calicoat | 🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

Fine then, I WILL.

I beg your pardon. The what in my head.

The poison. The same shit that makes you ashamed of what you really want, and kept you from being honest about you who are, even to yourself, that makes you still uncomfortable in your own skin.

You're not pissed off at me about the fucking skull, you're upset because England shipped you off to your death for just the chance that a handful of rich men might get richer for it, and you can't muster up the balls to be angry at them for it. You don't like that there are men who can, you don't like that it upsets the balance of things, and you don't like that I am proud to be among them. You are so uncomfortable with it that you would rather cling to those things which do not even exist here than fly a symbol of the rebellion that you, more than most, are owed.

That poison.

[ At least this conversation isn't happening in person, so Jack is denied the potential satisfaction(?) of getting to see Irving's jaw drop upon reading all that. It hurts, but probably especially because, though he'd deny or disagree with most of it, he can still recognize an uncomfortable amount of truth there, too. ]

Is that really what you think of me.

[ It wouldn't be satisfying, to see him look like he's been slapped, because he's not saying it to hurt him, or to shock him, even if it does. He's saying it to wake him up. He's had so much patience with this shit, but right now, with the clock ticking and Anne still asleep, he doesn't have the time. It goes beyond the damn flag, but reflects on how they're going to run this ship together. They need to be on the same page, and as Jack's the only one here who has captained a ship of any kind, it is, by necessity, his page. ]

I think you're afraid to let go of that conditioning, because you know no other way to be.

Tell me I'm wrong.

Edited 2022-07-14 23:58 (UTC)

We are not discussing this, Jack.

I refuse to have this conversation with you as long as you continue to behave like such a surly little ruffian.

[ Which is not to say that under regular circumstances he would be opposed, at least, to considering it. To beginning to circle the idea. But right now he's Big Upset. ]

Edited 2022-07-15 00:46 (UTC)

I'm not being any surlier than you are.

You wrote that I haven't the b**** to feel angry with the Royal Navy, and that they'd have killed me if not for Hickey having already murdered me first. That my head is filled with poison. I think you owe me an apology.

They would have. Your entire crew is dead. In the eyes of the Royal Navy, and of England herself, you were expendable. They told you to go where no man should go, refused to heed the signs urging them otherwise, never came to your rescue, and couldn't even be arsed to feed you anything but lead. Your death, Jopson's death, all of them, are on their hands.

Why the fuck are you not angry? Poison is the only way I can even attempt to explain it.

No, Jack. Whatever circumstances might have led to and fostered it, my death is still on Hickey's hands. My hunting party had found help, and food, just before it happened. Some of us might still have lived if not for him, no matter how bleak our situation had been before.

And stop saying that!

Is that really why you're not angry? Because SOME of you MIGHT have lived, if the stowaway you had mutilated hadn't acted up?

I'm not saying that he is without fault, but that he made it onto the Terror in the first place is just another way the Navy failed you.

The stowaway that I had mutilated.

Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you don't always KNOW how I feel, Jack.

Tell me, then. The truth, not the company line.

I don't have to tell you everything.

And I'm the surly one.

I'm not being surly. [ Okay, well... he is. ] Some things I prefer to keep private within my poisonous head.

It isn't your fault. It was put there from when you were a boy, like any good Englishman. But you can cast it off.

I'm headed back down to my flat. Let's talk face to face.

Fine. Then I'll see you there.

[ Yes, he has been arguing back and forth via text from Anne's bedside all evening, what about it? Better that than just stare at her like a creep, his only hobby for the past few weeks. But Orla's home from work, so she's going to relieve him, give him a chance to wash up and attempt to eat something. So, why not invite Irving over? He'll figure out if he wants to kiss him or strangle him when he gets here.

The door swings open seconds after Irving knocks, Jack only wearing sweatpants and the water he's splashed on his face. It's only just enough to keep his expression neutral, instead of letting the jittery irritation show. Rather, it manifests in his hands, tapping quickly and erratically against the door moulding.

He doesn't say anything, just holding the door open for Irving to come in. If there's going to be yelling, he doesn't need Grace to hear it. ]

[ Rather than neutral, Irving still looks nearly every bit as livid in person as he would have seemed over text, his face flushed and eyes wild, jaw tense, hands opening and closing restlessly into loose fists at his sides. His anger has cooled slightly during the walk over, the parts of him still not entirely blinded by irrationality aware enough that, yes, he will actually want to make up with Jack rather than remain furious and hurt -- he loves this man, after all, doesn't he? -- but for the moment, he's still not quite thought that far ahead yet. Irving feels things very strongly, when he feels them at all, it's difficult for him to ever think past what he's currently feeling until he's already found a way of moving on emotionally.

Right now though, he's still angry. Still hurt. He clenches his jaw, staring Jack down as he closes the door behind him, and tilting his chin slightly upward in making a pointed effort not to let his gaze sweep down over Jack's bare upper body. ]

Well, let's hear it, then, [ he says brusquely, gesturing with his arm as if prompting Jack to go on. ] Apologize for what you said about me.

[ He crosses his arms defensively in front of him, taking a breath as soon as he sees the steam practically coming out if Irving's ears, waiting to be told off. On exhale, he realizes that isn't happening (yet), and relaxes only the smallest bit. The arms stay crossed, suddenly feeling vulnerable in a way he doesn't like, though he didn't mean anything by his state of undress besides the fact he's trying to relax in his own home.

Jack meets his eyes, and doesn't back down from them, full of fury as they are. There's a fire in his too, more controlled, but only just. ]

No. You needed to hear it, and frankly, it's long overdue. You should apologize, for spending so much time trying to avoid who I am, as if it were beneath you.

[ It doesn't occur to him for a minute that they wouldn't work through this and make up. His love is not so fickle, and he knows that it isn't something Irving takes lightly, either. Even so, for the other to be so staunchly against something so minor in the grand scheme of things, but important to Jack, might as well be a rejection. ]

You don't get to dismiss parts of me that are inconvenient for you. That isn't how this works.

Edited 2022-07-15 05:33 (UTC)

I-- [ He blinks, falters for a beat, heart racing, momentarily at a loss for words. Then, like Jack: ] No.

[ Maybe this was a mistake. Irving isn't quite sure what he expected to happen here, how he thought this all would go, but that Jack would actually refuse to apologize to him for the truly hurtful things he'd written -- most of which Irving would still deny or disagree are true, therefore making them all the more inflammatory -- and then also demand that Irving apologize instead, was certainly not it. The accusation Jack levels back at him makes Irving bristle and immediately become defensive, all the usual openness to his demeanor which he offers freely to Jack only locking down all at once with the abruptness of a door slamming shut.

(He does know, though, that it's not really a mistake, obviously he wouldn't want them to just stay angry with each other indefinitely, or Heaven forbid, fall out over this, but--

But he shares none of the same confidence that Jack holds in the strength and commitment of his love, he has no context with which to know if a fight like this is normal, if everything that's finally been dragged out into the open are things which love can actually recover from. What does he know, really, about love? Almost nothing.)

After a drawn-out silence, spanning maybe 30 or 40 seconds as he's caught briefly within his own speechlessness, Irving clenches his jaw and tenses his shoulders, looking appalled as he keeps his wide-eyed glare level with Jack's. When he does speak again he keeps his voice low, but for once it's stern rather than soft, something grave and unyielding about it. ]

Aren't you one to talk. As if I can't tell how you really feel now, as well. [ He touches his chest, over his heart, before closing his hand like a claw around a handful of shirt. ] You think I deserved it, don't you. What he did to me.

[ The stowaway that you had mutilated.

It seems so obvious, but then, didn't he also know this already? Suspected it, at least. There are reasons, after all, and good ones, too, for why Irving has shoved all his memories of that dream down as deep, deep inside himself as possible.

Yes, there is much of Jack's piratehood which Irving finds quite unsavory, much of it he does prefer to avoid, or at least avoid acknowledging, but is that really so wrong? He doesn't see what the difference is between that and Jack's own vocal disrespect for the Royal Navy. ]

I've defended you, time after time from the only other man in this whole city whom I couldn't bear to lose now. And from-- [ Actually, he reconsiders bringing up Victor. ] From... others who might accuse you. But can you really blame me, Jack, if there are still parts I would also rather be able to just forget about?

What?

[ It’s Jack’s turn to look as if he’s been struck across the face, mouth falling open from the offense of it, the audacity of it, and, finally, because some small kernel of it is true. Or...was true? It’s a complex, delicate situation which, like just about anything Jack dips his hands into, can’t be boiled down so simply to right or wrong. He’d have likely done the same in Hickey’s place, but he would never be in Hickey’s place, for any dozens of reasons – and does that mean that Irving deserved it? No. It only means the situation was fucked from the start. ]

You can’t be serious. I crushed that man for you, John. Like he was nothing but a bug to me, skittering under my heel, so that you could be comfortable, striding in here and accusing me of taking his fucking side.

[ He grips the back of a kitchen chair, so hard that his knuckles go white, nails making indents in the wood. He knows that he can’t fight with him the way that he’ll fight with Anne – yell until someone storms out, safely knowing that that the other will crawl into bed with an apology by light’s out – yes, he loves him, and he feels secure in that, but it’s not lived in the same way, there are still rhythms and quirks to the other that they’ve yet to learn. It would have happened eventually, as ‘agree to disagree’ can’t be enough to cover the creeds by which they live their lives, some things you can only learn this way.

When his eyes lift again to meet Irving’s, the ice in them has melted off. This has all gone unspoken, for their entire time together, any detail at all about whatever feelings had existed between he and Hickey beyond his obligation as a Dominant. It had always been for the best, not to mix the two, but Irving needs to know, it was a sacrifice, one he is increasingly passionate about as he goes on. ]

And I never doubted it, even knowing that he and I would never have this argument, and that he gets on better with Anne. I spent so much time chipping away at him, convincing him to trust me, putting blood on my hands to protect him, and I threw it away. For you! Your comfort, John, over the whole of a man. For you to come in here, for you to note his absence, and still question my loyalty to you is...

[ Jack shakes his head. A rare sight, him lost for words. Disrespectful? Hurtful? No one word seems like enough. ]

If anyone deserves his wrath, it’s me. But I don’t care. I chose you. I love you. You must know this.

[ Something in Irving's eyes almost immediately softens upon seeing that look on Jack's face, so stricken, offended, and hurt, exactly as Irving had felt earlier about some of the things Jack had written about him. It brings him no pleasure seeing Jack wear such a broken apart expression that doesn't at all seem to belong on his face, when just moments ago he'd been so controlled, so tense with stoic fury; it hurts his heart, and Irving does at least have the decency to cast his eyes down to the floor in shame for being the one to cause it, yet he still doesn't regret what he said, either.

Nothing could make Irving happier than to be wrong about who, between himself and Hickey, Jack's sympathies about their past truly lie with, if what he said is wrong then that's a good thing, but he doesn't believe he was ever wrong to think it.

Irving lets out a breath, covering his face under both palms just to allow himself that moment, however brief, to think before he speaks next. Not to plan it out, but to hold back all that's been rising in his throat to rest so easily on his tongue, not arguments but all the unforgiving, jagged-edged details from the earlier days of this convoluted saga of theirs which still stick in him like thorns-- things he has forgiven, but that doesn't mean the scars of those memories never still hurt him sometimes, never throb dully under his skin, an ache that's always there. If that had been the case, how much would even be left for them to be fighting about now, except a flag?

But he's let those things go however much it's actually possible to, for this, for them, because what he didn't want is for any of that to define them, to ruin everything they've managed somehow, despite the odds, to salvage, heal, make better. Irving doesn't want to ruin this, but he could, and the ease to which that instinct still comes is what disturbs him; how easy it would be to just walk away. That's always his first reflex, isn't it? To either run from something or to yell at it, like a damn dog.

Or else he freezes up, like now. Caught between one action and another.

He lowers his hands and finally lets his gaze settle on Jack's again, softer than it had been before, though certainly, the outrage and upset are still not gone from his wide, wounded eyes. The conflict shining in them is more transparent now, too, as he glowers steadily and smolderingly forward. ]

You would have me renounce my whole life for you, everything that's ever brought me meaning, but indeed, what a sacrifice for you it is to have finally chosen between either having him simply move elsewhere, or ever having me come into your flat at all. Not that I made you do it-- I wasn't even going to ask. I couldn't.

[ If Hickey really hadn't born him any further grudge here, he certainly must now; Irving is quite convinced of that. In Hickey's mind, he surely would share at least half the blame as Jack. Maybe it's ungenerous of Irving, that hearing just how much Jack feels he gave up with Hickey, hearing point after point listed out like this, doesn't make him feel any better. It doesn't make him happy to hear Jack describe what he feels he gained in return so trivially, as if Irving's comfort is the only reason. As if it wasn't the whole of one man in exchange for the whole of another. ]

My comfort over the whole of a man. The man who-- do you hear yourself, Jack? And you wonder why I'd have to ask. Am I not a whole man, too? Yet I was so proud, a-and grateful, that between the two of us you had decided I might be the one worth putting first.

[ And he really, truly was. Still is, though he leaves part unspoken. It's probably still obvious enough anyway.

He looks away now, casts his gaze sharply aside, emotion tight in his throat and in his chest. If he lets go of his anger now he'll probably just burst into tears, which may still happen anyway if this keeps up, but it's the last thing he wants. Irving crosses his arms over his chest rigidly to hug himself, a movement that's far too vulnerable but that he still can't stop himself making, his posture and grip so tightly clenched he looks like he's trying to contract into himself entirely.

And despite himself, he softens anyway: ]

That was when I knew you must really have meant it. That you... what you said.

[ He bites his cheek, and clenches his jaw, still avoiding eye contact, but continues: ]

Never before did I imagine I would ever be hearing those words from anyone. Nor especially did I ever think I'd be saying them. To only feel it is one thing, or... to know it, but you must know that you're... the first and the last person who will ever hear this from me. I love you. A-and I do love you. But--

[ Now he looks up again, his expression pained and miserable. ]

There are some things I can't just change, Jack. About... myself. [ His mind full of poison... ] I thought you understood that about me. That you were the one who did understand.

[ Jack watches wide-eyed as Irving covers his face in his hands, heart dropping fast and heavy, like it's been tied to an anchor and all the rest of him is simply water, yielding and transparent. He doesn't want to hurt him, and yet, they both know that there was a time when he did, and try as he might he hasn't been able to escape the consequences of it. Even if they've moved past it as best as they're able, it's still colored their relationship and put a black spot on his soul that he can't wash out.

For as long as he's allowed, he'll be trying to make up for those hurtful lies and that fucking dream, an eternal penance he's perfectly willing to pay, because the reward of Irving's companionship has been worth it. Despite all the shit that's threatened to come between them, and may well have succeeded with any pair less terminally stubborn than the two of them, even the ache of it is worth it, for it's only further evidence of how real and valuable this is. They've built something that they've both needed, but could only exist here. He's not letting go of it for anything, not Hickey, and certainly not a damn banner.

His teeth catch the inside of his lip, as he watches him speak, unable to help the frustrated sigh he lets out before he's finished. It's not about just physically relocating Hickey, but hurting him, and having with the guilt of being the first man to ever touch him gently, only to send him away in favor of another. It's an important distinction, to him, but it's hardly the point of this. That much, at least, is sorted. ]

Are you? [ His voice softens to meet Irving's, the hurt and the fury still present, but their edges sanded off, focused into this. An honest question. ] Are you whole? You devoted your life to something that would renounce you in an instant, if it knew what you were. I don't see how you could be. I don't see how I could do anything but urge you to leave that rot behind. You deserve better than that.

[ His hands ease their grip on the back of the chair, clammy enough now that Jack wipes them at his sides. The affirmation does a lot to cool him down, because as confident as he is in his own ability to move past all this, Irving's is still untested. That he believes in this, and what they have, enough to even want to push through all of this, should be enough proof of his devotion, but he'll prove it a hundred more times and in a hundred more ways, if that's what he needs from him.

Jack takes a step forward, slow and tentative. He wants to pull him close, to whisper words of comfort and understanding directly into his face so that he might truly absorb them, but he doesn't, not confident yet that it would be welcome. But he loosens, relaxes the tension in his shoulders, lays one hand on the table.

The first and the last. What a commitment that is. What a responsibility for Jack to bear. ]

I understand, John. I do. I understand that this is difficult, and that it takes time. I left the Navy fifteen years ago, and still, I couldn't muster the courage to let myself feel this way until coming to this place. I know you can't just flip a page and be done with it, but you can acknowledge that it's no longer serving you, and that I am not a villain to rebel against it.

[ The first and the last. Irving wouldn't presume to know their future, but he knows himself just well enough to feel certain that if things didn't work out with Jack, he couldn't do this again. It's already taken him his whole life to fall in love with just one person, something which was never meant to be in old life, or supposed to happen to him, here-- it just did.

(Not that it would occur to him to specify further. He still doesn't realize how impenetrable his logic can often be.)

And, hard as it's been, Irving's glad it happened. He doesn't need a straightforward, easily digestible fairytale love story, and he never did. If Jopson still assumes he's being manipulated or made a joke of somehow, or that he's only settling for the first man to actually... kiss him, then Irving doesn't even need his approval, either, as much as he still would like it. However imperfect or unideal some of it's been, however flawed they are, however mismatched they may seem or wrong it sounds just on the face of it, he isn't settling and he's definitely not being tricked. This is something real, and valuable, something they both needed, and there's just no easy way to make anyone else understand it.

Jack softening as he has does much to cool Irving down as well, though he still remains just as tense and bristled. Less defensive, and therefore less explosive, but all that emotion and adrenaline hasn't gone anywhere. He doesn't know where to put it yet, so for now he just holds it in. The words make him flinch, but it's in a more expected way this time, less that of someone being struck and more someone only bracing to be. It still hurts to hear it, but this time it doesn't make him recoil defensively and want to respond in kind, shout things back that he might not even fully mean, because it's clearer than with anything he'd said before -- especially when they were still using their devices to argue, maybe part of it's a tone thing -- Jack doesn't mean it unkindly. There's no kinder way to say it, really, if one is going to at all, and though Irving can still disagree with it all he likes, it wouldn't pain him so much to hear if he couldn't recognize at least some truth in it, if similar things had never once crossed his mind before.

Maybe he did waste most of his life with the Navy. But what else was there? What kind of other, better life could he have possibly deserved? ]

Of course I'm whole, Jack. What else would I be?

[ Broken? Incomplete? He shakes his head, taking a step forward towards Jack. Then another. Closing their distance. ]

I don't want to discuss this anymore, let's just-- let's move on now. Please.

[ He's braced, too, for the possibility Jack might accuse him of being cowardly, and it would be fair enough to do so, given how much Irving can't yet bring himself to admit or acknowledge. Or maybe Jack also feels as emotionally staggered by their fighting as Irving does and would appreciate some relief from it, considering they've basically been having an entire relationship's worth of arguments in one just now. Irving looks at him, eyes wide and uncertain, yet guarded, like he doesn't know where to go from here, or hasn't decided yet where he might want to, but extends an arm out in Jack's direction, holding out his hand. The gesture feels as good a place as any to start. ]

🏴‍☠️ IC contact; Duplicity

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cw obnoxiously gigantic tag 🥰

cw historical/military/internalized homophobia

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