#but I just think that Jim being the knife that can start to pry izzy open is GENIUS and just what he needs

[dragonmuse]

hoookay, so like I said, still going to do I May Be Bad prompts, but here's how I envision the ending. Probably riddled with errors cause I'm half asleep.

CW: violence, blood, death

“Am I going to die?”

“Only if I die first.

Jim kept their promise. Even if it would be only by a matter of minutes. As Lucius cradled them close and laid a kiss on their forehead, he thanked them for it. 

“To the end, coyote,” he whispered, his breath starting to rasp in his chest. Fuck, he was tired. 

“Boss? Boss. Boss! LUCIUS!” Charlie’s voice was hot in his ear. “I’ve got back up on the way. Just stay put. FUCK! Luc! Please, please say something.” 

“The desk,” Lucius pressed his forehead to Jim’s. Was he crying? His eyes burned like might be. Then again everything felt like it was on fire. “In your office.” 

“My desk? You’ve got to stay with us, okay? Extraction is five minutes.” 

“Listen!” Lucius barked. Charlie fell quiet and Lucius drew in a shaky breath. “The right side drawer on the bottom. Your fingerprint will open it.” 

“What?” 

“It’s hard to see, but I trust you to find it.” His eyes closed against his will. Things were starting to get hard to grasp. "Last instructions."

“Lucius, you’re not dying,” Charlie said desperately. “Jim is going to pull through. They always do." 

“Not this time.” 

“Lucius...come on. Think about Izzy.” 

“Oh, I am. Tell him he was my last thought,” Lucius smiled fractionally. “Tell him....tell him that he’s finally free.” 

One Hour Earlier 

“Flip a coin?” Lucius leaned against the car. Jim was sitting on the hood. 

“For what?” 

“Which one of us stays behind.” 

“If you go in, I’ll follow you. If I go in, you’ll follow me,” Jim snorted. “What’s the point?” 

“It’s a trap.” 

“I know.” 

They stared up at the office building. For years, they had been apex predators. Lucius had forgotten how to feel afraid, so he didn’t now. What he felt instead, was annoyed. There should be a way to avoid all this. 

The facts of the matter were that a rival thieving group had moved in and for a long time, they had managed a tentative accord. The British Invasion, as Lucius liked to call them (the first leader, Alexander, had been from Liverpool, but the rest of them were a worldly group. The name just stuck), were a retired group of mercenaries. Mostly they'd been respectful of Lucius and Jim's territory, apparently uninterested. Or so they had said. It wasn’t that Jim and Lucius hadn’t kept an eye on them, but that over time there were so many places to put those very few eyes. 

It turned out being at the top of the food chain meant too many hands trying to pry you down. And the Brits had grown. And grown. 

Last week the Feds had shown up. For the first time in twenty years of expert jobs, whisper quiet and on no one’s radar,  they were being tailed day and night. They’d shut down nearly all their uncompleted jobs to get as boring as possible. 

“Far as I can tell,  Ludlow is feeding them intel,” Charlie reported miserably. 

“Our implant at the British Invasion?” Lucius had lowered his notebook. Jim had fingered the hilt of their knife. “He’s one of our best.” 

“What are they giving him?” Jim demanded. "How'd they turn him?"

“Just...more,” Charlie frowned at his papers. “More than we could afford to bribe one man with.” 

“More than we could?” Lucius asked incredulously. 

“I’ve only got a partial view on their financials, but it’s a real hoard and they’re not afraid to spend it to push out rivals.”  

“How?” Jim wove the knife through their fingers. 

“They’re international. They hid it well, but they’ve been laundering through a few countries. And they’ve got a strong leadership, no rivalry.” Charlie lowered his papers. “What do we do?” 

“Eat them from the inside out,” Lucius said, looking to Jim.  “Right?” 

“They turned Ludlow. How many people do we sink into them? How do we know they haven’t made all of ours?” Jim pointed out. “And the Feds are out there. Watching.” 

There were clever little plans. Ploys. Things that drew on years of expertise and evasion. Then there were negotiations. For the first time, Jim and Lucius ceded bits of their power. Just little things, but each one stung. 

Even with Ludlow cut out, leaks just kept springing and survelliance intensified. It got so they couldn't move with the Feds to the left, Brits to the right. 

“Listen,” the head of the Brits, some asshole named Nigel of all things, called them one night, Lucius and Jim crowded around a speaker. “We like how you run things. You’re smart. You come work for us, we make the Feds go away. You keep your offices.” 

“What’s the price?” Jim asked and Lucius had to turn his back away from the look on their face. 

“We get thirty percent of every job. Your staff is our staff, we move them around a little, make us all a big family.” 

They’d lose everything. Autonomy. Charlie. Read. Blue Toby. Allie.  People that remembered when they were snot-nosed teenagers and stuck by them.

And it was that or the Feds. 

“We need to discuss it,” Lucius rumbled. 

“Of course.” 

Jim hung up with a vicious jab. “So we run, right?” 

“To where?” Lucius had to turn back. Had to look them in the eye. “Where do we go?” 

“They want the business, so we give it to them.” 

“And then the Feds chase us. So we hole up in some non-extradition treaty place for the rest of our lives?” 

“So?” They challenged. “We’ll be alive.” 

“Fine. If you want to run, we run.” 

Easier said than done. Jim’s hatred of facial recognition software was proven correct. 

“Your faces are flagged,” Charlie had to explain. “Not me and Read, not yet. Not Izzy or Oluwande, but you two? No forgery is getting by that. I could down the software, roll the dice, but if it doesn’t work...” 

“Flagged for what? No one’s arrested us.” Jim paced the office. 

“They want to get us in public. With cash in hand,” Lucius groaned. “They want us to run so they can nail us with the most evidence on us. They’d get us right at Homeland Security.” 

“So they slow us down. We don’t bring anything with us, that’s what offshore banking is for,” Jim threw up their hands. 

“They’ve already got us,” Lucius stared blankly into space. “There’s something they’re confident about. They just want more when they nail us. Either they arrest us there for what they can prove, or they get some bonus material from what we try to leave with.” 

“So we go out another way.” 

But the ways were shut. The Brits had sealed the doors. All their contacts suddenly knew nothing. Worse, some of them quietly told them that they had been paid extra to collect information if they did show. The fact that they didn't was just a last gesture of fading respect. 

Two nights ago, Izzy had made lasagna and poured Lucius a second glass of whiskey. Lucius never drank more than one with dinner. He downed it, waited, and Izzy did ask, 

“What’s going on?” 

Lucius set the glass down carefully and didn’t answer. 

“Okay,” Izzy exhaled. “Okay. What’s the plan?” 

“Burn them to the ground.” 

"How?"

"I think you should go away for the weekend. Go camping," Lucius suggested. "You haven't been ages."

"Luc..." Izzy watched him helplessly.

"I've got it," Lucius leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Not to worry, darling. Just want to think of you out there doing your thing while I put in the hard work."

And Izzy, to Lucius' chagrin, had just listened and gone away. What could Lucius say to that? Perfect obedience and belief was what Lucius had asked of him.

For a brief, treacherous moment, Lucius had wished for the man he'd met all those years ago instead of the one that packed up a bag and held still for a goodbye kiss with a soft smile.

Jim and Lucius arranged the meet to begin their assimilation into the Brits. Glutted and pleased, the Brits had invited them into their inner sanctum with all their head leadership. 

So now here were Lucius and Jim, standing before the glass building. All they had was Charlie in their ears and Read as close as she could come on her bike without alerting sentries. At least an eight minute drive away. 

“I love you,” Lucius said to Jim. 

“Love you too,” they kept their eyes ahead of them. “Let’s fuck ‘em up.” 

At the door, they made no fuss about surrendering their guns and knives. Jim even pulled out the ankle holster helpfully. After a few test flicks, the meatheads let Jim keep their ancient lighter. 

“Sometimes I’m just dying for a smoke,” they said wryly. 

“I hear you,” the meathead nodded. 

The office was grand. Most of the head honchos were there to gloat. Lucius smiled at the meathead, who had walked him in, and gave him a friendly pat on the arm. 

“Very nice bunch you’ve got here,” he purred. “I’m sure we’ll work very very well together.” 

“I’m glad you’ve come around.” 

Lucius put his arm around Jim’s waist, gave them a quick half-hug. “We just want to do what’s best for everyone in the long run.” 

Paperwork came out like they were really going to write up this contract.  They got up close and personal. 

“What about this line?” Lucius tapped it. “You want us to run every decision we make by you? We’re not newbies, come on.” 

“But you’re impulsive. The body count, Spriggs,” Nigel clicked his tongue. “It’s embarrassing.” 

Jim clicked the pen and drew a little ‘X’ next to that line.  

“You can amend-” 

“No,” Jim sniffed. “I just like to have a place to aim.” 

Plastics made it through metal protectors and meatheads who liked to mash at a chest wouldn’t know shit about top surgery. The bomb landed on the ‘x’.  The gun Lucius had lifted for them was raised and pointed straight at it. 

“You’re going to let us back out of here or I will shoot that thing.” 

“Now now,”Nigel held up his hands. “This is what I mean by impulsive. If you hit that thing, you’ll be just as hurt. And you know the only way out of here is through walls of our people.” 

“You’re assuming we give a shit about out living you,” Jim bared their teeth. 

The other gun which Lucius had just casually hooked back out of their ridiculously flimsy lock boxes appeared in his hands. 

“Why would you blow yourselves up?” Nigel sniffed. “People like you will do anything to survive.” 

“Huh,” Lucius and Jim got back to back, making their way towards the door. “Jim, did you think about that when you wired the C4 around the building with a timer?” 

“I may have left enough time for us to get out. Can’t remember!” 

“Perimeter check!” Nigel screeched, scrambling for a radio. 

They got  to the door. Jim pulled the trigger. The bomb on the desk shattered outwards, but not before they made it the door. It had been a long time since they’d had to shoot their way out of a building. They were still good. Maybe even still great. But the odds had always been long. Jim took a shot to their right shoulder, switching to their less accurate hand. Lucius took one to thigh, grunting with the effort to walk after that. 

Inch by inch, body by body, they made it towards the front door. Already the fireworks show of explosions was going off. They didn’t have enough to bring down the building, but they would take out swaths of their people. It would gut their operations in this country, leave them sputtered and trying to catch a breath. 

If it had gone to plan, always a long shot, Jim and Lucius would’ve walked right out the front door. Charlie would call in a tip to the Feds, turning the explosion into evidence of terrorist planning on the part of British Invasion. It would’ve been a good smokescreen, given them just enough time to turn back a few contacts and at least get out. Take all their people and run. 

But it had always been a long shot. 

The British had a lot of loyal people with a lot of guns. Even falling debris and screaming wouldn’t deter them. 

It was with grim satisfaction that Lucius shot the man that got Jim in the head. Even grimmer that Jim got the man who shot Lucius despite being barely conscious. Grimmest pleasure of all that in the end, as they both crumpled down, there was no one left attacking them.  

“They won’t win,” Lucius told Jim as they bled out. “Everyone'll be safe. I kept my promise.” 

And Jim had kept theirs. They were gone.

By the time Read got there with the last of their loyal people, Lucius was beyond recognizing her.  He only knew the familiar flesh under his fingers  and deep down, a vast ocean of cold relief. He was tired, he realized, and it would be very nice to sleep. 

Three Months Later  

A cemetery on a nice day was like a park in sheep's clothing, Charlie thought inanely as he walked down the dirt path. Memory, carried him where he needed to be. He’d been here on the day of the internment. The only one there not digging the grave by very strict directions. He’d clung to those instructions like a lifeline. Still was clinging. But they ran out today. 

He wanted to walk slowly, but he was already late. Too many minutes spent sobbing in his car. It was the car Lucius had bought him for his thirtieth birthday and insisted he drive. Charlie never told him why he was afraid of driving and he wasn’t sure Lucius would’ve cared. Lucius word was law, so Charlie had gotten over it, eased by the pleasure of a beautiful machine. Now it had given him the luxury of a private place to weep.

At least having red-rimmed eyes was a normal look for a cemetery, even on a bright sunny day with the trees and grass all trying to out green each other. The directions carried him away from the main road, past countless plots At the end of a row, practically buried into the bordering treeline, there were two graves marked with a single low statue. A coyote with it's head resting on the neck of a hyena, curled beside each other in eternal sleep. 

Squatting down beside them. Charlie put a hand on each marble head. The stone held no warmth. No words.  The gravel crunched a few minutes later and he had to force himself upwards, to try to look normal. 

“You choose the statues?” Read asked, stepping beside him. 

“No. It was all laid out. Pre-paid too.” 

She nodded, eyes glued to the unusual memorial. “I still think it’s a trick sometimes.” 

“Me too,” Charlie barked a mirthless laugh. “Sometimes I wake up and I think I’ve heard him. Coming into my room, calling my name. Or I’ll see someone on the street from behind with that haircut and I’m sure it’s them.” 

“It could still be, couldn’t it?” She dropped into a whisper. “They were both so good at tricks.” 

“You can’t trick bullets,” Charlie tried to put on a smile. “You touched them. You saw.” 

“I know.” 

They waited silently after that. Oluwande arrived, dressed in teal instead of black. 

“It was their favorite color,” he said before Charlie could say a word. 

“Have you been doing all right?” Read asked. 

“No. You?” 

“No,” Read confirmed. “The memorial service at the bar was nice.” 

“You weren’t supposed to-” Charlie started. 

“I didn’t,” Read cut him off. “They live-streamed it for people that couldn’t get in, so I watched at home.” 

Though he couldn't bring himself to say it, Charlie had too. It was so odd. All those people turning up to remember people they’d never really known. Alma had presided over it and recited a poem about loss. Tears had been shed for a bartender and a drag king, who had existed in the same way puppets existed when hands played on their spines. They were mourning felt and styrofoam.

Still. It was a funeral in some way and Charlie had needed that. He’d gotten very drunk after though. 

“Thanks, we did our best. Hard to explain why there was no funeral for either of them. Everyone believed the car crash shit though,” Oluwande sighed. “Seems...trite.” 

“It was easy to make,” Read reminded him. “Not a hard story to keep straight either.” 

They kept chatting at each other and for a long string of horrible minutes, it occurred to Charlie that he might not show. He would. Of course he would...but what if he didn't? Panic started to spiral through him.

But at last a shadow detached from the treeline not far from the graves. His posture was still ramrod straight and he moved at a good clip. It had only been months, but Charlie could see how that short time had already aged him. Grief could do that. Charlie watched him hungrily. He wanted to run to him. Instead he stood his ground as Izzy, all in black, came to a stop at Charlie’s side. 

“Hi,” Charlie said quietly. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Izzy had his eyes on the stones. He went down to his knees like Charlie had, but slower and stiffer. “Hello, husband.” 

Read made a distressed sound under her breath. She reached for Charlie’s hand and he took it, not willing to deny either of them the small comfort. Izzy bent his head and whispered something then very carefully got back to his feet. 

“All right. Tell us.” 

Charlie didn’t need to pull out paper or look at notes. He’d followed directions, including memorization. He closed his eyes and recited the letter, 

“Darling, you know by now I love to have the last word. To the crudest things first: you already know about the money. You can live out the rest of your life comfortably and never touch a dime of it, don’t think I never knew about all your little stashes. I hope you will touch it though. When you spend it, think of me giving you those luxuries.  

Before I say more to you, yes, Oluwande, I agreed to leave the bar and its building to you. Jim was quite insistent though I think Alma has put in the time at this point. I would recommend a partnership. But then again, I always will. They’ll have made their own provisions for goodbye, so I will say only:  Thank you for your friendship. It meant more to me than you might suspect. 

What a strange thing, death. It’s been on my mind lately though things are going very well.  It’s summer, gorgeous on the rooftop in full sun as I write this. We are stronger, more powerful than we’ve ever been. Maybe that’s why I want to do this now. To secure things for the day when we might feel the teeth in our neck.  I hope you all think of me like this instead of however things wound up if you’re hearing this. I hope you think of Jim in the sun too. 

We agreed to leave the business to Charlie and Read. They’re coming into themselves. They make a good team. 

Darling, my last request of you, is to mentor them some before you go. They could use some steadying words of wisdom. 

How do you end such a thing? I think I won’t. If death is goodbye, then I refuse to say it.” 

Charlie's throat ached, closing around the last words. 

“The business?” Read clutched his hand.  

“Yeah,” he said roughly. 

“I don’t want to know more,” Oluwande decided. “I’m going.” 

“But-” Read started then stopped. 

“Don’t come back to the bar,” he said, even as he hugged her. “Not any of you. All of this...I can’t anymore. I want to go back.” 

“There’s no turning back,” Izzy said quietly. “But fuck if I don’t want you to try.” 

“Thanks,” Oluwande gave him a hug too. Izzy even gave it back. “I already started talking with Alma about a partnership. Maybe we’ll change the name.” 

“To what?” Charlie watched him warily. 

“The Coyote,” Oluwande turned on his heels with one last wave. 

The three of the waited until he was out of sight. Then almost as one, Read and Charlie turned to Izzy. 

“Yeah, what?” he smiled faintly at the two of them. “What do you want?” 

“There were other letters in there. Things I mailed to Read. To Oluwande.” 

“To you?” Read guessed. 

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “One for me. Yours was the only one I had to read out loud here. Today.” 

“He guessed the Feds would give up by now and he was right. Haven't seen a van in days.” Izzy’s eyes weren’t red-rimmed. He wasn’t choked up. 

The gag order had descended as soon as the comms had gone quiet. Charlie had opened the drawer, hoping it had some amazing escape plan in it. Instead it was orders for silence, to scatter and lay low. To mail the letters (designed to look like boring insurance statements) and talk to no one. 

Three months of not seeing Izzy, of not having Lucius or Jim. Not even Read. He’d had to tell Alma to stop calling, that he needed to be alone to grieve. Through it all, Charlie had contented himself that at least Izzy might be equally devastated and lonely. Maybe when they met, they could grieve together at last. Maybe Charlie could even comfort him.  

“Are you even upset?” Charlie choked, then winced. “I’m sorry. That was a horrible-” 

“It’s fine,” Izzy reached for him, “sweetheart, it’s fine.” 

Charlie collapsed against him sobbing all over again while Izzy held him tight. Vaguely he was aware that Read was rubbing his back, and she had her own quiet tears, coming out in wet snuffling noises. 

“I’ll make them proud,” he vowed. “I’ll do whatever it takes to rebuild it. We will.” 

Izzy drew back, grasping Charlie’s arm. “Do you really want it?” 

“I-” Charlie started and stopped. He looked at Read, who frowned, equally confused. “It’s the business.” 

“Yeah,” Izzy lifted his eyebrows. “It’s just a fucking business. What do you need? Money? Power?” 

“It’s what he asked of us,” Charlie said blankly. “He gave me instructions.” 

“Me too,” Read agreed. “Very clear ones.” 

“I will love that man until the day I die too,” Izzy caught Read’s gaze, then Charlie’s, “but he’s not here now. And I fucking refuse to mentor you two.” 

“Why?” Read sounded crushed. “Don’t you think we can do it?” 

“Do what?” Izzy shook his head. “Do you want to be what they were in the end?” 

“You loved him,” Charlie insisted. “You always did.” 

“You can love someone and hate them at the same time, did you know that?” Izzy glanced down at the hyena. “You can spend hours thinking about that. How you would do anything they’d ask because you worship them, but you’d also tear the heart of them if it wouldn’t stop yours from beating too.” 

“Iz,” Read stared at him. “How long did you feel that way?” 

“Decades,” he smiled faintly at her. “Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But there were moments. And now he’s left me before I could do anything about it.” 

“Would you have?” Charlie’s world, already in rubble, crumbled further around him. 

“No. Maybe,” Izzy considered. “No. Probably. But the chance was always there. So all I have now is to finally say no to him. I won’t stand around while he makes you further in his image from beyond the fucking grave. Enough. No more, Lucius.” 

The last he said to the statue as if it could hear him. 

“What will you do?” Read asked, childlike. 

“I’m going to find some place warm and quiet. Live out the rest of my days looking at the ocean.” 

“Oh.” 

“But I keep thinking,” Izzy went on, “that the house could be big. There could be extra chairs on the beach.” 

“You want us to go with you,” Charlie realized. “To just...leave?” 

“What about Anne?” Read asked. 

“You can’t be serious!” Charlie turned to her. “That’s what you’re asking?” 

“Yeah, Charlie, that’s what I’m asking,” she smiled faintly at him. “I’ll never want for anything again with what they left me. Anne either. So if the choice is stay here, build up a business that I never even really understood, looking over my shoulder in case someone starts to pay attention again or just...not. I’m gonna go with not.” 

“Of course Anne can come, if she’s willing to cut ties,” Izzy assured her. 

The business could be run with one person. There were options if he wanted to bring in someone else even. He could cut away the most dangerous parts. Go back to the start and run simple jobs that just needed his con man smile and quick fingers. 

Lucius would love that, in his own way: Charlie as his perfect apprentice slowly assuming the role of the master. Maybe he could get it right this time and ride it all the way to the end. 

Or maybe....maybe Lucius had thought of this too.  After all, the letter had been written years ago.

Tell him that he’s finally free. 

Not just for Izzy, maybe. 

One day, Charlie would have to tell Izzy what Lucius had said at the end. Not the horrible, fractured inane sentences about thirst and cold that had stuttered out in the long minutes before Read got there. Just those last smirking words, the ones clearly meant to be the last. 

“Charlie?” Read nudged him. 

“Okay,” he nodded slowly. “Yeah, fuck it. Okay.....we’re free. We’re in the fucking wind.” 

Two minutes later, there was no sign anyone had visited the graves at all, except for a single yellow fruit. The lemon rested at the feet of the hyena, just under the coyote’s peaceful smile.

[sunnibits]

lord help me I literally tried like 3 times to expand upon my thoughts as far as this vague post I made this morning and on this the third try (AS IN TRYING TO MAKE IT CONCISE) it got. so long. so uhh enjoy I guess lmao 😭

vico ortiz you’re fucking onto something!!! I don’t have Twitter but I am sending this to them via telepathic link 😤

Basically, I think the reason that Jim would actually be so perfect to get Izzy to open up is because of the fact that Jim themself isn’t at all comfortable opening up to people!

Like, I feel like there’s a really popular idea of having a character like Lucius, Stede, or the Conceptual Golden Retriever Boyfriend™️ forcing Izzy to open up and be a big softie, and while I live for that as much as the next person - trust me, I’m quite weak for a good tender Izzy fic where he undergoes involuntary therapy - I don’t think that’s actually what’s going to be the most effective approach when it comes to cracking open this stubborn oyster of a man.

As much as I love indulging in some fluffy scenarios of Izzy breaking down and sobbing about his unrequited love into Lucius’s waiting shoulder, I don’t think someone like Lucius, Stede or the Conceptual Golden Retriever Boyfriend is actually going to be able to get through to Izzy, at least not in the state he’s in now - for the sole reason that Izzy hates people like that.

If there’s anything we know about this little shit, it’s that he rejects softness! He rejects tenderness and emotion! Now does he need it and would it break him, absolutely, but he’s not ready for that yet. So instead: enter Jim. Jim, who is ‘normal secretive’ (not normal secretive), reserved, edgy, and very much closed off to most people.

Now here’s someone that Izzy can actually respect! Sure, Izzy’s not friends with anyone, let alone a member of Bonnet’s crew - that’s absurd! - but at the very least, with some time, I truly think that Izzy would come to respect Jim. They’re skilled, they’re more than ready to kill people, and they don’t worry about that mushy gushy feelings bullshit.

But here’s the difference between Izzy and Jim: while Izzy is pretty much completely closed off from everyone at this point, Jim isn’t anymore! They have Oluwande! They’re starting, bit by bit, to open up to this person - this one person that they love and trust, who’s been so patient with them, who has shown them that it’s safe to open up with people.

So, while Jim and Izzy have both spent a long time living by the rule of ‘trust nobody, let no one in’, Jim has already begun their exploration into the world of expressing emotions and trusting people. So!!!! Jim already kind of knows how to start! And they wouldn’t try to push Izzy immediately into any dramatic acts of trust or softness, because there’s no way he’s going to allow that right off the bat. But Jim has been where Izzy is. They know it’s scary to open up, that it’s all too easy to just keep bottling up all your sticky, messy bullshit. But they also know that it’s impossible to keep going like that forever.

Maybe, after a (mostly) friendly sword fight or two, Izzy really starts to respect Jim. And Jim, to their own surprise, kind of starts to respect Izzy too. They see a little bit of something else, deep down, and it compels them. Maybe they even see a tiny bit of themself, even if Izzy is a very different (and twisted) man. They may not trust each other, but Jim has the beginnings of an urge to start poking, and Izzy’s ready to listen. He’s not going to push them away - and Jim will make sure of that, never nudging him too hard. It’s not a fucking excavation after all, it’s not like Jim is interested in being his therapist. But maybe, maybe, they can chip a teeny little bit of his bitter, angry crust away.

Jim knows not to go too deep - they don’t even know how to do that anyways. They sure as hell aren’t interested in getting all goopy and soft. But they know what Olu taught them. They start with the little things. Little questions, little prodding. Leaving out some crumbs for Izzy to take, even if he doesn’t want to. Even if the first few times they ask about his name, or his tattoos, he doesn’t give them more than a grunt. But after a while, maybe, by the time Jim’s almost forgotten they asked, they hear a muttered, “Israel. My real name is Israel.” They take it without a word. Just a nod. They sit in a silence that is almost companionable.

Listen. Izzy cannot. handle. grand, open acts of affection. Vulnerability disgusts him, terrifies him. Even if Lucius or Stede or the Conceptual Golden Retriever Boyfriend were to offer it, Izzy is not ready. Not yet, not the Izzy we know. But!!! I think he could take little pieces, just starting small. Things that he can easily brush off, or ignore with another indifferent grunt. Like half of an apple cut by Jim’s knife, silently offered and accepted. Or a hand extended to him when he falls on his ass after being - very fairly, very skillfully - beaten in a practice duel. It surprises him, but he takes it, and lets Jim pull him up.

I think eventually, Jim could have a conversation with Izzy about opening up. Something along the lines of telling him that he doesn’t need to open up to everyone - just someone. At the very least, he needs to start by letting one person in. And it doesn’t have to be Jim - hell, lord knows they don’t have time to dig into whatever crazy shit he’s got going on under all that - but he’s got to pick someone. Because it’s worth it. Because eventually, everyone gets tired of you slamming the door on them, and they’ll stop knocking.

Of course, at some point when Jim reunites with the crew of the Revenge, everyone will get to talking again about how annoying Izzy is, and how they should just throw him overboard - for real this time. But Jim mumbles a little, “Oh, he’s not so bad when you get to know him.” Everyone looks at them like they’re crazy, but it gets in their heads, gets them thinking. If Jim can get along with Izzy, then there must be something half-decent about him, right? Right?

If you asked Izzy the same question, he might not be able to answer. But… maybe he’s ready to try and be half-decent, at least. He’ll die before admitting it. But it makes him consider. Maybe, next time someone comes knocking, he’ll let them in. Just a little.