[ Jack looks up, confusion etched into the wrinkles of his brow. Which is, in a way, better than the grief that had inhabited it before. He canāt imagine how that would be relevant to the two of them in this moment, the only moment they have left, but yes, he doesnāt suspect Charles of suddenly going on weird tangents. If he wasnāt going to listen to him, he would have shut the door in his face. ]
She said he wanted to recruit you to sail with him again. Why?
[this time, despite himself, he hesitates. he isn't unwilling to tell jack any part of this, but he is - for whatever reason - unwilling to explain it in a way that gives him more credit than he deserves. particularly considering how it all shook out in the end.]
He talked about his legacy. Made it sound as though... that's what he saw in me.
[he doesn't say that teach all but called him a son. that feels like something meant to stay between them, even in death. jack doesn't need to know how it affected him to hear it - enough, of course, to turn him away from the thing he'd been trying to build, back toward the life that defined him for so long. maybe jack will be able to read between the lines there anyway; he has to trust that, really, or else he might not be able to get his point across. when you see things from a new perspective, it can take some time before the ability to describe it catches up.]
This desire he had to leave something behind carried him back to Nassau, despite the years and the manner of his leaving, despite the legacy of his name alone, already so well-assured that even now he's more notorious than you and I combined.
[it stuck with him, turning over and over in his mind like sand becoming a pearl. charles himself had never put value on such a thing; even his name was no good to him dead. but that was before he'd started building a future, or even knew what one might look like. it had always been hard to define a thing that he always understood, deep down, he wasn't meant to have. but he'd allowed himself to abandon all of it in favor of ghosts out of the past, luring him back to... what? the thrill of the hunt, a few more months, and then the noose?
flint was the one who made it click.
they took my home.]
Thought about the worth of that. Being able to say you left a mark somewhere in the world in a way that couldn't easily be undone. To know, even if you went to your death, that something else carried on because of you - something worth being proud of.
[maybe jack, too, will struggle to understand that at a glance. to him, the name itself was the legacy, along with the legend attached. maybe he'll think charles is a fool for this, hopelessly sentimental after all, making connections out of nothing and for no good reason. fortunately for charles, he's already endured the ordeal of waiting for death before - no longer unknown, that makes it a little less frightening, and certainly inclines him to give zero fucks at all if jack finds any of this particularly hard to swallow.]
That's what I was to Teach. [he regards jack very steadily.] It's what you are to me.
[nassau was home because they made it so. different than the civilized world, yes, rough and unstable and ugly in ways that even he could hardly bear to look at, and perhaps charles was never meant to see her come to fruition. but jack would. jack rackham, whose vision extended far past what charles vane could see, farther than james flint could see, whose mistakes made him a stronger man, who had stood by charles longer than anyone.
they've been more than friends. more than brothers. more than lovers, now, though that's probably the least of it, all things considered. he recognized in jack the potential for a true partner - and it's brought them here, to this moment, wherein charles is convinced he'll be happier if he never sees jack again, and the certainty that he won't is still very little comfort.]
So you call me whatever the fuck you like, Jack. In a few hours, it won't make much difference. Spend them better than this.
This kind of sentimentality might not be Charlesā usual mode, but it is Jackās. He thinks in symbols and ripple effects and what-ifs, desperately trying to assign meaning to every mistake and random circumstance, wiggle himself into an ongoing story that he feels he deserves to be a part of. On the rare occasion that Charles talks like this, he doesnāt think it foolish, but listens with the utmost seriousness. From someone not prone to the same kinds of fanciful musings, theyāre worth all the more.
Strangely enough, itās what he needs to hear right now. Itās what you are to me. Present-tense. Still, after everything heās done here and who heās done it with, when he crosses over that threshold tomorrow, heāll still be worthy of his position. A proper fucking pirate, to the end. Tinged with sadness as it is ā over everything, over Charles, over the two of them ā Jack manages a smile, as he receives his next directive.
Spend them better than this.
Jack nods, once. He can't spend his last few hours here mourning. Charles wouldnāt want him to, even if the thread between them hadnāt frayed like this. Thereās another dead man waiting for him at home, ready to cling to him until the guards arrive to pry them apart. Thatās where he needs to be. ]
Youāre right. Go back to her. Sheāll love you better than I could.
[ He reaches his hand out to shake, the ring that Charles gave him still prominent on his middle finger, as is the etching in his skin reminding them both of where heās going from here. Itās not as firm a shake as it probably should be, an excuse to touch him again without asking too much. ]
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no subject
She said he wanted to recruit you to sail with him again. Why?
no subject
He talked about his legacy. Made it sound as though... that's what he saw in me.
[he doesn't say that teach all but called him a son. that feels like something meant to stay between them, even in death. jack doesn't need to know how it affected him to hear it - enough, of course, to turn him away from the thing he'd been trying to build, back toward the life that defined him for so long. maybe jack will be able to read between the lines there anyway; he has to trust that, really, or else he might not be able to get his point across. when you see things from a new perspective, it can take some time before the ability to describe it catches up.]
This desire he had to leave something behind carried him back to Nassau, despite the years and the manner of his leaving, despite the legacy of his name alone, already so well-assured that even now he's more notorious than you and I combined.
[it stuck with him, turning over and over in his mind like sand becoming a pearl. charles himself had never put value on such a thing; even his name was no good to him dead. but that was before he'd started building a future, or even knew what one might look like. it had always been hard to define a thing that he always understood, deep down, he wasn't meant to have. but he'd allowed himself to abandon all of it in favor of ghosts out of the past, luring him back to... what? the thrill of the hunt, a few more months, and then the noose?
flint was the one who made it click.
they took my home.]
Thought about the worth of that. Being able to say you left a mark somewhere in the world in a way that couldn't easily be undone. To know, even if you went to your death, that something else carried on because of you - something worth being proud of.
[maybe jack, too, will struggle to understand that at a glance. to him, the name itself was the legacy, along with the legend attached. maybe he'll think charles is a fool for this, hopelessly sentimental after all, making connections out of nothing and for no good reason. fortunately for charles, he's already endured the ordeal of waiting for death before - no longer unknown, that makes it a little less frightening, and certainly inclines him to give zero fucks at all if jack finds any of this particularly hard to swallow.]
That's what I was to Teach. [he regards jack very steadily.] It's what you are to me.
[nassau was home because they made it so. different than the civilized world, yes, rough and unstable and ugly in ways that even he could hardly bear to look at, and perhaps charles was never meant to see her come to fruition. but jack would. jack rackham, whose vision extended far past what charles vane could see, farther than james flint could see, whose mistakes made him a stronger man, who had stood by charles longer than anyone.
they've been more than friends. more than brothers. more than lovers, now, though that's probably the least of it, all things considered. he recognized in jack the potential for a true partner - and it's brought them here, to this moment, wherein charles is convinced he'll be happier if he never sees jack again, and the certainty that he won't is still very little comfort.]
So you call me whatever the fuck you like, Jack. In a few hours, it won't make much difference. Spend them better than this.
no subject
This kind of sentimentality might not be Charlesā usual mode, but it is Jackās. He thinks in symbols and ripple effects and what-ifs, desperately trying to assign meaning to every mistake and random circumstance, wiggle himself into an ongoing story that he feels he deserves to be a part of. On the rare occasion that Charles talks like this, he doesnāt think it foolish, but listens with the utmost seriousness. From someone not prone to the same kinds of fanciful musings, theyāre worth all the more.
Strangely enough, itās what he needs to hear right now. Itās what you are to me. Present-tense. Still, after everything heās done here and who heās done it with, when he crosses over that threshold tomorrow, heāll still be worthy of his position. A proper fucking pirate, to the end. Tinged with sadness as it is ā over everything, over Charles, over the two of them ā Jack manages a smile, as he receives his next directive.
Spend them better than this.
Jack nods, once. He can't spend his last few hours here mourning. Charles wouldnāt want him to, even if the thread between them hadnāt frayed like this. Thereās another dead man waiting for him at home, ready to cling to him until the guards arrive to pry them apart. Thatās where he needs to be. ]
Youāre right. Go back to her. Sheāll love you better than I could.
[ He reaches his hand out to shake, the ring that Charles gave him still prominent on his middle finger, as is the etching in his skin reminding them both of where heās going from here. Itās not as firm a shake as it probably should be, an excuse to touch him again without asking too much. ]
So long, Captain.