Work Text:
I wish to remain nameless
And live without shame
'Cause what's in a name, Oh
I still remain the same
I know everybody lets you down
I'll do the same
But know I'll always be around
This can remain the same
Call me when you need me
Call me anything you want
(Florence & the machine - Remain Nameless)
****
- March, 1721 -
They had been on the road for a week now. Silver and Flint were both riding in the carriage. Flint because he was chained, Silver because riding so long was bad for his leg. He hadn't thought until now, that you could stay in complete silence for so long. That him and Flint could go so long without talking. In the beginning Flint had tried to fight, tried to escape. But in the last days it had simmered down to silent brooding. Even though Silver was sure he was only building up for the next attempt. Flint hadn't believed one word of what Silver had told him. He wasn't sure whether that was to be expected, they were both not the most trustworthy, the two of them. And there had been a lot of bad blood in the end, a lot of words exchanged between them, cruel and hurtful, laying to waste what had built up between them.
"Did you ever expect it would end up like this?" Silver finally broke the silence, his leg twinging from the constant rattle of the coach.
Flint was looking at him. He was looking at him all the time. It was unnerving, the two of them holding each other's gazes in complete silence. Flint gave a small, cruel smile. "I certainly did not."
"I was trying to save you." Was he really going to have a confession here? To unburden his soul before he never saw him again. Because he could not live the rest of his life with Flint thinking he hated him?
"You were trying to save yourself. And Madi, granted."
"You would have died in this war, James." he said what should have been said a long time ago, what they all, including Flint, knew. What even Miranda had known. "If I hadn't ended it."
Flint pursed his lips in unimpressed acknowledgment, giving a half-shrug.
"And for what?" Silver went on. "Thomas is alive. And you're going to see him again."
"Let's say I was to believe you–"
"You are so caught up in your war! You can't even see anything else any longer! You can't even begin to imagine that there could be something good happening! That there could be something other than the complete annihilation of the British Empire or your death."
"Why do you care so much?" Flint replied calmly, smugly in that unnerving way he had when he always believed to be smarter than everybody else. With a twist of bitterness to it this time.
"Why should I not care? You say I betrayed you, but you betrayed me first. That doesn't mean I want you dead." Then in a softer voice. "Anymore than you want me dead."
"Yes, we both seem to have failed to take that final step."
*
The next morning started with Flint picking up their conversation as if there hadn't been hours of silence and fitful sleep in between.
"Let's say what you say is the truth. Let's say Thomas is alive and I ride with him into the sunset, into that happy ending you so vehemently insist on bestowing upon me. What about you, John? Where is your path going to lead? No army to command. Not even a crew. Your name will only get you hanged around these corners. Will Madi take you back? I doubt it. So what's a former pirate king, essentially a one-legged man with no money going to do?"
"You should know me well enough, James. I'll find something."
"Doubtlessly."
They fell silent again.
"If it's any consolation," Silver started once more, quieter, wistful. "I never wanted it to end. This war, sure. Not our friendship. I cherished it. And I hate that it had to end like this."
"No need to apologize, Mr Silver. You made your choice. And I know you well enough, if obviously not as well as you know me, to know that you don't regret a bit of it."
There was no more quiet in his reply. Just anger. Anger for having fought against windmills for too long. There was no reasoning with Flint. That's why Silver had to do what he'd done. "I have no need to apologize! I saved you, when Rackham and Max would have gladly paid with your life for their freedom and independence. And damn right I have no regrets! It is not my fault that you don't want to live, because I sure do!" He leaned forward, grabbing Flint by the front of his shirt, seeing the other's face slacken with surprise. "And maybe if we see each other again, in a few years, you can thank me for saving your life and giving you a chance to be anything other than fucking miserable." Quiet again now, the last words like washing a bitter taste out of his mouth.
He let him go again and fell back into his seat, suddenly exhausted. The rest of the day he spent staring out of the window, as the landscape passed by, without really noticing anything of it. Face resting against his palm in the universal gesture of defeat.
*
"I think," Flint started as they were making a stop for the day and were standing on the side of the road on a meadow, Flint still chained hands and feet. "the reason why we couldn't take that final step is maybe, because the intentions behind both our betrayals were never fundamentally bad."
*
"Two more days." Silver informed Flint briskly in the morning.
"You took quite a travel upon yourself."
"I would rather see you delivered in person."
"So I don't escape."
"So I actually see you go in there."
"Is this it then?" Flint asked, looking weirdly wistful himself, now.
"I think it is." Silver replied, all at once feeling the gravity of it. He gave a forced laugh to battle the sadness welling up in him. "We part at last. Not quite after the Urca as you'd planned. But I told you we might be friends by then."
"You're a hard man not to like, Mr Silver." Flint replied, employing the same gallows' humor Silver had.
"Indeed. Impossible almost." Silver murmured.
Flint regarded him quietly, intently with a reminiscent version of the fondness with which he sometimes used to look at him. "You never felt like you could speak the truth to me." he said. "Yet I always felt the urge to tell you mine. Even now."
Silver looked up in wary surprise, unsure what was to come.
"I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain." Flint went on, smiling to himself, if at the trite sentiment or what was to come, Silver did not know. "I think it should be spoken aloud at least once if only for my peace of mind." He leaned back in his seat, wistful, eyes still on Silver though. "The truth is, I wanted to kiss you. Ever since I saw you on the shore alive. And I mourned you. I mourned you as one would a lover, even though you never were. But I would have never acted on it. I would have never done anything that would destroy our–" A quick smile. "friendship."
A pained, brittle smile flittered across Silver's mouth. "Is that right?"
Flint returned the smile unaffected, as it goes with deathrow confessions, even though this was not really any such. "It is true. And I'm fairly certain you knew of my affection for you. There's not much I could hide from you in the end. If anything."
"You hid the Urca gold." Silver commented, feeling immediately the inappropriateness of his flippant joke. There was nothing flippant about their situation, nothing to joke. If there was, it was the saddest joke in the world, like everything about Silver's life.
Flint acknowledged that. "True."
It hit Silver hard, this sudden and unforeseen knowledge of what could have been, that maybe, maybe he could have turned this around differently, without losing him. He turned it off, instead leaning back, regarding Flint wrily. "So, you're saying you loved me? It would not have made you stop this war for my sake." Stupid. So unaware of Flint's feelings, so unaware of his own. When truly, he had known when Flint shot Dooley. He had seen it in his face then, but had been incapable of acknowledging it. Just as he was only now made aware of his own feelings by the bitter pull on his heart. A twisted, hollow notion of having lost something.
"It's hard to say." Flint mused about all this as if it was a scientific debate, as if they were discussing something far in the past that didn't really touch them anymore. He gave a pensive frown. "I did not deem myself capable of any such emotions any longer. And it was different than it was with Thomas. But yes, I think love would probably be the most accurate term for it." A quick self-ironic smirk.
Silver wanted to say what Flint had said to him on Skeleton Island. How can you do this to me? How can you do this to me now?
*
They were talking about it like it was a long forgotten part of their past that they're looking on with fondness. Like the feelings associated were long gone as well. It was like they'd met somewhere in a tavern, maybe in Havanna, both old men now and they're reminiscing. Instead of the actual events being only a few weeks past, the hurts and betrayals dealt out on both sides still fresh.
Maybe they were both sentimental now. Nostalgic. Now that they were about to part ways forever. But maybe they really would meet again some day as old men. Maybe by then they would truly be able to laugh about it. Or the regret would have made them bitter. But then, Flint had nothing to regret. Silver had given him the happy ending to his story, forever the good storyteller. For his own story, though, as it had always been, there was no coherence, sense or grace to be found in it. He had a past now, at least. Pirate King Long John Silver. That was his past now. His present was saying goodbye to the last friend he had in this world. What his future held he did not know. He wasn't worried. Not at all. He was not more or less than he had been before. It was as he'd told Israel Hands: He was nobody and still he had made all of this happen.
He could start over anywhere. First he would have to give Madi an account of what had happened here, though. There were no amends to make. She would know that he was not sorry for any of it. She would not forgive, just like Flint could not forgive.
"Do you remember how you cooked that first pig?" Flint interrupted his thoughts.
Silver smiled. "Yes. Yes I do. How could I forget it?"
*
Flint looked at him wistfully and with a certain self-irony, but also like he'd made his peace with it to some point. "I desired you the moment I first saw you, every time I pressed a blade to your throat." He chuckled. "But I knew I wanted you when you smiled at me across the canteen, through bloodied teeth. And I hated you when I realised I needed you. And I hated myself when then you needed me. But I didn't recognize it for what it was until I deemed you lost to me. Granted, even friendship was a pretty foreign concept to me by then, so maybe it is not surprising I mistook it for that." He stopped, regarding Silver interestedly. "Does it make you uncomfortable, me talking about this?"
"No." Silver replied, dry-mouthed.
"Miranda once asked me about you." Eyes sad, but at the same time like it's actually a good memory. "I hadn't even realised I was talking about you so much."
"I always wondered," Silver spoke now, carefully latching onto this end-of-days mood in which they seemed able to say to each other everything they'd ever wanted to. "What it was the two of you talked about. Just the past?"
Flint didn't seem offended, seemed more open than ever. Like that night on the Maroon Island when they'd buried a chest together. When Silver had learned about the man he too hadn't been able to give up on. Even though truly, it had been Flint he hadn't been able to give up on. "Rarely the past, as I couldn't bear it. But seemingly a lot about you. She said to me she never knew the names of any of my crew, except Gates, yet 'John Silver' was a name I'd mentioned five times already. Who you were, she asked. And I said, the cook. She said, he doesn't sound like the cook. She was right about that, like she was about most things."
Silver laughed. "I was scared of you, back then."
"Oh I know. Not very much though." There was amusement in Flint's eyes to match Silver's.
"You know me," Silver joked. "I see–"
"–an opportunity and you grab it. I know."
Only this time he hadn't, had he? He was letting this slip out of his hands. Because it was what he owed Flint. Not honesty. Not to follow him into death. But a chance. To look out for him when no one else would. He could have let the ghost of Thomas Hamilton rest, but he hadn't. And now that he had dug up the not-so-dead, he couldn't have kept this from him. That would have been a betrayal greater than anything else he could have ever done.
*
They finally arrived at the plantation.
Silver looked towards the gates with something like desperation. The men he'd brought were looking at him questioningly. Unsure how to proceed, when he seemed so unsure himself. The decision was quickly made when he turned back to look at Flint and pulled him forward by his shoulders. The first contact of lips more harshly than necessary. Then his hand had moved to the other's neck, leaning in again, another brush of lips and beard rasping against each beard. Flint didn't pull away as he'd expected. Leaned in again. And for a moment they both allowed themselves to imagine how it could have been.
Then it was over. They both let go. And maybe Silver was imagining it, but he thought he saw regret in Flint's eyes.
"I didn't lie." was what Silver said foolishly. "You will see for yourself."
"I almost have a mind to believe you." Flint replied, mellower, more at ease than he'd been all through their travel. "So this is goodbye then, Long John Silver." He smiled. It was a warm one. And it burned in Silver's heart and his throat.
"Goodbye, Captain." Silver replied, his voice rougher than it'd ever been. "Try to be happy, okay?" He couldn't help a small smile himself now.
The only words spoken after that were between Silver and the plantation owner, as he handed Flint over. Then he stood and waited as Flint was lead out to the field. Watched as Flint saw the tall blond man on the field. Watched as he started running.
By the time Flint turned around again, to look for the silhouette of a one-legged man against the setting sun, Silver had already left.
*
Madi couldn't forgive him. Flint had been right about that. And he realised it didn't hurt as much as it should have. Her unforgiving stare and words. He was filled with regret for something else. Something that had never happened despite having been on the cusp of doing so in every moment they'd spent together. A dare they both had only been willing to take when there had been nothing left to lose.
In the end they had both chosen Flint. Neither regretted the choice and still they did feel regret as they parted ways. For a future that would not be either.
Maybe in a year or two she might change her mind and forgive him. And Silver, always the opportunist, would take the warm affection he still felt for her over the turmoiled and confusing love directed at a man who was no longer there.
Maybe not. Who knew? For now he got on the ship he had come in and left the Maroon Island behind. He saw Madi standing at the cliff, watching him depart. Regal and unyielding. She hadn't come to say goodbye.
She had been right, he had betrayed her. He had planned to do so for a long time. He could have just left, he could have left them to fight their war until they could both find death in the way they wanted. But just like Flint she couldn't understand that he couldn't let them die. He could be the villain of this story, if that was what they needed, it was still a much better ending than anyone could have expected.
Yes, he had planned it for some time, but not as long as she imagined. It was true, he'd started looking for Thomas Hamilton, but in the beginning it was just an idea, not yet fully formed into a plan. He did always plan for an out of any situation, that much was true. Why he'd done it in quite this way, though? He hadn't then known what large piece of his life would be missing with Flint gone. Oh, they had understood the importance the other had for them. But, how had Flint put it, he'd mistaken it for friendship. When, really, he'd been in love with Flint long before he fell for Madi. He hadn't had much experience with that either. Silver didn't think he'd ever been in love before those two. For that he would have had to let anyone get close to him. His position had always been too precarious to let that happen. How it could have happened with Flint, when his position had been more precarious than ever? How had he not noticed when it had happened? How had he not noticed when he got together with Madi? Had she known? He didn't think so. Maybe she had in the end. He had loved her, very much so. In his own limited way. And even though Flint and him had truly ended over Madi, the end had been in motion already, and it had been about Flint.
*
- September, 1721 -
"This yours?"
"Yes." Silver continued wiping the counter.
"Did you return to the Maroon Island?"
"Initially." Silver replied tight-lipped.
"I see." Flint responded, motioning for a pint, which Silver handed to him.
"Where's Thomas?"
"In Boston."
"How did you find me?"
"It's not that hard, to find a one-legged, horrible cook." Flint gave a smile, a real one, full of his occasional mischief. "I asked Madi," he then added.
"How is she?" It was nice how they both avoided to address the actual reason of this visit. Both content to continue this meaningless interaction.
"She's alright. Still adjusting, I think. She's trying to make the best of it."
"How is Thomas?"
Flint smiled again, a soft and gentle smile. "He is fine. Not all that much changed, if you can believe it. That man is indestructible. And incorrigible."
Silver did not say he didn't want to hear about Thomas even though he'd asked. He just smiled the continuous smile of no humor.
"I like this place," Flint said, running a hand over the dark hardwood of the bar. Full of dents and mars that spoke of it's long history. "It–"
"Reminds you of Nassau. Yeah, me too."
"How did you get it?"
A smirk. "I won a bet."
"Your leg?"
"Yes." Silver smiled.
"You didn't kick anyone's head in, did you?"
"Oh, no. nothing like that. What about you? What are you doing?"
"Nothing much. Reading mostly. Thomas is writing a book."
"About his time on the plantation?" Why he asked, when 'oh, how nice' would have been a perfectly acceptable answer, he didn't know.
"No." Flint's mouth twitched in a half-hidden smirk. "Nothing like that."
"What do you want, James?" Silver finally had to ask.
"Continue our last conversation." Flint was playing with the label of one of the rum bottles next to him.
"I have to close the bar."
"I'll wait." There was a strange calm about Flint.
*
They were sitting together in Silver's run-down flat above the bar. Both well into their cups.
Their conversation had stayed in easy territory, despite all their resolutions. Reminiscing the past. Regaling tales of Silver's latest exploits which had been surprisingly many, despite his retirement.
The drink had made neither wiser, only had made Silver more comfortable around Flint, about their close proximity. And it made him belligerent in a way. For what business had Flint disturbing his peace when he had nothing to offer? Or precisely, when Silver had nothing to offer compared to the great Thomas Hamilton of the astounding mental health, sharp wit with the pen and doubtlessly great prowess in bed.
That's what made Silver blurt out the words that disrupted the mellow companionship that could have gone on forever. "What is this, James? You suddenly miss me?"
"I did." Flint was so calm and sure, when Silver was so out of his depth. "It took me a while to realise what you did. And what it meant. I wonder, though. You've given me what I wanted. Yet you played yourself. Which seems very out of character for you."
"Why, thank you very much." Silver returned acerbically.
"You must have known I loved you. You deny it, but I don't believe you. It was something you had machinated yourself. I'd been wondering, ever since my realisation while we trained. You'd figured me out after two weeks on the account. Of course that detail wouldn't remain unnoticed to you, when no one in ten years had even suspected. I wondered if maybe you'd intentionally put yourself in my path, knowing full well your attraction, and played your cards to the highest effect, knowing that that would be a bond a lot harder to break. And you'd been right too about it. That's what I thought, back then. It made me feel humiliated. But then you said those words about your loyalty and friendship. And I believed you again, until I couldn't believe you any longer. I was shaken by your betrayal. Because my love for you was undeniable and unrenouncable. But I couldn't hate you either. Because it had become clear to me that there was no way I would ever let harm come to you or do any such myself. During our travel I slowly came to accept that indeed you might have had my interest in mind as well as your own. But, God, it took me a long time to realise what your actions actually meant. Even when Thomas was back in my arms, I could not fathom your motives. Maybe because it was so unlike you. But if you felt that way, you could have had that so much easier. You had held me in the palm of your hand for a long time by then."
"Did I?" Silver laughed brittly. "I had not noticed. And don't lie, James. Be it as it may, you'd have never given up this war for me."
"If I'd known you'd be there with me when it's over, if you'd asked me, I don't think there's anything I wouldn't have done for you." Flint's eyes were so very honest. So very intense. Focused solely on him. No need to look away. All methods Silver himself, the eternal trickster, had used on many people to gain their trust. And Flint was a great liar himself, Silver had learned that early. But here, right now, there was no point in lying. Nothing to be gained. So Silver did not know why Flint would bare this to him. So he could only answer with the truth himself.
"Where else would I have been? I told you once that there is no other place for me in this world now."
"But there is. A point proven by how long it took me to find you. Why it is though you took on the one profession that is entirely ill-suited for you, away from all of your friends, I cannot fathom."
"Maybe I wanted a fresh start." He did not say that there were no more friends left. That he'd given up everything for Flint. And then he'd given up Flint as well. But truth be told, he'd also been saving himself. Flint had been right about that too. Silver would never forget to look out for himself. He'd forgotten that lesson once and was reminded of it everyday. He wouldn't do that again. Not for Flint, not for Madi, not for anyone. It made him lonely. But then, he was only lonely if he chose to.
"Yet here I am." Flint stated wistfully.
"Here you are." Silver repeated dully. Frenzied, vertigo-esque hope jittering inside him.
"Let me take you to bed, John." Flint finally broke the last pretense of whatever was going on here. Soft-spoken, tender. Looking at Silver in a way that made him feel like he already belonged to him, that he had all along.
"And in the morning you'll be gone?"
"If you want me to."
Their hands had found each other already, while the two of them where still bartering with their hearts as if payment hadn't already been made and goods had long ago changed their owner. Intertwined leisurely, familiar. Flint lifted Silver's hand to his lips. A soft brush on the back of his hand.
"No." Silver said.
"No?" Flint regarded him, unhurried, solemn.
"No, I don't want you gone in the morning."
*
Silver lay in the bed that for the past months he'd been lying in alone. He turned over to the man who was still sleeping. Had this changed everything? The unthinkable finally having happened.
He'd been wrong. Maybe some things were inevitable.
So close. He could see the freckles on Flint's skin. The red eyelashes where they touched his cheeks. So much calmer in sleep now than he remembered. He'd seen him sleep. What little sleep he'd ever gotten. He always seemed to be in the state of just waking up when he saw him. Never actually asleep.
Flint. Why was he even still thinking of him as that? The man before him wasn't Captain Flint any longer. Silver had seen to that. Had robbed himself of something with it. Or so he'd thought at the time. Now, he wasn't sure any longer. Did not know, though, who they were to each other. It had always been clear who Captain Flint and Long John Silver were to each other. But they weren't any longer. And who James McGraw and a man, whose fake name had become more familiar to him than his real one had ever been, were to each other, he didn't know. But maybe the real problem was that it did not matter, for to him he would always be Flint, because he was not Thomas Hamilton.
For now Silver was left alone with his worries, though. As the man in question continued to lie there, face relaxed and much younger for it, breathing out small, even rasps. Silver would have prefered to still be asleep himself. He wasn't though. Still, the night lingered behind with a peculiar effect. A level of close personal acquaintance they hadn't had before, knowledge about the other's body, about the own. Knowledge that had been given up. And instead of dousing Silver's insecurity it had furthered it. That hadn't been the case with Madi, the first person he'd let see his body the way it was now. But with Flint it wasn't even about the leg. No more pretense of pride between them. It had been about everything else. Letting the other see more than he should have. But what, what exactly that Flint hadn't already known at this point? What other than the geography of the planes of his body had he really given up? So much more. Every single secret chipped off him like scales of a fish, leaving him raw, bloody and unprotected, ready to pull the entrails and bones from his body and be dissected. It was a childish simile. A childish notion. Had he not seen as much in turn? But those truths in Flint's eyes had only confused him more. Because what he saw to be true couldn't be true. Not in the world Silver had created. What good had last night done either of them? A bill finally paid in the oldest currency besides blood. Sweat and spit and come. Nothing new about the act itself. Yet compartmentalisation would not work for Silver here, when the other's fingertips still seemed to burn against his flesh. Making Silver's body his own. An act that felt chafing in it's symbolism. For there could not be room for another inside him. Still it was demanded and needed by both of them. A plunge off a cliff. Something that had always been implicitly there and now had happened. Almost too blunt and overwhelming in it's sudden reality. In the way that they could just do it and could have done it at any time. Not so hard to do at all. Not awkward, as every touch had been an impossible victory. A trade of weakness and need. The necessary conclusion to every dance they'd had. Impossible in the undeniable logic behind it. Not so difficult in it's math. Two cocks. Spit, oil and a little patience to coax a body to fit. Still it had rendered him into a state of mind he cared not to inhabit. Flint had coaxed more from his body than just yielding. Terrible things had been uttered by Silver throughout it, even more terrible things had no longer been hidden on his face. Terrible in their vulnerability. Nothing as trite and predictable as 'I love you'. Things that layed bare more than a blade into flesh ever could.
Silver did not know now where they stood. A one-legged man in this as everywhere else. Tethering with no chance to ever gain his balance again. No wish to lean on another, when he knew that sooner or later he would have to scramble for himself again.
He had not asked to be touched with reverence and hunger and possessiveness. With hands that seemed to know exactly where they'd wanted to touch all along.
Why could there not have been a problem? Awkwardness, embarrassment, impatience, pain, disappointment. An encounter they'd both want to forget. Jumbled groping after too much drink. Frenzied, too quick coupling, not enough to leave anything but a sting and a wet spot. Both of them too selfish or too hesitant. It could have been a mess. A controllable mess. They could have parted ways after that. Could have forgotten this encounter. There would have been a resolution. The fantasy disenchanted as all things in Silver's life. And he could have moved on.
Silver had ordered his life. As he knew he would. It wasn't in his nature to linger too long on things he couldn't change. He'd cut his losses and all in all he was not in a bad place, leg-situation nonwithstanding. There'd been no need to act out that particular fancy that had nested in Silver's mind from the moment Flint had confessed it on the travel to the plantation. For nothing more than a fancy it had been. A love that had never been there could not be lost. It was a fancy he could not afford to indulge. And so he hadn't. He had banned it from his mind. And maybe, in the years to come there would have only been a sweet, heavy sadness in his heart, when he thought of his time at the side of Captain Flint. And he would remember him fondly, as a good memory.
But Flint had come here, for whatever business. Maybe just as his own personal revenge on him. He honestly still had no idea. And what had been an idea had become something tangible, something that burned like the bittersweet tang of orange peel. Something that would burn forever with churning regret. Maybe just to make Flint's words true. 'In a few years you're going to think back on this as the moment where you threw it all away'. But he couldn't afford fancies and he couldn't afford regret either.
Flint chose this moment to open his eyes and look at Silver blearily and a little surprised, just to form a smile a moment later.
"I dreamed of you, you know." Flint said, face still on the pillow, just looking at Silver with that suddenly ever-present subtle smile that had never been there before. "Not tonight." His hand reached for Silver's unbidden, uninhibited. "These last months. I dreamed of you."
"Why did you come here, James?" Silver now asked exasperated, his hand curling up and pulling away.
Flint met his eyes again, with that intimidating, unselfconscious honesty. "I think you know why I'm here. But I'm going to tell you, even though you never did." A smile more self-ironic than sad. "Because I realised that you love me too. And I realised furthermore that I still love you. Despite everything."
"I'd imagine Thomas would have something to say about that." Silver said with all the poise of someone just getting his heart ripped out.
"Me and Thomas are close friends, as close as two persons can be. But no longer lovers."
"How coincidentally convenient."
"There was nothing convenient about it, nor was it coincidental. It took some time. Thomas understood it quicker than I did." He regarded Silver silently in his struggle through disbelief. "Do you wanna know the title of Thomas' book?"
"If you must."
"A pirate king: Something like the truth about Long John Silver."
Silver did not know whether to be offended or flattered. How he could feel violated about his secrets when he'd hardly revealed anything?
"So?" Silver finally said, outwardly unimpressed.
"There's a story there to tell." Flint clicked his tongue in wry acceptance of Silver's obdurateness. "But I think that's for a different time. Tell me, Mr Silver." He brushed a strand of curls out of Silver's face. "Did you miss me?"
Silver looked at him inscrutably, mouth tense. "Quite a bit."
"Then there's maybe an opportunity you should grab."
"And then what?"
Flint smiled lopsidedly. "Then we live. And try to be happy."
"You're asking me to follow your lead blindly once more, Captain."
"Yes."
"To trust you."
"I think we both know I didn't come here for revenge." Flint said, one eyebrow raised.
"Can you trust me?" Silver asked.
"I do."
Silver laughed in sudden disbelief.
"John." Flint smiled softly. "Say yes."
*
It had a surreal quality, all of a sudden Silver being with him again. Truly with him. He'd always thought Thomas was his one that got away, but he'd been wrong.
And Silver, Silver had always been something else. From the second he'd met him. They'd changed so much around each other. Accommodated the other in their lives. Still Flint had never been an optimistic man. So naturally he had imagined his and Silver's story to be one of unrequited pining. The truth was Silver's beauty aside he'd first come to respect him before he'd come to love him. Love, that strange elusive emotion that happened to show up at the most inopportune times, leisurely sitting in the back of the room winking at you, saying: I've been here the whole time.
Silver liked to act like he was an optimist, never accepting any situation as too dire. But the truth was, he was a pragmatist. Which was just another word for someone who prepares for making the best out of the worst. If all of a sudden the best happened though, he was left helpless, struggling to make his original plans fit with it, knowing nothing else.
Flint recalled what Madi had told him when he came to her, looking for Silver. How she had recounted Silver's words to her. The story of Captain Flint and John Silver. A sad one, full of hope. Full of hope that had been ditched in the end, in favor of pragmatism.
'The man whose mind I had come to know so well. Whose mind I'd in some ways incorporated into my own.'
'Waking from a long and terrible nightmare.'
He hadn't known back then. Hadn't second guessed the kiss. It had felt so necessary in that moment. So he hadn't in that moment, so overloaded with emotions that each on their own would have been too much already. Hadn't been able to question how it had come to happen. Would only later recall the moment, the taste of Silver's mouth. For a singular moment. Had thought the regret he'd tasted had been his own. But Thomas had been right with the tale he'd spun as masterfully as Silver himself.
He'd expected Silver to deny him in the last moment. Had expected each morning, while Silver ordered his affairs, to wake up on his own. But now they were on a ship again. The inn sold. And they were bound for Boston. And here he was in their shared cabin, Silver asleep, back against his shoulder, curls spilling over Flint's chest like the most palpable proof that Silver was here.
*
Silver was asleep too when they finally arrived. And Flint carried him up to their house. It was not surprising that he was so exhausted. He'd been under a current for all their travel. Irritated. Restless. It had seemed he'd only sleep during the day, when he'd sometimes doze off for a while. In the night Flint would always find him awake, sitting upright, staring into nothing, like a statue. During the day, dark circles under his eyes. Flint had tried to talk to him, but the other had said his trouble sleeping had nothing to do with their situation. What was he to say to that, never one to listen to good advice either? A few hours of sleep he'd at least find after their lovemaking in the early hours of the night. No matter how unhappy or drained he looked, without fail he'd seek out Flint when they returned to their cabin. Like he'd thought he was running out of time.
Another travel to Thomas. And this time Silver not believing Flint. Still he'd followed. When his doubt was so palpable.
Three weeks of mapping out the other's body in every way they knew, while Silver had seemed to speak even less what he really thought than usual. Skin as marred as his own, tumbles of black curls and eyes that bore into his asking for everything. Rocking into each other as the waves rocked against the ship.
It had felt too much like something that could have happened in the past. One of each of the opportunities they'd let pass. The curve of Silver's cock in his hand. The dip in his lower back where he was arching off the washed out sheets that contrasted so starkingly with his hair.
He'd seen him like this once, on the Maroon Island. Madi had answered his knock and left, fully dressed already. But Silver had been sitting there, still in their bed. Covered only in the sheet that only by mere coincidence seemed to cover his lap. One arm stretched out, resting on his drawn up knee. The other arm thrown across the other, his chin resting on it. Eyes dark and sated, sweat still visible on his skin where his hair stuck to his face and throat. The curve of his leaned-forward body. The inside of his thigh where he could follow the line of the thigh until the sheet obscured it moments before the crease between leg and crotch. It had been impossible not to look. Silver had not been bothered, why would he have been? He'd looked like something out of Flint's most shameful dreams. He had wanted to go over there and press himself against his body and wring every single moan that was still to be had out of him.
And now he had this. Like all the missed opportunities did not matter. Like fate was laughing in the face of Flint's deeply inhibited pessimism, telling him that good things did happen. That mistakes didn't ruin your entire life.
He found it hard to believe it, even though he'd had six months more to get used to the idea of good things happening. So maybe it was no surprise that Silver couldn't believe him yet. That he had such trouble accepting this reality. But this time it was Flint who'd stay with him for a week, a month, a year and longer. Until he could accept it.
It took a toll on you, to constantly doubt everything. Flint knew that himself. A toll he saw now on Silver's still sleeping face, when the lights of the front porch fell on them, telling him that they were home.
"That's him." was all Thomas said, regarding Silver with appreciation. Then, "God, he's young."
"We're just old." Flint laughed quietly, both of them quietly as not to wake him.
*
- March, 1722 -
"That the world is full of unending horrors." Flint looked out the window into the Boston snow.
Silver looked at him in surprise. "Beg your pardon?"
"Don't you think, now that this war is over and neither of us has either need or use of leverage over the other, it's time for you to share your story and become transparent to me in turn?" Flint smiled.
"James..." Silver hesitated.
"As you said it, we're way past the point of pride in front of the other. You said it's as much as you can bear to share. Not even with me. It's not that I think you owe me the truth–"
"Why are you so nosy?" It was weariness more than irritation in his voice. Shoulders sagged in resignation rather than tense.
Flint looked surprised. "Because I want to know you. Because I don't want you to carry the memory of a past that seems to pain you so much, alone."
"You do know me." Silver replied a little harshly. "Better than anyone else. You're the only person who truly knows me to all effects in a way even Madi never did. Madi knew me as a pirate. You knew me as nothing."
"You mean I understand you, which we both always did. Right from the beginning. But I don't know you. Not completely. I know your present. But not your past."
"And how are you supposed to defeat me if you don't?" Silver joked weakly.
"Let's face it, I was always only looking at your eyes." Flint laughed. They both did, the heaviness of the moment fleeing already. "Think about it," Flint then said and got up. "We have time now. John. If you think one day that you might want to share it," he smiled again, quiet and happy, a quirk of the corner of his mouth with both hope and comfort. "I am here."
*
Yes, he was. And so was Silver. They were still here. Still together. Despite all of Silver's doubts. Despite the disconcerting presence of the infamous Thomas Hamilton.
Silver had not counted on it. Still it had happened almost effortlessly. Days, weeks and months stealing past him so easily. And suddenly they'd fallen into this routine. This life. For that's what it was that they had together. So far removed from the life they'd had before, that there was no possibility for comparison.
No more the steady rocking of the waves against the ship. Nor the noise of a town full of pirates. No, this quiet townhouse that they called their own. And the slight incommodation of cold in the morning. Staying long in bed and reading in quiet and peaceful companionship. Silver pretending to attempt to cook just to get a rise out of Flint.
A security of the other that they'd never had before. With all purposes and hidden agendas dead and shrivelled like the leaves outside the window.
Still, a certain insecurity would probably never leave him. But despite it he'd become comfortable in this. Had gotten used to Flint being there. To having the right to touch and be touched in turn. To the knowledge that it was him Flint wanted there. That no one's begging for affection here or cheating himself into it. That they're both here because they wanted to. That it didn't matter that they weren't pirate kings anymore. That his answer of who they were to each other now, had been answered by the familiarity of time. Still who they'd always been.
And they both missed it, at times. The life. The power. When Silver had used to think so very little of the pirate life. They missed all the friends they had lost on the way. And Silver knew that some days, Flint missed Eleanor. And he understood, because he too missed Billy some days.
But it was peaceful. More peace than Silver had ever had. More happiness than Silver had ever thought he would have. When he'd thought solitude in a pub of his own was going to be happiness for him. And for Flint it had at least been a long time.
"I love you." Flint said as if on cue, in his usual quiet by-the-way manner. Like it was really already known and he was going to say it many more times anyway. And Silver hoped he would.
*****
- November, 1721 -
He met the infamous Thomas Hamilton, as well, of course. The legend, the ghost, the man who's freedom Silver had more or less machinated.
He saw them interact every day, and he still could not believe that things were as simple as they seemed. But they were friendly with each other, affectionate. Relaxed in a way of implicit trust.
Thomas watched him too, with intense scrutiny, which Silver wasn't used to. A little puzzled, a little amused. Like he was pulling off layer after layer just by looking at him. They did talk too, of course. They were living in the same house, however vast. And it was plain necessary that they talked. Thomas had many questions after all. Questions that Flint hadn't been able to answer.
It was unsettling that Thomas was writing a book about him. He could not imagine why the other would do that.
"I spoke of you," Flint had said. "A lot. I told him everything that has happened in the past twelve years. He said you were certainly the most fascinating character of my whole story. Even though he could not tell whether you were hero or villain."
~
"It's not often," Thomas said. "That we find ourselves an Iago who's calculating enough not to betray himself and still has a conscience."
"He does seem to fascinate you." Flint replied.
"Certainly." Thomas chuckled. "It is a traditional epic story. From a beggar to a king. The schemer who falls for his own scheme. A tale of daring, deceit and love. And as all tragic heroes, with a bittersweet ending."
"Believe me, only John Silver himself chooses how his story ends." Flint replied, with a sort of residual bitterness.
"Exactly. And that's the point, isn't it? The decisions he made. So many roles he wrote himself in. Misfit. Unwilling ally. Broken hero. Usurper. Friend. Legend. Enemy. There where so many ways he could have ended his story. And of all he chose deus ex machina. Athena to your Orestes."
"Is that how you see him?" Flint asked a little testily.
"Well, that's the definition of it. Someone who solves a situation that can no longer be solved by anyone else and is about to end in disaster."
"You seem to know a lot more about him than me. Just from my words." Flint cared not to talk about Silver, tried to forget the man. Even though every tale of the past years seemed to come back to Silver, even if it was long before his time.
"I feel like I see him before my eyes from your vivid account."
*
Thomas didn't let it go, though.
"A book?" Flint asked. "About Silver?"
"Why not?" Thomas shrugged even-tempered. "We elaborated on his qualities for a hero. And I think it's a story worth telling."
"Are you sure he's the hero?" Flint tried to take it with humor, knew he well that once Thomas had set his mind on something, there was no talking him out of it. "Does that make me the villain?"
"Does either of you have to be?"
"What's a story without a villain?"
"True. He certainly has the makings for a great villain. But then, so do you."
Flint chuckled. "Do I?"
"Oh yes," Thomas smirked. "The terror of the Carribbean."
Flint smiled in fond and self-ironic amusement. "Yes, that's me."
"I think I could tell this story either way. For a villain we need, as you so well established. It's hard to say, this Iago to your Othello is a little too selfless for my taste. Maybe not Iago. What would you say he is? Maybe Bolingbrok to your Richard?"
"Depose me he certainly did." Flint laughed. "Even though I'd like to think I put up a bit more of a fight."
"Did you?" Thomas leaned in closer, face intent and curious. "Was there nothing you could have done to stop him?"
Flint's mind went back to Dooley pointing a gun at Silver's head. He swallowed. "No. Nothing."
"Hmm." Thomas conceded that, his elusive smile putting Flint off balance. "Still a more merciful end he bestowed upon you, this young usurper. And not much he did with that kingdom. A crown he obtained only to let it go. Left behind with nothing but ghosts and demons."
"Oh, Mr Silver won't lose sleep over this."
Thomas gave a short laugh. Then, "You know how getting explained a story is never quite the same as reading it yourself, understanding dawning, piece by piece?"
"What else do you need to know? What exactly is it you're trying to write? A historical account? A tale of adventure?" He laughed. "No, let me guess, there's a philosophical message in it, right?"
"Yes, I think there is."
"Should I be miffed that I'm not interesting enough for you to tell my story?" Flint joked.
"Oh, I am. Inevitably."
Nothing's inevitable, Flint thought, unbidden.
"Tell me when you knew you could trust him? You told him about me. You trusted him then. But when did you realise?"
"These are hard questions you're asking, Thomas. Sometime between him telling me about the Urca gold and saving my life on the Maroon Island. I know that when we stranded there I already cared for him. But that did not necessarily mean I trusted him. Not in the way you would define it. Not even when I told him about you. I wanted to trust him. I did by the end of the war. Even though I examined my decisions and thoughts time and timed again, reminding myself that trusting him would be foolish. Oh, I cared for him. And I needed him. And I knew I could count on him. But on some level I'd always known that something like this could happen one day. It struck me completely unprepared when it did, though."
*
"How long do you think it took him to find me?" Thomas asked.
"I don't know, I wasn't privy to any of his schemings. I wasn't aware of any of his doings. Not his plans with Max and Jack Rackham. Not any of it. He made his decisions and only saw fit to inform me of them when it was already done. I wouldn't have let Madi die. I wouldn't have. He'd only have had to trust me. We could have..."
"It bothers you still, the war."
"I..." Flint rubbed his forehead. "No. Thomas." He gave a weak chuckle. "I guess it truly doesn't matter any longer. But... what we did was right. It's... I guess it's hard to let go. He once asked me, if I wouldn't let all of it go, to have you back. I didn't know then yet, that he was speaken about a factual possibility. I'm guessing he'd already found you then. And I would have. Yes, of course I would have. So, yes, I guess the war doesn't matter..."
"But you spent the last twelve years working to that end." Thomas finished his thought with understanding.
"Yes. It's not that the war bothers me... but, John knew how much it meant to me, he– How could he throw it all away that easily? I had thought it mattered to him as much as to me. There was this profound understanding. There was this feeling... that as long as we were together we could do anything. It's not even that I'm still angry at him. I know, if I still had had the power, I would have done the exact same thing. I would have made the decision for him, without leaving him a choice." He paused. "I guess, I should be most embarrassed that I never looked for you myself. That I took all their lies at face value. But then, Silver is the master of lies himself, so why would he accept any story he hasn't told himself?"
*
Thomas looked at him sadly, wistfully.
"What is it, darling?" Flint asked.
"It's hard to watch how hard you are trying."
"About what?" Flint asked confused.
Thomas shook his head, letting out a sigh. "You never quite ask me about the plantation, James."
"I do not want you to recount such a tale of pain."
"A tale of pain? Do you think that's all the last twelve years were for me? No. There was joy there too. People I considered friends. There was pain and desperation. But there was laughter too. And peace at times. It might not have been as adventurous as yours, but I too have twelve years of living to look back on."
"I'm sorry... You can tell me whatever you wish." He sat down. "I'm here to listen."
"No, I'm sorry, I phrased this wrongly, you're not seeing my point. My life didn't stop twelve years ago. That's what I'm saying, James. And neither did yours."
Flint's face broke for a moment, immeasurable grief spreading over it. "But it did, Thomas. My life did stop twelve years ago. And the clocks only started turning again a few months ago."
Thomas leaned forward, cupping Flint's face. The other leaned into it. "Oh." Thomas said compassionately, pain spreading over his own face as well now. "Such a romantic. My sweet dear."
*
"You know," Thomas started. "There would be a certain poetic beauty about it, if it indeed was only a story to read. For ten years you live for revenge only and the first person you give your heart to returns me to you."
"I did not say I loved him."
"You did, my dear. In so many ways." Thomas smiled. Then his eyes narrowed. "Why is it you feel ashamed of that? I did not expect of you this path of vengeance. Nor this self-inflicted celibacy. My fate was my fault alone. While I would have wished for you to mourn me, and while I knew I'd destroyed your career, I did not for one second imagine I destroyed your entire life. Had I known, I could not have born all those years."
"You did not destroy my life! I chose this. I–"
"Were you happy? In your tales, there was shame and anger. Pride, when you secured your crew. Satisfaction, when you killed my father. When you speak of Miranda there's only grief and guilt, but if you were able to make your own decision then certainly so was she. There's some admiration for Eleanor Guthrie, but again so much regret. So much shame, regret and anger in all your tales. When were you happy?"
"When I found you."
"No. The first story you told me where I saw you smile, was a story about a roast pig and dysentery. There were four more. A story about how you'd been robbed of all your gold. The story of how you learned who had stolen it. The taking of a man o' war. And something about someone fucking the ship's goat. You told me how you'd come to Nassau. You told me how you secured your crew. But the only thing that seems to have happened between that time and someone stealing the Urca schedule seems to be the death of my father."
"Well, certainly the last two years are more pertinent for you to understand what exactly happened."
"I remember our first conversation about this. I thought it would have made a great start for my novel. So I used it. Do you want to read it?"
Flint looked at him warily. "Sure."
»The pirate captain who wasn't a pirate captain anymore sat down beside the lord who wasn't a lord anymore. The sun was setting over the plantation.
"Tell me what happened."
"I... First I have to tell you who John Silver is."«
*
"Thomas." Flint looked crestfallen. "I have to go back."
"I know." Thomas replied.
"But..."
"James." Thomas said. "My book... It's a love story. I'm not sure yet how it ends, though."
~
*
Silver was constantly put off kilter by Thomas, which did not happen to him often.
He remembered their first interaction. When he had woken up in that unfamiliar house, disoriented. And he'd stumbled down the stairs in search of Flint, only to run into Thomas Hamilton, sitting in the kitchen, reading the newspaper.
The other had looked up at him, bid him politely good morning. And then he'd gotten up, walked over to him and looked at him with that knowing, slightly amused scrutiny that Silver hadn't been used to yet, then. "Well, you certainly are the stuff dreams are made of."
Silver had felt self-conscious in a way he rarely did.
"What?"
"From the stories alone I completely underestimated the appeal that tragic darkness about you has." Thomas had went on unperturbed. "James' drawings did that no credit."
"He drew me?"
"Oh, yes." Thomas had smirked conspiratorialy.
Before Thomas had had a chance to show him the drawings, Flint had finally made an appearance. And to say the situation had been awkward would have been an understatement. But maybe that had only been him. Flint had seemed unsure how to act towards him around Thomas. Had eventually, soldiered on, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Silver's lips, bidding him a slightly frazzled good morning.
Things had become less awkward between them soon enough. They had had to, otherwise Silver would have probably fled the scene, had Flint not made it clear in word and action that he wanted him there.
And a while later Thomas had shown him the drawings.
His face mostly, looking sad or pensive. A hardness about it. Some from before, from the beginning of their acquaintance. Beardless. Laughing in a way he didn't any longer. Then one where he looked like he did now but still laughed like he had then. And one picture. Him in bed, sitting there only covered by a sheet, looking at someone. Silver remembered that. Remembered Flint looking at him. He'd surely recognized the hunger, back then. But he had not seen more than the physical lust in it, which had not seemed so strange to him, for a man with Flint's inclinations. Fools they'd been both, when they'd always thought themselves so much smarter than everybody else.
*
"You're writing a book about me?" Silver asked, trailing with the unease of an uninvited visitor through the winter garden in which Thomas' paper, quill and books were strewn out on a desk. "Why?"
"The last twelve years I wrote books, the plantation owner let me. Since I'm free I already found publishers for them."
"Yes, but why about me?" He noticed a certain belligerence in is own voice.
"Why not about you?" Thomas asked with a smile, leaning back in his chair, his whole attention directed at Silver now. "Do you not think you story is one worth telling?"
"Oh, I've been telling my story for years, believe me."
Thomas gave a melodic laugh. "Yes, so I've heard. I admit, it was in part means to an end, as concerning our mutual friend. But I certainly intend to finish my book, now that it has a satisfying ending."
*
"Do you feel uncomfortable around me, John?" Thomas asked, mild amusement in his voice.
"Is that so surprising?" Silver replied calmly. "I have either the option to wonder what your place is here or what my own place here is."
"That's a very narrow view of things." Thomas chuckled. "I'm sure James told you about him, me and Miranda, back then."
"I think the circumstances are a bit different." Silver's smile was more a grimace.
"Not as much as you would think. For it was James back then who was flailing as much as you to understand his position. He was very young then. Very proper." A fond smile. "A very rigid set of mind as how things were to be. You not so much." He tilted his head inquisitively. "It's not conformity that's bothering you. You don't care much about society. It's your own self worth that's bothering you."
"You are the ghost. It's hard to compete with that." Silver said ruefully. "I'm just human."
"Not so hard at all, as it turns out."
"Does it not bother you at all?"
"If I'd let facts bother me, I wouldn't have managed as well as I did these last twelve years. My life is considerably better now than it was seven months ago."
"That's enough for you?" Silver asked, doubt plain in his voice. "Cause I know it wouldn't be enough for me."
"Yes," Thomas regarded him with puzzlement. "I would have thought you'd fight for him. But instead you left the situation."
"I don't fight battles I can't win. As Flint would tell you."
"Flint." Thomas tasted the word on his tongue. "It's interesting how casually you still refer to him as such. I wonder if you even notice."
"If you believe he's just James now again, then you don't know him any longer."
"But that's the point, Mr Silver. I do not know him any longer. Neither does he me. When I saw him again he was already in love with another, clinging persistently to the memory of the love we shared."
"And you didn't?"
"How could I have held out hope for a man who's life continued without me for twelve years, without going crazy? If you want to cling to hopes cling to realistical ones."
Silver gave a slight, surprised huff of a laugh. "You and me are maybe more alike than I reckoned. And we both did not calculate in Flint's complete abstaining from reason."
"We did not." Thomas agreed with a smile.
"You sound very sure of yourself, my lord. Very reasonable."
"You needn't call me that."
"Oh, I think right now it's pertinent that I do. You see, I've spent a lot of time convincing people of my calm and reasonableness. In times when it couldn't have been farther from the truth."
"Are you asking me if it makes me sad to see you with James?"
"I'm asking if you still love him."
"Of course I do. But not with the new and bright flame with which you love each other. A comfortable warmth. And I'm not under the illusion that I won't find another lover."
"You send him to me." Silver said. "James told me. Why?"
"You gave me the ending to my story, John." Thomas said. "It seems only fair I give you one to your own. One a little more satisfying than the one you wrote yourself."
*****
- March, 1722 -
"Imagine any such story as they could go," Silver said tiredly. "and it will be mine. There's nothing memorable that would make it stand out."
"I'm not expecting anything memorable." Flint replied puzzled. "Is it that you're afraid you'll become too human to me?"
"Too human?" Silver raised an eyebrow in mild disbelief. "I spent several weeks in your cabin with a fresh amputation. I don't think it could get any more human than that."
"A past makes us human, John. Only creatures from fairy tales show up out of nowhere and turn your life upside down." A twinkle in his eyes.
Silver laughed. "Is that what I am to you? A creature out of a fairy tale?"
"A legend, maybe." Flint conceded. "Caliope to my Odysseus. Even thought that's not quite right."
"I don't know who that is."
"You'll have to read it one day. Either way my point still stands. Who was I to you before you knew my past?"
Silver quirked an eyebrow. "A sad, conflicted man?"
Flint laughed. "Fair enough. I guess it is hard to be in awe of the story if you're the storyteller."
"Not of your story."
"Not the beginning. Certainly the end. But it is true and I guess that's the reason you could reach me when no one else could. Because you saw through my story. You saw Captain Flint for the lie he was."
"He was a lie in the beginning. But then I think you made him your own."
"And you, John, what did you make your own?"
"Anything that could advance me. Any story that could benefit me for the moment."
"Oh, don't sell yourself short. You always thought further than just the moment. Why is it so hard for you to talk about this? We are here. Together. I'm not going to leave you if a story of you displeases me. I know you, John. I know your worst and your best sides. I believe I see you for who you are."
"And who would that be?"
"A liar. A thief. A pirate king. My lover. The only man who ever scared me."
"Scare you? How could I have done that?"
"By being my equal in every way, the good and the bad. By being my better where I didn't expect it. By showing me that you could take everything from me and then not doing it. By being the first person I wanted in ten years. By becoming more powerful with every minute. Power over the crew. Power over me. With me unable to stop you. I saw you and I saw that you could see me for who I am and that scared me. And everything you wanted I gave up without much of a fight. Every piece of my past, every confidence. I watched you weave a bond between us at the same time as you rose to unimaginable heights. How could I not fear you?"
"I might bore you. I'm not Long John Silver anymore."
"You always were. John Silver might not even be your real name and every story you told me a lie, but one thing's for sure, you were always yourself. Not the stories you told, but the way in which you tell them."
Silver tilted his head, looking at Flint in quizzical awe. "You do love me, don't you?"
Flint smiled in a broad, relaxed and self-assured way. "I think it's quite undeniable that I do."
"'James'." Silver said. "It is 'James' actually, my real name. James Miller. Curious, isn't it?"
Flint laughed. "Curious indeed." He looked at Silver, eyes full of warm happiness. "I will not call you by it, though."
"I should hope not." Silver snorted. Then something in his gaze shifted. He looked out the window for a moment, then met Flint's eyes again. "I wanted something." His words were coming out hesitant and choppy, at the same time a weary tiredness about them that did not match the resolution in his eyes. "I wanted something in life. More than the pathetic piece alloted to me. And it's so goddamn hard, to change anything about yourself. You think I excel at it. But the truth is, you can spin many stories and it won't change a thing. And at thirty I was still on a goddamn ship working for shitty wages. And that's about it. Nothing ever worked out. You can win little battles. But it won't change who you are. And you were right, I'm not John Silver. I'm not even Solomon Little. But the stories, each and everyone of them, there's a piece of me in it. Those and so many more. Solomon was a boy I watched, of whom I learned everything I ever needed to know about this life. John Silver was a name I picked spontaneously when I signed up for the ship, because I had to flee the town I was at. I've been many things in my life. Not one for which I was ashamed. Not one which I'd chosen because I wanted to. The last time someone actually called me by my given name was at the St. John's Home for poor orphans boys. A 'given name'," He snorted disgusted. "What is that even? I've given myself more names than signed in Roger's book. And of all of them, I am only the last. Have been all my life, you were right about that. So you ask is there pain I'll always carry inside me? Yes. Can it be changed? No. Does it matter? No. And you are right about something else. I was maybe a little afraid you'd realise how very trite my story is." A self-conscious little smirk. "But that's not the reason I don't want to talk about it. What else can I do with an unchangeable past, than refuse to acknowledge it? Money was all I ever wanted. I did not want fame. Or adventure. Or even love." A distant chuckle. "I just wanted to be rich. And now look at me. Once more none of it worked out. And nevertheless I've reached a point where I wish to remain." He met Flint's eyes, a lopsided smile.
Flint reached for his hand. "I'm glad to hear that."
"I'm not trying to be one of those myths or legends your referred to. Even though Thomas' writing that ridiculous book about me. I liked the power, of course I did, when I'd never had any before. But I can do without it. I can do without it just fine." The smirk he directed at Flint was a little more confident again, a little lighter. "I don't even care that I'm fading into obscurity now."
Flint snorted, his hand still savely enclosing Silver's. "You'll never fade into obscurity. In a few years time, people will only remember Captain Flint in context to John Silver."
"Oh, my dear." Silver raised an eyebrow, shaking his head in amusement. "In a few years people won't remember us at all."
Flint chuckled. "Let's hope so."