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The accident exists only as a series of skip frames in Ed’s mind.One minute, he is cursing out the asshole who cut him off; the next, the car is crumpled around him. Then, Edward is pushing himself up, off the slowly deflating and cooling airbag. He blinks, and, then, he is staring at Izzy, poor, small, fragile Izzy crushed up in the remains of the Challenger.“Iz…”Izzy’s head hangs limply, his eyes closed. Blood pours from some unseen wound in Izzy’s dark, tussled hair. Ed reaches for him through the mangled wreckage of what had been his beloved car. Izzy feels deathly still, but his arm is warm. Ed cannot tell if he is already dead; he cannot reach to do more than brush a fingertip against his hand.“Iz…. No….”Sirens shriek in the distance, and, the very next thing Ed is consciously aware of, EMTs drag him from the wreck. It hurts every inch of him to be so bodily pulled along. He screams, but not from pain. No. Ed calls mindlessly, deliriously for Izzy still trapped in the twisted hulk of metal that had once been a muscle car. The EMTs talk to him, talk over him, as Ed sobs for Izzy as other paramedics attempt to climb into the vehicle to better access the man.He hears them say something about the ‘jaws of life’ and ‘medivac,’ and, then, like a skipping CD, Ed is in an ambulance, strapped down on his back, with a stiff, plastic collar about his neck. He blinks back confusion and shakes off the hands of the medics tending to him.“No.” He jerks his hand away from the EMT trying to place an IV line. “Izzy? Where’s Izzy?”The medic frowns. “The passenger?” When Ed nods as best he can around the collar, he shakes his head. “Still at the accident scene.”Ed feels his heart compacting down worse than the car. “Is he….?”“They’re still working on getting him out.”xxxxxxxxxxxEd’s stay in the emergency room is nothing short of a blur. He is given multiple neuro assessments by assorted, nameless doctors, and scanned in several ways. Ed initially fights, still desperate to have any news of Izzy, to go back to his side at the wreck. Yet, in time, he realizes they will only release him once satisfied with his condition. So, he submits willingly to anything and everything they ask of him.As it turns out, Ed is extremely lucky. The doctors diagnose him with a concussion that Ed could have told them about; he’s had enough in his life to know how they feel. A long laceration in his scalp requires stitches. He has three broken ribs, but they will heal on their own. The doctors do not even wrap rib fractures anymore, preferring to allow them to heal naturally. They prescribe him pain medication and give him follow up instructions before leaving him to be interrogated by the cops.Ed answers all of their questions without even looking at them. Instead, Ed stares at his ring – the ring Izzy gave him – as he mutters his useless answers without deflection, without lies. He is to blame. He fucked up. Ed knows this, and he doesn’t care. Ed would confess to any number of things if it gets this over with faster. He just wants to know what is going on with Izzy.Eventually, a surgeon comes to find him. “Mr. Teach?”Ed jumps at his name. “Yes?”“I understand you are Mr. Hands’ partner?”Partner. It sounds so cold, so clinical and distant. Any other time, Ed would argue. He cannot bring himself to do that now.“Yes.”The surgeon gives a stern nod. “Are you capable of making medical decisions for Mr. Hands?”Ed’s blood instantly runs cold.xxxxxxxxxxxOver the next several hours, the hospital staff ferry him from the emergency room to a surgical waiting room with plush, overly disinfected chairs and softly droning television. Occasionally, someone comes to give an update or ask for his signature. Ed complies blindly each time, as though in a narcotic daze.
Mr. Hands is in critical condition.

Mr. Hands is in surgery.

Mr. Hands has serious trauma to his left leg.
A part of Ed recoils at the ‘Mr. Hands.’ It sounds so formal, so impersonal. It makes Izzy sound like a college professor, a politician, or even a stranger, not the man Ed has known for the better part of two decades. He does not correct them; Ed does not dare do anything that might compromise Izzy’s care.When they come to tell him that Edward may have to make “difficult decisions” about Izzy’s leg, the dam finally breaks. He nods to the doctor, but Ed only holds himself together long enough to curl up on the couch in front of the television. He wraps his arms about his own aching chest and sobs. Each sob hurts, but Edward relishes in the pain. He should hurt for what he has done to Izzy. He cries for so long that his tears blur into sleep.A nurse wakes him some time later with a gentle touch to his shoulder. “Mr. Teach? Mr. Hands is out of surgery.”Ed blinks briefly at the statement before realizing what she must mean. “He’s ok? Can I see him?”The nurse winces strangely. “The doctor will be here to speak with you shortly.”Ed shivers at the realization that she did not answer him before leaving. Fortunately, the doctor arrives shortly after. He explains the trauma Izzy had sustained in the crash, but Ed can hardly hear it. He can only hear the blood rushing to his ears.“Would you like to see him?”Those words break through the haze. “Yes.”The doctor escorts him to small room where Izzy has been placed. Ed gasps at the sight of him. Pale, bruised, bundled in bandages, attached to what seems like a mountain of medical equipment. His wrist is splinted, and bruises paint nearly half of his face in ghastly technicolor. To Ed’s horror, his left leg is packed with bandages that come to his knee and no further. There is nothing below the knee to bandage. Izzy’s leg is quite simply gone.“His leg,” Ed croaks.“I’m sorry,” the doctor intones. “We tried everything in our power to save it, but Mr. Hands’ leg was too badly damaged.”Ed does not hear anything else beyond that, at least not then.xxxxxxxxxxxIzzy spends the next four days unconscious. The doctors tell Ed this is to be expected. Izzy has suffered extensive trauma including a head injury. This is normal.Ed wants to them to stick their fucking ‘normal’ up their own asses. He nearly punches one of them, but the thought of being kicked out of the hospital and separated from Izzy stills his hand. Instead, he does not say a thing. Instead, Ed listens closely to their assessments and instructions. He takes every bit of information in. Izzy will need him to be strong, to be collected. Izzy will need Ed to take care of him.When Izzy does finally begin to awaken, it slowly, in small, fleeting moments. It starts with the movement of his eyelids and the flicked of his fingers. Full consciousness, however, returns with a gasped start.Izzy groans, startling Ed, before saying or perhaps asking in a hoarse voice, “My leg…”“Iz, I’m sorry. Izzy, they had to take it.”Izzy’s face crumples as he weeps softly. When Ed reaches out for him, Izzy pulls away. Ed chews his lip and tries to tell himself that it is just the drugs. It is just waking up in a strange place. It is not fear in Izzy’s eyes. It can’t be.xxxxxxxxxxxIzzy spends five weeks in the hospital. First, in the intensive care unit, the doctors and nurses poking and prodding him at all hours of the night. At least, during that time, Izzy remains too doped up to truly understand his situation. When he graduates to the stepdown unit, however, Izzy growls and snaps at the hospital staff, but he remains too weary, too exhausted and pained to mount any real threat. He becomes solemn and resigned in a way that breaks Ed’s heart. The hospital provides a counselor to “help with the transition,” but it does not stop Izzy from withdrawing further and further from Ed, like a swimmer caught in the under-toe.Ed tries once, only once, to physically comfort Izzy, to embrace him, but Izzy shrugs him off with a wordless snarl. Ed accepts the denial. He deserves to be refused. He did this to Izzy. Ed accepts Izzy’s ire when he and a physical therapist help him up to try his crutches. Edward takes every insult, every snarl when Izzy struggles to heal and adapt.In the end, Izzy only spends a few days in a regular unit, sullen and bitter. He says little to anyone, lips at his food. Edward continually tells himself any number of comforting lies. It’s the shit hospital food turning his stomach. It’s the drugs ruining his appetite. It’s the days and weeks spent in the ICU unable to stomach much, rendering him fuller earlier. Ed knows these are lies, but he cannot bring himself to think otherwise, not when he knows Izzy’s discharge is coming up.“The doctors told me you’re coming home tomorrow!” Ed announces gleefully on that miraculous day.Izzy just shrugs. “Yeah.”The flat tone hurts Edward, but he tries to ignore it. “I bet you’re looking forward to being in your own home, in your own bed.”Izzy doesn’t respond, not exactly, except to hunker down deeper in his bed and mutter, “M’tired, Ed.”It is a dismissal, and it cuts to the bone. “Yeah.” Ed shakes his head and looks down. “You rest.” He forces himself to smile as warmly as he can muster. “Big day tomorrow. I’ll be back at discharge time.”“Yeah, you do that.”xxxxxxxxxxxThe next day, when Ed arrives at the hospital armed with Izzy’s most comfortable pajamas and slippers and a hopeful attitude, he is shocked to be told that Mr. Hands already signed himself out in the morning. Ed wastes precious time having them double check the records. Yet, Izzy is not there.Ed races back to the loft. Surely, Izzy would have gone there. The door is locked, but Izzy’s keys, wallet, phone, and ring sit neatly upon the nightstand where he dutifully sets them each night, along with a note. Izzy, however, is simply not there.
I can’t do this anymore.
Ed searches the loft for any clues as to where Izzy may have run off to but finds none. In a fit of rage, he tears the loft apart, awash in his anger. He smashes the dishes and flips the table, blinded to the world in his anger. Within minutes, the loft is as shattered as his soul. The only thing that stops the mindless outburst is when Ed stumbles into the closet, intent on shredding the clothes from the hangers with his bare hands. There, on the floor of the closet, sits the small locking box where Edward keeps his gun. It is open, and it is empty.The note echoes horribly in Ed’s mind. I can’t do this anymore.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Stede drives them to the church. Stede always drives, not that he minds. When Edward first came into his life, he had been honest that he did not drive, not ever. It was not until many months after they started seeing one another seriously and several attempts of Stede asking why that Edward finally explained. Edward has not driven a car since the accident.That is why they are here, after all. Neither man is particularly religious. Oh, sure, Stede adores the stained-glass window and intricate sculptural details of a good church, and Edward rather seems to enjoy the pageantry of it all. Yet, neither ever attends mass or ascribes to any firm religious beliefs. They are here for Edward, at the recommendation of his therapist. And Stede wants to be there, to be supportive as he will always be for Edward.Stede parks towards the back of the lot, giving himself time to collect his thoughts. Edward seems far away from him, staring out the window at the fine drizzle coming down and fiddling with the ring hanging – Izzy’s ring - from the silver chain on his neck. Edward does that when he is anxious. Getting Edward to therapy had been almost too easy. When they moved in together, it had been clear that Edward was still suffering, still blaming himself. They had a few small fights on the matter, mostly involving Edward storming off to do something foolish like get into another bar brawl, before Edward had finally conceded in telling him the whole, sad, soppy story while hunched in the empty bathtub. Stede empathized but understood, unable to bear the thought of anything happening to Edward even so early in their relationship; suggesting therapy had been like suggesting breathing, so obvious upon saying the words.“Are you ready, love?” Stede always uses gentle pet-names for his lover.Edward draws a sharp breath and nods. “As I’ll ever be.” He freezes though, hand at the door latch but not opening it. “And you’ll stay? Not in there, but here? If I need to….?”Edward does not say ‘If I need to run.’ Stede knows that is what he means. Sharing with his therapist has evidently been somewhat easier than this. Perhaps it is because his therapist, Dr. Buttons, is a somewhat unconventional man. Edward had taken to Dr. Buttons immediately, but this is different. This will be a room full of strangers watching him peel away the layers of his hurt, anger, and grief. Ed is a proud man; it will be hard for him.Stede feels himself smile, feels the love practically brimming at his cheeks as he declares, “Of course, I will. I am never going anywhere, Edward Teach.” Edward gives a tiny nod, and Stede points to the front of the church, to the line of bedraggled people waiting in the rain. “Look. There’s the soup kitchen. I’ll just be there, volunteering while you do this. You can come find me at any time if it gets too hard.”They have gone over the plan several times since Dr. Buttons instructions. Stede will be there for his lover, but not in the room. Edward is not ready for that. He has only ever welcomed Stede into his therapy sessions briefly, usually at Dr. Buttons’ coaxing, and only for short bursts. Edward is not quite ready for Stede to see the ugly part of him, the part of him that must voluntarily lay bare his misdeeds and shortcomings. The soup kitchen happens to open shortly after the meeting, and the people running it seem all too thrilled to have another volunteer.Suddenly, Edward leans across the center console and kisses him deeply. There is no passion behind the kiss, but a deep longing and loving. It comes from a desperation for reassurance, the promise that Stede will still be there for him through this all. Stede wraps his arms about him and allows it. If this is what Edward needs to continue his path to healing, Stede is certainly not going to argue.When Edward pulls away, there is committal in his glittering, dark eyes. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do this.”They run out, into the rain, holding hands like school children. At the entrance to the church, they part ways. Stede, shaking off his coat, to the right, following the line of strangers to the soup kitchen. Ed, tossing back his long, wet hair, to the left, to the private rooms and meetings. He looks over his shoulder to Stede, and the blonde gives a small, encouraging wave, like a proud parent watching their child go to school for the first time.It gives Ed the nerve he needs to force himself through the door with the paper sign declaring “Rageaholics Anonymous.”xxxxxxxxxxxIn truth, Stede could have done anything with the time Edward was in his meeting. He could have worked on his latest novel – a trashy pirate romance that would likely sell well enough to bored, middle aged housewives and curious teens to keep them afloat for another few years. He could have watched a movie on his phone. Or, he could have simply sat in the car and watched the rain. All of that had felt and continues to feel wrong.Edward is doing something hard for Stede, so Stede has resolved to be present, to be accessible and to do something hard as well.The soup kitchen is, indeed, extremely grateful to have Stede. The Lutherans do not seem to mind the fact that he is gay, welcoming Stede with surprisingly open arms and putting him immediately to work. He spends the next hour or so handing out boxes of simple meals. It should be simple, honest work. Pick up a meal and hand it out. Yet, it hurts to see them, every man, woman, and, God, child, that has to come here, has to wait in the hopes of getting something before they run out. Fortunately, they do not run out, although it comes close.The cook, a queer fellow who had introduced himself as Roach, nods approvingly when the line dwindles down enough to afford them a break and only a few Styrofoam containers remain. “Good. Hate for someone to go without on a night like this.”Stede blanches. “Does that happen often?”Roach sighs and gazes out to the many people in the room that serves as a makeshift cafeteria. “Sometimes. Gets worse this time of the year. More hungry mouths start coming in, and the budget gets a little tight through to Christmas.”“What do they do then?”Roach shrugs solemnly. “Go without.” It cuts at Stede, but Roach merely claps a hand on his shoulder. “First time, right, eh? Got to remember, you can’t save them all.”Stede frowns deeply, wishing he could.xxxxxxxxxxxEdward sits towards the far side of the circle, closest to the door. In case it gets too much. In case he needs to get out. At least, that is only part of the reason why. The delinquent elementary schoolboy in him knows it is because kids furthest away from the teacher stand less of a chance of being called upon. Even though he knows that is not how this works, Ed still hopes it will.The group is at least interesting. Ed half expected any form of 12 step group to be mainly religious, conservative folks having fallen from grace. This group is far from that. There’s Lucius, a spritely young man who was asked to attend by his husband. Jim is here by court order having attempted to violently avenge their own father’s murder. Zheng has apparently been angry her entire life, something about her upbringing that Ed doesn’t quite catch. On and on they go, sharing their stories and feelings as the clock ticks away the allotted time.As the time passes, Ed’s heart lifts lightly to think he’s going to get out of this without sharing with strangers, but, then, Oluwande, the group leader gestures loosely in his direction. “I see we have a new face with us tonight.”Ed nods and looks away, looks anywhere but at Oluwande. “Yeah. I guess.”“We usually save newcomers for last. It lets you get a chance to hear us being open and vulnerable so you know it’s safe.” Ed senses a ‘but’ coming, and it does. “But everyone shares, especially their first time.”“Wouldn’t even know what to say or do, mate,” Ed answers honestly and almost flippantly.Oluwande does not even flinch, just offers a gentle curl of his lips. “Why don’t you start with your name and what brought you here tonight?”That seems simple enough for him. “Well, my name is Ed, and, apparently, I’m here because I have anger issues. At least, that’s what my therapist says.”Ye deflect with humor to avoid difficult truths. Dr. Buttons has chastised him for this disordered evasion on multiple occasions, but the group merely chuckles under their breaths and behind loosely curled fists. Edward wonders if it is perhaps something of a bad joke for them, pondering just how many of them probably said something similar in opening. Judging by Jim’s sly grin and Oluwande’s measured expression, they likely all said something like that the first night.Mindful of Dr. Buttons’ instructions and the lover who wants this work, Ed stops and collects himself; he is supposed to be doing the hard work for Stede. “No. That’s not true. I’m here because I killed my husband.”The room hisses with sharp gasps. Ed ignores them and fiddles with the ring briefly; there are always gasps. No one is ever not shocked by the revelation that they sit in the presence of as big of a shitbag as Edward Teach. Dr. Buttons has been working with him to better process this fact, to understand that mental health – both his and Izzy’s – is much more nuanced than such black-and-white statements.“My therapist told me it might help to talk to other people like me.” Ed rubs his face with his palm suddenly feeling sweaty and uncomfortable. “I never thought I was one of those abusive pricks that you see in the movies. I never hit Izzy, but I hurt him just the same with my anger.” Ed looks up sharply. “I didn’t pull the trigger, but I sure as shit killed him.”By the time he has blurted it all out, Edward is shaking slightly. It hurts. Like ripping open an old wound all over again. It had been bad enough telling Dr. Buttons and Stede all about his many sins, but this is different. Ed has never told so many people at once, and never until well after feeling like he at least knew them enough not to immediate turn their backs on him.“Thank you for sharing that, Ed,” Oluwande says simply. “I know it can be hard to assess how our emotions and actions affect other people, harder when they make unhealthy choices as a result.” Ed nearly snorts at the gross over simplification of Izzy’s death, but Oluwande goes on softly, “But I’m glad you’re here tonight, taking the steps to change, to grow. We cannot change the people around us, but we can change ourselves.”Abruptly, Ed feels a tear he did not know existed slide down his cheek, and, then, there is the comforting weight of Jim’s hand on his shoulder.Jim’s words roll into his ear, tired but kindly. “Yeah, Viejo. Welcome to the party.”xxxxxxxxxxxAfter dinner, Stede helps Roach clean up as the last stragglers finish up before leaving, his heart heavy. Like many, Stede has always known on some level that the homelessness issue has gotten out of control all over the world. However, he has never seen it, never been so close. It pains him to see the suffering so real. Once the last sad wretch hobbles out the door and back into the rain on his crutches, Stede goes through the motions before mechanically finding his coat and gathering his things to leave.“Hey! Wait!” Roach calls to him from the kitchen before trotting after him. “Here.”The cook presses two of the leftover Styrofoam containers into Stede’s hands. “What? I don’t need this.”“Don’t worry about it. Anything uneaten just gets binned if we don’t use it,” Roach explains.“But two?”Roach crosses his arms, settles a knowing look upon Stede, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “You didn’t come here alone, did you?”“How did you know?”Roach leans close and taps his temple. “Kitchen magic.” He hoots at Stede’s gaping expression. “Saw you two pull into the lot and sit in your car for a while. First timers never come alone.” The cook sobers in a flash. “AA or RA?”Stede frowns. He is not entirely sure he should be answering. That is Edward’s truth, not his. Yet, there is something disarming about the cook. Stede finds he cannot ignore Roach’s question. Even if he could, with only three events scheduled at the church for that night, it is only a matter of time before the cook figures it out anyway.“RA.”Roach nods and strokes his chin. “Figures. Cute ones always go for the bad boys.” Stede flushes, but Roach waves him off. “It’s a good thing though. Olu’s very good with his group.” Roach draws close once more, his voice dropping to a low growl, “But, he ever hurts you, you tell me. I’ll serve him his testicles on a nice couscous.” The cook draws his thumb across his throat and, then, laugh again, a bellowing and infectious sound, big and hearty. “You’ll be back next week?”In the hallway, Stede spies Ed coming this way. He looks tired and wary, but lighter somehow. Ed leans against the wall in the corridor and gives Stede a sheepish wave. It buoys Stede with hope.“Yeah. I think we will.”xxxxxxxxxxxEdward remains quiet and tight lipped through the drive home. He does not speak until Stede sets the two take-out boxes on the table, presenting him with what appears to be a hearty, curry beef and noodles. They sit in companionable silence as they eat. Stede eats slowly, feeling the weight of the hollowed, hungry faces that had shared this meal, while Ed shovels the food in his mouth as though it could dam up the words and emotions that threaten to spill.It is only midway through his food that Ed comments, “S’good.”“They have a very good cook.”Edward tenses. “Stede…. You didn’t take food from the needy, did you?”Stede feels himself chortling softly. “No. The cook – Roach – he made me take it. Said it was extra that would be wasted.” He shakes his head. “I assure you, though, I felt the exact same way.”Edward smirks, and it warms Stede’s heart. “So, you’ll come back with me next week and see if there are any more leftovers we can snag, right?”Stede’s heart feels like it could burst at Edward essentially committing so freely to returning, but he plays it cool. “Oh? You were thinking about going back?”“Yeah,” Ed says with a shrug, tucking back into the meal as though the decision is not nearly as monumental as Stede knows it to be.“Oh, Edward,” Stede breathes, putting his hand to his mouth to hold back his own emotions. “That’s wonderful. Was it good?”“I guess.” Edward gives a noncommittal shrug. “It’s a bunch of sitting around and talking.” When Stede raises his brow to bid him go on, Edward does. “It felt alright, I guess, to be around people who get it.”Stede and Dr. John have had private sessions about just this. Dr. John is a colleague of Dr. Buttons who came highly recommended for spouses and partners of individuals with anger or addiction issues. While Dr. Buttons never violates confidentiality with Edward, Stede knows he confers with Dr. Buttons on certain issues such as this. Both therapists have been concerned about Edward’s alarmingly narrow support network – consisting ONLY of Dr. Buttons and Stede himself. It is not healthy for such mental and emotional labor to be placed squarely on Stede. Going to a group meeting had been about finding a community and support network outside of Edward’s scope, people who understand in a way that Stede never can“Edward, I’m so very proud of you.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

A week passes in a blur. The rough outline for Stede’s new novel slowly comes together. Edward spends his days at the gym between virtual and in-person appointments with Dr. Buttons. Outside of that, nothing of note mercifully happens.Surprisingly, when Stede drives to the church that Friday night, Edward does not appear so despondent and unsure. He seems eager, a ball of nervous energy in a good way. Stede embraces whatever part of the recovery process that has allowed Edward to feel this way. He hugs his partner one last time at the junction in the church and whispers how proud he is once more into Edward’s ear before turning to the soup kitchen.Roach is waiting for him in the kitchen. “Ah, back again! You just bought me dinner!”“What are you talking about?”Roach grins wildly from behind the tower of containers he is packing. “Olu and I had a little bet going as to whether or not you’d actually be back.”Stede blinks. “I am a man of my word. I said I’d be back, and here I am.”“And here you are. Now, get your coat off and get ready. We have some hungry mouths to feed.”xxxxxxxxxxxIn meeting, Edward fidgets uncomfortably with every moment. Apparently, RA is not too dissimilar from AA, following twelve steps, albeit modified to accommodate emotional issues and with slightly less emphasis on the religious undertones. With having a newer member to the group in Ed, Oluwande has apparently deemed it necessary to go directly to the first step without any fuss.
Admit that we were powerless over our anger – that our lives had become unmanageable
In order to do this, Oluwande has asked everyone in the room to contemplate and describe their absolute rock bottom moment. It feels like exposing a nerve, cracking open a bad tooth, even just to hear everyone talking about their worst moments. Edward unconsciously touches the ring at his neck.When it comes his turn, Oluwande looks to Edward expectantly. “Well? What about you Ed?”His hand drops from the ring to his lap. “What about me?”“When did you realize that your anger was behind the wheel, not you?” Unable to stop himself, Edward cackles nervously at the phrasing; Oluwande furrows his brow. “What?”“Oh, mate, you have no idea,” Edward roars, brushing a tear from his eye from laughing too hard. Jim’s hand drops dangerously to their side and into a balled fist, but Ed sees it and waves them off with an apology. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just…. you could not have picked a worse way to ask.”Oluwande grimaces. “I’m sorry if my word choice was offensive or challenging. Could you tell us why or what makes that phrasing so difficult so we can find solutions?”Ed nods slowly, composing himself. “My worst moment, my absolute worst moment, was caused by my anger.” He brushes the cool metal of the ring once more before sighing. “I haven’t gotten behind a wheel in six years, because, last time I did, was the accident. Some asshole cut me off, and I was too fucking concerned with giving him the finger and making him know he fucked with the wrong fucker to notice I was drifting out of my lane.” Ed shakes his head ruefully. “A tractor trailer was merging into the lane next to me, and I smashed right the fuck into it.”“That sounds awful, Ed,” Oluwande tells him gently.Edward chuffs. “Nah, mate, that wasn’t the awful part. My husband was with me. When I came to, I thought he was dead.” Edward rubs his face, as if he could wipe away the image of Izzy bloodied and dying in his ruined Dodge. “He was pinned in the car.”Lucius presses his fingers to his lips sympathetically. “Oh, honey. That must have been terrifying.”“It took them two hours to cut him out of the car.” Edward picks at some imaginary lint on his jeans to avoid eye contact. “The doctors, they saved him, but they couldn’t save his leg.”There comes a long pause when Edward cannot bring himself to say anything more; Oluwande must take it as the end of his story, saying, “Thank you for sharing.”“Oh, no, we’re not at the worst part, yet. Not even close,” Ed snaps almost deliriously as he continues to vent. “He spent five weeks in the hospital, and, on the day he was due to be released, he signed himself out before I got there to pick him up. Somehow, he got home before me.” Ed’s arms come up outside of his control, wrapping about himself. “He left me a note. Told me he couldn’t do it anymore. I thought he meant our marriage. I thought he was angry at me for the accident.”Ed’s chest hurts coming to this part, the crux of his failings, but Oluwande encourages him tenderly. “What happened?”“I went into a rage. I tore the place apart, just to break something.” Ed feels the tears coming again and swallows them down; he does not deserve the luxury of crying for what he did. “I didn’t realize I was wasting time. Iz, he’d taken my gun. By the time I realized it, it was probably already too late.” Ed sniffles and scrubs his face with the back of his hand. “The cops never found him, but they said that’s not uncommon. They said people who….” Ed cannot even say it, not even after all this time, and, so, he vaguely gestures to his own temple. “Anyway, people who do that try not to be found.” Ed sighs, suddenly exhausted like he ran a marathon. “So, yeah. My anger did that.”There are low murmurs around him of support, of wordless encouragement, but Oluwande cuts through the din. “Ed, we cannot control what the people around us do. You know that, right?” When Ed nods, Oluwande continues, “You blame yourself, but a traumatic incident can alter brain chemistry in even a healthy, well-adjusted adult. Without a professional’s input, there is no telling where your husband was mentally after a critical stress event like that, let alone after losing a leg. His actions may have been more related to that than to your emotions.”“Yeah, man. You don’t know if anything different would have happened if you didn’t have a tantrum,” Lucius concurs. “Still could have ended up offing himself.”Ed snorts. “That’s what my therapist keeps telling me.”“Internalizing that just because we have an issue means accepting that there are both things our emotional regulation affects and things it does not,” Oluwande wisely observes.Jim smirks. “Yeah, but that’s easier said than done.”That small opening has Oluwande turning to Jim instead, letting Ed off the hook.xxxxxxxxxxxStede is surprised to find that many of the faces from last week are present in the kitchen again as they file by. He decides to commit each and every one to memory. Later in the week, when he writes, Stede will cast them as characters, immortalizing those that society seems to have otherwise forgotten.The last to arrive is the one who was last to leave the week prior. This time, Stede notes that the man’s left leg ends abruptly at the knee, his pantleg knotted off to keep from dragging. He swallows and tries not to stare. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the face as it approaches his station. The man is tanned, his long, greasy and silvering hair hanging over his dark eyes, hiding much of his features. He looks tired and strained, bedraggled as though the world has chewed him up and spit him out, and he reeks of liquor and body odor.When Stede stares too long, he notices a small swallow tattoo on the man’s neck. Edward has a similar tattoo on his right elbow, beside the snake. After one memorable romp in bed, Stede had traced every one of Edward’s tattoos with his fingers in a post coital bliss and asked their meaning. Ed had explained that the swallow came from his time in the Navy – a badge of honor for crossing 5,000 nautical miles. Stede had kissed the swallow and thanked it silently for flying Ed safely out of the service and into his life. Stede now wonders if this man was also in the Navy, if he lost his leg in the service, if this is a snapshot into the possible fate Edward could have met.The man shifts on an unsteady leg, holding his hands out and snapping Stede from his stupor long enough to ask, “Do you need help carrying this?”Those brown eyes – so like Ed’s eyes – snap up like a feral cat, but he just rasps as though through gritted teeth “I can manage.”“Right. Right you are,” Stede says more to himself, handing over the Styrofoam box. “Enjoy.”The man sniffs, almost hotly, and levers himself off. Just as quickly as the interaction occurs, Stede forgets it. Yet, late that night, when he is lying in bed with Ed, he strokes the delicate bird with his index finger and whispers his thanks that Edward is alive, with him, and taking steps to heal. Edward is snoring beside him, unaware, but Stede just cuddles up close to him, drinking in his presence and warmth. He falls asleep with his hand resting over the swallow.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It is strange, after just a few short weeks, Edward is looking forward to group. Before going, he imagined hating RA. It sounded cheesy and gimmicky, for people who imagined they had a problem. Ed had expected the religious aspects to be distasteful, and the group to be nothing but hateful, old assholes like himself. The group has proven the exact opposite, charming, endearing, and welcoming.As such, on the day of his next meeting, Edward wakes up early, extricates himself carefully from Stede’s embrace so as not to wake him, and goes to the kitchen. He has not baked in years, not since his childhood. His mother had been an excellent baker, and she had taught him. It is one of the few good memories of his childhood left. In no time at all, the kitchen is awash with the scent of fried sweet bread.When Stede emerges from the bedroom, he beams appreciatively. “What’s all this?”Ed shrugs as he works another small batch of rolled dough in the hot oil. “Don’t know. Thought I might do something nice for the group.”“Ed, I think that’s lovely,” Stede murmurs, getting close enough to both put one arm around Ed’s midsection and use the other to steal one of the little fried donut like pastries. “Ah! Hot!”“That’s what you get for pinching one before it’s cooled.”“It’s good though,” Stede forces out around the hot bread. When he manages to get it cool enough to swallow, Stede asks, “Think you could make some extra?”xxxxxxxxxxxThe fried bread goes over well at group. Edward is not surprised as he passes the Tuperware container around and the group members sample the dish. His mother’s recipes may have been traditional and perhaps somewhat out of date compared to modern cuisine, but those kinds of recipes have endured for a reason.Oluwande thanks him and asks, “Not that I’m complaining about free baked goods, but what prompted you to make this for us?”“Guess it’s my way of saying ‘thanks,’” Ed responds with a shrug.“Thanks for what?” Jim questions suspiciously.Edward sighs. “For accepting me and all my many flaws.”“They are very good, Ed,” Lucius proclaims, popping another of the little donut like pastries into his mouth. “I’d accept any flaws from you if you continued to supply me with things like this.”“Yeah? They’re better with cocoa,” Ed laments. “My mum used to make them for me all the time.” He settles down into his chair. “Happier times.”Oluwande raises a brow. “Do you want to talk about it?”For a moment, Edward considers the option of evading the question. He could simply move on; Oluwande left that door open for him. These meetings are supposed to be about anger management and coping strategies, not his shitty childhood. Yet, his mother has been on his mind for some time today, probably because of the fried bread.“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”Slowly, he unpacks the story of his childhood, of his abusive and alcoholic father. He leaves out the ending; Ed has not even shared that with Dr. Buttons or Stede yet. Jim has a few choice words to share in Spanish at the tale, but, then again, Jim clearly loved their father enough to feel it necessary to try to hunt down his murderer on their own. Jim does not understand hating your own father. Strangely, it is Lucius who seems to understand the most. His father was apparently similar but homophobic to boot, beating Lucius for his ‘deviant thoughts.’In the end, in the quiet, thoughtful pause that follows Lucius’s admission, it is Zheng who dares broach the question. “Do you think we are this way because of our parents?”Oluwande gives a measured shrug. “There are studies into intergeneration traumas and epigenetic factors resulting from past abusive or events that are promising. That is why, much like alcoholism, anger can be a disease. It can feel and be entirely out of our control at times, because it is in the hands of neurochemical reactions – not logical response.”Lucius snorts derisively. “Well, now you sound like my therapist when they’re pushing another prescription on me.”“No, I’ve heard something similar,” Jim offers, snapping their fingers in thought. “Something about receptors in our brains being turned off or maybe turned too far on.”“Wasn’t there that guy who had a full personality switch because he got a railroad spike jammed through his skull? Turned mean then?” one of the other members, Auntie, inquires almost absently.“Phineas Gage,” Oluwande supplies rather matter-of-factly, as though he has had this conversation multiple times before. “He experienced a serious frontal lobe injury and survived in the 1800s. But reports of his personality changes are debated, as there were conflicting write-ups at the time. This is why we don’t theorize about the precise ‘why’ in this group. Everyone and every situation is different. The ‘why’ for you is a conversation for you and your professional care team – whatever you have in place. We focus on events and feelings to better understand coping mechanisms moving forward to build healthier lives and relationships.”Ed plops one of the fried breads into his mouth and uses that as his excuse for the group to move on and away from him.xxxxxxxxxxx“This. This is divine providence,” Roach declares from behind Stede.Stede had saved the fried bread for Roach for after he had finished cooking and boxing all the meals. Now, while Stede and a few volunteers pass out the meals, Roach happily munches away on them in the kitchen. Stede smiles to himself.“It’s the least I could do for all that you do.”Roach laughs. “All I do? You work for me for FREE. I should be baking for you.” His words pause for a moment as he stuffs another ball in his mouth with a satisfied and nearly obscene moan. “No. Strike that. Forget I ever said it. You should always be baking for me.”Stede chuckles to himself. “Well, I sadly cannot take the credit. My partner made them.”“He’s hired,” Roach announces happily, drumming his fist on the table.The hands stop taking the boxes from him for a moment. Stede glances up from his station and finds the amputee standing before him. He still stinks of booze. He is staring with wide, wondering eyes hungrily beyond Stede, at the fried bread longingly, like a man dying of thirst coming across a desert oasis. The entire world seems to pause around that haunting gaze shrouded beneath filthy locks, as though holding its breath. Then, just as rapidly as Stede noticed, the spell is broken, and he snatches the Styrofoam box from Stede to amble to the far side of the room on his crutches, where the man always sits by himself. The line moves briskly after that.Stede finishes handing out the meals and notes that the man is still there, in his spot, some time later. Before he can stop himself, Stede takes a fresh box from the supply and drops a few of the sweets into it. He strides over to the amputee and draws a deep breath, steeling himself. It is one thing for them to come to you; it is an entirely different thing for Stede to be going to them. Not because he is repulsed, but because Stede cannot be sure what lines exist that he might be crossing in advertently.The amputee does not even look up until Stede slowly, carefully sets the new box down beside him; when he speaks, it is with a husky, vaguely accented drawl, “What’s this?”Stede tries to keep himself composed as the man pries open the thing. “You looked like you wanted some.”Upon gazing inside the box and spying the little fried balls, the amputee stiffens sharply, like an electric current has run through him. Stede is not sure what he has done or what he is seeing, but he knows better than to press too much. The man is a cornered feral cat, all raised hackles at the faintest approach, and Stede knows better than to chance the claws.Instead, Stede backs away awkwardly. “Well, have a good one.”Good deed done, Stede returns to the serving tables, only to be met with Roach’s glare. The cook swiftly stands, grabs Stede by the elbow, and drags him bodily into the kitchen. Stede goes with him but balks at he does. Roach is a strong man; his grip hurts. It surprises Stede; Roach has been nothing but sweet and kind since they first met.Once securely behind closed doors, Roach growls, “You shouldn’t have done that.”“Do what? Be nice? I thought that’s why we were here?” Stede questions.Roach’s face twists into something inscrutable. “They get jealous sometimes.”“You know, for someone who does so much for the homeless, you speak of them like animals. They’re human beings,” Stede argues curtly.That queer expression on Roach’s face settles into what might be resignation. “All humans are animals, Stede.” Roach sighs heavily, solemnly. “I was one of them, for a while. I know what it’s like.”Blood rushes hotly to Stede’s face and ear tips in shame. “Roach, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”“I know.” The cook halts him firmly before the blonde can apologize any further. “I’m in a better place in my life. That’s why I do this. I know what it’s like to be hungry.” Roach says the word with more weight that Stede has ever known. “And I also know a man like that is vulnerable. Can’t be vulnerable when you’re homeless. Can’t let anyone see any chips in the armor. And definitely can’t afford to give anyone any reason to be vexed by you.”Stede nods numbly, feeling all the blood drain coldly from his face with stark realization, leaving shards of ice in its place. The man is an amputee, for Chrissake’s. Stede cannot imagine living on the streets, let alone doing so with one leg. Now, because of his stupid, weak, soft heart, he might have caused further damage or added danger to the stranger’s life.“Oh, shit. What should I do?”Roach shakes his head. “Damage is already done. Let him enjoy it.” He wags a stern finger in Stede’s face. “But ask next time before you do anything like that.”xxxxxxxxxxxThat night, when they lie down for the night, Ed tugs Stede into his arms. Typically, on group nights or days with difficult sessions, Stede holds Ed. As such, this is a welcome change, especially after spending the night worrying on whether or not he has done irreparable harm to the cripple in the soup kitchen by just giving him a little bit of a damned dessert. Stede sinks into the embrace, letting Ed’s big, warm arms cradle him like a small child. They lie in silence like that for a long time before Ed asks what happened.“What do you mean?” Stede inquires in a hush.“You’ve been off all night since we got home. Something happen at volunteering?”Stede tenses but does not see the sense in lying to Edward. “I made a mistake. I gave some of your cooking to one of the men who come to the soup kitchen.”Ed snorts – honestly snorts. “And that was a mistake? Man, you must not think all that highly of my culinary skills.”Stede sniffles a laugh and rubs his head in Ed’s chest. “I love your cooking. Beats mine any day of the week.”“Then, what?”Stede lets out the breath he did not realize he was holding and blurts it all out. The crippled man. The fried bread. The desperation he had seen in the man’s hungry, hollowed eyes. The things Roach warned him about.“That all?” Stede nods against him, and Ed smiles wistfully. “Stede, sounds to me like someone didn’t bring enough for the class.” Stede starts, but Ed just squeezes him. “I can write down the recipe - scale it up for bigger batches, mind - teach you, like my mum did for me.”“You would?”Ed hugs him impossibly tighter. “Of course, I would.”Edward would do anything for Stede.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The week that passes is not Edward’s best. On Monday morning, he gets a call from Dr. Buttons’ office informing him that his insurance has been denied. Fucking VA. He only gave the military the best years of his life and flown through the ranks from enlisted man, to junior officer, to senior officer and captain before retiring honorably. He only gave them all the years he and Izzy could have been together during the tortuous and terrifying Don’t-Ask-Don’t-Tell years wasted with both worried constantly that they would be caught together and dishonorably discharged.When Edward becomes angry on the phone with the billing department and begins to curse, they hang up on him. He fumes for a few moments, panting in rage and ready to break the nearest thing or even chuck his own phone right out the kitchen window. Then, his cell rings. He blinks to realize it is Dr. Buttons’ number.“The fuck?”Dr. Buttons’ lazy brogue greets him. “Hullo, Edward. I understand you are having a bit of a difficult moment.”“Yeah, well, your fucking chippy little secretary just told me my insurance is denied.”Dr. Buttons does not rise to meet Edward’s simmering anger; he never does. “Yeah, about that. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that’s a clerical error and not a true denial.”“Then, why didn’t she just fucking say that?” Edward demands hotly.“I’m sure Mary would have, but we have a strict office policy against verbal abuse of staff,” Dr. Buttons informs him almost smugly.Ed’s heart skips a beat. “Oh, oh, fuck.”“Yup.”Ed puts his head down on the table but leaves the phone to his ear. “Fuck. I just blacked out there.”He can almost hear Dr. Buttons nodding encouragingly. “Figured ya did.”“Tell Mary, tell them all, I’m fucking sorry.”Dr. Buttons assures him. “Mary understands. She’s been a member of the staff for years, so she knows how to handle herself.”Edward still cringes inwardly, terrified that Dr. Buttons will discharge him from his practice. “Fuck. What happens now?”“Well, ye have two options that Mary was trying to explain. You can either pay out of pocket for your scheduled sessions and resubmit the claim for reimbursement when this all gets cleared up, or we can postpone until this is all straightened out.”Edward blinks. “You’re not…. You’re not kicking me out?”“Edward, progress is not linear, and you are going to experience setbacks, especially when faced with challenges,” Dr. Buttons explains. “As long as you are continuing to seek help, are making good faith effort to manage your anger, and are not a physical danger to anyone – which you currently do not seem to be – you will still be welcome in my practice.” He pauses before cautioning, “But, if any of that changes, we will have to revisit the topic.”“Thank you,” Edward croaks out, incredibly, painfully grateful for the doctor’s understanding. “Thank you, doc.”“So, how do ye want to handle this?”Edward chews his lips and considers the option. He feels unraveled and unnerved, like he could fly apart at any moment. He knows he needs to continue his therapy. Yet, Edward is not sure how long it will take to get this mess figured out. While Ed has a pension from the VA, he doubts he can afford to just shell out the cost for the many sessions he does weekly. Stede would cover him, of course, but Edward cannot ask that of him, not when the author is in between publications and on a budget.“Postpone, I guess,” Edward concedes with defeat.“Alright. We’ll rebook yer schedule for when your insurance is in order, but ye have my emergency number if you feel in crisis, yes?”“Yeah,” Ed lets out quietly, tightly.“Ye can reach out to me any time if you need to.”Ed feels his chest constricting, but he forces out, “Thanks, doc.”“And you’ll keep attending your meetings?” Dr. Buttons asks.Edward nods before realizing Dr. Buttons cannot see it. “Yeah.”“Good. It sounded like you were making good connections there at our last session. Keep making them. And call my office as soon as you have everything righted.” Ed offers an agreeable sound, and Dr. Buttons says, “Take care, Edward.”“You, too, doc.”xxxxxxxxxxxBy the time Friday rolls around, Edward is a bitter, seething, snarling mess. He has spent every day on the phone with the VA and his insurance trying to fix the billing issue. When not on the phone with them, Ed goes to the gym to work out his frustrations between weights and the punching bag. It is the only way to keep from snapping at Stede, who Ed knows does not deserve this.Worse, when Ed works the bag, he feels the rage stoking up in him to think of Stede saddled with a great big man-child that is so incapable of controlling his emotions. He slides mindless into the anger, letting his fists work the bag until his knuckles split and bleed. That is only what halts his fury. Edward’s gym has warned him repeatedly not to get blood on any of the equipment, and, so, when he does, Ed is forced to stop, clean up his mess, and wrap his knuckles. At home, Stede makes uncertain expressions upon seeing Edwards bloodied knuckles and knits his brow together in concern – which only serves to worsen the feeling of helplessness in the face of his own anger.By the end of the week, Ed has made no progress with the VA and feels wound tighter than a spring. Stede has kindly offered several times to pay for his therapy out of pocket, but Ed refuses. He is not a charity case and will not make Stede suffer any losses due to his dumb issues. He can deal with this; Ed has to deal with it.The drive to the church is quiet and somber. Edward cannot bring himself to say anything, worried he will say something stupid or hurtful by accident. He is too nervous. He looks like a rageaholic for the first time. Black clothes, long hair, tattoos, and fucked up hands from punching? Ed looks like the posterchild for the group, and, somehow, the drive shifts his anger to a deep, burning shame. The others have been so open and so successful compared to him, and Ed has thrown everything away like the monster he is. They will see the monster tonight, for the first time, and it sickens him.In the church parking lot, Stede takes his hands and sweetly presses a kiss to the bandaids over Ed’s knuckles. “I know you’ve had a hard week, Edward, but, for what it’s worth, I love you and am still so very proud you.”Ed melts under his touch and reaches across the console to hug Stede. “You have no idea how much that means to me right now.”“Or how much you mean to me,” Stede shushes him.Ed shudders against him before slipping away. “Guess we better get heading inside.”Stede walks with him to the junction in the hall and watches Edward for a long time as he walks to the room where his group meets. The entire time, Ed keeps his hands stuffed deeply in his pockets, as though he could hide his battered fists. He hunches so deeply that Stede aches for him, wishing he could go with Ed, be there for him.But Stede knows he cannot, and, so, he goes to the soup kitchen.xxxxxxxxxxxEd can only conceal the evidence of a week spent angry for so very long. When he gets to the circle, the man must take his hands out of his pockets to sit. Otherwise, it will both look awkward and be extremely painful when his jeans press against Edward’s open knuckles. He tries to do so casually, sitting like there is nothing wrong with him.To his surprise, when Jim takes their seat next to him, they have a fresh cast on their right hand and wrist. Ed gapes at it for a long time in wonder, before turning away. He does not want anyone to stare at him; Ed is sure Jim feels the same as Jim stares a hole into the floor.Once everyone has settled, Oluwande eyes both Jim and Ed and opens group. “Good evening, everyone. I’d ask what people would like to share this week, but it looks like a few of us have had a bit of a rough week.”Ed feels his shoulders move with a silent, mirthless chuckle. “That’s one way of putting it.”Jim does not flinch, does not seem to even be consciously aware of the exchange around them. Instead, they radiate tension. The muscles in Jim’s neck seem to raise and stand, reminding Edward of a rabid dog’s ridged fur. They work their jaw.Oluwande ignores Ed’s glib tone and focuses in on Jim’s silence. “Jim, how about you? How was your week?”“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Jim grinds out.Olu raises a brow. “Was it? Kind of looks like you had yourself a bit of an accident.”“Nope,” Jim declares sharply, popping the ‘p’ sarcastically.Lucius, ever the little shit, points to the cast across Ed. “Oh, really? What’s that, then? New fashion accessory?”“It’s a cast for a broken hand, because I broke my hand,” Jim growls darkly.Edward feels abruptly uncomfortable next to Jim, like standing in an insecure munitions store as a fresh recruit. Jim is ready to blow, and the group is pushing them hard. Edward almost wants to inch away, closer to Lucius and away from Jim. He cannot. The sound of the chair on the industrial waxed floor would draw everyone’s attention.Edward is not afraid of Jim; no, he is afraid of himself. Any other week, Ed would probably defend Jim and follow Oluwande’s lead in the discussion. Or he’d make some sort of teasing comment to Lucius to diffuse the situation. This is not any other week. Edward has been simmering and itching for a fight all week, and Jim looks just as ready to go.Oluwande ignores the silent exchange. “Want to tell us what happened?”Jim scowls, but they speak mechanically. “PI closed my account today.”Lucius draws a hiss through his teeth. “Oh, fuck me. I’m sorry, Jim.”Ed turns to Jim and peers beyond the rage to see the hurt under it. “What do you mean?”Lucius dramatically puts a hand on Ed’s thigh like he is exchanging gossip at the beauty parlor. “The cops consider Jim’s dad’s murder a cold case; they closed it ages ago. Jim’s had a private investigator working the case for the last couple of years.” Ed starts at the revelation, but the younger man just looks past Ed. “Did he say why?”“Lack of evidence,” Jim spits vehemently.Lucius swears again. “Shit. I’m sorry. Did he find anything, anything at all?”“No,” they snarl, their lip raised in a sneer. “Said he didn’t feel right taking my money anymore. I didn’t pay him to worry about my money. I fucking paid him to find the asshole who killed my dad.” Jim raises their casted arm. “Punched the wall after I got off the phone with him.”Suddenly, Ed feels abruptly dumb and petty looking down at his mangled knuckles. Here he has been stewing and fuming all week about silly insurance issues and missing a few therapy sessions, while Jim has been facing actual problems. His chest flush with shame as Edward wishes the earth would just swallow him up.“What are you thinking about doing now?” Auntie asks from her side of the circle.Jim shrugs. “I don’t know. Find another PI, I guess.”Oluwande hesitantly challenges, “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Jim?”“Probably not,” Jim concedes with a toss of their head. “But it’s keeping me from burning down my local police station for their fucking ineptitude.” Ed snorts to himself, and Jim turns that hateful, predatory glare upon him. “What’s so fucking funny?”Edward freezes and holds up his hands, palms out in a placating gesture. “Oh, shit. Not you. You’re not funny.” He sighs and looks down. “Just, fucking cops.”“What about them?” Jim hisses.“Some of the most useless fuckers in the world, am I right?” The tension holds for a moment before Jim barks a grudging laugh; Ed takes it as permission to go on, “I mean, you should have seen how fast they gave up on my Izzy. Didn’t even both checking the local ERs until I did.”Lucius offers gently. “Didn’t even listen to me when I tried to report my dad.”Oluwande blusters from his side of the circle. “I think we’re getting off track here. Law enforcement is human, just like we are.” The others murmur in concession, and Oluwande pivots, “Have you thought about what you could have done other than punching a wall?”Jim rolls their shoulders. “I don’t know. Gone to the gym? Worked it out there?”Ed chortles. “Yeah. Tried that this week. Didn’t work out so hot for me. Wouldn’t recommend it.”He holds up his one hands, palms in to display the bandages on both his hands. Another sharp inhalation is heard from Lucius. Ed rolls his eyes at him, such a drama queen.“Would you like to share?” Oluwande prompts him.Ed sighs and shrugs. “I guess.” He kicks at the floor. “But it sounds like Jim has had a way worse week than me.”“We’re not supposed to compare,” Lucius bickers to the side.Oluwande raises a silencing hand but allows, “Lucius is right. We don’t compare experiences. Everyone experiences the world in a unique way. But, Ed, go on.”“My insurance got fucked this week.” Ed looks down, the shame creeping up again. “They’re denying my therapy. I got angry. Didn’t want to take the chance of snapping at my boyfriend, not after what happened to Izzy. So, I spent the week hiding in the gym. Again, do not recommend unless you just do cardio.” He eyes each of them in turn. “But I have a feeling none of us here are strictly into cardio.”“Have you considered sharing this with your boyfriend?” Lucius suggests. “I know my Petey hates when I hide my issues from him.”Edward feels warm at the thought of Stede, but pushes it down. “I can’t. I’ve put too much on him already.”As though sensing the impending shutdown in Ed to mirror Jim’s, Oluwande expertly shifts the topic once more, “Well, then, why don’t we talk about other places and ways to find support between meetings?”xxxxxxxxxxxBefore the doors to the soup kitchen open for the night, Stede shares his idea with Roach of making some of the fried bread for the kitchen as a quick, simple dessert. The cook initially eyes him skeptically until Stede excitedly shares the recipe Ed had typed out immediately on Saturday morning after waking up. The ingredients are all common and inexpensive; Stede eagerly promises to supply them himself. Roach lights up and agrees that the instructions seem simple enough for Stede and Roach to whip up a few batches next week before dinner if they meet up a bit earlier than usual.“Sounds like a plan, my man,” Roach announces, shaking Stede’s hand with a firm grasp. He pauses. “You know, most people don’t get this into it. Or, if they do, they either look at the homeless like they should be kissing their feet for a hot meal or like charity cases to be pitied. Rare to get people who want to do something actually nice for them.”Stede blushes. “Hate to say it, but, if anyone is the charity case, it’s me.” Roach cocks a brow, but Stede explains, “Look, if I wasn’t here with you and them, I’d just be out in my car, stressing about Ed the whole time. You give me something safe.”They share a few more pleasantries, but it is time to open the doors before either knows it.When Stede sees the crippled man waiting in line, he winces. The man’s haggard and drawn face looks swollen and mishappen. When he finally gets close enough to take his meal, Stede realizes the left side of his face is bruised, and a black eye has surfaced. It leaves his features mottled with an array of colors no human face should be – greens and purples that send Stede’s stomach clenching at the memory of the fried bread and the notion that someone might have done this to him because of Stede.He passes the box to the man, but holds it just a moment too long, asking, “Are you alright?”The man just tugs the Styrofoam out of his grasp and mutters absently under his breath, “Fuck off.”Stede watches him stalk off on his crutches to the far side of the cafeteria once more. He seems stiffer, his movements off. Stede frowns deeply at the sight. Yet, he cannot do anything tonight. Next week, next week, Stede will be able to have something for him to make up for his mistake.xxxxxxxxxxxWhen they get in the car later, Stede immediately finds himself ensnared by Ed’s grasping, desperate arms. He tugs and pulls, almost dragging himself across the center console as though burrowing into Stede. Ed shudders and heaves in his arms, breathing heavily and unsteadily, but he does not appear to be crying. So, Stede allows him, just gently rubbing Ed’s broad, muscular shoulders with his palm and waiting for Edward to come back up to talk about it.As Ed holds him, Stede finds himself initially concerned, then, mildly bored from waiting. It stings at him to realize that, so Stede looks out the windows, telling himself he is merely keeping an eye on their surroundings to keep them safe. After all, the homeless may not dare to do anything to Stede inside the soup kitchen, but Roach has cautioned him that there are no such assurances outside. Some of the people who frequent the kitchen have drug addictions or mental health issues that render them unsafe outside of the rules both unspoken and written of the soup kitchen and the watchful eyes of Roach.In the distance, he spies the familiar silhouette of the amputee on his crutches leaning up against the back of the church. The man huddles in on himself, hugging himself against the cold and mirroring the trembles that harry Edward. As Stede watches, the amputee plucks a bottle from somewhere in his layered coats and sweaters and takes a deep swig. As he does, the greasy locks that have hidden his face for so long drop back, letting Stede really see him for the first time. In the lamplight of the parking lot, Stede realizes the cripple has what would have been exquisite features were they not hidden behind a veil of filthy hair or exaggerated by malnutrition. A black ‘X’ marks his left cheek, like a man-made beauty mark that compliments his dark, hard eyes. The other side of his face is marred by a long, angry scar running vertical across his temple and forehead.When he tucks the bottle away, the amputee seems to sense Stede’s curious gaze. He peers across the lot to Stede’s car, sees him, and bitterly flips him off with a feral sneer. Then, the amputee ambles off into the night.It matters not, for, once the man has gone, Ed slowly peels himself away from Stede and sits up, sobbing dryly, “I’m sorry. I’ve been such a dick this week.”“No, no,” Stede shushes him. “You haven’t. You’ve just had a difficult week.” Stede presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve been trying so hard.”Ed looks down to his bandaged knuckles. “I can’t keep doing shit like this. Not over dumb shit like stupid fucking insurance.”“Not that insurance companies are worth anyone feeling bad for them, but you have every right to be upset about what happened,” Stede starts to argue.“No, you don’t understand. Upset, yes. Angry, like this angry, no.” Ed feels his resolve strengthening once more. “I need to not be this way.”Stede’s heart swells for Ed. “And you’re doing it. It’s not going to be an easy, straight-line path. Important things never are.”When Ed lifts his eyes, they shine with unshed tears and love. “You were. I knew from the moment I met you, and you are the most important thing in my life.”Stede cannot stop himself from kissing him then and there. He only breaks away several minutes before they get charged with public obscenity. He takes Edward home and barely has the car parked in the garage before they have their hands all over one another like a pair of horny teenagers. Later, they hold one another as they drift off to sleep, and it feels impossibly like home.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The week goes by as a rollercoaster. On Monday, the VA still has no answers for Ed, drawing forth his ire. Yet, this time, he first calls Dr. Buttons’ emergency number for a few minutes before timidly sharing his feelings with Stede. On Tuesday, the VA finally gets back to Ed with the information he has so desperately wished for; his insurance mess has been fixed, with his therapy appointments approved once more. Ed spends the afternoon sobbing in relief in the bathtub. On Wednesday, Stede drives him to his session with the therapist, and it feels like he can breathe once more.Thursday, however, holds an uncomfortable, lurching turn for Stede. While on his way to his own appointment with Dr. John, Stede sees him at a traffic corner. The one-legged man from the soup kitchen. He sits, slumped against a building and gulping from a bottle wrapped in brown paper. He looks sickly and unsteady. Stede looks away before the man can see him staring once more, resolving to return home this way. He decides, if the man is still there and still looks as bad, Stede will stop and check on the amputee. However, after Stede’s own session with Dr. John, the man is gone like he was never there.On Friday morning, Stede and Ed go shopping in the morning, with Ed helping his lover load up on the necessary ingredients to recreate the fried bread in masse. They drive to the church about an hour earlier than usual, and Ed helps Stede carry the bags into the kitchen. It is only after Ed crosses the threshold in Stede’s wake that he realizes he has never seen the space Stede spends every Friday night while Ed is at his meeting.A low, wolfish whistle carries across the kitchen. Ed starts and looks up to find a tall, lanky, African man in a white apron giving him elevator eyes. Then, the man slinks across the space and extends a hand to shake.“And you must be the boyfriend baker,” the cook surmises.Ed grins and glances to the rather embarrassed looking Stede hiding behind unpacking the groceries. “So, you’ve heard of me.” He takes the man’s hand firmly. “Ed.”“Roach.”Ed cocks his head to the side. “Unusual name you’ve got. Family name?”The cook chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah. Friends gave it to me years ago.”“Because you’re hard to kill?” Ed guesses.Roach gives a mischievous leer. “Something like that. When nuclear annihilation happens, it’ll just be me, Keith Richards, and maybe three actual cockroaches.”“Sounds like a party, mate.”Roach laughs again and asks in a conspiratorial tone, “Who says it wasn’t?”It feels good, almost normal to have such playful and teasing banter. Stede is too soft and gentle with Ed to ever speak so sharply. Dr. Buttons and the RA group are too serious. Edward has spent the last six years holding most people at arm’s length for their safety. Yet, Roach charms him instantly with his natural ease, settling Ed immediately.“So, Stede tells me this is a family recipe?”Edward smiles wistfully. “My mum’s.”Roach nods approvingly. “Mom’s recipes are always the best, aren’t they?”“Yeah.”Roach dusts off his hands and gestures to the kitchen with a sarcastic bow. “Well, Monsieur Patissier, if you would be so kind as teach your humble students.”Ed spends the next half an hour teaching Roach and Stede how to make the fried bread. The hardest part is measuring the size of the dough balls. Too big, and there is a chance the middle will be raw. Too small, and they will burn in the oil. There is an art to the balance. Roach gets it immediately; Stede, all too predictably, struggles and flounders with it. Roach and Edward exchange a few lighthearted, ribbing jokes at Stede’s expense, but Edward always plants a kiss on his cheek afterwards as an apology. By the end of the teaching session, both Roach and Stede have mastered the art of frying to Edward’s satisfaction, leaving him feeling somewhat in the way.He kisses Stede once more, whispering in his ear. “Looks like you guys have got this. I’m going to go see if Oluwande needs help setting up.”“Olu?” Roach calls over the sound of sizzling oil. “Oh, he’ll love you forever if you help him set up, but he’ll also expect it for the rest of your life.”Ed laughs softly. “Well, good thing I can come hide in your kitchen if he works me too hard.”“I’ll see you after your meeting,” Stede breathes, watching his pot of hot oil intently without even looking up, the very image of concentration. “I love you.”“Back at you,” Ed says before walking off.In another lifetime, before therapy, Ed knows he would have been jealous. Stede and Roach are bonding over his mother’s recipe. Yet, that is not how he feels now. He feels at peace with it in a weird way. His mother told him it was a recipe from their people, one of the few things from their culture he has been able to keep alive after she died. For the few short years Ed lived with foster parents, they did everything to beat that culture out of him. It makes him feel warm and squishy all over inside, more so to realize that Stede wanted to share this part of Ed’s life with so many.  When he reaches the room, Oluwande is scurrying about here and there; Ed leans against the doorframe and watches for a few seconds before calling, “Hey. Need a hand?”Oluwande freezes and looks up without his usual composure. “Oh, man. I’m so late tonight. You have no idea how grateful I’d be.”The exasperation and naked humanity written in Oluwande’s face only serves to lift Ed’s spirits more. Oluwande has only ever been professional and calm in front of him. This is an entirely different side of Oluwande, a side that Edward suspects few if anyone else in the group have seen. It feels good to be able to support and give for once.“What do you need?”xxxxxxxxxxxStede waits until long after Ed is gone from the kitchen. He needs to be sure Ed is gone. His lover has cautioned Stede that he lived a jealous, possessive streak for many years. Edward does not need any reason to feel challenged in his therapeutic journey.Yet, Stede cannot help himself. “Roach, if you don’t mind my asking, where do they go?”“Hmm?” Roach does not even look up from where he works to spoon food into the Styrofoam boxes.“When you were…. On the street. Where did you go?”Roach purses his lips in consideration before admitting, “Wherever I felt like. Wherever I could.” He shakes his head. “This world isn’t kind to homeless people staying too long in one spot.”Stede nods slowly, placing a few fried bread balls in each container before shutting them and adding them to the stack. “But, like, at night? Did you go a shelter? Or did you…”Stede trails off, unable to say the words, but Roach finishes his sentence, “Just stay out there? Oh, yeah, I did.” He makes a sarcastic chuff. “Stay in a shelter? I’d rather cut off my right nut and arm.”The author stiffens at the admission. “Why? Wouldn’t it be safer?”“Safer?” Roach blurts out, staring at his volunteer like it is the stupidest thing he has ever heard. “When you sleep, you’re vulnerable. People get robbed in shelters. People get raped in shelters. No. Safer to find a nice, quiet, hidden spot where no one knows where you are. No one can catch you asleep if they don’t know where you are.”The image of the amputee seeming to startle at realizing Stede was watching him last week in the parking lot flashes across the author’s mind. Stede flushes in response. No wonder why the cripple reacted so angrily.“Why you ask?”Stede draws a deep breath, working up a lie but settling on, “Just curious.”“No one asks something like that because they’re ‘just curious.’” Roach’s hand drops to the counter, to where Stede knows the cook’s knife kit lives while he works.“I saw one of the men from here this week. The man with one leg,” Stede blurts out in a rush. “I was on my way to therapy. He looked rough. I was worried about him. When I went back, he was just gone.”Roach’s hard expression softens, and he takes on an almost paternal, chiding tone. “Stede, you can’t save them all.”“I know, I know. So you’ve told me before.”Roach plants a hand on his hip. “Then, why are you still pushing?”“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I just…. I feel for this guy so much.”Roach holds out his arms. “Come here. Get over here.” When Stede does not move. “I promise I won’t stab you. Pretty sure your sexy boyfriend with anger issues would murder me if I went so far as to hurt your feelings.” That said, Stede drifts across the kitchen and into Roach’s arms. “Stede, I know you want to help him. I know. But you’re already doing as much as you can. Sailor’s got to want to help himself.”“Sailor?” Stede questions, pulling away.Roach nods. “Yeah. That’s what we call him, because of the tat.” When Stede furrows his brow, Roach explains. “Out there, it’s safer to not have a name. Maybe because you’re running from something, or just avoiding the pigs. No one has a name out there, but everyone needs a name. Can’t just go around calling everyone ‘Hey you.’ So, you either pick a name or get one dumped on you.”“Is that how you got Roach?”The cooks gives a sly grin. “Now, you’re getting it.”Stede tries to push away the uncomfortable feeling in his chest and decides to change to something lighter. “Well, then, what would you call me?”Roach strokes his chin and considers for a moment. “Dough Boy.” Stede snorts wildly, but Roach just claps him on the back. “Nah. Probably Gentleman. You’re too polite, too caring, and definitely too well-spoken to be anything but a gentleman.”“The Gentleman,” Stede breathes. “I like it.”xxxxxxxxxxxThere is another newcomer to group this week; Archie. Archie is here by court order, but refuses to divulge why. Archie grates on Ed’s every nerve, challenging whatever calm he had developed while helping in the kitchen or setting up with Oluwande before group. She is too much. Too lively, too sarcastic and coy. She treats everything with cruel mockery.When Ed looks around the group, he realizes the others are making the same exact faces they made the first night he was here, exchanging glances and snickering. Shame coils in his belly. He had also made equally distasteful and inappropriate jokes while stalling from having to answer hard questions. He knows he did the exact same thing, and, now, he realizes they all probably did. Everyone after will also probably do the same thing. It feels very different now being on the other side and actively witnessing Archie pull the same crap.Christ, he feels like an absolute moron.The rest of the group, Oluwande, included, does not seem to notice. Instead, Archie’s wicked tongue and childish antics have them all in rare form, teasing, sniping, and joking across the circle. Ed wonders if it is perhaps because they can tell Archie is not going to be fully productive tonight on some level. Fortunately, Oluwande decides to steer the group back towards step 2 to refocus the conversation.
Coming to believe in a higher power that can give strength
At that, Archie cackles like a hyena. “Oh, that’s rich.”“And why? You know you came willingly into a church, right?” Auntie growls bitterly.Archie shoots her a dark look. “Maybe since I was trapped in a snake cult for a while, it’s a little hard to think highly of fucking ‘higher powers.’”Auntie opens her mouth to say something, but Oluwande stops her with a quick, dismissive gesture. “When we say ‘higher power,’ we don’t necessarily mean Jesus or God.”“Then, why are we sitting in a fucking church? Eh?”Oluwande chortles and shakes his head. “Because the Hyatt was overbooked.” Ed raises a brow at the quip, honestly shocked by Oluwande’s candor; he has likely grown just as tired of Archie’s attitude as Ed. “No. We’re here because, yes, the church sponsors this program. However, that doesn’t mean that the program IS the church.” He settles back in his chair. “The pastor supports community initiatives, believing that helping people without the promise of return is real charity and ministry. Anything else is just self-serving pageantry.”Ed gives an appreciative nod. He gets that. Most churches he has encountered through his life have always been all about raking in cash or new members. It always seems rather disingenuous to him. This is the first church Ed has ever been in that has not acted that way.Archie folds her arms across his chest. “Alright, then. Enlighten me, what ‘higher power’ are you talking about if not the big JC?”“It’s different for everyone,” Oluwande explains. “It is whatever you feel you can draw your strength from. Maybe it is the biblical God, or Zeus, or Thor. Or, maybe it’s something more abstract, like nature.” The sea comes to Ed’s mind, wild and untamed, but Oluwande turns and eyes Lucius knowingly. “Or, maybe it’s a person, like Taylor Swift.”“Bitch, I told you that in confidence.” Lucius snaps his fingers, his tone more playful and sassy than mad. He looks to the group. “Oh, come on. Game recognizes game.”The others laugh warmly, all but Archie; Oluwande returns his focus to her. “So, yeah, you have decide that for yourself. Why don’t we go around and talk about what gives us strength.” He gestures to Ed. “How about you, Ed?”“That’s easy, mate. The ocean.” The others make low sounds, but Oluwande simply encourages him on. “Spent years in the Navy.” He turns his arm to show off the swallow tattoo. “Check it out; got the ink to prove it.”“I bet you looked scrumptious in uniform,” Lucius drawls.  “You have no idea.” Edward blows him a kiss. “But, yeah. The ocean. It’s fierce and utterly indomitable. But, if you know where to look, there’s life, there’s bounty. If you know how to flow with it, you dance. Nothing like the ocean to put you in your place and show you what you’re made of.” Ed draws a deep breath. “When she’s not testing you within an inch of your life, she’s peaceful, life giving.”Jim shifts in their chair. “You were in the services?”“Oh, fuck yeah. Gave them almost twenty years.”“What rank?” Jim probes.“Captain.” After a moment, realization dawns on Ed. “Fuck, Jim, what branch?”“Marines.”Ed jumps up with a whole new respect for Jim. “No shit?”Jim shakes their head. “Yeah, no shit. Small world, eh?” They offer Ed a quick fist bump. “Guess it figures we’d both be a little fucked from that. We’ll just have to get each others’ backs, yeah?”Archie sighs heavily from her spot in the circle for the very first serious moment in the entire evening and taps her chest. “Air Force.” She holds up a fist and mutters, “Hooah, am I right?”“Damn, you, too?” Lucius darts a look at Auntie. “Don’t go telling me you’re one of these military brats, too!”The moment dispels just as quickly as it had gathered, and Archie points at Ed. “But I’m not addressing you by rank.”“Wouldn’t expect you to.”Oluwande shifts his attention to Jim. “How about you, Jim? Do you feel the same way as Ed given your service record?”The conversation turns, and Ed feels like something has changed in the group and in him.xxxxxxxxxxxStede holds his breath as he hands out the Styrofoam boxes. The author does not realize he has been watching the door surreptitiously over their guests’ shoulders with each passing minute until he staggers in; Sailor. He stumbles on his crutches, seemingly a bit worse for wear. The swelling has gone down, but his cheeks flush with drunkenness. Stede makes no comment on it, not when the man steps in front of him to take his meal, snatching the box with greedy hands.The crippled man sways on his crutches to the far corner, putting his back to Stede and the line. From his spot at the table, Stede continues to hand out meals but maintains a sideways glance at the man. When he opens the Styrofoam container, he freezes and claps his hand over his mouth. Stede turns away, afraid that the man will see him staring again. Yet, whenever he chances a look in his direction, Sailor appears to be shaking with raw emotion. Stede cannot tell.Stede desperately hopes it is a good thing. Everyone else seems very pleased with the addition of a humble dessert. He sees smiles for the first time in a long time on several of the people who have come in for a hot meal, hears laughter for the first time in the cafeteria.Roach pats him on the back as they wait until it is time to clean up.Sailor is the last one to leave again, and, when he does, his eyes are red and bloodshot as though he has been crying. Yet, he does not look sad. Quite the opposite, his expression appears somewhat lighter. Stede winces to himself at the thought of tears but says nothing. Whatever small comfort Ed’s baked goods have, Stede vows to maintain it for as long as possible.When they close for the night, Stede beams with pride. “Same time next week?”“Oh, you want a repeat performance?” Roach teases.“Yeah. Maybe we try something different?”“If it’s a recipe from your boy toy, I’m in,” Roach announces agreeable. “Doubly so if you can get him to come in and teach us. He’s easy on the eyes.”“You’re telling me.”Roach nods towards the door, to Ed. “Speak of the devil.”The cook says some sort of farewell, but Stede does not hear him as he rushes to Ed. He cannot wait to tell Ed about the reception of the fried bread. Nor can he wait to ask about other recipes from Ed’s mother.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The next week, Ed helps Roach and Stede make his mother’s tea cakes. They do not come out exactly the same as his mother made. They lack kawakawa tea for the real flavor, but Ed manages to make it close enough before heading off to group.That night, when they open the soup kitchen. The line extends far outside the church doors and down the block. Stede blinks, but Roach warns him this is to be expected. It is almost Thanksgiving, and the temperature has been inexorably dropping for the last two weeks. More and more people will be needing hot meals before the long, cold nights. It still hurts when Stede mentally calculates that they do not have enough meals for all the people in line.Worse still is when they do run out and Stede sees Sailor in line after they ran out. The man is going to go to… wherever he does… empty handed. His dark eyes peer out with need from the sunken hollows of his face. As Stede looks, he notes that Sailor’s lower lip quivers, as though biting back emotions. Yet, there is nothing Stede can do for him. He watches sadly as the cripple hobbles out on his crutches.Stede’s stomach twists and clenches for the rest of the night. Ed’s group runs slightly over, so Stede sits with Roach in the kitchen and holds his head in his hands.“Is it always this bad?” he breathes.“What?”Stede rubs his face. “Having to turn them away?”Roach hums. “Yeah. Just as bad on that side.” Stede sighs and shakes his head, but Roach just puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you come lend a hand on Thursday?” Stede’s brow knits, but the cook tells him, “It’s Thanksgiving. Decided to make turkey and all the fixings this year by myself like an idiot. I could use a hand with all that. It definitely helps make up for shit like tonight by doing something big like that. Unless, of course, you and Ed have plans.”They have no plans; they rarely have any real holiday plans. With it just being the two of them and very limited blood relations who want anything to do with two gay men, Thanksgiving is usually a solemn, lonely affair. They usually just over order take-out in the afternoon to snack on followed by a film fest snuggled up on the couch through the rest of the night.“Let me see how Ed feels about it,” Stede finally answers after a long moment of consideration; he plucks his phone from his pocket. “Let me get your number, and I’ll text you once I know.”xxxxxxxxxxxAs it turns out, Ed is extremely agreeable to the idea once he hears how much everyone enjoyed his tea cakes. He instantly promises Stede that he will be there and rapidly suggests a hundred different desserts from his memories that might go well with a Thanksgiving meal. Stede smiles warmly through it and texts Roach as soon as they are safely home.
Hey, it’s Stede. Ed is game for ThanksgivIng and wants to bake if you’ll still have us.
It does not take long for the cook to respond. Heck yes!xxxxxxxxxxxUnfortunately, Thanksgiving turns into an utter mess. They decide to order early in the afternoon from a sushi place they love to make sure they have time to enjoy their meal before heading to the church. Sushi or Chinese food have served as their holiday staple for years; they are the least likely to close for American holidays. Stede selects his tried-and-true favorites, while Ed elects to get more experimental, ordering from all over the menu. Shortly after they eat, Ed turns a vaguely awful shade of green and begins to gag. They spend the next hour in the bathroom as Ed wretches into the toilet and Stede rubs his shoulders.“Ugh, I’m telling you,” Ed groans out between heaves. “Fucking kaki. Gave me fucking food poisoning.” He coughs and spits up a thin trickle of bile once more. “Should sue them.”They will do no such thing. Stede knows Ed is just blaming the oysters to avoid admitting he did this to himself. Ed is quite firmly to blame for how he feels considering all the various pieces he had been shoveling into his gob too quickly. Ed always does everything in the most ridiculous, excessive manner; good food is no exception. It is no wonder his stomach is betraying him with how much he ate. Stede, however, will never tell Ed such a thing either. Instead, he mops Ed’s brow, holds his hair when Ed sicks up, helps him take a few Pepto tablets, and plies him with ginger ale or plain toast to settle his stomach.Stede glances at his watch and realizes the afternoon is slipping by them. “Edward, dearest, excuse me for a moment. I have to let Roach know we won’t be coming.”Ed grabs him brusque by the wrist. “No, no. You go to your thing.” He looks down at his own vomit in the toilet and flushes as though for emphasis. “I’m not going to be good company. Least you can be around people who aren’t just throwing up all over themselves.”“But, darling, you’re ill,” Stede counters. “I don’t want to leave you here alone, especially on the holiday.”“Just plop me on the couch with a bucket, and I’ll be fine,” Ed suggests. “Besides, sleeping it off might be good. If I’m not still fucking nauseous when you get back, we can watch our movies.” He lifts a brow and drops his volume as though sharing a terrible secret. “I hear there may be a traitor in the Corleone family. Maybe two traitors.”Stede chuckles to himself; they watch The Godfather every Thanksgiving, so the plot twists of Tesio’s and Fredo’s betrayals hardly serve as a surprise. While Ed continues to hug the toilet bowl, Stede steps up a little camp on the couch as he once had for his own children. He sets a bucket beside the couch and puts up one of the tv trays. On the tv tray, he places a bottle of Powerade, a can of ginger ale, and an unopened sleeve of soup crackers. If it were the kids from his previous marriage who were sick, Stede would also put on a movie for them, something Disney. However, Ed can decide for himself if he wants to watch anything or just dose. So, he digs out the assorted remotes necessary to operate this television and adds them to the supplies on the tv stand. As an afterthought, Stede runs to the bedroom to grab Ed’s phone and charger, plugging it in beside the couch and setting the thing within reach.Satisfied with the state of the couch, Stede helps Ed to his feet and to the couch. Ed reaches for the blanket that usually rests over the top and drags it over himself. He rolls onto his side and gives a thin, tired smile to Stede.“Thanks, love.”Stede plants a chaste kiss on Edward forehead. “Don’t mention it, darling. Are you sure you want me to go?“As a heart attack,” Ed affirms.“And you’ll call if you need anything?” “Napping always makes me feel better when I’m sick. Hopefully, I won’t be awake to need anything after you head out.” At Stede’s stern expression, Ed sighs. "Fine, yes, Mum. I’ll call you if I need anything.” He nods to the door. “You better get going before Roach comes over to drag you out.”Stede kisses the crown of Ed’s head, packs the car, and leaves. Ed had spent several days debating and agonizing with Roach over a dessert to add to the menu before settling on something Ed called haupia. He has all the simple ingredients for Ed’s recipe in the back and the hand-written instructions tucked in his pocket, but Stede is not sure he can or wants to make it without Ed. Fortunately, the three ingredients necessary are all common dry goods; Roach can store them in the pantry or use them for something else if they do not make Ed’s dish.When Stede pulls into the parking lot on that chilly afternoon, there is already a line waiting outside. He gasps at the length. There are still hours to go before dinner, and, yet, there are already so many waiting. Some may go hungry, Stede knows this now. He just wonders where exactly that line dividing haves and have-nots will be with a mounting horror, thinking back to the ludicrously elaborate sushi order with shame.He forces it down to unpack and head inside. Roach is already at work, sprinkling tray loads of turkey breasts with seasonings. The cook hardly even notices Stede is there until he sets the groceries down on the counter.“Stede!” He dusts his hands off over the sink and surges over to wrap long arms around the author. “My man! Happy Thanksgiving!” When they part, Roach’s eyes flicker to the door suspiciously. “Where’s Ed?”Stede frowns in chagrin. “Would you believe he’s home sick?”“Stomach bug?” Roach asks, drawing back and surveying Stede keenly.“Nothing of the sort. Merely indigestion of the highest order,” Stede supplies, politely leaving out the copious vomiting. “Just a bit of holiday excess striking back.”“That sucks,” the cook offers. “Well, still could use your help. Got a huge donation of turkey breasts, got potatoes to boil, veggies to chop, got dessert to make. So, take your coat off and wash your hands. Got work to do.”In truth, when Stede looks about the kitchen, he notices the large quantities around him curiously. Piles of potatoes, overly stuffed bags of vegetables, a stack of canned cranberry sauces. This is a bounty he is unaccustomed to seeing in this kitchen. Stede wonders if donations were up this week because of the holiday, or if there has been some other way to increase the coffers only accessible around the holidays. Maybe Roach donated some of it himself. Either way, as he mentally calculates, Stede realizes they might have enough for all the people outside, and it settles him.“Hey, Roach,” Stede whispers, pulling the recipe card from his pocket. “Think we can still make this?”Roach scrutinizes the card and the extremely limited instructions shrewdly. “This? Looks easy enough. Why don’t you make it while I get these turkeys in?”“Me?”Roach grins. “Yes, you. I’ve got to get the poultry in if it’s going to be done on time, but something like that’s got to boil down and maybe even set in the fridge a ways. You’ve been in my kitchen long enough. You know your way around. Get cracking.”xxxxxxxxxxxMaking haupia, as it turns out, is relatively easy. Coconut milk, sugar, cornstarch, and water. The hardest part is opening enough cans of coconut milk for the scaled-up recipe, but Roach has a trick up his sleeve after watching Stede struggle with the old, janky can opener Stede found in a drawer and snickering at his expense. It is a small, metal thing with a hooked and pointed end that the cook calls a ‘church key.’ The cook shows Stede how to poke holes on both sides of the lids to pour and vent; after that, things go much quicker and more smoothly.In no time flat, Stede has sheets of glistening, white coconut gelatin ready to be popped into the fridge to be chilled, cut into cubes, and plated up. It is no wonder Ed chose the recipe if Stede of all people could make it in large quantities with limited fuss. Simple, quick, and generally “hard to fuck up,” as Ed would surely describe it.Satisfied with his success, Roach sets him on vegetable duty. Fortunately, the potatoes are red skins, meaning they can boil them off for a mash with the skins on according to the cook. Stede just needs to scrub them, chop them into manageable sizes, and stick them in a massive pot. The fresh sweet potatoes and carrots need peeling, and everything else needs to be chopping down as well for various side dishes.The hours fly by, and the meal just seems to materialize around Stede as if by magic to be boxed up for distribution. Sliced turkey breast with gravy. Mountains of mashed potatoes. Roasted carrots, squash, and onions. Sweet potato casserole. Green peas. Fresh rolls. And, of course, the haupia. The other volunteers who come to help serve all give appraising nods and comment on the mouthwatering aromas from the kitchen as they settle in.Roach whistles approvingly and pats Stede on the back. “Got a good spread this year.”“Indeed,” Stede murmurs before the doubt can settle in his bones again. “Think it’ll be enough?”Roach nods. “More than.”The doors open, and the line trudges in. Stede gladly takes his usual station distributing the Styrofoam containers, but, when his stomach audibly growls at the delightful smells, Roach dismisses him and shoves a box in his hands.“What? I can’t take this.”Roach picks up his chef’s knife and playfully gestures with it to the cafeteria. “Get out of my kitchen and get something in you, or I’ll make you get out.” When Stede does not flinch, does not move, Roach sighs. “Go. Sit with them. Meet them. Might make you feel better about last week.”“Fine. Fine.”Stede grouses as he takes the box, but he is too hungry to argue. He has been surrounded by the sights and sounds of delicious foods for hours now, and the sushi from earlier has not been enough to quell his hunger. However, it feels wrong and dirty to be taking food from Roach’s kitchen or a seat in the heated cafeteria from anyone who might need it So, Stede grudgingly drifts to the far side of the cafeteria unconsciously, giving space to the people who need it.It is not until bodies swarm around him that Stede realizes where he is, but it is too late. A lanky, mousy looking woman with red hair drops down in the seat beside him, while the familiar, dark shape of the one-legged man ambles to the spot across the table with a long-suffering sigh. Stede tries not to react when the cripple plops his meal down to set his crutches aside, swallowing back the urge to help the man – Sailor. Instead, he looks to the woman at his side and the hulking man who joins her shortly after her opposite side.The woman, however, ignores Sailor in favor of Stede. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She extends a thin hand. “Hellkat Maggie.”“Oh,” Stede blinks at the name as he shakes her hand. “Why, that’s a lovely name. Stede Bonnet. Pleasure to meet you.”Hellkat Maggie grins with mad delight. “Proper gentleman, aren’t you?”“So I’ve been told,” Stede concedes before extending a hand to the man beside Hellkat who is already wolfing down his meal. “And you are?”“Vincent,” the big man answers and shakes hands between bites shoveled quickly into his mouth.“Good to meet you.” Then, as if feeling the world turning with him, Stede looks to the crippled man, despite knowing his name, and offering a hand to shake. “And you?”“Call me Sailor,” the man says in a husky, dismissive tone.Sailor does not take Stede’s hand to shake, instead focusing all his attention on his Styrofoam box as if he could just will the author out of existence by ignoring him. Stede is not surprised or offended, but he is unsure how to respond to the refusal without being rude. Hellkat Maggie and Vincent exchange a glance that Stede cannot read. Slowly, awkwardly, Stede withdraws the offered palm and opens his own box.When Sailor opens his meal, he freezes, tension rippling through him. Stede keeps his eyes low, focused on the food in front of him. It is a similar reaction to the fried bread, but, in place of clapping a hand over his lips, Sailor grips the table so hard it hurts to watch. The simple, white gelatin has Sailor shook in a way that startles and confuses even Stede.Hellkat Maggie opens her own meal and pokes at the white cube in the corner of the tray. “What’s this?”Stede opens his mouth to answer, but Sailor beats him to it, whispering almost reverently, “Haupia.” He rapidly schools his features back to sullen indifference before slurring, “S’coconut.”The world halts for Stede. Although he will never openly admit it, Stede has honed a rather refined sweet tooth, having tasted delicacies from all manner of fancy, Michelin star restaurants in his days. However, until this very week, until curled up in bed and following along in the text debate between Ed and Roach over menu planning, Stede had never heard that word in his life. It is not an English word and certainly not a common enough dessert that he expects a homeless man would recognize it.“Is it like dessert?” Hellkat questions, still prodding the cube with her plastic fork.“Just eat it.” As if to demonstrate, Sailor stabs his fork into his own cube to scarf quick bite. “S’good.”Vincent rumbles low beside Hellkat Maggie. “Yeah, but you’ll put anything in your mouth for a couple of bucks.”Vincent’s tone suggests he is not joking, confirmed by the daggers Sailor shoots his way. A lump lodges its self in Stede’s throat at the thought of any of these people having to prostitute themselves to survive. On some level, the author has always known that it is possible, but, until any of them have said it outright, he did not have to believe it. Now, Stede does, and it sickens him. Hellkat Maggie elbows Vincent harshly in the ribs, and he lets out an audible and almost comedically high-pitched yelp.The air thickens across the table like a storm readying to break, but HellKat Maggie expertly diverts the attention from Sailor and back to Stede. “So, Mr. Gentleman, what brings you here on Thanksgiving?”“Food poisoning,” Stede foolishly and honestly blurts out. Vincent drops his fork and gulps, and Stede grimaces at his own poor phrasing. “No, no, not me. My partner. He’s at home, sick.”“Oh, shit way to spend Thanksgiving,” Hellkat comments. “But, I’ve seen you here before, working the kitchen.” Sailor’s gaze flickers up briefly before settling back on his dinner, but Hellkat Maggie pays him no heed. “I’ve seen you come in with your boyfriend, but he never comes here here.”Stede draws a pregnant breath. “Yes. Well, he’s working through some things. I volunteer while he goes to his group.” Stede cuts his turkey for distraction but cannot stop himself from accidentally asking, “What about you?”Sailor sniffs hotly from across the table as he jabs the food with his fork and sneers. “The fuck you think brings us here, Bonnet?”Stede flushes furiously. “Of course. I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Hellkat soothes gently, an understanding edge to her voice. “You’re supposed to ask things like that in polite society.” She throws her arm around Vincent. “But we’re not exactly polite society, now are we?”The storm dissipates around them, the tension dissolved along with any notion of Stede’s hunger.“No,” Stede says, thinking of his father and the many people who immediately disavowed him as soon as he came out compared to this lot that quite clearly does not care. “I think you might be better company.”Hellkat Maggie laughs, a trilling sort of sound. They eat together for a time and share their stories as Stede pokes at his plate listlessly. Hellkat Maggie ran away in her teens, something about finding herself. Vincent is apparently hiding from some sort of debt. Those two share freely. Sailor does not. Stede tries not to take it personally. Instead, he jokes and talks with the other two, feeling himself buoyed up by Hellkat’s almost manic energy despite the dark cloud that is Sailor’s grumpy presence.When they are finished, Hellkat Maggie gives Stede a great, big hug. “You take care of yourself now, Mr. Gentleman.”It does not escape Stede’s notice that Sailor does not leave with them. Stede looks down to his Styrofoam box and sighs. He had eaten a fair amount of the turkey and the sides before the mood was soured, but he has not touched the haupia. He cannot bring himself to do so.Stede slides the box across the table to Sailor. “Here. You can have mine.”Sailor does not even look up, asking in a dark droll, “What am I to you?”Stede flinches as though struck. “What do you mean?”“You don’t think I’ve seen you? You don’t think I know you’re watching me?” When Sailor does finally meet his stare with those dark, hard eyes of his, the amputee’s face is set with grim determination. “Why? The fuck’s so important about me?”At first, Stede considers cobbling together some sort of rational answer, but all he can manage is, “I don’t know.” Sailor scoffs, but Stede presses, “I honestly don’t know. I just…. I saw you, and I just don’t know how you do this. I just don’t know what to do, but I feel like I have to do something.”“Good thing I’m not your fucking boyfriend that you have to take care of,” Sailor snarls.“Don’t speak about him that way,” Stede snaps defensively. “You don’t know what he’s been through.”Then, Sailor abruptly shoves himself up, his jaw clenched the same way Ed’s does when he is holding back the anger. Stede rises with him and quickly steps to the side of the table. Instinctively, the author reaches out to help the man. Sailor jerks to the side to shuck him off and nearly falls. Stede catches him by the shoulder easily, as easily as he could catch either of his own children.“Unhand me.” It is a warning, low and deep.Stede blinks and realizes he still holds Sailor by the upper arm; he drops his grasp as though burned. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” Sailor trembles with something, anger or fear, Stede cannot tell; he cannot stop himself from offering, “Please, if you need…”“Leave me the fuck alone.”And, with that, Sailor lurches off on his crutches and back out to the night.xxxxxxxxxxxWhen Stede finally makes it home later that night, he tumbles into Ed’s awaiting arms on the couch. Apparently, the queasiness and nausea have subsided, just as Ed predicted between ample application of ginger ale and a good nap. Mentally and emotionally exhausted, Stede nestles into Ed’s embrace as they start the first Godfather. Mercifully, Edward says nothing until after the end of the first film, just holds him and strokes Stede’s back.When it comes time for the door to close on Kay and the credits to roll, Ed finally dares ask, “Are you ok, Stede?”“No.”Ed pulls him tighter. “Do you want to talk about it?”“No,” Stede initially answers. “Yes. God, I think I fucked up.”Edward says nothing, mindful it must be bad for Stede Bonnet to be swearing so liberally. He merely lets the credits roll and the score continue to play as Stede collects his thoughts. Stede has always been so patient with Ed when he has struggled to control his anger enough to be able to communicate the issue, so Ed can be patient with Stede in return for however long it takes.Eventually, Stede lets it all out, the whole story. Edward holds his tongue at the mention of the one-legged man again. A part of him wants to be jealous of Stede’s attention to the stranger, but he knows it is just Stede’s soft, caring heart at work, the very same heart that pulled him out of the darkness after Izzy. Stede’s empathy is a great, cumbersome thing, far heavier than any one human should bear, and Ed knows this.Finally, Stede sobs, “What if he doesn’t go back because of me? I was just trying to do something nice, but what if he goes hungry because of me?”Edward kisses Stede’s forehead tenderly and wishes he could just soothe those fears away. “Stede, if he does that, turns down a free, hot meal with no strings attached and from a damned good cook, it’s because he’s a fucking idiot, not because you said or did anything wrong.”Stede seems to still in his arms, resettled and grounded by Ed’s quiet strength enough for them to keep watching.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The next day, Edward wakes while it is still dark from where they fell asleep on the couch, feeling sore but mentally refreshed and full of resolve. The couch is no place for a man his age to be sleeping, It leaves stiff places in his neck and left knee, but Ed will not waste time pitying himself.Stede had been so hurt, so upset and worried last night. Ed cannot and will not stand it. Stede is too sweet, too loving for this world, and Ed will do anything to fix it. He waits until it is a decent hour, and, then, texts Roach.
Hey. Need to be in the kitchen extra early for a slow bake.
His phone vibrates a few minutes later with response. Bet. What time?He slides from Stede’s arms. Stede has always been a heavier sleeper than he, so it is not entirely difficult. His lover curls tighter from the loss of body heat beside him, and Ed pulls one of the throw blankets over him. Ed could stay there for hours, watching over Stede as his lover slumbers, but he has work to do. He pads silently from the living room to the bedroom to pull out his laptop. Stede can sleep on in the living room while Ed looks up a few things.When Stede does wake, Edward already has a shopping list and a pot of coffee waiting.Upon hearing his plan, Stede gulps down his coffee, showers, and dresses in a flash. Before Ed knows it, the author has keys in hand, ready to drive to the store. It is a good thing. They may need to hit several stores to find all the ingredients for the recipe Ed has in mind. They start with the farmer’s market, then the international market, then further on to specialty grocers, blessedly empty on Black Friday while shoppers mob the malls and department stores around town. Yet, with each passing store, Ed’s quest appears unsuccessful.“Fucking hell,” Ed swears as he paces outside their latest stop, his irritation mounting. “How in the fucking fuck does nobody have kumara?”Ed says it like the stores are mysteriously all out of milk and eggs. Stede even had to surreptitiously check his phone to even have any resemblance of an idea what they are looking for. From his searches, it might be ube, or it might be purple sweet potato. Stede is not entirely sure, and Edward has not always been the best at explaining himself mid-process.Stede steps in front of Ed and places a hand on his chest, stilling him. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Is there something you can substitute in?”Ed quivers for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “M’not sure. My mum always made it with kumara.”“Maybe there’s another version of….. what are we making?”Ed huffs. “Kanga waru.” When Stede makes no sign of understanding or recognition, he sighs. “It’s like a… like a steamed pudding.”Stede smiles gently. “Well, is there another version your mother made?”Ed blinks as though thunderstruck. “Damn. You’re right.” He snaps his fingers in thought before tromping back into the grocer and announcing, “Purini mamaoa.”“Ah, yes, inspired choice,” Stede declares as Ed rushes off, and he makes a quick Google search. “’Burnt butter steamed pudding.’ Oh! Oh, yes. Very inspired.”xxxxxxxxxxxRoach meets them in the afternoon, hours earlier than usual. It will take a very long time to bake this recipe.  Edward checks similar recipes online multiple times to make sure his hazy memory of a lengthy bake time is correct, terrified of ruining the bake. Fortunately, with it being Black Friday, Roach seems to have nothing on his schedule and listens eagerly as they work. Roach sets the water baths while Ed and Stede mix the batter and pour it into several tins. Each tin must be covered with parchment; Stede’s delicate hands and seemingly infinite patience spare both Roach and Ed from having to fiddle with butcher twine.Once the puddings have been safely tucked in the oven in their water bath, Roach invites them to sit with him for a bit and brews a pot of coffee. They sit in the industrial kitchen in folding chairs borrowed from the cafeteria. It reminds Ed of early in his naval career, chatting in the mess after night watch during mid-rats.Coffee served, Roach settles into his chair and asks idly. “So, Ed, what do you do?”“What do you mean, mate?”The cook strokes his chin. “Like, for work.”Ed shrugs. “Not much, to be honest.” When Ed is sure Stede is distracted by fixing his cup, Ed touches the ring at his neck. “Been working on myself.”He hesitates to say anything more for fear of saying too much in front of Stede. Edward Teach’s life has sat at a verifiable standstill since the moment he found Izzy’s note. They had both been out of the Navy for a bit and looking forward to a future together. They had traveled the world as soldiers in constant worry and been contemplating traveling the world as lovers freely and openly. Izzy had even been running the numbers in the weeks leading up to the accident. Since then, though, Ed has felt stuck, bogged down by quicksand. It is a miracle he managed to even find Stede, let alone find the will to even try to move on from Izzy and move into Stede’s house.Roach cocks his head to the side. “Nothing else?”“No. Not really.” Feeling uncomfortable with the seeming interrogation, Ed turns it on Roach, “What about you? What do you do for work?”“I own a little café. Not far from here.” Roach sips his coffee for a moment. “Would you like a job?”Ed nearly spits into his mug. “The fuck?”“A job.” Roach repeats firmly and flatly, as if speaking to a child. “My café is very island. Could use a good baker with your style. Think it over.”Ed gives a slow nod. Ed has not baked this much since well before Izzy died. That had also felt impossibly too heavy to bear, dealing with both his memories of his family and Izzy at the same time. Yet, the last month spent in the kitchen with Stede has been almost cathartic. It has felt right.“I will.”xxxxxxxxxxxAt a half an hour before opening, the puddings come out of the oven, and Stede kisses Ed goodbye for group. Stede watches him go, feeling all the steadiness go with his lover. The last twenty-four hours have been up and down, leaving Stede feeling like a tiny boat tossed violently about on the waves of a torrential hurricane of his own emotion. Despite Edward’s mood swings of the day, he has been Stede’s anchor.Fortunately, Roach puts him to work right away. They have meals to pack and hand out. Stede loses himself in the repetitive motions of each task, letting his mind drift.Until, in the middle of the line, he sees Sailor. The man looks a wreck, but, then again, he always looks a wreck to Stede. Sailor sways on his crutches like a drunk, his cheeks red and eyes bloodshot. However, the sight of Sailor back despite Stede’s stupidity from the day prior is enough to steal his breath away regardless of his condition. He almost cries in relief when Sailor takes a Styrofoam box from him and trudges off to his side of the cafeteria like the night before never happened. Stede even feels his heartstrings pull when Sailor goes rigid at the sight of the steamed pudding and puts his hand over his mouth once more.Stede does not watch this time any more than a tiny glance, but he does let himself feel like the seas of his heart settle once more.xxxxxxxxxxxWhen Ed sits down for group, something feels wrong. It is like the drop in barometric pressure with the coming of a mighty storm. The others are silent, wary and tired as though wrung out. He has not seen the others look quite so strung out for a very long time. Worst of all, is Lucius. Despite being a member of ‘Rageaholic Anonymous,’ Edward has never seen any hint of anger from Lucius. Not until now. Now, Lucius looks steaming and ready to either flee or pounce.Oluwande seems leery when he greets everyone. “Hey there. Happy Thanksgiving, belated.”The others mutter a response, but Ed cannot bring himself to be an unpleasant sad sack after the day he has had, belting out, “Yeah, happy Thanksgiving, mates!”Lucius glowers. “Whatever.”“Someone’s in a shit mood,” Archie gripes from her spot.Oluwande purses his lips. “The holidays can be hard on people. It’s not surprising if some people are having a difficult time managing their emotions with the added stress and task loading.”“Not me, mate. Might have had a nasty case of food poisoning yesterday, but I feel like a million bucks today. Did myself a good deed today,” Edward preens, folding his arms across his chest proudly and leaning back in his chair. “Even got myself a job offer. First one since I got discharged.”Oluwande beams. “Really? That’s wonderful news!”Lucius snarls bitterly, “Well, we can’t all be so lucky.” He lights a cigarette for himself, ignoring Oluwande when he points out the no smoking sign. “Some of us will always have a shit holiday.”Oluwande holds out an ash tray and gestures for him to go on. “Why don’t you start us off, Lucius?”Lucius takes a quick, deep drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out. “Fine, fine.”Lucius settles in to telling the story of his Thanksgiving and his awful family. Evidently, Lucius still maintains low contact with his family purely for his ailing grandmother. She knows about his husband, Pete, and does not care. Lucius thinks her dementia is to play, morphing Lucius and Pete in her mind into her long dead older brother and his “special friend.” However, the rest of Lucius’s family does have opinions on the matter of who Lucius has married – specifically the gender. Lucius always dutifully goes to his grandmother for the holidays, and, in turn, always gets to be in the middle of a spectacular, nasty fight at his own expense involving several instances of the word ‘fag.’ It is apparently entirely predictable.As Lucius shares his bad day with despicable people, Ed feels himself shifting uncomfortably away from the good feelings to which he had clung so tightly. The anger and darkness stir in him, bubbling up to the surface. His family life was no better. His father had called him similar slurs through the years up until the very end, even when Ed was a young boy.When Lucius has either finished or simply decided he is done sharing for a time, Oluwande looks right at him. “Ed, you look like Lucius’s experience is affecting you. Do you want to share now or wait?”“Fuck it. It’s bullshit.”Lucius makes a dramatic expression. “Whatever.”Ed rolls his eyes. “Not you, mate. Your family. They’re the bullshit.” He shakes his head. “You seem a decent enough person. Seems bullshitty for them to be upset at you for who you love. Far worse things you could be than gay.” He bites his lips. “Yesterday, if I wasn’t sick, I’d have been here, with my partner in the soup kitchen. He’s here tonight, too.”“Stede,” Oluwande supplies. “Roach has told me all about him. Sounds like a catch.” When Archie gives a low, suggestive sound, Oluwande blanches. “What? We’re friends.” He points to Ed like a distraction, “Go on, Ed.”Edward nods and smiles warmly. “Yeah. There are hungry and dying people out there, just down the hall. You know, Lucius, your family is fucking lucky to have you.” Lucius looks uncertain, but Ed goes on. “You’re alive, got a roof over your head, what sounds like a loving husband, and all of us here. You could be homeless, you could be lost, you could be out there in the winter freezing to death, you could be dead.” He stiffens, realizing just how close he is to the bone, but Ed cannot stop himself. “You could be dead out there, and no one would ever know, just like…. Like my Iz.”Edward rarely skates this close to the truth when something is bothering him, but Lucius’s family have him primed and ready to fire. Izzy is gone, as if God just plucked him out of the universe, leaving an Izzy Hands sized hole behind. There is nothing bringing Izzy back, and Ed has no body, no grave, nothing to visit and nowhere to grieve but everywhere. Thinking about him earlier has only whet the brooding in Ed. Even now, after all these weeks with group, Ed cannot say the ‘s’ word, but it is screaming in his mind at the possibilities of what Lucius’s family could drive him to do by their ignorance and hate.“Last Pride I was at, they were saying LGBTQ people are two to three times as likely to commit suicide. Trans and non-binary people worse,” Jim whispers darkly, their voice taken on a sorrowed edge that sends Ed marveling.“Fuck me,” Ed breathes, wondering briefly how close Jim may have come to being yet another statistic as well. “See, man. Your family should be fucking thrilled that you exist despite their bullshit opinions, that you’re still fucking breathing. Because, you, my friend, are stronger than all their shit.” Lucius gives a faint hint of a smile, and Ed grins wildly. “Yeah, fuck yeah, you are.” Ed nods firmly. “And anyone who says or thinks anything else can fuck right off.”Lucius settles, shifting in his chair and putting a hand on Ed’s knee. “Well, when you put it that way.”They move on. Yet, the heat continues to coils low in Ed’s belly, but not in the way it does when his anger has flared beyond his grasp, beyond his control. This is a steady warmth, a pride. Ed would gladly throw hands for any one of these people, but it is out of protectiveness, not aggression. It is righteous anger held in tight check, not blind rage. He feels satisfaction burning brightly in the back of his mind, pleased to be far enough long in his progress to make this distinction.xxxxxxxxxxxThat night, if Ed and Stede cling a bit tighter to one another, neither comments nor complains. They simply bask in the warmth of one another and their own, private victories.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Stede adores Christmas, utterly adores it, but this Christmas might be the worst yet. Or, rather, Stede adores shopping for Christmas. He loves thinking through everyone’s lives and interested before picking the perfect gift. He delights in the surprise and wonder of peoples’ faces when they open one of Stede Bonnet’s gifts.Edward, however, is the worst. First of all, he loves anything Stede gives him with all his heart, making it difficult for Stede to tell what Ed truly likes. Secondly, Ed always buys himself anything he needs or wants impulsively. Thirdly, Ed is almost always home with Stede. That makes it downright impossible to do any sleuthing. Not that Stede would ever snoop on Edward for anything nefarious or suspicious. No. But, sometimes, a little peak at bookmarks on someone’s laptop or dogeared magazines can be just the right clues for Stede to come up with something perfect. Worse, when Stede wants to go out to shop, Ed offers to accompany him, meaning he cannot browse the mall for Ed alone.On Monday after Thanksgiving, he has a thought. The house they share is in Stede’s name, but he has always tried to reassure Ed that the house in not his but theirs. Despite that, in the time Ed has lived with him, it has been living with something like a houseguest. Ed has left all the decorating to Stede’s tastes, leaving next to no marks of his own existence. They have no need for additional furniture, but the home’s many walls remain astonishingly bare and blank.An art piece, Stede decides then. If he places the order quickly, Stede will have it just in time for Christmas. He only needs to pick a photo. Stede spends the afternoon when he should be writing skimming through the photo library on his computer. Sadly, his photography skills have always been somewhat lacking. Although Stede has plenty of photos with Ed, most look blurry, out of focus, nothing he would want to consider an “art piece.” Stede recalls Ed sharing photos with Stede early in their relationship from some of the exotic places he traveled in the Navy. Ed had spoken so fondly of some the ports he visited through his service. He remembers the pictures and locales being downright gorgeous, if only Stede could get onto Ed’s laptop without arousing suspicion.Fortunately for Stede, Ed tells Roach he is seriously considering the job and agrees to meet up to discuss it further. Stede counts his lucky stars as he drives Ed to the little café down the road from the church that Wednesday afternoon. It is the perfect opportunity to slip away and run back to the house.Stede has it all planned out, the perfect little ‘fuckery.’ He brings his laptop bag inside with him, under the pretense of writing another chapter to his pirate romance, all friendly smiles and handshakes with Roach when they come in. They sit for coffee with the cook, but, when the topic shifts to business, Stede shuffles to the side and pulls out his laptop – the very same laptop Stede conveniently forgot to put on charge last night.When he opens the laptop, tries to boot it up, and has it predictably immediately shut down, Stede knits his brow in what he hopes is not too exaggerated of a frown. “Oh.” He paws furiously through his own laptop bag, even though Stede already knows the charger is back at the house, where he purposely left it. “Oh, dear. Oh, no.”Ed raises a brow in concern. “What’s wrong, love?”Stede shakes his head, trying not to look up at Ed. After they moved in together, they had taken a weekend trip to Vegas to celebrate. Ed had tried valiantly to teach Stede Texas Hold’em and failed miserably. Evidently, Stede’s lies ‘do not meet his eyes’ as Ed described it. Simply put, Stede knows Ed will see right through him if he makes eye contact or Stede will be unable to continue to lie to his lover when faced with Ed’s worry, so he focuses all his attention on turning out the bag for the charger that is most assuredly not there.“I think I’m going to have to run home to grab it.” Stede murmurs, trying to make it just low enough to seem ‘absent’ but just loud enough for Ed to hear. “I’m sorry, darling.” The worst of the lie complete, Stede repacks his laptop. “I’m just going to go real quick back to the house.” He slides the bag to Ed and kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”“Drive safe,” Ed mutters before returning the kiss.Stede forces himself to walk steadily from the café until the author feels confident he is out of sight. Then, he scurries to the car and races home. Stede finds Ed’s laptop tucked between the bed and nightstand and boots it up. Ed’s password is laughably insecure to Stede’s advantage. He preens at his victory in getting into the photo library with such little effort.Mindful that he cannot spend too much time away, Stede quickly skims through the library, scanning back in time, starting from the first photo he finds with some sort of military vessel. He bypasses the photos Ed took of the ships. Ed has enough memories of the Navy for a lifetime, and Stede finds the thought of draping the home of a retired serviceman in military memorabilia decidedly tacky. The landscapes and ocean shots, those Stede copies to a thumb drive intending to go through them more closely to make a decision later.One photo, though, stops Stede dead in his tracks and sends his world tilting to its side. The vast majority of Ed’s photos conspicuously do not include anyone at all. There is an occasional selfie or two, but those are extremely rare. When he had shared this part of his life with Stede so long ago, Ed had gotten very quiet and explained it had simply not been safe for there to be photos of Izzy, let alone any photos of them together. Ed has a few hard copies he printed in secret, but he deleted the digital copies as soon as possible.The photo is entirely out of place, though it does not appear so. It is a sunny, tropical beach, complete with almost cartoonishly white sand and perfectly spaced palm trees. It fits in perfectly with all the other photos of seeming paradise. If the surrounding photos in the library are any indication, Ed took the photo in Guam. Yet, this one has slipped through Ed’s careful deletion of any humans other than himself; this one has another person in it, a person Stede knows.“Sailor?” Stede breathes almost tentatively, confusion settling over him like a dark cloud as his heart strangely skips several beats.It is undeniably Sailor. In the photo, the Sailor stands tall and almost ramrod straight on two, whole legs, striding towards the camera. His hair is slicked back neatly. The swallow tattoo on his neck gleams darkly and proud, as though newly inked. Sailor looks proud, prim, and clean in the pressed service khakis that Stede knows to be naval uniform from the few selfies of Ed. He lacks the black ‘X’ tattoo or ugly vertical facial scar that Stede has seen, and his cheeks are more fleshed out, fuller. Sailor looks whole and hale in a way that Stede cannot imagine from a man he has seen on the verge of a breakdown over baked goods.Suddenly, uncomfortable truths slot into place around Stede. His seemingly instantaneous and overwhelming need to help or protect Sailor. The sadness and grief the author feels for him, a man he never met before the soup kitchen. The eerie pull to keep an eye out for Sailor. Stede must have seen this photo years ago, but some part of him has remembered this whole time, if not openly or consciously.Stede marvels at the photo for perhaps far too long, brushing his fingertips to the screen. “Sailor…..”Dread twists in his gut; Ed knew or still knows Sailor somehow to have this photograph. Ed never speaks of any friends or even acquaintances from his time in the service, and his disturbingly small circle of friends leaves little option there. There are only so many reasons Ed would have a photo of Sailor and in uniform, and Stede feels suspicion creeping up in him. Stede copies the photo to the thumb drive and tears it from the port. He cannot spare the time going through the recommended steps for safe removal. Stede closes the photo library, logs out, and slams the computer shut. Then, if pulled along by a dream, Stede sets the laptop back in its place and drifts to the dressers across the room.On Ed’s dresser, there exists a simple, wooden locked box. It is one of Ed’s very few personal items to adorn their bedroom. Stede knows the box contains the scant remnants of Ed’s marriage to Izzy; Ed had been very honest with his lover upon unpacking it. Ed had offered at the time to show Stede in a display or trust and transparency, but Stede had not felt the need to intrude upon that portion of Ed’s life. Stede has always been secure in his place in Ed’s heart, certain that he is not replacing nor competing with Izzy’s memory, at least until this moment. Stede has never seen the contents of the box, never felt any real desire to look inside, until now. It had always felt too much like unearthing a sealed tomb, perverse in a sense.Edward may be best with tools and repairs, but Stede has much more delicate hands, the sort of hands accustomed to sewing and mending. He makes short work of bending a couple of paper clips to his will. Stede pauses for just a moment to silently pray for Ed’s forgiveness before working the paper clips in and around. It only takes a few minutes to crack the lock and set it aside.Stede takes a deep breath and steels himself before easing the lid open. It feels acutely like exhuming the last remains of Israel “Izzy” Hands, of his lover’s long deceased husband. It feels even worse to be doing this without Ed. Stede hates himself for it, yet he cannot stop himself, cannot wait. He has to know and now.Izzy’s ring, a simple tungsten thing with little to no ornamentation, sits on top. Stede knows Ed carries the matching ring Izzy gave him on the silver chain around his neck. Below that, there are a few papers that Stede recognizes to be their discharge papers. Those, Stede sets aside in favor of the precious few hard copy photos he knows lie at the bottom of the box.And, there he is again, Sailor. Again and again, across various photos. His arms around Ed. Smiling for the camera. Sitting in Ed’s old loft, his feet propped on a coffee table Stede does not recognize. Opening what appears to be a Christmas present. Leaning against the black Challenger that Stede knows was Ed’s final car. In these photos, the black ‘X’ tattoo stands out sharply, fresh ink. Stede wants to curl up and die, or throw up, or maybe just cry; Sailor is unquestionable Ed’s Izzy.At the very bottom of the pile is a copy of Izzy’s death certificate and the newspaper clipping of an obituary. The writing in the obituary is terse and clipped in a way that Stede recognizes to be Ed’s style. He has never had a way with prose like Stede. It does not make any sense. How could Sailor be Ed’s Izzy if all evidence points to Izzy being quite clearly deceased.His phone rings, startling Stede from his reverie; it is Ed. Stede groans inwardly when he spies the time. He has been standing there before the dresser in a stupor for far too long. Either Ed or Roach must have noticed his prolonged absence.Stede shoves the things back in the box as though concealing his own crimes and answers, his voice shaking. “Yes, darling, what’s up?”“Just checking in. You’ve been gone a while.”Stede swallows down the disquiet brewing in him as much as possible. “Oh, right, yes. Sorry about that.”Ed’s voice shifts and takes on a wariness. “You sound strange. Are you ok?”Stede forces himself to chuckle; it sounds unnatural to him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. A dog ran in front of the car on the way back to the house, and it scared the absolute dickens out of me.” Stede winces to himself, hoping that sounds believable. “Just got a little shook up, that’s all. I needed a bit to settle my nerves.”“Do you need me to catch a ride?” Ed offers.Stede rubs his face. “No, no. I’m coming back. Just give me about five minutes.”Ed groans audibly over the phone. “Stede, it’s no big deal. I can just get an Uber when we’re finished here.”Stede shouts, perhaps a bit too loudly. “No. I’m on my way now.”“Okay. Take your time, love. I’ll see you soon.”“Love you,” Stede whispers before hanging up.Before he goes, Stede checks the box’s contents once more, flicking through the photographs, trying to make sense of it all but coming up short. A hundred questions pool through his thoughts. Sailor can’t be Ed’s Izzy, can he? If he is, why is Izzy living on the streets when he should have a similar pension to Ed’s? Should Stede tell Ed about Sailor? What would he even say? Stede shakes his head. He cannot tell Ed, not yet. Stede might be mistaken or confused, maybe just overly tired. If he is wrong, it will only hurt Ed and set him back. Ed has come so very far in so short a time.Friday is only two days away, Stede tells himself. I’ll know on Friday. Then, I can worry about what to tell Ed.In his haste and fright, Stede completely forgets his charging cable.xxxxxxxxxxxThe meeting goes astonishingly better than Ed could have imagined. It has been too long since Ed has needed to interview, but this does not feel like an interview with a potential employer. It feels more like a conversation with an old friend. Roach keeps things light and effortless, touring Ed around the kitchen and the current menu.As it turns out, Roach’s little café while charming has a blindspot; sweets. Roach’s specialty lies in savories and comfort foods, not desserts. His desserts and breakfast pastries are passable, but they simply do not ‘sing’ enough to carry brunch (Roach’s words). Evidently, this has become a sore spot in his attempts to branch into the lucrative local brunch business. According to the cook, it is a goldmine waiting to be tapped considering the slow gentrification of the area around the café.The only hiccup is when Stede disappears for longer than a half an hour for what should only be a ten or fifteen minute round trip to the house. Ed does not like when car travel takes too long or comes with unexpected delays. It rattles him, sets his teeth on edge. Stede knows this and always, at a minimum, uses voice to text to alert him when he might be late for whatever reason. This time, Stede does not. Ed excuses himself to call and check, and, although Stede answers him and promises to return shortly, his tone does little to assuage Ed's overwhelming concern.When Stede does return almost an hour after he left, looking white as a ghost and without the damned charger, Ed’s heartrate ratchets up a notch, but Roach is still chattering on.“So, what do you think?”Ed cannot help but stare at Stede, who has retaken his seat by the window but has not moved a muscle since. “Yeah, mate. It sounds great and all, but brunch sounds like it might be a bit high pressure. Probably not the best thing for someone like me.”“It’d only be two days a week – Saturdays and Sundays. At least give it a shot through New Years. And we can always back off if it’s too much for you,” Roach assures him. “Sound good?”Ed wants this to work, for him and for Stede, to prove to his lover that he is getting better, he is making it work. “Yeah. You know what? Fuck it. I’m in.”Roach throws out his hand. “Put it there, partner.”They shake on it, and Ed practically leaps into Stede’s arms afterwards.xxxxxxxxxxxThat night, they both get cleaned up, and Stede takes Ed out to their favorite and the fanciest restaurant in town to celebrate. Ed deserves it; he has worked so very hard on the self-improvement necessary to lock down a job, even if his pension means it is not necessary. The restaurant they go to is a classy place, with white linen table cloths and lit candles on every table. Ed orders a steak for himself while Stede picks the salmon. They gladly take the waiter’s suggestions for wine pairings. It is the perfect evening.When the wine arrives, Stede raises his glass in a toast. “To you, Edward Teach, newest and quite possibly hottest baker in town.” He leans across the table before Ed can tap his glass to Stedes. “In both senses of the word.”Ed snickers and shakes his head. “No. To us.” His smile is radiant in the candlelight. “Stede, none of this would be happening if not for you.”“No,” Stede shushes him. “You made this happen Edward. You deserve to enjoy it.”“Fine,” Ed concedes, clicking his glass to Stede’s. “If you insist on being modest, I will gladly take all the credit that’s due to you.”The exchange a laugh between sips of wine before their meals come. Ed thanks the runner that sets their plates down. Yet, as Stede watches the dishes arriving and stares down the lush, pink salmon steak glistening on the bed of heritage vegetables, he feels his heart slowing and contracting. Ed’s calm appraisal of his steak turns into a wordless droning in his ears amid the rush of blood. All he can think about is Sailor – Izzy, whoever the cripple is. Here Stede is, safe with Ed, in a cozy establishment, with a lavish meal, and a beautiful vintage of wine. Somewhere, out there, it is a Wednesday night, and Sailor is out in the cold, probably hungry, tired, and constantly on guard.Stede is not even consciously aware of his horror until Ed’s hand grasps his, dredging him from the depths of his own thoughts and worries.“Stede, love, you’re scaring me.”Stede blinks. “Sorry.” He peers across the table, feeling himself falling into Edward’s deep gaze before regrouping. “Just had a most excellent thought for my next chapter.”Either Ed does not realize the lie, or he does not care to spoil their evening by commenting.Stede decides to quickly change topics. “So, what will be the first thing on your menu, Chef Teach?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Edward holds himself together admirably in his own humble opinion through to Friday, but he feels off kilter. Something is going on with Stede. He has not been the same since that “quick trip” back home on Wednesday from the café. Something happened that afternoon, something more serious than just a stray dog running in front of the car, yet Stede refuses to admit it. His lover has been distant, more solemn than Ed is accustomed, prone to strange moments of what might be ennui at random intervals that frighten Ed for his mental health.The only thing that salves his worry is when Friday morning rolls around and Stede rather plainly asks what time Ed would like to go to the grocer. Ed embraces the abrupt return to what has been their normal for the last couple of months. Ed picks a recipe he could make in his sleep – butter mochi – so he can better keep an eye on Stede. After all, Stede has taken impeccable care of Edward through his darker times; it seems only fair to return the favor.When they meet Roach about an hour and half before the kitchen is set to open, it is a simple matter of mixing up the ingredients, pouring the batter into a pan, sprinkling with coconut, and baking. Ed laughs and chats with Roach and Stede, but he is only going through the motions. Instead, he watches studies Stede carefully. The author seems more at ease in the kitchen. Perhaps it is Roach, or perhaps it is the routine of it all.Shortly before group, however, that queer, gloom settles over Stede once more. Ed wishes he could sooth it away, smother the sadness with kisses and love, but Stede has become borderline unreachable again. Stede is responding to him, but there is no heart to it, like he has been lost to his own thoughts. It hurts to see Stede like this, but he simply does not know what to do. Edward kisses Stede on the cheek goodbye and stalks down the hall.Once there, he waits and turns the matter over in his mind. Stede was not gone long, not long enough to do anything that could be trouble. Yet, something has clearly been bothering him, dragging the author down. It worries Ed, and he prods at it mentally over and over again as the others arrive and group starts.When it is finally his turn to share, Edward surprises even himself and just blurts it out. “Something’s wrong with Stede.”“What? Like cancer?” Lucius asks.Ed shakes his head. “Don’t know. But it is fucking driving me crazy.”“How do you know something’s wrong with him? Have you asked?” Jim questions shrewdly.Ed looks down. “No. Don’t have to.”“Well, then, how do you know?” Jim presses again, more firmly.“Something happened the other day. I don’t know what it was, but it changed him. He insists nothing happened, but he’s a terrible liar. Something’s fucking wrong,” Ed states flatly, like that could explain everything. “And I can’t fucking stand it.”Oluwande and the others try to steer Edward towards better communication with Stede, but he does not hear it.xxxxxxxxxxxThe butter mochi cuts beautifully, just like Stede knew it would from Ed’s description, but he hardly has the mind for it. Instead, he feels his heart racing as he and Roach put together the meal boxes for that night. His hands shake terribly, and Stede must smooth them over his apron several times to still them.When they open for the night, Stede finds himself awash with emotion. Fear. Worry. Hope. It is somehow all of that mixed uncomfortably in his heart. Stede does not know how he is supposed to feel, how anyone should feel in this situation. His emotions war with themselves as Stede works. Should he be excited to get the chance to know if Sailor is Izzy, or should he be terrified that Ed’s husband – his actual husband – is still alive and avoiding Ed by every means possible for some unknown and terrifying reason? Whatever it is, it is a deep ache in his chest at the thoughts of what he might see should Sailor come in.Sure enough, he is there like clockwork. Sailor’s cheeks flush red, and he coughs into his hand a few times. Stede swallows down the general questions of wellbeing he would otherwise normally ask anyone else. Stede knows Sailor will not answer his concerns anyway except to sling obscenities his way. Stede just hands over the Styrofoam box wordlessly.After a few more people take their meal from him, Stede excuses himself. “Sorry. Have to use the restroom.”No one argues with him. Stede has become enough of a fixture in his short time volunteering that they trust him implicitly. He slips away to the kitchen, as though heading to the restroom out the back, but, instead, he slides down to the other side. There is a second door on the far side of the cafeteria to the kitchen, with a porthole window. Stede pulls up the photo he copied from Ed’s laptop on his phone and peers out the window.In the far corner, Sailor sits with his back to the room, but, for once, Stede can see his face. This time, he sees Sailor crack open the box and bite his own lip to keep from weeping at the sight of yet another of Ed’s desserts. He sees the tears threatening. He sees the struggle in Sailor to be strong, to be emotionless and without response, and he catches the exact moment when Sailor fails. Then, Stede cannot miss the tears streaming down his bony cheeks beneath those dark locks or the barely constrained sobs that wrack Sailor’s slender form. Yet, he sees more than that. When Stede compares the photo to the man in front of him, he cannot deny the match. The features, the swallow tattoo. The only difference from this angle is the awful scar running up his temple to hairline.Stede feels a knife in his heart twisting. Sailor is most assuredly Izzy Hands, and Stede Bonnet has precisely no idea what to do about it. He quakes inside desperately, but Stede cannot let himself fall apart, not yet. Instead, despite how voyeuristic it feels, Stede forcibly composes himself enough to take a quick picture of Sailor on his phone as evidence and drag himself back to his station before anyone can notice.xxxxxxxxxxxThat night, when they go to sleep, neither man holds the other. Instead, they curl away from another. Each hugs their own pillow and feels the great gaping chasm between them.Sometime after 2:00AM, though, Ed is awakened by strange, hushed sounds from Stede. He rolls over and truly strains his ears to understand what he is hearing. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize it is stifled crying. Stede is crying. Instincts take over, and Ed reaches for Stede, pulling him into his arms. He holds him close and shushes him gently with soft kisses to his head. Ed whispers promises of love and understanding, begging with him if only Stede will just fucking talk with him. Stede whines into his broad, muscular chest and shakes his head against Ed.It takes time, but, eventually, Stede exhausts whatever tears are in him. The random crying jag leaves him mute and sniffling uncomfortably. Yet, he seems to have vented the worst of it, or so Ed hopes.Ed kisses his forehead and strokes his arms. “I’m not going to ask if you want to talk about it, because you haven’t wanted to talk about it since Wednesday, but something’s going on. I don’t know what it is, but I’m worried about you, Stede. I’m worried for you.” Stede stiffens in his arms, but Ed just soothes him once more. “Shh, shh. I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you. But I know whatever’s going on isn’t a good thing.”Stede makes a noncommittal sound and tries to pull away. Ed holds him firm. Stede is safe in his arms, and Ed knows it. Ed needs to feel it as much as Stede likely does.Ed sighs heavily. “You’ve dealt with me and my shit for so long, Stede. So, whatever it is, when you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be ready to listen. Whatever it is.”When Stede finally speaks, it is in a childlike whisper, “Thank you, Ed.”Ed cannot help but feel just a bit lighter to hear Stede responsive once more, so he reaches down to brush away the tears with the pad of his thumb “I love you, Stede Bonnet. And whatever this shit is that’s got you hurting, it’s not going to change that.”“And I love you, Edward Teach.”Ed squeezes Stede tighter, as if he could just hug away whatever troubles Stede might have. He knows that is nowhere near how anything like this works, but Edward has not been on this side of things. Stede has always been the supportive one to Ed’s many issues. Ed silently promises that, this time, he will be there for Stede.xxxxxxxxxxxIn the morning, Stede can think more clearly. He lies awake in Ed’s strong arms for what feels like hours, drinking in the sensation, turning the situation over in his head. Stede still cannot believe it himself. Izzy – Ed’s long dead husband – is alive and still living in their same town.Last night’s crying episode had been a moment of appalling weakness and childish greed. Stede had woken in the night and began to question what this meant for his relationship. If Izzy is alive, that means he and Ed are still married. Stede’s spiraling thoughts had led to doubts of what that made him. The gay equivalency of ‘the other woman?’ The homewrecker? Stede had not known, and the thought alone of losing Ed after all this time had sent him hurtling into dark territory mentally.However, Ed had been there, held him, promised Stede unquestionable, uncompromising love, regardless of this terrible secret he now holds. That had been enough to stem the tide of racing and raging negativity. Edward Teach is a man of his word; Stede knows this. Yet, Ed does not know the very gravity of the situation, and his promises do not plant firmly in Stede’s mind when he realizes this.Izzy is alive.Still, now, Stede must make a choice. Does he tell Ed or not? Does he just let it go? Stede is not sure. He also is not sure whether or not Izzy would want Ed to know. If Izzy still lives in the same area, chances are he has seen Ed around, has had ample opportunity to reveal his continued existence. Yet, Izzy has not for whatever reason. Izzy may not have held the same rank as Edward, but he likely also has a pension that he chooses to eschew in favor of life as a  “dead” man. For some reason, Izzy seems like he would much rather be starving and homeless than let Ed or anyone else – government and banks included - know he is still alive.With all that in mind, Stede concludes he has three options.
Tell Ed and let Ed decide how to deal with Izzy.
Don’t tell Ed, forget about Sailor, and just let everything keep going the way it is.
Confront – gently and with several possible escape routes – Izzy.
Stede mulls over his options until Ed stirs and breathes, “Hey.”Ed rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Hey, yourself.” He stretches briefly before enfolding Stede once more. “Feeling any better?”And, damn him, strangely, Stede does. “Yeah.”Ed smiles softly and cups Stede’s cheek with a warm palm. “Meant what I said last night, love. Whatever you’re going through, whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here. I’m not going to be mad, and I’m not going anywhere.”Stede kisses him deeply and prays that remains true.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The week passes strangely, with Ed walking on eggshells around Stede. Stede oscillates wildly between moods, evidently fine one moment and completely mentally checked out the other. It worries him, but Ed knows there is only so much he can do. He has shared his concerns on multiple sessions with Dr. Buttons, and the therapist has repeatedly reminded Ed that Stede will come to him when he is ready, that he needs to want to come to Ed if the author is going to be truly honest with either of them. Ed knows it is the truth; he experienced it himself with his anger issues.However, a distant, dark part of his psyche sometimes whispers that this is just like Izzy. Izzy pulled away with similarly quiet despondence. Izzy shut him out as well. And, then, Izzy was gone.
You’re the one who ruins them.
Ed squashes that voice down; Stede is not Izzy. Stede may be having a hard time, but he was already in therapy with Dr. John before whatever this thing is started. Stede has recognized the strain living with and loving someone with anger like Ed in himself and already sought help. He is already armed and primed to face a crisis better than anyone else. And Ed has done everything possible to open as many lines of communication possible, according to Dr. Buttons. He knows logically that this is nothing Ed did or can do anything about, but, eventually, that voice always returns.Ed tries to distract Stede through the week. He ropes his lover into menu planning with Roach. They intend to try a soft start next weekend, just before Christmas. A sort of pop-up, holiday brunch. Roach’s good friend Frenchie and Oluwande – whom he both apparently lives with – have pulled out all the stops to gather or make decorations. After group and volunteering next week, Roach’s plan is to have everyone meet up at the café to plaster every available space with Christmas décor and have a mini-holiday party.Then, Ed cons Stede into plotting Christmas cookies, both for home and the soup kitchen. It is a deviation from the traditional bakes he has made thus far, but Ed’s mum always shifted to more English baking around the holidays. Thus, it rather seems in keeping for their routine. Plus, Ed knows Stede’s sweet tooth cannot resist homemade cookies fresh from the oven; who can? Although Ed has maybe made one of two batches of drop cookies in his life, they cobble together a lengthy list of cookie variations to try.When that distraction seems to have waned, Ed cajoles him out to Christmas shop. It is a dirty ploy. He knows Stede loves Christmas shopping. It grates on Edward’s nerves. The garish lights, the blaring music, the overly hot and stuff stores, bratty kids shrieking about what toys they want. Edward hates every second of it, but Stede loves it. Ed will always suffer anything for Stede, even the dreaded mall.However, as the week progresses, it gets harder and harder to keep Stede buoyed up. He begins to find Stede seated in front of his laptop, as if to work, but just staring into nothing, his hands still. His book has not progressed at all since last Wednesday after the café. It unnerves Ed. Stede is a consummate professional when it comes to his writing, setting weekly goals set to meet publisher and editorial deadlines, even if his novels do strike Ed as trashy. It is not like Stede to make no progress in almost two weeks.Ed feels himself starting to slip. He feels the heat in him slowly stoking. It is the same heat he felt that Black Friday when Lucius told them of his family, the same righteous anger. Yet, this time, it is directionless. Until Stede tells him what exactly is going on, Ed has nowhere to place that energy, the hate that something could hurt his lover so. Ed has to call Dr. Button’s emergency number twice that week between sessions for fear of doing something stupid.On Friday, however, Ed decides he has had enough. They are baking cookies, damnit, whether Stede likes it or not, and whether he can be present or not. Ed drags him out to the grocer for a laundry list of supplies and settles the man in the kitchen. Then, though it honestly kills him, Ed pulls up a playlist of Christmas music on his phone and sets it in a metal mixing bowl as an improvised amplifier. That seems to snap Stede out of his black mood for the rest of the afternoon as they toil away making batch after batch. Sugar cookies, gingerbreads, chocolate chip, snicker doodles, the works. The baking seems to keep Stede grounded as much as it does for Ed. By the time they are ready to leave for the church, they have dozens of cookies for the soup kitchen and an assorted tin just for Ed’s group.When they park at the church, Stede seems to still and fade out once more, drifting away to some far off place mentally. His eyes go distant, the very definition of the ‘thousand-yard-stare.’ Ed peers out into the night along the same line of sight and tries to see whatever it is that Stede sees, but everything seems normal. The line for the soup kitchen might be a bit longer than usual, but Ed cannot blame the homeless for coming out in larger numbers for a free, hot meal when it is getting as bitterly cold out as it has been.“Stede?” Ed utters in a hush; when the author does not even flinch, Ed offers, “Stede, you don’t have to come in tonight if you don’t want to. You can just drop me off.”That seems to snap his lover out of whatever memory or thought held him hostage. “What? No. I’m coming,” Stede announces firmly. “I want to be here tonight.”  Ed takes Stede’s hand and presses it to his own lips. “Okay. Why don’t we go inside? Freezing my balls off out here.”Ed escorts Stede to the entrance to the soup kitchen before exchanging a quick hug and quiet goodbyes. Then, Ed watches Stede as he walks off, laden with all their spoils. He remains in the hall for a few moments after, as well. His mind sparks and flares bitterly; whatever happened on Wednesday somehow comes back to here. There is a fuzzy picture forming in Ed’s brain, but he cannot place it yet.When nothing definitive comes to him, Ed turns to go to group.xxxxxxxxxxx
There won’t be enough.
Stede has been mentally calculating with dread ever since he pulled into the lot and saw just how mobbed the line is. Roach has consistently cautioned him that the lulls between the winter holidays can be hard. It’s cold, and donations are usually limited. There is only so far the cook can stretch his coffers. There will not be enough.Worse, still, when Stede passes the line on Ed’s arm, Sailor – Izzy, he corrects himself – is nowhere to be seen. Either the man is not coming, or he is late. Stede prays silently that he has only missed Izzy amid the huddled masses.They tuck the cookies into the meal boxes, open the doors, and start to hand out meals. Stede feels his heart hammering in his chest when the Styrofoam boxes seem to dwindle, but the line just keeps on going. The meals run out well before the line does. Stede aches when he hands out the last one. There are just too many of them, too many needy and not enough for all of them.When he looks up, Stede seems him. Izzy. He is far towards the back of the line, hanging his head low. His eyes are haunted and wide. He looks paler than usual, his brow shining a bit. He shudders, perhaps coughing, and seems to mutter to himself before turning away empty handed. Some part of Stede frays and snaps at the thought. He may not be entirely sure where he stands with Izzy, but Stede cannot bear him to go hungry again for some reason.“No,” Stede whispers to himself before turning to Roach. “Roach, can you cover for me for a bit?”“What’s wrong?” Roach raises a curious brow. “You ok?”Stede forces himself to curl his lips, but it feels more like a leer. “Oh, yes. Just going to pop off to the shops to pick up Ed’s present.”The lie burns on his tongue, but Roach does not seem to notice. “You go. I’ll keep Monsieur Patissier occupied until you get back.”Stede thanks him, grabs his coat, and rushes out into the night. In the crowd and the few precious moments talking with the cook, Stede has lost Izzy. He seems to have simply vanished into the dark. Stede swears to himself. Then, the author pulls himself together. Izzy is a one-legged man on a harsh winter night. He could not have gone far. Stede bolts across the lot to his car. He can cover more ground faster in his car than Izzy could possibly hope to cover on his crutches. Stede threads the car through the lot and onto the surface roads, snaking the blocks to best search.  After twenty minutes, Stede feels the adrenaline fading in him. Izzy is gone again, slipped away. He grips the steering wheel hard to keep from screaming for several minutes. Then, mindful that Ed will be out of group in a bit, Stede turns the car back around.He is only driving for a few moments before coming to a red light. Stede sits and feels himself quivering with an undefined upset. Somewhere, in the cold, is the only person with answers, Izzy. And Stede cannot let that go anymore. He needs to understand, like needing air to breathe. To still himself, Stede scans the area around him, one, last chance for the night.It is possibly fortunate or unfortunate that Stede does. When he looks around, the author spies a secluded alley to the side of his SUV. At the far end, by a dumpster, are two men. One is on his knees while the other thrusts into the first’s mouth. Stede does not judge; he may have had his far share of questionable sex in even more questionable spots in his youth. However, then, the recipient reaches down, fisting his hand in dark silver locks, and jerks to the side on the head, exposing a familiar swallow tattoo on the tense, corded neck. Stede’s breath quickens; it is Izzy. The encounter goes on for a few more moments before the standing man clutches Izzy’s head in both hands and spasms into his mouth. Izzy seems to freeze, allowing it. Then, the man pulls away. He seems to consider the cripple before him before abruptly backhanding Izzy. Unbalanced with only one leg, Izzy tumbles to the ground and lays there for a moment, but, when the man throws down a bill, Izzy snatches the money up and vanishes it into his coat.Stede’s heart twists and contorts. He knew Izzy likely engaged in prostitution to survive, but it is another thing to witness it so plainly. This is a man who – according to the papers in the small, wooden box - the Navy honorably discharged as a Petty Officer First Class, sucking cock on the street just for a hot meal. Regardless of whatever happened between Izzy and Ed, it is a sin that Stede cannot abide.The stranger leaves down one end of the alley. Stede cannot move, cannot do anything but stare. Izzy slowly, awkwardly clambers back to his feet – foot. He drags himself up onto his crutches and looks all the more exhausted from the effort. Then, Izzy shoves off on his crutches, coming out of the alley. He stops at the mouth of the alley, as if noticing Stede’s car. He seems to sigh to himself, and, then, to Stede’s horror, he approaches and leans in towards the window, putting on what Stede assumes Izzy believes to be his most seductive smile.When Stede rolls down the window and their eyes meet, Izzy curses. “Fuck me. The fuck you want, Bonnet?” He sniffs hotly, his lip curling like a feral dog. “Is this why you’ve been stalking me? Did you like what you saw?”Stede’s brow knits in concern. “Are you alright? He hit you pretty hard.”“M’fine.” Izzy’s voice holds an edge. “Fuck off, Bonnet. Got to work.”“Wait!” Stede cries before the cripple can amble away. In desperation, the author blurts out, “I can pay you.”Izzy freezes, trembling minutely and gripping his crutches so hard they creak; when he speaks, it is solemnly, with a deep, bone-weary resignation. “It’s twenty a blow.”Stede tries not to be sickened at the thought and asks, “How much is it just to chat?” Izzy’s face morphs to something more amenable and akin to wonder, but Stede ignores it to impulsively pull out his wallet and count out all the bills therein. “How much time will $281 get me?”Izzy gives a tired laugh that sounds painful, but he holds himself tightly, a snake ready to strike should Stede do anything he does not want. “For that kind of dough, you can talk for a while.”Stede reaches across the passenger seat and opens the door. “C’mon. Hop in. You’ll catch a death of cold out here.”xxxxxxxxxxx“So, ever figure out what’s going on with your boyfriend?” Lucius asks in the middle of group; he has been valiantly avoiding talking about the upcoming holiday and his family for the entire evening by targeting everyone else.Ed has been sitting in sullen silence for most of group, arms folded across his chest. “No. But it’s something here.”“Here?” Oluwande croaks. “This is a safe place.”Ed sighs and shakes his head. “No. Not here here. Something in the building.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “He got worse when we got to the lot. It’s like he just went away somewhere inside.” Ed lifts his gaze, more certain now. “It’s like whatever’s eating him up, is related to here.”Oluwande considers carefully before offering, “We’ve already discussed how difficult and stressful the holidays can be. Stede volunteering with the needy may be exacerbating troubling feelings.”“No. It’s not that,” Ed snips. “Stede fucking loves Christmas. Favorite holiday. Has all his favorite things. Music, shiny decorations, gift giving and getting. Gay old Christmas movies like Holiday Inn. It’s like Christmas was made for Stede Bonnet.”Jim suggests almost glibly. “I could give you my old PI’s card.” They give a single, bitter laugh. “Not like he’s doing much these days.”Ed weighs the offer but tosses his head again. “Nah, but thanks mate.” He scowls deeply at the thoughts that still war in his mind. “I can’t do that to Stede.” He kicks at nothing listlessly. “Seems a bit invasive, don’t you think? He deserves respect and privacy.”Oluwander smiles. “That is very mature of you.” When Ed does not move or respond, Oluwande inclines his head. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming…”Ed tips his own head. “But, I could just ask around on my own.”“Isn’t that kind of invasive?” Archie questions. “Seems just like hiring a PI with less steps?”“True,” Ed admits flatly with a shrug.Oluwande is kinder. “Ed, is this because of a Stede thing or an Ed thing?” When Ed just glares, Oluwande explains, “We’ve talked about your late husband in past sessions, about how he withdrew from you following the accident and your feelings of insecurity.” Ed bolts upright, feeling his own hackles raised, but Oluwande holds his hands up. “I’m just asking if there’s a better way to deal with this, a way that is less confrontational to your challenges?”Ed feels as though he has been struck. “Might be.”xxxxxxxxxxx“Care for a cup of coffee?” Stede suggests timidly, terrified of provoking the man in his car to flee. “There’s a great diner not far from here.”Izzy huffs at his side. “If you’re buying.”Stede flinches mildly; leave it to him to forget Izzy’s untenable situation. “Of course.”He drives them to the diner and parks. At the lot, Stede trots around the car swiftly, intending to hold the door or offer his arm to Izzy. He has been coughing the entire short drive and hugging himself strangely. When Izzy is close, the stench of liquor hits Stede; Izzy still smells like a distillery. The smaller man shrugs him off with a snarl and a swear word. Stede holds his tongue and just closes the door behind Izzy. Stede has managed to come this far for answers; he will not mess this up.A waitress seats them in a small booth meant for couples. In another lifetime, Stede might have laughed or blushed at it. Now, however, he cannot risk such levity. He orders two coffees to rid them of the waitress for some minimal privacy.Izzy fiddles with the sugar packets for a moment before hissing, “What is this?”Stede bites his lip; he did not plan this nor imagined getting this close to the conversation. “I’m sorry for the subterfuge.”“Subterfuge?” Izzy balks angrily, pausing only to cough into his fist. “You mean fucking stalking.”Stede cringes. “I know.” He looks up and meets cold, dark eyes with his own. “And I am very sorry.”Time stretches before them almost infinitely, during which neither man speaks. Fortunately, the waitress returns with their coffees. She sets them down on the table along with a pitcher of creamer. It does not escape Stede’s notice that Izzy breathes a minute yet respectful thanks to the waitress before she leave them and before he reaches for a mug.“Is it a fetish?”Stede nearly spits his first sip of coffee all over the table. “What?!?! God, no.”Izzy works his jaw and stirs his coffee without looking up; he sounds impossibly bowed and exhausted when he speaks next. “Then, what is it?”Stede sets his mug down. “I know your name is not ‘Sailor.’”“Good for you,” Izzy says in a pout. “No one on the streets has a real name.”The author turns away. “No. I know your real name.” Izzy’s dark glare snaps up to Stede, and the blonde feels his heart trilling. “Israel Hands. Izzy.”Something strange flashes across the man’s face. Stede has expected anger and defiance. He has anticipated a fight, a fiery debate with Ed’s former husband and a refuting of the name. This is nothing of the sort. This is shock, tinged with fear. Izzy looks as though he has seen a ghost. His color drains impossibly more, as his eyes shine.“I don’t….” Izzy furrows his brow now. He gives a shake of his head, his thin fingers reaching for the scar on the side of his head. “How did you know that? How could you know that?”Stede wants to feel smug, but the absolute terror and uncertainty on Izzy’s face robs him of any satisfaction. “I’m… Well, I’m a friend of Ed’s.”“Ed?”Stede’s stomach lurches violently at the wrongness of this all. This is also something he has not expected. The more Stede has considered the situation, the more he has thought it likely Izzy is on the run from Ed, avoiding him for some reason. Yet, Izzy sounds utterly earnest and unsure, like he has never heard the name ‘Ed’ before. It leaves Stede feeling unsure.“Edward Teach,” Stede tries once more.Izzy blinks owlishly and frowns. “I don’t know any Ed Teach.” He sounds honest and open, but, then, in a heartbeat, Izzy recoils once more, reverting to the wild beast. “So, why in the fuck would I believe anything you have to say?”This, Stede has expected; he pulls out his phone and opens the photo gallery. “Because, Ed knows you.” He holds out his phone to display the photo pilfered from Ed’s laptop. “Look! See? He had this picture of you. He took it.”Izzy looks to the phone, to the photo Ed took all those years ago in Guam. He briefly reaches for it before pulling away, as though it could burn him. Then, he reaches to the tattoo on his own neck. A faint reverence seems to hang over Izzy as he strokes the faded ink of the swallow. Stede nods at him encouragingly.Then, it is gone again and replaced by the bitterness Stede has come to know so well. “So what? You’ve got a picture of a guy with the same tattoo as me. I bet a million guys have this tattoo. What has that got to do with anything?”Stede blinks stupidly. “Wait, you don’t…. you really don’t remember Ed?”“No.” While Stede gapes, struggling to change course, Izzy puts his head in his hands, as though the weight of the world has come abruptly crashing down upon him. “I don’t get it.” He sounds close to sobbing. “What do you want from me?”Stede shakes his head. “I don’t, I don’t want anything from you.”“Then, why are you doing this?” Izzy’s voice cracks with emotion as a tear slides down his cheek.“I just want to help,” Stede whispers, suddenly very afraid of whatever ground he has broached.Izzy sniffs and scrubs his face with the back of his hand before snarling. “Time’s up.” The vulnerable Izzy is supplanted once more with the harden visage of Sailor. “Pay up.”Stede nods slowly, but he grabs the man by the wrist when Izzy reaches for the cash, holding him firm. “Izzy, please.”The cripple blinks and jerks his hand away. “Don’t call me Izzy. And don’t come fucking looking for me again.”xxxxxxxxxxxWhen group finally ends, Ed practically runs to the kitchen, only to find it nearly empty. Roach is the only person left, sitting in the back with his feet propped up on one of the stainless-steel counters and sipping a tea. Stede, however, is nowhere to be seen.“Hey, partner, come have a seat,” Roach bids him.Ed can do no such thing, feeling heat pulsing through him laced with fear as he firmly demands, “Where’s Stede?”Roach chortles and shakes his head. “You’ve got a good man, Ed Teach. He snuck out once we ran out to go shopping for a present for you.” Ed feels himself settling, as Roach leans in to tease, “But don’t tell him I said that. If he asks, I told you I sent him on an extremely important errand.” He strokes his chin. “Needed a can of elbow grease or something.”Ed snorts despite himself. It is hard to be angry and tense around Roach. Even harder to be mad at Roach, especially in the face of such bad jokes.“C’mon. Pull up a chair.” Roach pats one of the stools beside him. “We’ll tell Stede we were planning our brunch menu, but we can plan the holiday party instead. Get one up on him.”Ed smiles wistfully. “Yeah.” He plunks down into the chair. “Yeah, could do that.” He sits silently for a moment as Roach pours him a cup of tea; then, Ed dares ask the question that has been burning in his mind for over a week. “Roach, what’s going on with Stede?”“Hmm?”“Has he seemed… off to you?” Ed asks.Roach gives a calculated shrug. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. He seems a proud man.”Ed raises a brow. “But?”“Ed, Stede’s been having a rough time with doing this.” Roach hands him the tea cup and purses his lips. “We ran out tonight. Had to turn people away. It’s the second time it’s happened, and I don’t think he’s dealing with it well.”“How can you tell?”Roach’s expression twists to a grimace. “He keeps asking about them, about how they live and where they go. Sounds like it’s hitting him harder some weeks than others, the feeling that you can’t help them. And this is an especially hard time of the year to feel like you’re failing people you’re supposed to be helping.”“Shit.” Ed feels his heart drop, wondering how he did not pick up on it earlier when they saw the massive line at the soup kitchen. “He hasn’t said anything to me.”Roach tilts his head knowingly. “Would you say anything to him if it were the other way around?”Ed contemplates the matter for a few moments before admitting heavily, “Probably not.”“That’s what I thought.”Ed sighs. “What should I do?”Roach puts a hand on his shoulder. “Be there for him. That’s all any of us can do.” There comes a sound from the hall, the doors opening to Stede rushing in breathless; Roach grins. “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.” He looks to Ed with a wisdom beyond his years. “You think about what I said.”Ed shakes his hand. “Thank you.”Stede comes to his side and kisses his cheek, but it feels and sounds hollow. ”Hello, darling.”The blonde’s eyes look red-rimmed from crying. Ed feels his heart breaking for Stede, but he has no idea what to do.

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That weekend, the winds shift, and the daytime temperatures plummet to the teens overnight. Ed loathes the cold. He had hurt his left leg during a freak squall years ago after a monster wave simply stole the deck from beneath his feet, sending him hurtling to a wall. At the time, looking back on the security camera footage, it had been hilarious, but, on near arctic days as he ages, Ed curses that storm daily. His knee throbs and aches with the change of the weather, putting him on edge.The situation with Stede does not help his sensibilities any. Since they awoke on Sunday morning to frosted windows and a chill even in the normally cozy house, Stede has been strangely hollowed. Ed even finds him twice in the night standing outside without a winter coat, just his pajamas and robe, breathing slowly. Both times, Ed ferries him back into the warmth of the house and plies him with hot tea, cocoa, or coffee like it should be perfectly normal, but it harrows Ed.The first time, Stede lies so poorly through chattering teeth that Ed can taste it. “I was out stargazing…. Lost track of time.”The second time, Ed does not bother asking why; he knows Stede will lie to him. Ed stifles his concern, tucks Stede in bed under several blankets and with a hot water bottle, and, then, calls Dr. Buttons emergency number. It is the only thing Ed knows to do. Dr. Buttons answers quickly, as always, and listens, but his advice seems trite and clinical. When Ed hangs up, Stede is already up, moving, and talking normally once more, having pushed the whole thing aside like he was just taking out the trash.Friday approaches like Ed’s own execution. Ed wants to go to group, needs to go to group, but he most certainly does not think Stede should go to the soup kitchen. Not with how Stede is behaving, and not after what Roach told him.“Darling,” Stede argues. “I want to go. I’ll be alright. I think I just need to get away from my book. Hit a sad spot, and I hate to admit it has been getting to me a bit.” He levels a playfully stern gaze upon Ed and pokes him in the stomach, his eyes twinkling. “Besides, I would hate to miss the after-party.”Edward beams. The mini-holiday party has become something of a larger affair. Roach had previously invited Stede, Ed, Oluwande, and his other roommate, Frenchie. Somehow, that has expanded to include Jim, Archie, Lucius, and Lucius’s husband, Pete. Roach has insisted it is merely a calculated move to spread the workload around, but Ed secretly suspects the man just loves a good party. Stede has been excited ever since the news that the guest list expanded, eager to meet people from Ed’s support group.Ed nods in concession. “Okay. We’ll go.”xxxxxxxxxxxStede Bonnet feels like a piece of shit, an absolute cad. He knows he is worrying Ed, putting extra stress on a man who already does not need any more of it. Yet, since the cold snap hit, Stede has done nothing but worry.Stede knows the money he gave Izzy is not nearly enough to stay in a nice, comfortable hotel room to wait out the cold. He also knows Izzy cannot have a credit card, and hotels require those to check in these days, no matter how you wish to pay and no matter how short the stay. Plus, from what Roach has said, it is exceptionally unlikely Izzy would go to a shelter or warming station, which means he is out there, when the temperatures drop to below or near zero with the wind chill at night.Twice now, Stede has stood out there in the cold experimentally, just to see. Twice now, he has felt winter’s bite. Twice, he has required rescuing from Ed after straying out there too long lost in his worries, likely sending Ed’s blood pressure spiking. Yet, Izzy spends every night out there without reprieve.So, when Ed suggests that Stede stays home and skips volunteering, Stede cannot. He swallows down his concern and his fears, putting on a capable, fresh face. That irrepressible need to protect, to fix, and to care for Izzy stabs at him; he needs to know that Izzy is alright after their little meeting. The soup kitchen is the only place Stede knows he might see Izzy.When Stede pulls out of the garage, rain pelts down on the car. He forgot to check the weather report. Stede switches the radio station and listens through the rain and the wiper blades.‘Ýou’re going to want to bundle up and stay in tonight, because it’s going to be a cooooold one.’ The weatherman’s enthusiasm sickens Stede. ‘We’ve got freezing rain reported in several countries across the metro area and temperatures dipping down to record lows in the single digits.’Stede holds his face as still as possible, trying not to wince. Single digits and freezing rain? How much worse of a night could it be? His forays into being out in the winter night were on clear nights with little wind, and Stede could hardly stand it, feeling his flesh both chill and burn from the cold.The church shines like a beacon in the winter night, holding Stede’s hope.xxxxxxxxxxx“Ed? You haven’t shared yet,” Oluwande prompts after the first half hour. “Is there anything you want to discuss? Anything from this week?”Ed belts it out before he can be tempted stop himself. “I’m losing Stede.”“Oh, honey,” Lucius puts his hand on Ed’s shoulder, and Ed surges into the touch. “Oh. Oh, boy.” In a heartbeat, Lucius finds himself with a lap full of Ed as Ed feels himself cracking. “Okay, well, that’s one way to go about things.”In what feels like another life, Ed imagined Rageaholics Anonymous as a fiery, ill-tempered group, expecting each meeting to be a toss-up between a swearing match or a fistfight. He had never expected it to hurt, never expected the tears and other emotions that went with it. All these months, Ed has still somewhat resisted that layer, avoiding topics that felt too raw. He cannot hide it anymore. Ed is a dam that has long since crested over and is ready to fail.The group is speaking around him in low, hushed tones, but Ed cannot hear them over his own weeping.He can, however, hear Lucius. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay.” Lucius is holding him, almost fearfully gentle, as though his hands could break Ed. “You’re not losing Stede.”“I am,” Ed argues plaintively between sobs. “He’s all I’ve got, and he’s drifting from me. He’s just so far away anymore. I’m losing him, Lucius, just like Iz, and I don’t know what to do.”Lucius makes a sort of choked laugh. “You aren’t. Stede fucking loves you according to the hot gossip around this place. But, even if you were, it is going to be okay. You’re still breathing.” Lucius’s tone borders between serious and joking. “Because, you, my friend, are stronger than that shit.”That somehow stems his tears enough for Ed to blink. “What did you say?”Lucius playfully shrugs. “Something someone way smarter than me said a ways back.” His gaze narrows to Ed’s, holding him. “You are stronger than that.” Lucius nods firmly and rubs Ed’s back. “And, even if Stede did, I don’t know, throw away what is probably the best thing to ever happen to him, you’ll still be here. You’ll still have us. Friends. And a life. And a chance to meet someone new.” Lucius gives him a saucy look. “But, and I cannot stress this enough, Stede would be an absolute gobshite moron if he left a looker like you.”That tiny, pathetic joke serves as enough to reel Ed back in from the edge. “Yeah, you think so? Think I still got the rugged charm?”Lucius grins wickedly. “Look, let’s just say if I wasn’t quite happily married, I’d love nothing more than to have you in my lap all day and night.”Ed laughs around the snot and tears. Someone – maybe Jim – hands him a box of tissues for Ed to clean himself up. Someone else – Archie he thinks - brings him a wet paper towel to dab his eyes. Auntie has a paper cup of cool water and options of headache tablets at the ready after that. And, in that moment, Ed realizes what has been slowly changing over the months. These strangers with their assorted issues have become the friends and family Ed has not had in a long time, slowly working their way into his heart.He thanks them and apologizes. They assure him there is nothing to apologize for, and Ed believes them.xxxxxxxxxxxStede watches the bedraggled, rain-soaked faces that come through the kitchen that night like a hawk. He scans each and every one of them, not really seeing them, looking for one face. Izzy. That face never shows up at the kitchen. For the first time, Izzy is simply not there. He wants to scream, wants to cry, but Stede can do neither. He has an appearance to keep up; he will not worry Ed any worse than he already has.He puts on a Christmas station on the way to Roach’s little café. Anything else would not be in keeping for Stede Bonnet during the holiday season. Anything else would raise red flags to Ed that Stede will not allow.The weather forecast cuts in between songs. ‘Better bust out the salt tomorrow. Updated weather modeling suggests 3 to 6 inches across the metro area, with some spots getting as much as 10 inches. Looks like we may have a white Christmas after all this year….’Stede groans inwardly; Izzy will be out in that with nowhere to go. It is still raining now, but that does not mean it won’t switch later on.
He told you not to look for him.

He told you to leave him alone.
Stede hammers those two statements in his subconscious. Izzy Hands does not want Stede or his concern. However, Stede is struggling to let go. He struggled before when all he knew was that Sailor was a half-starved amputee with nowhere to lay his head. Now that he knows that there is so much more wrong with Izzy, Stede finds he cannot let go. Tell Ed. A voice in his mind whispers.Stede chokes it down. Ed has lived all these years thinking Izzy dead. Stede has no idea what to say or how to say it in a way that would be tolerable. What will Ed make of Izzy being alive? And in their home town? And in the state he has been living? And that Stede has known for weeks? Oh, and that Izzy is now on his own out in the storm? Ed could make nothing good out of any of that.You need to tell Ed. That damned intrusive voice insists.As he parks, Stede feels his mouth opening to say something, but, before he can, Ed is handing him the car umbrella. “You take this.” Ed pulls his leather jacket up over his head and shoulders. “Meet you inside!”Stede watches him run off, the chance gone.xxxxxxxxxxxThe party is in full swing in no time, with music blaring and all hands on deck. Pete, Lucius’s husband, has a flair for interior decorating, apparently, and a love of the camp. Or, at least, Pete enjoys ordering people around. He directs everyone with their decorating assignments like a general, pointing this way and that.Stede seems to lose himself in it, grinning from ear to ear and laughing as he struggles alongside Lucius to string tacky garlands and glittering tinsel to Pete’s satisfaction. His face lights up in a way that seems radiant, his eyes twinkling with delight. It gives Ed hope to see him so truly, sincerely happy for the first time in weeks. So much so that he finds himself lingering behind the counter, just watching with a wry smile on his face.So entranced by the scene is Ed, that he does not notice Jim sidle up next to him until they grunt, “Hey. Sign my cast.”“What are we, in elementary school?” Ed teases, taking their arm by the cast. When Jim laughs and pulls away, Ed shakes his head and maintains a firm but not too hard grip. “Oh, no. You asked. No backing out now.” He scans the counter but sees nothing at his disposal. “Got a Sharpie?” Jim plucks one from their pockets and hands it over; Ed feels a wicked smirk spread across his face. “So, precisely how obscene can I be?”“You do know I am visiting my Nan for Christmas, right?”Ed nods as he uncaps the marker with his teeth. “Yeah, and? What’s she into? Cocks or tits?”“Dude, she’s my Nan. She’s a tough old bird, but she’s a nun. I can’t show up with a dick or boobs on my cast,” Jim tells him firmly.“So….. both?”“Dick,” Jim mutters.“Cocks it is.” Ed grins deviously around the marker cap. “You love me.”“Yeah, fine,” they concede.Ed does not draw a phallus, or anything obscene. Nor does he sprinkle the cast with profanities as he might have done in elementary school. Instead, Ed draws the only thing he knows how to draw – an extremely simple and stylized skull he memorized and copied thousands of times from a comic book as a child – but with the addition of a cartoonish Santa hat. The entire time, Jim watches him work with studious eyes boring holes into him, dissecting him.They must have planned this as an excuse to corner him, for Jim asks as Ed is making the teeth by placing a row of plus signs in the mouth, “How are you holding up?”Ed considers adding curly scribbles to the hat’s fluff but decides against it. “Better.” He jerks his head towards Stede. “He seems…. Better.”Jim nods. “It can be like that, sometimes. Depression, you know?”“I know,” Ed breathes as he surveys his work. “It’s hard though.”Jim shrugs with their free shoulder. “It’s hard dealing with us.”Ed chuffs. “Fair point.” He scribbles his signature under the skull, like an actual artist signing the work. “I think we needed this though. Both of us.” He releases their cast and lets Jim survey his work. “Well, there you have it. One totally not cock or tits, appropriate for Nans of all ages and sensibilities.”“Looks good. Very tough.” Jim lifts their gaze, and Ed sees their eyes widen. “Dude….. snow.”From across the room, Lucius calls, “What?”Jim points to the windows of the café. “Snow!”Sure enough, the rain has shifted to snow. Big, fat, chunky flakes are coming down, hard. The cars and parking lot out front of the café have already been blanketed in a fluffy layer in the few minutes between when any one was looking out. There is a mad scramble to grab coats and gloves before the entire party stumbles out, into the snow. Jim takes Archie by the hand to spin and dance in it, while Pete and Lucius try to catch flakes on their tongue. Frenchie laments something about it being ill-fortuitous for it to snow on a Friday, and Roach says something about making some kind of Canadian candy. Before anyone knows it, a hasty snowball fight has broken out using the thin layer of snow from the cars until even that de-evolves into a fit of laughter.Even Stede seems to be having a grand time frolicking in the snow until, quite abruptly, he is not. Suddenly, Stede goes from hooting and hollering with them, to standing perfectly still and staring out into the night, his mouth open in a tiny ‘o’ of what might be surprise. Stede’s big, loving eyes glisten as tears gather. Ed feels the ice settle in his veins when Stede shifts so violently in front of him. The others slowly fall silent around them, conversations fading like dying stars. Even Archie notices; Ed sees her out of the corner of his eye, tensing and squeezing Jim’s hand hard enough to hurt. Lucius eyes Ed carefully, questioning what he intends to do.Ed gently takes Stede by the arm, cooing, “C’mon mate. Let’s get you back inside, back in the warmth.” This time, though, Stede resists strangely, his eyes still locked on some far-off thing or place; Ed sighs. “You’re going to catch a death of-““Izzy’s alive.” It is so faint that Ed almost misses it; even still, he is unsure of what exactly Stede has said.Ed furrows his brow, certain he misheard. “What?”“Ed, Izzy’s alive.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It is almost too easy for the ruse of being ‘fine’ to turn into a transient reality for Stede; he has been practicing it all week. In the dreary parking lot, all Stede could think about was Izzy, but, now, in the full swing of seasonal festivities, that nagging worry is dragged down once more. Safely ensconced in Roach’s cozy café with the heat cranked up and music playing, Stede finds it almost appallingly, sickeningly easy to let Izzy slip from his mind. The mood is too light, too airy. Lucius’s trilling, sweet laughter is too infectious, and the Christmas music playing tugs too warmly and insistently on Stede’s sentimentalities.Ed’s group is wonderful, truly. They are such bright, bold and unabashedly welcoming people that it is hard to feel anything but joy around them. Stede adores them all instantly. Lucius, in particular, seems to take a shine to Stede, snagging him by the arm to help with the garlands. In no time at all, Izzy is forgotten from Stede’s mind, replaced with shining decorations, and any lingering sense of worry is smothered by the good company and festive atmosphere.When Jim exclaims that it is snowing, even Stede cannot help himself, his heart thrilling with childlike delight. He tugs on his coat and gloves to run outside with everyone else. The snow coming down swirls around them in and leaves the world glittering like in one of Stede’s old fashioned movies. He laughs and throws snowballs with the others until his woolen gloves soak through from contact and the icy cold bites through them.Then, Stede pauses and looks to his Ed, feeling his breath catch. Ed is strikingly gorgeous bathed artificially glaring white light of the parking lot, his long, flowing pelt adorned with perfect snowflakes. They do not melt, not right away, peppering Ed like stardust from a fairytale. Ed beams in the snow, his eyes lighting up and shining like the glistening accumulation around them. A few stray flakes crust his lashes, and Ed blinks them away.
Tell Ed.
The air rushes out of Stede abruptly, and the visage of Ed’s joyous abandon is displaced in Stede’s mind by images of Izzy. Izzy at the diner coughing into his hand, his cheeks flushed and forehead shining, his eyes so very tired. Izzy precariously balanced on his one knee to whore himself or be brutalized by a random stranger for a meal because Stede ruined the one place he could eat safely. Izzy, curled up on his side, shivering as snow slowly blanketed him in the dark of the night. Izzy, cold, blue, and so very still. All the good feeling just ebbs right out of the author like the tide rushing back out to sea.All because Stede Bonnet fucked up massively.
You have to tell Ed.
The blood roars in Stede’s ears as the undercurrent of his terror pulls him down, a raging river taking him far away from the café’s snow-covered parking lot. The sounds around him die out, but Ed is speaking to him. Even if Stede cannot hear his words, he knows Ed’s familiar tone, his gentle, rolling cadence without needing to understand. His eyes flood with great, fat, useless tears at the sounds of Ed’s concern.
Tell Ed.
Ed’s fingers find his arm to take, and it comes as electric current, a defibrillation shocking Stede back to life and back to reality. “C’mon mate. Let’s get you back inside, back in the warmth.”Ed is trying to take him back into the café, but Stede cannot go back inside. He cannot breathe in there, cannot even breathe out in the cold, a sharp band clamping down on his lungs. Ed does not know, does not get it, because Stede Bonnet has been a selfish coward. Not anymore, though. Stede tugs his arm slightly, attempting to pull away and cobble himself together. He may lose Ed this night, but Stede cannot bear Izzy’s suffering anymore.Ed sighs, an almost long-suffering sound. “You’re going to catch a death of-“Stede draws a breath and shoves those two almost forbidden words out with all his might. “Izzy’s alive.”Ed sounds quiet and dubious. “What?”It comes out more easily the second time, with more conviction. “Ed, Izzy’s alive.”When Stede turns to Ed and the others, he spies the shock and confusion on Ed. His large, caring eyes are wide with both love and terror. His face has drained of all color over the last few minutes of Stede’s overwhelming panic, unnoticed by the author until now.Then, Ed’s features school; his tone takes a sharp edge. “That’s not funny.”“It’s not meant to be,” Stede insists. “I’m sorry, Ed. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know how to.” He puts his hand on Ed’s shoulder, trying not to feel hurt when Ed flinches at the contact. “But Izzy – your Izzy - is alive.”Ed’s head ploddingly shakes, as though outside of his control. “No. He’s not.” He hisses through his teeth dangerously, like a jungle cat in warning. “Why are you doing this, Stede? Izzy’s dead. Has been for years.” Ed rubs his forehead, as though massaging a building migraine away. “Why in the fuck would you even say something up like that? To hurt me? Why have you been lying to me like that? For weeks?” When Stede just swallows, unable to answer, Ed whispers, “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”“Ed, Ed, please listen to me. I can never apologize enough for not telling you right away.” He looks down, his shame mounting, but Stede needs to do this quickly if he is to ever. “I was scared.” He reaches for Ed’s face, only to have his lover turn away with a sneer. “I was scared you’d want to leave me, scared you’d hate me for not telling you when I wasn’t even sure, scared you’d get hurt, and all that only got worse the longer it went on.”Lucius attempts to stifle a gasp, but Stede catches it all the same. The others from Ed’s group exchange knowing glances all around them, and Stede feels dunked in ice water. How could he be so stupid? He’s been terrifying Edward for two weeks now. Of course, Edward would turn to his group for the sort of support he likely felt Stede could not or would no longer give him.“But that doesn’t matter now,” Stede tells him in a rush. “Izzy matters.”There are tears in Ed’s eyes now that break Stede’s heart to know that he is causing them, but there is anger in Ed’s voice, wild and hot like lava. “Fuck you. Fuck you and whatever fucking game you’re playing, Stede Bonnet. Izzy. Is. Dead.”“Ed, this is not a game.” Stede reaches for his phone, abruptly grateful for the photo he took last week and the foresight he had to take it. “See? Look. It’s him. It’s Izzy. He’s alive.”Ed stares at the photo, his eyes roving over it, before he furiously snatches the device and turns away. He peels of a wet glove to pinch and expand the photo over Izzy’s face. It is not a good photo, blurry around the edges, but it is Izzy. Stede knows it. And Stedes knows it when Ed stiffens and gasps that Ed sees it to. When Ed looks back to his lover, there is anger in Ed’s eyes, but also hurt. Stede does not know if it is directed at him or at Izzy.“Fuck me.” His hand goes to his mouth. “When did you….?”Stede’s gaze shifts minutely to Roach with guilt before he confesses. “Two weeks ago.” He steps closer to Ed only for Ed to recoil. “I took that picture two weeks ago at the kitchen, before I was sure. I didn’t want to hurt you If I was wrong.” Roach is letting out a heavy breath, but Stede’s confessions are not over. “That is the one-legged man from the soup kitchen.”Now, it is Roach’s turn to draw a sharp breath in surprise. “Sailor?”“Yes. Sailor is Ed’s Izzy.”It feels awful and right to say the words, like lancing a festering boil beneath the skin. It is a quick release of pressure, and, now that the damage is done, Stede finds he cannot stop himself. Ed may leave him or may very well kill him, but Stede will gladly take it. He has earned such punishment.Instead, a single tear trails down Ed’s face as he trembles with emotion. “Why? Why didn’t he come back to me?”“I don’t think he knows how to.” When Ed says nothing, Stede goes on. “He’s been on the streets for a while. You don’t know the things he’s been doing to survive. Oh, Ed, he’s been living so rough.”The sounds pathetic, a gross oversimplification. Stede cannot bring himself yet to admit the awful things he has come to learn about Izzy’s life, but it hardly matters. Any fool with eyes can tell from the picture alone that the years have been most unkind to Izzy. Anyone could see the hurt, the thin brittleness to his features and the angry scar. Any human with basic empathy and decency can predict homelessness to be difficult and unforgiving.Ed looks away briefly, as though seeing what Stede is trying to tell him. However, when he does look back to Stede, Ed snaps, his tiny shred of control obliterated. Ed slugs Stede, hard on the cheek, nearly sending the blonde crashing down as pain lights up the left side of his face. The others cry out as Archie and Jim catch Ed by the elbows to prevent further injury, and Ed strains against them. Yet, Stede holds up a hand to stay them.“No, no. I deserved that.” He looks to Ed, trembling and seething against the hands that hold him back, barely in control of himself Ed. “I deserve so much worse. I know that.”Ed balls his fists as though to strike once more, demanding, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?”Stede quakes inside. “Ed, I don’t know what is going to happen between us, but I do know a night like this and the state he’s in, I don’t think Izzy will make it out there. Something’s wrong. He was sick when I saw him last, and he didn’t come to kitchen tonight. He never misses a Friday.”Ed tenses, his eyes wild and mad for a moment before the heat seems to die back, quenched by Stede’s logic. “Fuck.” He sounds calmer and resigned, to the point that Archie and Jim let go of him so he might rub at his temples. “Fuck. Okay. You’re right.” He stabs a finger at Stede. “But this? This isn’t over yet.”“Okay,” Stede breathes.Ed reaches out a hand. “Give me your keys.”Stede blanches. “What?”Ed clenches his jaw. “Give me your fucking keys. I’m going looking for him.”“Ed, you can’t drive. Your license is expired.”Ed snarls, his temper boiling over in a way Stede has never seen from him, a way Ed knows he has kept quite carefully concealed their entire relationship. “I fucking know my fucking license is expired. Do I look like I give a shit?!?”“I’ll drive. I’ll help you look for him,” Stede offers. “This is all my fault. I have to help. Please.”Ed bites his lip briefly and shakes his head. “Fine. What do we do?” He looks out to the distance. “It’s a big city, plenty of places to be if I haven’t seen him in…” Ed’s voice cracks with uncomfortable emotion. “Do you even know where to begin to look?”“No.”Roach pipes up from behind the others. “I think I might have an idea.”xxxxxxxxxxxRoach’s idea, as it turns out, is less of a place, and more of a person. Hellkat Maggie. According to the cook, Hellkat Maggie is the social butterfly of the local homeless scene, knowing just about everyone everywhere. To Ed’s surprise, he calls her up on what is apparently her mobile number. When Ed pulls a face, Roach just waves him off and says it is not entirely uncommon for the unhoused to have cell phones and the resourcefulness to keep them charged.While Roach dials her up, Ed stares at the photo on Stede’s phone, feeling empty inside. Ed never gave the device back, and Stede did not request it either. The man in the photo is unquestionably Izzy. Ed would know the crook of his nose and the sharpness to his dark eyes even without the swallow tattoo. Ed lived beside that face for years both in the Navy and out, and he has dreamed it almost nightly. Yet, it is also the face of a stranger, the flesh melted away to a near skeletal visage compared to the Izzy of Ed’s memories, the normally tidy appearance Ed remembers gone completely unkempt in a way that does not become him, the scar unknown to Ed.After a time, Ed feels capable enough of pulling himself together. The others from group have him surrounded and safely cut off from Ed. They have been speaking to him in low, supportive tones, reminding him of the steps they have already work on together. Even Archie – who normally finds any reason or excuse to pick on the steps.Ed looks across the garishly, partially decorated café to Stede. He has plunked himself in a booth at the far side. In any other person, Ed might think that Stede is avoiding him, but Ed knows Stede’s stupid, soft heart is too honest for that. Stede is giving him space. He knows it by the sorrowed look on Stede’s gentle features, the way his brows draw up and gather in worry.“Fuck.”Ed sighs to himself hotly. He should be calling Dr. Buttons. Ed is having a crisis, and he knows it. He feels it in every fiber of his being, in every overly wrought nerve and through his clenched jaw. He wants to tear the café and everything in it apart. He sees the bruise blooming on Stede’s cheek, and a part of him wants to break that handsome, square jaw. It is perhaps the textbook definition of a crisis in anger management. But Ed does not have the time or space to call Dr. Buttons, cannot spare the energy to that. Not until he understands what in the fuck is going on, not until they find Izzy and bring him home.He crosses the café and sets Stede’s phone down on the table. “Here’s your phone back.”Stede’s gaze meets his hopefully. “Thank you.”Ed gestures to his cheek. “I’m sorry I punched you.”“Ed, no, you don’t have to-“Ed scowls. “Yes. Yes I do.” He shakes his head and recites, “’Step 10. Continue to take personal inventory, and, when we are wrong, promptly admit it.’ Shouldn’t have hit you.” When something like hope lights up Stede’s face, Ed feels the impulsive need to crush it. “But you fucking lied to me for weeks about this, hid the truth from me, and I don’t know if I can forgive that.”Stede nods numbly, going crestfallen. “I understand.”“Fuck. Just…..” Ed feels delirious, both raging at Stede’s deception but also feeling saddened by his reaction, his grieving acceptance. “Fuck. We’ll deal with this-“ Ed gestures between the two of them “- With us, after we deal with Iz.”“Okay.”xxxxxxxxxxxHellkat Maggie agrees to help as soon as Roach manages to explain what little he understands. The woman, as it turns out, is staying not far from the café. She tells Roach she will be there in less than five, and Hellkat is. She has been living out of an old Ford pick-up truck that sputters and lurches as if in its death throes when it pulls into the lot. She jumps out, paper maps in hand, tattered, worn and printed from Google perhaps years ago. She greets Roach and Stede – Mr. Gentleman, she insists on calling him – with a hug each before plastering the maps over a table to pour over.“Okay, so there’s a few places I know Sailor likes to hole up.” On the first map, she points to a large park several blocks away. “There’s a couple of bridges here with tight gaps underneath, good spot in the winter.” On another map, Hellkat gestures to a highway. “Nice overpass here with protected structure. I know he goes here sometimes in the summer when it is all hot and rainy.” On a third map, Hellkat stabs a finger to a park on the river. “Or here. There’s an abandoned boathouse some us get into when we can.”Ed knows that park. He remembers going there with Izzy during those first days back after their discharge. It was the first place they even dared to hold hands in public after years hiding themselves and their relationship. It was the first place Ed checked after Izzy vanished.“There,” Ed says simply and with the confidence of a betting man. “Izzy’s there.”When Ed goes to grab his leather jacket, Hellkat Maggie halts him. “Woah, woah, woah. Not to be a Debby Downer, but you can’t just go barging into places like this all willy-nilly like. You need an escort, someone they know who’s got a decent-ish rapport. Plus, it’s not like a sure thing he’ll be in any of these spots.”“So, we split up,” Roach suggests. “Me, you, and Stede each with a team, and we each take a spot.” When Stede lifts an uncertain brow, Roach assures him, “They know you because you know me. They’ve see you in my kitchen enough.”Stede nods at the thought. “Okay.”They quickly divvy up into small groups. Stede will drive Ed and Jim to the boathouse. It does not escape Stede’s notice how quickly and sharply Jim volunteers for the task, maybe to protect Stede from Ed or the other way around. Stede cannot tell. Hellkat Maggie will take Olu and Archie to the overpass. Roach and Frenchie will try the park with the bridges. Lucius and Pete will hang back at the café should anyone need to regroup or coordinate.Before they can go, Stede throws his arms around Hellkat. “Thank you, thank you for everything.”“Don’t mention it,” she purrs in his ear. “Because Sailor’s going to fucking kill you for it anyway come morning if that old bastard’s still alive.”“You don’t think he’s….”Hellkat Maggie holds the author in hard, uncompromising gaze. “If Sailor didn’t show up to kitchen tonight, something’s very wrong.”xxxxxxxxxxxThe drive to the boathouse is short distance wise, no more than a few miles, but it feels like it takes forever. Perhaps that is the anticipation. Or, perhaps it is because the snow is coming down harder now, blanketing the roads and rendering them slippery and icy. Stede presses where he can, but he does not want to risk running the car off the road and getting stranded foolishly.Ed tries to quell the fire in him. Stede is trying. He is trying his hardest to make this right. But his betrayal cuts so very deep alongside the knowledge that Izzy has been alive without his knowledge for six fucking years. When they get to the boathouse and Ed braces himself for the cold, his heart twists. Izzy is out in the cold. Stede has been out in the cold. Those dark nights this week spent ushering Stede back into the house suddenly make sense to Ed with a dark dread. Stede was struggling, feeling the same, uncomfortable and uncertain emotions about Izzy being out in winter’s bite as Ed feel’s now. It does nothing to change Ed’s angers, but it does make his gut twist.Jim finds an unlocked door, secured only by a board from the interior that barely props it shut. Fortunately, they manage to shove hard enough to open it a gap large enough for their slender frame to slip through. There is a loud sound from the other side, and Ed’s hand shoots out unbidden to shove Stede behind him. Stede makes a surprised sound, but Ed ignores it. Pissed or not, Ed will always put himself in harm’s way before Stede, always.The sound is only Jim removing what little barricading has been placed there and shoving it aside. They throw open the door for Ed and Stede, but their face is a grimace. When Ed steps inside, he understands why. The entire place reeks. Stale booze, unwashed bodies, piss, shit, and vomit. It is the worst stench Ed has ever encountered in his life, but it a fresh stink. In this cold of a week, most of these smells would have been frozen out, leaving the place smelling less like a rancid dumpster and more like a stale freezer.Someone has been here to make the repulsive odor recently.Stede moves to step beside or in front of Ed, but he blocks the blonde with his arm. It may be Izzy in here, or it may be someone who will not take kindly to the entrance of strangers. Angry though he is, Ed has lost one lover in his lifetime; he refuses to lose a second.Stede does not comment but does, instead, hold up his phone with the flashlight on to sweep over the boathouse. As the place is illuminated by the cold beam of light, Ed feels more certain of his convictions. In their Naval days, crew berthing offered no privacy but also no space. It made for snug, tight, secure quarters. This place reminds Ed of those days long ago, when they first met and first served together, sleeping across from one another in berthing. There are long slotted spaces on the wall where rowboats, canoes, and parts should be but have been vacated by either time or vandals; they are the strangest but perfect facsimile of crew berthing.Ed scans with shrewd eyes, still holding Stede back. The boathouse is littered with liquor bottles. Ed thinks back to the day Izzy left him, to the empty gun box on the closet floor. Izzy may still have the gun. Stede may very well have been incredibly lucky that Izzy has not shot him. Ed remembers Izzy’s own temper and his consistently superb ratings with a firearm.A noise draws his attention; a hacking cough coming from beneath a tent of ragged tarps on one of the lower boat racks. Ed and Jim exchange a glance. Jim gestures with their hand, holding it first palm out to their chest, then sweeping it to the right. Ed has never been more grateful for someone else’s service. Jim is telling him that they understand, and that they need to shift direction to the right, to the sound. Ed gives a low nod. They move like a team, with Stede trailing at Ed’s heels.When they get to the boat rack, Ed counts down with his fingers from five. Not for Stede, but for Jim. If this all goes to shit, Ed trusts that Jim will take care of Stede enough for them all to get out. At zero, Ed drops down, ignoring how his left knee protests. His heart drops once Ed can see into the boat rack, for, staring back at him with glazed eyes, is a pale, ashen face Ed has not seen in six years the whimpers and shies away when the light hits him. It is the face of a ghost that has haunted his every night and day.“Izzy?”Ed does not know why he says that as if unsure. It is absolutely Israel Hands. Ed sees the black ‘x’ he placed on Izzy’s cheekbone following their discharge, confirming the identity beyond any shadow of a doubt. A fuck-you to the Navy and the military’s bullshit Don’t-Ask-Don’t-Tell policy. The Navy grudgingly allows some neck tattoos like the traditional swallow flying on Izzy’s neck but expressly forbids facial tattoos. The ‘x’ meant Izzy could never be dragged back in again, would never serve an organization that did not have the same loyalty for Izzy as Izzy had for it. Ed had explained that and asked permission to mark him, and Izzy had mercifully agreed. They had both been piss drunk, and the ‘x’ had been all that either could manage.Ed reaches for him, but Izzy shifts back and slurs, “L-leave me.”“Izzy, it’s me, Ed,” he insists.Izzy’s mumbles, his voice syrupy and distant. “N-no.”There is no recognition in those eyes, but Ed will not leave him. He tells himself it is the cold making it hard for Izzy to think clearly and scrambles into the boat rack with Izzy. It is a cramped space, and Ed is not as spry and flexible as he was as a young seaman. Izzy pulls away torpidly or at least tries to, but Ed will not let him. Ed grabs and claws at his husband, pulling him into his arms. Izzy’s fight is sluggish at best, hampered by his missing leg and marked by a keening whine. Ed crushes Izzy to him, heedless of the small grunts and disagreeing sounds Izzy issues. Six years of pain, of guilt, of grief, crash over him.“Izzy. Oh, God, Izzy, I thought I’d lost you.”Izzy does not say a thing or respond, but Ed does not care. He presses Izzy’s head to his chest and holds him as if for dear life. He cradles Izzy close as, rocking slowly, more for himself than Izzy. There is the sound of weeping, and it takes Ed an impossibly long time to realize it is coming not from Izzy but himself as he sobs painfully. The world blinks out, narrowing down to just the tiny space in the boat rack and the bony, gnarled body against him.After a few minutes, Ed pulls back so he can look at Izzy – truly look at Izzy. Izzy’s eyes remain fuzzy and unfocused still. His half-lidded gaze does not meet Ed’s. His skin is so pale, milky almost, except for the twin spots on his chest that burn red. Ed does not care. He does not even care about the overwhelming odor of urine that enfolds them. Even with the jagged scar and the uncoordinated panic in his distant eyes, Izzy is the most beautiful thing Ed has seen in forever.Jim’s slim hand touches Ed’s shoulder. “Ed. We’ve got to go.” Ed just tightens his grasp on Izzy, heedless to Izzy’s frail hands pushing away at him with limited coordination at best. “Ed, he’s hypothermic.” When Ed does not move, Jim presses. “Ed, his lips are blue. He’s not shivering. We’ve got to get him to a hospital, now.”Ed knows this. His first aid training covered cold climate injuries just as aggressively as Jim’s had in the Marines. They are two of the more likely branches to encounter cold injuries such as hypothermia following cold water immersion. Ed knows this like he knows his own name. However, he is unable to let go of Izzy. Ed does, however, lean back enough to survey Izzy, taking note of the various symptoms before him. Slow, shallow breathing. Weak pulse. Slurred speech. Confusion and clumsiness. Seeming difficulty remaining conscious if Izzy’s lax muscles and hanging head are any indication. Izzy meets the survival manual definition of hypothermia.Finally, he nods, “I’ll carry him.”Izzy moans as Ed carefully extracts him from the boat rack and lifts him up, but it is not a conscious, lucid vocalization. Ed tucks Izzy’s head to his chest, desperately hoping he can impart some of his own body heat. Izzy feels acutely small in his arms, wasted and withered even without considering the missing leg. Ed feels his heart quaking. It should not be this easy to hold Izzy Hands.Stede runs ahead of them to start the car, crank the heat, and jam the button for the heated seats. Ed feels acutely grateful for Stede’s foresight. The cabin is still warm from before, but Izzy feels so very cold. Jim opens the back door for him and helps Ed set Izzy down. The huddled, small man gives a thin sob from the loss of Ed’s body heat before stilling, the only further sounds from his rasping, sickly breathes hissed through his teeth. Ed runs around to the other side of the car to climb in, throwing open his coat, and pulling Izzy close to his chest.Stede glances in the rearview mirror before putting the car in reverse, his eyes drifting to the two men in the back seat. Ed hugs Izzy tightly to him, whispering in his ears and kissing the man’s filthy forehead and crown fervently. Stede aches at the sight but cannot explain why.He swallows it back to announce, “We’ll be there in a few.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The emergency room is packed when they arrive, Ed striding in and bellowing angrily as he carries Izzy. When the staff initially do not move with enough urgency for a seeming bum for Ed’s liking, he growls and snaps at all of them. Jim, fortunately, takes over for him, lowering their tone to relay the distressing symptoms and issues that beset the barely conscious man in Ed’s arms. When Jim dares to share their rank and formal assessment, that spurns the staff to action.In no time at all, they whisk Izzy away to the back to be assessed, hardly conscious of it, and a receptionist hands Ed a stack of forms to fill out on a faded clipboard. He furrows his brow and stares at them for several minutes before Stede realizes what is going on. Ed has been holding himself together admirably, but, now, the adrenaline is waning, leaving only shock behind. Stede takes the clipboard and pushes him to a chair in the waiting area. Ed sinks into the thing, and Stede settles beside him.Slowly, Stede fills in what he can.
Patient’s name : Israel Hands
Stede frowns when he comes across several questions he cannot answer. Date of birth? Address? Phone number? Family history? Known allergies? Current medications? Stede has no answers, and Ed sits frozen, unreachable. Stede just continues down the form as best he can.
Emergency contact : Edward Teach

Relationship to patient : Husband
It hurts to write it out. Stede and Ed have been together for years. Almost four. Stede has often daydreamed of a wedding with Ed, of spending the rest of their lives together. Gone now. Stede grits his teeth against it and answers what all else he can before turning in the forms to the receptionist.When the author sits again, Ed surprises Stede and collapses against him. “I could still lose him. I just got him back, but he could still die.” His voice sounds small and almost childlike. “Fuck. I can’t lose him.”Stede puts his arm around Ed’s broad shoulders to embrace him. “Don’t say that. They’ll take care of him.”He does not say anything else about the future. Stede still is not sure what the future will hold. So, he focuses instead on the present and what comfort he can freely offer his lover by simply holding him and carding his fingers through Ed’s long, silver locks.In time, the others congregate at the hospital. They hug Ed gently, like a sickly child. They whisper promises and make sure Ed knows he can contact them. When Ed apologizes thickly, Roach assures him that they can postpone brunch for as long as Ed needs, maybe even forever. Oluwande reminds Ed to call if he needs anything or use his therapist’s emergency number. Several of them eye Stede warily but otherwise ignore him in favor of comforting Ed. Then, the others go home, all but Archie and Jim. Jim seems reluctant to abandon Ed, and Archie rode with Jim to group and to the café.Stede watches them go and feels so very alone.xxxxxxxxxxxThe four sit in awkward silence for some time, for what feels like hours. The traffic in the ER seems to ebb and flow around them, but they remain. The hour grows late, to the point that Stede is yawning and nodding off in his chair beside Ed.  Eventually, a nurse comes to them. “Mr. Teach?” Ed sniffles and jumps to attention as the nurse asks, “You are Mr. Hands’ spouse, correct?”Ed nods. “Yeah. Yes.” He shakes like a leaf. “Is he….?”“He’s going to have to stay a while for rewarming, but you can see him if you like?”Ed cracks a weary, wary smile. “Yeah?”“Of course,” the nurse agrees, beaming at him.Ed glances to the others, but they wave him off, telling him to go to Izzy. Ed cannot stop himself, letting the nurse ferry him through the locking double doors and into the emergency ward. Every step feels like wading through molasses, each movement taking so much effort. Izzy has been gone for six years. Ed has no idea why, nor any idea what Izzy will be like after all this time. It terrifies him.When they do finally arrive at Izzy’s bedside in a curtained cubical, he is so very small. The Izzy Hands that Ed married had been full of life and vigor – or, rather, piss and vinegar as Izzy had so often been want to say. He had been a force of nature, both on the seas and at home. This Izzy is nothing of the sort. This Izzy is pale and so very fragile, his skin pulled taut over an emaciated body. Even beneath the thick blankets, warm water bottles, and hospital gown, Ed cannot help but note the sunken hollows of his stomach and collarbones, the painful way his major joints jut out of his body and stretch the pale flesh further. Tubes and wires run over him and below the blankets, while nasal canula drape over his face, further testament to his sickness. This Izzy looks too weak to fight his way out of a wet paper bag when the Izzy Ed knew could and would probably punch a bull shark right through the skull if given the opportunity.“Fuck….” Ed breathes. “Is he…? What’s wrong with him?”The nurse makes a sympathetic sound but only says, “The doctor will be with you shortly.”When the doctor does arrive, he describes nothing short of horrors. Izzy is extremely malnourished and starving, weighing in at under 100lbs. The doctor gives an estimate for a woefully low BMI, explaining it is hard to be exact between Izzy’s condition and accounting for his missing leg. Either way, he is seriously underweight and will need both a nutritionist and carefully managed diet to get back to appropriate condition once he is released. He has pneumonia, but the physician is confident that it can be treated with an aggressive course of antibiotics. His temperature had dipped to below 89F, but Izzy is apparently responding well to treatment between warmed saline drips and hot water bottles packed around his body, his core temperature already risen by four degrees. The doctor believes Izzy will be back to a normal body temperature within the next six hours, but he will need to be monitored for the next 24 hours before considering release. The physician alternates between positive and negative things, but he ends on the hopeful note that, with care and work, Izzy should make a full recovery.“Oh, thank fuck,” Ed breathes.“I do have some bad news, though.” The doctor sighs. “Just so you know, we’ve got a bit of a bed shortage.” He folds his arms across his chest and Izzy’s file. “You guys are probably going to have to camp out here.”Ed deliriously wants to laugh, wants to cry; after everything, that hardly seems like bad news.xxxxxxxxxxxJim glares. Stede has only known them for a few short hours, but he knows better than to cross Jim. Ed has spoken highly of them, and Stede sees why. Jim seems a capable person, strong and fierce. Sitting across from them feels like being prey.Jim waits until Ed is gone to say anything. “You know you really fucked up, right?”“Of course, I know that. I’m not a complete idiot despite ample evidence to the contrary.”Jim scowls, as if picking a place and a way to strike. “Ed’s still going to be pissed when he comes down.”Stede looks down. “I know that.”“Good.”xxxxxxxxxxxEd sits with Izzy, holding his scrawny hand and simply marveling, drinking in the sight of Izzy. For a bit, Ed selfishly and silently weeps to himself before stowing that. Dr. Buttons has told Ed that it is perfectly normal and expected to have emotional responses, healthy even, and that Ed should permit himself to feel the way he needs to feel in an extreme situation so long as his expression remains within reason. This qualifies as an extremely situation, yet Ed dare not let Izzy see him so weak when he knows Izzy will need strength and support.The crying jag leaves Ed feeling drained and empty, like several weeks have passed and not hours.After an hour or so, the IV bag of warm saline is drained, and a nurse arrives with cart full of several more bags. She dutifully replaces the one on the hook for infusion and removes the blankets to pack new ones around Izzy. As she does, Izzy stirs sluggishly. Ed takes that as a good sign.The nurse smooths the blankets back over Izzy, promising idly to be back for the next round. Ed thanks her numbly as she takes Izzy’s chart and begins to jot own notes on vital signs. Knowing she will leave shortly, Ed goes to take back Izzy’s hand, only to have it pull away.Ed gasps and looks up to Izzy’s face. His eyes have opened no more than half-lidded, with a glazed, dopey expression. It is an impossibly beautiful sight to Ed’ eyes.“Izzy, Izzy, it’s me, Ed. You’re safe, love.”Izzy blinks slowly, his jaw working. “M’leg.”Ed feels hurtled back into the past, all the hope draining from him. Suddenly, he is back in that ICU room, waiting for Izzy to come back to him to discover Ed’s stupidity and rage stole his leg.“I’m sorry, Iz,” he bleats pathetically.Those dark eyes settle on him strangely as though not really seeing Ed, and Izzy weakly sobs, “Have you come to take the other one?”Ed reels as though struck, but the nurse is there in an instant, her hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Teach, I’m going to need to check his catheter. How about we give Mr. Hands some space for a minute and get yourself a cup of coffee?”A part of Ed’s mind knows what she is doing. She is separating Ed from Izzy. Ed came into the ER carrying Izzy and shouting at the top of his lungs like a mindless ogre. His leather jacket, tattoos, long hair? Ed looks like a tough customer, and Ed can see the math written on the wall. With Izzy’s current state and that question hanging in the air, the nurse thinks Ed has been abusing Izzy. She likely intends to probe Izzy for other signs of domestic violence. It stings, but Ed will bear it. He did, after all, take Izzy’s left leg.“Yeah, yeah.” He puts his hand briefly on Izzy’s shoulder and kisses his fevered forehead; Izzy’s eyes track him oddly. “I’ll be back in a bit.”He drifts out to the waiting area. Stede, Archie, and Jim all look up at him expectantly, but Ed just throws himself into one of the chairs. Stede reaches for him, but Ed pulls away and frowns. It is too much like Izzy.“How is Izzy doing, darling?” Stede questions softly.Ed shrugs listlessly. “Bad. But they say he’ll be okay with time.”Stede smiles brightly in palpable relief. “That’s wonderful news.”Ed can say nothing to that. He still feels on too uncertain ground with Stede. The author’s enthusiasm grates uncomfortably against Ed’s nerves. His life for four years has been furnished by Stede, and Ed cannot bring himself to consider what and where they will go now. It is too much, too cumbersome to think of this early.“When do they think he can come home?” Stede asks, cutting through the fog that packs Ed’s brain.“Home?”Stede fixes Ed in a knowing, wry look. “Ed, we can’t let him go back out there. We can’t.”Ed bristles instinctively and bitterly at the word ‘we,’ but he cannot bring himself to say anything, not yet. He struggles to swallow back his uncertain emotions, fearful of what will come out. However, before he can even cobble together a response, Jim is speaking carefully, evenly. He does not quite catch everything, but Jim sounds implacably reasonable in a way that tugs him along. They intend to take Ed home to get cleaned up and grab an overnight bag.“I can’t,” Ed croaks, his throat tight as panic grips him. “I can’t leave.”Jim puts their casted hand on shoulder. “C’mon, Viejo. You stink. You need a shower.”“But what if he runs again?”Stede sits up straight. “Ed, I’ll be here. I can hold the fort, call you the minute anything changes.” Stede takes Ed’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “I told you. I won’t let him go back out there on his own.”Ed agrees mutely, but he wants to scream inside.Stede exchanges his phone number with Jim and gives them their address when it seems too great an effort for Ed. Jim drives with Archie helping to navigate up front. Ed just sits in the backseat, hugging himself against the cold and the heavy, dark thoughts swirling in his head. The roads have been blanketed with a thick, downy layer of snow by this point. Jim has to take it slow and steady, but, in time, they arrive at the house Ed has called home with Stede for many years.There, Jim directs him to the master bedroom’s ensuite with a firm point. “Go, shower.”Ed does, and the dam breaks again as he closes the door behind himself. The bathroom counter is still littered with the various toiletries of their lives. Stede has always been rather indulgent in his hygiene, fastidious in his grooming and always on the prowl for luxurious new products. Ed has found himself sliding into that sweet spoiling over the years as well, enjoying lavish bath bombs and fancy hair masks. Now, it seems a cruel mockery. Ed is not sure which thought is worse; the fact that Izzy has been deprived of basic grooming needs or that he may be losing all this with Stede anyway.Ed cranks the shower as hot as it can go, strips down, and sits in the basin to sob beneath the deluge, praying neither Jim nor Archie hears him.xxxxxxxxxxx“Mr. Bonnet?”One of the nurses stirs Stede from the light doze that had claimed him shortly after the others left. He jerks awake, rubbing his eyes as if to shed the slumber that so briefly claimed him. When Stede’s vision does settle, he spies both a nurse and physician he recognizes from the moment Ed handed over Izzy.“Yes? Is Izzy alright?”“Yes. You are Mr. Hands’ alternative emergency contact, right?” Stede frowns to recall absently putting his own name down when faced with the uncertainty of filling out the forms and nods; the physician goes on, “If we could speak in private?”Stede’s heart twists, but he agrees. They take him to a side area, away from the others. Every step away from the others and towards a secluded alcove tug uncomfortably at Stede’s heart.“What’s going on with Izzy?”“His core temperature is picking up nicely, and cognitive functioning is improving, too. We’ve just been having a pleasant chat,” the doctor informs him with a dry sarcasm that suggests the conversation to be anything but. “Mr. Bonnet, I need you to be honest with me,” the doctor’s voice gains a sternness that leaves no quarter for disagreement. “About Mr. Hands’ relationship with his husband, that Is.”Stede blink stupidly. “What? Ed?”The physician looks down solemnly. “Mr. Bonnet, the staff has made disturbing observations in Mr. Hands. He has clear signs of physical and sexual abuse.”Stede grimaces at the thinly veiled accusation. “Izzy’s been… unhoused. For years.” He feels himself shaking his head, but it as though he has been disconnected from his own body. “I don’t know what happened to him out there, but Ed loves Izzy. He thought Izzy was dead. Ed would never do anything to hurt him.” He says it again, feeling his conviction rising, determined to defend Ed even if it means losing him. “Ed loves Izzy.”The physician seems to note the bruise steadily blooming on Stede’s jaw. “And that? Did Mr. Teach do that to you?”Stede grits his teeth. “No.” The lie feels like a well-fitted suit. “We were out earlier in the snow. When we found Izzy. I was in a rush and slipped on some ice.” When the physician says nothing despite his dubious expression, Stede asks, “Now, may I please see Izzy?”The physician relents. Izzy looks better. His cheeks remain fever flushed, but his face has taken on more color. His eyes hold a lucidity, a wariness. Despite the warm swaddling of the blankets and heated saline packed against his body, Izzy looks uncomfortable, shivering. The doctor quietly assures Stede it is normal at this stage of rewarming. Then, the doctor leaves them in the curtained off space.Stede sits slowly at Izzy’s bedside, mindful of those hard, dark eyes upon him and feeling appallingly lacking. “Hey.”“Bonnet,” Izzy greets flatly through his teeth. “Fuck me.”“How are you feeling?” Stede asks automatically before immediately feeling so very foolish.Izzy’s shoulder raises in a tired shrug, seemingly too tired to lie or dismiss Stede with the same venom he had in the diner. “Like hell.”Stede winces. “I’m sorry.”Izzy licks his dry, cracked lips. “S’not like you did this.”“It’s not like I helped any,” Stede blurts out, dropping his gaze in guilt.Izzy shrugs again, the movement small and constrained by exhaustion and shivering, before coughing. His eyelids droop as if already overly tired from this short conversation. Stede thinks he might be slipping back under, but Izzy surprises him.“The other fellow, Ed. They’re saying he’s my husband. Well, in between asking if he beats me. That true?” Izzy seems to force the others out breathlessly, as though it hurts too much, as though he needs to get it out.“I suppose that depends on you.” Stede whispers timidly, “You really don’t remember?”Izzy’s slender hand slides out from beneath the blankets, reaching for the scar briefly before he shakes his head. “No, I…. I don’t.”The author swallows. “Izzy, what do you remember?” Stede realizes he must clarify. “From before you were… out there?”Izzy takes on an abruptly vulnerable and shy look. “Certain things.”Stede accepts that. He already knows this. He thinks back on all those nights watching the man choke on his own emotions and weep over Ed’s humble baking. Something in Izzy recognizes desserts that Stede knows to be incredibly uncommon. So, it stands to reason that there should be somethings the man might remember.“I think I remember him, sometimes,” the man confesses, softly almost hesitantly in a way that sounds reverent as his gaze goes distant. “I dreamed once of being in a place like this. I’d lost my leg, and he…. He’d come to cut off the other one.”“Oh, dear….” Stede’s hand moves to cover his mouth, as if to stem his horror.“The fuck am I even supposed to do now?” Izzy asks breathlessly with a shudder.Stede feels himself breaking for Izzy and Ed. “I’m not sure. But, we’ll be there, whatever you decide.”“Why? Why do you even care so much?” Izzy questions.It is a very simple answer, like breathing. “Because you matter very much to Ed, and Ed matters very much to me.”Seemingly satisfied or simply too tired to stay awake further, Izzy nods and his eyes shut once more, utterly spent by the interaction.xxxxxxxxxxxWhen Ed steps out of the shower feeling somewhat refreshed but still emotionally drained, Jim and Archie are already waiting for him. If his eyes are swollen and bloodshot from tears, neither mentions it. Archie has already pulled together some ingredients from the fridge; Jim wordlessly presses Ed down into a chair at the kitchen table while Archie quickly cooks up a basic omelet. When the omelet is finished, Archie plunks the plate down in front of Ed, glaring in a way that dares Ed not to try her patience by denying the meal. It is good, but Ed hardly tastes it.While Archie cleans up the kitchen, Jim asks, “What’s Step 5?”Ed furrows his brow at the seeming non sequitur, but he answers all the same, reciting, “’Admit to ourselves and another person the exact nature of our wrongs.’”“You’ve only been in group for a couple of months, and Olu likes to skip around. I don’t think we’ve done Step 5 with you yet.”Ed’s mouth goes dry, and he shakes his head. “No. We haven’t.”Jim eyes their own cast. “That’s usually when you try to find a sponsor. A more experienced member in the group. Not always, but usually.” Jim brushes their fingers over the skull drawing. “They’re supposed to be like your one-on-one go to, someone who has already been going through recovery for a while.” Jim chews their lip. “Supposed to, I don’t know, share the journey together.”“Sounds New Age-y,” Ed quips, but the humor falls flat even to him.Archie laughs in the kitchen, but Jim sniffs. “Yeah, maybe.” They catch Ed in a firm gaze. “If you want, I could be your sponsor.”Ed feels his head spinning. “You’d do that? For me?”Jim smirks. “Yeah.”“Why?”Jim sighs. “It’s been a hard night, and it’s going to keep being rough for a while. You and Stede are going to have a ton of shit to deal with. You’ll need someone else to turn to, somebody outside. I could be that person if you want.”Ed looks to Archie. “You’re not? I just thought you and Archie…”Archie hoots from the kitchen and bellows in a sing-song without looking away from the dishes, “Not supposed to sponsor someone you’re fucking.”Jim nearly chokes on nothing at Archie’s candor, but they offer. “So, what do you think?”Ed rolls it over in his mind and nods. “I think I’d like that.”“Good.” Jim grins and slaps Ed’s phone down on the table. “As my first duty as your sponsor, you’re not leaving this table until you call your therapist’s emergency line. Now.”It sounds so parental, but Ed finds he cannot argue. Dr. Buttons answers after a few rings, his normally light brogue thick with sleep. Ed glances outside to spy the early glint of dawn peaking through the heavy cloud cover. Dr. Buttons listens as Ed explains the night, Izzy, everything, even admitting punching Stede. Dr. Buttons reminds Ed of his breathing exercises, walking him through them a few intervals. By the time they agree to virtual sessions for the time being, Ed feels slightly better about the situation, more capable of handling himself.Before they go, Jim ferries Ed back to the bedroom and helps him pack. They find two bags in the closet, fine leather things from Stede’s days travel writing. One bag, Jim stocks with their phone chargers and toiletries they might need or want. Ed takes the other and goes to Stede’s dresser. Izzy is shorter than both of them, but Ed thinks him closer to Stede’s size. Izzy will need warm clothes for discharge, and Ed cannot abide the thought of redressing him in the wet, piss soaked, and tattered garments they found him wearing. He thumbs through Stede’s clothes to select the warmest pajamas possible, woolen socks, under garments, and a comfortable sweatshirt Ed feels confident Stede pilfered from him. As an afterthought, Ed also grabs a throw blanket from the couch and one of his extra jackets from the closet; he will never let Izzy feel winter’s bite again if he can prevent it.Before they go, Jim stops him. “Are you going to be okay?”“Probably not,” Ed admits.Jim works their jaw. “I’m not a ‘hugger,’ but you want one?”Ed briefly mulls it over before nodding glumly and letting Jim pull him into their strong arms.Jim breathes in his ear. “It’s going to be okay, Ed.”But Ed is not as sure.xxxxxxxxxxxMuch to his surprise, the physicians listen carefully to Stede when he slips away and expresses his concerns about Izzy’s memories. How Izzy seemed to fall off the face of the Earth for six years and seems completely unaware of his husband – a man he spent years in military service with. They muse over a few potential causes, including Izzy’s all too obvious malnutrition and alcohol abuse. Stede had not known that certain nutritional deficiencies could cause memory loss or other memory issues, but it makes sense when he hears it. They also suggest either a psychological factor or traumatic brain injury and ask Stede about the scar, but the author has no answers.The doctor rouses Izzy gently to inquire further, but Izzy has little answers to give. “Don’t know what happened. Just woke up bleeding with a massive fucking migraine.”The doctor frowns. “You don’t remember how you sustained the injury at all? Anything leading up to it?”Izzy shakes his head fearfully, but the physician just soothes his patient by promising to order imaging. As the physician goes to enter the orders, Stede settles back down beside Izzy and gently takes his hand. He is not sure why, expecting the invalid man to shrug him off. Izzy does not pull away, not even when Stede begins to stroke his knuckles. Maybe it Is the hypothermia and rewarming treatment, or maybe it is just sheer exhaustion, but Izzy permits the contact in a way Stede has never expected.When they are alone, Izzy curls on his side and whispers darkly, “Christ.” He rubs his forehead with his free hand. “Shoulda just let me die. How in the fuck am I supposed to pay for this?”“Izzy, I know this probably doesn’t make much sense right now, but you should never have been living like that. No one should. But you especially. You were honorably discharged years ago. You should be getting a pension, insurance.” Stede knows this all too well from Ed, but he spies the confusion in Izzy, mindful of the overwhelming nature of the situation. “We’ll call the VA on Monday. And, even if that doesn’t work, we’ll figure something out.”Izzy’s hand jerks away from Stede’s as though burned. He tucks it up to his chest protectively as the suspicion returns to his eyes; the rapid movement draws a brief bought of coughing that Izzy seems to hold himself against. The haunting image of Izzy on his knee debasing himself for money flashes across Stede’s mind. Izzy has likely done that countless time when hungry or in need. It is the only way Stede can imagine Izzy could make decent enough money. He cringes at his own phrasing, painfully aware of how vile that must sound to someone who has lived as Izzy has for so long.“Oh, God. Not like that, never like that,” Stede promises him. “I meant like Charity Care. Or Ed and I could help.”“M’not a fucking charity case,” Izzy tries to snarl, too tired and weak to put any force behind it.“I never said you were.” Stede smiles warmly. “You’ve been strong for so very long.” He puts his hand on Izzy’s bony shoulder. “But maybe it’s time you let someone else help you.”

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Archie and Jim drive Ed back to the hospital after a few hours. Archie tells him she is going on a quest for coffee and takes his order, while Jim promises to wait in the ER. When Ed gets back to Izzy, he hands one bag to Stede and sets the other bag on the bed. Izzy tracks him silently. Ed tries not to give any response, any indication of his own surprise. It is the first time he has seen Izzy look sober and coherent since they found him however many hours ago.“Brought you some clean clothes,” Ed announces.Izzy’s expression remains hard, inscrutable. Stede feels his heart contract. Not long ago, Izzy had been vulnerable and open in a way Stede had never seen. Now, however, in Ed’s presence, Izzy has retreated behind a mask of distrust and suspicion. Izzy’s confession about his dreams of Ed shrieks in Stede’s mind, but he cannot do anything about that now. He can only demonstrate that the real Ed is nothing like Izzy’s fractured dreams.So, Stede just speaks for him. “That was very kind of you, Edward.” He rises and puts his arms around Ed in a loose embrace. “I didn’t even think about that.”Izzy eyes the two men warily. “I’ve got clothes.”Ed clenches his teeth, but Stede – ever the graceful and well-mannered gentleman – handles it. “Yes, well, of course you do, but they got all wet earlier.” Stede’s reason seems unassailable. “Can’t be going out in this cold in those again, or we’d have to just come right back.” Stede peers into the bag and beams in recognition. “Besides,” he pulls out the fleece pajamas. “I can assure you that these are just the best, So very cozy. Perfect thing for a snow day.”Ed nods. “Figured they’d be good.” He pauses and looks uncertainly to Stede. “You don’t mind?”Stede shakes his head. “Of course not.”Ed glances to Izzy. “Have they said when you can go?”Izzy makes an odd face, but Stede speaks for him. “The doctors just want to run some more tests.”Ed feels his heart stutter. “Tests?”Stede glances briefly to Izzy before taking Ed’s hand to give it a squeeze. “I’m just going to give you two some privacy. I’ll just go check in with the doctors, see where we stand with those tests, hmm?”Dread coils in Ed as he watches Stede go. It has been six years since Edward stood over Izzy in a hospital bed, since he listened to doctors spout on about various tests and imaging. Despite all of their invasive diagnostics, Izzy still left with one less limb and a hole in his heart that evidently could not be salved by his husband. He feels the disquiet brewing in him, but Ed forces himself to sit in the plastic, mass manufactured chair at Izzy’s bedside to live it all over again.“Izzy…. What’s going on?”Izzy does not meet his gaze, possibly out of shame or sorrow, Ed cannot tell. “They want a CT scan.”“Why?”Izzy coughs tightly, uncomfortably, but he gestures to his head, to the scar there. Ed has been avoiding looking at the scar for some time, ever since they arrived. It is an angry thing in shape and form, but clearly old from the slightly faded color.“Izzy….”“They think I’ve got brain damage.” The man in question turns away, his voice trembling. “Up until a week ago, I didn’t know my own fucking name.”Ed’s world has shifted multiple times over the last twelve hours, but it does once more. It steals the breath from his lungs and turns his blood ice cold. The distant, angry part of Ed that still simmers behind the fear wants to rail against this, but he feels too frozen to do more than stare. Stede, Roach, and Hellkat Maggie had all called Izzy ‘Sailor.’ It scratches at his mind.“Wasn’t ‘til Bonnet told me that I had any sense of it. Been drinking myself to death the last few years.” Izzy sighs deeply. “Now, you all are telling me I’m this Izzy Hands, and that you’re my husband and that you’re taking me home.”The words stir in Ed’s mind like a curse, and he reaches for Izzy. “Izzy, you are my husband.”Izzy shrinks back from him under the warming blankets. “That’s jus’ it. I have not a fucking memory of any of that.” Izzy coughs and shakes his head. “Everyone keeps telling me I know you, but I don’t.  I have no memories of that.” When he looks up, Izzy’s eyes look glossy and dreamlike. “Except you and me being here, in a place like this, and being in absolute fucking agony.”The accident, Ed realizes with a horrified start, is all that Izzy remembers of him, those moments of recovery from the anesthesia. Suddenly, it all makes perfect, awful sense. The eerie vignette from earlier when Izzy was still barely conscious and delirious between the hypothermia and illness. The fact that Izzy just vanished after all the years they spent together. Izzy has been gone because of Ed. Izzy left because of Ed and the accident, and, then, something happened to his memory. Izzy never came back to Ed, because, as Stede told him earlier, he simply didn’t know how. Everything awful that has happened to Izzy is because of Ed and his stupid anger.Suddenly, Ed cannot breathe, cannot be there. He bolts before even being consciously aware of his feet taking him somewhere. Distantly, Ed can hear Archie and Jim as they call to him and follow him into the silvery morning outside. A thick layer of snow blankets the grounds and cushions the parking lot, crunching beneath Ed’s boots, while a preternatural stillness hangs over them, the normal morning sounds swallowed by the snow.It looks so peaceful, yet Ed feels anything but. His anger and irritation feel all-encompassing, smothering everything else out. His disquiet holds Ed hostage, slave to those baser emotions. He feels threadbare and worn, completely wrung out by the many emotions that have held him on this night. Now, this final blow feels like too much to bear. Ed is the monster in this story, the one who ruined Izzy and is currently throwing away everything with Stede.Archie tugs Ed out by the elbow, into the snow in an area that feels somehow softer beneath Ed’s feet, and she turns to square up with him, fists raised. “Alright. Let’s do this.”“Fucking hell, Archie.” Ed furrows his brow and snarls, “M’not going to fight you.”“Yeah, yeah, you are. You’ve been a short fuse all night and you look ready to blow. Gotta let it out, before you take it out on someone.” Archie lowers her stance. “So, c’mon.”“My therapist would disagree with that,” Ed chides her in a warning hiss.Archie grins madly from ear to ear. “Yeah, well, your therapist hasn’t ever had his current lover bring home his husband who has been coincidentally dead for years, now has he? So, forgive me, but I think your therapist’s expertise might be somewhat lacking in this department. Besides, I’m a consenting, capable adult. I doubt he took me into consideration.” “I’ll hurt you,” Ed tells her, his voice low and threatening in a way that sickens Ed but begs to be fulfilled.“Why? Because I’m a woman?” Archie demands. Ed nods solemnly, and Archie cackles. “That’s a bit misogynistic, innit?” She shifts her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting, taunting him. “Better you let it out with someone like me who knows how to fight than someone who can’t take it, like Stede.”Ed winces, recalling the punch. “Fucking low blow.”“Oh, yeah?” Archie goads. “You know it’s true. So, come on. Hit me.”Ed turns to Jim. “And you’re alright with this? Didn’t you just promise to be my sponsor an hour ago?”Jim pulls a face. “If I could, I would probably make the same offer, Viejo.” They hold up their casted wrist. “If I didn’t have this shit, it’d be you and me.”“I’m bigger than both of you,” Ed snaps bitterly.Archie shrugs behind tight fists. “Yeah, well, near as I figure it’ll even us out, because I’m faster and stronger. Make it an interesting fight. And Jim here will make sure neither of us actually kills the other.”Something loosens in Ed, a pressure relief valve turning. Ed does not know who starts the fight, who moves first or who throws the first punch in the end. They fight in silence, punctuated only by grunts of effort. Any time Ed thinks he is going to connect, Archie dodges neatly. When Ed does manage to hit her, nothing lands with the force necessary to end it or deal anything more than glancing damage. Ed has always been brute strength, but Archie fights with a lightness and speed that Ed does not know how to combat effectively, coupled with a ferocity that surprises him given her lackadaisical attitude about everything else. She has kicks, grapples, and moves that Ed has never seen, slipping from his grasp again and again.Ed has not been in a fight since he started going to therapy. Before therapy and before Stede, Ed would go down to the bars and intentionally pick fights for the thrill of it. At the time, it had felt like drinking, intoxicating in an eerie way. Dr. Buttons has cautioned Ed that it is an unhealthy coping mechanism for his anger. Yet, now, facing someone who is willingly sparring feels like breathing, natural and right. Bar brawls are ugly, laborious affairs, but this is more like exercise or dancing, pouring his anger and hurt out. His blood sings with each strike, his heart trilling to see Archie’s grin has never been bigger.When Ed does finally catch her, trying to get his arm around her neck into a choke hold, Archie merely springs off her feet back into his chest, hard. It throws him off balance, sending them crashing into the snow. The thick layer somewhat softens the landing. Ed rolls, taking Archie with him, but she throws her shoulder to the side, pulling him along with her. She lands on his chest, shoving a knee into him to pin Ed down, slamming him down and grounding him under the pressure.Archie asks around a split lip, her fist raised for a last punch. “Had enough?”In another lifetime, Ed would have been mad, pissed to admit loss, but, now, he just feels eerily spent and at peace. “Yeah.”Archie’s smile shifts from predatory to approving as she wipes the blood from her mouth with her knuckles. “How do you feel?”“Better,” Ed whispers.Archie nods and presses a clod of fresh snow to her lip. “That’s what I thought.” She casts the soiled snow aside and shifts her weight, sliding off Ed with a hand extended to help him up. “I get that way sometimes, so I know. Sometimes, nothing like a good fight or fuck to settle the nerves.”Ed clambers to his feet and dusts the snow off himself. He thanks Archie, but the reality of what they have done settles over Ed. Abruptly, Ed feels like a total failure. He can breathe now, sure, but at what cost? Up until last night, Ed has kept himself in check for so very long. Now, he has hit both Stede and Archie in less than twenty-four hours.Archie lights herself a cigarette; Jim checks her split lip and inquires, “Want to talk about it?”Ed most assuredly does not want to talk about it, but he cannot stop himself. “Izzy doesn’t remember me.”“Oh, fuck.” Archie sounds surprised.Ed ignores her. “Nothing. Except that I hurt him.” Jim reaches for him, but Ed steps back. “No. I just…. I fucked up. And he’s been out there all this time because of my fuck up.”Jim speaks in a low, even tone. “You don’t know that.”“Yes, I do.”Jim gives a shrug. “I don’t know. Sounds like he’s been going through more than just ‘I’m mad at my husband’ bullshit. Sounds like something in him is just as broken as the rest of us.” They look away. “Probably wasn’t anything you could have done about it anyway.”Edward shivers. “I ruin everything.”“Like what?” Jim demands shrewdly.“Stede.”Jim sniffs. “Ed, Stede is still fucking here. Stede found Izzy, and you punched the shit out of him, but he is still here.”“Which, and I’m being perfectly honest here,” Archie cuts in. “Not a ton of people would be with everything you’ve got going on.”Ed considers their words for several minutes before surveying himself and swearing. He has no idea what is going to happen now with Stede, but, if the author finds out he has been fighting, it will break his heart. Ed’s jacket and shirt are wet and filthy from rolling around in the snow and mud. He knows from feel alone that his hair must be a tangled mess. It is obvious Ed has been fighting. He can already imagine the look on Stede’s face and the disapproval of the hospital staff who already think him an abuser.“Ah, fuck.” He looks to the hospital over his shoulder. “I can’t go back in there like this.”Archie giggles. “Yeah, mate. I had a feeling you’d be needing it eventually, but I nicked another set of clothes for you.”Ed’s heart swells in relief and appreciation.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Stede says nothing when Ed returns in a fresh change of clothes for the second time saying that Archie and Jim were heading home. Nor does he say a thing about the sullen dejection written on Ed’s every feature. Ed’s grip on his self-control remains tenuous at best, and Stede mindfully dares not risk that by questioning.Instead, he focuses on what the various doctors and specialists have to say as they come into the curtained off area of Izzy’s bedside to discuss the diagnostics taken. The physicians have asked repeatedly if Izzy would prefer privacy, but the man huffs over and over again that he does not care either way. So, Stede and Ed stay and listen as they review the CT scan, which apparently holds little clues. It does appear that Izzy experienced some sort of cranial fracture just above his temple, but the consulting physicians seem reluctant to make any firm, committed statements about the nature of the injury or the memory loss. Izzy scowls intensely at the results.Both a cardiopulmonologist and infectious disease specialist check in on Izzy following a chest x-ray. Izzy struggles to sit upright, but he does, so they can each listen to his lungs. Stede notes the uptick in Izzy’s respiration and the tension rippling down his muscles every time of them contacts Izzy’s body, even lightly. Izzy grips the blankets for dear life when the doctors reach beneath the gown. Stede frowns at the rasping, wet sounds he can hear with each breath without needing a stethoscope, but the physicians seem pleased. Evidently, Izzy’s breathing sounds worse on the outside than the inside.An orthopedist comes to speak with Izzy about his leg – his stump. Izzy has little to say to that doctor save curses. His stump healed years ago; no need to be concerned now according to Izzy. Ed works his jaw listening to Izzy speak so plainly about it, but he lets Izzy do the talking. Izzy grouses something at the orthopedist that they are just padding his already building bill, chasing the bumbling doctor out with a serious tongue lashing before sagging back into the bed.The hours crawl by, with Ed and Stede alternating between napping in the chair as Izzy dozes, none of them really getting any real rest. No. Any time any of the three manages to fall asleep, yet another doctor brushes through the curtain. It is infuriating. They take turns then fetching burnt coffees from the little shop in the main hospital lobby.After a time, Ed looks to Stede. The coffee is not keeping up with him. His skin looks waxen, his hair greasy from repeatedly running fingers through it to calm himself. His eyes look bruised with heavy bags from exhaustion, and it melts Ed’s heart. He muses on what Jim and Archie told him; Stede is still there.Ed pulls him into a loose embrace. “Why don’t you go home, get some rest, eh?”“No,” Stede firmly disagrees. “I want to be here for you.” He points to the clock by the bed. “Besides, they said they’d be discharging Izzy soon.”Discharge is unfortunately not soon. It still takes hours before the doctors are ready to see Izzy out. Even then, they stop by with lengthy instructions for after care before relenting and disconnecting the various tubes and wires from Izzy. It becomes all too overwhelming too quickly for Ed. Judging by the overly wrought look on Izzy, it is too taxing on him as well. Fortunately, Stede takes over. He listens dutifully to all their instructions, takes notes, collects prescriptions and referral slips, and asks what Ed knows to be all the right questions. Then, finally, the ER agrees that Izzy can leave.“Thank fuck,” Izzy groans.Ed offers him the bag with the pajamas. “Do you… do you need help?” Izzy tenses and shakes his head; Ed tries not to be hurt. “Okay. We’ll just leave you to it.”Ed and Stede step out around the curtain, standing as though bodyguards. They say nothing for a long time, just staring out at the bustling ER around them. It is the first time the two have been alone – truly alone – since this whole thing began.Stede clears his throat awkwardly. “Ed, I am sorry.”“I know,” Ed breathes. “I know. I’m just. I’m not ready to talk about it, not yet.”Stede nods. “I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”Once Izzy tells them he has finished changing, several things they should have accounted for become apparent all at once. For one, with only one leg, the pajama pants dangle loosely below Izzy’s stump. He has tied it off in a knot, but Stede realizes clothes are something they will have to address in the long term. Two, Izzy has shoved both socks onto his right foot, but Ed brought no shoes. Izzy’s boot is too tattered and soaked to serve him any good. Three, and perhaps the worst item of all, they forgot Izzy’s crutches.“I’m sorry, Iz, I just…” Ed chokes on his own words; he never even thought to grab the crutches.Izzy hugs himself and whimpers. “How in the fuck am I supposed to get around now?”Ed grits his teeth, hating himself all over again. He keeps messing everything up. Fortunately, Stede is there, and seems to understand, jumping in to handle things smoothly. He is soft and nurturing in ways Edward has never been. Stede kneels in front of Izzy, making himself small and non-threatening. He holds his hands out, palms up and empty.“We’ll help you,” Stede tells him. “We’ll get you new crutches, a prosthetic if you want, a walker, whatever you think is best. But, for right now, don’t worry about it. Ed and I will help you get around until we figure this all out.”“You could just take me back,” Izzy whispers solemnly, and Ed has to bite his own lip to keep from saying anything he might regret.Stede merely frowns. “Izzy, we will do no such thing. You heard the doctors. If you are going to get better, you need a stable living situation. Access to clean water, food. You’re going to need to see the specialists. You’re coming home with us.”“I can’t pay you.” Izzy’s voice cracks, skating that dangerous subject once more.Stede grabs his hand and squeezes. “You don’t have to. No one uses the guest bedroom anyway; you’ll be doing us a favor by taking it. Means we’ll have to do better with keeping it up.” The encouraging tone briefly leaves Stede. “Izzy, I can’t force you to do anything, but, please, do this for us. And, when you’re more recovered, you can make your own decision.”Izzy trembles, as though fighting back emotions, but he just nods grudgingly. Ed sees the effort in Izzy to keep calm and hold himself together, especially now when faced with worsened mobility. The hospital staff remains insistent that patients leave the ER in a wheelchair, something about hospital policy. Stede takes the many bags that they now have, including the plastic one the hospital put Izzy’s old rags in. Ed puts the jacket around Izzy’s shoulders, and he shies briefly away from it before leaning into the warmth. Ed stays inside with Izzy as Stede brings the car around before rolling Izzy outside into the night, helping him into the car, and tucking the blanket around him.Ed returns the wheelchair and briefly considers getting into the back beside Izzy as he had just the night before, but that feels too intimate granted the distrust Izzy holds. He seems to be accepting of Stede right now, trusting the author oddly, and that is all Ed can hope for. He will not push too hard for fear of losing Izzy once more, no matter how it kills him.Stede’s house – their house – is a cottage style home, with everything on the first floor outside of Stede’s office in the converted attic. It is fortunate. Ed need only carry Izzy from the car up the snow covered walk to the house and to the guest bedroom as the cripple makes hushed, abortive complaints. Ed wonders if this is how it would have been bringing Izzy home years ago, had he not disappeared. The room smells slightly stale; it has been a while since anyone has stayed with them. However, it is clean and tidy.Ed sets a rather resigned or perhaps simply tired Izzy on the bed while Stede rapidly explains the layout of the house. Ed remembers getting an equally animated explanation, albeit on a narrated walking tour, before ending up in the bedroom. Stede has not lost his flair as a host in all these years.“You should rest. It’s been a very long night.” Stede tells Izzy as he fusses and pulls the blankets over him. “Is there anything we can get you? Are you hungry?”“No.” Then, he hastily adds in a grunt, “Thank you.”Stede presses his lips together in a way that Ed knows means he wants to disagree, but the author concedes, “Alright. We’ll try to get your nutritionist appointment booked tomorrow. But, until then, just let one of us know if you need or want anything. Anything at all.”Izzy rolls over, putting his back to the other two men. When Stede looks to Ed, his eyes look haunted, pained. Stede sighs to himself and herds Ed out, easing the door to the guest bedroom shut behind him. Then, he takes Ed down the hall and pushes him down to the bed.“I know you’re not ready to talk,” Stede tells him with a steadiness that betrays the situation. “And I am not going to ask you to make any decisions about…. Well…. Anything. But it has been a very long night. You look like you need a good hug and a long nap.”Ed chuffs. “Yeah, so do you, mate.”Stede helps Ed shuck his leather coat and boots before removing his own jacket and shoes. Then, he lies down in bed and tugs Ed down beside him. Ed instinctively protests momentarily before yielding into Stede’s touch. The blonde draws him near, tucking Ed’s head close to his chest so he can stroke Ed’s long, silver hair. Years ago, when they first kissed, Stede had asked if it was alright; now, he asks with the same reverence and tenderness if this is alright. Ed nods against Stede’s chest and wraps his muscular arms around the author. Ed practically melts into the touch, feeling the harsh edges of the day blurring away instantly.The last thing Ed is aware of before drifting off is a chaste kiss planted on the top of his head.xxxxxxxxxxxStede does not sleep as deeply, nor for as long as Ed. When he looks to the time on his phone, only a few hours have passed. That is good, for Stede completely forgot to set an alarm for Izzy’s medication. Stede slides out of Ed’s grasping hands like a contortionist and pads down to the kitchen. There, he taps out one of the massive antibiotic capsules into a small dish, fixes a glass of water, and places them on a tray.The antibiotics have a caution label to take with food. Stede does not know what Izzy can or should eat granted his conditions. The doctors had only referred a nutritionist, not provided any suggestions for meal planning. Stede briefly consults the internet but finds conflicting information. He decides Izzy can likely determine that for himself for now and elects for toast; that seems safe enough. There are still Tuperware boxes of cookies they had saved for themselves for the holiday, cookies Izzy never got to try. Stede puts a couple on the plate as well, mindful that he probably should not be giving as much complex sugars but unable to stop himself.Stede knocks softly on the door to the guest bedroom. Izzy does not answer, but Stede still lets himself in just the same. Izzy looks to be sleeping still, his respirations long and wheezing. He remains curled on his side, scrunched up tightly. It makes the wasted man appear so much smaller, sicklier, and more fragile. As Stede approaches and sets the tray down on the bedside table, Izzy balls up tighter unconsciously.It kills Stede to rouse him, but he must. As gently as possible, Stede places his hand on Izzy’s shoulder and gives it a tiny squeeze, only to be met by a snarling, seething mass of fury. Izzy surges up at the contact with a gasp. His left hand holds Stede by the collar of his shirt, and his right hand balls into a fist, ready to strike. His lips are curled up, teeth bared like a wildcat and panting harshly.Immediately, Stede recognizes his mistake with a wince and throws his hands up in surrender. Izzy is in a strange place, clearly a strange bedroom, still likely feeling unwell and confused between the hypothermia and the illness, being woken by a person he barely knows. He is vulnerable without his leg, moreso without his crutches, and Stede thinks back to what Roach had said about being unhoused and vulnerable. He already knows people have taken advantage of Izzy, what else could Izzy think when being startled awake granted the circumstances?Stede tries to keep his voice low and calm to keep from making things worse, telling him, “Oh, God, Izzy! I’m sorry. It’s just me. It’s Stede!”Izzy’s eyes remain feral and unfocused in naked panic for a minute before he seems to start with a cough. Then, Izzy blinks in confusion, seeming to come back to himself, his face falling as shame blossoms across his haggard features. He shudders to himself and recoils, obviously stricken by his actions. Izzy breathes heavily for several minutes, staring sightlessly at his own hands in his lap. He looks like a beaten dog, all sinking expression and cowed shoulders.Stede sits in stunned silence, waiting. He knows precisely what Edward needs in moments such as these, when his temper runs too hot and emotions boil beneath the surface. Yet, Stede has no idea what Izzy needs.In time, Izzy’s breathing slows, and he looks up, his brow gathered in what might be worry or fear. “Fuck me, Bonnet. M’sorry. I didn’t…”“No, no,” Stede desperately tries to quell the man. “It was my fault entirely.” When Izzy looks away, Stede presses. “I should have announced my presence sooner. That was my mistake, not yours.”“Suppose.” Izzy looks uncertain for perhaps a millisecond before schooling his features into a tight scowl.Stede takes the opportunity for distraction, gesturing to the tray. “It’s time for your medicine.”The author cringes inwardly. The sing-song tone Stede employs is the same he so often used for his children when they were sick. It feels grossly inappropriate with a man of Izzy’s age, history, and military service. Izzy must feel the same way, rolling his eyes dramatically at Stede. It breaks the tension oddly, and Stede deflates in relief.“Yes, well, force of habit when you have children,” Stede concedes as Izzy takes the pill and swallows it down. “It’s still late. You don’t have to get up, but you should eat. I’ll make you something more in the morning.”Izzy stuffs a piece of toast in his mouth before turning away. Some of the internet sites Stede all too quickly browsed mentioned he might be unable to eat much. Or, it is simply too late for him to eat; Stede knows Ed hits odd limits throughout the night that coincide with night watches. Stede tries not to take it personally as Izzy settles back under the blankets and seems to drift off right away.As Stede moves to tiptoe out of the room, he just barely hears the tired huff of Izzy’s smokey voice from his nest of blankets. “Bonnet?” There is a pause during which Stede thinks he might be asleep already before Izzy goes on hesitantly, “Thanks.”Stede feels his heart lifting. “You are very welcome.”That good feeling carries Stede until after he has set the dishes in the sink, when he notices a peculiar smell in the house. It takes him several minutes to locate the source as being the plastic bag of Izzy’s clothes. Initially, Stede considers throwing it all out, but he quickly decides against. This bag of rags and filthy clothing represents Izzy’s only worldly possessions unless they go back to the boathouse, and Stede doubts that would be a good idea for any of them.Stede choses to instead launder the clothing to remove the stench and allow Izzy to decide. He can start the wash now and finish it in the morning. Thus resolved, Stede turns out the bag directly into the washer before remembering the clothes had been peeled off a barely conscious person without care for anything other than removal. He sighs and fishes Izzy’s muddy, ratty boot out of the bottom of the washer drum, setting it aside on the floor. Then, Stede picks up each item of clothing and digs through the pockets, making a small pile of the contents on the dryer.When Stede gets to the pants, all the prior good feeling rushes out of him. Stains mar the pants, like so much else of Izzy’s clothes. However, this is different. Stede knows the color of dried blood stains. In the early stages of therapy, when Ed was still going out to pick fights or break things, he would hide the evidence of his actions, burying bloodied shirts and socks he had used as improvised bandages in the bottom of the closet until Stede found them. As such, Stede can distinguish the difference between blood and other stains. The inside seat of Izzy’s pants is tinged that characteristic rust color of old, dried blood.Izzy’s borderline feral reaction to being roused flickers in his thoughts. Bile licks at the back of his mouth. Stede drops the pants into the washer and runs to the bathroom to vomit. It takes him several minutes to compose himself enough to get the laundry started. Afterwards, Stede crawls back into bed. Ed stirs just enough for Stede to climb into his arms, not truly conscious his actions. Stede does not care. He just wants to be held.Stede does not even realize he is weeping softly until Ed subconsciously hugs him tighter. Stede holds his breathe, worried he has woken Ed. Yet, Ed’s inhalations remain deep and low, steady with slumber. Stede nestles closer to him and marvels at it.When Stede does finally manage to get back to sleep, it is to nightmares.xxxxxxxxxxxEd wakes slowly to Stede in his arms. It feels so normal and right, and, yet, so not. They both still wear their normal day clothes. Ed at least has on fresher clothes, but Stede still wears the same wrinkled, mussed clothes from the Christmas party. Stede lies in his arms, cuddled up like a child. The light pouring in seems brighter, more consistent with late morning, not their usual time to wake up.He feels strangely hollow but light in a way. The last thirty hours have been a rollercoaster, leaving Ed physically and emotionally drained. Sleep has helped clear his mind, and, now, Ed realizes the mess he is in. Izzy. Stede. Everything. He feels conflicted, dragged in opposite directions by the mere existence of the men. Yet, now, in this moment, he just feels stillness, peace. He knows it is more than likely just the calm before the coming storm.Ed sighs to himself and gives Stede a fine squeeze. He knows he will have to get up soon. Nothing will be normal after that. So, at least for now, Ed will relish in the sensations.Eventually, Stede stirs. “Hey.”“Hey, yourself,” Ed greets softly. “Sleep okay?”Stede snorts and shakes his head. “Not even close. You?”Ed considers it carefully before honestly answering, “Yeah and no.” He strokes Stede’s arm. “Slept, but it wasn’t restful, you know?”Stede hums in agreement but says nothing.“Stede?” Ed begins softly, terrified his nerves will break if he does not do this now in these quiet moments. “I’m sorry I was a dick. I was upset. I thought you were either leaving me or...” He chortles without humor. “I wasn’t expecting you to tell me Izzy was still alive, and, when you said it, I thought you’d lost your god damn mind.”“Ed-“Ed holds him closely. “No, no, let me finish.” He presses his lips to Stede’s crown. “I’m still hurt you didn’t tell me right away, but I get it now.” Stede gasps, but Ed shushes him. “If it weren’t for you, Izzy would be-“ he freezes and gulps around the word, but manages to get it out “-dead. Fuck, he’d be dead. I’m just going to have to get over my shit, because Izzy wouldn’t be here without you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know I can’t do this without you.” Stede stiffens, but Ed goes on, “I love you.”“Oh, Edward,” Stede breathes. Then, abruptly, he blinks. “Oh, Ed, Izzy’s medicine.” He looks to the clock at the bedside. “I slept in.” The need to care for Izzy breaks the tender vignette as Stede jumps up. “I’ll go fix breakfast if you get him up?”“Sure thing.”Stede pauses and pulls a face. “Be careful. He is a bit…. Jumpy.”Ed furrows his brow. The Izzy Hands that he recalls could never be described as “jumpy.” He had been a steady, reassuring presence as Ed’s side on any number of vessels, confident in his abilities. Izzy had been less afraid of anything on the seas and more offended during truly perilous conditions that anything dared challenge his authority and competency.As Stede runs to the kitchen, Ed goes to the guest bedroom and knocks on the door. “Izzy? Iz?” Ed hears no response, so he calls a bit louder, “I’m coming in, Izzy.”Ed’s heart drops. The guest room is still and quiet. The bed linens lie rumpled, but the bed sits empty. Ed’s stomach curdles. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes. And, here, Ed thought he had spent all of tears the night before.“Shitfuck!” Ed swears. “Izzy?! Izzy, where are you?”He runs out of the room and bumps right into Stede. “Ed, what’s wrong?”“Izzy’s gone,” Ed sobs. “He’s gone.”Stede furrows his brow and looks to the room behind Ed, his eyes going wide. “Ed, he couldn’t have gone far.” Understanding Ed’s terror, Stede pulls his phone out and checks their door camera ap. “Look. No one’s been in or out since we got in last night.” He reaches up to hold Ed’s head in both hands and ground him. “Izzy didn’t leave. He couldn’t have without being on the cameras, right?”Ed drinks in Stede’s touch, hungry for the comfort. “Right.”“Okay, so that means he’s somewhere in the house, right?” Stede presses.Ed bobs his head in Stede’s hands. “Right.”Stede also nods. “Good. Now, let’s just look around together. I’m sure he’s here.”The blonde takes Ed by the hand and leads him through searching the room. In time, they find Izzy. He has wedged himself under the bed somehow. The space is so small, so slim, that Ed doubts either he or Stede could fit. In truth, he doubts Izzy would fit if he had any more weight on him. Ed gasps in delirious relief at the sight, clapping his hands over his mouth.“See, still here,” Stede whispers, kissing Ed’s cheek. “Just like me.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It takes time to coax Izzy out from the under the bed. Unable to physically reach him and terrified of frightening Izzy, they take turns lying on the floor and speaking to him in low tones. In time, though, he stirs, blinks owlishly, and creeps out from his hiding spot, dragging himself on his forearms.When Ed asks what he was doing under the bed, his voice uncomfortably tight, Izzy just states flatly, “Bed too soft.”Stede knows it is a lie, but he will not betray Izzy in front of Ed.“I’m sorry; I slept in,” Stede explains. “It’s time for your medicine. I was just fixing breakfast.” He eyes the man before him. “Do you want to take it here or in the kitchen?”                       Izzy seems to consider the proposition, working his jaw, before settling on, “Kitchen.”“Right.” Ed stands slowly and extends a hand to help Izzy up.“Fuck off. I can do it,” Izzy growls through a series of coughs and bats the hand away.“Iz…” he breathes in a vaguely exasperated and chiding tone.Stede waves a hand at his lover. “No, no, it’s okay.” The blonde puts his hand to his chin. “It’s a bit of a walk to the kitchen. Izzy, I have no doubts that you could make it, but I would certainly feel better if you let one of us help.”That seems to penetrate, and Izzy’s gaze flicks to Stede. “Not him. You, Bonnet.”Ed turns away and bolts from the room despondent, but Stede swallows back anything he might say. Izzy is clearly not ready for Ed and his assistance. Stede can deal with Ed later, reassure him and hold him if needs be. Izzy, though, needs his medicine and food. He takes Izzy’s hand and hauls him up. Izzy slings an arm over Stede’s shoulders. Together, they amble from the bed to the hall.In the hall, Izzy freezes, refusing to move any further; Stede asks, “Is something wrong?”Izzy drops his gaze and lowers his voice to a shamed mutter. “Have to piss.”“Okay,” Stede says with a nod, changing course to push open the hall bath door. “Here we are.” Izzy shrugs off his hold to grasp the doorframe and hop inside, and Stede winces. “Do you need help?”Izzy’s face sours. “Christ, Bonnet, I’m not a fucking toddler. Don’t need you holding my cock to piss.”“Fair enough.”Stede shuts the door behind himself and tries not to listen too closely. It seems an invasion of privacy to listen to Izzy in the bathroom, no matter how it worries him that Izzy might slip or fall on the tile floor. When Izzy has finished and opens the door, Stede merely takes his place back at Izzy’s side.By the time they get to the kitchen and Stede deposits him in a chair at the table, Izzy is coughing again and sweating. The short walk to the kitchen has already taxed him. Stede frowns in concern, but he forcibly reminds himself that this is likely to be expected granted Izzy’s condition. When he glances to Ed, the author can spy the same misgivings in Ed’s eyes as well, but Ed holds his tongue as he works in the kitchen.Stede had been making a simple oatmeal before the panic. It seemed a safe choice for Izzy, and something they could all have without it seeming odd. The first pot had gone stodgy while they searched for Izzy, but Ed has taken over, setting a new pot and rinsing some mixed berries from the fridge. Worried that coffee may be too harsh, Stede makes a mild tea for the three of them. In time, the pair plate up and serve a simple breakfast.Izzy shoots back his medicine, hunches protectively over his bowl, and absolutely wolfs down the oatmeal, likely never actually tasting any of it. Ed and Stede exchange a glance. It is almost as if Izzy is terrified someone will steal the food right out from under him, and they both know it has likely happened. When he has finished, Izzy reaches with his fingers to scrape the last little bites out.Ed stops him with a gentle touch that sends Izzy jerking away. “Iz, you can have more if you want.”Stede wants to protest. His brief foray into researching starvation and malnutrition the night before cautioned against having too many calories at once, claiming it could be dangerous. However, it is hard to argue when Izzy stares with such disbelief and naked want. Stede finds he cannot deny Izzy.Ed wordlessly takes the bowl and fixes a bit more, piling the remaining berries high on top. “Here, mate.”Izzy’s wide-eyed wonder holds Ed frozen for a moment as he holds out the bowl, but, then, it is broken once more. Izzy snatches the bowl from him and once again curls over it. This time, he eats slightly slower, and it settles both Ed and Stede to note.When finished, Izzy tensely slides the bowl away from him on the table, holding a strange breath before asking in a hush, “Now what?”Ed raises a brow. “’Now what?’ what?”Izzy grinds his teeth briefly and plants his hands firmly on the table, as if ready to spring off and run. “Now, what do you want from me?”Stede flushes, his heartbeat stuttering like a waterlogged bird; he knows what Izzy means. Izzy still expects them to demand payment, likely in the form of sex acts. Stede wonders idly if this has happened before, Izzy mistaking someone’s kindness as a prelude to violence, a trap. Did someone else lure Izzy into a home or hotel room under the pretense of care only to take advantage of him? It would explain so very much. His stomach turns at the thought.“Izzy,” Ed sighs. “We just want you to get better, mate.”Stede buries down the ugly thoughts brewing in his head; he will save those for his next appointment with Dr. John. “Indeed.”Izzy sags in his chair, looking bone-weary and threadbare. “Sure.”Something bright burns in Stede, and he wonders if this is how Ed’s anger feels. “No, really. That’s all we want.” Stede gestures to Ed. “We’re going to work on getting you some new clothes and trying to get some of your appointments booked, if we can.” He glances to his watch, to the date. “It’s Sunday, so the VA isn’t open, but we can call them tomorrow.” Stede reaches over to Izzy and takes his hand delicately. “We just want to help you.”Izzy shudders bodily; he almost sounds on the verge on tears when he speaks next in a strangled tone. “I’d like to go back to bed.”Ed looks stricken, but Stede nods. “That’s fine. Let me help you.”This time, Izzy does not argue or pull away. He yields into Stede’s touch as the author helps him down the hall and back to bed. Stede gives the guest bedroom door a cursory shove closed behind them. A wavering breath escapes Izzy’s lips as he trembles against the man who holds him. Stede knows why; he bites his lips as they cross the room. Stede lowers Izzy slowly and kneels before him.“Izzy,” Stede whispers, his voice a just barely loud enough to hear. “Izzy, I know you think we’re going to-“ the words escape him, draining out of Stede like water through a tap. “-use you, but that’s not what this is about.”Izzy shivers and drops his gaze. “It’s what it’s always fucking about eventually.”Stede winces as though struck. “I know that has been your experience, but we do things very differently in this house than the rest of the world apparently.” Stede pauses and looks down, uncertain if he should broach the subject but unable to let it go. “Izzy, I laundered your clothes last night.”The color runs out of Izzy’s face momentarily before he can force his features back into a sharp scowl. “Good for you.”Stede dutifully ignores the anger and bitterness he hears, mindful that barbed insults and sarcasm are quite possibly the only defense mechanism Izzy can wield currently; he refuses to rise to it. “Izzy, I don’t need to know specifics.” He chews his lip briefly, stalling. “Frankly, I’m not sure I want to know any specifics.” Stede runs his fingers through his hair, one last attempt at pushing the uncomfortable topic off for just a few more seconds. “But, I need to know. The doctors said there were signs of physical and sexual abuse?”Izzy growls, a cornered wildcat. “Fucking nosy twats. What else did they tell you?”“No, no,” Stede breathes. “It was just that. You can decide what you want to share with us or not. I know it has not been easy for you. I do not expect you have many fond memories. I just… I need to know if you’re still bleeding.” When Izzy does not immediately answer, Stede presses, pointing to his own groin, “Down there.”“Fuck off. M’not a cheerleader on my period,” Izzy snarls angrily, but there is fear in his eyes, pleading Stede to drop the subject.Stede blanches but has already gone too far down this path to abandon the line of questioning. “No, Izzy. Wounds there can get infected easily.”Years ago, when Stede first met Ed, he had been woefully inept and inexperienced in this aspect of his sexuality. Ed had needed to teach him, to show him how to use one another, to please one another, and to be safe. Stede had been eager to learn, if only to know how better to pleasure his lover. After some fumbling in the bedroom like teenagers, Stede had thrown himself headfirst into research. He consumed a near shocking and downright scandalous mountain of literature on the subject. As such, Stede is painfully aware of the risks of infection and damage, especially granted the amount of blood he has seen stained in Izzy’s clothes. He knows Izzy will also need STD testing granted the risky behaviors Stede had witnessed him performing to survive, but that seems somehow lesser in priority than this. When Izzy does not answer, Stede asks, “Did you tell the doctors? Do you need to go to the urgent care?”His overwhelming worry seems to cut through the veil of bitterness Izzy has pulled over himself, for the man’s face softens slightly. “No.” Izzy’s jaw tightens so hard, it creaks. “Happened a couple of weeks ago. Seems to be healed up alright.”Stede’s heart swells, and he cannot stop himself from praising the man, “Thank you for your honesty, Izzy.” He squeezes Izzy’s limp hand in a gesture that is not returned. “You’ll tell one of us though if you’re still having problems, right?”Izzy lies back and murmurs. “Yeah, sure.”“Good. Thank you.” Stede rises slowly, afraid he might startle Izzy again. “Sleep well.”He does not tarry to fuss about Izzy’s blankets or pillows like he may want. Stede knows Izzy’s tolerance for his care is wearing thinner by the second, leaving them in increasingly uncertain ground. Stede may be naïve, but he knows better than to press too hard following a small victory. Instead, Stede turns on his heel and steps out, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving Izzy to his own devices.In the kitchen, Ed looks a wreck. He still sits at the kitchen table, but his eyes have gone distant and glossy. Ed fingers the ring he wears on his neck. It is a troubling sign; Ed fiddles with it as a nervous or upset habit. Stede already feels exhausted from navigating Izzy’s wounded, fractured psyche for perhaps a half an hour; he is not sure he has the reserves to address Ed’s worries.Fortunately for him, Ed seems to come back to himself abruptly, dropping the ring and scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry about that.”“You have nothing to be sorry for.”Ed chuffs, shaking his head. “Got plenty to be sorry for. For everything that happened to Izzy. For bringing this mess into your life.”Stede smiles wistfully. “Oh, Ed.”“I don’t get it.”Stede approaches cautiously. “Get what, darling?”“Izzy hates me, and I deserve it. Both of you should fucking loath me for all the shit I’ve fucked up. But you don’t.” Ed looks away to the windows and the snowy landscape outside. “How are you so okay with all this? So good at this?”“I’m not, I’m afraid,” Stede admits sadly, plunking in the chair beside Ed. “That good at this, I mean. When I got up to get his medication last night, I scared him badly. Almost took my head off.” Stede chuckles shakes his head ruefully. “I wasn’t thinking.”All of Ed’s warring emotions swiftly vanish, replaced with concern for Stede. Ed knows how capable Izzy can be in hand-to-hand and close quarters. He has seen it himself, been on the receiving end of several brutal, punishing sparring matches with Izzy in boot. Izzy has always been capable, quick, and ferocious. It had taken many years a night of copious drinking for Izzy to reveal his secret; krav maga, Israeli contact combat. Izzy had evidently taken the core tenets and applied it to every combat technique he learned following. Strike with physical aggression, target attacks to the most vulnerable points of the body, continue to strike until the opponent is incapacitated, etc.“Shit. Are you okay?”Stede beams. “Oh, yes, of course.” He cocks a brow. “Izzy isn’t dangerous, you know. Just afraid.”Ed feels doubtful. The Izzy he knew was dangerous, but that Izzy had been a consummate military professional. Izzy had held himself in check at all times, knowing when to unleash that vicious, dark part of himself and when to rein it back in. This Izzy is unknown to Ed. This Izzy likely possesses all old Izzy’s skills but may not have any of the old Izzy’s reservations when it comes to potential targets, and there is still the unresolved matter of the disposition of Ed’s gun.“I used to think he wasn’t dangerous. Used to think I knew him better than I knew myself,” Ed finally concedes heavily. “But I just don’t know anymore.”Stede frowns. “It’s still early. Give it time, Edward.”Ed reaches across, takes Stede’s hand, and kisses it. “Yeah.”Stede pulls Ed’s hand back to him and returns the kiss to his knuckles. “Better?”Ed nods absently. “I guess.”“Good, because we have got some work to do.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Work to do is apparently not a metaphor. Stede actually means they have work on a Sunday. Work, when Stede is generally self-employed and Ed is retired – well, semi-retired now that he has technically taken the job with Roach but on sabbatical.Stede will go shopping. He has assured Ed that Izzy is more than welcome to continue borrowing his clothes, but both men agree that it may be best for Izzy to have his own things. Both still feel somewhat guilty about not bringing anything from the boathouse, but neither will return to that horrible place where Izzy suffered alone if there is no need, not willingly at least. While there seem to be no medical supply stores open on a Sunday in their area, the department stores will surely be open. Stede initially invites Ed to join him, arguing that Ed would better know Izzy’s taste, but the thought of leaving Izzy alone sends Ed spiraling into a brief panic. Stede understands and retracts the thought almost as soon as it is said.So, while Stede goes off shopping, Ed is left at home with Izzy, instructions for Izzy’s meds schedule, and a list of nutritionists to call. Stede seems unnaturally preoccupied with finding a nutritionist above all other appointments this morning, more so than the night before. Ed gets it; Izzy looks like a gust of wind could blow him away. Ed just doubts any physician’s office will be open on a Sunday. Yet, Stede’s insistence and optimism are hard to refuse.This is how Edward finds himself seated at the kitchen table for the better portion of an hour calling multiple phone numbers. Each time, he must forcibly compose himself enough to leave a message. It is awkward, leaving the terse messages about Izzy without him. Izzy of old handled his own appointments, avoiding doctors at all costs when possible. This Izzy lacks the resources and fortitude to do that. The old Izzy had been downright formidable; this Izzy just seems appallingly frail. Every message Ed leaves is a reminder of those ugly truths.It is on the fifth or six phone number that Ed finally gets through to someone, a woman who greets him cheerfully, “You’ve reached the office of Dr. Evelyn Higgins. How may I help you?”Ed nearly cries in relief, blurting out. “You’re open? You’re actually open? On a Sunday?”“The clinic specializes in eating disorders and body dysmorphia – those never take a day off,” the receptionist reminds him flatly. “Now, how can I help you?”Ed trembles, abruptly afraid of denial. “Ed Teach. M’calling on behalf of my husband.” It still hurts to say that and know that Izzy does not feel the same way. “The ER referred us to a nutritionist.” When the woman says nothing, he chokes out, “My husband was homeless for some time. He’s been…”“Food insecure?” the woman offers as Ed fruitlessly grasps for the right word.“Yeah. Suppose you could say it that way,” Ed answers glumly.The receptionist questions shrewdly. “I’m sorry. I’m having a little trouble understanding. Your husband was homeless… but not you?”Ed feels the tears threatening now, the words harder to say. “Yes. I’m sorry. I just….. He was missing.” Ed claps his hand over his mouth for a moment; this was supposed to be the easy task, making some calls and leaving messages, not actually talking with a person. “He had an accident.” Ed struggles to explain it succinctly in a way that does not sound anymore suspicious than it is. “He has memory loss.”“I see,” the receptionist says simply. “Do you know how much your husband currently weighs?”“Docs said he’s under 100lbs.” Ed blurts out.“And how tall is he?”Ed struggles to recall from so very long ago. “5’7””The secretary makes a contemplative sound, but her tone remains almost blasé. “Dr. Higgins isn’t taking a new clients.” A helpless sob tears from Ed, but the receptionist continues in an almost conspiratorial way. “But give me a moment.”Tears stream down Edward’s cheeks when an insipid Muzak playlist pipes through the phone. Just speaking the words to a stranger has made Ed feel abjectly small and useless. It aches beyond compare, clawing at his heart.When the hold music cuts off, a cool, graceful voice greets him. “This is Dr. Evelyn Higgins. Mr. Teach, I understand your husband is in a bit of a situation?” Ed cannot bring himself to say anything articulate, just choking on his own words and nodding as though the woman can see him through the phone. “If I’m understanding my receptionist correctly, your husband was referred to a nutritionist due to poor body condition from being unhoused for a prolonged period? Yes?”“Yes,” Ed manages.“I see. If the numbers she gave me are correct, your husband has been severely undernourished for some time.”“Yes,” Ed croaks.Dr. Evelyn sounds as though she is considering the matter before saying, “It’s unconventional, you know. For you to be calling and not him.” She pauses, as though giving room for Ed to explain himself when the man cannot. “I’m intrigued. You’re in luck; I’ve got about ten minutes before my next client. Tell me more and speak fast if you want me to take on his case.”“Iz, he, I don’t know. We were in an accident. Iz lost his leg.” Ed feels himself tensing at the ugly memory. “He walked out. Something happened, and he…. I know this is going to sound crazy, but he lost his memory. He’s been living on the streets ever since.”The nutritionist almost purrs. “Go on.”“We just found him two nights ago.” Ed rubs his temples. “God, he’s so thin.”“It can be very scary, to see our loved ones like that.” It is not an outright refusal, and Ed can hear the woman tapping away at her computer. “Normally, I specialize with people experiencing eating disorders, but you have my interest. I can make an opening next Wednesday at 2. I’m assuming based on what you are saying about his condition that we will have to meet virtually. Do you think your husband would be open to that?”“He will,” Ed insists firmly. “I’ll make sure he can.”“Good,” Dr. Higgins croons. “Until then, I’m going to be very clear with you. Eyeballing these numbers, your husband – Iz is it?”“Izzy,” Ed breathes like a prayer. “Izzy Hands.”“Well, if everything is as you say, Mr. Hands is in quite frankly an alarming and risky state.” Dr. Higgins speaks firmly, as though ordering Ed. “He will need multiple small, simple, and primarily liquid meals a day if his caloric intake has been severely restricted for a period of five days or longer. I’m going to assume based on the information you’ve given that you cannot be certain of his total intake for the last five days. He is going to need to be monitored closely for cardiac, pulmonary, and neurological symptoms or complications. Do you feel you can do that adequately until our appointment?”Ed’s head swims at the thought of complications. “Yeah. Me and my boyfriend can take care of it.”“Boyfriend? Very interesting, Mr. Teach.” Dr. Higgins orders, “If anything changes though, you are to immediately – and I do mean immediately – take him back to the emergency room. No questions. Do not pass Go; do not collect $200. If you don’t, Mr. Hands will not be a client of mine for long. Do I make myself clear?”Ed feels both threatened and chastised, back to being a young, naive recruit before his drill sergeant. “Crystal.”“Perfect.” Dr. Higgins smile is almost palpable over the phone. “I’ll transfer you back to my receptionist to get all the details, and I’ll be e-mailing with some resources to tide you over until our first appointment.” The woman chuckles as if to herself. “Oh, would you look at that? Too short of a call to be billed. Guess I’ll have to catch you next time, Mr. Teach.”Ed laughs to himself unbidden, finally able to release the breath he did not realize he was holding this entire time. “Yeah. Guess you will.”He fills abruptly buoyed up by Dr. Higgins, enough to get through the probing questions of the receptionist without any further distress.That is, Ed feels better until his phone chimes, heralding a new message. He opens the e-mail from Dr. Higgins immediately after, finding a long body and multiple attachments. As he reads, Ed feels his chest shredding at several points, further and further.
There is a probability that Mr. Hands may engage in eating inappropriate food items, such as discards.

Other underlying issues may arise, including but not limited to an unhealthy relationship with food, food hoarding, etc.

You need to be aware that refeeding syndrome is a serious condition and can cause seizures, heart failure, and/or coma.
Ed wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to smash something, but Ed knows he cannot indulge himself. It will only frighten and hurt Izzy more to see the animal that some unconscious part of Izzy recalls. Instead, Ed goes to the master bath, curls up in the claw-footed tub that Stede had been so proud of having installed, and hugs himself against the bone-deep cold that threatens to strangle him.xxxxxxxxxxxIn all the hullaballoo of the last two days, Stede has somehow completely forgotten the impending holiday; there has simply been more important matters at the forefront of his mind. However, now, in the cramped, bustling Target, Stede cannot ignore that Christmas is rapidly approaching, not with the decorations or overly chipper Christmas music playing overheard. Nor can he ignore it when surrounded by shoppers with carts loaded by obvious gifts and toys. Only eight short days.As such, it feels appallingly wrong to be there shopping for Izzy. Other people have come for the lavish excess of the holiday, for spoiling one another in material goods, when Izzy has nothing. Even the clothes currently on his back belong to Stede – although Stede would give them to Izzy in a heartbeat if he expressed even the tiniest shred of interest. Izzy’s extremely few possessions likely belong in the dumpster or, preferably, an incinerator.Stede had moved Izzy’s laundry to the dryer before leaving, taking note of the sizes, but everything still seems so big when he holds any item out to survey it. Stede selects options in both the sizes Izzy had been wearing and his own size, hoping Izzy will fill out the garments in time. Stede moves slowly through the men’s section, listlessly grabbing packages of boxers, warm looking socks, undershirts, and pajamas. He selects a few plain, dark sweatshirts as well as a package of black cotton t-shirts. Black, utilitarian designs seem in keeping with the limited wardrobe Stede has seen Izzy wearing and the attitude with which Izzy cloaks himself.By the time Stede has gotten some of the basics out of the way, he feels marginally better. He peruses the men’s section and idly selects a few t-shirts. Older metal bands seem a safe choice; Edward will wear them if Izzy will not. It seems wrong to only purchase Izzy clothing for around the house, but Stede is uncertain his size in coats or shoes. It also seems wrong to only purchase utilitarian goods, but Stede does not know Izzy’s taste in books, music, movies, or even magazines. So, he goes to the home goods section and finds two throw blankets that feel plush and comfortable.Then, the thought of Izzy under the bed turns his warm thoughts dark and sends an icy chill down his spine. Izzy had been alright sleeping on the bed until Stede stupidly startled him. Stede frowns to himself and turns the carriage back to the rear of the store, to the fitness and sports section. There, he finds a plain, thin yoga mat. Stede prays Izzy will not sleep on the floor again, let alone feel the need to retreat to under the bed, but, if he must, Stede cannot abide the thought of Izzy’s pointed joints resting directly on the hardwood.That last minute item puts Stede in the very back of the store next to the holiday section. Stede cannot keep himself from at least browsing the picked over goods. This Christmas season has been miserable. First, hiding everything from Ed. Then, finding Izzy. Stede has struggled this year. Stede resolves himself to remedy that for all of them. He grabs a few things and smiles to himself, plotting.When he finally gets to a register after an unbearable nearly forty-five minute line, Stede hardly bats an eye at the total, feeling the Christmas spirit mildly rekindled. Stede even listens to Bing Crosby on the drive home, humming to himself until he gets back inside the house. The house is quiet as a tomb. Stede announces his return gently, but there is no answer.“Ed?” he calls. When no answer comes, Stede tries, “Izzy?”Stede dumps the assorted bags on the kitchen table and stalks down the hall. He gives a gentle rap on the door to the guest bedroom – Izzy’s bedroom, he corrects himself. When Izzy does not answer, Stede peers in and finds the bed empty once more, but the blankets stick out from underneath as though dragged under. Stede purses his lips together; they will have to find some way to remedy Izzy’s aversion to the bed. He takes heart to recall the yoga mat in one of his shopping bags.Satisfied that Izzy is there, even is he does not approve of the exact location, Stede tiptoes to the master bedroom. As he eases the door open, hitched breaths and sniffles hit his ears, echoing from the ensuite. He knows those sounds. In times of great duress and stress, Stede has frequently found Ed in Stede’s beloved claw-footed tub. Something about the enclosed space and firm sides seems to comfort Ed in his worst moments.Stede knocks in a perfunctory, polite way, but he announces firmly, “Ed, I’m coming in.”Stede falls to his knees next to the tub, reaching out to cup his lover’s cheek with one hand and card his fingers through Ed’s long hair with the other. Ed looks ashen and pale, but he melts into the touch. Ed has always enjoyed Stede’s hands in his hair, whether shampooing it in the shower together or just stroking over the silvery curls while watching a movie. He did once draw the line at permitting Stede to braid it after the author had accidentally started – force of habit from tidying Alma’s hair. Yet, Stede knows Ed like a great, big cat, drinking in the contact.“Ed, what’s wrong?”Ed answers timidly. “Got Izzy an appointment with a nutritionist like you said.”Stede wants to smile, but he knows better. “That’s wonderful, Ed. I honestly did not think any of the clinics would be open today.” Stede tries to sound encouraging and supportive, keeping his tone light and airy, but, when Ed does not respond, Stede says, “I’m sensing it’s not wonderful?”Ed sniffles and passes his phone to Stede, open to an e-mail. “I could still lose him.”Stede furrows his brow and pulls his reading glasses from his breast pocket. He skims over the e-mail, pieces slotting together. Dr. Higgins has provided recommended dietary options, which is welcome. However, the rest of the message includes stark warnings about refeeding syndrome and cautions about further mental and physical complications through the recovery process. It sounds utterly bleak, and Stede’s heart clenches. No wonder why Ed retreated to the tub.“Oh, Ed,” Stede breathes, putting his arms around Ed and tugging him into a warm embrace as Ed shudders bodily. “That is not going to happen.”“Still could. After everything he’s been through. Fucking getting better could kill him.”Stede shushes him gently. “It won’t.” He pulls away from the hug to hold Ed’s gaze. “Edward, I will not lie to you. This –“ the author holds up Ed’s phone, displaying the e-mail “- is scary. I understand. This entire situation is scary. Everything about it is scary.” When Ed’s lip quivers, Stede brushes his thumb over Ed’s cheek. “But I told you earlier, it is still early. It is going to get better. Izzy is going to get better. But that is going to take time and effort. We are going to get through this together.”Something about “together” strikes an eerie chord in Stede’s heart and mind. He means it. The three of them. Whatever shape that takes in the future, Stede truly means the three of them will get through it together. Even if that means letting Ed go back to Izzy.“What if he….” Ed croaks.Stede sighs and kisses his lover’s cheek. “He won’t. I know my Edward is not the kind of give up when faced with a challenge, and, from what you have told me about your Izzy, he is not either. However, if that happens – which, again, I don’t think it will - I will be here for you. Your friends will be here. None of us are going anywhere.”That seems to calm Ed enough to climb out of the tub.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It is easier to bear with Stede by his side, easier to plan and assess. Together and seated side by side on the bed, Ed and Stede pore over the e-mail and many attachments from Dr. Higgins through the course of an hour. Ed reads aloud from his phone, and Stede cobbles together a mobile grocery order of what is on her list that is not in stocked in their pantry.When it is time for Izzy’s next round of medication, Ed volunteers to do it while Stede finalizes their order. He kisses Stede on the forehead, fixes a glass of milk, and fetches the pill bottle. Ed sighs at the pathetic offering, but it came on Dr. Higgins’s list of suggested small snacks or meals for the first few days. Besides, they can always have both supper early and a later dinner like proper gentlemen of old.The bed – supposedly now Izzy’s bed – sits empty. Ed dislikes it, the unsettling feeling of wrongness that Izzy opposes the bed. However, the understanding that Izzy is likely simple under the bed gives him some comfort. It smothers any sense of panic that might otherwise rob Ed of his reason. Ed approaches the bed cautiously, kneels, and touches his forehead to the hardwood. His left knee throbs from the strain, but it is worth it to spy Izzy snuggled up in the shadowed, closed space.“Iz?” Ed breathes. “Izzy?”Izzy’s dark eyes snap open with a coughing jag, fixing on Ed. They burn brightly in the hollows of his face, the mistrust bright as a supernova. When the coughing subsides, Izzy tenses and pulls away slightly, but those glittering eyes never leave Ed.Ed tries not to pull a face. “I’m not here to do nothing to you, Iz. It’s just time for another dose of antibiotics, mate.” Ed sets a capsule on the hardwood floor and slides it just a hair’s breadth under the bed frame. “And, just what the doctor ordered, a glass of milk.” The glass is too tall to put under the bed, so Ed sets it within Izzy’s sightlines. “Literally.”In another lifetime, Izzy might have laughed at his piss poor joke. In this lifetime, Izzy does not; he just continues to watch studiously. It hurts Ed, tearing at his soul, but he can do nothing about that now.“Okay, I’ll leave you to it.”Ed rises and leaves, but, as soon as he shuts the door, he hears the sound of glass sliding on the hardwood.xxxxxxxxxxxIzzy glowers at the pile of plastic bags on the table after Stede wakes him and helps him to the kitchen as Ed cooks. Stede had not really given Izzy a choice, just bidding him out from under the bed and telling him he had a surprise for Izzy. Izzy had grit his teeth, but Stede had told himself it was from the exertion of navigating the hall. Now, though, Stede deflates, feeling he has made some tactical error.“I guessed at your sizes a bit.” Stede says with a self-effacing shrug. “And your tastes.” When Izzy’s feral gaze looks to him, Stede feels himself cringing. “Alright, I may have made several assumptions. Still, if there is anything you do not like or does not fit, it can be returned quite right.”From the stove, Ed tries not to watch too closely and bites his tongue as he puts in the finishing touches on a creamy potato soup. Izzy has not accepted much of anything from them, taking next to nothing from Edward’s hand outside of the oatmeal. Yet, Stede seems to still be successfully navigating the enigma that is Izzy’s wounded ego and missing memories. Even from that distance, though, Ed can see the tension in Izzy’s corded neck, the fine trembles running down his arms. Ed wants to run to him, to throw his arms around Izzy, and smother away whatever it is that troubles Izzy so.Izzy’s cheeks burn, his eyes shining. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”Ed’s throat tightens, but Stede is there where Edward cannot be for Izzy… yet. “Of course you can. Call it a present.”“I told you before,” Izzy bemoans in a resigned whisper, shaking his head. “I can’t pay you.”“You don’t pay someone for presents,” Stede chides. “Besides, I still had some from my advance from my last book leftover.” He leans close to Izzy with a convert smirk. “You are now in possession of the profits of a rather saucy pirate novel that I’d quite frankly prefer to forget, thank you very much.”Ed catches the jest and snorts to himself. “You’d be doing him a favor to take the stuff, mate,” Ed tells him from the kitchen, waggling his eyebrows and singing. “Stede still feels guilty about writing a porno.”Stede feigns mock horror before winking at Izzy; this is a common joke between them. Stede’s earlier novels had been tender and romantic, with loving partners skipping away coyly to bed one another off scene. His last editor had been a poor match for Stede’s style, pushing him to write more carnal and graphic scenes. Where Stede’s other novels had been a labor of love, his last novel had been simply labor. Fortunately, sales have remained strong enough to turn a tidy profit, and Stede’s publisher promised to return his contract to his usual editor when the author threatened to pursue other options.The humor does not land on Izzy, leaving him dull. “You’re a writer?”“Guilty.” When Izzy says nothing further, just working his throat and jaw, Stede goes on. “Izzy, please, just take them. And, if you still feel the entirely unnecessary need to compensate me, you can later. After we get your pension sorted.”Izzy bites back what might be a sob.Stede holds himself still and drops his voice to a low tone. “Not like that, Izzy. Never like that. I swear to you.”The words were not meant for Ed, but he catches them just the same. Something prickles uncomfortably at the back of his throat. All of this started with secrets between Izzy and Stede, and, now, just as Ed has been starting to feel back on solid ground with them, the rug is pulled out from beneath him. There is still something they are hiding from him. Ed freezes from where he was previously shredding cheese for a finish to the soup.Stede seems to catch the hesitation, the stiffness in Ed, but he smooths over the conversation. “I meant to say, when your finances are all squared, if you ever feel the irrepressible need for revenge for my guesses at your taste in fashion, I would readily accept it.”That garners a faint, timid chuckle from Izzy and an eye roll. Situation diffused, Stede rises and pulls the bags closer to Izzy, telegraphing his motions as he does. Izzy opens his mouth to balk but closes it without a word when Stede drops one of the plastic parcels in his lap. Bony thin fingers slowly begin to paw through the contents reluctantly as Stede pads back to the kitchen to help with getting bowls.Behind Izzy’s back, Stede stares right at Ed across the counter and mouths, “Later.” Ed nods distantly, swallowing his disquiet beneath a wry laugh. “Ooooh, now that’s an offer, Iz. Getting to mess with Mr. Perfect’s wardrobe? Been dying to do it for years myself.”Something creeps up again, uncomfortable and foreboding. Ed never meant to say ‘years,’ but it fell out naturally. While his husband has suffered years in poverty and neglect, Ed has been prancing about playing house with his new, golden boyfriend. He teeters, feeling the distance of time and polarized experiences between him and Izzy, like the Grand Canyon spread out before them. Ed claws himself back bitterly. That is his bullshit to deal with, not anyone else’s and certainly not for Stede or Izzy.Izzy digs through the bags and gives another heavy, tired sigh. “This is too much.”Both Ed and Stede exchange pained grimaces. If anything, it is enough clothes to last a perhaps a week of light indoor life, and hardly anything to go out in the world. And, yet, here Izzy is, staring reverently at the clothing like Stede has brought him some precious, extravagant bounty in gold and jewels. Ed’s heart feels impossibly heavy to consider how little Izzy must have had over the years to make a few outfits of mass produced, department store fast-fashion seem so lavish and over the top.Stede catches Ed’s hand beneath the counter where Izzy cannot see and gives it a small squeeze. He does not know if it is for his lover, or for himself. Everything feels too raw, too harsh.Izzy gives a derisive and sniff from the table, drawing their attention back to him. “A fucking yoga mat?” Stede drops Ed’s hand as Izzy fixes them in as stern and incredulous a glare as he can muster. “Which one of you brainless twats thought up that?”Ed eyes Stede carefully in disbelief, making the author squirm. “I just thought, if the bed is too soft for you. And I didn’t think the floor would be good for your joints…” Stede fidgets under their stares, flustering and blushing furiously. “I just… I’m so sorry. I didn’t think how it would look….”The cynical glint that previously occupied Izzy’s face evaporates, leaving some uncertain expression in its place. Izzy almost looks touched by the gesture, no matter how poorly delivered, and perhaps a tiny bit ashamed for assuming the yoga mat meant anything crass. He gives a miniscule nod and tucks the rolled mat back into the plastic shopping bag.When he speaks, it is a shade louder than a whisper. “Could you put this all in the room for me?”The room. Not my room. It grates on both Stede’s and Ed’s ears how Izzy still seems to be treating this arrangement as transient at best, but neither will say anything. The fact that Izzy seems to be grudgingly accepting the many offerings is victory enough.Stede wordlessly carries everything back to the guest bedroom – Izzy’s bedroom – and unpacks the bags. He quickly sets everything in neat, organized piles on the side dresser so that it might be easier for Izzy to survey later. Then, before he can stop himself, Stede tears open the yoga mat, unrolls it, and tucks it under the bed. As an afterthought, he also finds a throw pillow to add to the spot as well.Following that, Stede returns to the kitchen, just in time for Ed to announce, “Supper is served.”They eat in silence, Izzy still hunched over his bowl, but eating at a more reasonable pace. Ed is a fantastic home cook so long as your taste leans to rustic. His potato soup is a delight, and in keeping with the recommendations from Dr. Higgins. Yet, only half way through, Izzy stops and pushes the bowl aside.The motion and sound startle the other two men; Ed frowns deeply. “What’s wrong? Don’t like it?”“It’s fine.” Ed flinches, but Izzy keeps his tone tight, flat, and even. “Just full.”Stede and Ed exchange a glance. The many documents provided by Dr. Higgins did caution them not to be surprised if Izzy’s appetite fluctuates wildly through his recovery. Malnutrition can do that physiologically, while psychological factors may also play in. They try not to put too much into it.Izzy lets out a heavy breath with a cough and turns his gaze away; his voice trembles with what sounds like shame. “Can I get a shower?”Ed feels himself tearing apart that Izzy would feel so unsure about something so simple, so every day as basic hygiene. Stede, however, seems lightened by it, his lips curling ever so slightly as he beams at Izzy and the thought of the man showing interest in personal grooming. Ed wishes desperately that he could feel so hopeful, so positive, but everything about Izzy just screams wrong at him again and again.“Of course,” Stede purrs. “Would you like to now?”Izzy gives a tight nod, having spent whatever mental and emotional reserves currently at his disposal. Stede says nothing, sliding beside Izzy to help him up. Izzy’s head hangs, but he allows Stede to help him down the hall to the bathroom. In another lifetime, Stede may have offered the bath, but he does not know if Izzy could handle the claw-footed tub, physically or mentally right now.At the bathroom door, Stede pulls away, letting Izzy grip the doorframe. “Let me get you a towel and some fresh clothes.”Izzy says nothing as Stede rushes off to the linen closet first and, then, to Izzy’s bedroom. He prepares a simple bundle from a new set of pajama pants, a black shirt, underwear, and socks. Satisfied, Stede presses the clothes into Izzy’s hands.“There’s bodywash, shampoo, and condition in the shower, and more under the sink if you do not like what’s there,” Stede informs him, feeling the comfortable mask of the perfect host sliding over his face. “And washcloths in the shower, along with an absolutely yummy face scrub.” He ducks beside Izzy and plucks a package from the vanity drawer. “Ah, yes, fresh toothbrush.” Satisfied, Stede looks to Izzy. “Is there anything else you need?”Izzy looks over his shoulder tensely, seemingly appraising the facilities for the first time before answering, “Nah.”Stede suddenly feels quite foolish. He had worried about the tub in the master, but this bathroom is not accessible either. Tile floor. Sliding shower door. The home renovator Stede had worked with to upgrade the home after purchase had heard Stede’s desire for the massive bathtub and tried valiantly to entice Stede into installing an opulent rain shower with bench seat in the hall bath. Stede mentally kicks himself for disagreeing in favor of a much plainer, white subway tiled affair that Stede himself had proudly declared the “model of elegance.” Now, it feels grossly tacky and useless.“Izzy, will you be alright?” It seems the only way Stede can dare broach the subject. “Do you need any…. Assistance?”The man bristles. “I can manage.”Stede puts a hand on Izzy’s arm that holds the doorframe. “Izzy, you shouldn’t have to just ‘manage.’”Any lingering shred of prior softness floods out of Izzy, replaced with a sullen and deep fury as though pulled from his very marrow. “Take your fucking hand off of me.”Stede jerks his hand back as though burnt, and Izzy summarily shuffles himself into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. For a moment, he stares stupidly at the door, but, then, his stomach curdles. A vulnerable man, naked, and in an alien shower? And a veritable stranger wants to be there for it all? Stede could kick himself for his foolishness. No wonder Izzy reacted so poorly, despite what little ground they had gained with the new clothing.Before Stede can think too much of it, the sound of the shower cutting on greets him, and the author decides to leave well enough alone.However, in the kitchen, Ed awaits. “Stede. I think you have some explaining to do, love.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Ed sits and waits. His life since the accident has been marked by a series of increasingly impulsive and dumb decisions, by rushing brashly from one thing to another. At least, it had been before Stede, before therapy, and before group. Now, he can and will have patience even if it kills him.Ed does maintain the wherewithal to send a text to Jim. Having a tough day.Sounds about right. You safe? Jim’s response is almost immediate.
Yeah.
Jim fires another text back so quickly, it surprises Ed. Olu’s “big feelings?”Yup. It is a quick answer, but it feels incomplete. Wish things were easier.That’s not how this works. The things that are worth it are never easy. Jim’s response makes Ed’s heart quiver.
Still sucks.
Did you need me to be there? It comes so plainly, Jim throwing him a life ring in the middle of the maelstrom.Ed considers it before shaking his head. No.Did you call your therapist? So calm and rational of Jim.
No. Not yet.
Do your breathing exercises. Take a walk. Then call him when you can. And call me if you need to bug out. Jim’s texts are so concise and level-headed that it is hard to argue against them. Then, a moment or so later, another text arrives as though an afterthought. Or, if you just need to talk.
Thanks. Will do.
The bathroom door slams in the hall, startling Ed, but, then, Stede is there in the kitchen, looking somewhat shellshocked. Ed feels such warmth, such empathy for his lover. To be so spurned after only trying to help feels like being gutted. Ed is at least growing mildly accustomed to this from Izzy, while Stede has not experienced that quite yet.Ready to just get it out there and over with, Ed says, “Stede. I think you have some explaining to do, love.”He reaches over to the chair beside him and pats on the seat. Stede drifts there and plops down. He looks hardly capable of saying anything coherent, but, then, his head jerks as if to shuffle himself loose of whatever thoughts held him hostage.“What is going on, love?”Stede looks to him, his mouth flapping briefly in parody of a landed fish before he seems to regroup. “Ed, I did tell you he was living rough, yes?”Ed bites his lip and nods. “Yeah.”“Oh, Ed, the things Izzy has had to do.” Stede shakes his head, his eyes growing watery, his lashes spiking from unshed tears. “Oh, you have no idea. He was…. Selling himself.” Stede’s face crumples as the fat tears roll down his plump cheeks. “Just to eat. Just to live.” Stede closes his eyes as if he could will away the mental images that so clearly haunt him. “Ed, he let people do such awful things to himself to survive out there.”Ed feels the rage curling around his brain, threatening to draw him to the dark place where reason and logic go to die. He takes several of the breaths that both Oluwande and Dr. Buttons have told him are “calming.” They do not calm Ed. He counts backwards from 10. He pictures his “Happy Place.” He tries every single insipid trick that both his therapist and group have espoused over these long months. Not a damned one of them work.He stands abruptly, garnering a strangled sound from Stede followed by, “Ed, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you earlier. I really did….”Ed holds up a single finger, silencing his lover. He cannot stomach listening to Stede’s pleading apologies. Not now. That has only stoked his anger. Instead, Ed takes the chair he sits in by the back, steps out of the door onto the back patio, very calmly hoists the chair over his head, and smashes the thing repeatedly against the concrete until it splinters apart. When it is truly and fully destroyed, Ed stares at the remnants, breathing heavily through his nostrils.It is not enough. Nothing can be enough. Ed wants to scream, to rail; he wants to take something else and destroy it, something beautiful. He wants to hunt down every living being that dared lay a hand on his Izzy, make them bleed and suffer before snuffing them out one at a time. How could anyone do that to someone like his Izzy? How desperate must Izzy have been? The Izzy Ed remembers was a proud man who permitted no slights, no matter how insignificant. It aches in his chest, an abscess demanding to be lanced but too deep to reach, leaving him feeling feral and unhinged. A rabid dog that has snapped his chain. Yet, Ed knows the local police and the HOA will have his head if he does anything more. So, he stuffs his fingers in his mouth and bites to keep from shrieking and cursing to the heavens while his muscles strain and vibrate with pent up anger.
“You need to call Dr. Buttons.”
The thought intrudes on his rage so abruptly that it feels alien, as though another man, another Edward, thinks it. Not him. It is a cool balm of aloe against a devastating forest fire ravaging Ed’s sanity, completely and utterly useless. Just as swiftly as the thought penetrates, it is swept away.
“Call Dr. Buttons.”
Ed snarls against the invasive thought, strangling it down. But, then, he looks up to see Stede, still seated at the table and staring at him with a horrified expression. It smacks at him, an icy bucket of water dumped over his brain. Ed blinks, feeling abruptly extremely foolish and small.He has vented, but it has solved nothing. If anything, now that the rage is spent, Ed feels worse. His heart rends for Izzy, picturing his husband debasing himself for no other reason than to eat. His cheeks burn hotly with shame at the thought of so needlessly destroying a perfectly good chair in a petulant, childish tantrum. His chest quakes until his breaths grow shaky. The cold nips at his nose and freezes the tracks on his face where Ed did not realize tears have fallen.
“You are in a crisis, have been all weekend. You need help.”
Ed rallies against his own logic; Stede needs him to get his shit together. He can call Dr. Buttons later, but, right now, he must fix the things he has broken with his pathetic, pointless anger. Ed rakes his fingers through his hair a few times to compose himself and goes back inside to the kitchen, back to Stede. Stede looks almost ill, pale and terrified. Ed frowns to himself; he did this.Ed kneels at Stede’s side in a flash. “I’m sorry, love.” He reaches up and takes Stede by the chin, forcing him to look at Ed. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not.” He feels the love kindling up in the place the anger had been. “I couldn’t be mad at you. You brought my Izzy home.” Stede’s lip twitches, but Edward goes on, “I’m just so angry for him.”Stede nods timidly. “I know that, Ed. I do.”Ed glances to the side, to the spot now vacated by the shattered chair on the patio, and he states with glum chagrin, “I’ll order a new chair tomorrow.”“Edward, I’m so stupid,” Stede whimpers sadly, ignoring Ed’s promise. “I should have told you sooner.”Ed snorts incredulously, feeling his cheeks color once more. “Given what I just did, I get it.”Stede shudders. “No, you don’t get it. I fucked up.”Ed blinks in surprise at the use of profanity. Stede Bonnet does not swear, not often. Given enough time and consideration. Ed feels certain he could count the number of times he has heard Stede curse on one hand. Before Ed can ask, however, a cry pierces the night, followed immediately by a hefty thump from the hall bath.“Izzy,” Stede breathes.A lifetime ago, Ed had participated in and even ran man-overboard drills. On the open ocean, every microsecond counts, every minor hesitation putting a body in the water closer to death. Those finely trained instincts have not left Ed, not even after all these years retired. He surges from his spot and bolts down the hall before Stede even has a chance to process it, ready to leap into a Pacific typhoon for Izzy.Ed is at the bathroom door in a heartbeat, frantically knocking on it and calling, “Iz? Izzy? Are you alright?”No sounds come from the bathroom.Ed knocks again, “Izzy? You ok in there?”When Izzy does not answer, Ed tries the doorknob. It refuses to turn. Terror tugs at Ed, his heart thundering in his chest. The muscles around his ribcage contract sharply, making it impossible to draw breath. He feels himself trembling once more.Ed looks to Stede, who politely tries, “Izzy, could you please answer us if you’re able?”When the man in question only moans in response, Ed orders Stede, “Go get one of the steak knives from the kitchen.” Ed watches as Stede dutifully trots down the hall to the kitchen, thankful for his lover’s trust. “Izzy, if you don’t answer me or come out, we’re coming in.”Izzy does not answer before Stede returns, pressing the hilt of the knife in Ed’s hands. “Here.”Ed pauses just long enough to steel himself and try one last time. “Izzy, last chance. You gonna answer me?”He drops to his knees, distantly grateful for the mania gripping him. Ed knows his bad knee would likely be in agony from all the abuse he has put his leg through this weekend. Fortunately, that fight or flight response is at least good for dulling the pain enough for him to focus.Ed takes the knife and holds it to the lock. The first night in Stede’s home – their home – Ed had noted the myriad of security issues in the house. Several of them, he has already remedied, like installing the cameras at each of the doors. One Ed has not corrected, following a rather heated argument with Stede, is the interior door locks. All of them can easily be pried with a knife. Stede had argued against changing out the doorknobs, steadfast in his conviction that they might one day need to bypass the locks for a good reason and his desire not to abandon the matching set of knobs that perfectly accompanied the décor. Ed had relented. Ed now thanks his lucky stars Stede’s insistence on respecting interior design as he turns the lock with the knife before tossing it aside.“Izzy, we’re coming in,” Ed tells him firmly.Ed opens the door slowly and gasps, just gasps. Spread out before them on the floor of the bathroom is Izzy, naked and groaning. Ed has not seen Izzy nude since before the accident. That Izzy had been well muscled but athletic. This Izzy is nothing of the sort; he looks downright skeletal. The Izzy of the past had a few assorted scars here and there, but this Izzy is a patchwork of scarring beneath the thin, graying pelt of his chest hair. The worst is a thick mass Ed can spy crossing his shoulder blades, where long scars overlap and muddle together. He is a shivering, huddled mass of ropey muscles and tattered skin, his eyes darting about wildly.Abruptly, Izzy shoves himself up and away, scrambling back on one leg until he collides with the shower door. “Don’t. Please…”His voice is so uneven and fraught with terror that it nearly breaks Ed. Izzy curls in on himself, dragging his whole leg close and hugging his arms about his chest. A cut near his hairline bleeds sluggishly down his face. His eyes are wide, but Ed knows they are unseeing. Panic this thick renders even the most observant of men blind to anything but their fear.Ed reaches for him, and Izzy flinches. “Please don’t.”Ed recoils, throwing himself back into the hall and into Stede, sending both of them crashing to the floor. “Shit, Izzy…..”“Please,” Izzy begs, hanging his head and dropping his gaze in what might be shame or grim acceptance as his breath hitches.Ed goes to get up once more, but Stede grabs him by the arm. “Wait. Just…. just wait.”Izzy continues to shake and plead unintelligibly, still engulfed by the hysteria that holds him; Ed glares at Stede. “Hospital said we can’t risk him getting chilled again.”“I know, I know. I just….” Stede struggles for the right things to say.Ed shrugs off his hold, finding a forgotten towel on the floor and snatching it up. “Izzy, Iz, I’m not going to hurt you.” He slowly rises to a crouch, trying to keep his shoulders hunched and look smaller, less threatening. “I’m just going to come a little closer.”Izzy balls himself up tighter. “I can’t. Not again. Please.” Izzy raises his head, the streak of blood so vivid against his increasing pallor as he continues to mutter with increasing desperation, “I…. I’ll blow you. I’ll let you fuck me. I’ll do whatever you want…. If you just leave me alone.” Izzy’s voice warbles. “Please?”Ed’s heart twists at Izzy offering him sex to avoid further suffering, as Stede chokes behind him. A distant part of his brain questions if Izzy has had to do this before to protect himself, but Ed already knows the answer. Between Stede’s confession and Izzy’s behavior, Ed knows right down to the core of him. It sickens him, but it more so saddens him impossibly. The Izzy Ed recalls was a formidable man who would have never been caught dead begging like this, and it feels so perverse to bear witness to this unusual, fragile, and terrified creature that is the new Izzy Hands. However, annual emergency response training drilled into him through his years in the Navy take over, and Ed moves on autopilot, maintaining that low, unthreatening stance that he practiced and perfected in sensitivity trainings.“Izzy, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not even going to touch you,” Ed murmurs as quietly as possible. “I just want to get a towel around you, get you warm and dry.”When Ed gets close, Izzy tenses and turns away, a keening whine caught in his throat. Ed swallows uncomfortably, but he just drapes the towel around Izzy’s shoulders and retreats. Izzy jerks as though electrocuted. He starts, his wide eyes shooting up to Ed in disbelief. Ed tries to smile and nod encouragingly before inching backwards slowly. Ed has already pressed too far, too hard. He knows this. So, he settles back on his haunches, waiting for Izzy to come back to him.Ed can wait forever because he gets it. He knows Izzy is not there with them, not in any way that matters. In the weeks and months in the immediate aftermath of the accident, after the insurance finally declared partial negligence and cut a pathetic check for a commensurate percentage value of the totaled ruins of the Challenger, he had tried, really tried. He had gone to look for a new car, something more sensible, something in which he could drive around town to look for Izzy. The moment Ed had sat down behind the wheel of a car – any car – he had been back there, on that dark, painful night, being pulled from the mangled remains of the car. One minute, fancy salesroom, the next, side of the highway with Izzy dying or dead beside him. On one memorable occasion, Ed had even vomited all over the fancy loafers of the salesman.Even if it were not for that, Ed can wait forever because it’s Izzy.In time, Izzy’s hands rise to clutch the towel closer to him. He stares awkwardly as his eyes seem to take focus finally, slowly orienting himself to the scene before him. Then, Izzy seems to become aware his own nudity with a gasp, dragging the towel tightly around himself protectively as if it could armor himself with terry cloth. Stede touches another towel to Ed’s shoulder, and Ed offers it to Izzy. Izzy uncoils just enough to snatch the towel and pull it over his groin and legs.Eventually, his respirations steady enough for Ed to ask, “Back with us?”Izzy drops his gaze, but he gingerly touches the cut and hisses, “Fuck.” For a moment, he sounds so much like Ed’s Izzy that it hurts, but, when Izzy’s sharp eyes gather the scene around him, he grouses in a voice too fatigued to successfully carry its usual venom, “Fuck off.”“I will take that as a yes,” Ed breathes in both relief and odd disappointment.The doctors never established why Izzy has no memories from before the streets. Ed does not understand. His knowledge of amnesia has been limited to popular media, mostly movies and the sort of shamelessly bad soap operas that the gym runs in the middle of the day as a compromise instead of broaching a battle between Fox News and CNN adherents. Some half-witted part of Ed had been deliriously hoping Izzy hitting his head just now would just unlock those memories like the sappy climax of a movie or one of Stede’s books. Yet, Ed still feels the distance between them, lodged there firmly by Izzy’s stark lack of memory.“Stede, be a dear and fetch the first aid kit.”When Stede withdraws, Izzy looks at him, finally looks right at Ed. “You didn’t.” He licks his lips uncertainly. “You didn’t do anything?”“No. Christ, no, Izzy.” Ed blanches at the notion that Izzy honestly thinks Ed would force himself on his husband, further confirmation that Izzy still does not remember him in any way that counts.Izzy sobs in relief, trembling slightly. “Thank you.”Ed furrows his brow. “S’not something you should have to thank me or anyone for – not taking advantage of you.” He watches studiously as Izzy continues to open and close his eyes strangely and struggle against the weight of his emotions. “What happened?”“Slipped.” His voice cracks as he sniffles against the tears.Stede appears at Ed’s side. “Got the kit.”Izzy brings his knuckle to his lips, stifling a sound of surprise. Ed ignores it and thanks Stede, taking the kit. He eyeballs the wound still bleeding on Izzy’s forehead, so very close to that angry, old scar. It does not look like a deep laceration, not deep enough to warrant sutures. Ed selects a few things from the kit. A few butterfly closures, gauze pads, and some antiseptic.Then, as an afterthought, Ed’s heart lurches, and he takes a pair of pre-packaged nitrile gloves from the bottom of the kit. Neither Stede nor Ed have ever used them on each other when faced with minor, household injuries, yet they have been in a safe, committed relationship for years. Izzy has been assaulted sexually and repeatedly it seems. If not outrightly raped, Izzy has prostituted himself. Ed knows that now, has to accept that now no matter how the anger simmers up beneath the surface at the thought. Accepting that means accepting that Izzy may also have any number of bloodborne pathogens for which he will have to be tested and possibly treated. Until then, they must be cautious.So prepared, Ed pauses before approaching any further, holding out his supplies and offering, “May I?”Izzy sags with exhaustion and resignation. Ed takes that as tacit permission, even if he does feel like something of a cad for doing it. The panic and head wound have tired Izzy beyond worry. Ed draws near, savoring being so close to Izzy willingly and even touching him, even if Izzy is not completely aware of it. Odder, Izzy seems to lean into the touch slightly, albeit subconsciously. Ed tries desperately not to make too much of it, but, Christ, he misses it, craves it so very much. He works swiftly and efficiently, cleaning the wound and sealing it with three butterfly closures. Through it all, Ed narrates everything he does, keeping up a steady stream of dialogue, even if Izzy does not answer or even hear him. By the time Ed pulls the gloves off, Izzy seems thoroughly worn out by it, barely able to even cough. Ed reaches for the clothes still on the sink and moves to pull the towel away to help dress him, but Izzy twists away. When he lifts his gaze beneath his wet hair, the distrust has returned. It is not quite as vehement as before, dulled by the exhaustion or the pain, but still there, lingering beneath the surface. The moment is gone once more, leaving Ed feeling distinctly whiplashed.Worse, now that the adrenaline is starting to wane, Ed feels abruptly sickened and appalled by the whole affair, by what he has learned, seen, and done. He wants to cry once more, to hold Izzy and never let him go. Yet, Ed knows that is an impossible, forbidden desire. And it cuts right through him.Ed swallows and just pushes the clothes to Izzy. “Get dressed, yeah?” Ed tells him sadly. “We’ll be right outside when you’re ready.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When Izzy does finish dressing and calls to them, he does not permit Ed close, not again. Stede worries at the return to the fear and the way Ed fiddles with the ring at his neck, but the author just holds it down. Whatever vulnerability existed in the liminal temporal space between falling in the shower and Izzy pulling himself together, is gone once more. Izzy does, however, accept Stede’s arm and help.Stede does not take him back to his room, not even when Izzy balks. He argues knowingly that Izzy has sustained a head injury and should be monitored. Stede wishes he could offer they all pile into the comfortable, king size bed in the master suite, but he knows that suggestion will not end well. They already walk a fine line at the edge of Izzy’s tolerance.Fortunately, Izzy does not argue against the couch when Stede helps him ease down onto it. He does hiss through his teeth from the movement, and Stede grimaces to consider that Izzy may be bruising up from his tumble. Ed watches from the corner by the kitchen before nervously catching Stede’s gaze and miming a phone call; when Stede gives a terse nod, Ed bolts as though a wild thing cut loose. Stede knows where he will be, in the back bedroom, calling Dr. Buttons. Stede understands; Ed’s self-control has been hanging by a thread all weekend.“We were thinking about having a spot of late dinner in a while,” Stede explains. “Plenty of time to watch a movie if you want?”“Whatever,” Izzy just shrugs. “What’s his problem?”Stede frowns. Being in the middle of Ed and Izzy is an uncomfortable, tiresome gray place. He does not know how much either one is ready to share with the other, how much should be shared. Yet, Stede understands now the trouble that comes from omission. It feels impossible, insurmountable. Stede Bonnet has been raised to be polite beyond measure, and polite society does not dare freely mention such private topics as therapy or anger management no matter how accepted they have become in the mainstream culture.“Just having a bit of a rough go of it today. He’ll be out in a bit.”Izzy goes silent and looks down at his hands in his lap. Stede thinks there may shame in those dark eyes, but his freshly washed hair curtains Izzy’s face in a way that leaves his expression inscrutable. He looks almost cowed by everything that has happened.Stede purses hip lips together and offers, “Are you hungry?”Izzy’s head slowly turns from side to side in a solemn shake.“Alright. The nutritionist Ed found said you should have multiple small meals or snacks a day while we get you back on track. So, just let us know if you need or want anything.” Stede winces at the phrasing. “Or, you can always help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”Izzy bristles. “He got me a nutritionist?”“Oh, yes, sorry. We should have told you earlier. Ed got you booked for a virtual appointment next Wednesday,” Stede informs him. “If you don’t like Dr. Higgins, we can search for a new one, but we were worried about letting it go too long.”Izzy just nods slowly again, as though turning the notion over in his mind.Eager for the distraction, Stede turns on the television and sets the remote controls next to Izzy. “You can pick something.” Izzy glances to the remotes and tenses; it takes Stede an embarrassing time to realize how overwhelming this entire evening must be. “Or would you like me to…?”Izzy swallows and nods in what appears to be stark relief. Stede thinks for several minutes, trying to recall if Ed ever specified Izzy having a preference in television or movies. Nothing comes to mind, so Stede picks White Christmas. It may be selfish of him, as the film has always been a favorite holiday comfort to him, but Stede tells himself it is because the movie is generally banal outside of the minstrel number – which most casual viewers do not even clue into. Izzy does not seem to care either way.Sometime around the Haynes sisters singing their sibling duet, Izzy speaks in a hushed, solemn tone. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.”Stede pauses the movie. “Izzy?”He looks so beaten, so worn. “I’m not worth this.” Izzy wraps his arms around his chest. “I can’t do this, Bonnet. I’m not…. I don’t belong here.”“Oh, Israel, You are worth so much, and you very much belong here. I know you don’t feel that way, not yet, but you will,” Stede whispers, an eerie sense of déjà vu settling over him. “It’s still early. Please give us a chance.”“I’m just…. I’m so fucking tired, Stede,” Izzy mumbles into his hands in quiet dejection, and he sounds it.The author feels himself quaking inside. For weeks now, he has only ever been ‘Bonnet,’ never ‘Stede.’ Stede has never pushed the issue. He has assumed that either Izzy’s military background demanded the use of surnames, or his near compulsive need to maintain hard boundaries. Hard for anyone to take advantage of you when you never allow them to be close. He has secretly wished that Izzy would accept him, his help and his concern, and embrace it enough to use first names, but this feels wrong. This feels not like acceptance but surrender.“I know you are, Israel,” Stede hums in dual sympathy and sorrow. “I know. You’ve had to be so very strong, out there on your own. You’ve taken care of yourself for so long, fought the whole damned world it seems. That must have been so very exhausting.” Stede feels the disquiet lingering over them, an exposed nerve, raw and inflamed. “Please, just let us take care of you now. Izzy, please?”Izzy’s cheeks shine as tears Stede did not previously see catch the light of the television, his breath catching oddly. It breaks his heart. Stede wishes desperately to hug him, to cradle him close and sooth those tears away, but he has only ever known Izzy to angrily reject such attention and affection, even though it seems what Izzy needs. He worries it may worsen things. Yet, Izzy does not move, does not disagree, does not even raise a hand to wipe away or conceal those tears.Finally, Stede dares ask, “Izzy, this is probably too much now after everything, and you have every right to say no, but may I hold you?”Izzy jumps, as though in surprise, his eyes going glossy and distant. He looks increasingly less like the bitter man Stede has come to know and more like a puppet without its strings or a boat untethered from its mooring line. Yet, his head nods almost dreamily, as though a man hypnotized or possessed. Stede’s heart stutters wildly in his chest.“Thank you, Izzy.” Stede creeps closer at a glacial pace. “I’m just going to put my arms around you, alright?”At a snail’s pace, Stede snakes his arms around Izzy’s narrow, shaking form. Izzy tenses against him, his body lurching and twitching. For a moment, Stede hesitates, worried he has hurt Izzy somehow. He feels so tiny, frail, and bony under even the lightest of touches. It feels almost as though Stede could crush Izzy’s shoulders and ribs with just the weight of his own arms. It takes Stede a long time to realize that Izzy is holding back, still warring with himself and forcibly barring back emotions that demand to released, as tears spill silently down his cheeks.“I am going to hold you closer, if that is alright with you?”Izzy gives another sluggish nod, crushing his eyes shut. Stede takes the time to draw him close to his chest. Izzy goes oddly pliant, yielding into the touch, just as he had when Ed treated the wound on his forehead. Stede carefully nestles Izzy to his chest, trying not to focus on how scrawny and small Izzy feels. Izzy gives another convulsive twitch before settling, his breathes growing increasingly unsteady and wet. Stede reaches up before he can stop himself, carding his fingers into Izzy’s now clean hair.“Is that too tight?”Izzy whines but shakes his head against Stede’s chest, still struggling against the emotions swelling within him. Roach’s words have never left the author; a man like Izzy cannot afford to be vulnerable on the streets. How long has it been since Izzy has felt safe enough to feel anything other than hatred and fear? How long has it been since Izzy has known any semblance of comfort? How long since a human hand has touched him out of anything but violence?“It’s okay,” Stede whispers before he can stop himself. “You’re safe now. You can let it out.”The low, keening whine lodges in Izzy’s throat carries for another moment longer before breaking into a ragged sob. Then, quite abruptly, hands paw and claw at Stede’s shirt as Izzy weeps harder. Then, Izzy wails brokenly against Stede’s broad chest, startling even the author. It is a primal sound, as though the years have built up in Izzy to this point. Stede does not shush him; he cannot bear to stifle Izzy in this, one of the extremely rare times the smaller man has let himself be so open. Stede just rubs Izzy’s knobby back and whispers gentle reassurances in his ear even as Izzy’s cries begin to soften into mewls hiccupped around sickly coughs. Nor does Stede stop when he feels Izzy’s body get heavy against his, when his breaths even out and deepen with the rapid onset of slumber.Stede just holds him as Izzy drifts off, thoroughly exhausted once more, occasionally smoothing down Izzy’s clean, soft hair. Stede mindfully turns the volume down on the television before restarting the movie for some white noise. Then, unable to resist, Stede presses a kiss to Izzy’s crown.It feels impossibly right in a way that the last several weeks have not.xxxxxxxxxxx
“Hullo there, Edward. Wasn’t expecting you to call again so soon.”
Ed grimaces at Dr. Buttons’s greeting. “Yeah. Wasn’t either.”
“What’s going on, Edward?”
Edward shudders inwardly, curling around his phone as if confessing a grave sin. “Broke a chair.”
“I’m assuming this was on purpose.”
Ed rubs his forehead, feeling a headache swelling, likely from all the emotions of the day. “Yeah. Just up and smashed it on the back patio like a fucking animal.”
“What precipitated this?”
For a moment, Ed tries valiantly to explain in a manner that is both concise and logical, but, after just a few words, it all spills out. Everything. Even things Ed is not sure he is supposed to be saying, those dark truths he has learned about Izzy’s life the last six years, the horrible things he has seen written on his husband’s body. It feels strange, like trying to fruitlessly drown his sorrows in liquor but knowing that rum just makes him feel worse. It just keeps coming out.The entire time, Dr. Buttons offers low, encouraging hums until Ed’s words dry up. “That would be difficult, Edward. I certainly wouldn’t advocate for destroying furniture, but it sounds like you recognized you were in an unsafe state and removed yourself before you could do anything damaging to the people around you. It may not seem it, but that is a very good sign all things considered.” “Sure,” Ed chuffs.
“No, really. When you started coming to me, you didn’t have the coping skills to manage much. I know you likely feel ashamed, but this is an extremely challenging situation. This isn’t going to be easy for you, but recognizing your responses and safely redirecting is often the hardest steps, even if the responses aren’t the most appropriate.”
Ed grunts in response; it is all he can muster having said so much already.“Edward, I’m getting a wee bit concerned. You’ve had to ring my emergency number twice in as many days. Happy as I am to answer, that’s well outside your norm, Edward.” Dr. Buttons cautions smartly. “Do you think this is a safe course for you granted your own history? Or, perhaps, you should be removing yourself altogether? Maybe stay with a friend.”Ed’s brain short circuits at the thought. “Fuck, no. No. I can’t do that to Iz, just abandon him like that. Or Stede.”
“I’m not saying abandon them. But it may be in your best interest to have a safe place to go if things get too difficult, maybe stay a few nights outside of the home?”
It seems fair and logical, but Ed cannot stomach it. “No. I can’t.” He works his jaw. “But, I’ve got a sponsor now. Jim, from group.”“That’s excellent, Edward.” Dr. Buttons sounds genuinely proud of Ed. “I’ll always answer for you, but do try to be proactive. Work your relaxation and management techniques before things have a chance to get too hard to handle. Reach out to your sponsor and support network early and often to share the load, so to speak.” Ed nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Excellent.”
Dr. Buttons stays on the line for a few minutes longer, offering different suggestions for managing the situation. Some of his suggestions hurt to even consider, such as spending less time in the home or even with Izzy. Other suggestions sound more bearable and realistic even, such as working with Stede to rebuild his routine. Routine has always been instrumental to Ed through his therapeutic journey.By the time they hang up, Ed feels settled once more.He shoots Jim a quick text to update them. Just got off the phone with therapist.
That’s good. Doing better?
Ed furrows his brow, considering how to answer. Sort of. Expect me to be a pest this week.
Dude, that’s the point being a sponsor. You’re supposed to pester me.
Ed feels a faint, weak warmth blossoming inside once more. Thanks, Jim. You’re a real friend.
Anytime.
The long interlude has served to relax and refocus Ed. He feels like a ship brought back to keel, nice and even and perfectly ballasted back on steady seas after a heady storm. He also feels tired, as though he rode through that storm.Ed’s phone chimes with Stede’s message alert. It’s not an emergency and not a rush, but be very quiet when you come out.Ed knits his brow in confusion at Stede’s message, but he just slinks silently out to the living room, resisting the urge to call. When he arrives at the end of the hall, the sight before him steals Ed’s breath away – in a good way for the first time in two or three days. Stede sits on the couch, one of his old timey musical holiday films playing on the TV, but that is not the part that stops Ed in his tracks. No. Stede has Izzy cuddled up against his chest, snuggled up in his arms, and Izzy looks…. Peaceful?He cups his mouth with his hand to keep from making a sound, terrified of disturbing the scene. Stede must hear him, for the author glances up and presses a finger to his lips. He mouths the word ‘asleep,’ and Ed just gasps again. He stumbles across the living room and crouches down in front of them, just drinking in the sight of Izzy looking so relaxed and soothed in Stede’s arms.Stede keeps his voice so low that it is barely audible above the Christmas antics of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye. “Think he needed this.”Ed nods dumbly. A part of Ed is jealous, wishing it was him Izzy allowed to hold him, but another part of Ed thrills. This is the first he has ever seen Izzy looking voluntarily comforted and comfortable since they found him. Ed wants to drink in every inch of this moment, memorize each and every tiny detail and never forget.“Sit with us,” Stede bids. “We can finish the movie before dinner.”Ed smiles and takes his spot next to Stede on the couch, opposite Izzy. Stede and Ed both watch the movie, but neither really does. Each keeps stealing glances at Izzy still sleeping peacefully against Stede’s chest. They each hold their breaths when Izzy hacks a fairly nasty cough, but the man settles quickly back into Stede’s warm embrace.When the film’s day is saved and the titular song plays in the background, Ed rises before Stede can to fetch a glass of milk and Izzy’s antibiotics. He comes back quickly and raises a brow to Stede. The author understands, giving a single nod.“Izzy, hey,” Stede brushes his fingertips to Izzy’s jawline and purrs in the older man’s ear, causing him to tense subconsciously. “You don’t have to get up, not yet, but you just need to have your medicine.” Izzy stirs, blinking quietly. “Think you can do that?”Izzy gives a sort of agreeable sound. Ed presses the capsule into Stede’s hand, who gives to it Izzy. Then, Ed passes the glass to Stede, who in turn helps Izzy hold it to his lips. There is something incredibly tender and sweet to this moment, something Ed wishes he could have but would do anything to preserve forever. When Izzy has finished, Stede hands the glass back to Ed and cards his fingers through Izzy’s hair.“You can go back to sleep if you want,” Stede breathes into Izzy’s ear.The man in question just sets his head back down in response against Stede’s chest. Stede looks to Ed who gives a wry smirk. Stede has been effectively trapped, pinned down by a man that he could easily lift but dare not. No, Ed knows Stede’s soft, squishy heart will not permit him to disturb Izzy, no different than having a cat curled up in his lap.Ed asks, “I know we said late dinner…. are you hungry, love?”“No. I’m fine, thank you, darling.” Stede feels Izzy cough and shift in his embrace sleepily, pausing to allow it. “You should get something though.”Ed just beams upon them. “Got everything I need right here.”Stede cradles Izzy’s head and announces in a low but stern tone, “Good. Then, sit. We’re watching It’s a Wonderful Life.”Ed chuckles and drops back down to sit next to Stede as his the author continues to hold Izzy with one arm and set up the movie on streaming with the other. Once Stede hits play, he sets the remote down, and Ed finds his hand. Ed silently laces his fingers with Stede’s.Somewhere around when George Bailey stands on the bridge contemplating jumping, Ed sets his head on Stede’s other shoulder. Stede holds his breath with worry. He forgot that Ed does not handle movies or books with suicide or suicidal ideation well. He has known for some time, mindful that it is likely because of Izzy. However, now, with Izzy there and in their home, Ed just sighs wistfully and relaxes into Stede, giving his hand a squeeze.By the time George Bailey holds up Zuzu and she cries out that famous line about bells and wings, Ed’s slight snores meet Stede’s ears, matched with Izzy’s soft respirations to his other side.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Edward wakes early, so early that the light outside the windows is watery and weak with predawn twilight. The television is still on, the familiar orange and purple cityscape screensaver scrolling by, illuminating the living room with a faint glow. Ed does not recall falling asleep during the movie, but he must have granted the evidence around him and how stiff his joints feel from sleeping on the couch.Then, with a start and a gasp, Ed remembers the tumultuous events of the night before with a start and looks to his side, convinced it must have surely been a delirious dream brought on by utter madness. No. When Ed looks across the couch, Stede and Izzy are still there beside him, Izzy snuggled up in Stede’s arms. Izzy still looks so very small and frail, especially when compared to Stede so closely, but, to Ed, he is a vision. Ed sits for several minutes, just drinking the cozy, tender vignette in.Izzy stirs and coughs. Ed holds his breath, unsure if it is because he is worried about waking Izzy or worried about being caught staring. Either way, Izzy settles and nestles himself close to Stede, as if he could burrow into the author. When the smaller man stills once more, Ed catches the fine quivers of his muscles – faint shivering.Ed could kick himself. Izzy is grossly underweight, with little to no insulation. They keep their house a reasonable temperature, or so Edward has thought. He now realizes it may not be anywhere near appropriate for Izzy considering his paltry body conditions. He wonders idly if Izzy has been cold this entire time but said nothing.Ed slides out from beside Stede, pads down the hall to the master bedroom, and grabs the thick duvet from the bed. It is an oversized, downy cloud, and incredibly warm through the winter. Ed stalks back to the living room with the thing.When Ed gets back and raises the duvet, he realizes he is being watched. Izzy. Glimmering, narrowed eyes stare from beneath the veil of his dark hair. Ed freezes, simply staring back in wonder. Izzy looks wary once more, and, although it shreds him to feel that arrow of distrust pointed firmly in his direction, Ed cannot blame Izzy. Izzy has woken to a dimly lit, barely familiar place, in the arms of a man he barely knows, with a second man looming over him. Ed swallows, thinking of that in relation to the horrible things he now knows lie in Izzy’s past several years, the implications Izzy must be drawing from them, coupled with his scant memories of Ed.When Izzy does not even twitch a muscle, Ed merely lifts the duvet a bit, hoping it is enough to telegraph to Izzy his intent. Izzy gives no reaction save a slow, tired blink, and Ed takes that as some merit of permission, of acceptance. Then, with all the care in his heart and the gravest of measure, Ed drapes the duvet over the pair on the couch, tucking it up close to Izzy’s chin. Satisfied, Ed takes a few steps back and holds up his empty hands.Izzy’s eyes slide closed once more, but Ed does not miss his whispered, “Thanks.”Ed feels himself smile gently. “You’re welcome, Iz.”Pleased with himself and this tiny crumb of progress, Ed retreats to the bedroom so that Izzy and Stede can sleep in. There, Ed spends a half an hour or so on Amazon debating between electric blankets or heating pads before settling on fleece heated throw. He does not want Izzy to be cold ever again.xxxxxxxxxxxIt is the all too pleasant aroma of coffee and oatmeal that draws Stede from his slumber to a myriad of body aches. He is not a young man anymore, and sleeping on the couch does him no more favors that it did during his college years. Yet, when Stede realizes he still holds Izzy, warm and safe, he would glady sleep on the couch every night for the rest of his life if it means giving the smaller man some semblance of comfort.Stede realizes with surprise that the duvet from the master bedroom covers them, keeping them snug and cozy. Ed. It could only have been Ed. His heart floods with appreciation and love. Ed, still taking care of Izzy even if only through Stede.When Stede glances down, Izzy still appears to be resting, if not still sleeping. He feels pliant in Stede’s arms, his muscles slack and his face devoid of the tension that had been simmering there. In anyone else, Stede might be concerned, but he knows Izzy likely needs all the rest he can get. Fear, sickness, and starvation will each do that to a man alone. Izzy has experienced all for some time now.Carefully, Stede extricates him from beneath Izzy, sliding out from under his arms and gently setting him down. He tucks the duvet around Izzy. Then, Stede pauses ever so momentarily to stroke Izzy’s tussled hair and smooth the loose strands behind Izzy’s ear.In the kitchen, Ed is humming to himself a wordless tune. Stede thinks it may be a carol of some kind. When he gets close enough to see Ed at the stove, Stede notes that Ed taps his foot, clearly a song in his head. Stede smiles to himself; this is the lightest he has seen his lover in weeks. It suits Ed, this unusual domesticity that has begun to sprout over the last twenty-four hours.Ed turns and greets him with a cup of coffee, his eyes sparkling merrily. “Morning, love.”Stede just steps into his face, wraps his arms about Ed’s waist, and pulls him close. “Good morning, darling.”“Oh!” Ed sounds surprised, but, then, he recovers enough to embrace Stede in return and sigh fondly. “This is nice.”Stede hums, presses a kiss to Ed’s cheek, and smiles. “Indeed. I have a feeling today is going to be a very good day.”xxxxxxxxxxxThat Monday is decided not a ‘very good day.’When Izzy does finally emerge from the plush cloud of the oversized duvet, it is evidently with a splitting migraine, possibly from crying or possibly from fall. He groans at every muscle movement, his body still weak from malnutrition but, now, also bruised and battered from his fall. He is irritable to a fault, back to the seething, snarling mess Stede first met at the soup kitchen than the tender, crying thing from the night before. Stede manages wrangle him without suffering anything further than muttered profanities first to the restroom and then to the table to fetch both Izzy’s antibiotics and some headache tablets. Meanwhile Ed serves hot tea and oatmeal with a swirl of maple syrup and a dash of cinnamon.Izzy curls over the bowl defensively and tucks into it with feral gusto. However, after a few moments, the man pauses, his face contorting in discomfort as his hand wraps around his abdomen. Izzy’s color goes pale, and his jaw works strangely before he pushes the bowl aside with at least half left. Izzy manages to choke down the tea and the drugs before asking meekly if he could go back to bed. Stede obliges, helping Izzy back down the hall as Ed watches sadly from the kitchen.It is still early, Ed forcibly tells himself, but everything feels beyond insurmountable.The day only grows worse when Ed and Stede decide to divide and conquer after breakfast. Stede sits in the kitchen with the various lists of physician referrals trying to book an appointment for an erstwhile dead man with no insurance within days of Christmas. In the meantime, Ed hunkers down in the master bedroom on the phone with the VA trying to sort of out Izzy’s situation as various operators and secretaries pass him around until Ed is accidentally hung up on. He has to take several calming breaths before calling back.By lunch time, both Ed and Stede separately come to the same conclusion; they need to get Izzy’s death certificate overturned. Ed had lucked out with Dr. Higgins accepting Izzy’s case, even if he is not entirely sure how they will pay her unless it is out of pocket. Even the VA refuses to insure Izzy as Ed’s spouse – something that should be covered, Ed argues vehemently – until Izzy’s existence as a living, breathing human has been reestablished by law.When they regroup in the kitchen to reheat some of the leftover potato soup for Izzy, they both have to admit their lack of success. Ed frowns to himself. He had been hoping Stede would be able to sweettalk a least one or two physicians on the list of referrals into taking Izzy’s case.“Fuck. I don’t even know how you begin to get someone… I don’t know, declared ‘alive,’” Ed huffs from the stove.“I don’t think I have ever heard of it,” Stede admits honestly.Ed looks down, shame flooding him. There had been a day, shortly before moving in with Stede, when Ed had been packing up his loft. It was then that Ed decided it was time to move on, to admit to himself that Izzy was really and truly gone. State law technically considered that Izzy could be presumed dead after twelve months of missing, but Ed had fought the police and courts on that tooth and nail, until that day. His life had been starting to trend upwards once more, dragged out of his depression and anger by Stede’s radiant, golden, and pure love. On that day, Ed had taken the ring from his finger and moved it to a silver chain around his neck before calling an attorney to move forward with probate.“Should’ve never given up on him.” Ed sighs, his fingers touching the ring.“Oh, Edward, you couldn’t have known,” the author breathes, going to Ed and wrapping his arms around Ed’s waist from behind. “You couldn’t have known Izzy was still alive out there, or that any of this would happen.”Ed sniffles and nods. “I guess. But, fuck, what do we even do?”“Tell you what? I’ll call my publisher’s legal team. It’s not their specialty, but I’m sure they can at least point us in the right direction.”It settles Ed when Stede goes to make the call, enough for him to prepare a bowl of leftover potato soup for Izzy along with a glass of water and his antibiotics. Ed balances all that on a tray and knocks on the door to Izzy’s room. He does not receive and answer, but, then again, Edward does not expect one. He slips inside and tries not to be upset at the empty bed. Ed knows where Izzy is, but he had hoped following the breakthrough of the previous night that Izzy would not fall back into hiding beneath the bed.“Izzy? Brought some lunch.”Something – Izzy – shuffles beneath the bed, but Ed kneels just long enough to set the tray down before turning to leave.This time, though, he catches the faintest of whispered, “Thanks.”It lifts Ed’s spirits ever so slightly after so much distrust. “You’re welcome, mate.”That good feeling, though, slips away from him when Stede suggests they go to the medical supply store. Izzy has needs that, but Ed immediately feels disconnected from himself at the thought of leaving Izzy alone in the house. An eerie panic swallows him whole, stealing all reason and logic along with his breath. Yet, Stede is there, with a warm embrace and gentle, reassuring tones, drawing him back from the brink.“I’m sorry, darling. I did not think,” Stede breathes. “You stay here with Izzy. I’ll go.”Ed just nods numbly and allows himself to be guided to the couch. He hardly feels it when Stede tucks the duvet around him, nor is Ed truly aware of Stede finding some other banal holiday movie to put on as white nose. Ed is aware when Stede leans close and kisses his forehead.xxxxxxxxxxxStede Bonnet has oft considered himself to be an intelligent man, but the medical supply store is nothing short of confusing. He finds himself stumbling between various tools, supplies, and adaptation devices. There are multiple walkers and chairs that make Stede dizzy with the array of add-on options. He feels incredibly out of place and utterly out of his depth. Stede just gapes stupidly and uncertainly, suddenly wishing very much that he had brought Izzy or even asked Izzy his needs. He wants to throw up when one of the sales associates asks if they can help him find something specifically.I’m such a buffoon, Stede mentally chastises himself.Stede settles for a set of plain crutches that matched the ones he has seen Izzy on at the soup kitchen before resolving to bring Izzy as soon as he is well enough for the drive. Then, mindful of the night before, Stede selects a shower chair and anti-slip tape for the shower. Everything else can wait, or so Stede hopes.xxxxxxxxxxxThe creak of the guestroom door is enough to jerk Ed’s swirling thoughts back down to reality.“Iz?”When there is no answer but a tired, pained cough, Ed jumps to his feet and practically leaps down the hall. Izzy stands in the doorframe to the bedroom, gripping the doorframe almost painfully and hanging his hand. Sweat beads his forehead, but it looks more from effort than from illness.Ed stops short of him, recalling all the times Izzy has denied him over the last few days. “Izzy, are you alright?”“Fuck off, m’fine,” Izzy grouses.Decades ago, on their first tour together, their first outing, they had been struck by a bought of sea sickness. Everyone got it that week, even seasoned shellbacks. The sea had simply been too rough for the first few weeks out, leaving all hands at the wrath of King Neptune. Ed met Izzy by bumping into him at the door to the head, passing one another on their way too and from. Ed had asked Izzy then if he was alright, and Izzy had responded in kind before both of them had to rush back to the toilet. They still joked about it, even on the eve of their own line-crossing, when they finally had their sea legs and became true Sons of Neptune. Ed recalls Izzy looking green at kissing the fish and hissing the same thing before touching his lips to the salmon carcass presented to all new shellbacks.Ed bites his lip briefly. “Can I help you?”Izzy seems to consider the offer before shrugging. “Fuck it.”Ed wants to whoop, wants to cheer, but he cannot. Ed dare not ruin this moment so stupidly. Instead, he insinuates himself under Izzy’s arm and beside him, taking up some of Izzy’s weight.“Where you want to go?”Izzy sighs, color blooming in his cheeks. “Head.”Ed nods and helps him to the hall bathroom. Izzy shuffles himself loose of Ed’s hold at the entry and slams the door behind him. Ed’s heart stutters though, when Izzy emerges and reaches for him. Ed holds his breath but just lets Izzy snake a scrawny arm across his shoulders.Ed wants to say something smart, something loving, but he feels like a teenager all over again – all emotion no brains; instead, Ed falls back on what he would have done in his youth. “Want to watch a movie?”Izzy tenses beside him but nods. “Whatever.”It is grudging, but Ed will take it. He will take whatever scraps of allowance or closeness Izzy will let him have and savor every second for all it is worth. Ed shoulders Izzy back to the couch, to the rumpled duvet, and helps to ease him down on the one side. Izzy reflexively grasps at the duvet and draws it over himself protectively. Ed ignores it to settle on the opposite side, the heated blanket on order fresh in Ed’s mind.Ed just hits play on the first movie the pops up in the holiday section. Donovan’s Reef. It is something of a problematic movie, Ed knows, but he loves it. Not for John Wayne, not for the exoticism of the Polynesia, and certainly not for the colonial undertones in it. No. The first Christmas Ed spent with Stede, Stede had delighted in sharing the film with his lover, expecting Ed to be taken with the exploits of naval veterans and expatriates in the Pacific. Ed spent the entire viewing watching Stede as he grinned through it all, so very pleased to be sharing the holidays with him.As the movie plays, Ed asks idly, “Can I get you anything? Hungry? Thirsty?”Izzy offers a small, timid shrug.“Anything in particular?” Ed offers.Again, Izzy just shrugs listlessly.Ed decides for tea. It was on the list of approved things from Dr. Higgins and will be warming for the thin, wasted man. As the kettle boils, Ed simply marvels, watching Izzy as he seems to stare at the television, perhaps watching or perhaps just dozing a bit. When the kettle has boiled, Ed makes the tea, muscle memory taking over as he sets his own with cream and seven sugars while making Izzy’s with one sugar and lemon. Ed does not even realize it until the tea is finished. He takes the mug to Izzy and hands it over carefully before returning to the far side.Izzy cradles the mug in two hands and sips the tea suspiciously first, but, then, upon tasting it, he blinks in surprise. Ed finds himself stealing glances to the side. Izzy drinks deeper, a faint hint of something lighter in those dark eyes, perhaps recognition.After a time, Izzy speaks. “S’good, thanks.”“You’re welcome, Iz,” Ed answers plainly, barely able to contain himself.There is a long pause before Izzy asks almost hesitantly, “How long…”“How long what?”Izzy shakes his head and stares at the tea in his hands. “How long did you know me?”Ed tries to calculate the years but comes up without a finite value. “Ages, man. Fucking ages.” He feels his heart trill slightly when Izzy does not recoil or rebel at the answer, so he dares go on, “Met in the Navy.”Izzy’s right hand lifts to touch to the swallow on his own neck, like the talisman it represents. “Yeah?”“Yeah. Got some pictures if you ever want to see ‘em,” Ed offers encouragingly, only for Izzy to shake his head curtly.“How long were we… together?” It sounds like a prayer, a confessional whispered through fearful lips.Ed looks away, feeling his own eyes mist. “Hard to say when things really started between us.” He frowns. “Hard to be officially ‘together’ when you can’t be official, if you know what I mean, mate.”Izzy seems to consider it carefully, mulling over as he works his jaw and as his eyes go glossy. “I’m sorry.”Ed feels the weight of the words between them coupled with their missing years, dragging him to the depths like a boat anchor. “Iz…”“I’m not the man you knew, the man you married,” Izzy laments in a hushed, sorrowed tone. “Don’t remember any of that. That man’s gone and dead, and I’m sorry.”Ed feels himself reeling, grasping wildly for reason and unable to do anything but gape stupidly at the man across from him. “Izzy, don’t say that.” He reaches for Izzy, only to have the man pull away. “You don’t mean that.”Izzy sighs heavily into his mug, whatever moment having passed over them. “Just watch your fucking movie.”xxxxxxxxxxxWhen Stede returns, Izzy snatches the crutches and levers himself off the couch before retreating to the guest bedroom almost immediately. Stede looks to Ed, but Ed has no answers. Just a hollowed-out gaze and heavy expression. When Stede reaches for him, Ed seems to snap out of whatever daze holds him, burying it inside.Together, they assemble the shower chair. Well, Ed mostly does while Stede makes sense of the directions. Stede has never been as good with his hands as Ed, and Ed has never had the patience for reading any furniture assembly directions.Then, as they finish arranging the anti-slip tape on the shower floor, Ed finally says something. “He doesn’t want to remember me.”Stede frowns. “Ed, you don’t know that.”“He was asking earlier,” Ed sighed heavily. “About our lives. Says he’s not that man anymore, that that Izzy is dead.”Before Ed can stop him or pull away, Stede enfolds his lover in his arms. “Ed, this has got to be hard on him. It’s so much to take in, so many changes.” Ed chuffs in his hug, but Stede just cradles Ed’s head to his neck. “I know it doesn’t seem it, but I am sure him asking means, on some level, he wants to remember.” Stede presses a kiss to Ed’s cheek. “Izzy has had to take care of himself for so long, had to be on his own, it’s going to take him time to realize it is okay to be open.”“He took to you, though.”Stede pulls a wry smile and shrugs. “Yeah, but I do not think he felt any choice in the matter. I think, last night, the dam just broke.”Ed shakes his head. “What do we do?”Stede strokes Ed’s long hair tenderly. “We can look into a therapist for him.”Ed snorts. “Can’t imagine Iz will appreciate that.”“He might,” Stede offers mindfully. “But, even if he doesn’t go for that, we just be there. Keep demonstrating that we’re a safe space for him.”Ed nods nervously. “Yeah, I can do that.”xxxxxxxxxxxDinner is a solemn, quiet affair. Armed with crutches and returned mobility, Izzy needs only be summoned with a knock on the door and a gentle call from Stede. He tromps down the hall on his own and slumps in the chair, coughing as he settles and props the crutches beside the table. Ed and Stede exchange a glance, but neither says a thing as they serve a simple meal of roasted chicken and noodles.Izzy scarfs down the food quickly and wordlessly retreats back to the guestroom. Ed watches him go sadly. The walls between them remain, and it is killing Ed.Thankfully, Stede is there. He cleans up the dishes and packages the leftovers in the fridge before drawing Ed to the master bedroom. Stede takes care of everything and even Ed. He helps his lover ready for bed and draws him into a close cuddle as they fall asleep to any random movie Stede picks. Ed does not care, too exhausted and emotionally drained to focus.Ed is, however, woken in the middle of the night by a strange sound. A rhythmic thumping. Ed furrows his brow but realizes quickly what the sound is. It is Izzy’s crutches on the hardwood of the hall.Then, there comes the unmistakable creak of the front door opening and shutting. Izzy is leaving. Ed scrambles from the bed and down the hall. He cannot let Izzy leave. Not after everything that has happened and certainly not in the condition Izzy remains. No. Ed feels the panic rising in him as ice water floods his brain.However, when Ed throws open the door, he almost barrels right into Izzy on the stoop. “Shit, Iz!”The man in question turns to look at him, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “The fuck?”Yet, Ed cannot bring himself to say anything, cannot make himself say anything as relief washes over him like a drug. Instead, he collapses in on himself, his legs giving out from beneath him. Ed feels delirious, nauseous almost, his head swimming from the surge in panic-fueled adrenaline. He feels himself shaking slightly initially, but, then, even that builds to near sobs. His eyes blur with tears for what feels the hundredth time in a weekend.Then, to Ed’s very great surprise, a hand falls on his shoulder. Ed starts. He looks to his side and finds Izzy’s hand there. The smaller man has not turned his gaze, focusing instead on lighting his cigarette with his opposite hand and taking a long, deep drag as the orange cherry illuminates his features.“Fuck,” Ed breathes solemnly, his voice shaky.Izzy makes a small sound, inquisitive almost. “You good?”“Yeah,” Ed whispers, touching his thumb beneath his eyes to dab them. “Good now.”Izzy sighs, long suffering and tired. “Your boyfriend would probably ask if you wanted to talk about it.” Ed raises a brow, but Izzy goes on flatly. “So? You want to talk about it?”“I just….” Ed sniffs against the tears and mucus that had threatened ins his fright. “I thought you were running…. Again.”Izzy snorts and gestures to his left knee with a macabre grin. “Can’t run far with just one leg.”“That’s not…. That’s not what I meant,” Ed tells him, feeling acutely ill. “Christ….” He runs his fingers through his hair, tearing at it to ground himself. “The last time… I just. I thought it was going to be like last time.”Izzy hums through his teeth and permits the quiet to span between them for a time, but his hand remains on Ed’s shoulder. It feels heavy and firm, real in a way that Ed cannot believe. Ed leans into it, unable to arrest his slow slide into Izzy. Izzy seems to startle, but he allows it. Before Ed is even fully aware of himself, he is curled in Izzy’s lap, shuddering from the cold and the uncertain emotions brewing in him.“Fucking twat. Gonna freeze to death out here,” Izzy chides, but there is no scorn to his words.And, then, Izzy’s arms are around Ed, encircling him against the chill. Ed stiffens briefly before melting into the touch. Izzy does not even look down at the man in his hold. They sit there on the stoop just long enough for Izzy to rapidly smoke his cigarette in silence before going back inside.Ed wishes Izzy a good night before returning to Stede, suddenly feeling as though it is the best Monday in existence.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Tuesday passes like a migraine – bright, blinding, and terrible.Stede wants desperately to be in the Christmas spirit, still plotting a surprise for what he now feels are his boys – Edward and Izzy. He clings to that hope with all his might. Yet, for however hard Stede holds tight to those feelings, they slip away from him, maddeningly fleeting. Every time Stede feels the spirit of the holiday hoisting him up, something inevitably dashes that happiness, that hope to pieces.Ed spends the entire day alternating between the VA on the phone and Dr. Buttons. Various offices continue to offer false promises and useless information, not a one of them any help. Ed growls and swears each time he gets off the phone, occasionally hurling his own mobile at nothing. Stede thanks the makers of Ed’s phone case for its durability, doubtful that Ed could navigate the mall let alone his cell carrier’s shop at this time of the year without blowing up.In the morning, Izzy had started his day by voluntarily emerging on his own and joining them for a simple breakfast of homemade waffles and later for a bowl of chicken soup at lunch, dutifully taking his antibiotics. Yet, each time, as soon as Ed raises his voice on a call, Izzy jumps up from the table and beats a hasty retreat to his bedroom. Stede winces as he watches Izzy go and as the door slams behind the smaller man.The second time it happens, Ed sees it, sees the terror on Izzy’s features as he bolts, and Ed immediately curses. “Fuck.”Ed grabs his leather jacket to flee himself, and Stede tries to catch him. “Ed, wait.”“I can’t be here, Stede,” Ed snarls, shrugging off Stede’s hand. “I fucked up.”Stede feels his heart breaking. “Ed, stop. Call Dr. Buttons. Call Jim.”Ed freezes, considering his options before letting out a heavy sigh. “I will. I just… I can’t be here right now.” He looks to the guest bedroom door. “I can’t keep doing this to him.”Stede nods slowly. “I know.” He plants a kiss to Ed’s cheek. “But he’s still here. We’ll both still be here when you’re ready.”Stede watches Ed as he goes. There are only so many places Ed goes when he is in a mood like this. Year ago, it would have been a bar to pick a fight, and, from there, Stede would have to pick him up at some police station somewhere. Now, though, Ed really only goes to a handful of spots when he feels this way. Occasionally, Ed will stalk around the block several times, but, more often than not, Ed will go to the gym to blow off steam. Stede knows this like he knows everything else about his lover. Ed will be back when he can breathe again.So, Stede does what he can. He cleans and tidies the kitchen, washes the dishes, humming to himself as he works. In time, though, Stede becomes aware of eyes following him. He is not sure what exactly gives him that notion, but Stede can feel it. Izzy. Stede holds himself, refusing to budge or react. For whatever reason, Izzy has elected not to immediately make his presence known, and Stede refuses to force the issue until Izzy is ready.A deep, racking cough from Izzy finally gives up the game, and Stede glances down the hall to meet the man’s gaze from the guest bedroom door. Izzy slumps against the doorframe. His expression remains guardedly neutral, but his eyes – wonderful, expressive, dark eyes, Stede thinks – betray the smaller man. He stares with a naked hunger, a need.“Izzy,” Stede breathes, trying to keep his tone light, welcoming, and amiable. “Do you need something? Want something?”Izzy stiffens and shakes his head, but Stede can still see it written in his every feature. If Ed thinks Stede has no poker face, the author laughs internally at what Ed must make of Izzy’s paltry attempts at bluffing. It matters not, for Izzy’s stomach betrays him, growling audibly in the silence that spans between them.Stede chuckles to himself. “Hungry?”Izzy seems to consider it before nodding uncomfortably, as though agreeing to accept arsenic. There is fear in his eyes, along with a deeply rooted worry beneath those knit brows that Stede wishes he could sooth away. The author wonders briefly why. Is it fear of denial? Does Izzy think Stede enough of a jerk to withhold food from a starving man? Does Izzy not think he has permission? A distant part of Stede’s mind ponders with worry that Izzy still thinks he has to earn food or kindness from them, but Stede chokes that back.The author turns back to his dishes. “You do realize you can always come help yourself to anything in the pantry or fridge, yes?”Stede wipes one of the plates but keeps an ear pricked to the hall. For a long time, nothing happens. Stede continues with the motions, just waiting and trying not to hold his own breath. Then, just as Stede is beginning to think Izzy has returned to the bedroom, he hears it – the sound of crutches on the hardwood coming closer followed by the fridge being opened with a sharp gasp.Their fridge is always well stocked, Stede knows. Cooking and baking have given Ed an outlet and purpose over the last few months that previously did not exist. Weekly and occasionally daily trips to the grocer have been common these last months, with Ed even ruminating about installing an herb garden in the back. To Stede, the contents of their refrigerator seem normal, but, now, he realizes it must seem a grotesquely lavish bounty to someone in Izzy’s shoes, an appallingly decadent waste of money.Izzy says nothing of it if he does think so. Instead, Stede catches the sounds of rummaging before the fridge door is closed. Stede fills the kettle, listening as Izzy makes his way to the table and sits. Then, there comes the crunch of teeth tearing into a fresh apple – one of the modest, Pink Ladies they picked up before the weekend. It may not be on his approved foods list, but Stede will not deny him, will not dare make Izzy feel at all uncomfortable in eating whatever is there in the house after the man has taken this step.Stede smiles to himself absently, feeling confident enough that Izzy will not bolt to give up his pretense of cleaning and turn to him. “I was just about to put the kettle on for tea. Could I fix you some, as well?”“Sure,” Izzy says around a big bite of apple; Stede realizes, at this rate, there will be nothing left of the fruit in no time. Stede sets the kettle and fetches two mugs, but, when he looks back to Izzy, the man is sinking his teeth into the core of the apple. “Oh, Israel, don’t do that, love…..”Stede is not sure when Izzy became ‘love,’ but he does not have the mind for that now. He does not have the time to wonder at it. Not after he spies the fear and need in Izzy. Not when Dr. Higgins’s frightful email echoes in Stede’s mind. There is a probability that Mr. Hands may engage in eating inappropriate food items, such as discards.The man in question blinks and looks up, frozen in place. Stede does not know if apple cores can be safely eaten; he, like most, has always assumed it unsafe or at least unwise to consume apple cores. The flavor too bitter, the texture too unforgiving on the teeth. Stede gently pries the core from Izzy’s pliant hand, trying not to see the shine of tears in Izzy’s eyes at being denied. As the author moves to discard the half-eaten core, Izzy drops his head, hiding beneath his loose, dark strands and trembling like a leaf. Stede tries to ignore it, going to the fridge for another Pink Lady; Stede cannot ignore the look of sheer, dumbfounded surprise, gratitude, and disbelief in Izzy’s eyes when he sets the fresh apple down on the table before him.A tear rolls down Izzy’s cheek, and Stede puts a hand on his shoulder tenderly. “Izzy. You don’t have to eat such things like that. Never again.”Stede steps back, mindful of the kettle simmering. For a moment, Izzy remains frozen in place, but, then, he reaches out and snatches the apple. This one, he eats more slowly, his intent gaze never leaving Stede even as the kettle whistles shrilly. His eyes never stray from Stede even when the author sets two mugs of steaming tea on the table and sits across from him. When he has finished the apple down to the core, this time, Izzy stares at Stede and mechanically sets the core down on the table.“Thank you, Izzy,” Stede tells him, meaning every word of it. “Are you still hungry?”Izzy’s lower lip quivers strangely, but he manages a tight nod.“Alright.”Stede rises and takes another apple from the fridge, pausing to ask, “Would you like another one or something else?”Izzy chokes on the words, either unable to make a decision or say it. Stede just hums to himself and offers Izzy the third apple. The man moves so hesitantly, so cautiously. He does not snatch it, but, instead, takes it gingerly, as though made from spun sugar or glass. Stede holds his gaze warmly, keeping his reactions small and measured, giving a reassuring bob of his head before resuming his place across the table. They sit in what feels like companionable silence for a while, Izzy munching carefully at the apple as Stede savors his tea. In another life, it might feel such a slice of life – a vignette of basic, natural domesticity. This is not that life. This feels monumental to Stede, just sitting with a conscious, aware, and whole Izzy at the table voluntarily for longer than a meal. It is a change in seasons, a turning tide. Stede hopes it heralds a good change.After he finishes the apple and sets the core down beside the other one, Izzy lets out a pregnant, wavering breath. “Can I… can I ask something?”Stede lifts a brow. “Of course.”Izzy inhales deeply, as though steeling himself, before asking, “What happened?”“Beg pardon?”Izzy works his jaw, playing the words in his mind before admitting, “Last night. I stepped out for a smoke, and, Ed, he found me on the stoop.”Stede winces visibly. Stede may have slept through all of this, but he can certainly guess where Izzy is going. Military training and instinct have never left Ed. While there are certainly many nights that find Ed too exhausted to do anything but sleep like the dead, at the hint of danger or uncertainty, Ed sleeps very lightly. If he heard Izzy stepping outside, Stede knows exactly what horrible things Ed must have thought. The awkwardness of Izzy’s tone and his care in phrasing only serves to confirm it.“He said he thought it was going to be like last time,” Izzy utters grimly, unable to lift his gaze. “What happened the ‘last time?’”Stede’s heart stutters in his chest, and he cradles his mug in both hands to ground himself with the warmth. “I’m not sure it’s my truth to share, Izzy.” When those dark eyes do flicker up to Stede with renewed suspicion, the author feels his resolve cracking. “What I mean to say is…. I wasn’t there. I didn’t know you or Ed at the time. I only met him a year or two later.”“But you do know what happened,” Izzy presses knowingly.Stede grimaces, feeling himself positively squirming under Izzy’s dark glare. “I do.” Stede turns away, unable to face Izzy’s probing stare. “Izzy, I’m just not sure now I’m the person who should be telling you.” When Izzy says nothing, Stede dares permit, “Izzy, you just up and left the hospital on your own, and Ed never saw you again. Not until Friday.”The smaller man chuffs. “That’s not it, and you know it, twat.” Izzy sighs and puts his head in his hands. “What did I do?”Stede breaks inside, all sense of resolution shattering. “Izzy…. You wrote him a note.” When Izzy looks up, his eyes teary once more, the author cannot bring himself to hold it in any more. “When you left, you had Ed’s gun.”Izzy’s eyes go wide with some emotion that Stede cannot place. Horror? Realization? Sorrow? Remembrance? Something. The color drains from his slack features, leaving Izzy pale and shaky looking. He reaches a hand tentatively to the scar at his brow, which seems to burn brighter. His hand quivers, along with Izzy’s entire body. Izzy looks down, a single tear falling down his cheek. His breathing grows heavy and wet, uncomfortable for Stede to even hear.“Fuck me,” Izzy finally grinds out, his voice shivery and sad.Stede steps around the table and crouches down beside the older man, putting a hand on Izzy’s good knee. “Izzy, I don’t judge you. I can’t pretend to even imagine what you were going through, having been in a traumatic accident and losing your leg like that.” Stede sighs. “Truth be told, I don’t know what I would have done if…”Stede feels an uncomfortable lump in his throat forming at the thought. Izzy has survived any number of horrors that Stede doubts he could bear individually. The accident, the amputation, the streets, everything. He does not know how Izzy has survived as long as he had. A part of Stede knows he could never make it as Izzy had on his own. He would have curled up in a ball and just died the first week, but Izzy did not. Another, deep part of Stede wonders if he would have done the same things as Izzy.When Stede refocuses on Izzy, the smaller man is shaking harder now, his shoulder jerking as though fighting back sobs. Stede curses himself silently, but he pulls Izzy into his arms. Surprisingly, Izzy falls into the touch, going easily into Stede’s broad arms. Izzy feels horribly, painfully wasted in that moment, vulnerable even. Izzy does not weep as openly as the other night, but Stede can feel him quaking in his arms again for a long time.When he does settle, Stede dares ask, “izzy, I hate to ask this, but I must.” Izzy tenses in his embrace, but Stede just holds him tighter. “I just need to know, do you remember what happened to Ed’s gun?”Izzy’s scrawny hand paws at Stede’s arm, as though desperate to be held closer. “Yeah.”Stede nods imploringly, “And?”Izzy sniffs, still desperately holding himself together. “Threw it in the river.” He touches the scar at his temple. “Must have been after.” Izzy sounds distant, withdrawn even. “I just… didn’t know what else to do with it.”Stede shushes him. “It’s okay.”Izzy draws a shuddering breath. “No wonder he freaked.”“Not your fault, Izzy.” Stede tells him firmly, rubbing Izzy’s knobby back. “You couldn’t have known.”Stede just holds Izzy for some time, stroking his bony back and arms tenderly as Izzy just trembles against him. The author knows what he must do, but he also knows Izzy needs this, this brief respite after forcing him to think back on what must have been such a terrifying moment to wake up bleeding with no memories. Izzy has been struggling with all this, Stede knows. His entire universe turned upside down the moment Ed found him in the boathouse, much as Stede knows Izzy’s note shifted and smashed Ed’s entire world.However, Stede cannot let it go, not forever. “Izzy, I need an honest answer, and it’s okay if it is not what you think I want to hear.” Izzy goes rigid again, as though expecting something awful, but Stede can stall for no longer. “Do you still feel like doing that? Are you still having-“ Stede swallows the growing discomfort in him to force it out “- suicidal thoughts?”Izzy remains very still in Stede’s arms, as though considering the possible ramifications of whatever answer he might give, but, then, he whispers like a confession, “Sometimes.” Something warm falls on Stede’s arm, a tear, but Izzy says it again, quieter but more certain, as though affirming, “Sometimes, yeah.”Stede grips Izzy tighter. “Okay, okay.” It is a lie, but Stede will never let Izzy know that. “I understand. I know this is hard, but I need you to do something for me.” When Izzy gives no response, no indication of hearing, Stede goes on, “If you ever feel that way again, I need you to tell someone. Anytime of the day. Any reason. Me. Ed. Anyone. I don’t care who. The moment you feel that way, you get someone. Can you do that?”“Yeah.” It is a defeated huff, but Stede will take that.Stede squeezes the man in his arms. “Thank you, Izzy.” He cards his fingers through Izzy’s hair, ignoring how greasy it feels to the touch already. “Thank you.”Izzy says nothing more, having seemingly reached some sort of limit in himself and retreated inwardly as a result. That is alright. Stede can and will carry that weight for Izzy, for Edward. When the man seems too dazed for anything further, Stede ferries him to the couch. There, Stede sets him down before grabbing the plush duvet once more and wrapping Izzy in it. Izzy’s eyes slide closed, either from mental and emotional exhaustion, or just relaxation. Stede cannot tell, not even when a contented sigh escapes Izzy.As an afterthought, Stede presses a chaste kiss to Izzy’s temple, to the scar, abruptly quite thankful that fate seemed fit to spare Izzy from his own hand.xxxxxxxxxxxThe gym only holds Ed’s focus for so long and for so far before darker thoughts take him. He is messing everything up. Just last night, Izzy held him on the front stoop, but, then, Ed immediately destroyed what little ground had been gained by losing his temper with the VA, by scaring Izzy. He is an animal, an absolutely beastly man.Ed does his virtual session with Dr. Buttons at the park on his phone. He neglects to mention the reason for the change of scenery, and Dr. Buttons fails to inquire. Either Dr. Buttons politely assumes Ed is out for privacy’s sake, or he does not feel it merits as high of scrutiny as the other things the therapist is picking up from Ed. They speak for a time through the session, but little of it sticks. It feels like Ed’s early sessions, when everything was too novel, too different to feel anything but trite, when Dr. Buttons’s advice had simply washed over him like the tide before rushing out once more.It is the first session in a very long time in which Edward feels he is wasting both of their time.After that, Ed dutifully texts Jim. I can’t do this. I keep fucking things up. Bound to happen. Jim’s reply is nearly immediate, as though they have been waiting all day beside their phone for just this moment. You’re in an impossible situation, man. You’re going to make mistakes. I thought I’d made progress last night. The words are hard to type, but Ed knows it to be true.And what do we say about progress? Ed can almost hear the sarcasm dripping from Jim’s text through his phone.Ed snorts to himself, feeling oddly settled by the fact that Jim can so effectively dissect and diffuse him. Progress is not linear. Bingo. There comes a pause, as tiny, grey ellipsis bounce in the corner of the phone; Jim typing. Your progress is not linear, and neither is Izzy’s going to be. You’re going to go forwards and backwards for a long time. Maybe even forever. It’s up to you to decide if it is worth that.
It is.
Jim can be a smug asshole. Then, you’d better get used to it. Another pause, followed by a quick, and almost perfunctory question. Is Izzy going to be seeing someone? Like a therapist?Haven’t gotten that far yet. Ed feels stupid at the admission, but there have simply been higher priorities to deal with over the weekend.
He should. Olu’s got a few options. We can talk about them before group.
Ed feels his chest tighten. For Ed to attend group, which he sorely needs to, Stede will have to drive him. And Ed knows neither he nor Stede will force a sickly man like Izzy to pointlessly ride along. That will leave Izzy alone in the house. Ed’s mind reels at the very notion, no matter how logical. The very thought steals Ed’s breath away.He manages to cobble himself back together to answer. Not going to group this week.
Bullshit. You’re going.
Ed sighs to himself, struggling to find a way to summarize his racing thoughts. No ride.
I’m driving, You’re going. No excuses.
Something in Ed goes fuzzy. A warm static fills his brain, not unpleasant. No, for, as Ed probes it, he finds the sensation to be comforting, hazy and endearing, something akin to the tingling of a good buzz. It has been a very long time since Ed has felt like he has friends – real friends who love and support him unconditionally. Stede loves him, naturally, but this is different in a way that Ed did not realize he had been missing.
Fine.
And, it is fine. The air rushes back into his lungs, like catching his breath from a deep dive. He can breathe. Ed can get up, straighten his leather jacket, and walk home feeling like a weight has been lifted from him. It is not much, but it carries him back to the house.Home finds Stede in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. When Ed goes to ask about Izzy, Stede merely tosses his head in the direction of the living room. Izzy is back on the couch, swaddled up in the ludicrous duvet and slumped against one of the arms. Ed stalks over and sits on the far side of the couch, just staring at the scrawny man in such an oversized, plush enrobing, drinking in how peaceful Izzy looks. When Ed sits, though, his weight disturbs the couch, and Izzy stirs. He gives a few coughs and looks across to Ed.“Hey,” Ed breathes, almost fearfully. “Sorry if I woke you up.” He looks down, suddenly feeling quite ashamed. “And, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. I’m trying to work on myself.”Izzy shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry.”“For what?”Izzy looks away, eyes briefly turning to Stede in the kitchen before settling on his own lap. “For last night.” Ed feels his heart lurch, thinking Izzy is apologizing for hugging him of all things, but Izzy continues rather matter-of-factly. “For making you think I was leaving again.” He lets out a breath. “For letting you think I was going to….”Those forbidden thoughts all hang there unspoken. Run away. Drink myself to oblivion. Kill myself. Any and all possibilities linger there when not said.“I’m sorry,” Izzy states firmly. “I don’t remember doing that to you, but I get why you’d think I was going to do it again.” Izzy’s hand brushes Ed’s for what feels like a fraction of a second before retreating once more. “And, I’m sorry.”Ed nods but offers, “Maybe we’re both sorry?”Izzy gives a tired, wistful smile at that before settling himself back to doze once more. Ed has not seen him smile since before the accident, nor for him. He has missed it. The way Izzy’s cheeks crinkle his eyes, the way they seem to sparkle from it. Ed wishes he had not taken that smile for granted for so long as those years ago. Ed wishes he had been brave in the Navy, that he had just taken Izzy and ran with it, just so they could have had more time. He wants so desperately to be brave in this moment, to hold Izzy and kiss him, do something before Izzy drifts back to sleep or reverts back to the distrust that has held the weekend hostage.“Iz, can I?” Ed bites his lip, afraid of asking, terrified of the answer. “Can I hold your hand?”It seems the safest option, the lowest risk. Without even opening his eyes, Izzy gives a nod and snakes his hand out from under the duvet. Ed takes his hand like a precious thing. Izzy feels gossamer and light in his hold, almost unreal. In the past, Izzy’s handshake had been firm and reassuring, his grip steady on the rare occasions they sat and just held hands together. Izzy’s hand now feels as though Edward could crush it if he squeezes too hard, so he just threads his fingers with Izzy’s.Ed curls on his side and draws Izzy’s hand close to his chest. He just stares, drinking in the sight of Izzy beside him after all this time. Ed does not even realize he is drowsing. He is not even aware when Stede comes to check on them, spies the tender moment, and sneaks a photo on his phone.Stede does wake rouse them for dinner, followed by one of his sappy Christmas movies, before they retire for the night.In the middle of the night, though, Ed is awoken by the sound of the door once more – this time, the back door leading out onto the patio. He holds himself frozen, just listening. And, five minutes later, the door creaks once more open and shut. Ed feels his heart flutter to hear Izzy’s crutches coming down the hall before receding into the guest bedroom. He snuggles closer to Stede and sleeps more soundly than he has in many years after that.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Wednesday settles strangely over the house.It begins quietly, as Ed wakes before anyone, curled up with Stede in the master bedroom. Stede faces him, looking so very tranquil. Ed used to do this often, waking early, closer to 4:30AM on his own without prompting by any alarm clock, his body trained to it by years of regimen. When Ed and Stede first moved in together, Ed would lie awake for hours, afraid to close his eyes that Stede would vanish just like Izzy. Over their years together, the time necessary for this vigil drew shorter and shorter, some undetermined length of hours or minutes before Ed could breathe and relax once more to slumber. In most recent months, Ed has merely woke before almost immediately returning to sleep.Wednesday is different. On Wednesday, Ed feels hurled back to those early days, when he held such disbelief that another human could want him as Stede does. He remembers the unusual sense of wonder that someone could love a pathetic, beastly creature as he. In those days. Ed had marveled at his own ability to feel such affection and devotion for another person after Izzy. He just lies there and gazes at Stede, feeling both such endearment and such worry.It is in those quiet, predawn hours that Ed realizes they will have to address their relationship at some point, that Ed may have to make some sort of decision. A pit wells in his stomach to recall that Izzy and he are still technically wed, even if Izzy seems to not want him. And Stede? Ed cannot so easily abandon him, especially when the author seems to be the only person Izzy will offer any trust. Ed bites the inside of his cheek. He is not ready to consider such things, not yet. Until then, Ed will take what he can, savoring these soft moments.Sometime after dawn breaks, judging by the light peeking around the curtains, Stede stirs. “Hey.”Ed’s heart warms. “Hey, yourself.”“What time is it?”Ed wraps his arms around Stede and pulls himself close. “Too early. Go back to sleep.”For a moment, Stede nuzzles into him, as though obeying, but, then, he stills and murmurs, “Ed, there’s something I need to tell you.”Ed stiffens unconsciously, but he bids Stede, “What is it?”And, then, Stede tells him everything, the whole gory thing. The apples and the half-eaten core. The gun discarded and forgotten in the river. Izzy’s admission of still having occasional self-destructive thoughts. Ed’s stomach roils with nausea as Stede spills everything out. Even if Izzy promised Stede to get someone, it terrifies and sickens Ed to consider the many possibilities of losing Izzy again.When Stede has finished, Ed can only swear. “Fuck.”“Indeed,” Stede breathes with a tone that suggests he is trying to be light, but he sounds very jittery, shaky, and small. “Oh, Ed, what can we even do?”Ed frowns to himself. “We get him help. Jim said Oluwande has some resources. I’ll try the VA again.” He kisses Stede’s forehead, suddenly feeling rather soppy. “We’ll get there.”It feels like a vow, even if Ed is not sure he can provide it.xxxxxxxxxxxIzzy does not wake on his own in the morning, nor does he stir when the coffee pot is finished brewing and tendrils of rich aroma snake through the house. It concerns Stede, this change in the pattern that has already been building around them, especially when there are things that need to be discussed with Izzy. The man in question does not even rouse when Ed rattles about in the kitchen to start fixing breakfast.Stede knocks on the door to Izzy’s room and garners a groan and venomous curse from within. “Fuck off.”“Izzy, breakfast is almost ready.” Stede calls through the door and pauses before pointing out, “You still need to be taking your medicine with food.”“Fucking hell,” Izzy spits from within, sounding more tired than angry.Stede winces at this return to of the surly, bitter old man, more Sailor than Izzy. “May I come in?”The grumbled response that comes is resigned at best. “S’your house.”The author purses his lips together. He wants to say that this is Izzy’s home as well, but Stede knows it is too soon, too early to be saying such things. Instead, Stede holds his tongue and slips inside. The bed lies empty, but that is hardly surprising now. Unsurprising, but unsettling all the same.He crosses the room and kneels beside the bed. Underneath the frame, Izzy is wedged. He looks pale and clammy, his expression drawn and tight. He seems curled up impossibly tightly even considering the tiny space. Dark bags hang under Izzy’s eyes, as though the man has not slept in days again. Worry nags at the back of Stede’s mind. Izzy had seemed so much better the day before, sitting at the table, asking questions, and talking even about his own struggles; now, he appears entirely the worse for wear.“Izzy, are you feeling alright?” It sounds profoundly foolish to ask, but Stede does all the same.Izzy snaps, “Fuck off, m’fine.” When Stede reaches to touch his brow, to check for a fever, Izzy bats his hand away fiercely. “I said I’m fine.”“Okay,” Stede concedes, backing away. “Well, breakfast will be up shortly.” He bites his lip before asking, “Do you need a hand?”Izzy’s snarls, “What part of ‘Fuck off, I’m fine,’ are you not getting?”“Fair enough,” Stede offers in surrender.He goes back to the kitchen, but a part of his focus remains trained on the sounds from the guest bedroom. Izzy grunts with effort as he moves, crawling out from under the bed and clambering to his crouches. There occasionally comes a tired exhalation punctuated by hushed profanities and stifled coughs. Izzy must take a break on his crutches at the doorframe to the guestroom before coming down the hall to the kitchen and generally collapsing into one of the chairs. It worries Stede; Izzy has been getting around on the crutches fine for the last day and a half.Stede exchanges a nervous glance with Ed. Ed raises a brow at it as well, but merely pushes a plate into Stede’s hands. Pancakes. He jerks his head in Izzy’s direction, marching orders enough for Stede. Ed intends this first batch for Izzy while he continues to fry up more. The author ferries the plate to the table, to Izzy’s spot, noting as he sets it down that Izzy’s left hand grips his own thigh with white knuckles.Stede sits and waits. The plan had sounded so very simple in bed earlier. Ed would make pancakes, give everyone a chance to settle into their morning routine. Hard to be too terribly upset with a full belly of good, fresh, hot food. Then, they could talk about things, about finding a therapist for Izzy. They both know from their own experiences with Dr. Buttons and Dr. John that such a process must be voluntary to make the process worth the time and effort. Ed in particularly wants this conversation to be fruitful.However, watching Izzy, Stede feels dread pooling in his belly, all the hope from the morning dying a grizzly death. He seems withdrawn and haggard this morning in a way the nags at Stede. Izzy manages a few paltry bites before halting, his throat working as the color drains from his face. He pushes the plate away, looking almost ill. Stede frowns deeply. Izzy cannot afford to miss many meals if any considering his condition.Unable to get Ed’s attention in the kitchen, Stede asks softly. “Izzy, is there something wrong?”The man in question shakes his head slightly, as though every fiber of his being is consumed with holding back his own nausea. “M’fine.”“Is there something else I can get you?” Stede offers. “Something else we can make?”The author expects another swear word, another profane dismissal. Yet, that is not what he gets. Instead, Stede just sees the discomfort rolling through Izzy. The sickness in his eyes, the way Izzy continues to hold the remnants of his leg.“No,” Izzy breathes in a rasped hush.Stede purses his lips together, but Izzy will offer nothing more. When Stede glances to Ed, his lover seems to have no suggestions, nothing to offer in his own worry. Stede concedes in this but asks if Izzy will stay out with him in the living room today while Ed goes to the gym and does his virtual session with Dr. Buttons. Stede frames it as keeping him company, but he catches Ed’s attention with a knowing gaze. The other man wears a stern expression, but Stede knows it is a mask for his own worry. Whatever is going on with Izzy has Ed equally unsettled.Izzy gives a tiny nod. “Yeah.”Izzy permits Stede to help him to the couch and wrap him in a warm throw blanket. Then, he fetches a cleaning pale just in case Izzy should need to vomit. As Izzy settles, Stede also makes tea. It gives him something to do with his hands, something to feel like he is actually doing right by Izzy. Stede finds his own appetite deadened by the morning. Ed sits to mechanically eat the pancakes, but Stede catches him stealing glances to the living room. Neither seems to know what exactly to do with Izzy shutting them out so effectively.When Stede does set a mug down on the end table, Izzy grunts in a perfunctory manner. “Thanks.”Stede returns to the table with Ed, who appears to be rubbing his own knee idly with his left hand as he eats with his right hand. Ed seems distracted, his focus not on himself or his breakfast, but on watching Izzy without being obvious. Stede wonders if Ed has any awareness of his actions. It is a curious mirror of Izzy gripping his own thigh in a way that stirs Stede. The author feels abruptly and appallingly stupid.“Ed, is your knee bothering you?” he ventures softly, carefully.Ed shrugs. “Bit, but not much.”Stede pulls out his phone and checks the weather. It is currently nice now, but that is to change. Rain threatens for later that day. Ed always feels the pressure shifting in his joint. He often does not always seem aware of it, but Stede has come to learn to spot the signs. The tightness to Ed’s expression, the curt manner of speaking compared to his usual warmth, the nausea that strikes when the pain becomes too much to just swallow whole. It has been a hard weekend between the snowstorm and carrying Izzy as far as Ed had, even before the changing barometric pressure around them. Stede cannot imagine if it hurts Ed as bad as it does how Izzy must feel. Izzy’s sudden sullen behavior and inability to eat make so much sense it troubles Stede that it took so long to realize.“Dear me,” Stede huffs at his own stupidity.Ed glances at Stede’s phone and seems to become aware of the dull ache in his own leg. “Shit.”Ed rushes to Izzy’s side, fussing over him as Izzy grouses savagely and pulls away. Stede does nothing so foolish or frivolous. He has tended to Ed’s own aching leg through foul weather enough to have it down to a science. While Ed wastes his time and energy, Stede calmly and dutifully fetches a few over the counter painkillers from the medicine cabinet, the reusable heat pack from under the sink, and a glass of water from the kitchen.“Here,” Stede orders, shoving the glass into one of Izzy’s hands and the pills in the other. “Take them.” Izzy’s eyes narrow uncertainly, and Stede sighs. “Your leg is hurting, isn’t it?”The smaller man just stiffens before giving a tense nod and a glum, “Yeah.”“Take them, Izzy,” Stede presses. “Please?”Izzy nods and does as Stede bids. As he does, the author takes the heat pack and snaps the activator. Stede reaches for the blanket, to lift it from Izzy’s legs as he has done so many times for Ed. Only, when his fingers reach the blanket, Izzy gives a strangled, hoarse sound, something like a startle or maybe a protest as he unconsciously jerks away.Stede freezes consciously. “Izzy, may I?” Izzy sniffs as though mustering a defense from his own ire, but it sounds an act. Stede spies the faint trembles in his arms, the way his brow knits and lifts. He treads dangerous waters with Izzy in this state, and Stede knows it. Izzy is in pain, feeling sick, and on guard, and Stede knows this to be too appallingly close granted their limited experiences with one another. He lifts the heat pack slowly to demonstrate intent.Ed breathes very gently behind Stede’s shoulder, “Heat helps, Izzy.”“What would you know about it helping?” Izzy snarls the words, like a cornered wild dog. “You’ve still got both your legs.”Ed claps his hand over his mouth, stifling down a despairing sound. It may not have been an accusation, but Izzy’s words strike Ed just the same, cleaving his heart in twain. Ed dimly knows that Izzy does not and cannot mean it that way, but it feels so all the same. He retreats to the bedroom as though struck.“Fuck,” Izzy mutters into his own hand, either pained or ashamed.Stede winces sympathetically, but he ignores the comment and holds up the heat pack. “Just, try it, please?”Izzy lifts the blanket for Stede this time of his own accord. As Stede reaches, Izzy raises what is left of his leg so the author can settle the pack beneath it. It feels oddly intimate in a way Stede cannot fathom. When Izzy settles his leg back down with a low moan, Stede pulls the blanket back over Izzy’s leg and smooths it down before looking up to Izzy’s face. The tension in his features has softened slightly as Izzy sags into the couch. It reminds Stede so very much of Ed in these moments, when his stubbornness has finally waned enough to permit someone caring for him.Izzy’s eyes slide shut, and he whispers in a way that feels so very tender and genuine. “Thank you, Stede.”Stede feels himself melting once more at the use of his first name. “You are welcome, love.” He dares touch Izzy arm briefly. “Izzy, please tell us when you’re hurting.” Those dark eyes crack open, almost suspiciously, but Stede just tells him, “Please, Israel. You shouldn’t have to feel that way if there’s something we can do for you.”“Yeah. I can do that.”Stede brushes Izzy’s dark hair from his brow and behind his ear. “Okay. Why don’t you get some rest, see if the heat helps?”But Izzy is already putting his shoulder to Stede. xxxxxxxxxxxEd feels mortified, absolutely mortified, and nauseous beyond compare. Izzy is right. Ed still has two good legs, even if one occasionally acts up. He is worlds better off than his husband.At first, he feels panicked, depression swelling up in him like a whirlpool, but, then, that drains away. Instead, as the sorrow floods away, Ed feels anger in its place. It is not the same anger that has held him on and off through the years, that blind, pointless and rudderless rage. The anger coalesces into something different, a fierce, hot determination that Ed has not felt since retiring.Ed has failed Izzy miserably for years, for decades even; he will not do that again.Ed spends the rest of the morning on the phone in the bedroom, fighting with whoever will listen long enough at various governmental offices. Izzy needs so much, so much care. He deserves so much. Ed gives no quarter on that day.xxxxxxxxxxxMindful that Ed may need some time to compose himself, Stede quietly cleans the breakfast muss. He tiptoes through the kitchen, keeping an ear out for Izzy. Yet, it feels like busy work at best when Stede knows both Ed and Izzy are hurting in their own, separate ways – ways Stede can do little to salve.After a bit, Stede does dare venture to the bedroom to check on Edward. Yet, to his surprise, Ed is not curled up and crying or just disassociating in the tub as the author expected. Instead, Ed perches on the bed, a fierce resolve scrawled on his features as he works. He seems calm, settled in his task. One hand holds his phone, while the other scribbles on scrap paper or occasionally taps out on keys on his laptop. Stede raises a brow, but Ed holds up a finger and murmurs something to the person on the phone.“Can you hold on for one second?” Then, abruptly, Ed glances up. “Stede, did you hear anything from the legal team, yet?”Stede pulls his phone and checks his e-mail. “Not yet.”“Okay. Let me know when you hear something.”Stede nods slowly and retreats as Ed returns his attention to whoever he is speaking with on the phone, his droning cadence almost reassuring and soothing to the author. Ed is a grown adult and seems to be in a reasonable state of mind. When Ed is ready, Stede knows he will find him. Instead, Stede works at the kitchen table, alternating between his novel and stealing glances at Izzy. The smaller man remains curled on the couch with the heat pack. Stede does not have the heart to disturb him for some time, wondering if Izzy is dozing or just letting the heat do its work.The first few droplets of rain from the coming storm pelt the patio doors, and Stede sighs in relief. The storm will break, and the pressure along with it. Just have to get Izzy through the storm.xxxxxxxxxxxThe VA seems much more amenable to Ed now that the preternatural calm of a task has settled over him. Ed has not felt this way in many years, calm, collected, and completely devoted to his task. It reminds Ed weirdly of his time as a captain. Routine and daily roles kept Ed focused, gave his mind and body a sharpness and clarity that Ed has struggled to maintain since retiring. For years, Ed has thought it was because of Izzy, because of the loss, but, now, Ed knows it is because he has simply allowed himself to drift aimlessly since retiring.The woman he chats with offers Ed several different resources. She listens to him now that Edward has the peace of mind to speak evenly and carefully compared to previous attempts. She lends an empathetic ear and offers fantastic suggestions, particularly when it comes to handling the issue of Izzy’s legal status.“Hmmm, that does sound like a pickle,” the woman mutters. “Your husband was a commissioned officer, yeah?”“Yeah, uh, yes,” Ed answers quickly.
“So, he would have had to get security clearance, right?”
Ed nods despite knowing she cannot see him. “We both did.”He can almost hear her satisfied smile. “Then, you and your husband were both fingerprinted. You can file a request for a copy of his card. Technically, the card’s only good for twelve months, but it should be good enough to get the ball rolling on reversing the death certificate if you can get a new card.” It seems so shockingly easy when she says it. He listens extremely carefully, taking detailed notes. Ed asks what feels like a hundred questions before she lets him off the phone. Ed takes everything she can give him, this first hint at a true bearing.After that call, he phones a number he has never used; Oluwande answers all too eagerly and cheerfully, “Ed! How are you doing?” “Is it weird if I say ‘Alright, for now?’”Oluwande chuckles, but it is a carefree, warm sound. “I would say that’s a fair and judicious answer. Jim told me you might be calling.” “Traitor,” Ed teases as a rote. “We’re having troubles getting Izzy seen by anyone without insurance. I don’t think he can wait until after the holidays.”Ed does not say the quiet part out loud; Edward cannot bear to wait until after the holidays Not knowing that Izzy is still suffering inside and out despite the creature comforts of the cottage. Ed cannot stomach the thought that Izzy may do something rash again, that he would be powerless again in the face of whatever troubles lurk in his husband’s heart and mind.
“How is Izzy?”
“Today’s not a good day,” Edward offers, unsure if Oluwande means physically or mentally.“That is also fair,” Oluwande comments with a knowing tone. “There will be good days and bad alike, and you know it from your own struggles. But, more to the point, what do you need from me? Do you need someone to listen to you or someone to offer suggestions?” “Neither. Jim said you might have some low cost or free resources?”Oluwande sounds surprised by Ed’s pragmatic response, but he says, “Of course. Let me put a few options together and send them over to you.” Between the woman with the VA and Oluwande, Ed feels cautiously optimistic. “Thanks man, I mean it.”“Don’t mention it.” Then, Oluwande adds, “But we will be seeing you at group on Friday, yes?”Ed snorts. “Pretty sure Jim won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Good. I’ll e-mail you in a bit. Take care, Ed.”
An eerie sense of accomplishment settles over Edward. It is the first time in a week he has felt like any headway has been made, and, all it took was Izzy slapping him in the face with the loss of his leg. It hurts, yes, but those harsh words distilled everything down with such fervency that Ed has missed from his military career.  In the kitchen and living room, Ed can hear Stede clucking over Izzy as the other man’s rasping voice answers in low tones. Ed smiles to himself. Stede is such a good man. He has taken care of Ed on so many occasions when his own knee throbbed and ached beyond measure, fetching the heat pack, pain pills, and even drawing hot baths.He rubs his knee for a moment as the thought settles over Ed. The heat pack does help, but it is nothing compared to a good soak. Stede’s ridiculous tub has been a godsend on many days, letting Ed submerge himself up to his chest in nearly scalding hot water. Ed has spent hours upon hours relaxing in the heat until the muscles of his knee loosen and relax finally on bad days.As quickly as the notion of offering Izzy a bath enters his mind, Ed dismisses it. The master bath is not designed to be accessible. Someone will likely have to stay with Izzy, help him in and out of the tub. Ed cannot imagine that will go well – Izzy needing to be nude in front of either of these seeming strangers to him no matter the promised benefits of a good soak in a hot bath. No. Ed cannot chance spooking Izzy granted the limited history Ed knows now.But, then again, when Ed considers it further, the benefit of the bath is not getting clean but in soaking. Izzy does not have to be naked to feel the heat. Resolved by this notion, Ed digs through his drawers and finds a pair of black swimming trunks from their last holiday to Barbados. Then, Ed rifles through Stede’s clothes until he finds his prize – a sun shirt or rash guard. They had both worried about Stede’s fair skin under the unforgiving Caribbean sun, so a water shirt was in order. They have not used it since.Thus equipped, Ed stalks out to the living room. “Izzy, I know you’re probably still hurting, but I think I know what might help.”Izzy quirks brow, too tired from the pain for any sort of insult or biting quip. “Yeah?”Ed nods. “A nice, hot bath always helps.”Izzy seems skeptical at first before raising his shoulders in a constrained shrug. “Haven’t had a bath in…. in ever.” Then, something distrustful flickers in his expression. “No.”Ed feels his heart crack, but he has planned for this. “No, no, not like that.” Ed holds out the swim trunks and the sun shirt. “Just a soak. Nothing funny.”Izzy breathes slowly, forcibly before letting it all out. “Fine.”The smaller man levers himself off the couch on his crouches, his movements stiff and ungainly as he heads to the guest bedroom to change. Ed follows slowly behind for a few strides, intending to start the tap in the master bath. Then, he spies the tension still evident in Izzy’s neck and jaw, even from over the man’s shoulders. He sees the way Izzy hangs his head as he goes, and it nearly breaks Ed. Izzy may have verbally accepted that this is just a hot soak and nothing more, but some part of him clearly still disbelieves.Ed stops dead in his tracks, takes a few steps back, and calls, “Stede, mate? Could you fix the bath for Izzy?” Izzy even freezes and looks back at Ed, but he just offers a wry smile. “Stede really does it best. Got all these nice salts and shit. Makes it super relaxing.”“Of course, darling,” Stede answers, already brushing by him towards the master suite.Izzy seems to start, but Ed just tries to keep an even expression as he gestures with a sweeping arm towards Izzy’s room. “Go ahead. You get changed. Let Stede know when you’re ready.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Think I’ll pop out to the gym for a bit.”Something loosens in Izzy’s stance, and Ed knows he made the right choice for once. His heat flutters at the thought, even if it means offering Izzy more and more space. He does not tarry for fear of ruining the moment. Instead, Ed grabs his coat and an umbrella before tucking out.xxxxxxxxxxxDrawing a bath for Izzy feels like home. Stede has done it so many times for Edward, selecting the most lovely of salts, bath bombs, and oils. He has delighted in Ed’s reactions to the myriad of scents and sensations available. The author briefly ponders what sort of aromas Izzy may tolerate before settling on a calming lavender salt.As the water runs, Stede catches the sound of Izzy’s crutches on the floor of the master suite behind him. He turns and spies Izzy behind him. He stands in black swim trunks and a swim shirt that Stede recognizes from a tropical vacation. The baggy clothes hang off Izzy miserably, the swim trunks cinched up tightly to keep from slipping right off his bony hips. They make Izzy seems scrawnier somehow. Or, perhaps Izzy simply looks washed out against the bold, teal color of the swim shirt.“Oh, Izzy. Just in time.” Izzy’s jaw works, but Stede just cuts off the tap and goes on softly, “It might be awkward to step over the side of the tub. Why don’t you sit on the edge?”Izzy tenses, but he complies, trembling slightly as he moves. Stede does not miss how much it looks like Izzy is coming for his own execution. Stede winces. This may be too much, too far. Even with the protective layering of the swim attire and with the promise of a soothing bath, this may be pushing Izzy beyond his limits.Stede feels his face falling. “Izzy, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” He puts a hand on Izzy’s shoulder, feeling the shivering beneath his fingers. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever.”Izzy nods but seems incapable of voicing anything at the moment. Stede bites his own lip, considering turning Izzy away to go change. However, Izzy just manages to push past the author and plunk himself down on the side of the tub. Stede marvels. The bravery it must be taking of Izzy in this moment, the trust. Stede adores him for it.“If you set your crutches here-“ Stede gestures a bit further down the tub, still well within Izzy’s reach should he panic or change his mind “- and take my arm, I can help you in.”Izzy wordlessly does, allowing Stede to help him turn and slide into the hot water. As soon as he does, though, Izzy lets out a deep, throaty moan. Stede beams. It is the same sound that Ed makes on bad days when Stede sets a bath for him. It is also the same sound Stede prides himself on being able to draw from Ed in the bedroom, often just from massaging Ed’s knee quite non-romantically as a movie plays in the background. As Izzy relaxes into the tub with a bony weary sigh, his eyes slide shut.Stede smiles to himself. “Is there anything else I can get you?” Izzy shakes his head, and Stede grins. “I could put on some music, if you’d like?”“None of that fucking Christmas shit.” The words are too relaxed and completely devoid of the sarcasm Stede knows would be dripping from Izzy at any other time.Stede chortles. “No. This is meant to be relaxing. What sort of music do you like?”Izzy seems to be considering before saying in a small voice, “Edith Piaf.”It rocks Stede. Izzy has always seemed like the hard sort of man, the sort of fellow who would prefer heavy metal over anything else, even for relaxation. Stede had not expected such a sentimental and romantic answer from someone like Izzy Hands. However, considering what feels such an honest view of the real man behind the gruff exterior, Stede will not dismiss him in this small frivolity. The author pulls his own phone out, quickly finds a playlist of Edith Piaf, hits play, and sets the thing on the vanity.Stede turns to Izzy, smiling earnest to see the ease settling on Izzy’s usually tight and weathered features. Were this Edward, Stede would be offering to wash his hair, relishing in massaging Ed’s scalp before smoothing in a luscious hair mask. However, this already feels a hard-won victory in trust. Perhaps one day, Izzy will permit Stede to indulge in that sort of tenderness. For now, the author just sets a few of his more sumptuous soaps in reach and savors this moment of quiet respite.“Okay. You enjoy your soak. Yell if you need anything.”Stede leaves him long enough to bring his laptop to the master bedroom, unable to be too far should Izzy need him.Izzy only shouts for Stede after an hour, when the water has gone tepid at best. By then, he looks looser, more pliant. Stede helps shoulder his weight out of the high rimmed tub and passes him a towel. Then, he fetches a fresh set of clothes for Izzy and steps out for the man to dress in privacy. Stede half expects Izzy to retire to his bedroom, but, instead, Izzy comes out to the couch, to the corner that has become Izzy’s.Then, and only then, does Izzy call out, “Alright. Which tired old holiday film are you going to subject me to now?”Suddenly, all the wrongs of the morning fade away, and everything feels just perfectly normal.xxxxxxxxxxxWhen Ed returns from the gym to find Stede and Izzy sprawled on the couch, a Christmas movie on the television and Stede typing away at his novel, he asks Izzy, “How was the bath?”“Restorative,” Izzy concedes in a hush.Ed wants to say “Told you so,” but he does not. Instead, he just feels the warm tug in his chest at his heart. He nestles himself on the couch next to Stede and enjoys the softness, the openness he sees around him. Ed lets it wash over him until it is time for his virtual session with Dr. Buttons.That night, at dinner, Ed dares chance mentioning therapy to Izzy. The Izzy of old might have balked, refused, cursed Edward out. This Izzy has none of those reserves, particularly after the day he has had. This Izzy seems to listen listlessly as Ed lists out various options Oluwande had sent him. Izzy nods slowly at the options, his gaze tinted with deep consideration that he has not afforded Ed in years.When they all retire for the evening and he curls about Stede, Ed dares feel hopeful.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Thursday passes solemnly, with Izzy’s leg still troubling him to do much more than lie about the house. Neither Stede nor Ed begrudge him. They try to be supportive, providing anything Izzy could want before he could even think to ask. He does seem more receptive, which Stede counts that as an improvement to their situation. The heated blanket that arrives on Thursday seems to help as well, with Izzy lazing into the warmth graciously, and he manages a few nutritional shakes they had ordered that Dr. Higgins had recommended.By Friday, the front has passed fully. Izzy seems better, more together now that the barometric pressure has shifted once more. Even Izzy’s cough seems so much better now that he has had several days of antibiotics and care. He sits and has breakfast with Ed and Stede without complaint. Afterwards, Izzy thumbs through the list of Oluwande’s recommendations that Ed scrawled down on a scrap of paper, his face set with deep concentration. Izzy seems to be sincerely thinking about each.That illusion is broken when Izzy sighs and shakes his head. “Fuck’s the difference between any of these?”Ed toys with his coffee mug, pointedly averting his gaze. “Different options.”“Different techniques,” Stede supplies helpfully. “Different therapeutic philosophies and processes.”Izzy scowls intensely, the expression so familiar that it tugs at Ed’s heart. It is all too familiar to him, even through all the missing years. The Izzy Hands Ed met and fell in love with had indeed been an irritable, difficult man, the sort of person who viewed everything in life as a personal afront, a challenge. He had been quiet, sullen, and sarcastic to a fault. This Izzy reminds Ed of that Izzy, the Izzy he remembers practically burning holes through nautical charts with his glare.“You could just pick a random one. Give ‘em a try,” Ed suggests gently.Stede nods encouragingly. “Oh, yes! Excellent idea, Ed.” Edward ducks his head and flushes, but Stede just goes on, “Picking a counselor isn’t like getting a tattoo. You can always try a few and see who clicks.”Izzy snorts derisively. “Make it sound like dating.”“Kind of is, Iz,” Ed tells him.Izzy looks to Edward incredulously, and Ed ducks his shoulders a bit more. It had taken time for Ed to find a good fit for himself. Dr. Buttons is the fourth therapist Ed tried. The first two hyper-focused on Ed’s military career as a “manifestation of his anger;” they simply could not fathom that Edward had honestly been too broke coming out of high school to do anything other than joining the armed services with his foster family champing at the bit to toss him out. The third had just been too young, making it impossible to open up or make any meaningful growth with someone Ed viewed as practically a teenager. Finding Dr. Buttons had felt like and continues to feel like a blessing.“Could always look them up,” Ed offers. “See if there’s anything that makes an impression.”Izzy looks up as though struck by a lightning bolt, as though the thought honestly never crossed his mind. Ed winces inwardly. Hellkat Maggie may have a cellular phone, but Izzy does not. Izzy had left his mobile in the loft before he walked out on that day. Ed wonders if there was ever a time that Izzy had access to a cell of any kind in the last few years, granted how dumbfounded he seems now.Before Ed can say anything though, Izzy regroups, pulling himself back together and muttering, “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”“I can lend you my laptop,” Ed tells him. “Hardly use the damn thing except for virtual sessions, but I can do that on my phone.”Izzy nods. “That’d work.”xxxxxxxxxxxIn the afternoon, before kissing Stede on the forehead and retreating to the bedroom for his virtual session, Ed brings his laptop out to the living room for Izzy. Stede already sits at the table at his own computer. He is a bit behind on his target for the month – understandable all things considered. Even Stede’s agent and publisher have both said as much when he emailed each earlier in the week to update them on progress, but he knows both assume it is because of the impending holiday week. So, while Izzy looks up the many therapists and counselors Oluwande suggested, Stede hammers away at another chapter.Occasionally, Stede glances over to Izzy. It is hard not to look, especially considering that less than a week ago, Izzy or Sailor was out there in the cold. It sometimes feels and looks surreal to see him in their home, especially looking slightly less worn. His color has improved some, and his cough seems to be subsiding a bit more each day. It seems an honest-to-God miracle to Stede sometimes.After a few minutes of pecking away fruitlessly at the keys, Izzy huffs under his breath. “Fucking memory care?” That raises Stede’s brow, and Izzy grouses, “Don’t have fucking Alzheimer’s.”“Nobody said you did,” Stede pipes up.Izzy gives a small cough and gestures to the monitor. “This fucker deals with it.”The author rises, strides over, and plunks himself down on the couch beside Izzy to view the website. “No, look. He also works with memory deficits and dissociative amnesia.” Izzy scoffs next to him, but Stede ignores the petty sound. “If you don’t think he’ll work for you, don’t put him on your list.” Stede looks over the list, picks the next name, and types it into his own laptop. “Oh! See, this one specializes in complex-PTSD and related memory issues. Might be a better option, yeah?”Izzy blinks slowly, but he makes no move to continue to his search. Instead, he just stares with hollow, dark eyes. Stede holds himself still, holding his breath, mindful that this is likely not just about the counselors’ scope of practice.When Izzy does speak, it is low and timid, hesitant and almost teary. “What if….. what if I don’t want to remember?”Stede feels his heart rend. “Izzy, you can’t mean that.”When Izzy does look up, his eyes shine brightly; his reaches with a shaking hand for the scar on his head. “I did this.” Stede’s lip quivers, but Izzy just says, “Whatever was going on, I didn’t want to be a part of it enough to try to….” Izzy does not finish the words; there is no need. “Why would I want to remember anything like that? Why would anyone?”“Izzy….” Stede breathes.Something in the man frays, and he shakes his head, shaking back tears and choking out a toothless, “Oh, fuck off.”“I will do no such thing,” Stede tells him firmly. “May I hold your hand?” Izzy gives a minute, tired shrug, and Stede threads his fingers with Izzy’s. “Izzy, I think you want to remember. No. I know some part of you wants to remember, to understand who you are.”Izzy chuffs incredulously. “Yeah?”“Yes,” Stede insists warmly, giving Izzy’s hand a squeeze. “You aren’t a prisoner. Even though it would break Ed’s heart and make me rather upset as well, you can leave at any time you want. You could have told the hospital staff to give us the boot last week, but you didn’t.” Stede gestures to the laptop in Izzy’s hands. “Ed is under the impression that you wouldn’t be interested in therapy, but, look at you. You’re putting in the effort to go through the list and try to find one to give a go.” Stede reaches up with his free hand, sweeping a stray lock of hair behind Izzy’s ear. “See? Can’t fool me.”Izzy shudders beside him. “Easy for you to say.”“It is,” Stede softly concedes. “I know it is. I wasn’t there.” Stede frowns gently. “Have you talked with Ed about this?”The author knows the answer for himself, but he asks all the same.Izzy gives a tight shake of his head. “No.”“You should,” Stede tells him mildly.“I can’t.”Stede feels himself wincing despite himself. “Izzy, I know you two don’t have the perfect past. Who among us does? But he spoke of you, frequently.” Izzy gapes, but Stede just goes on. “Told me enough to know you two had plenty of good times together.” Stede gives Izzy’s hand another small squeeze. “Ask him. Might make remembering seem more… I don’t know. Worth it.”Izzy just makes a noncommittal hum.“Think about it, yes?” When Izzy nods, Stede beams. “Why don’t we look up a few more options.”And, they do just that.xxxxxxxxxxxAfter dinner, Jim picks Ed up to go to group. Stede already informed Roach he cannot be there for kitchen, but Jim remains firm in their stance that Ed cannot skip group. They stand awkwardly in the entry as Ed fetches his coat and boots, before seeming to notice Izzy seated on the couch and wrapped up in a fleece throw blanket. Jim smiles almost warmly. As Ed laces his boots up, he watches the two curiously.“Hey, Izzy,” Jim says simply in greeting, although it sounds weirdly hollow and uncertain.Izzy inclines his head strangely, his brow knitting. “Am I supposed to know you, too?”Jim gives a weak chuckle. “Not exactly. You weren’t exactly with it when we met last week.” Jim takes a few steps forward and extends a hand. “Ed and I go to the same group. I’m Jim.”Izzy shakes their hand. “Izzy.”“Good to finally meet you for real,” Jim announces earnestly; when Izzy’s eyes narrow with what might be distrust, they go on, “Ed speaks very highly of you in group.”Izzy’s voice drops to the faintest of surprised whispers, so low that Ed nearly misses it as he starts up on the other boot. “He talks about me?”“Yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”Izzy says nothing, uncomfortably icing out the world once more. It hurts, feeling so cut off, but Ed tries not to let it hurt him too much. Izzy’s hushed question already feels like a life-ring in a turbulent sea.Ed stands and pulls his jacket on. “Shall we?”Jim drives them to the church in relative silence. From anyone else, it might feel an uncomfortable thing, but the quiet from Jim feels different, contemplative. They put on some music at a low volume, just enough to reassure Ed that there is no tension between them.When they do get to the church, Jim does not even look at Ed as they say, “You know, you are stronger than me.”Ed chuffs. “Bet your girlfriend would argue differently.”That earns him a chuckle from Jim. “Yeah, Archie would.” They level a serious gaze upon Ed. “But, seriously. I don’t know how you’re keeping it together.” Jim shakes their head. “Don’t know if I could.”Ed considers it carefully before shrugging. “Got no other choice.”Jim nods. “Fair enough. But, if it gets too much, call me.”“Yes, Mom.”Jim laughs in earnest now, rolling their eyes. “C’mon. Better get in there before Olu sends someone looking for us.”xxxxxxxxxxxAfter Ed leaves, Stede settles with Izzy in the living room for a movie. He offers Izzy an opportunity to pick, but Izzy just shrugs listlessly. The smaller man seems lost in thought, distant and borderline unreachable. Stede ignores it; every day this week has been a challenge for Izzy in its own way that Stede cannot fathom facing himself.Stede picks Miracle on 34th Street. Not the 1994 version, although it is not without charm. No. As much as Stede appreciates the remake, there is truly nothing quite like the original. Izzy does not seem to notice or mind at any rate. He watches silently and without complaint. When Stede offers to make tea, Izzy softly accepts and sips frog the mug slowly. It mildly unnerves Stede, this eerie complacency, but Stede refocuses himself on the movie instead.Afterwards, although it is early, Stede finds himself exhausted. The past week has been tiring for him as well. The worry for Izzy and Ed both has been a draining thing. He elects to retire early, bidding Izzy a gentle goodnight.Izzy murmurs, “Think I’ll stay up a bit.”Stede pauses and raises a brow. “Oh?”“Might see Ed in,” Izzy says in quietly and under his own breath, as though ashamed.The author beams. “Of course. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”Izzy shakes his head ruefully. “You go. Best get your beauty rest.” Izzy flashes him a mischievous grin, the first sign of life and awareness he has mustered all night. “Looks like you need it.”“Alright, alright.” Stede laughs to himself as he retreats to the bedroom, saying over his shoulder. “Good night, love.”xxxxxxxxxxxGroup is strange. Ed feels all eyes upon him the entire session. Sure, they try to hide it, try to only steal furtive glances here and there, but Ed can feel their watchful gaze. Most of them were there. Most of them saw Ed slug Stede, saw the fight between them. The few that were not actually present most assuredly heard it through the proverbial grapevine.Fortunately, Oluwande seems to notice on his own and keeps the conversation moving rather efficiently. He avoids Ed for the longest time, drawing attention away from Ed towards other members of the group. It is a stalling tactic, allowing Ed to settle his own nerves before he unnecessarily has to turn to him. Ed knows this, and he could kiss Oluwande for it. It is not working well, not when everyone else just matter-of-factly blurting out what they know Oluwande wants to hear to keep group moving along quickly. They all clearly want to get to Ed, despite Oluwande’s best efforts.Towards the end, Oluwande can stall no longer, finally setting his focus on Ed. “So, Ed, this week has been challenging, I gather?”Ed scowls intensely but playfully. “No. It’s been a cakewalk.”Oluwande chuckles. “Do you want to talk about it?”Lucius leans in just at the edge of Ed’s periphery. Ed wants to sling some sort of insult, something about how Lucius just loves the gossip. However, after the week he has had and the support he has found, Ed cannot bring himself to be so mean, even if in jest.Ed draws a deep breath, initially uncertain where to start before electing on the beginning. “Izzy, my husband, he’s alive.” No one gasps in shock, which just confirms Ed’s suspicions about the whole group gossiping about him. “He has some kind of amnesia. Docs aren’t sure why. Just, nothing.” He wonders briefly just how much he should say, but Oluwande merely nods encouragingly. “Iz was living on the streets. Right here in town. And I never even knew.”“That sounds very difficult,” Oluwande breathes.Ed gives a tired laugh. “That’s not it, not it at all.” He sits back in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh. “He’s home, with Stede and I, but he’s not. He doesn’t trust me, doesn’t want anything to do with me.” Ed frowns solemnly. “He was doing things out there to survive. Let people hurt him.” Ed looks down. “I think he’s waiting for me to hurt him again.”Lucius is the one who presses. “Again?”“He remembers the accident,” Ed tells him sadly. “He remembers waking up after they took his leg, remembers the pain, but nothing else.”“Shit, that’s awful.” Lucius whispers.Ed sarcastically chuckles. “Yeah, tell me about it, mate.” He shakes his head once more. “I wish he could trust me, but I get it. People hurt him, took advantage of him. I don’t blame Izzy. But, it hurts. It really fucking hurts, mate, to have to swallow it all down. Just wish it could be different, y’know?”Oluwande leans into burying or bottling up emotions as a topic – among other unhealthy coping mechanisms. Ed thanks his lucky stars. It serves as enough of a distraction for the others long enough for group to draw to an end. Afterwards, Jim drives him home without further comment, save to wish him a merry Christmas.Inside, Ed is surprised to find Izzy still in the living room. Group typically runs later than Izzy has been managing to stay awake. Ed anticipated that Stede would be up to greet him, not Izzy. Yet there he is, fumbling with the remote to pause whatever is playing on the television.“Ed.” It passes for a greeting.Ed blinks, feeling somewhat stupefied. “Izzy, hey…”Izzy’s gaze drifts away, in that way that always meant hard conversations were coming – both in their service and out. Ed still finds it so odd to see such familiar expressions in Izzy, to know that Izzy cannot currently understand how easy it is for Ed to read him. Ed has always been able to read Izzy like an open book, even through his most mercurial of moments.“I wasn’t expecting you to be up,” Ed says carefully, keeping his tone light in a way that the old Izzy always responded – albeit bitterly at such patronizing.Izzy nods and chews the inside of his cheek. “Was waiting for you.”Ed’s heart skips several beats all at once. Izzy. Waiting up for him. It feels impossible after everything that has happened over the past week that Izzy should be here, alive, and waiting for him. All Ed can manage is a plain, “Oh.”Izzy hesitates, fiddling with his hands as though anxious. “Yeah.” He draws a shaky breath. “You said there were photos?”Ed thrills at the notion, his throat working to cobble together a response. “Yeah.” He gives a terse nod. “Yeah, I’ve got some photos from before. Do you…. Do you want to see them?”Izzy says nothing, just dipping his head in agreement. Ed strides back to the bedroom where Stede slumbers unaware and tiptoes to the wooden box containing what remains from his life and marriage with Izzy. He takes the lock off and sets it on the dresser before carrying the box back to the living room and Izzy. Sitting next to Izzy feels too close, too intimate, too perilous a gamble. Instead, Ed sets the box down on the coffee table in front of Izzy.“It’s not much,” Ed says humbly. “But, it’s all I’ve got.”Izzy cracks open the box just enough to catch a glimpse inside before dropping the lid, startling Ed.“Iz, do you want…?” Ed cannot finish the sentence, unsure of what exactly he can offer in a moment like this.When Izzy lifts his gaze to meet Ed’s finally, it is sharp and cold, the same feral look Ed has seen multiple times over this week, holding him at arm’s length. “Think I’d like to be alone for a bit.”Ed’s heart twists in disappointment. Ed has not realized it until this moment that a part of him was hoping this to be a breakthrough to Izzy. Maybe a step to recovery or at least rekindling some of his husband’s missing memories.He does not give voice to that hurt. “Yeah. Okay.” It is not okay, but Ed just rubs the back of his neck to conceal it. “Guess I’ll turn in.” Ed looks back to Izzy. “I’ll just be… yeah.”“Night, Ed.”As tears blur his vision, Ed tries to hold himself together long enough to wish him, “Good night, Iz.”He barely makes it back to the bedroom as the tears fall. There, Ed pulls off his boots and wriggles under the blankets to Stede. He snakes his arms around the author, feeling his lover’s reassuring warmth and weight. Stede unconsciously stirs enough to put his arms about Ed as well, and Ed collapses into it. He sobs silently, so as not to wake Stede, but it does not last long.His tears cannot last when he hears the wooden box’s lid creak open once more. Ed holds his breath. He does not hear the lid close. Ed falls asleep, still listening for the lid to close and never hearing it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Ed wakes early and creeps from the bed like a spider like a kid on Christmas morning, unable to help himself. He tiptoes down the hall, cautious to avoid the spots where the hardwood creaks and groans underfoot. At the end of the hall, a part of him feels ashamed at his own actions, but Ed has to know, has to see for his own eyes whatever state Izzy might be in following the night before.The wooden box sits on the table, the lid firmly shut. Arc of the Covenant or Pandora’s box. Ed surveys the box like a lethal trap. He knows what is in there. Ed put all the items in there himself, as though locking away his grief along with his memories of Izzy all those years ago. He knows among the photos lie Izzy’s ring, driver’s license, and discharge papers, more trappings of a life that Izzy has not accepted as his own.Izzy remains on the couch where Ed left him, curled up under the electric blanket. He looks so very small and frail, hard worn by the weight of the world in a way that makes Ed ache. Yet, Izzy also paradoxically looks so much lighter, more relaxed. It makes him look so much more open, vulnerable. Ed is not sure what he expected. Izzy still up and leafing through photographs? Izzy clutching a photo to his chest and wearing his old wedding band once more like the last six years have not happened, like Stede does not also exist in Ed’s life? Izzy ready to throw himself into Ed’s arms? Or ready to flee? Ed does not know, but he does know none of it matches the reality he faces now.Izzy’s limbs are loose and relaxed, his face lax. It reminds Ed of any of those few lazy Saturdays post discharge. After a night spent up late sipping wine and reading or watching a movie, he would occasionally find Izzy asleep on the couch of their loft, having drifted off there the night before. In those days, Ed would simply join him. Ed wishes he could just crawl under the heated blanket with Izzy and cuddle up against him, as he would have all those years ago, but he knows better now.Instead, Ed bites back anything he could do and tries to take heart in the simple fact that Izzy had finally expressed something more serious than a vague, passing fancy in his life before the accident. More than that, Izzy has not retreated or recoiled away from it. Ed hopes desperately it is a good sign as he returns to the bedroom, to Stede.xxxxxxxxxxxThat day, once everyone has woken in earnest, everyone has had a hearty breakfast, Stede announces it is high time they start their holidays. Ed and Izzy exchange a pained look and a groan. However, Stede merely smirks in chagrin at their mirrored theatrics. No, what Stede intends is baking cookies.Ed rolls his eyes. “Already did that, mate.”“No,” Stede intones warmly, circling his arms around Ed’s waist. “I was thinking something a little more…. Traditional. A little more, challenging.” He pulls a recipe card from the pocket of his robe and slips it into Ed’s hand. “Something like this.”“Oh?” Ed says, raising a brow. “You really think you’re up to this?”“Do I even want to fucking know?” Izzy growls from the table.Ed grins madly and shakes his head. “Course not. But it’s best to just go with it when Stede comes up with a plan.”“So, you think we can handle it?” Stede asks earnestly, stepping aside to start fetching mixing bowls.Ed considers the recipe card carefully, chewing his lip. “Think we can manage. How good it’ll look, don’t rightly know.”“So…. That would be a yes, then?” Stede has that look on his face, like a child asking Santa a present.Ed cannot argue when Stede wears that particular expression. “Yeah. We could give it a go.”Izzy snaps churlishly from the table. “Going to tell me what you’re on about?”“A gingerbread fucking house, mate.” Ed announces. “Stede wants to build a gingerbread house.”Izzy rubs his eyes and sighs heavily. “Too late to kill myself now?”Ed feels his heart stammering in his chest, the blood draining from his skull in horror. The logical part of his brain tells Ed it is a joke, nothing more than ill-placed sarcasm that has been such a hallmark of the black comedy Izzy Hands always loved. It should feel comfortably normal. However, that logical part of Ed has checked out entirely, leaving nothing in its place but a horrible, painful terror. His lungs struggle to draw breath, nothing feeling adequate. It is enough to Ed has to catch the corner of the counter.“Ed?” Stede’s voice sounds distant, as though under water. “Ed, are you alright?”Someone – Stede – put their hand on Ed’s shoulder, but he cannot feel it. It is like he has been divorced from his own body. A mind put on hold, caught in a loop of blind panic.“Fuck.” Izzy now, so very far away.Ed’s vision narrows down to the counter, to where his hand grips the edge of the counter. Everything else fades away. He struggles to pull together a coherent thought, some statement or process Dr. Buttons would tell him to do, but even that seems impossible. All Ed can think about is that day, years ago, when Izzy went off to try and end himself after the accident.Then, there is another hand on his opposite arm, slender and bony; Izzy. “Fuck, Ed. I’m sorry. I didn’t….”Ed blinks stupidly, but, then, inexplicably a scrawny arm is around him, a bony hand pressed to his chest. Ed starts from the feeling. His gaze drifts down to find Izzy before him, propped up on one crutch. Ed’s eyes widen. It’s been years since Izzy has reached for him, touched him willingly of his own accord in any capacity.“Breathe, Ed. Just breathe,” that smokey voice orders.And, strangely, he does. The first few breaths come shaky and uncomfortably, but, after a minute, the eerie, awful panic that gripped Ed so forcibly seems to thin and dispel. Izzy’s hand moves with him, guiding, tapping a faint count on his sternum with his index finger.After several minutes, Izzy looks down, his cheeks blushed with shame. “I’m sorry. I…. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t…..”Ed gapes, and, then, he throws his arms around Izzy, dragging him close and pressing him to his chest firmly. Izzy gasps, stiffens, and, then, squirms in his arms. Ed knows he should not be doing this; he knows it must feel confining, restraining to Izzy. However, he cannot help himself, not after feeling such acute terror for Izzy.“Iz,” Ed croaks into his head, burying his face in Izzy’s dark hair. “Fuck.”“Ed,” Izzy whines against him briefly and twists in his hold, his voice taking a strained tenor. “Bonnet, little help?”Stede’s hand graces Ed’s arm. “Ed, dear. I think you need to let go now.” Stede squeezes gently, and he says it more firmly, “You need to let go, darling.”Something clicks for Edward, and he opens his arms. Izzy stumbles oddly before he scrambles away. He looks pale and haggard, and Ed could kick himself for it. Dr. Buttons would likely tell him it was something to do with his impulse control issues, but Ed had been completely unable to stop himself. It had been as though another Ed, a different Edward, had been in control of his own body.“Sorry, Iz,” he manages.Izzy winces. “No, mate. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.” He looks down, his cheeks taking a embarrassed flush. “I didn’t mean it like that.”Stede to the side murmurs, “We know that, Izzy. He knows that.”“No.” Izzy grinds the word out. “That was a shit thing to say. I know it.” He glances to Ed. “I might not remember doing….. that, but you obviously do. And I’m sorry.”A tense silence hangs over them. Neither Stede nor Ed can bring themselves to say anything. Anything they could possibly say feels wrong, trite, not after whatever has just passed over and between them.Finally, after what feels like several long minutes, Izzy swears. “Fuck.” He looks up, his eyes taking a fierceness as he stares at Stede. “Told you that you shouldn’t have brought me here, Bonnet.”“No, no, love,” Stede assures him. “You’re right where you belong.”Ed’s brain finally catches up with them. “Iz, he’s right. You belong here.” He rubs his face, massaging his temples. “Just because I’ve got issues….”“Ed, no,” Stede interrupts before he can go any further, stabbing a finger at Ed’s broad chest. “We’ve talked about this. No putting yourself down. You’re working on yourself, and I am very proud of you for it.” He turns to Izzy. “That’s a house rule for you, too, now, you know.”Izzy sniffs, but his features soften. “Sure, Stede.”“Alright,” Stede says, his voice quite even and anchoring. “Now, why don’t we all get cleaned up? Take some time to relax a bit, and, if everyone’s still up to it, we can bake in a bit?”It seems the only reasonable option.xxxxxxxxxxxEd showers and dresses swiftly. It is a habit he has maintained for years since the service; Stede has frequently joked that he could set a watch to Ed’s five-minute showers. Ed indulges in long baths, but showers have always been a perfunctory act, a chore to get through.While Stede and Izzy get dressed, Ed busies himself in the kitchen, setting out measuring cups and the ingredients. After a few minutes, he hears Izzy’s crutches on the hardwood of the hall, but Ed swallows down the urge to look up, to call to him. Ed is not sure what he would even say as he listens to Izzy settling at the kitchen table. Instead, Ed focuses on measuring the necessary butter, setting it on a plate, and tucking the plate on the stovetop while preheating the oven to soften.Izzy clears his throat behind Ed, startling him. “I am sorry.”Ed does not look back, does not trust himself yet to meet Izzy’s gaze. “I know.”“We good?”Ed’s resolve cracks, and he turns and smiles. “Yeah. We’re good, Iz.” When Izzy looks up, his eyes wide, Ed just feels warmth flooding through him. “Besides, pretty sure Stede won’t let us be anything but good.”Izzy snorts. “Yeah.” His face goes a bit serious. “He’s a good one.”“He is,” Ed affirms.“Didn’t think so when I first met him,” Izzy breathes strangely. “Thought he was fucking with me. Like he had some sort of angle.” Ed’s throat tightens with emotion, but Izzy goes on. “But he’s just a big old softie.”The tension bleeds momentarily from the room once more, and Ed laughs. “Yeah. He is.”“I see why you’re with him.”Before Ed can say anything further, Stede’s footsteps echo down the hall.xxxxxxxxxxxIt hardly takes any time at all to mix up the gingerbread dough and roll It out on a silicon sheet. Izzy scoffs as Stede rustles around for a plastic ruler and washes it dutifully in the sink, but Stede just tuts him. Ed helps measure carefully and cut the shapes before putting them in the oven. They watch carefully through the cook time before taking them out to cool. Then, it is nothing at all to whip up some royal icing. All of that goes rather smoothly.Construction, however, is a different matter. No matter how much icing they use, the sides refuse to stay stuck together. Stede furrows his brow in concentration, even sticking his tongue out. Ed tries his best, but he feels utterly useless to help. Eventually, Ed has to concede defeat before his temper can get the better of him, hooting and flopping into the chair beside Izzy. Izzy, for his part, has been snickering the entire time, polite enough to not just outright laugh in Stede’s face.Stede mutters under his breath. “This is impossible.”“Bring it here,” Izzy breathes, beckoning with a long-suffering sigh.Stede starts and looks up, but Izzy is just holding his hand out. He gathers up the various cookie parts and icing supplies to set on the table before carefully carrying over the baking sheet they had elected as a construction base. He dare not disturb it too heavily as Stede slides the tray onto the table before Izzy, least the one corner of house they have managed to get to stick and stand.“Here,” Izzy says softly. “I’ll hold. You glue.”Izzy’s hands steadily slot two pieces together. Stede leans in to apply icing from the Ziploc bag Ed had fashioned into a piping bag. Izzy feels so very close; Stede can almost feel the whisper of the smaller man’s breath against his cheek. It is almost distracting and dizzying being welcomed again into Izzy’s space like this, like it is nothing more than a normal weekend between the three of them. Stede takes his time, savoring the feeling as he slathers icing on both the inside and outside of the joint.“Now what?” Stede whispers.Izzy chuckles gently. “Patience.”Stede leans back slightly, but not entirely out of Izzy’s sphere. Ed watches curiously, almost expecting Izzy to recoil or flinch when Stede ends up positioned slightly behind his shoulder as Izzy leans over the baking tray. Instead, Izzy remains perfectly frozen in place. He seems reverent in this task, entirely focused on holding the two pieces of cookie absolutely still. Years ago, that had been Ed and Izzy, poring over charts and crew rotation schedules.After some unknown amount of time, Izzy’s hands slide slowly from the cookie walls, and, to Stede’s great surprise and delight, they remain standing.“Izzy! You did it!”Izzy rolls his eyes. “Just gotta be patient.”“Well, consider yourself hired,” Stede announces before looking to Ed with a mischievous smirk. “Sorry, darling, but that does mean you’re fired for the time being, Ed.”Ed shrugs and finds a bit of scrap cookie to munch on. “Suits me just fine.”And, in truth, it does weirdly. Ed is quite content to sit back and watch Stede and Izzy work to slowly raise the gingerbread house. Izzy, for all his stubbornness and attitude, had always been infinitely more patient than Edward. He could endure the more tedious tasks like setting watches, leaving Ed free to plot and manage their vessel with liberty. This focused, quiet Izzy begrudgingly assembling a frivolous confection seems somehow natural, enough that even Izzy seems to lose himself to the task.When the roof finally stands proudly, Stede grins. “Thank you, Izzy.”Izzy sits back to survey their work and lick the icing from his fingers, but, after a time, some strange expression settles on his features. Something distant and solemn. Despite having spent the better portion of an hour helping Stede construct the gingerbread house, now, he looks somehow displeased with the thing. His stare could burn holes right through the cookie. The air shifts in the room, and it unsettles Ed.Stede goes to put a hand on Izzy’s shoulder, but the smaller man shrugs him. “Fuck off. You can get it from here.”Izzy pushes himself up and stalks off the guest bedroom, shutting them out again; Stede looks to Ed. “What was that about?”But Ed similarly has no answers.xxxxxxxxxxxFor the rest of the day, Izzy remains sullen, withdrawn almost. It irks Ed to no end, sending uncomfortable prickles down his spine. He turns the events of the morning over in his mind again and again, searching for some clue, something. He scrutinizes Izzy for the rest of the day, as much as Izzy will permit. After dinner, Izzy does not even stay up with them to watch another of Stede’s old timey Christmas movies – although Ed would argue Meet Me in St. Louis does not strictly qualify as a “Christmas movie” - choosing instead to retire early and retreat to the privacy of the guestroom.When the credits roll, Stede checks on Izzy briefly before returning, shaking his head, and sighing, “Under the bed again.”Ed holds his head in his hands. “I don’t get it.” He rubs his temples. “Seemed like we were in such a good spot this morning. Well, after everything…”Stede knows what he means; after Izzy’s joke fell so spectacularly face first in regards to Ed’s reaction. After they had gone their separate ways to clean up and dress, Izzy had seemed so open, in such good spirits. He had been so gentle in guiding Stede’s hands.“I don’t get it, either, darling,” Stede croons consolingly. “But, with what he has been through, I do not think either of us can begrudge Izzy for having his moments.”His moments. It sounds so innocent, so easy. It makes it sound as though Izzy could spend a minute or two feeling glum or morose before snapping back out of it. Yet, for all their own experiences with therapy and counseling, neither Ed nor Stede have any actual words for what is going on with Izzy, this abrupt distancing.“He was doing so well…..” Ed laments, dragging his fingers through his hair.Stede purses his lips briefly and puts his arms around his lover. “I know, I know, darling.”“What did I do wrong?” Ed nearly sobs.Stede frowns and squeezes him tighter. “Ed, you have done absolutely nothing wrong. And neither has Izzy. If anything, it may have been my fault entirely.” When Ed shoots him a questioning glare, Stede smiles wistfully. “I just had such fond memories of making gingerbread around the holidays as a child, I thought it would be good for you and Izzy both. I never stopped to consider if it was too much for him.”Ed nods slowly, mulling it over uncertainly. Stede sees the lingering doubts; he holds them, too. The man called ‘Sailor’ that Stede saw week after week at the kitchen seemed downright emotional at the mere decadence of small, humble desserts. It seems incongruous that Izzy would be put off by a dessert, especially after completing the cookie construction. It makes no sense.They go to sleep that night without any further insight.xxxxxxxxxxxIn the morning, Ed wakes as though from a dream, but the details remain murky and far from him. It is a subconscious pull in the back of his brain. It tugs at him, and Ed follows until his feet bring him to the kitchen.Ed pauses in front of the stove, just staring for several minutes before he sets to work. Before everything fell apart, his mother would wake him early by tickling the tip of his nose before pressing a silencing finger to her lips; their little secret. When Edward was but a tiny lad, she would scoop him up in her arms and carry him to their cramped, galley style kitchen. When he grew too big for her to hold him, she would take him by the hand to lead him there. They would work in a comfortable, loving silence together to bake, most often fried sweet breads. It is among his last memories of his mother, his most cherished memories. Those memories have given him such strength through the years.He decides to make them again. It has been some time since Edward last made the dessert, not since that first time he started baking for group or the soup kitchen. Just the simple act of frying this simple dessert makes everything feel lighter to him and the ingredients are so very basic that it seems the natural choice. Edward’s mother had always fixed a batch every Christmas Eve morning – basic but still indulgent where something more elaborate would be more appropriate for Christmas Day.So lost in thought is Ed that he does not even realize he has made it through a few batches on autopilot. The golden, steaming pastries gleam in the glow of the kitchen light. Ed feels somewhat surprised by it, but not entirely. His mother and he made them often enough that Ed could probably make them in his sleep.Yet, it is the sound of Izzy thumping down the hall that rouses Ed from his thoughts; the older man heaves himself into one of the chairs at the table and greets Ed with a grunt.“Morning,” Ed tries.Izzy just sniffs strangely. It could be considered an answer, but, when it persists, Ed knows it is because of the irresistible aroma of the fresh, piping hot fried bread. Ed feels a smile curling on his lips despite himself. The Izzy Ed recalls did not have the same taste in decadent sweets as Edward, but that Izzy had a great appreciation for the simpler things.Ed fixes a plate of fried bread that has cooled enough to eat and sets it in front of Izzy. “Perfect timing, Iz.”A part of Ed wants to watch, to savor every minute expression of Izzy’s experience, but he knows better. Izzy has made it very clear that there is space that he needs between them. It cuts deeply every time Izzy reinforces that distance, but Ed swallows that down. So, he turns back to the stove, to the pot of hot oil and the next batch.His focus never fully leaves Izzy, though as the man chews at one of the fried breads thoughtfully. So, when Izzy does make a wet gasp, Ed hears it. It tears at him, but Ed is not sure what to do for his husband. When small, strangled sounds do morph into sobs, Ed does turn off the stove and moves the pot off the burner to turn to Izzy. His heart breaks at the sight of Izzy, hugging himself desperately, hunched over the plate of a basic pastry, and crying with abandon.“Izzy?” Ed asks, his voice low and cautious. “Iz?”The man in question looks up, his eyes are wide and haunted. “What is this?”“It’s puta,” Ed answers, feeling weirdly unmoored. “It’s a Tokelau thing.”Izzy shakes his head. “No, what is this? How?” Izzy quakes in a manner that looks painful; Ed wishes he could just hug the trembles right out of him as Izzy whispers, “I don’t remember much, but I remember this. I know this stuff.” Izzy’s tears spill down his cheeks at an almost alarming rate. “How can I know this?”Ed heart twists and rends in his chest, but something stirs there, something that feels oddly like hope. “Izzy….” He stumbles across the kitchen to Izzy’s side, falling to his knees despite how much his left leg protests. “Izzy, you remember this?”Ed does not want to allow that tiny kernel of hope to germinate too prematurely. He cannot bring himself to hope, not after everything that has happened. It feels too big, too precarious, and too likely to collapse under the unbearable weight of Izzy’s trauma. Every time Ed has felt the hope building in him, the horrors of Izzy’s past has dashed it to pieces.“You remember Tokelauan cooking?” Ed asks again, disbelievingly.Izzy sniffles and manages a nod. “Don’t know how or why I do, but yeah.”Ed puts a hand on Izzy’s good leg. “Iz, you remember this, because we had it all the time.” Izzy tries to turn away, but Ed reaches out with a hand to cup his cheek. “Izzy, we did.” Izzy’s dark eyes meet his gaze, and Ed nods slowly, encouragingly. “American Samoa. There was a little coffee shop that sold them. We’d meet there every time we had a pass.”Izzy’s face crumples, as he falls to deeper, more desperate sobs. Ed cannot stop himself once more, enfolding Izzy in a tentative, loose embrace. And, to his very great surprise, Izzy does not pull away. Instead, if anything, the smaller man seems to melt into the hug, leaning and pressing into Ed hungrily. Izzy’s bony hands come up to grab at Ed’s arm and pull him closer, but Izzy feels too fragile, emotionally and physically for Ed to do anything more but wrap his arms about.After a few moments, Izzy swallows convulsively, as though trying to compose himself; he croaks out, “Tell me.”Ed feels a tear sliding down his own cheek, and he smiles. “Of course.” He cards his fingers through Izzy’s hair. “But, I need to get off the floor, okay?” Izzy blinks curiously, and Ed tells him, “Knee’s killing me, mate.”Izzy nods through his own tears. He allows Ed to gather him up and help him to the couch. Izzy goes willingly, easily with Ed. They fall into one another on the couch. Initially, Ed keeps his hands to himself, but, when Izzy presses lightly into his side, Ed puts a strong arm around Izzy’s shoulders. A part of Ed thrills to be holding Izzy so willingly, but another part aches at the hurt he knows brought them to this.“Izzy, it wasn’t a good time to be gay in the military,” Ed begins, trying to hold himself together and compose something comprehensible.Slowly, Ed relays the story of their first time together on regular pass. They had been toying with the notion of being together more for some time, but their work did not permit much. They were so very careful through their entire careers, but openly dating felt utterly impossible. That first day off base had been a test, a measure of whether they could dare dream of anything more than passing glances and brushes against one another as they worked.Ed had left first, early in the morning. He had taken a cab into town and heading to a quaint little coffee shop. They had found it the night before online, and it came well recommended as a taste of “authentic” Oceania baking. It even had glowing reviews around the base. Ed had sat and sipped coffee, reading a magazine but not really processing anything from the content. No. Ed had spent that entire hour waiting.When Izzy arrived, he spotted Ed at his table and seemed to startle. He made a good show of it, too; they both did. They had declared it a funny coincidence, and Izzy had laughingly joined him. Ed had delighted in splitting a plate of fry bread not too different from his mother’s. They “jokingly” decided to make of a day of it together.When they returned to base later that afternoon after several hours spent together, ostensibly amicably sharing a cab to split the cost, Ed and Izzy had both sighed in relief to realize this could work. They could have more to their relationship on their off days, on a pass. Every time they had a pass together, they would play some version of this game, both “coincidentally” selecting the same local bakery or coffee shop to try out regional desserts. They each played up their parts in the act.Having spent all his tears before the end of Ed’s tale, Izzy gives a tired chuckle beside him. “Did it work?”“Or course. We’re both excellent actors. Thespians of the highest order,” Ed initially jokes. Then, Ed grows serious and shrugs. “Must have. Both of us would’ve been dishonorably discharged otherwise.”Izzy gives a thoughtful hum. “I don’t remember any of that.” Ed’s heart stutters, but Izzy goes on. “But something in me does.” Izzy scrunches his face up and touches the scar. “I didn’t want to know for so long. Couldn’t imagine it being anything but bad, considering where I was.” Ed feels himself stiffen, but Izzy goes on very quietly with a soft, shuddering sort of sigh. “I think I do though, now.”“Okay,” Ed breathes, feeling absurdly, deliriously grateful. “We can help you do that.”Ed clings to that when he feels he cannot cling to Izzy as the smaller man weeps in his arms once more. This is how Stede finds them when he finally wakes, just holding one another in silence. Stede’s mouth initially falls into an ‘o’ of surprise, but, then, the author composes himself quickly to fetch the plate of fried bread from the kitchen. He sets it on the coffee table and fixes a knowing gaze on Ed from over Izzy’s head as Stede takes one of the fried breads with a tiny smirk.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Christmas Eve is an odd day. After lunch, Izzy brings Ed the wooden box and sets it down on the kitchen table almost reverently. Izzy sets himself down, fixing Ed with a strange, questioning gaze. Ed nods slowly, encouragingly, but he waits patiently for Izzy to make the first move, plucking the first random photo from the top of the pile. They spend the rest of the day and into the evening pouring over the photographs in the box. Ed narrates each photo, pouring out the tales of their lives, their love. Izzy says little, just listening and occasionally nodding along as though encouraging or agreeing, his gaze holding no recognition.Stede feels oddly distant from the conversations. He did not know Ed or Izzy in those days, has nothing to contribute. It leaves the author feeling oddly unbalanced and almost estranged. A stab of what might be jealousy occasionally prods at him when he sees Ed and Izzy seated over the box, but Stede swallows it down. He has no reason to be jealous of this – the first and only time thus far Izzy has expressed any interest in his past.Stede busies himself elsewhere through the house with preparing for the morning. It keeps his spirits up through it until the evening, when Ed tumbles into bed with him and holds him in a loving embrace. Ed’s warm arms cling to him, drawing Stede close before kissing him deeply, as though claiming him. Something about that alone grounds Stede, reassures him of their relationship in a way Stede did not exactly realize he needed, thoroughly extinguishing any false sense of envy before it can fester.Christmas, though, holds his thoughts and dreams through the night. It is no small secret that Stede Bonnet absolutely adores Christmas and everything that goes with it. He has always loved Christmas and likely will always.Before his children, Stede’s holiday spirit had been inhibited – along with so much about himself. His father had decreed it as a childish fancy, often citing Christmas as a “woman’s holiday.” Stede now understands that to be an extremely basic and misogynistic view of the emotional and physical labor that goes into the holidays. As such, Stede often found himself watching longingly from the outside as his mother and three sisters indulged in the holidays and his father held him practically hostage through college football games.Dr. John – Stede’s therapist – has frequently postulated around this time of the year that Stede’s feelings of repression during those depressing, formative years, likely contributed directly to his adoration of the holiday. It represented everything his father was not and everything he did not want his son to be. Soft. Yielding. Tender. Loving. Caring. All things likely directly contrasting the traditional iconography of the heterosexual, masculine male in his father’s eyes.For years after moving out of the family home, Stede only permitted himself the most miniscule of delights. Stede would shop for the most perfunctory presents for the family, turning them over to Mary for wrapping. His only shred of allowance to enjoy the holidays came in the form of Secret Santa or White Elephant exchanges through his publisher.Once Alma and Louis came along, everything shifted. Suddenly, being a parent granted Stede entry into the world he had so often desired. Crafting. Presents. Music. Pageantry. Stede could suddenly embrace the holidays as he always wanted, and his wife seemed all too pleased to have such emotional labor removed from her shoulders, allowing her to kick back and enjoy the time with their children.After the divorce, Stede finally felt free to enjoy the season for himself and not hide behind his children as an excuse. Nightly Christmas movie marathons. Cocoa and marshmallows by the fireplace as Bing Crosby plays through the Bluetooth speaker. A tree decorated and designed to look like an oversized confection. Strolling the historic district of town to view the lights and decorations. Spending weeks to months agonizing over the perfect gifts for his friends and loved ones.And Ed? Stede had worried when they first got together that Ed would want nothing to do with Stede’s holiday whims. Ed has never hidden any of the appalling things from his childhood, the awful Christmas’s that break Stede’s heart to hear. However, to Stede’s very great delight, Ed has always gone willingly along with any and all of Stede’s wishes through the season.On Christmas morning, Stede always wakes early, well before dawn to slip away from Ed. He has always loved this part of the holidays, sneaking down the hall to the tree. This, by and large, is Stede’s favorite part, has been since the kids. He treads silently through the house, a merry elf on a mission.By the time Ed traipses down the hall, Stede has already worked his magic. The tree is lit, glittering and glowing against the pale pink blush of dawn beyond the windows. Stockings have been filled and hung by the fireplace with care – three this year. A plate of cookies arranged delicately has been set on the coffee table. The few presents Stede did manage to purchase before the craziness of the last few weeks sit beneath the tree.Ed slinks up behind Stede, snaking his arms around his midsection and placing a tender kiss on Stede’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Stede. Beautiful as always.”Stede looks down at the pathetic offerings beneath the tree. “I’m sorry, Ed.”Ed furrows his brow but holds Stede tighter. “For what?”“I didn’t really get you anything this year,” Stede admits in a disappointed huff.Ed tenses around him. For a moment, Stede thinks it is from hurt. However, Ed burrows his face into Stede’s back and shakes briefly – a chuckle. Stede’s cheeks flush furiously at the thought of Ed laughing at him, yet, there seems no malice behind it. Instead, Ed does not sound unkind but endearing.“Stede, what the fuck do you mean?” Ed asks, his voice loving. “You’ve gave me the impossible.” He presses his lips to the back of Stede’s neck. “You brought my Izzy back to life, back to me.”“That’s not….” Stede fumbles for the right words, his cheeks burning furiously. “A person is not a present.”Ed clutches Stede closer to his chest. “No. But, if it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t be here. Probably wouldn’t even be alive.” Ed nuzzles into Stede’s shoulder. “What more could I possibly ask for?”Stede swallows and shakes his head. “It’s funny. Do you know I was working on a surprise for you?”“Oh?” Ed knows better than to press any further; he knows Stede needs to say whatever it is that bothers him so.“I kind of broke into your laptop,” Stede admits with a wince.Ed’s lips quirk in amusement. “Naughty, naughty. Going the right way for a lump of coal in your stocking.”Stede snorts. “I’d deserve it.” His hands find Ed’s, hugging him in return. “I was looking for a picture from your travels to blow up. Get an art canvas print. Thought it would make the space feel more ours than mine.” Stede shudders. “Then, I saw him in one of your old photos.” Stede’s voice drops to a low hush. “I didn’t know what Izzy looked like before that.” He chuffs and shakes his head. “Never did get that print ordered.”Ed feels himself smiling oddly at it. “Still counts as a present.”“Well, I’m certainly glad you feel that way,” Stede laments.Ed grins, spinning his lover around dramatically to kiss him. “I do.”xxxxxxxxxxxStede and Ed enjoy the early morning together quietly. They sit together on the couch, arm in arm, sipping from mugs of tea. Ed holds his mug in one hand and traces mindless patterns on Stede’s forearm with the other. Neither wishes to disturb the peace of the morning, and neither has anything pressing. Instead, they just savor the peace, the warmth of the morning together. They wait for Izzy to wake on his own, just enjoying one another’s company.When Izzy does emerge from the guestroom, he eyes the scene dubiously, his expression taking a guarded, sour look. It takes a moment before Stede even has the presence of mind to realize that the smaller man’s eyes are roving over all the Christmas trappings. Stede swallows uncomfortably, suddenly feeling abruptly inappropriately excessive and indulgent. His stomach twists at the thought of how many lavish Christmases have passed in the Bonnet household while Izzy has had nothing.It all just looks so sickeningly wasteful and opulent.Fortunately, Ed turns to Izzy and greets him warmly. “Morning. Merry Christmas, Izzy.”Izzy’s eyes narrow further, the distrust returning to his stony gaze. Stede frowns. Each day seems a constant dance back and forth with Izzy and his assorted traumas. Every time Stede thinks they are making ground, some new thing crops up to shatter those false impressions. Stede has to remind himself that, despite the gains they have made, it is still early, and Izzy has not even been to his first therapy session.“Yes, good morning, and Happy Christmas,” Stede tells him, trying to imbue every action and word with a sense of trustworthiness, earnest love and care. “Come, have a seat.” He jumps up and gestures to the couch before asking, “Care for a cuppa?”Izzy eyes the vacated spot on the chair warily before he nods. Izzy says nothing as he crosses the room and drops down onto the far side of couch that has already been claimed by his electric blanket. Stede leaves him to fix a quick mug of tea for him, which Izzy listlessly accepts with a muttered ‘thanks.’ Stede gives a small, encouraging nod before picking up the cookie plate, offering to both Ed and Izzy in turn. Ed naturally scoops up a few, while Izzy glares as though Stede is plying him with poison.“S’that on your ‘recommended foods list?’” Izzy snaps sharply.“Iz,” Ed breathes cautiously.Stede holds up a hand. “No, no. He has a fair point.” The author sets the cookie plate down on the coffee table within Izzy’s reach. “I’m not sure how Dr. Higgins would feel about cookies and biscuits for breakfast, but her instructions did say to follow your lead, Izzy.” Izzy’s dark eyes flash to Stede, and the author beams. “You’re more than welcome to help yourself if you feel up to it, or we can make something else if you’d prefer.”Izzy gives a tight nod. Stede smiles and sits himself down in the middle, snatching up a chocolate chip cookie cozying back up to Ed. He nibbles at the cookie, but Stede’s focus never fully leaves Izzy. After several minutes, Izzy’s hand snakes out to take one for himself. It seems a small, fleeting victory.Both Stede and Ed try not to watch, but neither can help but notice that Izzy just holds the cookie and stares almost bitterly at the stockings, as though offended by their presence. Stede’s and Ed’s are matching things of knit scarlet and ivory that had been purchased for their first Christmas together – Stede’s all too sentimental touch. The third that Stede found a week ago does not match at all – a somewhat garish black silk with golden snowflakes stamped upon it. It had been the best Stede could do on short notice, and the dark color had seemed in keeping with his impression of Izzy’s tastes. Now, however, it seems horribly, obviously out of place.Stede winces at his own poor, impulsive decision making. It – like so many things – had felt so natural, so right at the time. Now, he wonders if it had been a mistake. However, he cannot take it back now.Finally, after several long, awful, tense minutes, Izzy finally rasps, “Well, now what?”Ed cocks a brow. “Stede? Care to play Father Christmas?”Stede’s heart lifts. “Of course, darling.” He rises and fetches the stockings, pressing the first into Ed’s eager hands. “Happy Christmas, Ed.”“Aw, thanks love,” he breathes, reaching up to pull Stede down enough to kiss his cheek.Then, slowly, Stede turns to Izzy. The smaller man sits with his jaw set, his muscles tightly clenched like a cornered dog. His gaze remains down, as though unable to bear chancing looking at Stede and the stocking.“Izzy…” Stede breathes. When the man just flinches at his name, Stede tries again, softer. “Israel?” Dark eyes rise to meet his, and Stede holds his breath briefly before holding out the thing. “Happy Christmas, love.”Izzy’s jaw works strangely, and he looks away again.“Iz,” Ed whispers, his tone taking a fearful note.Slowly, telegraphing his every move, Stede sits beside Izzy, close enough for their legs to be touching; only then does he ask, “Israel, love, is something wrong?”Izzy sighs and shakes his head. “Can’t accept that.”“Why not?”Izzy chews his lip before meeting Stede’s imploring gaze and growling, “You know why.” He turns away once more, the shame rising in his cheeks. “Can’t repay this. Can’t repay you.”Stede exchanges a look with Ed, an exchange of sympathy welling between them. It aches like an old wound that has never fully healed, a broken bone healed in a poor set. It is something Stede knows he will have to address with Dr. John this week.“It’s a gift, love. Gifts aren’t meant to be repaid.”Izzy sniffs, but Ed just chides him gently, “Gonna break Stede’s soft little heart if you don’t take it, Iz.”“Fine.”Stede smiles slightly, letting Izzy snatch the stocking from his hands. He settles in with his own. Ed had filled Stede’s stocking a few days earlier with small gifts and the sort of traditional Christmas treats that he knows his lover adores. Likely overpriced lotions and colognes, a fanciful tea, organic peppermint bark, and, naturally, a chocolate orange. He picks through the little prizes and trinkets, but Stede eyes the men on either side of him.Ed’s delight is expected, an almost given thing. Stede knows the things he loves. The author takes great pride in his gift-giving.Izzy, however, picks through the contents of the stocking like an autopsy. In the absence of knowledge of Izzy’s tastes, Stede had selected a few basic items. A chocolate orange as a traditional treat. A few other candies. Some nice woolen gloves. And, in the very bottom, a new mobile phone with all the necessary accessories. When Izzy’s fingers find it, he seems to stiffen and bristle beside Stede, before wordlessly secreting the thing into his pajama pocket.Stede tenses, but Ed distracts Stede when he finds the fancy little pastry cookbook at the bottom. “Stede, mate, definitely gonna have to bake our way through this.”Stede preens at the compliment and the thought of being in the kitchen with Ed, of working pastry dough together and fiddling over delicate flourishes of chocolate curls or other decoration. In truth, after Ed had started baking for the kitchen, Stede had ordered the book. He has rather looked forward to Ed’s reaction and fantasized on laboring over delectable pastries, and, so, Stede takes no small amount of pleasure from Ed’s infectious excitement. Ed reads out various recipes in glee, pointing out interesting twists they could attempt.After a time, Ed announces it is time to get moving, get cleaned up and get cooking. Neither breakfast nor their traditional supper will make themselves, according to Ed. Stede nods and beams as Ed practically skips off.Stede sits with Izzy for several minutes in silence, long enough for the disquiet to prickle at him. While Ed has expressed his gratitude, his appreciation for Stede’s thoughtful gift giving, Izzy has had the opposite reaction. He has gone stone-faced and grim. Izzy’s jaw sits tightly clenched, his gaze distant. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of Stede’s neck. However, the author finds he cannot bring himself to question, to ask. He can only wait.When Izzy does finally speak, it is low and solemn. “It’s too much.”Stede frowns and slides his arm around Izzy. “It is not.” He gives Izzy a tentative squeeze, hoping to impart some of the comfort and love Stede wishes Izzy could accept. “You’re going to need your own mobile, Izzy. Besides, my plan was due for an upgrade. Cost me nothing to add another line.”Izzy’s eyes become glossy, perhaps with unshed tears. Izzy shudders under Stede’s arm briefly before turning in to him. Stede blinks in surprise as Izzy reaches his own stick-thin arms about him. It is such an odd sensation, this desperate, near painful embrace from the smaller man, yet Stede yields into it immediately. If this is what Izzy needs to be okay with accepting what seems the most paltry of gifts, Stede will give It gladly. Izzy shivers against him, perhaps crying, perhaps just trembling with emotion. His breathes sound raw, wet, and raggedy to Stede.“It’s alright, Israel,” Stede whispers into his ear, putting his other arm around  Izzy nuzzles into him. It feels oddly intimate, Izzy’s crooked nose grazing Stede’s neck. These moments of vulnerability from Izzy seem like rare gems, precious things to be savored and held close, especially after Stede has experienced nothing but months of harsh, bitter denial and distance. Stede leans into it. He says nothing when a bony hand grasps his silk pajama top in a desperate, quivering fist, rumpling the fabric and wrinkling it. Instead, Stede just rubs small circles on Izzy’s back between his shoulder blades, pointedly ignoring the knobs of Izzy’s spine. Something hot and wet touches Stede’s neck, but he does not even notice, not when Izzy’s free hand abruptly palms Stede’s flaccid cock through pajama pants that feel all too thin. Stede’s stomach instantly curdles.“Izzy,” Stede says, trying to keep his tone even and flat so as not to startle or frighten Izzy. When Izzy’s hand moves more insistently, Stede grits his teeth. “Izzy, don’t.”Izzy chokes on a sob against him, his hand still moving and working to try to draw forth an erection from Stede. His grip feels firm, but Izzy’s arm shakes. It makes Stede incredibly uncomfortable to realize that Izzy is forcing himself to do this. Stede’s blood runs cold in his veins, his head swimming; he needs to put an end to this.Stede’s hand flies down to snatch Izzy’s wrist and pull His hand away. “Israel, love….” The author presses his palm to Izzy’s chest, easing him back. “Don’t.”When Izzy sits back, his eyes are wide with shock, his cheeks slick with tears. He looks…. mortified. All of the color has fled Izzy’s face, his brow knit together in what may be terror or worry. His mouth hangs agape. Stede’s heart twists. The smaller man shakes his head, desperate, clearly struggling, adrift and awash with uncertainty.Stede pulls his hand close enough to touch a soft kiss to it. “Love. You don’t have to do that.”“I don’t….” Izzy looks down, his cheeks burning with shame and red flush. “I don’t understand.”Stede purses his lips together. “I know. I know, love.” He keeps his hold on Izzy’s wrist but uses his other arm to pull Izzy into another hug. “It’s okay.”Izzy sobs against him. “I can’t, I can’t keep taking these things.” He sets the phone down on the coffee table as his tears spill freely now. “I don’t know what you want.”It hurts on so many levels. Regardless of any progress that has been made in such a short amount of time, Stede realizes both he and Ed have been horribly naïve. Izzy has been living a difficult life for years, has done terrible things to survive. He has endured horrible things willfully, and a part of his mind is still there, may always be there. A week’s worth of kindness and stability is not going to magically erase any of that, and no amount of Christmas presents or holiday cheer will heal Izzy like some sort of Hallmark movie.Stede feels like such a fool.“I know, and I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Stede assures him. “It was too much.” He strokes Izzy’s hair. “I see that.” As Izzy continues to weep, Stede just holds him, rubbing his back reassuringly. “I’m so very sorry, Izzy. You don’t have to do anything like that, especially not for a gift.” He pauses. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, no strings attached.”Izzy quivers, his voice cracking. “You don’t…. you don’t get it.”Stede shakes his head. “No. I don’t.” He feels heavy, weighted down by something Stede cannot fathom. “Do you want to tell me about it?” Izzy tenses in his arms and keens in his ear, and, so, Stede offers, “Do you want me to get Ed?”“No,” Izzy croaks out.Stede frowns to himself. Ed and Izzy were together for so very long; these timid, tentative confessions of what has passed over those missing years seem like something that should be between them. Stede feels something of an intruder, unsure why Izzy seems to trust him for this over Edward.He sits in silence for a few moments, long enough for Stede to think the smaller man is not going to say anything, but, then, Izzy starts to explain in a low voice. “There was this man. Couple years back.” Izzy swallows and buries his head into Stede’s shoulder. “Fuck.”When Izzy pauses, Stede feels sick once more. Whatever the stranger promised Izzy, the author already knows it did not end well. It could not have granted where they found him.“Fuck.” Izzy jerks and pulls away, scrubbing his face with his wrist and reaching for his crutches. “Can’t do this.”It takes Stede far too long to realize what is going on as Izzy levers himself up and trudges swiftly down the hall back to the guestroom. He jumps to his feet to follow, calling after him, but Izzy is already in motion in the bedroom. The smaller man is grabbing what little he has, throwing it on the bed in a pile. Stede’s heart stutters; Izzy is leaving – or trying to leave.“Izzy, Izzy, wait.”Izzy just gives a harsh shake of his head. “Can’t do this again.”Stede reaches for him, touches his arm. “Izzy, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”“No. I’m not going there.”“Israel, please,” Stede begs, desperate and considering yelling for Ed. “Please stop for a moment.” He grabs Izzy by the elbow. “Wait.”Izzy jumps away and turns, his lip raising in a feral sneer. He looks ready to fight once more, ready to lash out. There is terror in his eyes, naked panic. His breathing sounds harsh and rough. Stede instantly regrets putting his hand on the man, but he has to stop Izzy before he runs again.“Izzy,” Stede relaxes his tone and body as much as possible, trying to make himself as unthreatening as possible. “Love, please, just…..” He gestures to the bed. “Please, just sit down. Let’s just talk it through. Please?”To Stede’s surprise, Izzy allows himself be guided to the bed, where he slumps. He looks exhausted by everything once more. He is shivering, shaking intensely. He looks downright haunted. Stede winces at the sight; this was supposed to be a nice, lovely holiday. The author reaches for one of the fleece blankets and drapes it over Izzy’s shoulders. Izzy jumps, but he just grabs the edges of the blanket, staring with amazement and drawing it protectively around himself like armor.“Okay, now, can you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” Stede asks. “Please? Help me understand.”Izzy blinks, his eyes wide and unseeing. “His name was Ned.” Izzy shrugs. “Least, that’s what he told me. Among other things.” The smaller man gives a convulsive shudder. “Told me he thought I was a pretty little thing. Told me he’d take care of me if I gave him what he wanted.” Izzy turns away. “Didn’t get it until it was too late.”Izzy pauses for what feels too long, and Stede mistakenly thinks him finished. “Izzy, we’d never-““That’s what he said, too,” Izzy snarls. “After every time.” When Izzy’s glare meets Stede, it is firmly fixed but sorrowed. “Told me that after he….” Izzy looks away once more, shame coloring his cheeks. “Fuck. I can’t….”Stede wants so very desperately to hold Izzy close, but he knows that is probably the last thing that Izzy needs. Instead, the author sits very quietly, staring at his hands in his lap, listening to Izzy’s ragged breaths as the man struggles to compose himself. Izzy is struggling, and, to Stede’s all too great dismay, he can do nothing but wait. As hard as that is, Stede knows it harder for Izzy.“Ned…. He wanted someone weaker than him. Needed it so he couldn’t be challenged,” Izzy says after an indeterminate time. He sets a hand on his left thigh. “Fucking sadist.”
‘Is it a fetish?’
Izzy words from all those weeks ago echo sourly in Stede’s mind. No wonder Izzy distrusted Stede and his intentions so much.“Pay was good, but not good enough,” Izzy breathes. “He liked the whip.”Stede swallows uncomfortably; the long scars on Izzy’s back.“Israel, I am so sorry,” Stede reaches to grab Izzy and drag him into a warm embrace despite his better judgement. “None of that was anywhere near my intentions.” Izzy has gone still in his arms, and Stede takes the opportunity to place a chaste kiss in his dark hair. “Neither Ed nor I would ever lay a hand on you like that, would never ask anything of you like that.” Stede smooths a hand over Izzy’s hair. “Never.”“You keep giving me things,” Izzy grouses under his breath. “Ned kept giving me things, things I had to repay.”Stede tucked Izzy’s head under his chin and shook his head. “If I have to tell you this every day for the rest of your life, I gladly will : ‘You do not have to repay a thing.’ Not a goddamned thing. No matter what anyone else says.” Stede pauses. “But, if you are not comfortable accepting something, anything, you do not have to. You never have to take anything, ever again.”“He’s right, Iz,” Ed’s tight voice breaks the still vignette. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want ever again.”He crosses the room to join Stede and Izzy in their embrace. It feels strange and warm, like family. It feels like home. Stede smiles warmly over Izzy’s head. They sit that way for a very long time.Later, Ed cooks them a veritable feast. Ham, potatoes, roasted vegetables, fresh baked bread. They eat too much – Izzy most especially considering his still poor body score. They spend the rest of the afternoon on the couch together, watching movies and occasionally dozing lightly. Ed serves his boys pie and coffee without even making them get up from the sofa. It is a good Christmas, perhaps the best in ages.Later, when Izzy and Stede retire, Ed plays the perfect, doting boyfriend, wishing them both a fond good evening and pleasant dreams. It is the poised, carefully calculated performance. Only once he is sure both of them are soundly asleep – or on their way to it – Ed spends the rest of the night researching on his phone for every possible ‘Ned’ in their area that could possibly be the one that hurt his Izzy. He will search for the rest of the rest if he must, until Ed can make this ‘Ned’ pay for his sins.