ninetoes | Noctium Inbox

How can Ed be trusted? He and Stede didn't really cover this part, and Ed doesn't know the answer. Maybe he can't be. Maybe Izzy should have never trusted him to begin with. Edward certainly doesn't know if Izzy can be trusted either, at this point, given the backstabbing and hiding he's been doing.

Ed shrugs, his hand falling from Izzy’s cheek to his shoulder, resting there. He's silent for a long time as he thinks. "I can't make you trust me, Iz." he mutters shallowly, "All I can tell you is that I'm tired too. We don't have the military chasing us anymore, we aren't on the verge of dying, and we don't have a fucking crew to take our shit out on... so we have no need for the bullshit anymore. I have the opportunity to live authentically for the first time in my fucking life. But I don't know if you'll be happy with that version of me..."

Ed frowns, his hand dropping from Izzy. He fidgets mindlessly with the end of his robe, instead, looking back at Stede, helpless. "I want you... we want you to be here with us. As we are with each other. I've been trying to tell you this whole time, Iz... my promises to you aren't negated by my promises to Stede."

Spanish Jackie has like... a dozen husbands. Why can't Ed have two?

Stede bears witness to all of this in silence, every now and again giving each of them an encouraging smile, though his expression grows noticeably more taut as the conversation grows fraught with hurt and history. There's so much he wants to do or say, so many reassurances he wants to offer them both, but he and Edward had agreed it ought to come mainly from him. And he's so proud of Ed, for being vulnerable toward Izzy despite his fears about it. For overcoming past wrongdoings and being honest about his feelings.

This time, when Ed looks toward him, he breaks into a soft, hopeful smile despite himself. "We want that very much," he reassures Izzy, his hand practically itching to offer itself out to him again, but he refrains. "I know it must seem...idealistic, to you, what we're offering. But I think it could make us all happy. The two of you will have to learn to trust each other again, of course. It won't be easy." But nothing worth fighting for is easy.

He moves to stand between them, Ed on one side of him, Izzy on the other, and lets one hand rest on Ed's lower back, bolstering him. Remind him that he's not alone in all this. "And if we try it, and it turns out we all hate it, well...we can unmake the choice as easily as we made it." He does open his hand now, offering it palm up to Izzy, fully anticipating another rejection but eternally hopefully despite it. "But...you've got to make the choice, first."

Nothing worth fighting for, huh. As if he hasn’t been fighting for This man for twenty years.

But there’s a difference between fighting for Blackbeard and fighting for Edward, isn’t there. Who fucking knew. Here’s Izzy the dickhead thought he was doing both. Maybe wasn’t doing either. What the fuck has he been doing?

Izzy looks at Stede sharply, like he has any fucking right to say anything right now, then at the outstretched hand and remembers the burn of warmth against his face out on the deck not ten minutes ago. It takes the ugly urge to snarl and spit in Stede’s upturned palm and sets it quietly on the back fire. Always an option. Not currently required.

He can’t bring himself to look back at Ed for a moment. His words are still rolling around in Izzy’s brain, picking up shrapnel and barbs as they go.

“Living authentically,” he muses aloud and tongues his teeth, eyes on the middle distance somewhere near Ed’s shoulder. He misses the weight of both these men’s hands on him and feels guilty for even thinking it.

Living authentically. Like everything they’ve done before was a lie. Maybe it was to Ed, what the fuck does Izzy know. Nothing, apparently. It appears they’re strangers. What a fucking twist.

Finally, his eyes snap back to Ed’s. They flick quickly to Stede but it could be in warning, and look back again.

“It must be so nice to set down your very heavy burden at long, miserable last.”

Sounds stressful, Edward.

Oh there’s that bitter taste on the back of his tongue, again. There’s his feet moving to gap the small distance between them.

“What fucking choice have you ever given me? You force my hand, you lose your mind when I do something for myself, the one fucking time, have I not given you everything I am? Haven’t I!? It’s never enough- I will never be enough!”

Voice raised, with enough power that he can see Ed’s hair moving. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. His knees are threatening to buckle, his eyes are burning, so fucking lost that it’s now past funny and looped back round to devastating.

“If you want to be authentic then here I am, everything you’ve made me. Everything I have twisted myself into to please you!”

It’s then Izzy forces himself to take a breath and step back. He’s about to lose it. His grip is nearly lost, he can feel it, red with rage, hands shaking even balled into fists, the way his throat constricts his words into tight, ragged, high.

Has it all been a lie? What new promises, the ones they can’t talk about because That Time doesn’t count? Because That Time is what’s turned Ed against him so brutally? He doesn’t understand. He keeps asking why and nothing makes sense. This isn’t about him or them, this is about Ed being scared of hearing the truth.

“You don’t want me, you just don’t want to lose your dog.”

Edward feels his heart sink through his chest as his words are turned against him. He'd practiced so many times... and in the end he was predisposed to fail, because Izzy would always find a way to hear them wrong and cause them both more hurt. Just like he warned Stede. I told you so wouldn't even be satisfying to say... He'd much rather go nap inside the hot tub again.

There's a moment when Izzy steps close, where Ed feels his chest puff out and his nostrils flare and he thinks he might hit him. Izzy’s argumentative questions make him want to peel his own skin off of his face. He's so fucking tired. When will he ever stop being so fucking tired. He thinks he might cry again. Or worse, punch Izzy in the face. Again.

"For fucks sake, Izzy... do you think you're the only one twisting yourself for another's approval? It's always you, isn't it, Iz? You're never enough. Your hand's been forced. You weren't given a choice. Do you hear yourself man? Open your fucking eyes... you've been forcing me for years to embrace the legends or die. I could only ever be one thing and that thing involved the same fucking plan over and over again with no end in sight. I do something for myself and-- you want to talk about losing my mind??-- you called the fucking English Navy! And you tell me that you wish they'd killed me because I wasn't acting to your liking. So that I would 'twist' myself for fit your expectations of what I should be."

Ed's practically out of breath by the time he finishes unloading all of that. His eyes are wet and his breathing is heavy, and he still looks like he wants to strangle all the air out of Izzy’s throat.

"But I kept doing it because it was all I knew. And that's not the case anymore." He continues after a beat, his voice softer this time, but it still has bite. "It was never about you, Iz: My desire to stop. You never considered stopping with me, did you? I don't fucking need a dog, I need my matelot. I need... I want you. So you have a choice now: abandon us both and throw the last twenty years away- the good and bad, or stay with two people who love you and figure out how make it right."

The urge to snarl and point out that this, right here, Ed ignoring his being upset to highlight his own reasons for being upset, is a huge reason that he is, in fact, upset. And then, before Izzy can put the words together, he's given an ultimatum and slapped in the face with words far too powerful to bandy around.

They mean too much. they have not been applied to him in recent memory- maybe ever. Not like this. Not counting, of course, That Time they can't speak about.

The wind in his sails doesn't drop, but the sails themselves shred to tatters with a squeal of ripping fabric.

For a moment, Izzy is speechless, paralyzed, aghast. For a moment, he looks so scandalized he might set alight. And indeed, there are flames licking in between his knuckles, burning through manna constructed with everyone but Edward.

It's hard, to want to be wanted, and then told you're wanted, but still be so hurt. To not want to throw everything away, but giving in feels like settling his own needs. That's the choice, is it. Yield or what. Yield or lose everything. Yield or always wonder.

"Don't-" it's sharp. The same warning he gave Stede outside. His stomach turns and knots tightly. He feels sick.

"Don't say that word if you don't mean it, do me the barest fucking grace."

Maybe it's not always Edward making it about himself. Maybe sometimes a person needs to highlight that they know exactly how the other is feeling by explaining they've experienced the same thing. Edward isn't well-versed in this emotional maturity shit, okay, this is the best he can do right now. And maybe it's not even a fucking ultimatum... Izzy asked for a choice. Edward has given him one... and if there are any other fucking choices available, anyone else present is welcome to suggest them, but because Izzy Hands seems to only see the world in black and white, Edward doubts they can get any further than this.

It's so fucking infuriating... but Ed promised Stede he wouldn't be aggressive, and he's already teetered that line as it is. Nothing he says is right. He has a feeling even if he spent all the time in the world crafting the most meticulous reply, Izzy would still be able to pick it apart and hear what he wants to hear. It's a skill he seems to have honed far better than even his swordplay.

Edward shakes his head, frustrated. He can't look at Izzy anymore, feet already padding their way back to the piano where he'd been contemplating perhaps the last twenty years of his life. The robe isn't the only thing he'd stolen from Izzy’s room. At the end of the piano, sitting atop the lid, is the open case of Izzy’s violin, the very instrument Edward purchased him while under the spell of their vampirism. Ed likes to think he might have purchased it spell or not, an odd nostalgia for listening to Izzy play.

"You know... when I bought this for you," he murmurs, fingertips tracing the filigree of the instrument, "I was thinking for myself when I did it. Thinking of the man who used to play for me at night aboard The Ranger when our thoughts were too loud for sleep, so we filled the silence with music instead." He thinks he'd do anything to hear that song again, voice dripping with nostalgia and sadness. He turns to look at Izzy again.

"I'm sorry, Iz... I wanted to be more for you than some bewitched dickhead. I wanted to want it for myself, I wanted you to know I wanted it for myself. And when it all ended I didn't know how I'd ever convince you that I meant it. But I do."

An apology from Edward Teach. As rare as cut sapphires and far more priceless. If only it weren't like this. If it weren't happening like this. If it didn't feel like some...hail mary.

He casts Stede a forlorn look, feeling more confused and helpless than ever. It doesn't stop the anger, but confusion becomes the stronger emotion as he watches Edward retreat and take his place by the piano.

And his violin.

The violin he'd come to collect. God knows he doesn't own anything else important. But that.. that one single thing was important enough to come back for and risk this very encounter. It's too nice an item to let it be cast into the water, even if he might deserve it.

Izzy swallows hard and thinks for a moment on who they used to be. Those young, stupid boys working like dogs while they cast their great dreams to the stars. Who knew they could knuckle through for a little longer, just a little bit longer, until the time was right and they'd know freedom of their own. For real. Together.

They've done terrible things. For each other. To each other. Especially to each other.

But he wouldn't change a thing if it meant losing everything. He'd do it all again.

Maybe that's what's really wrong with him. Maybe that's why he doesn't deserve this change. Why he can't trust it's validity.

"You could have told me." he says and hates the breathless note in which it comes out. "Had it occurred to you, that I meant it too? That I have always meant it?"

It's more than that, though, isn't it. There is so much more. So many things and he can barely articulate anything as they all shoot forward to be counted.

"When did we stop being them?" He asks and glances to the instruments. When did it all go wrong?

That's just the thing: for the first time in their entire lives, they are offered that freedom. For real. They don't have to work for it any longer. They don't have to run. They don't have to scrape by and pretend to be the things they're not. That's what Ed has been trying to tell Izzy this whole time, and just failing again and again to get his point across.

"Iz..." he answers, shaking his head. He couldn't have told him. He couldn't have ever told him before now. He knows that as a fact and refuses to go down that rabbit hole of thought, of what-ifs and regrets. There’s no point, now. The longer they linger on the past, the more they'll be hurt by it. Edward isn't naive enough to think that they'll never have to talk through things but he knows they're not going to tackle it all in one night.

His fingers slip under the bow, tucked in the case beside the violin. He flicks it about idly like he might a sword as he moves back across the room to where Izzy is stood, then presses the tip of it to his chest.

"Dunno. But I'd like to learn who you are now, if you're willing enough to learn who I am in return."

It's impossible not to follow the motions of the bow in Ed's hand, half scared he might break it, half scared he might lob it across the room.

Even more scary is the question that comes posed.

Not so much the learning Edward part, though that does come with a whole new set of challenges. Difficult ones. Ones he has been actively fighting against for ages now... but the other part.

Izzy wets his lips and swallows hard. The flames lapping between his fingers dull and extinguish before he folds his arms over his chest. This is pathetic and he knows it. He feels small and he knows it. But since they're here...

"I don't know-" his voice creaks. He doesn't mean it. It's embarrassing. All of this is embarrassing, especially with a witness.

"I don't know who I'm meant I'm meant to be, anymore. When so much of who I am was who you were."

He'll take it. At least Izzy isn't spitting venom anymore, and that was half the battle.

The bow remains trained on him as Edward closes the gap between them. He wants Izzy to take it. A sort of symbolic acceptance, and so his positioning of it changes as he approaches, an offering instead of a threat. The olive branch, let's say.

"Still him, Iz. Still did all the work that got us to this point. That ain't going away. I just don't wanna be locked into a box anymore, you know?" he replies casually, "Still need a first mate if I'm gonna make this ocean mine. But I'd much rather make it ours." He looks at Stede through the side of his eyes for a moment, a hopeful little smirk on his lips. "Right?"

Stede's open hand, offered up a second time, curls back in on itself, and he can only watch, tortured, as Ed and Izzy trade barbs, as the temperature gets measurably hotter in the room in a way that only feels partly due to the heat licking at Izzy's fingertips. At first, it's like watching a particularly high-stakes badminton match; eventually, mercifully, things seem to come to a head, and he can only give the pair of them his most encouraging glances and smiles when they seek him out for support. Ed says the word love and Stede tenses visibly, knowing how Izzy will react, knowing it might break him—

His smile grows a touch morose when Ed retreats to the piano, but when he comes back toward Izzy, holding out that bow like a peace offering, hope stirs in his chest, and this time he's ready. He gives Ed a slow, fond smile, and then looks back at Izzy, tense and creaky with his arms folded tight over his chest. He doesn't offer his hand a third time.

"That's right, my darling." Darlings, he wants to say, but holds himself back. This could all fall apart so easily, delicate, like a jam tart. "Be whoever you like, just...be. With us."

Izzy would feel like a broken record if he knew what that was.

Be whoever he wants to be, well he has been and that hasn't worked out so fucking well for him, has it. Be someone new? He hasn't got the first fucking clue who that guy is. What if he sucks? Rotten things can't heal, they're rotten. What if, Izzy Hands, without Blackbeard and duty and all the intricate ritual he requires to function, is no one at all. What if he isn't someone worth keeping around?

It's too dangerous. The stakes are too high. The cruelest walls are made of glass.

And yet, like an idiot, he takes the bow when offered.

Still a broken record as his mind circles in on itself. Why? Why, why, why?

If he isn't needed to fill the role he has been, if that role is gone, if that life is gone, then why want him at all? Why take to the seas again, why keep doing what they've been doing, isn't that was Edward wants to get away from? Are those promises they made before still valid? Ed says he wants him. Stede says he wants him. But why?!

It just doesn't make sense. They don't love him. No one does, no one could. He isn't the sort you'd waste that on.

It doesn't make sense and he doesn't know where to go from here. Yield or lose everything. Yield or die. It's tempting...but he isn't ready to die. Not quite yet. Not like this, a beggar out in the cold on the streets of a foreign city.

Izzy considers the bow in his hand. All of this, his entire thought process, is fairly visible on his face as he works through it. things need to change but change is so...terrifying.

He swallows again, not feeling entirely inside himself. In himself. Like he's standing just behind as an observer, instead. This isn't defined enough. This whole...thing. What does it mean? What are the rules? How is he supposed to just...be a part of this when he doesn't know what this is or how it applies. How to take that this vague shape of a concept and execute it. But then, if this is what Edward wants. If this will make him happy..

"Yeah," finally. Still creaking. Voice wet. Stede is correct in his assessment, Izzy might just break at any moment.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Ed replies, his own voice cracking, taking on a level of excitement. An okay from Izzy Hands might as well be a resounding yes. "Yes? Okay??"

His hand reaches out, freed of the burden of holding the bow, and thumbs over the mark on Izzy’s cheekbone again. "There he is..." he whispers, leaning in until his lips are pressing to it, his hands falling instead to pull his First Mate in. It's the sort of affection Edward might have given him when they were younger but has long forgotten how, but he's so fucking excited to have Izzy back that it's second nature. "There's my Izzy..."

As Izzy’s pulled close, Edward looks to Stede over his shoulder, eyes wet and lips mouthing a silent 'Thank you'.

That's the difference between Stede and Izzy. Izzy has to know why. Stede doesn't particularly care why, only that he wants it. That any of them should have what they want, because life's far too short to be offered it and choose to be miserable, instead.

He watches Izzy take that bow, watches it all play over his face, and only realizes he's holding his breath when his lungs begin to ache. But he doesn't say anything else, giving Izzy the space to make up his mind, his fingers clenched tight into the hems of his dressing gown sleeves.

Okay. Not so long ago, he'd said the same words to Ed, shell-shocked and nervous and uncertain. His thudding heart aches for Izzy, for the wet sound of his voice, but above all he feels relieved. 'Yeah, okay,' is a damn sight better than the 'fuck you both and the ship you sailed in on' he'd expected. He watches with warmth blooming in his chest as Ed pulls Izzy in for an embrace, gives Ed a misty-eyed smile and a nod in return. He almost wants to leave, wants to give them their moment, but first...

He takes a tentative step toward the pair of them, and lays a gentle hand over the small of Izzy's back, over the gap between his waistcoat and trousers covered only by the worn weave of his shirt. Just as Izzy had done to him, weeks ago. A reminder of his presence, that the feelings he'd expressed up on deck remain steadfast. After a moment, the touch falls away, and he steps back toward the door.

"I'll just...leave you two to it, shall I?"

Izzy nods, but only slightly as he pushes his face into Edward's touch. He holds the bow down at his side, other hand finally raising to his captain- oldest friend- matelot's hip where it rests.

Really, who was he kidding. How could he ever tell Ed no like this?

There had been a brief hum of energy when Stede touched him. That same hum is lacking still in this embrace. He doesn't know why. It's driving him mad. Izzy has submitted, is that not good enough to heal the rift? Apparently not. It sits sourly in the back of his mouth.

The difference is, perhaps, that Stede asked Izzy what he wants. Edward hasn't. Not about this. Not about anything in a long time. They are exhausted. They are ragged. they are running out of rope and fast. there's just enough left to hang and...god that sounds like the worst use of it.

Izzy waits until he hears Stede leave, until the door closes behind him and it's just them. Alone. He isn't sure if that's safer or not. Historically, not. Should he offer sex? Would that even help or would it just point out how broken they are even more?

"If you met me now for the first time," he asks quietly, unwilling to pull away. Unable to speak eye to eye, "would you even look twice?"

Edward doesn't feel it either, and it's troubling, but he hasn't used all his tricks, yet. Stede and he had discussed the possibility of it not coming back just yet, and Edward promised not to get discouraged... he hasn't, yet. He refuses to.

Stede leaves and if Edward is honest with himself, he's afraid too. Not necessarily of Izzy, moreso himself. He had practiced everything up to now with Stede's help. This is uncharted territory. He could screw this up, yet.

Izzy’s question makes Ed think. He doesn't know the answer. He thinks he would, he knows Yes is likely the answer that Izzy would want to hear, but he can't say. Ed doesn't know that his fascination with men is physical at first, but given he's also recently slept with a man that looks like a sentient testicle, it's probably not.

"Think so..." he muses. "Depends."

Ed pulls back, head dipping to the side to look Izzy in the eye. He's worried he's answering this too casually, but hopefully Izzy sees it's authenticity for what it is.

"Do you buy me a drink or get feisty with me? Call me a twat?" he asks with a smirk, "I like a guy with a fire in his belly but..." Ed scoffs, "I'd get a drink for sure. You've got great tits."

Izzy groans and opens his eyes just enough to roll them, even if Ed can't see. There's a moment where he very seriously considers giving him a slap, but Izzy has never and likely will never raise his hand against this man.

What he does do, however, is swat the broad flat of Ed's ass with the back of his violin bow. Not in anger. Honestly, what the fuck else was he expecting.

A joke is so much easier than saying the words Izzy, I fucking care about you. I'm still attracted to you. Don't silence me, I love you, fucking idiot.

So in a way, it's a relief. At least he knows Ed is listening. Engaging. Thinking. Might not be a language Izzy has ever fully learned to speak, but it's something.

"You are a twat," he says and turns his face to press into the other's neck. Bare his teeth against soft, warm skin and press against the scar he put there only recently.

"If they're so nice, then the drinks are on you."

Ed's expecting as much, but the swat of the bow pulls a brief little gasp and chuckle from him anyway, and he gives Izzy a cheeky little grin in return. Bad boy. This is supposed to be emotional. Don't turn him on.

"Yeah, alright." he purrs under those teeth, hands petting at the other's back for the moment. "Was wondering if you might wanna do something else, tonight, though..." he murmurs at Izzy’s ear, expression fading into that nostalgic sorta look again. "You in the mood for music? I mean... like we used to play. I thought we might give it a shot, again."

A beat and then Edward adds, "Still make you a drink if you want one."

Izzy takes a breath, luxuriating in Ed's neck for a moment before reluctantly pulling back. There are so many things unsaid between them. So many years. So much violence, for and against each other. It's hard to talk about. He wouldn't know where to start.

Doesn't have to, thankfully, because Edward's suggestion is good, and he takes it.

"I do."

To both, he means, and finally draws back to consider the bow in his hand. It's bittersweet, in a way, nostalgic in every other, and he smooths his bare fingers along the wooden shaft with reverence. It's something to look at that isn't Edward. Izzy's eyes are stinging and if he looks then he's sure he'll do something stupid and embarrassing.

"I don't like that we stopped." Playing, but again, he knows that Ed knows. Something they don't even have to say. Some things they really should, anyway. Communication has never been their forte, but it's still worked. Mostly. Usually. If only because one of them yields and tries not to fester about it too much. Never really had the time to hold on to that shit.

Edward knows that this conversation doesn't fix everything. What he hopes, what he and Stede had talked about, is that it opens the door between them to talk more often. That slowly they can unpack the pain and the misunderstanding. It's too much for one night. It will take ages... but he promised he'd do the work.

A deep breath, and he pulls himself away from Izzy even though he doesn't quite want to yet, afraid he'll run away again. He pats him on the shoulder with a weak smile before padding over to the small bar in the corner where there are several decanters of liquor. Two glasses are pulled from the cabinet. If Izzy’s having a drink, so is Edward.

"Yeah?" he asks, "You always seemed stressed out... Didn't wanna waste your time." He responds, pulling one of the decanters off of the shelf. "We could play more often, you know... Brandy good? I'm having some..." he pours his own but waits before recorking it. "I'd like to. Reckon I still know a song or three."

Izzy nods in answer to the drink. Brandy will suit him just fine, thank you, nice and rich and sweet. It’s such an indulgence and so very Edward. It’s nice to be brought into that.

“For the record you’re a stressful man to work for. Playing might’ve helped that.”

More a musing than anything as he crosses to the piano, admiring it lightly as he takes his violin out of its case and checks the pegs haven’t slacked in their disuse.

Of course he’s been stressed out, look at the colour of his fucking hair. A colour he blames, almost entirely, on Ed by the way. Not that he’d change their past for anything.

Maybe a little bit. Just the bad times. In a way, Izzy feels he’s earned his silver, and who wants to live forever, anyway.

Satisfied with the condition of his instrument, he pulls it into position and plucks a few strings. They sound perfect. Good.

“Which song’s our favourite tonight, then?”

Like they don't have the same fucking color hair, at this point. Ed can't take all of the blame, but at least he won't argue anymore. He's sick of it.

"So I've heard." he mutters, pouring Izzy a glass and then putting the decanter away. He roams over to the piano and sets both glasses atop it, where he can still reach one once he takes his seat, and does so, one finger sliding down the length of the keys. It's not the same as the much smaller clavichords found in their era, but it has the same sort of key formations. Edward is not a masterful player by any means, but he'll live.

"Hmm... what about..." Ed tickles lightly at the keys, slowly playing something folky that he certainly recalls playing a drunken night or three in his youth, and surprised that the muscle memory is still there.

"Remember that night we got shit faced in the cabin after running from that Spanish vessel while trying to sneak past Barbados undetected?" Ed asks, pressing at the keys one by one, "We were headed west and Hornigold was fuckin pissed because we convinced the crew to head off-course. I thought he was gonna beat us half to death that night. And then I asked you if you regretted coming aboard with me. You said no..." he plays on, "You still feel that way?"

Izzy recognizes the song immediately and does his best to keep from smiling, but only out of some weirdly formed self hatred he doesn't understand and isn't ready to address head on.

He redirects, in stead, by shifting to free a hand and takes a sip of brandy. It's very nice, but, of course it is. Brandy in the Captain's quarters ought to be nothing less.

"Mm, I do."

Again, in answer to both questions. That night comes flooding back. He'd been absolutely fucking terrified of what might come of them. He has been, off an on, still terrified of what might come of them. But fear is a powerful motivator, and they're still alive, so it must have been worth something in the grand scheme of things.

Izzy sets down his glass and perches on the corner of the piano, just watching. Even bare as he is, even sad as he is, Edward is fucking beautiful. He always has been, and it isn't that hard a stretch to see the young man still there just under his skin.

"I don't regret anything. I'd do it all again, every second of it."

Edward’s playing slows as he hears Izzy speak, his eyes no longer watching what his hands are doing to watch Izzy instead. He'd risked everything for Izzy once, some time ago, and he knows he'd do it again. If this isn't proof... what? He smiles with a slight huff, reaching for his drink, his eyes only leaving Izzy’s to find it.

"Be thankful you don't have to." he says into his glass. He is. A lot of it was hell... but he feels the same as Izzy, in a way. Setting his glass back down, his hand rejoins the other on the keys. He's silent for a moment, thinking about the sorts of things he'd like to do, instead. To explore the oceans of Marilla is only one of those things, certainly this world has other opportunities for the three of them to take advantage of. And if not, he and Izzy certainly deserve the break. Of course, Izzy’s always been about the work. He suspects that hasn't changed... unless...

"What would you have us do, instead?" he asks, eventually, looking back to his First Mate curiously. "We can do anything..." he clarifies, his eyes trailing across the lounge to the large glass windows that look out over the deck to the waters. "The fuck is stopping us."

“Nothing,” Izzy answers. Nothing and no one can stop them but themselves.

Where he would chase Edward’s gaze to the ocean, Izzy finds himself still watching the man instead. Still drinking him in, tender but strong, draped in Izzy’s dressing gown.

With the light the way it is, and maybe because of the state of his emotions, he thinks Ed looks something like a painting. Like a Turner made human, balancing light and shadow and romance. Still every bit as inspiring, every bit as moving, as the young man who bewitched him decades ago. Whose ring he still wears and couldn’t imagine not.

Wait—Edward had asked him something. What? Izzy pulls himself back from waxing poetic and tries to think. It’s hard when Ed is existing next to him in this capacity. Asking his opinion on important things.

Makes him wish he had a good answer when, in truth, if Ed said he wanted to pack it all in and be a potato farmer, Izzy would go out tomorrow and buy them a shovel.

“I suppose…” then, finally, he follows to look towards dawn. They’re a long time out. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

Never been asked. Never considered a world in which they would do something else.

“I like what we do, and we’re good at it, even if it can be boring. I can’t see myself giving up the sea, I’m too old and too…” he gestures to himself. Fucked up. Male. Obsessed with Edward. “…for a family.”

Speak plainly, Izzy. Be honest, this is that moment.

“I just want to be with you.”

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