Here is what John fears: a day when Yseult walks back into Kirkwall and says, We were ambushed and says he was killed. Who would question her?
(John had been the one to say, Propose to her you go together.)
But this is not a fear to unearth in front of James Holden. It might have been a fear to unearth to Madi, had she remained in Kirkwall, but perhaps this never would have come to pass had she remained in Kirkwall. (There is a letter that John should have written, but has not. Cannot.)
"It would," is all John says, tepid over the agreement. "You know as well as I do that we are a small company, and that at a certain point, there would be some discussion over when to cut losses."
And just who would lead that discussion?
John sips from his cup. This too is something he has considered, knowing such a discussion would take place behind closed doors, knowing how little he would be able to influence the outcome.
John doesn't speak that fear, but there's something about his hesitation, everything that he doesn't say, that seems to make the notion rise its head in the back of Holden's mind anyway. No, the only options aren't to save them both or doom them both.
Accidents happen, don't they?
There's a grimness to the thought that sharpens the lines of his face, thins his lips. What John does say — and that, too, is undeniable — only serves to underscore the reality of the situation. When they'd started this conversation, he'd wondered what it really had to do with the concern he'd shown John. But this is, itself, an answer: framed in politics, spoken in broad terms, but undeniably painting an image of exactly what it is John Silver fears. They've lost a home already. How could a betrayal like what John imagines be anything but excruciating?
"I can talk to Tony about rescue efforts," is what he volunteers after a pause. "If there's a plan," and he's sure there is, "I can get an idea of what it is."
Is it a betrayal? Maybe, maybe not. There is a blurriness to the space Yseult and Rutyer occupy that has made them difficult to trust fully. But the thing John fears, an inescapable possibility that looms in his mind and remains impossible to confirm one way or another, carries a similar sting.
If John had underestimated them—
He lifts his cup from the table, tipped slightly towards Holden before he drinks.
"I'm not asking you to involve yourself."
Because John means to be clear in this. He didn't bring Holden here with the intention of eliciting favors, though maybe he should have considered the possibility of it. The tankard lowers, cupped between John's two hands, as he considers Holden.
"I know you're not interested in playing politics," is almost a joke, comes with a half-smile. John does remember the day they'd met.
Ask, that is. The tension in the room slackened, he returns to his own drink, still cool with the breeze, the shade of where they sit. There was no version of this conversation where Holden didn't find a way to try to help. If he thought reassurances would work, he would've tried that first; but he understands the shape of this. Some fears need to be fed, not soothed. Doing this costs him nothing.
The corners of his mouth slant upwards, and he corrects, "Talking to a friend. That isn't the same thing."
That can, in fact, be the same thing; he knows that full well. Self-awareness isn't hard to read in his expression.
There is a moment, John gathering his thoughts. It's a visible process, for once. This minor form of transparency is due to Holden. A small thing, following along after the trust that's already been bestowed.
"I suppose I don't need to ask you for discretion."
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no subject
Here is what John fears: a day when Yseult walks back into Kirkwall and says, We were ambushed and says he was killed. Who would question her?
(John had been the one to say, Propose to her you go together.)
But this is not a fear to unearth in front of James Holden. It might have been a fear to unearth to Madi, had she remained in Kirkwall, but perhaps this never would have come to pass had she remained in Kirkwall. (There is a letter that John should have written, but has not. Cannot.)
"It would," is all John says, tepid over the agreement. "You know as well as I do that we are a small company, and that at a certain point, there would be some discussion over when to cut losses."
And just who would lead that discussion?
John sips from his cup. This too is something he has considered, knowing such a discussion would take place behind closed doors, knowing how little he would be able to influence the outcome.
no subject
John doesn't speak that fear, but there's something about his hesitation, everything that he doesn't say, that seems to make the notion rise its head in the back of Holden's mind anyway. No, the only options aren't to save them both or doom them both.
Accidents happen, don't they?
There's a grimness to the thought that sharpens the lines of his face, thins his lips. What John does say — and that, too, is undeniable — only serves to underscore the reality of the situation. When they'd started this conversation, he'd wondered what it really had to do with the concern he'd shown John. But this is, itself, an answer: framed in politics, spoken in broad terms, but undeniably painting an image of exactly what it is John Silver fears. They've lost a home already. How could a betrayal like what John imagines be anything but excruciating?
"I can talk to Tony about rescue efforts," is what he volunteers after a pause. "If there's a plan," and he's sure there is, "I can get an idea of what it is."
no subject
If John had underestimated them—
He lifts his cup from the table, tipped slightly towards Holden before he drinks.
"I'm not asking you to involve yourself."
Because John means to be clear in this. He didn't bring Holden here with the intention of eliciting favors, though maybe he should have considered the possibility of it. The tankard lowers, cupped between John's two hands, as he considers Holden.
"I know you're not interested in playing politics," is almost a joke, comes with a half-smile. John does remember the day they'd met.
no subject
Ask, that is. The tension in the room slackened, he returns to his own drink, still cool with the breeze, the shade of where they sit. There was no version of this conversation where Holden didn't find a way to try to help. If he thought reassurances would work, he would've tried that first; but he understands the shape of this. Some fears need to be fed, not soothed. Doing this costs him nothing.
The corners of his mouth slant upwards, and he corrects, "Talking to a friend. That isn't the same thing."
That can, in fact, be the same thing; he knows that full well. Self-awareness isn't hard to read in his expression.
this is so crusty forgive me.
Tony, surely.
There is a moment, John gathering his thoughts. It's a visible process, for once. This minor form of transparency is due to Holden. A small thing, following along after the trust that's already been bestowed.
"I suppose I don't need to ask you for discretion."
Holden is an observant man, after all.
shhh shhh
Tony, a friend. And also John Silver, if with less familiarity to it. Friendly allies, certainly, but
well, the word comes more easily to Holden, and that's alright.