The mere suggestion that Pitchiner would ever be left to chase his revenge alone is met with a bark of laughter from Jack, sharp and staccato; better that, he thinks, than to react with anger, to snap at the General that he's an idiot for so many reasons. It's so obvious that he's cutting himself off and starting with this suicidal, self-sacrificing routine, and Jack doesn't know how to tell him that he isn't allowed to do that, not when there are still people that care about him coming home safe too. That after losing his family, he'd be doing the same thing to others.

Laughing off the possibility of actually abandoning General Pitchiner is easier than trying to get all that across, especially since he doubts it would be believed anyway. Jack drapes himself lazily over the back of the empty couch opposite Pitchiner and folds his arms, his smile hard and jaw set with stubbornness. "Sorry, General, but unless you have me discharged for misconduct, you're stuck with me 'til the end."

There's something unyielding in how he says it, a warning of just try and stop me. But that hard edge goes softer a moment later, as Jack turns his mind back to what Pitchiner had answered his request with. That he would make sure that the crew remained safe as always. Which means Jack has to push, because he hadn't doubted that, there hadn't even been any need to check that at all — the General hasn't touched on the reason Jack had brought the matter up. His smile falls and he lowers his gaze, not anything that could be called solemn, but less cheery. Less mocking. Earnest.

"But I wasn't talking about the sailors," he says after a pause. "I meant you."

You, he stresses, and it runs over in his head, silently pleading. You have to come back. If we do this, I need to know that it won't mean losing you when it's over.