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add a second light (paint a second darkness) | Black Sails | James Flint / John Silver | ~900 words | G | set around/between IX and XV. | Title from Richard Siken's Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light.| also here on AO3.
But then he would tell Silver to do something and trust it would be done, and it would be done, probably not as he would have done it, but then again Flint never cared to ask, and that was perhaps entirely its own thing.





He didn't see it as it was happening. But the only way it could have happened, after all, was as it did, unseen. Well, hindsight is, as they always say.
---
- When do we set sail? Silver asked from the doorway. He hadn't knocked, or Flint hadn't heard him knock. Flint closed his eyes, tired, all of a sudden. He could have been tired all along, was entirely possible he had been, even. His neck was stiff and his shoulders stiffer.
When he opened his eyes again, a blurry Silver was still there, still waiting for an answer from Flint. People were always waiting on answers from Flint.
- You know what? I'll come back later, Captain.
---
A lot of their relationship (unlikely alliance, a desperate measure, the specific ties that bind men together at sea) was predicated on circumstance. Flint knew rationally, logically, and in his bones, that accepting Silver's offer of help would not be without its cost. Sooner or later. But Silver could have gotten away that time aboard the Revenge, before it was theirs (not theirs as in Silver and Flint's, theirs as in the crew's) and he could have left Flint to die. It wasn't because he trusted him, and it wasn't because he liked him. Flint was useful to him, after all, had put over a decade into becoming the sort of captain (king) that his crew would go overboard (literally) to save, impress, have linger in their presence for a bit longer. Silver claimed to care for none of this, and Flint did not know how to quite deal with that.
But then he would tell Silver to do something and trust it would be done, and it would be done, probably not as he would have done it, but then again Flint never cared to ask, and that was perhaps entirely its own thing.
---
- Ten of Hornigold's crew want to join us on the man-o-war, Captain, Silver said from the doorway. Flint was fairly certain he would've heard the knock if it had been there. Silver was in the doorway, waiting for an answer even if he hadn't asked the question.
Flint told him to handle it. Silver nodded in acknowledgment. Left.
---
It wasn't quite trust. he wouldn't call it that. There was something, though. He wouldn't mind Silver being armed and alone with him if he himself was unarmed. That had nothing to do with trust, though, was merely an admonition: whatever there was to fear from Silver - and looking at Silver talking with his crew, their laughter more in sync every passing day, it was all of a sudden easy to feel, with a certainty that defied logic, that there was something to fear from Silver, and that whatever it would be, it would not come from the end of a gun.
---
After he took back the Revenge from Dufresne and situated himself in the new captain's quarters, Silver was the first to come knocking. He would perhaps have to speak to him about this, but he was not at all sure what to tell him.
---

- There is no gold? Flint said, or asked, or pleaded.
- There is no gold, Silver repeated. There had been something too timid about him, or too calm, or too submissive. Flint should have known, but he had known nothing. Nothing at all.

---
Often, it was this: competing, opposing waves of thoughts rolling chaotically in and out of the coves of Flint's mind:
One, distinct and louder, when he thought Silver too close and too daring and too Silver was this, delivered in a commanding manner: the crew, they do not trust us separately yet, don't you feel it, we cannot tie ourselves publicly to each other before we have reestablished their trust separately. Can't you see how horribly that could go? I cannot depend on you in such a manner and I will not be dragged down into the mouth of the beast with you.
The second one, quieter, came out unbidden, like a plea, when Flint would lie in his cot at night, and he would think of home and not adventures, and when he felt old and lying down did nothing to remove the terrifying weight from his shoulders. Then he thought, and that was more terrible: you have it in you. You do not believe in anything, but if I could only make you believe for a while, I could fashion you into a better me than I ever was. I could make everyone fear you, more than they have ever feared me. I fear you already.
He was not aware, until later, that none of the waves allowed for untangling himself from Silver. Maybe it was too late, when he realized, but he consoled himself, Silver's gun pressed warm and firm to his head, that it would always have been too late.
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