Chapter Text
The worst part, Izzy decided, was not the manacles.
His wrist hurt every time he moved, but that could be dealt with. It was only pain, after all, and he had plenty of experience gritting his teeth through much worse than a little bruise under cold metal. He was in a tent, sitting in the sand, not crammed into a holding cell or locked away somewhere too small to breathe. Probably still in Nassau. He wasn't hungry, so he doubted he had been unconscious for long. His head still throbbed, courtesy of a fucking surprise attack.
Izzy should have seen it coming. But he hadn't, and now dull pain stretched over his skull like thirst. That, too, was something he knew he could survive. Drifting through the doldrums, desperately hoping for wind while rations were halved every day was worse than this. Getting seized off the street was humiliating, but survivable.
The man beside him shifted, digging the metal cuff further into Izzy's wrist. His arm was warm; his voice was infuriating. He had not stopped talking since Izzy woke up with a splitting headache, no weapons, and no way to escape.
"This is unbelievably rude," said Bonnet.
Of course he would treat being abducted like someone at a fancy dinner party didn't match his bizarre standards for manners. Fucking hell. Izzy didn't know if that was better than Bonnet panicking and losing his damn mind, but this awful confidence was turning his fucking stomach.
"Was the bondage really necessary?" Bonnet muttered, for probably the fifth time.
They sat in the sand right next to each other, facing opposite directions, and shared a set of iron manacles around their right wrists. The cuffs were connected by a short chain, so they constantly touched, no matter how far Izzy tried to wriggle away. Another longer chain kept them hitched to a pole in the middle of the tent. The pole was buried too deeply to move; Izzy had already tried several times. The tent was tied shut and the canvas was too thick to see shadows through. If they were under guard, no one was saying a word.
Izzy strained his ears, trying to listen. All he could hear was Bonnet's muttering and the tide. Close to the water, then. But where? Nowhere near town, since Nassau was rambunctious enough to hear from miles away. There was always something going on, at all hours. When he first woke up, Izzy assumed they were a bit further down the main beach, where everyone from whores and merchants to random pirates looking for a safe place to rest gathered to sell their wares, sleep, or dance and drink around a fire.
But there was nothing. Just the water and the most annoying man in the world.
"I hope someone will be along shortly," said Bonnet, raising his voice even louder. Izzy grimaced. "Because this is unacceptable treatment! I am a captain of a ship that does plenty of business with the good criminals of Nassau, and I—"
"Shut the fuck up," Izzy snapped.
Bonnet glanced at him, mouth pulled back in a sneer. "I will not."
"I swear to—"
"I'm the only one nearby you can swear to." Bonnet leaned closer, like he was sharing a secret. "You can curse me, if that would make you feel better."
There was a fleet of crude, piercing insults on his tongue, just waiting, but Izzy kept his mouth shut. If Bonnet was expecting them, then saying it wouldn't be any fun. Just another item in the long list of things that Bonnet continued to ruin since he came back from the dead and inserted himself back into Izzy's life.
"You haven't done a thing since you woke up," said Bonnet. With a little head tilt that he had probably practiced in the mirror half a dozen times, he asked, "What do you intend to do about our predicament?"
"Nothing," Izzy hissed.
Not yet, anyway. They couldn't even break their manacles. Izzy's sword and pistol had been taken while they were unconscious. Someone had searched him, since the knives in his boots were gone. The bastards had even taken his ring. Thinking about the empty pit at his throat made Izzy queasy, so he didn't. It was unlikely that he would ever see that ring again. They probably planned on selling it, since they'd taken all of Bonnet's jewelry, too, and his fancy coat.
There really was nothing they could do but wait. Whoever captured them clearly needed them for something, since they were still alive. Izzy needed to know who took them and why and what they wanted and just how far they were willing to go to get it—and he had to know all of that before he even thought about how to escape. He had to do this safely and cleanly and right.
One chance. No mistakes. Not a single one.
"Nothing," Bonnet repeated. His voice rang like a fucking bell, throbbing in Izzy's ears. "Nothing?"
"Nothing," said Izzy.
"I don't—"
"You don't. Shut the fuck up."
"I refuse."
"Please," Izzy added, which made Bonnet blink and frown. "We're stuck like this, so we'll deal with it. But if I have to listen to you chirping about everything under the fucking sun, I swear, I will—"
"Don't bother threatening me," said Bonnet, wiggling his fingers. The chain jangled. "You won't want to haul around a corpse. And besides, Ed would never forgive you."
Even after months of sailing around with Bonnet again, hearing Edward's name said so casually still made something cold and awful twist in Izzy's chest. That was just another thing Bonnet did easily, as if such a gift was free to take—and it was, apparently, since Edward had given Bonnet his name, his time, and his fucking heart. A fragile, delicate thing, and only Bonnet's to hold.
Of course Edward wouldn't forgive him.
"You understand," said Bonnet, because he was a smug fucking prick.
From outside, someone said, "Careful, Mr. Bonnet."
A man. He flicked the canvas aside and stepped in, hands resting on the pistol and sword tucked into his belt. Not anyone Izzy recognized. Middle-aged, plain, skin weathered by the sun. Simple clothes: trousers, shirt, boots. Brown hair down to his shoulders and the start of a beard around his jaw. Tattoos on his arms and chest and holes in his ears. A pirate, obviously.
"It's Captain Bonnet, actually," said Bonnet primly.
"You're in here with Blackbeard's dog," said the stranger, as if Bonnet hadn't said a word. "And the thing about dogs is, they might bite." He ruffled Izzy's hair and scratched under his jaw, cooing, "Good boy."
Izzy jerked away, bile rising in his throat, and spat. The stranger looked at him for a long, cold moment, then struck him across the face.
"Oh," said Bonnet, flinching. He made a sympathetic sound, then added, "Now, wait, just a moment—"
"Shut it," said the stranger, grabbing Bonnet by the hair and yanking his head back. "I'm only going to say this once, so listen close. Both of you are bait. That's all you are. You are here to lure Blackbeard off his ship. We have plans for the big man. He doesn't go anywhere without one of you, so I know he'll come looking. If you behave, we'll let you walk once he's in our custody."
They wouldn't, of course. Izzy never trusted anyone to keep their word, especially a pirate.
"Do you understand?" the stranger demanded.
"I do, yes," said Bonnet. The panicked fear on his face was gone, replaced by something more open and inviting. "What's your name, sir?"
"Gideon Rickett," the pirate said, to Izzy's surprise.
Shit. They really weren't supposed to survive this little encounter. He looked at the sword on Gideon's belt, wondering how frustrating it would be to use a sword with his left hand. It had been years since he fought properly with both, but that had to be easier than dragging Bonnet's arm along with him.
"Gideon," said Bonnet, like he was rolling the name around on his tongue. "Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Stede Bonnet—"
"I know," Gideon said slowly.
"—and this is Israel 'Izzy' Hands—"
"Yeah, I know," Gideon said.
"—and we have one little question for you, if you wouldn't mind."
Gideon stared at Bonnet, who waited with all the patience he usually lacked. He was quiet and still, except for his fingers tapping along the pole next to Izzy's hand. Gideon tipped his head to the side, squinting.
To be honest, it was nice to see another person lose their balance around Bonnet. From the day they met, Izzy had started off every conversation on the wrong foot and stayed that way. Lost. Always a step behind and a day late. At first, Izzy thought it was a bit like trying to keep up with Edward, who was just too brilliant to follow half the time, but he had quickly realized that Bonnet was just frustrating. Irritating. Self-absorbed and ridiculous, playing by a different set of rules than everyone else around him.
Finally, Gideon said, "What is it?"
"Ah, thank you," said Bonnet. "What do you need Ed for, exactly?"
The hesitation visibly left Gideon's face, like he was peeling off a mask. He twisted his fingers tighter in Bonnet's hair, scowling, and yanked.
"That is none of your concern," Gideon hissed.
"It is, though," said Bonnet, as if they were discussing this over tea. No man had ever looked comfortable sitting like that, neck craned so far back, but Bonnet nearly managed it. "Do you need his help with something? I'm sure he would meet with you without…" With his free hand, he gestured vaguely around the tent. "All this."
Gideon glanced at Izzy. "Is he always this fucking stupid?"
"Usually, yeah," said Izzy.
"Actually, I'm rather intelligent," said Bonnet. His eyes drifted towards Izzy and narrowed. "You of all people should know that. I've outsmarted you a few times, haven't I? The day we met. Not to mention our duel—"
"You dueled Izzy fucking Hands?" Gideon demanded.
"I won, too," Bonnet said.
Was it possible to perish from too much anger? Izzy's entire face hurt from clenching his jaw so hard. The blood rushing to his head certainly wasn't helping. “Fuck off,” he said, through gritted teeth.
"Shit, you did," Gideon said, laughing. He patted Bonnet's cheek, almost affectionately. "Well done."
"Oh, thank you," said Bonnet, beaming.
"Technically," Izzy hissed. "Technically, you won."
"Still a win!" Bonnet sang.
"If you hadn't—"
"Made a fool of you?"
"You cheated," Izzy said. "Keep talking, and I'll stab you again."
Bonnet laughed. "With what sword?"
Izzy snarled and slammed their manacled hands into Bonnet's nose. He made a pitiful sound, a squeaking, "Ah!" and slumped sideways, cowering under his free hand. Gideon stumbled a bit with him, clearly off-balance, and Izzy saw a chance.
He launched himself sideways, like he was chasing after Bonnet, and collided with Gideon's legs. As quickly as he could, Izzy swung with a fist, aiming for the back of a knee or his balls—and missed, as Gideon stepped aside and out of reach. Bonnet, no longer held up by his hair, fell backwards into the sand with another squeak.
A mistake. A fucking mistake. There was only a short distance between Izzy and Gideon, but it could have been an ocean. He could not cross it.
"Fuck," Izzy muttered.
Gideon drew his pistol and aimed it at Bonnet's forehead. Nausea churned in Izzy's gut. He strained against the chains, cursing, hoping, fucking praying that Gideon wouldn't do this, because Edward—
"Shit," said Bonnet, the word high and tight in his throat. His hands flew up, taking one of Izzy's with him. Some outside force yanked Izzy's eyes to the surprising, visible strength in his arms. "I apologize. He had to try. You understand that, don't you?"
The pistol swung over towards Izzy, who lifted his chin.
"Please don't," said Bonnet quickly. "Izzy won't apologize, because that would require admitting fault and I think his heart would give out if he tried that, but—but he is. He is sorry. And if he isn't, I am on his behalf. Please don't hurt him."
Hearing Bonnet beg for his life filled Izzy with something like shame. He was the one who was supposed to be in charge here; Bonnet was under his protection. The feeling squirmed around his belly until he could almost taste it in the back of his throat. He swallowed and kept his eyes on Gideon, hoping to hold his attention.
"Please," said Bonnet again, softer.
Gideon didn't lower his pistol. "This is a warning. We only need one of you. You cause problems again, and I'll make you choose which one dies."
"I," Bonnet started to say, but he fell silent when Gideon looked at him.
"FInal warning," said Gideon, and stomped out of the tent. As he yanked the canvas shut, Izzy caught a glimpse of the men waiting outside. Six, all armed. No one he recognized. There were probably more that he couldn't see. Fucking hell.
"God," Bonnet murmured. A small, panicked laugh slipped out of his mouth. He brushed the sand from his clothes, carefully cleaning the frilly white shirt, the loose linen trousers, the stockings, and even the soft shoes. Then, leaning into Izzy’s space, he whispered, "If you're going to do something like that, you ought to tell me first." His mouth was too hot, breath tickling all the way down Izzy's neck. "I could have helped you. I could have—"
"Talked him to death?" Izzy spat. That squirming feeling was back, wriggling up his spine. His shoulder hitched up around his ear. He shoved Bonnet as far as he could with the chain that connected their wrists. "Let me handle this. You'll just get yourself killed, talking like that. Making demands, asking about their intentions. Can you just—for once in your fucking life, can you think before you do something?"
"I understand why you're yelling at me," said Bonnet, in that patient voice he used when he was talking to grown men like they were children. "It's easier to be angry with other people instead of yourself."
"What?" was all Izzy could say to that, because—what? He could do both. For fucking decades, he had done both. He was very fucking good at being angry with himself. "The fuck does that mean?"
"Well, this entire situation is your fault," said Bonnet.
Anger boiled over in Izzy's belly. A terrible, drowning noise rang in his ears, like cannon fire or worse. Slowly, he asked, "You think this is my fault?"
"Obviously," said Bonnet, as if he wasn't the sole fucking reason they were in this mess.
Bonnet was the one who insisted on coming along for a visit to a fence in Nassau: a man by the name of Victor Matthews, who Edward had done business with for years. He would have brought Spriggs, too, if Izzy hadn't threatened to shove something sharp up their dicks. Why Bonnet thought a man who traded stolen goods between empires would want someone writing down all the details of his work was baffling, but no one else seemed to care. No one listened to Izzy anymore. Especially Edward, who had said, "Do I really need to make this an order? Fuck's sake, Iz," and stomped off somewhere to sulk, so Izzy had no choice but to take Bonnet along.
From the moment they set off into town, Bonnet had started asking questions about the market for stolen goods and how it worked, when they first met this particular fence, and if he traded in wholesale goods like sugar and rum or if he took specialized purchases, like gems or political secrets. Izzy was convinced that Bonnet knew the answer to every single one of his infuriating questions, because Edward would have told him anything he wanted to know, but he just kept talking and talking and talking, even when Izzy got in his face and hollered.
And then there was pain and the dark, until Izzy woke up here.
"You distracted me," Izzy said, through his teeth. "I wouldn't have heard a fucking cannon with the way you were yammering. When we die—and we will die, because that's what happens to bait—know that everything that's happened is because of you."
Bonnet's face softened with a gentle smile. He patted the back of Izzy's bound hand with his own. The manacles clinked together.
"Don't worry," Bonnet whispered. "We'll get out of this. I promise."
Izzy yanked his hand away and swore.