#this is just some ed being sad and mopey ig

[rottingformerfirstmate]

It's lonely without Izzy. Edward feels his absence like he's been run through, and the sword is still there to catch against the walls whenever he rounds a corner and twist inside his guts as sharply as Izzy's dry humor. While Edward is not alone--never more than twenty feet from Stede, not that either of them feel a desperate need to keep the other in sight--he can't help how the hole where Izzy should be swallows any semblance of joy in interacting with anyone else, even Stede. He should still be here.

The cheap table and chair set Stede bought for the kitchen has only two seats, and Edward can't look at it without wondering where Izzy is supposed to sit. It's absurd when Izzy didn't dine with them, but Edward feels entitled to irrationality right now. Stede said as much while Ed laid on top of the dirt they buried Izzy beneath, pretending he could still hear him breathing, whispering all the words left unsaid into the damp earth.

Izzy wouldn't want a chair at their table anyway. The version of Izzy Ed remembers, the one that mocked his flights of fancy, would scoff at the idea and perhaps knock over the vase of lillies Stede arranged so carefully. He'd call this a waste of everything Edward is.

Then again, there's a version of Izzy that Edward didn't know well enough to realize his existence until after they were broken beyond repair. It was still Izzy who painted his face in gold and sang for them at Calypso's birthday. His last words in life were a comfort for Edward. That feels like the Izzy Edward knew as well as the back of his hand, but the open softness in his face and the peaceful acceptance of endings does not.

Rather than thinking too hard about whether Edward really knew Izzy at all, he sits cross-legged opposite Izzy's makeshift headstone with his eyes on the tarnished shine of the ring knotted into the cravat. He can't figure out why they denied Izzy a burial at sea, and no one has explained, which Edward suspects is because it has already been laid out for him. The several days between Izzy's death and funeral are a grizzly blur of which Ed has little memory beyond a soul-churning ache for Izzy to be beside him again. He forgave Edward before he died. It wasn't enough because he only did it to get the words out while he still had the chance, not because he was past the horrors he endured at his captain's hand.

Stede comes to check on him and deliver a cup of tea, sweeter than Izzy ever made it for Edward because he was smart about rations and Edward never went with him to make sure he wasn't skimping. It surprises him when a question of where Izzy's cup is slips from his mouth, but Stede was prepared for this and sets a tea cup next to Edward's good knee. Vaguely, Ed remembers the meltdown he had the first time Stede made tea after Izzy died, demanding to know why there were only two porcelain sets. Izzy liked tea when he was hurt or ill. If making tea for a dead man who can't possibly be aware of its presence bothers Stede, he gives no such indication. Instead, he tells Edward he will leave the two of them to chat and turns back toward the house.

Ed drinks his tea before it gets cold. He pours Izzy's over the grave, the best approximation he has for holding it to Izzy's chapped lips, before its steam dissipates.