#Israel “Izzy” Hands x Roach Fills

[starks-hero]

Noceur (n.) - to find comfort in the dark

Pairing: Izzy Hands x Reader

Summary: You'd reached the genius conclusion that you couldn't have nightmares if you simply didn't sleep. Izzy isn't a fan of your logic.

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: Stede may be Edward's lighthouse but Izzy is Reader's anchor. Because I'm a sucker for symbolism.

You stood on the quarterdeck, arms crossed carefully over the rail. It wasn't often you experienced nights like this, quiet and peaceful; nights where you could look out over the water and feel certain that nothing was hiding under the waves or lurking in the fog.

The clouds that had rolled in from the east had swallowed up the moon and sent Buttons away in turn. Once he'd disappeared below deck it was just you and the sea. You could hear the waves kissing the hull beneath you, the wind occasionally rippling the sails. Each subtle creek and groan of the ship steadied your mind.

You matched your breathing with the coming and going of the waves, the salt of the sea air filling your lungs. You'd almost mastered it, using the sounds of the ocean and the way of water to ground yourself.

You were so focused, in fact, that you failed to hear the splintering of the deck beneath heavy footsteps until a hand had already reached out and brushed your shoulder.

The stranger may have found your yelp of fear somewhat amusing if it weren't immediately followed by the cocking of a loaded pistol.

You turned and were met by the bemused first mate.

“Fuck, Izzy–” You lowered your weapon. “I told you I'd take the watch tonight.”

"Since when did I take orders from you?" the slight intimidation in his tone was discredited by the fond nudge of his shoulder against your own. He settled beside you, glancing out over the waves. He stood so close that your knees brushed and the floorboards groaned beneath your shared weight. You smiled despite yourself.

Only in the dark would Israel Hands allow himself be so soft. It was an odd sort of honor, you thought, to see him like this. You had shared enough night watches with the first mate to have been offered a glance beneath the sullen stares and stern hand. Spent enough hours in the dark together sitting in the crow's nest to have caught sight of his smile and see how it made him look ten years younger. On nights like those you could only be glad that the waters around Tortuga were generally quiet as you would have failed to see the entire Spanish armada if it were lined up in front of you. Izzy kept you steady, an anchor preventing you from cracking up on rocks of your own making.

You wished the crew knew him as you did but you were not one to tempt faith, especially not when it had already been so generous.

“What's going on with you?” Izzy asked eventually. The breathy tone of his voice seemed at one with the wind.

You shifted your weight. Behind you, the foresail beat faintly against the mast.

None of the crew had noticed yet. And if they had, they'd decided against saying anything. They stayed quiet as you agreed to the night watch night after night. And you were happy with that system, it was the easiest way to keep the nightmares at bay.

“I'm tired,” you said. It wasn't a lie.

Izzy hummed, an unconvincing sound that hung in the air between you. He glanced your way and when you still said nothing he reached for his pocket. The orange he produced was small, jagged scars running along its skin and already adopting a green hue.

You made a small noise of amusement.

Wordlessly, Izzy began to peel the fruit. He dug his thumb into its center and tore it in two clean halves before offering one to you.

It was somewhat of a tradition, Roach had prepared you rations for your night shifts but upon realizing that you were asking for larger portions solely to share with the first mate he'd stopped the service altogether. The chef's pettiness truly knew no bounds.

Izzy decided the next course of action was to just steal food from the kitchen instead. It was something he got oddly excited about; a feared pirate that pillaged dozens of merchant ships in his lifetime smiling like a young lad as he showed you the stale biscuits and ailing fruits he'd stolen from under the nose of your chef.

You accepted the orange with a small smile.

Izzy cleaned the citrus juice from his fingers with his tongue before tearing the fruit into segments, examining each before pushing one past his lips. Just like when running the ship, Izzy had a particular way of doing things. Vaguely or half-arsed wasn't his style.

As he ate, you traced the groves of the wood in front of you. The orange sat untouched in your palm.

“Nightmares,” you said eventually. “They keep me up most nights. Sometimes they're so bad I don't want to close my eyes so I figured if I just didn't sleep then...”

It was quiet for a moment, your confession growing stale the longer it hung in the air. You already wished you'd said nothing.

Izzy tossed the last of his fruit overboard.

“For someone so clever, you can be a right fucking twat.”

You couldn't help but laugh. “And you're a pioneer in self-care all of a sudden? Being Blackbeard's lapdog–”

“Watch it.” Izzy's tone readopted a sharp edge. You stood with a resigned sigh, an undeserving crate earning a sharp clip of your boot as you turned.

“Just leave it, Iz. Forget I mentioned it,” you said. “I don't need you of all people lecturing me on how to look after myself.”

You made your way down the steps that led onto the main deck, ignoring how Izzy called after you. In your haste and frustration, and certainly no thanks to your lack of sleep, your boot missed the next step and you began a sudden descent toward the ground.

A hand grasped your shoulder and a harsh yank backward recentered your point of gravity.

“You're a fucking wreck,” Izzy said, moving his hold to your forearm.

“I'm fine.”

“Bullshit.”

You didn't look at him as you steadied yourself. Instead you aimed your focus on the splintered wood beneath your boots.

You missed Izzy's expression soften, as if he were finally seeing the true extent of your exhaustion. The dimness in your eyes, the poorly hidden fatigue, and the way you swayed on your feet when you didn't have a wooden rail to support you. You were coming apart at the seams.

“Fuck,” Izzy cursed. “How long has it been since you've slept?”

“Three days.”

“Fuck,” Izzy cursed, again. This time with slightly more anger.

You waited for his ranting to begin, to be scorned like the rest of the crew and sent away like a misbehaved child. You wouldn't be surprised if he went to the captains first thing tomorrow and had your duties changed.

“Come on,” he said instead. His words were surprisingly faint. You let him lead you below deck, the dim glow of the ship's oil lamps doing little to light the way. The hand still hesitantly pressed to the small of your back was very possibly the only thing stopping you from keeling over.

Silently you walked through the gallery, past the sleeping crew and the hammock you left empty every night. When you didn't stop you offered the first mate a confused glance.

“Izzy, what-”

“Just-” he sighed. “Keep going.”

You eventually stopped in front of his own cabin and said nothing as he steered you inside and shut the door behind him.

“What are we doing?” The irritation was clear in your tone. The seventy odd hours without rest making your voice heavy.

Izzy loosened the handkerchief around his neck and kicked off his boots. “You are going to lie down,” he said plainly. He grasped the small stool that sat idle in the corner and pulled it towards the bedside. “And I'm going to make sure you get some fucking rest.”

He sat down and crossed his arms. When you didn't move, he sighed again. “You're not the only one. You don't live this life for so long and then get to sleep easy at night. It... it's just not how it works.”

At Izzy's words and what they implied, you caved. Wordlessly, you kicked off your boots, undid your belt, and removed your coat. It was as comfortable as you could get without undressing further. When you lay down on the mattress, you couldn't help the noise of contentment that escaped you. It was by no means the laps of luxury but having a somewhat soft base pillowed against your aching muscles was much nicer than what you were used to.

The fatigue washed over you in heavy waves and you were reminded of just how tired you were.

“If I think it's a nightmare I'll wake you,” Izzy promised, his words were genuine.

“Why are you doing all this, Izzy?” you asked. “I'm fairly certain if Lucius or Roach was having bad dreams you wouldn't invite them into your cabin and offer to play night guard.”

He shrugged. “You're neither of those twats.”

Izzy's words were transparent. 'You're not them. You're you, and you're different.' You laid back in the bed.

The quaint silence that filled Izzy's cabin was similar to the deck during watch, the same safety net there, the same guarantee that nothing said or done would go any further than you, him, and the waves.

You parted your lips to speak. Izzy reached over and dimmed the oil lamp and the dark swallowed your words before they came.

“Thank you, Iz.” You settled for instead. “I mean it.”

Izzy nodded. A quiet 'of course' accompanied the hesitant brush of his fingers against the back of your hand. In the dim light, Izzy was grateful you couldn't see how he looked at you as though you were the reason the sun rose every day.

Thank you for reading <3