me with it!”
“I—I could be an innkeeper?”
“An innkeeper?”
“I could carry a set of keys. I could give people somewhere warm to rest their head at night. Maybe give them something to eat. I could make them feel like there’s a place where they can slow down and find peace in this fast and fucked up world. Where they don’t have to be anybody but themselves, and not even that if they don’t want—” Ed lays his head on his knees. “You think it’s stupid, don’t you.”
“I think it’s perfect.” Stede’s eyes are closed, imagining a small cozy inn by the sea with the man that he loves, a fire always lit in the fireplace and plenty of room for friends to drop by. He smiles.
“You’d give up pirating for me? But you’re only just getting good at it! And you’ve always wanted to be a pirate captain, you love it!”
“I love you.” He pulls Ed closer. “More than anything. A choice between being an innkeeper with you or a pirate without you isn’t a choice. I’ll pick you, in every universe, in every lifetime. I’ll pick you.”
“Stede, I—I hurt Izzy. I hurt him worse than I’ve ever hurt anyone and now I might never get to tell him how sorry I am.”
“I know. Life is beautiful and life is cruel, and sometimes we hurt people and never get a chance to apologize. But nobody is more stubborn than Izzy. He’ll beat death just for one more chance to call you a twat. I know he will. He has to.”
Ed rests his head on Stede’s shoulder and feels hollow, but not any less heavy because of it.
***
Izzy feels the sand in his beard before he can open his eyes. When he finally does he realizes that’s all he has the energy to do. From his admittedly limited vantage point he can see the ocean, the beach, the sand underneath him that’s making his beard and hair itch. His first thought is that they left him behind in their rush to get to the ship, but he pushes it from his mind. They wouldn’t do that. He has to believe they wouldn’t leave him.
Slowly, carefully, he sits up. The sand cascades down his neck and the front of his vest. His black vest. The one he traded in at Spanish Jackie’s for an English navy jacket. His head is pounding too hard to properly assess the change, but his side, strangely, doesn’t hurt a bit. He pulls the vest up a bit. No bullet hole. Nothing.
“Fuck.”
He lies back in the sand.
“So does this mean I’m dead?” He asks nobody in particular.
“Not quite,” nobody answers.
Not nobody. Ed.
He sits up again.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean, Edward? Am I dead or not? Are you dead too?”
“You’re not dead. And I’m not Edward.”
“‘Course you are. Now fucking answer me straight. If I’m not dead, what’s going on? Where the hell am I?”
Ed’s upper lip curls in a horrible, familiar sneer.
“My name is Blackbeard, dog . And you’re in the Gravy Basket.”
“The what?” Izzy checks to make sure his hearing is intact. It is. “Well that’s fucking fantastic, isn’t it. I’m dead and insane.”
In an instant Blackbeard’s face darkens and his voice takes on a dangerous edge. “Y’know what? I’ve had it with you, Izzy. You’re not fucking dead. If you want to be, though, we could make that happen, you and I.”
Fear grabs hold of Izzy with cold, iron hard hands. It’s new, this kind of fear. Until a few weeks ago Izzy had more often instilled it than been its victim. And then, suddenly, it consumed him. Every minute of every day he walked on a razor’s edge, growing wearier with each step. When he laid his head down at night the fear took hold, and when he was lucky enough to sleep the fear had always found him by the first light of morning. Now he feels it again, sharper for having known a moment’s respite.
“I—I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to die.”
“Why not? What could you possibly have to live for, Iz?”
He doesn’t hesitate for a moment.
“I have you. My captain. Everything I do is born of loyalty to you. Of love for you.”
The sneer turns to laughter. Cruel, cold, cutting laughter that lasts an eternity.
“Oh, Izzy. That’s a sorry-ass reason. Haven’t you noticed? I don’t love you. And I never will again. If that’s all you’re living for, you might as well just die now. Save yourself the trouble.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
Izzy refuses to think too hard about it. He wants so badly not to think too hard about it. If he starts asking questions he’ll get answers, and he won’t like them. They will ruin him. They will prove that he can never go back to the way things were. And without that hope, what does he have?
“Think about it,” Blackbeard instructs him despite his most desperate wishes. “Would a man who loves you cut off your toe and feed it to you?”
That night Izzy had leaned over the rail of the ship and puked nearly as much as the time seasickness had earned him Fang’s unfortunate nickname. Even after he’d thrown up everything in him he just stood there, dry heaving in the waves, feeling a sickness that he knew he would never shake.
“Would a man who loves you do everything in his power to put you in harm’s way?”
Every raid, every prize, every tense interaction between the crew, every hostage that needed to be dealt with, every job with the most danger involved had been Izzy’s. He had been holding the prince when he was shot, hadn’t he? And he had done it all with pride, if not always with joy, to serve his captain.
“Would a man who loves you look at you the way I do?”
That look was the worst kind of torture. The disgust in his gaze whenever it rested on Izzy. His once cheery brown eyes scrunched up in derision. Not good enough.
“Would a man who loves you want you dead?”
Farewell, old chum.
“Would a man who loves you shoot off your leg for telling him as much?”
“A shark-“
“Come on, mate.”
My leg, Izzy thinks. He shot me. In that moment I was nothing to him. I could never do that to someone I love. He gave me ample fucking opportunity, and I couldn’t even do it to him.
“Right. So you don’t love me back, is that it? I don’t need you to. I still love you, that’s enough.”
“Do you?”
Blackbeard’s eyebrows are incredibly expressive. He raises one now and it’s more than just pulling a face. It’s a challenge, a dare. Think about it , the face says, knowing so well that Izzy can’t think about it, because if he thinks about it too hard he’ll realize that his love is fraying at the edges. He’ll realize that when he hears the heavy stomp of Ed’s boots on the hardwood floors his heart stops cold. He’ll realize that he can’t look Ed in the eye anymore because he is always afraid of what is hiding in his gaze. He’ll realize that being around Edward Teach hurts. And if he realizes that, it will all be over.
“Of course I do. Why the fuck would I stay on his ship, after everything he’s done to me, if I didn’t love him?”
“You’re pathetic,” Blackbeard tells him, but all Izzy hears is Ed’s voice.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Izzy stares off into the ocean, the gray-green waves lapping at the shore. He’s in no hurry to die. But it’s worth giving thought to at least. What he would be going back to if he chooses to live. Since he met Ed he has never once imagined a life without him. The thought of one has always had a dull, empty feel to it. Everything he did was for Edward’s sake, for his captain, for his love. When had that started?
Once upon a time they had been young and wild on the open sea, living for the freedom it brought, living for the present, living for each other. At some point that had changed. Where did this blind devotion come from, all his sacrifice and prayer to an absent god? The answer hits him suddenly. Jealousy. Edward was moving on, changing, becoming something new, loving someone else. But Izzy was an old dog, and none of Stede Bonnet’s tricks suited him particularly. He had goaded Edward, pleaded with him, torn him down to his level in a desperate attempt to get to stay a little longer by his side. A wave of disgust washes over him.
“It was all my fault.”
“Was it really?”
“I was the one who egged him on. I was the one who couldn’t just fucking let go. I woke the kraken from the deep and had the nerve to act surprised when it tried to wring the life out of me.”
Izzy grabs a handful of sand and squeezes tight, watching the grains run through his fingers.
“I was reckless. I was horrible. I made Edward into a monster all because I was jealous.”
Blackbeard snorts derisively.
“What, don’t I get any credit? All I did to break you, to hurt the crew, to make sure that I could never love again and nobody could ever love me. I made you eat your fucking toes, and when that wasn’t enough I shot your leg off! I told you to put a gun to your head and shoot yourself and you gave it your fucking best try! I made the crew beat each other bloody, I tried to kill us all and damn near succeeded, and you say it’s your fault? Fuck you, I’m the mastermind. I’m the one who made it all happen.”
He moves closer to Izzy and, against his will, Izzy finds himself moving away. Blackbeard burns a hole through him with his gaze.
“Look me in the eye and tell me that after all that, I’m the reason you want to keep on living.”
Izzy looks him in the eye and it’s unbearable, every bit as bad as he imagined. The fear, the fury, the disgust, the pride, it’s all there in Blackbeard’s gaze. In that moment he is struck by the knowledge that his sole reason to live is gone.
He tears his eyes away and they rest on his leg.
The gold paint sparkles in the afternoon sun.
Just the other night he had sparkled like that after that great oaf Wee John had painted his face up. Twatty Lucius’s eyes had sparkled like that when Izzy pressed the wooden shark into his hands. Jim and Archie’s smiles had sparkled like that when he sang for them. When he sang for all of them and himself.
The crew. My family.
Something to fight for, something to die for, but most importantly a reason to keep living. Against all odds, despite everything he’d said and done to them, those miserable fucking cocksuckers cared about him, and he cared about them. More than anything in the world. Maybe even more than Ed. They’d fought together, lost together, lived together. They’d shared breakfast and they’d shared pain, and if Izzy didn’t get to call them twats to their faces a bare minimum of one more time he could never just pass peacefully into the end. He looks up.
“Fuck you, you’re not the reason I want to keep living. It’s them. I see that now, I was blind to miss it. I want to go home to my family.”
“Have it your way, then. You’re a hollowed out husk of a man, Iz. Sooner or later they’ll see that, and they’ll leave you too. They always leave you in the end.”
No, Izzy thinks as the beach begins to dissolve at the corners of his vision. Not this time. They already see me, all of me, and yet somehow they still love me.
They still love me.
***
“He feels cold,” says Jim, their voice breaking on the words. “I think he’s dying.”
There is a space that only Izzy can fill, a mouthy 5’7” and a half empty space where he always stands, weight resting on his good leg, a sorry excuse for a smile flickering about his face. The emptiness hangs over all of them, weighing them down like a soggy wool blanket. Just a few weeks ago, not one of them would have shed a tear had they found themselves in this situation. Well, maybe Fang would have, but that isn’t saying much. The change had come on so suddenly. In the course of just a few days, in the face of bitter loss and suffering, Izzy Hands had gone from living for Blackbeard, to living for them, to finally beginning to live for himself.
He had looked out for them when their captains fell apart. He had done whatever he could for them, even when his best wasn’t good enough. He cared for them when he couldn’t even care for himself. Maybe he will never admit it, maybe he will always hide it behind a steady stream of insults and profanities, but there is a good head on his shoulders and a good heart beating far too slowly in his chest. They see him.
“He won’t die,” says Frenchie. “He can’t. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
“What, cause I’m such a fucking great surgeon?” Jim snaps. “It’s a miracle he didn’t die when I cut his leg off without a tourniquet. I’m a pirate, not a doctor.”
“Well, there’s going to be a second miracle.” Frenchie, not any more of a doctor than Jim but a good deal more of a seamster has sewn the wound shut with his own two hands, and he takes pride in his work.
“What if there isn’t, huh? What if he dies?”
“That would be fucked up. I was just starting to like the guy," says Archie.
“It wouldn’t be the same here without him. It wouldn’t be right,” Wee John adds.
“He’s Izzy,” Fang chokes out between sobs. “He can’t die. He’s in-indestructible.”
“He’ll keep going out of pure spite,” says Lucius, almost affectionately, setting the wooden shark down in his lap. “He’s a dick.”
The room buzzes with the sound of their voices like a hornet’s nest under attack. After so much silence they have to say something, anything, to fill the space.
Jim is angry. Furious. Of all the people they want dead (and it’s a long, long list) Izzy has fallen nearly to the bottom. And yet here he lies, while Blackbeard roams about upstairs. While Prince Richard Banes is out there somewhere, plotting their downfall. They’re sick and tired of watching good people die.
They’re squeezing Izzy’s hand so tightly they don’t even notice that he’s squeezing back.
He says it faintly, so faintly they nearly miss his raspy voice beneath the discordant hum of the tension in the air.
“Stop bickering, you twats. I’m fine.”
Jim leaps to their feet and staggers backwards.
“OH, YOU ASSHOLE,” Lucius shouts. His face splits in a grin that becomes a chuckle and he’s laughing a deranged, exhausted laugh that spreads like wildfire around the tiny room.
Izzy laughs, and feels a sharp stab of pain in his left side.
“Thank god. The bullet wound is back.”
“Are you all there, man? Like mentally?” Jim asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Was I ever?” Izzy picks up his shirt and inspects their work. It’s messy, but it’s only the second worst surgery he’s had this month. “Is that a flower?”
Frenchie turns red. “Just a small one. I got a little carried away with the stitches?”
Izzy laughs again, and groans. “I’ve got to stop doing that. What the fuck’re you all doing here? Got nothing better to do than watch me sleep?”
“You drool,” says Lucius with feigned spite.
They’re dizzy with relief, drunk on it. It makes the room feel warmer, makes the ship feel lighter, as if it could sprout wings and fly away. And in the center of it all there’s Izzy. He’s not used to being in the center of things. It feels nice.
“Thank you.”
“What’s that?” says Roach, who isn’t sure he’s ever heard those words before.
Izzy tries again, a little louder and a little hoarser.
“Thank you. All of you. For saving me.”
“Well, it was mostly Jim that saved you,” Olu clarifies. “And Frenchie. The rest of us just kind of sat here and prayed.”
“All of you,” Izzy repeats. “I’ll never forget it, as long as I live. Maybe even longer.”
“Awww, he loves us,” says Jim, smirking. “You should say that you love us.”
“You meddling fucking cocksuckers, of course I love you.” His voice is even rougher than usual, and his words are slowed by pain and exhaustion. But it is so, so good to hear him again. “You’re my family. The only one I’ve got.”
The thumping of leather booted feet sprinting down the stairs cuts him off.
“Izzy.”
Ed is disheveled. His hair is strewn about his shoulders and stuck to his face where it’s wet from crying. He’s still wearing the stolen white shirt, soaked in blood, but the jacket has disappeared somewhere. His eyes are red and desperate, pleading. Izzy sees too much of himself in those eyes. He looks away.
“Uh, can’t you see we’re having a moment?” asks Lucius and murmurs of agreement rise up around him.
Ed looks at all of them, at the baroque scene laid out before him, at the little community that isn’t ready to welcome him. Not yet.
“Sorry,” he says to the crew. For the first time. He has to start somewhere.
He turns to leave.
“Wait. Stay.”
Izzy looks at everyone apologetically.
“Leave me, all of you.” He pauses a moment. “Please,” he adds.
One by one they stand. Slowly, reluctantly, they file out of the room. Jim is the last to leave. They look back at Izzy and he nods, just once. He looks defeated, and stubbornly determined. Jim hates that look.
They face Ed as they turn to leave and lock eyes with him.
“If you hurt him again, I’ll fucking kill you. That’s a promise, Blackbeard. And I keep my promises.”
And with that they storm off, leaving Izzy alone. Alone with Ed.
“You look like shit, Edward.”
“Yeah?” Says Ed, his voice breaking. “Well, you—you’re not much better off yourself.”
“No, I s’pose not.”
“They shot you at point blank range. I thought you were a goner, Iz. How the fuck did you survive?”
“I took the bullet on the left. I’m not a fucking idiot. Did you forget who taught you that? And I do believe it was you who told me that I was an indestructible little fucker. I took it to heart.”
A silence overtakes them. Brief and all-consuming.
“Izzy, I-“
“You’re sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”
Ed wants to be coherent for this. He was trying really hard to be, and he doesn’t last a minute. He sits down heavily by Izzy’s side and cries like he’s filling an ocean. Izzy grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut but he can’t help it, he’s crying too, the two of them swept away in each other’s currents, fighting not to go under. Through the tears, Izzy laughs a short bitter laugh.
“Oh, Eddie. What a mess we’ve made.”
“It’s my mess, Izzy, not ours.”
“Fuck off, I’m not blameless. I asked for it. Thought I wanted it. It was you I wanted, Ed. It was us.”
“I know.”
“Damn it all, you were better off without me. But I couldn’t stand to let you go. It would have killed me.”
“You tried.”
“What?”
“Somewhere in there you started trying. To let go. To escape. You were done, fed up, burnt out. I think I saw that, Izzy. I saw that and I grabbed you and I pulled you in closer so I could chew you up and spit you back out again.”
It’s true. Izzy wants to deny it, but it’s true. He had always believed victimhood was a fate endowed only to the weak. The merchant ships they preyed on were that kind of weak. The men aboard them who fell to their knees and begged for their lives were that kind of weak. But never him. And now Ed is calling him that kind of weak. It’s easier to blame himself. If he blames himself, Izzy still clings to a shred of control. You didn’t hurt me, I hurt me. Nobody can hurt me but myself. But now that Ed has said it out loud, it’s real. It’s true. It’s agonizing.
“I lost you, Izzy.”
“I’m still here.”
“Now you are. These past few weeks, you were a stranger to me. I see it now. I see you. You’re Izzy. My friend. My first love. My only family.”
“You could have more than just me if you tried. They want to love you, Eddie. They used to love you. If you can just be Ed, they will love you again.”
“I don’t think I can just be Ed anymore. I’m a monster.”
Izzy’s brow furrows. “You can fuck right off with that crap. You’re not a monster, Eddie, you’re a twat. You wish you were a monster. It would be so much easier if you were, eh? But you’re not. You’re just a man. Monsters don’t ever have to own up to what they’ve done, to who they’ve hurt. It’s their nature. But you, I’ve seen your nature. You’re good. You’re good now. And that means you have no one to blame for your stupid fucking choices but yourself. Trust me, I know how it feels.”
Ed stares at him, amazed. “When did you get so wise?”
“I learned a thing or two down in the Gravy Basket. I still feel like a complete idiot, but I want to at least try. To be better. Maybe even to be good.”
He looks Ed in the eye and steels himself, but to his surprise the words come easily, as though for years they had lain in wait, longing to be said.
“I’m…sorry, Ed. I fed your darkness.”
“I’m sorry, Izzy. I’m so, so sorry. I stole your light.”
He reaches a trembling hand up and rests it on Ed’s cheek. His thumb gently wipes away a tear.
“There he is.”
***
When Ed carries him up on deck they all cheer uproariously. They’re glad to see him alive, of course. But there’s more to it than that. For the crew of the Revenge , Izzy is emblematic of their own story. Like them, and together with them, he has suffered, he has fought for his survival, and even if only by a hair he has come out on top. When the world beats him down, and boy does it ever like to do that, he claws his way back up again. Izzy reminds them that with friends at their back, they will survive everything the world throws at them. He is the figurehead of their ship. He is the new unicorn.
Stede walks over and helps Ed carry him, and carefully they sit him at the foot of the mast he had once broken his blade in while pinning Stede to it like an insect in a collection. Instinctively the crew form a haphazard circle around the captains and the first mate.
“Uh, congrats on surviving,” says Zheng, with a brisk nod seemingly intended to really seal the deal on her sentiment.
“Yes, excellent job,” says the Swede, leaning on Spanish Jackie.
Izzy thanks them with a raised eyebrow and presses a finger to his lips, pointing at Ed.
“Edward, a.k.a. Blackbeard, has something he’d like to share with the group.”
Ed shifts his weight back and forth from foot to foot, hands behind his back, as visibly uncomfortable as the last time he was in this situation, but blissfully free of the cat collar and potato sack at least. He clears his throat.
“I do. Uh…” he trails off, looking at their faces ranging from stony to expectant to outright disgusted. He looks down at Izzy, who nods at him just once. Stop panicking you twat.
“Ahem. Well. It has come to my attention that the last time I did this, I really fucked it up. So here I am, standing before you all today, trying to unfuck it. I’ve never really apologized for anything before, and as I’m sure you’re all aware, I have a lot to apologize for.”
He takes a deep breath.
“These past few weeks, I’ve been a terrible captain. I was selfish, and I was self destructive, and when I was going under I tried to drag you all down with me. I’ve hurt a lot of you. Some physically, some mentally, most a winning combination of the two. I was supposed to guide you, and keep you safe, and I did the complete opposite.”
Except for the occasional whisper the deck of the ship is dead silent. They strain to hear his every word.
“Last time I said this was a safe space ship, but I’ve come to realize that it isn’t, not with me aboard. I make it unsafe. I make all of you feel unsafe. To every single one of you who has suffered because of me, I would like to say that I am truly, truly sorry.”
Lucius looks at him sternly, but his gaze is not cold. “Thank you for saying that. I don’t forgive you.”
The crew murmurs their approval.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve done, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving, in whatever ways I can, that I mean what I say. And that’s why…”
He talked it over with Stede. He talked it over with Izzy. He turned it over and over and over in his mind weighing the variables with all the care and precision of a jackhammer. He thought he was ready to say it and make it real, but now the words catch in his throat. He gives himself a countdown. Three, two-
“That’s why I’m leaving the Revenge . And piracy. Forever.”
Silence. Izzy’s eyes are downcast. Even knowing it was coming, even agreeing wholeheartedly that it was the right move, something in him dies a little hearing those words.
“A-And I’m going too!” Shouts Stede, surprising no one.
More silence.
After a small eternity, Olu is the first to speak.
“So…what does that mean for us, then? Who’s gonna be captain if you’re both gone?”
“Ultimately, the decision rests with all of you. But if you’ll allow us, Stede and I have made one final determination as your captains. We’re giving the Revenge to Izzy.”
“What? Why the hell would you to that?” Izzy’s face twists in a comical mixture of confusion, surprise, and something that might be gratitude and might be horror.
“You’re the most experienced seaman, and the most experienced pirate. None of the others have earned their swallow yet. Plus, I shot your leg off. It’s a sorry consolation, but I figured it was better than nothing?”
“My reputation for leadership doesn’t exactly precede me. Don’t you want to be captain?” He nods in Olu’s direction, then in Zheng’s. “Or you?”
“I am a captain,” says Zheng, “but not of this crew. Your circus, your monkeys, my friend.”
“Yeah, and I don’t want it,” Olu exclaims. “I only accepted the role last time because you were such a dick!”
“So why would this time be any different?”
Jim’s face splits in a broad, shit-eating grin.
“Because now you’re our dick!”
They cheer. Izzy scowls. They’re chanting his name. Roach throws a “Dizzy Izzy” in there. He’s torn. He has never been much of a leader. Fear was always his strategy. He’d thought that was how it was done. You scared them straight, threatened them from time to time, and made good on those threats once in a while to keep them on their toes. He’d tried that to no avail. They just weren’t afraid of him. He had barely escaped mutiny. But if fear was ineffective, how could he lead? With love? He’d never been any good at that either. He sighs.
“You lousy twats. Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m not doing it on my own. You have to help me. If you see me going astray, tell me. If you think I’m being a dick, tell me. You’ll probably be wrong anyway, but I could use the feedback. And remember, if it all goes to shit, it was your own damn fault for choosing me to be your captain.”
“That’s the spirit!” Frenchie says cheerily.
“To Captain Hands!” Shouts Wee John, and the crew quickly takes up the chant.
Izzy blushes. “Stop it, stop it! My first order as your captain is for you to cut that shit out this instant.”
With one last gleeful whoop they obey.
“You’re not going to try and throw me overboard again, are you?” He asks, just to be sure.
“You’re not going to start being an asshole again, are you?” Lucius counters.
“That’s fair.”
“So what are you two going to do now you’re done with piracy?” Frenchie asks, turning his gaze to Ed and Stede.
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind giving us a ride, or at least a dinghy, we’ve found a lovely little place by the sea that we’re going to turn into an inn!” Stede informs them with glee. “You are all welcome to visit!”
“But not for at least another year because it’s a dilapidated old shack,” Ed quickly adds.
“It’s a fixer-upper.”
“We’re going to have a lot of fixing up to do.”
Don’t we all , thinks Izzy. Don’t we all.
***
Tomorrow is a big day. Lucius and Black Pete, wanting to seal the deal before Ed and Stede are gone (and more importantly before the English navy shows up clamoring for their heads) are getting married at noon. After that, the crew has voted to bid their former captains a hasty farewell and hit the high seas, hoping to get a head start on Prince Ricky and his lackeys. And then, who knows? Anything is possible. There’s talk of helping Zheng rebuild her crew, and perhaps even teaming up with her to exact vengeance on the English. Izzy wouldn’t mind taking a stab at the fuckers himself. For now, though, everything is quiet. A moment of peace. A night just like they used to have, before everything. The weather is lovely and the crew sleeps on deck, sprawled out in hammocks or on blankets or just directly on Stede’s expensive wooden floor. Izzy sits by the decapitated, legless unicorn figurehead and looks at the stars. For the first time in a long time he isn’t drunk, he isn’t tired, he isn’t even afraid. For the first time in a long time everything feels a little bit easier and a little bit lighter.
The peace is broken by the sounds of footfalls behind him, and the little door creaks open. Izzy turns to see who it is, then turns back.
“Bonnet.”
“Izzy.”
“What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I slept for most of the day, if you can call it sleeping. And I needed a think. Clear my head.”
“As do I,” Stede says with a definitive nod.
“And you couldn’t think of anyplace else to do it? I’m not much for company.”
“I’ll go where I please. It’s my—well, your ship now, I suppose.”
“Hm.”
Izzy smiles.
“You worried you’re making a terrible mistake?” He asks, never once taking his eyes off the sky.
“No, not a bit,” Stede replies. A moment’s pause. “Yes, constantly.”
“Can’t be any worse than the mistakes you’ve made so far, can it?”
“Oh, lay off.”
“If it’s any consolation, you were a lousy pirate captain and your crew is better off without you.”
“Why would that be any consolation?”
“It wouldn’t. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m shit at comforting people.”
“You really are.” A breeze blows through them and Stede shivers, wrapping his silk robe a little tighter around his shoulders.
“You’re not making a mistake, Bonnet. You’re doing the right thing. I hate to say it, but he’s lucky to have you.”
Stede sniffs. “Are you jealous?”
“Fuck you. No. Yes. Maybe.”
“Well, which is it?”
“He’s your problem now, so no, I’m not jealous. It’s about time someone else had to deal with taking care of him. He’s happy with you, so yes, I am jealous. It’s been years since we’ve meant anything but pain for each other. I love him for who he is, and I hate him for what he did to me, so maybe I’m jealous. But my blood runs cold when I hear his footsteps and now I see him in my nightmares more often than my dreams. It’s different for you, and I want it to be different for you, so while I never thought I’d say this, I suppose you have my blessing, Bonnet. Godspeed.”
“He really hurt you, didn’t he?”
“More than you know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Love him better than I could, and if he ever tries to hurt you, leave. We are no man’s playthings, Stede fuckin’ Bonnet.” Izzy smiles. Maybe. It’s so hard to tell what is and isn’t a smile with him.
“Are you gonna miss your ship?” He asks.
“A little.”
“Are you gonna miss your crew?”
“Terribly.”
“We’ll visit.”
Stede looks askance at him.
“Stop that,” he says.
“Stop what?”
“Being nice to me. It’s freaking me out. I’m starting to think you’re possessed, and I don’t believe in spirits.”
“Yeah. Don’t get used to it.”
“I don’t think I’ll have time to.”
They sit in silence for a moment. The ocean is calm and the moon is nearly full. It’s a perfect night for stargazing.
“Don’t forget all your paintings and armoires and pretty shit. For the inn. I don’t want them. They’re not fit for a pirate ship.”
“Well, I disagree. But your poor taste in interior design aside, I suppose you know better than I what belongs on a pirate ship.”
“Yeah,” says Izzy. “You don’t. I do.”
“Pirating has nearly gotten you killed countless times. Today being no exception. Don’t you have any desire to stop? You could have a life, you know.”
“Edward has nearly gotten me killed countless times. Maybe I’ll do better now that I’m in charge.” Izzy chuckles dryly. “This is my life, Bonnet. This is the only thing I know how to do. Most likely I’ll keep at it until it kills me for good.”
Stede’s face scrunches in disapproval. “Good god, are you always this intense?”
“More or less. Remind you of someone?”
“You do, actually. You’re just like him.”
Izzy leans back against the wooden paneling of the ship. He should be sleeping. He’s freshly wounded and his body can barely move with all the day’s exhaustion. But his mind is buzzing and the stars are so very bright. Stede yawns.
“Go to bed.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“G’night, Bonnet.”
“Good night, Captain Hands.”
Stede Bonnet disappears in a flurry of silk before Izzy can utter a word of protest.
***
The sun is high and warm in the sky the next morning, casting its glow on the deck of the revenge as though the very heavens were sharing their approval. Basking in the light, surrounded by a haphazard semicircle of their closest friends, Lucius and Pete stand holding each other’s hands.
“Do you vow to protect, and if necessary, kill for each other?” Wee John asks. They both eagerly agree, talking over each other.
“Do you vow to avenge the other in the event of your death, or grisly dismemberment?” Asks Fang. Lucius takes a little longer, but they both arrive at a solid yes.
“Do you vow to keep each other’s ship afloat?” Asks Frenchie. This one they can get behind with more zeal. Black Pete clearly has no patience for ceremony, and this doesn’t resemble any ceremony Lucius has ever attended in his lifetime.
Roach pronounces them mateys, and the ship erupts in a cheer. They pass up the traditional slashing of faces for a less traditional, but perhaps more sanitary, kiss. Ed looks warmly at Stede, lost in a dream. Izzy sits with his back up against the railing, watching with tears in his eyes. He hastily wipes them on his shirtsleeve.
“All right, can someone help me up so I can offer my blessings to the happy couple?”
Archie hoists him up and together they make their way over to where Lucius and Pete float in a sea of congratulations and well wishes. Lucius smiles when he sees Izzy.
“You were right, Captain,” he says. “Not moving on is worse.”
“Congratulations, Twatty.” Izzy claps him on the shoulder. He has to reach up more than he’d like to do so. “May your life together be long and full, and just generally not suck.”
“Missed opportunity. You should have been a poet.”
In true pirate fashion, the ceremony itself must be brief so the eating and drinking can carry on well into the afternoon. Roach has done an admirable job with what sparse provisions they had stocked, and luckily was able to find quite a large supply of marmalade stored with the gunpowder. Frenchie breaks out the lute and supplies a jaunty tune, and Izzy sings for them. With the raw shock of learning that the raspy little rat man could, in fact, sing long since out of the way, they are able to truly appreciate his mysterious talent. Izzy, for his part, is amazed at how easily it comes to him now that he has people to sing for.
All good things must come to an end, and this particular good thing ends with a meeting. Izzy sits below the mast and the crew arranges themself around him, paying various levels of attention.
“It’s a new era for this crew,” he says. “I won’t keep you long, but there’s a few things that need addressing in accordance with that.” He clears his throat.
“Firstly. I hope we’ve all had a chance to congratulate Twa…Lucius and Black Pete on their marriage.”
They all cheer once more, some raising mugs that they haven’t set down since the tender hour of 9 am that morning.
“Secondly, as against all odds and a few of my own wishes I am now your captain, I’ll need a new first mate. I’d like to put forth Jim.”
“Me?” Says Jim, seeming genuinely perplexed. “Why?”
“Aside from being an all-around deadly person and asset to this ship, you’ve saved my life twice. You’re a lousy fucking surgeon, but a damn good friend. So Jim is my pick. Any objections?”
Nobody has any objections. Archie gives Jim a congratulatory kiss and Olu scoops them up onto his shoulders.
“Right, that’s settled then. One more thing. As Mr. Feeney once sagely pointed out, “Izzy’s Revenge” sounds like the name of an intestinal condition. And “Revenge” as a ship name has been done to death. We’re not out for revenge, we’re after cash, bulk merchandise, and a good time. So I’m thinking our ship could use a new name.”
“The Grim Reaper !” Shouts Archie.
“The Octopus ,” Fang suggests.
“The Black Cat ,” Frenchie adds with a shudder.
Izzy’s brow furrows, thinking of how hard each of those figureheads would be to carve.
“How about the Adventure ?” Asks Olu. “It’s short, it’s simple, and I think it creates an image we can all really get behind, y’know.”
The crew nods and mumbles their approval.
“The Adventure, huh. Not bad. We’ll go with that, then.”
“Hey, Izzy!” Stede shouts from the prow. “We can see it! Have the crew take us in!”
“Meeting adjourned, for now,” Izzy declares, clapping his gloved hands together. “Take the Adventure a little closer inland and drop the anchor. It’s time to say goodbye to our captains.”
***
The sun is just beginning to set when they pull the dinghies up on the shore of the little cove where Ed and Stede are to be dropped off. Up atop a small hill there is indeed a crumbling hut, the skeleton of their new lives together. Ed was not exaggerating when he called it a dilapidated shack. If anything he may have been giving it a little too much credit. The foliage is stunning, though, and the cool sea breeze will whistle beautifully through their missing rafters. Stede bustles to and fro with armfuls of clothing, paintings, various articles of furniture and the odd book that managed to survive Ed’s rampage. The crew assist him as best they can, marveling at just how much nonsense he had managed to fit on what was honestly a pretty normal sized vessel. After a while, Stede and the others stop coming. There must be just one last trip to make, and Stede has many goodbyes to say before he makes it. I’ll join him in a minute, Ed thinks. He wants the crew to be able to separate him from Stede. Incompetent though he could often be, Stede had done his best for them. He wants Stede to have a moment with them unsullied by the shadow of his recent actions.
So Ed sits on the porch and admires the sky. It feels good to be on solid ground. It feels certain in a way that comes so rarely to him. A little ways off two figures approach, climbing the hill together. Clad all in black they contrast sharply with the bright oranges of the sunset, making the scene look almost like a painting. One is doing most of the walking, and the other leans heavily on them. Ed listens to the distant hum of their voices growing closer and closer with each step, watching them as he would in a dream.
Jim and Izzy clear the hill and slowly, carefully make their way over to the porch. Jim sets him down just gently enough to not reopen his wounds and undo all their hard work.
“Alright, Captain dickhead,” says Jim, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like this is your stop. Give me a shout if you need me, otherwise I’ll be on the ship.” They shoot Ed a look. “I like your shack. It’s very, uh. Homey.”
“Thank you,” Ed starts to reply, but before he can get the message across they’ve taken off, running lightly down the hill like a hyperactive child hopped up on sugar.
“Jesus, look at them go,” he says, turning to face Izzy. “Like a rabbit, that one. A deadly rabbit. Hate to think of all the ways they could have killed me when I was being a dick.”
“I’ve come to say goodbye, Edward.”
“It’s always straight to the point with you, Iz. Do you ever take a moment to stop and smell the flowers?”
“The foliage can be a little sparse on the open sea. And I wanted to do this quickly.”
“Are you so eager to get rid of me?”
“The opposite. As you well know.”
“I honestly wasn’t sure. I’m amazed that you can even tolerate me after…after everything.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a man of action. Not much for grudges.”
“Thank god for that. I’d be counting my days if you were.”
They both watch the sky intently, and not just for its beauty.
“This really fucks my whole plan,” says Izzy, resting his head on one hand.
“Which one? You make so many my head’s spinning trying to imagine them all.”
“The big one: Follow you to the ends of the earth and back, raise havoc in your name, battle my way to a grisly victory over your enemies and eventually bite the dust taking a bullet that was meant for you.”
“Wow. From one skilled tactician to another, that may be the shittiest plan I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, now that I hear it back it isn’t great. But I’ve spent years in service of it, and until recently I wasn’t big on change.” He leans back. “I would have followed you to the end.”
“You did. This is the end. You’re not dead, sure, and I’m not either. But it’s the end of us. It’s the end of our chapter. And now you get to go and write your own story. Lucius told me once; it doesn’t have to be a death. Sometimes life just begins again.”
“Twatty is too smart for his own good. God only knows what he’s doing on a pirate ship, but it’s not my place to ask questions.” Izzy sighs. “Or maybe it is. I almost miss knowing my place. I like it when there’s an order to things, I’m hopeless in all this fucking chaos.”
“Your place is with your crew. Beyond that, you’ll figure it out.”
“And yours is keeping an inn?”
“God, I hope so. I’ve changed careers like five times in the past week, it would be nice to stick to just one.”
“You were a damn good pirate. Maybe the best.”
“I could be a shitty one when I wanted to. I wasn’t getting much job satisfaction from piracy anyway these days.”
“Maybe when they write your name in the annals of history it’ll be as the world’s finest innkeeper.”
“I think I’m shaping up to be average at it. Average, but happy.”
Izzy feels a sharp stab of guilt. The last time Ed had tried that, he lost his mind. Izzy had fallen in love with an extraordinary man. With him, Ed had been an extraordinary man. With Stede, he was average, but happy. He had been a fool, a complete and utter idiot, to try and turn Edward back into the man he had fallen in love with, to equate the image he’d created to the person behind it.
“That’s perfect,” Izzy says. “For you, anyway. I’m going to be a legend. Seriously, though. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to be anything more than yourself, and I…I deeply regret that I ever told you otherwise.” Fuck. His eyes are feeling damp. He stares furiously into the sun, willing it to dry the tears before they can fall.
“Can I tell you something, Edward?”
“Shoot.”
“It’s embarrassing, though, so if you ever repeat a word of this to anyone I’ll kill you on the spot.”
“Agreed. Unless it’s funny.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m only kidding, mate.”
Ed chuckles, Izzy offers a neutral nose exhale which is about as close to a jolly laugh as he ever gets. Izzy leans forward almost imperceptibly and looks at Ed as though the answer to some great cosmic question is encrypted in his face.
“I’m afraid. I’ve been scared shitless for weeks now. Afraid of you, partly. But there’s more to it than that. I’m afraid because I don’t know who I am without you . I used to think I was nothing without you. Now I’m afraid of the person I’ll be when I belong to myself.”
“That was the least funny thing I’ve heard all day, Iz. I’d hate to hear you tell a joke.”
Ed looks at him, and his heart hurts a little. There is still love between them that they will never touch. They know better now. “I’ve met the person you are without me. Just this week, actually. And you know what? He’s a great guy, Izzy. He looks out for others when the going gets tough. He lights up the people around him. He fights for his friends and for himself. He smiles sometimes. He can even sing! He reminds me of my first love. He reminds me of you.”
“I’m gonna miss you, Edward.”
“Nah, don’t miss me. You’ve spent too much of your life doing that. Don’t even think about me if you can help it. You’re not Blackbeard’s first mate anymore, you’re Captain Israel Hands, and you’re going to be a legend.”
“And you’re Ed, and you’re going to be an innkeeper.”
“Now you’ve got it.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“I’m sorry I took it from you.”
“Goodbye, Edward.”
“Goodbye, Izzy.”
The sun disappears below the horizon but the last few rays of light linger long behind it.
***
In such a vast and terrible and beautiful world so many things can happen in a moment. In this moment the first few stars are beginning to twinkle in the sky. In this moment Ed and Stede are watching them together. In this moment the crew of the Adventure are standing together with mugs and glasses raised. In this moment the republic of pirates lies in smoldering ruin, and the people for whom it was a haven are scattered to the wind, or dead. They have all come to a fork in their road and they have each chosen a different path. Perhaps they will never meet again, or perhaps they all lead to the same place. The only way to find out is to keep on going.
Tonight Ed Teach is building a fire outside his new home. The building is too worn down to keep out the chill night breeze, so his fire will have to keep them warm. He lays each stick down carefully, making sure they all have plenty of room to breathe. It takes him many tries to get any kind of sparks going, but when he finally does he has a little nest of tinder waiting for them. He gives a triumphant little shout and sets down the glowing nest in his stick structure, watching the brilliant tendrils of flame consume first the smaller sticks and then the larger, working their way outwards and upwards with an insatiable hunger. Ed knows this hunger is insatiable, and he feeds it anyway. He blows into it gently and adds stick after stick, watching his fire consume it all and basking in its comfortable warmth. He is quiet.
Tonight Stede Bonnet is trying his hand at the hunter gatherer lifestyle. They have plenty of dried meat and ship’s biscuits stored at the inn, but he wants to share a warm meal with Ed to celebrate the first night of the rest of their lives together. He’s managed to find coconuts so far, and a handful of leaves that he’s about 90% sure are edible if the botanical guides he read in childhood are to be believed. Now he just has to kill some kind of critter and it will be a full meal. He sits in the brush and waits, his pistol already loaded. The island is crawling with animals of all sorts, but Stede has a large bird in his sights. Some kind of wild turkey or grouse, or so he thinks anyway. He stifles his impatience and allows the bird to approach, careful not to even breathe too loudly. Just a few more steps. He fires the pistol and, for the first time in his waking memory, hits his intended target. Feathers fly and Stede practically dances with joy as he goes to collect his prize. He is happy.
Tonight Jim Jimenez is perched on the railing of the ship, watching the waves churn beneath them, thinking of their life to come, of love, of freedom, of responsibility. They’re not used to having any sort of authority, and the title of first mate fits them like clothing a few sizes too big. Archie is sitting beside them and when they kiss her they don’t have to think about the future. This moment is enough. They are alive.
Tonight Olu and Zheng chat eagerly with each other, piecing together their time apart in a comical pantomime. It’s awkward, but awkward comes naturally to them. Zheng’s Auntie paces about the deck, occasionally tripping over the hem of Spanish Jackie’s dress. Pete and Lucius work away together at a giant chunk of wood, soon to be a replacement for the ship’s damaged figurehead. Roach, Frenchie, and Wee John play a card game of their own invention, the rules of which are as unclear to the rest of the crew as they seem to be to the players themselves. Fang breaks off crumbs of bread to feed a strange, solitary seagull. They are content.
Tonight Izzy Hands is patiently suffering through the indignity that apparently all captains must face on this odd little ship: he is telling a bedtime story. It’s a travesty. His questionable literacy means just reading from a book is out of the question, and his imagination and storytelling capabilities are similarly lacking. He can’t even do the voices. But nobody complains. They all jump in and help him. Lucius adds structure to the narration, Jim does the voices, Olu and Wee John provide sound effects and Black Pete brings his usual level of scrutiny, asking all the wrong questions at all the wrong times. They are resilient.
After they all fall asleep, Izzy takes his turn at the wheel, leaning on it slightly as he stares off into the distant seam between the sky and the sea. He is, as always, making a plan. The wind whistles in his ear as he thinks. Today he left his life behind on an island in the caribbean. When they lifted anchor and the ship sailed from the bay a part of him wondered if he would just disappear. Despite everything he’s still here. He has lost a leg, lost Ed, nearly lost his life. But he has found himself.
When he breathes in his chest expands and when he exhales his shoulders relax. The tightness, the weight pressing in from all sides, the hand gripping his heart, forcing it to beat in time, all that is gone. For the first time in weeks Izzy can breathe again. The story he told tonight was about a man who, having been held in a dark prison his whole life, breaks free and for the first time in years sees the light. It is the first chapter of his story.
Tonight, with nobody around to see it, Izzy Hands is smiling. Setting the course of his ship, with his crew sound asleep on deck, he soars like a gull, the whole world stretched before him. It is huge, it is daunting, it is beautiful. It is his to explore. He is being pursued. Hot on his trail, ever behind him is a horrific amalgamation of the most painful parts of himself—his mistakes, his cruelty, his weakness, his fear. If he slows even for a second the monster will have him in his clutches again. He has no choice but to keep moving, always forward. No looking back.
He’s come to realize something, though. Even if he can never go back, even if things can never be the way they once were, he still has his future. A future that is warmer and brighter now that he has a family to fight for who would fight for . He is still running away, but now he is running towards something too. Not anything concrete, as nice as that would be. Loose, messy things. Hope. Love. Freedom. Things that he could never plan for, for which there are no maps or charts or compasses to point the way. Things that he has found, or that have found him, all the same. He wants to keep chasing them. It will be a long and arduous journey, but at least he’s making it in good company.
Tonight, on newfound wings, Izzy Hands is flying home.