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Suficiente

Summary:

'“I just wanted to thank you for–” is all Izzy gets out before Bonnet turns and spears him with a look so odious it burns.

And still, it’s less than he deserves, less than he got from Ed so close to the end.

The crew, none the wiser, ham it up or go about their tasks with all the enthusiasm of a second chance at life. Unable to do either, Izzy upends his mop crutch and does his best to clear the deck of splintered wood and crusted salt and gunpowder.

“Hey, no, no, no.” Fang nags his efforts, dumping armfuls of rotten wood onto Izzy’s tiny pile of dust. “We’ve got this sorted, boss. You get some rest.”

Izzy doesn’t argue. Just limps without thinking and winds up in the same place as always, standing outside of that low door. No longer concealed, it hangs ajar and lit from within, Bonnet’s lantern flickering as he weeps.'

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Or, I heard Archie say: "Can we talk about the fucked up sleeping arrangements?" and immediately wanted to explore how the two crews split rooms on the Revenge.

Notes:

Thank you to my beloved for proofreading and feedback. Also eternal gratitude for the support of Arie, Amara, River and Stede.

My first piece in a long while after being sickly AF, stuck in WIP city, absorbed in art and then distracted by moving house. I have a few more missing scene fics for s2 so it'll be fun to compile them into a collection once they're all done and published.

Chapter Text

Izzy knows better than to goad a maniac. 

The kind who allows himself to be run through in the name of winning a bet, who cried his way shy of a firing squad by signing an Act of Grace, who evaded the Spanish by mimicking a lighthouse, who ambushed Izzy for hostages with the help of ‘ghosts of the forest’, who charmed Blackbeard out of his leathers from his sickbed, and only captured his interest in the first place by telling him to ‘go suck eggs in hell’.

Still Izzy said: “Go on, Bonnet. Give me your worst.” 

And the twat only went and did worse even than that…

Awaiting execution in the brig of China’s Pirate Queen, there was comfort in dying at the hands of their own. No silver-spoon Officer lording it over them about crimes against the Crown or their eternal damnation. Just the bitter taste of their own medicine, that shark-bait ending on offer to all who perish at sea. Nothing personal. Just paying back what they’re owed. 

But fuck no! 

Pirate code’s never been good enough for Bonnet. He’s out to revolutionise the game: paying his lot a wage, offering them crafts and sports and storytime – concerned less with survivng and more with thriving. All of it to the irritating tune of: “talk it through, as a crew!”

The same rhyme out of Izzy’s mouth prompted Ed to shoot him in the leg, to put a gun to his own head and drive them all into the eye of a storm without a wheel or a hope in hell.

And now Bonnet has the gall to spit: “Oh, fuck off, Izzy. I don’t want to hear from you”?

Not a chance. 

Izzy made sure he heard him. In the Captain’s cabin he said what needed to be said about Ed and took responsibility for his end. “You and me did this to him.” Then Izzy petitioned for better for the rest of them. “And we cannot let this crew suffer anymore for our mistakes.”

Of course this translated to Bonnet as: “Plan a daring last minute escape using scented towels, a crossbow and a zipline” like something straight out of a fucking book.

Izzy’s surprised only that he goes along with it. 

 

Archie claims to have been training her entire life for this moment. 

“Got the grip strength of a coconut crab, mate.” 

Despite her blathering about ‘snake cults’, Izzy’s seen her pull-up and over enough cap rails to trust both their lives to her biceps. 

Hitching his good leg around Archie’s hips and interlocking with the prosthetic, it’s the closest Izzy’s been to another body in years. Archie’s is solid in a way he used to be – her back broad and her core strong. She supports Izzy with ease, legs hiked as they swing, traversing the 50 foot gap in seconds. 

Face pressed to Archie’s vest, Izzy tightens his grip and doesn’t open his eyes until they’re on the other side. Fang catches them, ushering both out of the way of the next to arrive. 

Archie kisses her own biceps and winks at Izzy, reassuring rather than flirtatious. When she leans in to whisper, Izzy expects some lewd innuendo. But Archie’s always been full of surprises.

“It can be our secret,” she says, slapping his arm, “but I just knew you’d give the best hugs.”

Fuck.  

Izzy blinks back tears as the deck continues to fill. Bonnet lands so gracelessly Izzy wishes Ed was around to see it. 

Rope swinging look easy, but everybody fucks it up. Everybody, but Buttons, Roach, Frenchie, Fang… Not that Izzy can judge. His days of sticking a landing are far behind him. 

Last to join them, Jim severs the zipline, roaring: “Go fuck yourselves!” at Zheng and her blue-clad crew. 

Buttons and Olu wave their goodbyes, the only two with anything to lose. Other than Roach, who’ll probably mourn the loss of a good Chinese broth.

Bonnet stares after the Red Flag fading from view as though a lover got left behind. 

And in a way they did. 

Nothing Bonnet loves more than a story. The morning just gone he could imagine finding his true love, fixing his broken heart and sailing off together into the sunset. 

Come the evening, Bonnet’s living in a nightmare: all that remains of Ed is his broken heart, and the crew who did him in are all the family Bonnet has left to him in the world.

Glad though he is that Bonnet saved them, Izzy still considered letting go of Archie, splashing into the sea below and allowing himself to go under. 

Unfortunately he’s been enough of a coward already. 

By insisting that Ed be stowed below and refusing to let the crew near him. By cleaning his flesh wound, keeping his airways clear and turning his body, massaging his limbs. By finally giving in and covering his face with a cloth. 

Bonnet, for all of his failings, will do as Izzy cannot and kill Ed… with kindness. 

Memory of the man’s softness is what got Izzy shot. And then not thrown overboard, but hidden and cared for. 

Bonnet’s naive idea of a pirate crew kept them glued together — no longer every man for himself, but every life is precious. Because Bonnet understood the one thing Izzy could never grasp – that the needs of a Captain never outweigh the needs of the crew.

 

“I just wanted to thank you for–” is all Izzy gets out before Bonnet turns and spears him with a look so odious it burns. 

And still, it’s less than he deserves, less than he got from Ed so close to the end.  

The crew, none the wiser, ham it up or go about their tasks with all the enthusiasm of a second chance at life. Unable to do either, Izzy upends his mop crutch and does his best to clear the deck of splintered wood and crusted salt and gunpowder. 

“Hey, no, no, no.” Fang nags his efforts, dumping armfuls of rotten wood onto Izzy’s tiny pile of dust. “We’ve got this sorted, boss. You get some rest.”

Izzy doesn’t argue. Just limps without thinking and winds up in the same place as always, standing outside of that low door. No longer concealed, it hangs ajar and lit from within, Bonnet’s lantern flickering as he weeps.

“I messed up. I messed all of this up. I’m sorry, Ed. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Flooded in from the storm, water covers the floor of the rope store. Some of it must be Izzy’s tears. Cos he’s been there too, drowning in disbelief and rage, regret and hopelessness. Izzy begged and made promises, even prayed. 

“Ed! Ed! Wake up! Wake up, Ed! Please, I’m here! Please, wake up!” Bonnet only wails, shakes Ed and makes demands. “Come back to me! Ed, don’t die! Please don’t die. I’m here now.” 

But it’s pointless. 

Izzy tried everything his sluggish mind could think of: soft fabrics on Ed’s skin, scraps of lavender soap under his nose, smoking his beloved pipe, singing choked up lullabies, whispering what little Maori he could remember. 

None of it changed anything. All it did was give Izzy something to do, a fantasy he could cling to like one of Bonnet’s stories.

What worked in most of those was true love’s kiss. 

The day Izzy realised this was the day he covered Ed’s face. Cos Bonnet was never coming back and neither was Ed. 

Except then Bonnet did come back. And the sight of his face gave Izzy hope that Ed could be saved too, all of their pain justified by a chaste press of lips…

Listening as Bonnet shouts for Ed to “wake up”, promises that he’s “safe” and he’ll “never leave again”, Izzy’s heart races and breaks anew. 

A few times he convinced himself of movement too; eyes roving beneath the lids, lips twitching and parting, fingers tapping a rhythm against the wood. But in the end it was only a dream, a cruel trick of the light.

Bonnet’s lantern casts a strip of gold across the floor. 

Leaning against the open door, Izzy lifts his chair-leg prosthetic into the light. Fang made it for him, a project to keep his mind sharp and his hands busy as their days at sea slipped into weeks. The thing holds Izzy’s weight only because he’s so frail. The mop crutch does most of the work. Still it’s a treat to be off of both, his legs stretched out over a mess of spoiled grain, scraps of twine and dried out onion skins. 

Bonnet’s wailing turns to blessed silence and so Izzy allows his eyes to close. For a moment he simply sits and breathes in the musk of the store room, allows the sounds of a ship underway to lull him to sleep. 

Then Bonnet’s gasping and laughing and clambering up the stairs on all fours.

“I’ll get someone,” he calls, “Wait here. I know I said I’d never leave, but I’ll be right back. I promise.” 

Before Izzy can stand, Bonnet’s foot catches on his leg. And though he skids to a stop in wet slippers, his nose is dripping blood and his right eye’s half shut. 

Most disturbing of all is that Bonnet’s smiling, grinning down at Izzy as though a kiss could cure a coma.

“Wait here,” he orders, as Izzy grips his throbbing leg, going nowhere in a hurry. “Keep a lookout. I’ll go and get Roach–” 

Izzy spits back: “A look out for what?” but Bonnet’s too far gone. 

And he’s gone and left a lantern burning down in the rope store. 

Pirate code doles out a punishment for that of 40 lashes minus one, if the cracker can keep count and the culprit can stay on his feet. 

 

Izzy’s shuffling on his ass towards the open door when he hears it.

A long rattling breath. 

And then a groan, the sounds of someone straining, of fabric rustling.

“Ed…” Heart in his throat, Izzy too can only gasp. Barely audible, he tries again: “Eddie?”

Izzy listens and there’s nothing. Nothing, but the beating of his own heart, his own ragged breaths. 

Glancing back at the wall, he expects to find himself there, asleep or dead. Perhaps he’s a ghost now and so is Ed. That would explain–

Go… ” An inhuman cry rattles up from below. “Go… GO!” 

Heart in his throat, Izzy shifts backwards like a crab and slams into the furthest wall. Feeling along it, he pulls himself up the door frame, grabs his mop and limps down the hallway. 

“GO!” Ed’s ghoulish howling echoes after him as Bonnet and Roach squeeze by. “GOLD!”

“Well, his lungs are surely working,” Roach notes cheerfully, the first aid kit rattling in his arms.

Bonnet smiles, tight-lipped. “Best we check the rest of him, just to be sure.” 

Pressed to the wall, Izzy barely breathes, doesn’t even blink in hopes he is a ghost and they won’t see him. Then Bonnet stops in the doorway. 

“Abandoning your watch?” he asks so innocently, as though the idea isn’t unfathomable to Izzy.

“Following orders,” he whispers, “Ed… he – he told me to go.”

“Oh, Izzy. He doesn’t know what he’s say–”

Ed’s sounds of distress and Roach calling out for his Captain cut Bonnet off. Still he stops to smile at Izzy again, blood streaming down his nose like a fucking madman. 

“Get some rest,” he commands, more fatherly than Captainly. “Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.” 

The last time Izzy heard such assurances he woke up with one leg and Ed pressing a gun into his hands, raising it to his own head… Nothing was alright again after that.

 

Emerging out onto the packed deck, Izzy gasps for breath in the cold night air. 

Fang rushes to take him by one arm whilst Frenchie gets the other. Together they half carry him over to a low barrel and force a flask into his hands. Izzy takes a sip and then spits, spraying tepid water over the freshly swabbed deck. “Shit… Rum. I need rum. The fucking–”

“Hey, hey, boss, it’s alright.” Fang understands, already unstrapping the gifted leg as Bonnet’s crew try not to stare at the sewn up flap of his stained breeches. “Let’s get this off and up.”

Black Pete’s the first to speak, to ask what none of them dare to believe. “Captain said that… that Blackbeard’s… alive ?” 

Beside him Spriggs chews his fingers down to stumps. Fang’s large hands remain on Izzy’s. Looking up at him from kneeling, his brown eyes are wide and shining. Behind him Jimenez and Archie stand with hands on their weapons, their breathing slow and controlled, almost predatory. 

Bonnet’s miracle is their fucking nightmare. Izzy can only nod. 

Spriggs starts up a prayer of: “Oh God, oh God…” whilst Archie cracks their knuckles and cusses. Cracking their neck, Jimenez throws a dagger into the bulwark. Cross legged on the floor, Fang rubs his hands over his beard saying: “Dear, dear, dear…” Izzy chugs his rum.

Bonnet’s crew step back and stare at Frenchie awaiting his outburst. None comes of course. He’s barely with them, staring unseeing into the distance, lost in the maze of his own head. 

“My aunt,” Black Pete’s voice is as welcome as a rat in a pantry, “She woke up from a long sleep talking like an old French lady. Made us all call her Gigi .”

Archie smiles and Izzy cringes before she even opens her mouth. 

“Blackbeard ain’t gonna be French. He’s gonna be fucking furious.”

Oluwande laughs and Jimenez throws another dagger. Pacing intensified, Spriggs dodges Black Pete whilst Izzy reaches for Fang to stop his rocking. 

“Sorry, boss…” Fang whimpers, head pressed to Izzy’s hand. “Just d’ya think… d’ya think he’ll forgive us?”

“Forgive us ?!” Seething, Jimenez points a dagger at Fang. “We did what we had to. Él hizo el trabajo del diablo.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Archie steps between them, hands raised. “Fang just means forgive us for… letting him miss out on the rope swing. And meeting the pirate queen of China. And that fucking soup?”

Though Archie slings an arm around Jimenez’s shoulders and they sheath the dagger, tension lingers like a bad smell – warring with the other bad smells, one of them being Izzy himself.  

“Best ye’ all retire.” Logic from Buttons only adds to the strangeness of the evening. “First watch on me. N’ on the morra all our troubles be less n’ our blessings be more, aye?”

 

Acting still without thinking, Frenchie takes Izzy’s arm again and Fang jumps up to help. Their feet lead them to the Captain’s cabin, still a mess of knives, strewn blankets and scattered pillows. 

Cast adrift on the ocean, they slept together in one room, no point in taking watches. Still Izzy would lie awake and feel the soft crawl of Jimenez’s fingers over his wrist or the bump of Frenchie’s head against his ribs. 

Even as rations dwindled, Fang made for a comfortable cushion, and sometimes Frenchie would sing to them, whispering lullabies. Izzy’s favourite was about the moon, ‘au clair de la lune’… 

Wee John takes the room he once shared with Frenchie only to find it occupied by Jimenez and Archie. “Saw three boobs,” he sighs as he enters the grand cabin. Oluwande raises an eyebrow. “One was in Jim’s mouth.” 

Fang laughs and Izzy’s head bounches where it rests on his stomach. “Sorry Izzy,” Fang yawns. “No idea how those two still have the energy…”

Though the prospect of privacy clearly appealed to Black Pete, Spriggs insists on joining them. Stuffing a pillow under his lower back, he beds down, flinching as an arm is slung over his waist.

Izzy can’t see his face in the darkness, but he knows Spriggs is awake. The sound of him worrying at his wooden finger is like termites in the decking. The first to sit up when the door creaks open, Spriggs throws a pillow in that direction.

Frenchie raises three glinting knives. “Who goes there, demon?” 

“Solo yo.” Jimenez steps expertly amongst the sleeping figures, guiding Archie by the hand. “Cálmate, hombre.”

Frenchie lowers his knives and turns onto his side. “Buenas…noches, Cerber-boobie…” A light sleeper, he’s always quick to drift off. Jim too, though only when Archie strokes a rough hand over their hair. 

Where Bonnet sleeps Izzy doesn’t care. 

Roach he expects will find shelter in the bare and flooed galley.

And Ed… 

What is sleep once you’ve been near death for weeks? Is he hungry? Thirsty? Confused? If he came in here now would he think they were all dead? Like whales washed up on a beach? Does he even remember how to eat? Can he walk or are his feet–

“Go the fuck to sleep, viejo.” Jimenez hisses up at Izzy from the floor. “Can hear you thinking from here.”

“But what if–”

“Mañana,” they promise. “Tomorrow we’ll get rid… Stede too maybe. He’s not my Captain–”

Izzy hushes them. Bonnet gets what Bonnet wants and Izzy’s got no fight in him. The problem is that if Ed stays, the crew will split. And Izzy knows now that he can live without Ed. But he only ever did it for them. 

Listening to the room breathe like the hush of waves, Izzy allows the sound to carry him away. 

The promise of the next day’s drink is enough reason to keep on going. Until then all Izzy can hope for is to sleep and not dream. For all of this not to have been a dream. To wake up to two captains and no more talk of mutiny.