Chapter Text
“Take the kids to the beach, they said,” Izzy grumbles quietly, “It’ll be fun, they said.”
Next to him, Stede’s amused little huff tells him he wasn’t being quiet enough.
“Lighten up, it’s not so bad,” says Stede. He adds a fresh coat of sunscreen to his arm with the spray bottle and immediately grimaces when rubbing it in surely comes with the sensation of entirely too much sand and sea salt. Izzy fucking hates that feeling, too. It’s why he’s elected to sit on a folding chair under the parasol and suck at the melted dregs of what used to be an iced coffee. Even fresh, it wasn’t nearly as good as the one he makes himself, but it’s kept him from nodding off all the same.
Alma has adopted a similar strategy. She’s dressed in long sleeves and pants, wearing noise-canceling headphones, and the small portion of her face not covered by sunglasses is hidden behind a book. Two teenage girls and their horses solving crime, Izzy gathers from the illustrated dust jacket. Stede is reading, too - well, leafing through a catalogue of shiny restaurant furniture they will never be able to afford in a million years. And Izzy wishes he’d brought his own book, or could at least use his phone to look at the coffee shop’s security system, make sure Frenchie is doing alright on his own. But as it is, Izzy’s phone is currently occupied by Louis, who is playing some very colorful, very noisy puzzle game. Neither Stede nor Izzy could figure out how to turn off the sound.
“Seems like he’s calmed down for now,” Stede says, following Izzy’s gaze to where his young son is sitting on a sailboat-patterned picnic blanket.
“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Izzy doesn’t mean to sound so callous, hopes Stede knows him well enough by now to understand. He likes the boy, really, even when he makes Izzy feel utterly helpless by crying and throwing one tantrum after another. First the sand was too grainy, then the waves were too splashy, then - after they had all worked together, coaxing and persuading him to at least get in the water up to his knees - some small critter on the rocks sent him right back into hysterics.
“I do hope he’ll grow out of it,” Stede sighs. “I was just like that, at his age. When I was eight, I ran away from a family picnic because a wasp landed on my melon sorbet.”
“Yeah, me too,” Izzy says. Something about talking to Stede always makes him far more earnest than he intends to be. “Not the sorbet part. Never had shit like that… But the being scared.”
“Really? You?” Stede turns to Izzy, wide-eyed. There is a white streak of sunscreen on his nose.
“Grew out of it, I suppose.” Izzy shrugs. He’d had to grow out of it, with a little sister to take care of and his mother’s patience permanently dangling by its final thread. The Hands household was never a loveless one, never cruel, but not one with much room for irrational emotions, either. The Bonnets do things very differently, which is probably a good thing, even if it makes Izzy’s head spin at times. But Stede is still looking at Izzy, a familiar edge of self-doubt pulling at his quizzical expression now. And Izzy can’t have that. He reaches over to pat Stede’s salty, oily arm. “Not that I’d know anything about kids, but seems like you’re doing alright with these two.”
“Thank you,” Stede says, visibly relaxing again. For all his neuroses, at least he’s easier to reassure than his son. And Izzy isn’t just trying to appease him. Stede is by no means a perfect father, but he’s come a long fucking way, considering how he was treated by his own parents. They settle back into comfortable silence - or as much silence as Louis allows them before Izzy’s phone erupts into the next grating high-score jingle - and look out towards the sea.
About halfway between their spot in the shade and the water’s edge, Edward is sitting in the sand, hunched over and biting the tip of his tongue in concentration. After pouting about how he’s the only one who knows how to have fun at the beach, he’s now spent the better part of an hour building some monstrosity out of wet sand and sea shells. It’s taken on the shape of an octopus, with two large clam shells for eyes and dozens of smaller ones Ed has been meticulously arranging to form the suckers on all its eight arms. Izzy hasn’t seen him this focused since college finals.
“Aaaand done!” Ed exclaims at that moment, placing the very last little shell.
“Oh, what a lovely cephalopod!” Stede coos, and Izzy takes that as his cue to get up with a groan, squinting at the sun when he emerges from the shaded area. When he reaches Ed, he places a hand on his husband’s bare shoulder - because he’s missed touching him, and also to confirm a sneaking suspicion. Sure enough, Ed’s skin is scorching hot and already slightly reddish there.
“Stede! Sunscreen!” Izzy shouts over to their rainbow parasol. The container comes promptly flying - albeit at an awkward angle that has Izzy stumbling in the sand to dive for it. Only Ed’s catlike reflexes keep him from falling over. When he releases the steadying grip around Izzy’s wrist, Ed frowns at the bright yellow bottle.
“I hope that’s not for me, Iz. You know I don’t burn.”
Izzy knows that’s bullshit - not only does Ed burn, he will also whine about the itchy, peeling skin for every waking second until it’s healed - but it’s Izzy’s day off, so he’s not about to rehash an argument that’s older than both Bonnet kids put together.
“UV light makes tattoos fade faster,” he says instead, then counts to ten in his head until Ed’s face has gone through all the stages of performative resistance and arrived at a defeated rolling of the eyes.
“Fine,” Ed concedes. Then, with a look that would put any cartoon puppy to shame, “do my back?”
Of course, Izzy obliges. He sprays and then spreads the tacky cream over Ed’s back and shoulders, feeling it get smooth and oily on the sun-warmed skin. Stede claims the mineral-based stuff is better for the environment, so it leaves a residue that has Ed looking like he’s been dusted with powdered sugar. The large skull and snake on his back - an impulsive souvenir from the lowest point in their marriage so far - are turned a mottled grayish by the white film, as is the thicket of wild roses underneath, where Ed used to claim in big, bold letters to trust no one. It was one of the saddest days of Izzy’s life, finally limping home from a week at his sister’s, only to find those words etched into his husband’s skin. So of course Izzy felt like he would burst from sheer joy when Ed finally got it covered up last year, reassuring Izzy that it’s just not true anymore. Hasn’t been for a while now.
“There. Happy?” Ed asks, after spraying a half-assed layer on his arms, legs and chest as well. And Izzy is a sentimental old bastard, he can’t help himself, so he plants a quick kiss on Edward’s lips, feels his husband smirk against him.
“Now I am.”
“Ew. Cringe,” Alma comments drily from behind her book, with the sort of scathing disdain only an annoyed pre-teen can muster. The noise-canceling function probably isn’t even turned on. Izzy feels himself start to bristle but Ed just laughs and sticks out his tongue in the girl’s direction. Stede looks up from his magazine.
“Shush, prickly little sea urchins don’t get ice cream.” He’s put on his best parenting voice but is still cut off by Louis loudly crowing-
“Ice cream??”
Which leads to all five of them marching across the beach to a little snack stand by the wooden path. They make their way past groups of other late-afternoon visitors, scattered on the sand and in the shallow water. Izzy notices a surprising number of adult men who seem to take sandcastle construction very seriously while their kids watch with varying levels of interest. Maybe, if they come back here, Izzy can teach Louis how to build a proper moat, or show him the right time to jump when a wave hits… It surprises him, how much he enjoys these new thoughts, this tentative new role he’s settling into, but it still feels too fragile to say it out loud. No need to get ahead of himself.
Ed and Alma walk in front, stopping every few paces to point at a ship on the horizon or a funny shape in the clouds. Izzy and Stede follow close behind, with Louis tucked between them. But as they pass a rocky tide pool, the little boy starts walking slower and making wordless whiny noises. Izzy jolts when the feels his hand being grabbed by a much smaller one. Louis has stopped in his tracks, tears running over his cheeks again.
“What’s wrong?” Stede bends down to be at eye level with his kid. The boy’s lips tremble when he speaks, one shaky finger pointing to the rocks beside them.
“Crabs. I hate them. Alma said they’re gonna pinch me until I bleed.”
Izzy lightly squeezes the boy’s hand in sympathy. Being the older sibling came with its own burdens but at least he was never the one getting traumatized by his sister’s tall tales. Still, he has no fucking idea how to deal with this situation - but luckily Stede seems to have it all figured out. He takes Louis by both shoulders, gently turning him to face the pool. Izzy turns with him, the boy still holding on to his hand.
“Most animals will only hurt you if you hurt them first. See?” Stede points to a greenish-brown spot on the nearest rock, the size of half a palm and almost perfectly camouflaged if not for the slight movement of its forelimbs. Izzy feels Louis shudder and he can’t even blame the kid. The creature has too many legs for Izzy’s liking, and the sideways scuttling creeps him out. But Stede’s eyes are gleaming as he steps even closer, and Louis reluctantly follows behind, pulling Izzy along.
“Look,” Stede says, elated, “it’s collecting algae from the rocks, plucking it out with its pincers and stuffing it into its mouth. Like it’s eating cotton candy!”
“Yeah,” Izzy chimes in, “slimy, green cotton candy.”
At that, Louis wrinkles his nose, and just when Izzy starts cursing himself for not keeping his mouth shut when he’s out of his depth like that, the boy starts laughing. His tear-streaked little face cracks open like the sun bursting through thunderclouds and Izzy can’t help but feel a bit proud. Stede smiles at him.
“Hurry up!” Alma shouts from the snack stand. When they finally arrive without having to fend off any more dangerous sea creatures, Ed already has both hands full of ice cream cones. Two swirly, pastel heaps of a flavor called unicorn, which is really just bubblegum but more expensive. Stede and Louis go for cookies and cream. Izzy takes the only dairy-free option - a red and green triangle that looks like a child’s drawing of a watermelon slice, dark chocolate chips unconvincingly posing as the seeds. It tastes artificial but not even half bad, Izzy thinks, as they make their way back to their beach spot. Izzy braces himself for another bout of panic when they pass the tide pool again, but in a wild moment of bravery, Louis actually breaks away from the group to leave a tiny cookie crumb on the crab’s rock. A peace offering, maybe. Then he runs back to his sister, undoubtedly to gloat about it. Stede watches the scene and sucks at his ice cream spoon, seemingly content with his parenting choices for once.
“You grew out of it too, yeah?” Izzy asks, brushing their shoulders together. Stede shoots him a sly look that’s eerily reminiscent of Ed, or maybe Izzy himself. Like they’re all blending into one big symbiotic organism, and isn’t that a beautiful and terrifying thought?
“I stopped running away from wasps after finding out they mainly nibble at our snacks to feed their own young. Turns out, the best way to stop being afraid of things is to learn all about them.” Stede’s eyes trail down from Izzy’s face to his half-finished ice cream. “Like this atrocity. Absolute stuff of nightmares. But I’d love a taste, anyway - for research purposes.”
It’s so stupidly endearing, Izzy doesn’t even complain when Stede just leans over and licks it, only to pull a very confused face.
“Thought you knew all about melon sorbet, Bonnet,” Izzy laughs, sucking up a stray drop before it reaches his fingers. Stede huffs.
“I don’t know what that is but it’s decidedly not sorbet.” He steals another mouthful like he needs to make sure, then leaves a cold, sticky kiss on Izzy’s cheek.
The sun is starting to set already. Up ahead, Ed and Alma are having their long-running, heated argument about who does or does not count as a Disney princess. They still have a hundred scattered toys, towels and miscellaneous knick-knacks to pack up and will likely forget something important, which is bound to make at least one of them cry. There is sand in every nook and cranny of Izzy’s body, and his hands are all tacky from decidedly not sorbet.
Izzy smiles to himself. It’s the best day off he’s had in years.