James watches with a soft concern knitting his brow as Raylan rises and walks around behind him. He'll relinquish the cleaning rag to him though with a sigh and settle his hand on the table for a little bit of support. There's a low hiss at the first press of warm, soapy water to the open wound, it stings and he can bet a little bit of a baby when he feels like it.
"Of course." He murmurs behind slightly grinding teeth, but with the question, he falls silent, eyes cast down as he stares at his hands as if seeing the blood on them from everyone he'd killed.
"Some." He replies, "Not all of it. I've... I've killed people when I felt like it was necessary, to survive, to protect myself and others, and to make an example. I regret some of the people I've killed or the lengths I needed to go to in my ugliness. But not all of it. Some of it felt good, felt justified..."
Raylan ignored the hiss - the expression was allowed, it was ugly, it sure looked like it hurt, and they were well beyond hiding that kind of vulnerable stuff. Raylan also knew that the question would give James something more to chew on than the stinging pain.
"You know, that's how I've gotten away with shootin' the men I have. It bein' Justified... And I've heard a lotta opinions on it that say that ain't good enough. Doesn't stand up to the reality of hard life, most of the time." He continued to dab gently.
"We do what we feel we have to. It's all a fifty fifty chance of if we're fuckin' something up with that gut."
Flint does chew on the topic and the questions, looking down at the open carved inky symbols in his skin. If they're there to make him talk he wonders what he's meant to say. Is he meant to talk about his ugliness? Admit what he's done? Admit those he regrets killing?
"I... I've told you in broad strokes what I've done. And you know all about my darkness, how deep it runs, and my fears about it." It wasn't long ago he was frightened of whether he might be capable of hurting Raylan. He had good reason for it.
"But if you want to know details of my crimes... at least some of the ones that still haunt me." He turns slightly to look up over his shoulder at his lover.
"I suppose now is the time. If you want to know what you've hitched yourself to."
Raylan glances up, holding that over the shoulder gaze for a long moment like he was deciding how honest James was about the offer before he nods softly.
"Yeah, baby. I do wanna know. It won't change nothin' because I've got blood on my hands too but.. I wanna be prepared for whatever comes up. Whatever might be slung at us, metaphorical or literal. This place has a way of pullin' out the darker bits of us with this kinda bullshit. But it ain't gonna change the way I feel about you. Or This." Them.
"And if that means tellin' you mine in return. I'm okay with doin' that too. Trusting you."
He believes Raylan believes what he's saying, that it won't change anything. He wants to believe it could be that easy. He's worried, of course, that when he learns of the shit he's done, hears it flat out, that it will change something.
Flint is reaching for the whiskey and he's pouring some into his glass before taking a swig. Where to even start?
"I can't remember if I'd told you how Miranda had learned of a ship carrying Thomas' parents, told me about it and where they'd be likely headed. I lied to my men, and had them spend time, hunting down the Maria Aleyne. We lost men taking her, it took resources, they thought it was for the cargo, which had been piss-poor by the way. In reality, it was to feed my desire for revenge. Thomas' parents were hiding away in one of the cabins below, I sought them out myself while my men were busy. They begged me for their lives. I slaughtered them. They were unarmed. But I lied to my men, to Gates about what I'd done. Said they fought back and I did what I had to... he knew though. He'd checked the cabin after I left, and saw there weren't any weapons to be found."
Another swig, "And Gates..."
He runs a hand down his face, hissing when he brushes the raw tear on his cheek that he'd forgotten about until now, it flared like it was on fire. He smeared blood across his skin with his thumb in the process.
"...Gates was my best friend. He'd been the one that helped me become captain and stuck with me through everything. But towards the end, he began to doubt me, and lose faith in me. He knew everything. He was going to tell the crew my plans and they were already close to keel-hauling me as is. I barely had them under my command and he was about to undo everything. I tried to stop him... I tried... He wasn't going to let them kill me, but he was going to destroy our last chance at the Urca, and I..." He has to stop and swallow raggedly, his voice growing tighter and more pained as he speaks.
"I killed him. Attacked him and broke his neck, and he died in my arms. I regret it, almost as much as I regretted never fighting for Thomas. I loved him like a brother." He shakes his head.
"I've done such terrible things. Most of the time I reason it away. Killing men on ships is one thing, but I've helped to slaughter and level a whole town out of pure rage."
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"Of course." He murmurs behind slightly grinding teeth, but with the question, he falls silent, eyes cast down as he stares at his hands as if seeing the blood on them from everyone he'd killed.
"Some." He replies, "Not all of it. I've... I've killed people when I felt like it was necessary, to survive, to protect myself and others, and to make an example. I regret some of the people I've killed or the lengths I needed to go to in my ugliness. But not all of it. Some of it felt good, felt justified..."
no subject
"You know, that's how I've gotten away with shootin' the men I have. It bein' Justified... And I've heard a lotta opinions on it that say that ain't good enough. Doesn't stand up to the reality of hard life, most of the time." He continued to dab gently.
"We do what we feel we have to. It's all a fifty fifty chance of if we're fuckin' something up with that gut."
no subject
"I... I've told you in broad strokes what I've done. And you know all about my darkness, how deep it runs, and my fears about it." It wasn't long ago he was frightened of whether he might be capable of hurting Raylan. He had good reason for it.
"But if you want to know details of my crimes... at least some of the ones that still haunt me." He turns slightly to look up over his shoulder at his lover.
"I suppose now is the time. If you want to know what you've hitched yourself to."
no subject
"Yeah, baby. I do wanna know. It won't change nothin' because I've got blood on my hands too but.. I wanna be prepared for whatever comes up. Whatever might be slung at us, metaphorical or literal. This place has a way of pullin' out the darker bits of us with this kinda bullshit. But it ain't gonna change the way I feel about you. Or This." Them.
"And if that means tellin' you mine in return. I'm okay with doin' that too. Trusting you."
no subject
Flint is reaching for the whiskey and he's pouring some into his glass before taking a swig. Where to even start?
"I can't remember if I'd told you how Miranda had learned of a ship carrying Thomas' parents, told me about it and where they'd be likely headed. I lied to my men, and had them spend time, hunting down the Maria Aleyne. We lost men taking her, it took resources, they thought it was for the cargo, which had been piss-poor by the way. In reality, it was to feed my desire for revenge. Thomas' parents were hiding away in one of the cabins below, I sought them out myself while my men were busy. They begged me for their lives. I slaughtered them. They were unarmed. But I lied to my men, to Gates about what I'd done. Said they fought back and I did what I had to... he knew though. He'd checked the cabin after I left, and saw there weren't any weapons to be found."
Another swig, "And Gates..."
He runs a hand down his face, hissing when he brushes the raw tear on his cheek that he'd forgotten about until now, it flared like it was on fire. He smeared blood across his skin with his thumb in the process.
"...Gates was my best friend. He'd been the one that helped me become captain and stuck with me through everything. But towards the end, he began to doubt me, and lose faith in me. He knew everything. He was going to tell the crew my plans and they were already close to keel-hauling me as is. I barely had them under my command and he was about to undo everything. I tried to stop him... I tried... He wasn't going to let them kill me, but he was going to destroy our last chance at the Urca, and I..." He has to stop and swallow raggedly, his voice growing tighter and more pained as he speaks.
"I killed him. Attacked him and broke his neck, and he died in my arms. I regret it, almost as much as I regretted never fighting for Thomas. I loved him like a brother." He shakes his head.
"I've done such terrible things. Most of the time I reason it away. Killing men on ships is one thing, but I've helped to slaughter and level a whole town out of pure rage."