bakerstreet | THE AU PICTURE PROMPT MEME

THE AU PICTURE PROMPT MEME

the alternate universe picture prompt meme

similar to the picture and smut picture prompt memes but intended solely for ALTERNATE UNIVERSE shenanigans.
comment with your character.
others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
reply to them with a setting based on the picture.
link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
be aware that this meme will likely be image-heavy. that's kind of the point.

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He stands just inside the captain's quarters for what might be considered a long time, staring at nothing, unmoving. The sick panic subsided into shock that he couldn't yet overcome. His mind, which had been racing before now was still and empty but of one thing: the image of his wife and daughter standing before him just before he had left, so beautiful, so alive. And now...

The sound of a knock on the door brings him to, and he finds himself sitting on the floor in an undignified heap, hands clasped tightly together around a silver locket. His head lifts, slightly, and he listens to the voice on the other side of the door.

Jackson Overland, an ensign who used to be almost more trouble than he was worth. Pitchiner had always had a soft spot for him. Even so, he doesn't want to see anyone now, doesn't want anyone to see him.

The great general and lord, a man of esteem to whom many looked up to. And here he was, shaken to the core and it was only the shock that has kept him from falling apart thus far.

Then again, it was Jack who had stopped in the middle of an operation and taken the time to consider him as human, as a man instead of a general, and he realizes now that it was Jack's consideration that had kept him from snapping altogether. It makes him almost nauseous to consider how close he had been to cutting off the head of the dream pirate captain and that of every single leering fearling with him.

As much as he values Jack's help, the other officers would not, though they meant well. It would not be a light punishment Jack would receive for shirking his duties during such an important mission.

Pitchiner opens the door a long, silent moment later, standing aside for Jack to enter. In the hand not holding the door, he still grips the locket. He looks somewhere over the boy's head, not making eye contact.

"Did you need something?"

His voice comes out tired, cracked as though he'd been crying for hours, though there are no signs of tears on his cheeks. He looks down at Jack, finally, if only briefly. "You'll be punished for avoiding your duty."

Jack only looks over General Pitchiner for a moment, examining his expression for something though he couldn't say what, before he takes the unspoken permission to enter the cabin. He answers that half-hearted warning as he slips past, "Okay, maybe you don't actually know me, because you'll be punished has never stopped me from doing anything before. And, on that note, neither has being punished."

He may have been brazen enough to come here, but it feels awkward to do anything more, so he stands in the middle of the room instead of taking a seat. At least the General's quarters are still in one piece, he notes; when Emma was taken away, the last time Jack saw her, he had torn through his own bedroom and thrown everything that he could lift, tipped what he couldn't, and kicked anything that was left. It could be that Pitchiner's grief is more dignified than that, but Jack is still relieved to see no evidence of that destructive style of mourning.

He just isn't sure what to do with whatever remains. At times like this, he feels like his whole life has been so easy and insignificant; he's never known real hardship, some venomous little part of him says, he's never dealt with loss so what could he possibly say here? What good is he really going to be for something that he has no comparable experience in? This wasn't a mistake, because he maintains that if no one else is going to try and treat the General like Kozmotis Pitchiner then it's something that falls to Jack, but — he just wishes there was someone else to do it, for Kozmotis' sake.

"I could pretend that I need something," he says, shifting his weight uncomfortably on his feet; his tone is light but with a cautious edge, too aware of what he's treading on now, "if you want to act like it's not totally obvious that I came here to check up on you."

That was true enough. He closes the door, and stands there once again, as if unsure what to do; with himself, with Jack, with the whole situation. Red-rimmed eyes settle on the sailor as he speaks and remains there as he listens in silence.

The first response that comes to mind is the automatic one, 'I'm alright', or 'there's no need', but he's not alright, not at all, and maybe having someone there will keep him from losing his mind because there's a creeping sensation gripping at his spine and slithering its cold way up that will lead to the realization that he's never going to see his family again. And when that does hit, when the shock has worn itself out and it really sinks in, Pitchiner isn't sure that he's not going to lose his damn mind.

His jaw clenches for a moment, the slightest flicker of that dread reaching far enough to pierce his subconscious. He pushes it away.

"Thank you." It's an almost professional tone, but a thin mask for the anguish that's beginning to build beneath the surface. It might sound trite, but it's genuine. No one else had bothered, or rather dared, to come 'check' on him.

There are two small couches on either side of a coffee table, Kozmotis sits and motions out of habit for Jack to sit across from him. It felt stupid to stand there like they were both frozen, and the general wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't find himself on his knees again on the floor otherwise.

He really had expected to spend any number of hours sitting out in the corridor until an officer stumbled across him, so Jack is more than happy to take the couch opposite General Pitchiner — even if it is a more casual situation than he would ever have imagined himself in with a superior. It's hard not to stare at the General for too long, wanting to examine his face closely for anything to be found there. Jack manages to keep his eyes on the table, mostly, on his fingers where they drum at his knees, only darting quick glances up every now and then.

It doesn't take long for the quiet to make him crack. With a huff of exasperation, more for himself than Pitchiner, he throws his hands up, slumps back in his seat and declares, blunt and determined, "Alright, I'm going to be insanely candid about everything so that I didn't risk my neck just for awkward silences. Here we go: I have no idea what to say."

For all the dramatic intent in that statement, though, it's followed by more silence. Jack fidgets with his right sleeve; not the cuff but a little higher, fingers circling his arm, rubbing over something there that Pitchiner can't see. It does feel easier to keep going with that announcement made, at least, an anxious tension in him loosened. Like he doesn't need to be careful about what he says, now that he's pre-emptively dismissed it all as total bullshit, trying to file himself away as some idiot that isn't thinking about his words, isn't agonising over every single one as they shape on his tongue. And because his nerves are eased, his tone gentles somewhat when he picks up again, "I don't know how you feel because I haven't been through that, and I don't know how to even start making it any better. It just felt like— like the shittiest thing in the world to be off doing something else when you're going through hell."

There's no way he could have managed doing anything else, anyway. He's been thinking about General Pitchiner ceaselessly since the battle (the lack thereof) and anything else has to simmer quietly underneath; his cold fury directed at the fearlings, his horror for what they had done, his dread about what is to come after this, all of it takes a back seat until this is dealt with. There isn't any room in his mind for duties and chores and procedures, not now.

One thing concerns him more than any other. He might not know how this feels, a grief of this terrible magnitude, but he remembers how he felt when Emma was hurt in the attack, and again when his mother took her away, and there's a part of that which could be so much worse than the rest in this situation. His hesitation is a palpable thing, a stillness and a heavy uncertainty, but he pushes through. He has to.

"It's not... your fault," he says, because he has to. "You know that, right?"

Even after a grim battle, Pitchiner could usually manage a faint smile for Jack's jokes or blunt tendencies. Now though, he sits in silence, mouth drawn in a thin line and pallor grey. 'Speak freely' was what he meant to say (really, what kind of formality was acceptable in this situation?), but it never makes it past the choking lump in his throat. He stares at the table between them.

It's a little easier with Jack here, he thinks, not to deal with his grief but to push it away until he can figure out how to deal with it. With someone else in the room, there's a reflexive sense of responsibility to seem put together and in command. Truthfully, he thinks, he doesn't know how he feels either. And he's grateful, that this ensign would take the time, the thought to come to him, to consider him a general and a person when no one else on deck would. It makes him glad of Jack's stubborn streak, of the way he made sure as much as Pitchiner himself (sometimes more) that no one be left behind.

It's not your fault.

His composure begins to crack. "No," he manages, voice suddenly unsteady and eyes widening as though that might discourage the tears welling within him. "It is." He covers his face with one hand, nearly doubling over as he sits there. A sob, tortured and choked, wrenches its way from his dry throat. "I was supposed to protect them," he says, breath hitching and chest fluttering with quick, uneven breaths. "I failed them. It was all I was supposed to do, and I couldn't even--" His fist balls in his hair.

The beautiful faces seared in his mind like a brand seem accusing, and he deserves it, he deserves the worst punishment. His beautiful and serene wife, his wild daughter full of so much life, so much promise, gone in the time it took to be completely duped like a rookie with no brain. Some general. Some husband. Some father he was.

It's his fault. All his fault. Another anguished noise, a cry that didn't quite make it. The other hand comes up and joins the first, balled tight in his hair. They were gone, because of him. Gone and nothing he could do in the entire Golden Age could fix that or bring them back. He was the one that deserved death, not them. Never them.

It was all his fault.

The first wounded noise out of Pitchiner has Jack lurching forward on some half-formed instinct to do something about it. He's halted by his leg bumping up against the coffee table, and it frustrates him, but he thinks that maybe he should be glad for the obstruction because— what, what was he going to do, crawl over there and hug the General? It's so awful not to be able to do anything, though, and Jack's eyes are stinging as he listens to all of this.

"I take back what I said about you not being stupid, but only because that's stupid." His own voice comes out just as bad as Pitchiner's, weak and cracking in places. Jack wants to keep all of his focus on the General, but he has to swipe at his eyes because for fuck's sake, he's not going to sit here and actually cry when General Pitchiner is the one who's lost everything. He keeps pushing, insistent, "You're a person, not some— some infallible war machine. You can't do everything, sir, you can't know everything, it's not your fault. You didn't set up that trap, and you didn't make the fearlings attack."

It's not fair. It's not fair that this is happening to Kozmotis Pitchiner, who tries so hard to protect everyone, it's not fair that he blames himself for it, it's not fair that he's stuck with Jack trying to help with this instead of someone better suited. In the end, it's too much for him to sit with his mounting horror over the fact that the General is breaking down in front of him and that the man thinks this tragedy was his own fault. The distant therapist treatment isn't something that Jack can keep up. When his sister was caught up in the fearling attack, Jack couldn't save her. If no one else had stepped in, both of the siblings would have died there, they had the scars to prove it, and he had hated himself for it. Afterwards, no one had ever tried to tell Jack that it wasn't his fault, that he shouldn't blame himself for not being enough to protect her. He may not be good for much, but he can make sure that it isn't like that for General Pitchiner.

Jack leans forward out of his seat and reaches across the table between them to lay his own hands over Pitchiner's. He doesn't pull, just trying to patiently ease their grip loose, to bring them down and away from where Pitchiner is tearing his hair out. And he stays like that, somewhere awkwardly half out of his seat, trying to lean over a table to comfort someone properly, his hold on the General's hands gentle and loose.

"I don't care, alright," he says, firm but kind, a resolute and earnest care showing through, "I don't care if you don't believe me right now, because I'm going to keep saying it anyway. It's not your fault. And I'm, I'm going to tell you that every day — forever, if I have to, if you won't believe it."

The mental barrier that had been present, that Pitchiner had initially been grateful for ends up being nothing against the torrential outpour of agony that washes over the general, threatens to drown him - in a way he wishes right now that it could.

My fault. It's my fault. It's my fault it's all my fault my fault it'smyfaultmyfault--.

"I didn't--" he begins haltingly, frame trembling and teeth grit tightly. "I didn't have to do everything, just, just keep them safe." My fault. "That was all I had to do. I failed. I failed them." And in the worst way. They didn't deserve harm to come to them at all, and he had allowed it by being so very incredibly foolish.

At least there's something about Jack's presence, the way his smaller hands attempt to coax the general's own, the tone of his voice that brings him down from the madness his grief threatens to bring, and he recognizes that Jack is trying.

Defeated, his hands relax, and he takes a shuddering, slow breath.

It is his fault though, he thinks, and even someone telling him every day won't change that fact. His hands lower away after a time, the right uncurling to reveal the locket still in his palm. He stares at it, and at least it gives him an excuse for somewhere to look other than up, because he can't face someone else right now, even if it is Jack - maybe especially because it's Jack. He's not supposed to be like this in front of someone else, even if Jack more than anyone else would probably be alright with breaching the superior/subordinate etiquette. But Jack also treats him just a little more human than everyone else (and he does the same in kind, though he shouldn't, he knows he does). He's not sure he can stand that kindness, right now. He doesn't deserve it, he's sure.

He's calmed down a little now, eyes watery and red and expression drawn. A sigh escapes, world-weary and shaky.

"Oh." It's a soft noise of surprise, half an exhale, at the sight of the locket in Pitchiner's hand. Now that he doesn't have to keep holding onto the General's hands, Jack sits back in his seat and he fidgets. "You have one too?"

Maybe he shouldn't have, he thinks as soon as the question leaves him, this is— this is General Pitchiner's personal thing and it's the last piece he has of his family now, it's not at all the same as Jack. But it's too late to take the words back, so that's clearly where this is going now. He pushes at his right sleeve, rucking it up and slipping his fingers up underneath the cuff to pull something out. What slips off his wrist is a bracelet, handmade; it's a simple thing, brightly coloured string woven clumsily together with a handful of beads on it, the handiwork of a child. It's worn and a little frayed in places, surprising that it's still in one piece.

The way Jack holds it makes it precious — like something terribly fragile or alive, the way a person would hold a butterfly or a small bird.

His smile twists, a slight grimace, and he gives a soft, pitiful laugh. Looking at it now, thinking about this, it seems even less like something he should be trying to bring into this; he has so little right to intrude on any of Pitchiner's grief, but he doesn't know what else to do. Faltering, he tries to explain, "Okay, it's not really the same thing, but. My sister made it, and I..."

Just get it over with, he scolds himself. The General has shared so much of himself already just by allowing Jack to be here, by talking to him in the aftermath of the horrible revelation, showing even a fraction of his hurt to a subordinate; and the confiding, that's what he wants the point of what he's saying now to be. A balance, finding some sort of equal ground. Whether the intent will actually be clear or not, he isn't sure, but it's too late for him to back out now. He may as well just follow through on the rest of it and hate himself once he runs out of story to tell.

"After the fearlings, uh — my mom took her and, they moved. She left me with my dad who, let's be honest, couldn't give less of a shit about me," there's another laugh there, a sharp and bitter grin accompanying it, but Jack shakes his head and he moves on quickly from that so it doesn't become an issue, trying to prevent it from standing out as anything important or worth remembering, "and, I don't know, maybe she wanted to start over, or she blamed me for something, or she didn't want Dad around for some reason... because she didn't tell us where they were going and I never got to see them again." He drops his gaze, turning the bracelet around in his hands, and his voice goes quiet and cracked when he finishes, "So this is — all I have left of Emma, I guess."

It doesn't take long for the feelings of anxiety and embarrassment and god, what are you doing, you're not helping you're just annoying, idiot idiot idiot, to catch up with him once the words have stopped, and Jack moves suddenly, scrambles to his feet. He almost trips over both the table and the couch in his haste to move, smiling nervously all the while, and when he stops he just looks small and awkward, out of place.

"Hey!" he says, with false brightness and a meaningless, frantic gesture. "Look at me, being an ass and talking about my dumb life story when I'm supposed to be skipping duties to talk about you. Do you want — like, a glass of water or something?"

One what? He figures it out when he sees the bright colours and the frayed thread, he has something - had something - similar in a small box full of precious things in what was once his home. The sight of it elicits a fragile smile almost reflexively, a fatherly sort of response that showed appreciation for the earnest love and effort of a child for those they looked up to. Wordlessly, he takes the delicate locket and opens it, turning it towards Jack. Within it is an image of his daughter with black hair like her father and bright eyes that glimmered with a playful mischief. Showing the locket was reciprocal, in a way, offering vulnerability for vulnerability and a sort of commiseration.

Jack's story, through the awkward halts and fidgeting, puts things a little more into perspective for the general, both about the boy in front of him and his own grief. He knew he wasn't the only one who had lost people, he was reminded with a keen poignancy of that every time he had to pen a letter to a family that was suddenly without their loved one, or saw mourning on the face of one of his sailors that had lost a close friend. He knew, but hearing something so personal from Jack brings it back to the forefront. Every one on this ship trusts you.

Whether it's for better or worse, the thought pulls Pitchiner back more towards his militant state of mind, just enough to bring himself back together. For the sake of his soldiers, he had to keep it together, at least for now.

"I'm sorry," he begins as an afterthought, finally lifting his gaze back to Jack, but it's probably lost in the sudden movement. He's slightly startled by the outburst, and reaches out to catch Jack by the wrist (for all the good that would do if he actually fell, but it happens to be closest).

"I--"

Now that he's not lost entirely in his grief, the feeling of contact stuns him momentarily, and it takes him a minute to actually consider the offer. The idea of even water makes his stomach twist with nausea. "No," he says belatedly, softly. "I'm fine." If suddenly being a widower and a father without a child could ever be considered 'fine'.

It seems...odd, suddenly, to know so much about the unruly sailor that had come to his crew what seems like a long time ago, now. He would consider himself to be the most fond of Jack, and yet they never knew that much about each other. He realizes suddenly that his arm is still outstretched, and he pulls his hand away somewhat awkwardly, mind still distracted.

He kind of wishes that the General had asked for water, or anything else; it would give Jack an excuse to do something other than stand, tense and awkward, trying not to stare at Pitchiner for too long but not wanting to look away from him either. So he goes back to fidgeting. He puts Emma's bracelet back on and fusses with his sleeves (not that he's ever cared for the tidiness of his clothes, but it's a distraction, and he'll take any right now) and inevitably, the silence gets too much for him again.

"Um," he says, and then, "so," and he stops.

There isn't a lack of things to say here. It's just that he doesn't know what he's willing to say, what will make this worse and what might actually help. But he's already this far in; he's made this much of an ass of himself and probably solidified his position as the worst member of the entire crew, so he just swallows the nervousness that's making his throat go tight and he says, "If we go for a revenge angle with all of this, the rest of the pirates and everything, can we make sure it's the methodical kind and not the — you know, 'dig two graves' thing."

It comes out much lighter than it should be said, because he can't find any other way to make himself approach it. Jack's earnestness is usually something thoughtless, open by virtue of the fact that he doesn't put any of his focus into hiding things. When he actually thinks about being honest, it's suddenly difficult to parse, and he feels like he has to make it more joking than it is or he'll just clam up.

He's not worried about him own safety, or the rest of the crew. It's impossible to imagine a scenario where General Pitchiner is careless with the lives of the people under him, and it's impossible for Jack to think of something that would make him stop trusting the General. But he is worried about the man himself. And it's not like it's unfounded; there are always people in the military that become detached when they find they have nothing left to return to, quicker to put themselves in dangerous positions and less determined to fight their way through the worst.

If Pitchiner even notices Jack's uncertainty, he doesn't call attention to it. He seems wrapped up in his own thoughts almost immediately again. The mention of 'revenge' jerks the general's attention, and his gaze jerks back to the sailor with a sort of severe expression, though what sort of emotion was behind it was harder to tell. For a long moment, there is silence. Then, Lord Pitchiner draws in a quiet, measured breath.

He replaces the locket around his neck, resting his fingers against the filigreed silver for a moment, before speaking.

"I will, as before, do my utmost to make sure every one of my sailors comes home. Always." There's still a tremble to his voice of emotions that hadn't been dealt with or put away yet, but beneath the tone of a grieving father and husband, there lies a steel, an earnest resoluteness that seems stronger than the mere determination Pitchiner has always had. His brow knits as he thinks.

"You reminded me that everyone on this ship trusts me; I won't forsake that." He draws in a breath and sits a bit straighter. "But I full well intend to find every last godsdamned dream pirate that lurks in this entire universe with whatever man will stand with me. And if none shall, I will do it alone." He clutches the locket momentarily as it hangs about his neck.

There were many, like Jack, who had their own reason to fight against the fearlings. But a dogged pursuit after every remaining fearling would be a grueling campaign, and the general wasn't sure anyone else would stay until the end. He didn't mind the thought. This was a deeply personal vendetta, and he wouldn't drag his entire fleet behind him for the sake of that, if they were unwilling.

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.

It would be the same sentiment for at least a handful of his soldiers, he thinks. Those that would remain to the bitter end for loyalty, or for their own personal reasons, and for that Pitchiner would be grateful. But even if they didn't, if they all eventually had enough, he meant his words. However impossible it seemed, he would find every last one of them. Somehow. He hadn't been able to keep his own family safe, so he would make up for it in some small, paltry way by protecting as many other families as he could.

He might normally make some quip, marvel at how Jack hadn't yet managed to get discharged and express doubt that he would manage to now, but he sits in brooding silence instead, brow knit tightly and mouth set in a thin line.

The general isn't thinking of any one thing, his mind doesn't seem to want to focus enough for that. It's been in the same state since he realized the dream pirates weren't coming, very different from his normal composure and focus. It flickers to Lady Pitchiner, Emily Jane, their home as it was - and as it is now - the dream pirate captain held now in the lead brig, the inhumane smirk across its warped shadowed face. He think of the rest of the fearlings out there, how far the navy has come in this war, and how far they have to go.

It would never be enough, now, but he had to do something. He had tasted something close to madness, staring at the mouth that proclaimed his family dead, and to succumb to that would be unforgivable.

Something in Jack's tone pulls him back yet again, and his gaze flickers back somewhat uncertainly, distractedly to the boy. Me? he thinks, and the crease of his frown deepens.

His eyes close, as if composing himself enough to respond and keep composure. There would be nothing left for him, after this war. If he succeeded, and every last fearling was dead or captured somewhere they could never escape, never harm again, if or when it came to a point that everything was ... over, and he yet lived...what then?

"I have nothing left but to fight," he says, quietly. And after that? 'Nothing' is implied.

That's what he had been afraid of, but it's also... sort of what he was expecting. Jack is overwhelmed by this helpless sense of— of dismay, or grief. Not for himself, the thought of losing someone he respects who actually seems to care about him; no, his own selfish hurt is put aside as nothing but background noise with the revelation of General Pitchiner's despair over everything that has happened, everything that is to come. All of Jack's grief is for how much Pitchiner must hurt, for how unfair and cruel this is to him.

Because a part of Jack had expected this answer from the General, at least it means he has some idea of how he wants to respond to it. He stretches until something in his back cracks, all of his casualness feigned but easy.

"Well," he sighs, relaxing "that's fine. That just means I have something to do, right?"

What a fucking terrifying thought that is, being responsible for something so huge, but he's hardly going to give himself a choice in the matter. Jack came here because he thinks it's ridiculous that the General is expected to do so much on his own, even when it should have nothing to do with rank and military — when it should just be about treating someone like a person. If this is what Pitchiner needs help with, if this is something he can't do for himself, then Jack will just have to figure it out.

He straightens up and sits on the back of the couch instead of draping himself over it, just to make himself a little more able to be taken seriously. His smile is back with its usual brightness, his tone light and energy seeping back into him; he's animated even sitting still, gesturing with his hands as he goes on, "I'll keep coming up with things you still have to do after we win so there'll never be nothing. Like, I'm going to find my sister, and you have to meet her because there's no way she'll believe me when I tell her I was an awesome sailor who helped General Pitchiner beat the fearling army."

It's impossible to tell if he honestly believes it or not. But he seems to, and he knows that's all that matters in the end.

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