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Jack woke up to the sound of a steady beeping somewhere above him. As his brain comes back online he knows three things: he’s in a hospital, his left arm is worryingly numb and heavy, and his husband is fast asleep curled up in a chair at his bedside. Izzy’s been crying based on the red splotches under his eyes, probably from rubbing at them too harshly. He’s still got most of his makeup from last night’s show on, but he’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and his hair is a rat’s nest. Probably because of that newbie stagehand taking his outfit off wrong, Jack thinks to himself, feeling triumphant about solving the first mystery.
The second and third almost immediately take the wind out of his sails. His right arm has all the usual IVs and monitors hooked up. His left arm sends a shiver down his spine. It’s covered from fingertip to shoulder in bandages and it smells weird. Like some kind of lotion and-no. The machine above him starts beeping rapidly and he feels like he can’t fucking breathe. It’s the acrid, thick scent of burnt skin and hair. His burnt skin and hair. Izzy’s awake in an instant, slowly climbing onto Jack’s lap.
“Jack, love, breathe for me.” Izzy’s voice is low and soothing, pulling his focus. Their eyes lock as Izzy keeps encouraging him to breathe deeply and slowly until his heartbeat finally slows down. A nurse enters the room to check on him and is promptly waved off by Izzy. The nurse doesn’t leave, instead, he steps closer to Jack’s bed.
“Sir, I need to check his vitals. The alarm went off for his room.” Izzy’s head whips over to glare at him.
“He’ll be fine, he’s just panicking. Fuck off.” The nurse holds his hands up and backs out of the room. Izzy can hear him muttering something about his piss-poor attitude under his breath but he doesn’t care. Jack’s finally somewhat relaxed despite the circumstances. Izzy lays down on his right side, mindful of all the tubes and wires. It’s a tight squeeze even with how small he is but the weight and pressure soothe them both. Jack tries to speak, but his mouth feels incredibly dry. Izzy presents him with a cup of water and helps guide the straw into his mouth. It’s ice cold, soothing the rough achy feeling.
“What happened?” Jack’s voice is still hoarse like he just smoked some of Ed’s insanely strong weed. All he remembers is doing his act as usual, watching the start of Izzy’s, and then pain and darkness followed by the sound of sirens and Izzy yelling. Izzy’s got that far-away look in his eyes that he only gets when something bad happened, bad enough that he’d rather tuck it away and never talk about it. Bad shit happens a lot in their line of work, par for the course when you’ve been in the game for as long as they have. Technical errors, the audience not getting the jokes, shit weather, newbies who miss their call times. Jack and Izzy have seen it all so for it to be something that Izzy can’t speak of truly worries him. He feels Izzy take a deep shuddering breath and then looks up at him. It’s then that he finally notices Izzy’s entire right hand is also bandaged. Jack’s sick to his stomach, reaching for it and pulling it close to him.
“Izzy, please.” He pleads between dry coughs. “What happened?” Izzy takes another breath; Jack can see the struggle in his eyes as he tries to figure out how to say it.
“I don’t know how it started, but during my act the tent caught fire.” Izzy lifts his bandaged hand up. “You saved me.” The memories hit Jack hard like when his lion, Calico, tackles him as part of his routine.
Hornigold, their ringmaster, just called ten minutes until showtime. Izzy’s putting the final touches on his makeup for the night: painting the tiny x on his cheekbone and his signature crimson lip. No one in the audience ever sees it, but he doesn’t paint it on for them. The very reason why he does it is currently resting his head on his shoulder as he’s smoking his pre-show joint and blowing the smoke right in his face.
“Fuck off, Jack” He warns. “You’re going to give me a contact high and you’re fogging the mirror. Jack pretends to listen as usual. Izzy doesn’t really need the mirror to help him paint, he’s been doing the same face ever since he and Jack joined the troupe. But it’s the principle of the thing.
“Oh come on, doll. You know your face and your act by heart now.” Jack drawls, taking another hit that completely fogs the mirror. Izzy gives him as much of a dirty look as he can. He hasn’t set his makeup yet and he doesn’t want it to smear.
“My face and my act take finesse and focus and I’ll lose that if I get as stoned as you.” Jack’s free hand flies to his chest and he gasps in mock offense. Izzy rolls his eyes as he’s applying his powder, picking up more than he needs and laughing when it has the intended effect of making Jack sneeze and choke.
“Rackham, you’re on!” Hornigold calls. Jack shrugs and puts out his joint in the ashtray Izzy keeps at his station for him. He blows Izzy a kiss before he walks off to take the stage. Izzy’s not up for about another hour, but he still gets on his costume, a rhinestoned and sparkly emerald leotard, so he can watch Jack’s show from the sidelines. He’s still warming up the crowd, doing little tricks with his whip before they roll Calico’s cage out. It’s still mesmerizing to Izzy, watching the two dance around each other as Jack cracks his whip to maintain the distance between them.
Before he knows it it’s almost his call time. He sticks around for just a moment to watch the start of the grand finale: Jack getting Calico to stand on his hind legs and walk around the stage with a ball balanced on his nose. The lights go out as the stagehands do their last checks on the tightrope. Jack comes bounding toward him and pulls him into his arms. He lifts Izzy’s left hand and kisses the spot where his ring would normally sit. Everyone knows they’re married, they’re even advertised as such and Hornigold intentionally sets their acts back to back. But they never wear their rings when performing, being a touring circus increases the chances they’ll lose them forever.
“You ready, baby?” Jack always asks that before he goes on as if there’s ever a moment when Izzy’s not ready. Even now when his hair’s more gray than black and he’s lost some of his good looks, one of the very few things he and Jack disagree about, he’s truly the best of the best.
“I dunno, Jack, you tell me.” Izzy snips at him. “Only been doing this since I learned how to walk.” Jack chuckles and squeezes him tight before stepping away.
“Break a leg, doll!” He calls as Izzy walks towards the lift. He’s focused, so much so that he barely hears Hornigold’s introduction. The moment it finishes he feels the heat of the spotlights on him and the show begins. The crowd oohs and aahs as he effortlessly walks the tightrope. He always pretends to falter in the middle to induce suspense. Out of nowhere, a commotion breaks out and he sees stagehands run out and wave for him to come down. He’s confused until he smells something burning. He can’t tell where it’s coming from, just that it’s somewhere in the tent. As he’s lowered to the ground he sees flames licking the fabric of the tent and spreading fast. The scaffolding holding it up starts to burn and warp. He’s replaying the argument he had with Hornigold months ago that any circus worth their salt would use metal and not wood for exactly this reason. The cheap bastard.
It starts to fall around him as it burns, and the crowd screams in terror as they flee. Some use the regular exits, others jump the divider between the seats and the stage and run past. Enough of the crowd bumps into him as they run; he stumbles over his feet and starts to fall forward. He ends up hitting the floor, feeling the hardwood hit his chin and his jaw clacks uncomfortably. More and more run over him and make it hard for him to get back up so he can run too. He hears Jack yelling his name and panic sets in. He’s surrounded by flames, cut off from any possible exits. A piece of burning wood in front of him is lifted up and Jack knelt before him. He’s clearly running on pure adrenaline and worry, ignoring the fact that his hand is burnt and the sleeve of his costume has caught fire.
He rips his shirt off to snuff enough of the flames out, inadvertently showing off the burnt flesh and wafting the scent through the air. He hauls Izzy onto his shoulder and carries him out to a parking lot full of ambulances and fire trucks. He collapses from the pain the moment Izzy’s back on his feet. Izzy grabs him immediately, biting back the groan of pain when he realizes that he’s trying to support Jack’s weight with his own burnt hand. He sees a paramedic rush past and waves her over.
“Help us! My husband and I were injured!” He yells to her. She waves some other paramedics over and they get Jack onto a stretcher. Izzy starts to chase after them but is stopped by her. She points to his hand and says something he can’t hear over the roaring in his ears, the voice in his head yelling at him to follow Jack. As he’s being forced onto a stretcher he grabs one of them by the collar of their uniform with his uninjured hand.
“You fuckers better make sure you take us to the same hospital or I’ll kill you.” He snarls before he too passes out.
Izzy’s head droops down to rest on his chest as he finishes telling him everything. Jack’s hand cradles the back of his head, his thumb runs soothing circles into it. Izzy’s started to cry again, taking the rest of his makeup with it.
“So what do we do now?” Jack asks. Izzy shrugs as best he can in his position.
“They told me I can leave whenever I want, ‘s just my hand. I was only in the ER for maybe an hour or two.” He whispers. “But you’re gonna be here for a while, dunno how long, so I’m staying put. They’ll have to kill me or arrest me to get me outta here.” Jack knows that even with an injured hand Izzy will still fight tooth and nail if they try, which is why he ordered it that way. A new question hits him, sending him into a panic again.
“Fuck, baby, where’re our rings?” Izzy shushes him and shuffles around in the pocket of his sweatpants. He rises up so he's back in Jack's lap and unfurls his hand. They’re resting in his palm when Izzy presents them to Jack. He flops back onto the pillows and sighs in relief. Izzy smirks at him as he twirls them in his hands.
“Gonna take a lot more than that to leave me, Rackham.” He leans down to softly kiss him, careful to brace himself using the bed and not Jack’s shoulder. Jack smiles into it and awkwardly wraps him in his arms.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Hands. You’d have to throw me into the flames yourself and even then I’d keep coming back for you.” Izzy hums, the vibration tickles Jack’s skin and makes his heart soar. It’s a reminder that he’s alive, that they’re alive and he intends to keep it that way.
“Probably gonna have to marry me again, Jack.” He says it jokingly as if Jack wouldn’t marry Izzy every damn day if they had the money and time. Jack hands his ring back to Izzy. He looks at him in confusion until he realizes he still has his. Tears well up in his eyes. Jack tries to wipe them with one hand but Izzy bats his hand away.
"Well, then let's go call that…what's that priesty dude they have here?"
"A Chaplin, love. But that's for if you're dying."
"I am dying. Dying to relive our wedding night." He makes an aborted thrusting motion, not having much mobility sucked for a man as constantly horny as he is.
"Fuck you, Jack." He slips his ring back on anyway. Kisses him anyway, like there's no tomorrow. There is none, not if they're torn apart like they almost were. They don't say it, but if one of them died in the fire, the other wouldn't have been long for this world.
Izzy Hands is mine , assholes. He thinks to himself, hoping whatever god is fucking around up there gets the message. Can't have us yet, not while I'm still kickin' around.