Chapter Text
Things were bad again when Stede came back.
And they had been so very good for a while, hadn't they? Izzy thought.
Blackbeard had been Blackbeard again – vicious, maniacal, savage Blackbeard, the man who originally struck fear into the hearts of every sailor on the seven seas. It still hadn't been exactly what he wanted (though Izzy would never admit it) but whatever it was, it had been a hell of a lot better than what it was before.
And then Stede came back.
And Blackbeard was still Blackbeard for a little while, yes, but after the row and the screaming and the stabbing and the blood, there were embraces and tears and kisses and, worst of all, I-love-yous.
And then Blackbeard was Ed again.
And Izzy hated Ed.
And so he practiced his dueling day in and day out, waiting for the time when he felt one hundred percent certain that whatever trick of fate saved Stede the first time they fought wouldn't be able to happen again.
---
It was as Izzy was practicing this dueling one day that he heard a shout from the crow's nest.
"Ship ahoy! Looks like she's bearing down on our portside and trying to engage, captains!" Buttons shouted.
"Well, we'll have to make ourselves presentable for company then!" Stede announced to the crew from his position on the deck, clapping his hands together.
The distinctive BOOM! of a cannon bursting its way through the hull rang through the air as the ship tilted dangerously to one side.
"...Or not," he muttered as the ship readjusted itself.
Ed burst out from the captain's quarters.
"Who's firing? What's her flag?" he shouted up at Buttons.
"Ain't nothing I've ever seen before, captain! Looks like a skull with crossed pistols behind it."
"Fuck!" Ed shouted. "I've heard of this guy before. He's called Forde and he's ruthless. He's not afraid to go after other pirates and he's damn good at it too."
"Get ready to fight!" Ed shouted across the deck. "And keep your eyes open! There's no telling where his men will show up."
Buttons clambered down the masts to join the rest of the crew, who scrambled to take their positions. They simultaneously tried to find adequate cover and space out far enough so that no areas of the ship were left vulnerable. The enemy ship drew closer and closer until it was almost sliding against The Revenge .
Yet no men had boarded.
Buttons poked his head up cautiously to look at the other ship more closely.
"...There's no one in there, captains!" he shouted, alarmed.
"What? That can't be right," Ed replied, furrowing his brow.
He slid out from the wall he was hiding behind to get a better look.
Izzy saw the shadow of the rope moving across the deck before he heard anything.
"They're above us!" he shouted, cheating deftly to the side to slice the rope of the pirate who was currently swinging down, rapier aimed to pierce Ed through the skull. The pirate fell to the deck with a solid thud and didn't get back up. Izzy raised his eyes and gritted his teeth as he saw tens of pirates swinging down all around them. He grinned.
Finally. A good fight.
He pivoted to stab a man who was trying to knife him in the back, then kicked another in the chest, knocking him overboard. He caught one's arm mid-swing and wrenched it in the wrong direction, stealing the man's knife in the process. He threw the knife backward over his shoulder, hitting a man in the head with a solid thwack . He could feel the adrenaline in his body, feel the blood rushing through his veins.
This! This was living!
The rest of the crew was struggling to hold off the rival pirates around them. Izzy could tell that many of them were being subdued and incapacitated, their attackers changing their focus to him once they had felled their original prey.
Oh, they saw him as a threat, didn't they?
Good.
He couldn't see much else between his dodges and strikes, but he could just make out Ed standing in front of a terrified Stede, dispatching anyone who dared come his way.
So much for that whole "not killing" thing, eh?
…Good. Very good.
Izzy was getting distracted, and he felt a blade glance off his arm. He hissed sharply, the pain knocking him back to his senses. He knocked his attacker's legs out from under him and the man fell on his sword. Izzy kicked him off and spun around to behead a man that was sneaking up behind him.
Back to the fight.
Forde truly had a massive crew. They just kept coming. Izzy had the awful, sobering realization that without a competent crew to support him, it was him versus thirty or forty others. And he was good, great, the best, even, but there was only so much he could do when he'd been fighting for ten minutes straight and five more men were coming at him at once.
Time slowed, and he realized that he was about to die. He felt everything all at once – the shock, the disgust, the anger, the sadness, the pity, the regret. As his final act, he called on the one thing he thought might save him.
"Edward!"
He met Ed's eyes through all the motion and the violence. Ed's eyebrows shot up and he shouted something back, but Izzy couldn't make it out. He thought it must have been his name. Ed started forward to try to help him, but then Izzy heard something else, and this he could hear as clear as day.
"Ed!"
And this time it wasn't Izzy who had said it, but Stede. It was a choked-out, tense, sob of a noise that somehow broke through everything else. And Izzy watched in terror as Ed tore his eyes away from him and turned around to stab Stede's attacker through the neck.
It was the last thing Izzy saw before he felt the pommel of a sword hit him against the base of his neck.
---
He wasn't out for long, but when he came to, he was on his knees with his hands tied behind his back. So was the rest of the crew. The deck was eerily quiet, though no one had been gagged. Izzy found Ed and saw that he was staring blankly at the ground, eyes unfocused. Stede was sobbing silently, fresh tears covering the dried ones on his cheeks. Lucius and Pete were leaning against one another, shoulders pressed together. Several men stood around them, keeping watch, their leather boots reflecting the sun into Izzy's eyes.
Izzy heard a door slam from somewhere behind him.
"Well, gents, they don't have much in the way of riches, but I did find some rather decadent bedsheets," he heard an unfamiliar voice say. The voice was smooth, rich, and a little posh.
He heard boots thunk against the wood of the deck as the speaker made his way past him. He stopped to stand beside Izzy – Izzy still couldn't see him from his kneeling position. He saw Stede look up at him, a despairing expression on his face.
"No, not those! Those are 1000 thread count!"
"Oh, yes they are ."
He could almost hear the man's smile. He imagined he looked like a cat playing with its prey.
"That's exactly why I'll be taking them."
The man moved past him and Izzy saw him for the first time.
The man's perfectly-shined black leather boots led up into fine cloth trousers cloaked beneath a beautiful, ornate maroon captain's coat. His black gloves were similarly adorned with golden embellishments. The man wore a cravat around his throat and it ruffled in the wind.
The man himself was almost unbelievably beautiful. He seemed utterly out of place on a pirate ship – his long, blond hair flowing down his shoulders and his unblemished skin in contrast to everyone around him. He was also young – he couldn't have been older than thirty.
Was this truly the enemy captain? It couldn't be, could it? This man looked like he'd never fought a day in his life!
"Ah, good, you're awake," the man said, stepping closer.
"I saw your performance out there. Impressive."
It was hard for Izzy to tell if he was being sincere or not – he still had that smirk on his face. After a second, it was clear he was waiting for a response.
"...Thanks," Izzy muttered.
"You're welcome. I also saw how you finally went down. Terrible business, that."
Izzy huffed.
"So you agree? Then I have a proposal for you."
Izzy raised an eyebrow.
"Join me. You're obviously not wanted here."
And that, the way he said it like it was a fact, that made Izzy's heart fall into his stomach. And then it made him furious.
"Fuck you," he spat, sneering.
"Oh, that's interesting, " the man said. He looked genuinely, if mildly, surprised. "That is very interesting indeed! You would stay on a ship to serve a man who turned his back on you? That doesn't seem very wise. Maybe I was wrong about you."
"You don't know him," Izzy rebutted.
"And it doesn't seem as though you know him as well as you thought you did, now does it?"
The man examined his fingernails, looking bored. Izzy ground his teeth together.
"Fuck. You."
"Yes, you've said that already. Maybe one day if you're good, you can follow through with that threat."
The man knelt down in front of him and lifted one hand up to prop up his chin. He tilted Izzy's face from side to side, inspecting him.
"You are rather pretty."
Izzy spat in his face. The man scoffed and stood back up, taking out a handkerchief and cleaning his cheek.
"We'll work on that attitude."
"Like hell we will! I'm not coming with you."
"In case you haven't noticed, you don't have much of a choice," the man pointed out, giving him a condescending look. He folded his handkerchief neatly and put it back in his pocket.
"What makes you think I'm not going to kill you the minute you untie me?"
The man laughed, genuinely surprised.
"Oh, you can certainly try! In fact, I would welcome the excitement! But one does not become as infamous as I without certain… assets, my dear."
"What the fuck does that mean," Izzy replied flatly.
"A magician never reveals his tricks," the man said back, winking at him.
"Edward, you're not going to say anything about this?" Izzy demanded, pivoting as the panic that this was really happening set in.
"Not much I can do, mate. If you can't tell, I'm as indisposed as you are right now."
"Right, ok, fuck you too," Izzy grumbled. "Right, this is happening. Great, bloody great!"
The rival captain ignored Izzy's complaints and began to address his crew.
"Alright, Roland, Hans, get the rest of the cargo I designated earlier. Adi, grab some rations. And Georg, you'll be in charge of…"
He motioned to Izzy.
"I'm sorry, I suppose I never did ask you your name," he said, addressing him again.
"...Izzy. Izzy Hands."
"Izzy? Well, that's not a proper name, now is it? What's your real name, my dear?"
Izzy thought about not giving it to him. He'd heard tales as a lad about faeries and their tricks. And this man looked like a faerie, alright. But something told him the man wasn't going to let this go, so he gave it to him anyway.
"...Israel. Israel Hands," he said after a long moment.
"Much better. Israel," the man said, rolling it around in his mouth. "What a pretty name. Distinguished. Strong."
"My name is Captain Elijah Forde. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I hope you grow to be very happy in my company."
The sentiment was standard and shallow, but the man was still smirking. Israel hated it. It made him feel like the other man knew something he didn't. Like he was just there to play along to some game.
"...Charmed," he muttered back.
Elijah seemed satisfied with that, giving him a nod and turning to instruct his men where to go. Israel lost all the breath in his lungs as he felt himself grabbed and unceremoniously hefted over someone's shoulder.
Before he knew it, he was on Elijah's ship, and they were sailing away from The Revenge . Israel watched Ed the entire time. He never met his eyes.
---
When they were far enough away, Elijah sat Israel down on a crate and undid his bindings. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, Elijah apparently assessing if Israel was going to make any sudden moves. When Israel looked down at his wrists and began rubbing the feeling back into them, Elijah took that as a sign that everything was ok, for now at least.
He walked a few steps away and grabbed a broom that was propped up against a wall, returning and holding it out to Israel. Israel looked up at him, confused and offended.
"The fuck are you handing me that for?"
Elijah rolled his eyes and briefly lowered the broom.
"This is your job now. You're going to be in charge of sweeping up around here. We've grown so quickly as of late that I fear the conditions have suffered for it."
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me. Didn't you go to all the trouble to pick me up because you thought I was good at fighting? Sweeping ain't fucking fighting."
Elijah tensed his jaw.
"Well, Israel, I don't know how things were on your other ship, but there are significant periods of time around here where we aren't actively engaged in battle. And I, for one, expect you to earn your keep. And if that means you sweep, then you're going to fucking sweep. Is that clear?"
Israel was undeterred by the man's change in tone.
"...Crystal," he sneered back.
Elijah held the broom back out to him and Israel grabbed it from him roughly.
"For what it's worth, you won't have to sweep forever. I operate my ship on a merit-based system. If you prove your worth, I'll promote you. Give you access to different roles and responsibilities. More freedom. Special privileges. But you have to earn it. And fighting me at every order isn't a great way to do that."
Israel felt a familiar shiver run its way down his spine. He tried his best to ignore it.
"Got it," he muttered.
"Glad to hear it. Then, I do believe the mess could use a good sweeping up, if you would be so kind."
Israel scoffed but went as ordered.
---
As the days went by, Israel began to notice something.
The first time he noticed it, he had been on his way to kill Elijah in his sleep.
It wasn't honorable, of course it wasn't, but he'd been fucking kidnapped, so anything was fair play, wasn't it? He just wanted to get the fuck out of here, and Elijah was surrounded by his men all day. It had to be at night, while he was sleeping.
As Israel crept closer, scanning his surroundings, he heard the creak of a door opening. He turned just in time to see the shape of a man creeping out of the captain's quarters and back into the crew's quarters. He couldn't tell who it was, but the silhouette seemed too large to be that of the captain himself.
What was going on? Was one of the crew members trying to steal from the captain when he was asleep? Were they also trying to kill him while his guard was down? It didn't seem likely – the crew seemed to like Elijah well enough, even if Israel himself wasn't a fan of him.
Israel closed the remaining distance between himself and the captain's quarters. He cracked the captain's door back open and glanced inside. He couldn't see much through the dark of the night, but he could see the captain lying serenely in bed, moonlight glancing off of his peaceful face and trailing down an exposed neck and sharp collarbone, the smooth planes of his chest. Israel averted his eyes. He could smell the strong, distinct scent of sex in the air. It was clear what had happened here.
He couldn't take it – he recoiled and let the door close again. He couldn't do it. Not tonight. He would try again tomorrow. As he laid down his head that night to rest, he tried not to think too deeply about what, exactly, about the situation had given him pause.
The next day was more of the same.
And the day after that.
Every night, the captain had one of his men leaving his room. Israel had learned to identify them, over time. It seemed the captain had about six or seven men on rotation, though not all were seen in equal measure. Russell was a popular choice. Dené as well. Israel wondered what about them made Elijah choose them more frequently than the others.
And then, all of a sudden, Israel had a thought that chilled him to his core.
Was this one of the "special privileges" that Elijah had spoken of? Was this something he had offered to him?
That was it, Israel decided. He was going to kill Elijah tomorrow, in plain daylight, before this farce could devolve any further.
–--
Despite his commanding presence, Israel had never once seen Elijah wield a weapon. He was the type that relied on his men to do all of the heavy lifting for him – all of the fighting, all of the manual labor, all of the chores. This boded well for an ambush, Israel thought. He could get the captain first, then make his way through the rest of the crew. He knew he could do it – he held his own successfully in their first fight – and now he was going to be the attacker. He had the element of surprise on his side and he knew the ship by now. There weren't any places anyone could hide.
So, he went about the day as normal, waiting for a moment to strike. He saw his opportunity when Elijah walked past him to speak to another crew member on the other side of the ship, leaving his back exposed. He slipped his knife out and aimed for the middle of the man's back, lunging forward.
And then he was on the ground and his shoulder was sizzling and steaming and he could feel blood soaking through his shirt and pooling around him and he saw Elijah standing over him, pistol, still smoking, in hand. And he wasn't smirking, this time.
"Oh, Israel," he said. "Now why on earth would you do something like that?"
He stowed his pistol underneath his coat and ordered some of his men (who had come running when they'd heard the commotion) to get some medical supplies from the stores. He did his best to staunch the bleeding while he was waiting, placing both of his hands on Israel's shoulder and applying pressure firmly.
"I know, of course," he continued, calmly. "You want off of here. Of course you do. But I have to say, I am disappointed that you underestimated me. Or did you just choose not to believe me? I did warn you that something like this would happen, after all."
Israel couldn't say anything, his mind too focused on trying to stay somewhat lucid through the pain.
"Well, no matter," he said, like a crewman making an attempt on his life was nothing. "As long as you don't try something like this again. After all, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, hmm?"
The look in his eyes was ice-cold, in shocking contrast to his tone. He didn't need to say, "Next time I won't miss." His expression was enough to imply it. Israel knew now, in this moment, why this man was the captain. Though he may not show it in the way Israel was used to, through boastful bravado and daring escapades, he was powerful, nonetheless. He reminded him of a lion, prowling just outside of view, calculating the perfect moment to strike. Israel swallowed, mouth dry.
"I'm glad you understand," Elijah said, smiling acerbically.
The men finished bringing the medical supplies over and Israel was surprised to see Elijah take off his gloves and roll his sleeves up.
"Right. Let's get you fixed up, then. You don't need to stay awake for this. In fact, if I were you, I wouldn't. This is going to hurt rather badly."
That was all Israel needed to hear before he let himself succumb to the beckoning call of unconsciousness.
---
Israel's recovery was not restful.
He dreamt of that moment over and over again. The sudden, searing pain. The shock of it all. He berated himself for being so foolish, so blind. The man had pistols on his flag for fuck's sake! Of course he'd have a fucking gun!
So, he dreamt about being shot.
And then, when his mind tired of beating itself up, he dreamt of Ed.
And that was just torture of a different kind, wasn't it? Because as soon as he remembered the waves of his beard, the sprawling canvas of his tattoos, the sheen of his leathers, he would remember that none of it was for him.
He hated his mind for replaying their memories together. Their first victory as a team, after which Ed had given him the ring he now wears around his neck, one of the spoils from their conquest. The soft glow around Ed's face when he told him he couldn't run the ship without him. The sharp prick of the needle against his skin as Ed tattooed a cross by his eye.
You're my eyes, Izzy, he'd said. Together, we can see it all. That's what all those other captains out there don't have. They don't have you.
And you're my captain, Israel had said back, placing a hand over the one that was cupping his cheek. You're the only one I'll ever serve. I promise you that.
All of that. And all for nothing.
And then Ed's eyes changed into icy blue ones and his hair turned straight and blond and it was Elijah cupping his face, not Ed, and he hated his mind even more for that. He hated it because, here, Elijah's smirk and his proximity and his fucking bare hands weren't intimidating or annoying, they were almost… intimate.
How has that promise gone for you, Israel, he teased, leaning closer. I think there is another captain you'd rather like to serve.
He could feel warm breath on his cheek as Elijah spoke next.
And maybe this captain could give you what you really want.
---
When Israel had regained a decent amount of mobility in his left arm again, he was put back on sweeping duty. He grumbled about it again, of course, but both he and Elijah were aware that Israel had gained a newfound respect for his station.
And so, Israel swept.
And he did a good job of it, or at least he thought so. Elijah thought so, too – he'd offered him things like a day off every week or an extra portion of rations at mealtime. He'd even teased a promotion to something less labor-intensive.
But he hadn't offered… that …yet.
Israel tried not to be too preoccupied with this line of thinking, but when he was making his nightly rounds and saw man after man leave Elijah's chambers, it was hard not to be offended. Had Elijah changed his mind about that aspect of the arrangement? Decided Israel wasn't the right material for it? Too old, too grizzled, too closed-off? Was it something that he'd done? Something he hadn't?
He almost thought about confronting him about it, but what would he say? Hey, I noticed you haven't asked me to fuck me yet, why not? No, that conversation was decidedly not going to happen.
And so, Israel swept. And swept. And swept some more.
—
About three weeks into Israel's service onboard Athena's Pride, he heard the lookout shout "Ship ahoy! Starboard side, captain. Don't think they've seen us yet! Looks like The Red King to me!"
Elijah looked up and smiled from his place on the deck.
"Thank you, Russell. Good spotting! We'll sing a song in your honor tonight!" he shouted.
Israel rolled his eyes. He had only barely finished before Elijah clapped his hands together and turned to look at him.
"Israel," he said, expression mischievous. "How would you like to do something other than clean tonight?"
Israel tried not to get visibly excited.
"I think I would like to do my bloody job and murder a bunch of fucking pirates, yeah," he replied.
"I thought so," Elijah said, smile widening. "Though I would prefer that you only incapacitate, not murder. I prefer to keep my crews alive so that I can use them again in the future. There's no sense only looting a ship once when you can do it over and over again, certainly? Do you think you can do that for me, Israel?"
"And what do I get, if I go along with your way of doing things," he asked before he could stop himself.
"I never took you as one to be so motivated by extrinsic rewards, Israel!" Elijah answered, teasing. He smirked at him as though Israel's question had not shocked him at all, as if he'd been anticipating it. Israel felt naked and uncomfortably seen.
"But suffice it to say I think you'll be very interested in what I have to offer," he continued, lip rolling up to show a canine.
"We'll see," he said.
Elijah scoffed.
"Oh, we will," he agreed. "Does that mean I have your word, then? You'll capture the ship through non-lethal means?"
Israel grunted, and they both knew that was a "Yes".
"Perfect," Elijah said, and began to pace. "Then let me give you some additional context and I'll explain the plan. This is the third or fourth time I've looted this ship. They're not the brightest, but at this point, they've had plenty of time to figure out how I usually do things."
"So," he added, pausing his pacing. "We're going to do something a little different."
"You see, I want this to be just you and I, Israel. They're going to be expecting the whole crew. They'll be spaced out, and, more importantly, looking up. It should be rather laughably easy to send a small boat over and board below deck. We can take care of anyone we find there and make our way up, one sailor at a time. Once on deck, all it will take is each of us choosing a prudent hiding place. We can lure them over one-by-one until none are left. And if we get them all, we can be in and out before they even wake up!"
"So, Isreal, what do you think?"
"...Not really the sneakin' type," he muttered.
"I could always choose someone else if you're having second thoughts," Elijah offered. It almost sounded like a threat.
Israel inhaled deeply through his nose, mouth tight around the corners.
"But I'll… try, " he droned, making it sound like the chore it was.
"That is all I ask, my dear," Elijah replied, coming over to him and patting him gently on the cheek. "Now come on, help me get the boat ready. The sooner we go, the sooner we can catch them off-guard."
Elijah walked away without waiting for his answer. Israel's face felt noticeably colder in the place where Elijah had touched him, cold sea air highlighting the absence of his heat. He tried not to shiver. He failed.
---
The mission went…well. Surprisingly well, actually. So well, in fact, that Elijah had pulled him to the side after they returned, pockets full of treasure, and asked him to meet him in his chambers later that night.
"Is this about the reward I was promised?" Israel had asked.
"But of course," Elijah had replied with a smirk.
"I look forward to seeing you later," he added, resting his hand gently on Israel's upper arm. "But for now, please enjoy the festivities."
He squeezed once, and disappeared into the crowd of drunk, celebrating crewmen.
Israel had never been the extroverted type. Waiting for the hours to pass while being bumped into by intoxicated idiots was not his idea of fun, especially now. All he could think about was what was to come and what had already been.
Although the invasion of The Red King had been a success, Israel couldn't help but wish that it had gone less well than it had. Now, all of his thoughts were plagued with memories of Elijah's graceful, catlike movements, his skill at sneaking up behind enemies and knocking them out without making a sound. The smile he would give Israel every time he did so. The look of almost possessive pride he wore when Israel followed orders and did the same. The pounding of blood in his ears, the thrill of trying to remain undiscovered. The feeling of their bodies against each other as they had to make a sudden retreat, hiding in a shallow alcove as a sailor walked past.
He was tortured, hyperfixated. The confrontation he knew was coming certainly didn't help.
He wondered how it would all play out. Would Elijah kiss him the moment the door was shut? Force him to his knees? Get on his knees himself? Would they talk first, ease their way into it? Pretend like it wasn't happening?
That was worse, to Israel. He would much prefer that Elijah be straightforward with him. Rough. He knew what to do in a situation like that. If he didn't want it, he could knee the guy in the crotch and stab him. If he did, he could take control and make sure it was enjoyable for himself.
And that begged the question: did he want this? A stupid question, Israel thought to himself immediately after. Of course not. It was naive to trust another person like that, to let your guard down around them. Not to mention that he was a hostage here. Only an idiot would make themselves so vulnerable to their captor.
So, as the celebration wound down and the crew started to turn in for bed, Israel hardened his mind to whatever awaited him. He took note of the knife on his thigh, the other one in his boot. He walked up to the door of the captain's quarters and knocked.
He was ready.