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snormynight · 6 months

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I think I’m going to pass Izzy around the crew to cope lol. This started off as o/uizzy but I realized Frenchie/Roach is soooo 🥺☺️💞 so here’s a thing about Frenchie and Roach making Izzy something (🥣) for his nausea and a cold. Emeto mention but nothing serious.

Izzy shivered violently and two warm hands came up and adjusted a blanket around his shoulders. He heaved a deep sigh from the depths of his gut but before he could get the breath out he was sucking it back in, chest heaving with a wheeze.

“Hhh…h’aiSHH-uH—huh- aiSHUU!”

The force hurt his stomach and he grimaced feeling the pressure in his head from being stuffed up. He sniffled wetly, absolving the use of a tissue.

“Hey quit that,” Roach warned. “You’re just sniffing the drainage into your stomach to prepare for a reappearance. And believe me, no one wants that. Just my medical observation.”

Izzy wanted to protest, but he knew that Roach was right. He was feeling more nauseous by the second and he could no longer blame it solely on the sea. A hazy look crossed over his eyes before he geared up for his second chance at using the tissue.

“hhRESCH-shuu! ESHHhue!”

Roach began to hold the tissue to Izzy’s face but Izzy snatched it out of his hands taking his advice. He gurgled a blow that ended into two coughs, crumpled up the tissue and threw it on the floor. Roach nodded in defeat. “Okay.”

When the Sun began to set, a couple of the Pirates gathered on the mast to futz around and Izzy couldn’t bring himself to join them. Instead he was folded over the side of the ship gripping the edge with all of his might. His stomach bobbed with the need to empty itself. But for the most part he hovered in between gagging and spitting small loogies into the water. He was still sweaty even with the cool night air on his back and he groaned, nose buzzing with the chill.

It was dark, the only light emanating from the top of the mast and from within the captain's quarters. Izzy heard footsteps approaching but was much too occupied with his itchy nose to address them. Frenchie sidled up next to him slowly leaning over to try to look at his face. Izzy steered straight ahead, avoiding eye contact at all costs so Frenchie followed his gaze to the sea.

“Um…what are we looking at here exactly?”

Izzy‘s hands traveled up his crossed arms to his shoulders. Frenchy heard him sniffle loud and thick. He coughed profusely trying to cover the congestion up. Frenchie opened his mouth again but Izzy held up a gloved hand.

“Can’t you just ‘be’ with the ocean a bit? You effervescent sing songy twat.”

Sure a bit of hostility wasn’t unexpected from Izzy, but Frenchie did feel this was a bit unwarranted. He swallowed nervously but pressed on, noticing the little tremor that held Izzy’s body.

“Yeah, ’spose I could. Never been much for parties.”

This got Izzy’s attention. He turned to look at him and at the same time, his nose itched for a need.

“Arehhh-‘nt you th-hih!…the fuckin’ bard?”

Frenchie stilled, caught in a lie and watched as Izzy winked an eye, stiffening his face to obviously stave off an upcoming sneeze. He fumbled around his chest, looking for his handkerchief. Frenchie clocked this, pulling out his own, a quarter with a patch he’d sewn onto it. Izzy accepted it and clasped it against his face. Frenchie watched his eyelids fall and eyebrows raise.

“Huh’ESSHuh! H-hhei-ish! hEHt’chzhuu!!”

He pulled away from the handkerchief, looking quite dazed. Frenchie held out his arms, steadying him on his feet.

“That I am,” he said, answering the question. “Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a break.”

Frenchies' warm hands contrasted starkly to the cool night air, which felt more like a nippy chill to Izzy. He shivered and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to calm the hammering of his heart. The hands left him for an agonizing moment before one found itself on his back, steering him away from the edge of the ship.

“And the bard says you ought to have a bit of a lie down.”

Izzy pulled away, embarrassed by the subtle attention. “Fuck you I don’t care what the bard says. When you’re granted first mate you fuckin’ act like it.”

Izzy’s words rang in the air, a cruel reminder of how replaceable he was. He looked like he wanted to add something, but doubled over in a cough that sounded like it wanted to bring something else to the surface. Frenchie moved to help him, but Izzy stumbled away.

“Izzy, I hadn’t meant—“

But Izzy wasn't listening, going to curl up on himself in a corner again. Laughter rang in the background from the mast. Frenchie watched defeated.

Later that night, Frenchie sat sullenly at the counter, away from the other crew. He stuck his finger in his sauce, swirling it around aimlessly. When Roach had finished serving the last of the crewmembers, he reappeared behind the counter, throwing a towel over his shoulder and placing his hands on his hips.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Frenchie pressed his lips, looking over his shoulder. He turned back and leaned in.

“It’s Iz. He’s running himself ragged.”

Roach raised an eyebrow, reaching for a knife to sharpen. “And that’s your fault?”

“Well, no. Don’t think so, at least. But I suppose I’d like to do something about it.”

Roach sighed, shaking his head. “Frenchie, you beautiful man you, with your heart of gold. Some of us are lost causes.” His sharpening slowed. “I tried with him already.”

Frenchie shrugged. “No yeah I know that. Just think maybe there’s more we could do… something else. Maybe a dabble in the languages of love Pete was on about. I dunno.”

Roach nodded in agreement, but he wasn’t totally sure what he meant. He looked around his kitchen for inspiration. As hardcore as Izzy was, he bet he would seldom find comfort among knives and sharp kitchen tools. Roach admired Frenchie’s gumption though and continued to search until his eyes fell on the big soup pot in the corner. A recipe brewed in his mind and he turned back to Frenchie who’s eyes lit up with the same connection.

“Sounds kinda lovely, don’t you think?”

Roach beamed. “I know what we’re going to do today, matey.”

Later that day, Roach and Frenchie traipsed around the ship searching for Izzy. In the end they didn’t have to look very far and found him huddled on the bow, shaking miserably. He sneezed harshly into a clenched fist and gave into a barking coughing fit, before turning at the sound of footsteps. Frenchie caught the greenish tint to his face.

“Ah how are we faring now?,” Roach said cheerily. Izzy sighed with a wheeze, crossing his arms on himself.

“What’s left of my stomach now belongs to the trenches. Was that the update you were hoping for?”

Frenchie looked at Roach. “We were hoping, actually, again, to get you to retire to your chambers. Could be nice don’t you think?”

Izzy rolled his eyes. “Could be. If there wasn’t so much work to do. Leave me be; I’m still on watch.”

Frenchie nodded, having expected this response. He pulled Roach closer with him. “That’s fine. We just thought you’d like to have a taste of this here soup. I’ve a cup here but there’s a whole tray set up on your bed. S’ easy on the tums.”

Izzy blinked the stars away, taking in the scene before him. The two of them presented a large steaming pot, with chunks of light meat and vegetables, swimming in a swirling broth. The mentioned bowl was offered to him. He accepted it quietly when his stomach clenched in a hungry pain.

Frenchie smiled softly before lowering the pot to the ground and ladling a shallow spoonful. When the bowl filled, the warmth reached Izzy’s fingertips and he was surprised to find the steam melt away some of the soreness in his breath. He lifted the bowl to his lips, obscuring the blush rising to his cheeks from the other men, though he supposed he could just blame it on the illness or the heat if it called for it. The broth ran down his throat, soothing his aching chest and he could hardly wait until it reached his pained stomach. His brows knit together, trying to keep the bubbling emotions at bay.

“It’s…” he choked at the tail end of a mouthful. “It’s fine.” His hand hovered over his stomach. “It’s pleasant.”

Frenchie beamed, soaking in Izzy’s gratitude while Roach smiled fondly at Frenchie. He almost forgot why they were standing there until Izzy spoke up again.

“I think I’ll pop down and have a look at it myself.” He murmured. Frenchie could swear he looked just a tad more sleepy. “Evening, boys. I trust you’ll keep a lookout.”

Frenchie and Roach watched as Izzy slinked away and then disappeared into the brig. When they were sure he was gone they clasped their hands together and fell onto the deck in a fit of giggles.

“Yes!” Roach hissed. “We did it!”

Frenchie laughed, scrambling into a sitting up position. They backed up to lean against the wall, but Frenchie didn’t miss how the two of them still had one hand linked together. He swallowed against the night air.

“How’d I do?”

Roaches laughter died down and he smiled at Frenchie with twinkling eyes. “You were fantastic. I haven’t seen ambition like that since the last plundering. You are a vision.”

Roche scooted ever so closer to Frenchie and leaned over placing a tender kiss to his cheek. Frenchie felt his face warm up and chuckled bashfully, facing Roach but avoiding his eyes.

“What was that for?”

Roach sighed, pressing his curls up against the wall with an upwards tilt of his head. He pulled Frenchie’s hand to his chest.

“You’re being promoted. To sous chef.” A pause, and then he added a little quieter, “if you’ll have me.”

Frenchies chest warmed up in a similar nature to Izzy’s stomach when he had had the soup. He squeezed Roach’s fingers gently.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

#snz fic #o/fmd #rosierites #snzfic #text #snzblr

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