#young jack

He did, however, get first pick at the guest list. They were frat parties, of course, but sophisticated enough to have a guest list. And top of his list was always one name: yours. Which seemed an odd choice to his housemates as you never turned up.

“Party tonight, you know the place,” said Jack, pushing himself up from the wall that was his. His because he waited there for you every Friday. Waited to follow you, pestering you all the way down corridors and halls, up and down stairwells.

“I know the place, loud, rowdy,” you listed, a heavy looking book tucked under your arm. “I'll be sure to avoid it.”

“No, the open door means come on in, not hurry by.”

“I must have missed that class.”

“You? Miss a class? Nah.”

It was routine for Jack to do this: get the details of the latest party from Derran, run to whatever class you were still stuck in and wait for you to come out to invite you to the party.

The party where he'll linger by the door and let everyone think he was being a diligent owner, welcoming them in, handing them off to the kitchen were drinks were being downed already. Really, he lingered and waited for you. One day you would turn up and he'd back away into the crowd, making his way over all nonchalantly and bump into you, saying some practised line like “Oh, you came!”

“Speaking of class, you were later than usual coming out,” he noted, hands in his jersey jacket pocket.

“Do you ever hear yourself and think how creepy you sound?” you pondered.

“No, not really. I do catch myself in the reflection though and think, woah, you're a good looking guy.”

“Before it cracks right?”

Jack grinned. It was his favourite part of his days, when he got to see you and have this one on one. You bit back to his words and a lot of girls blushed at his teasing, tucking back hair in hopes Jack would catch the drift and do it himself.

He didn't know what it was about you that had you not falling for him. It drove him mad. He loved it. He was crazy, thought his friends, you clearly weren't interested, they were trying to get it through to him. And still, he persisted. Because when he saw you one day, narrowly missed getting hit the face with a soccer ball and instead of slick by you proceeded to yell at every player, and since he couldn't stop seeing you in crowds, finding you in libraries.

When he got talking to you and found you could keep up with him- well, he was smitten.

“What's the book today?” he asked, gesturing to the brick that was tucked under your arm. “Some Latin, some Greek.”

“An old Greek classic. It's in English, I just don't think you can read.”

Jack chuckled and followed you onto into the fields, where the sun beamed down. “Looks heavy, you want me to carry it for you?”

“No, I want you to stop stalking me.”

“I'm not stalking,” he denied, holding up his hands in surrender. “I was just passing by, I swear.”

“You seem to pass by every Friday, which is odd because you don't have classes over here on Fridays.”

Jack's hand darted out. He stopped you with a grin. “Now who's the stalker?”

You frowned, a roll to your eyes like you just couldn't be bothered with him. Yet he knew if that was fact you'd have already avoided him. You liked the bite as much as he did. “What?”

“How do you know my class schedule, huh?” he teased, tongue poking out and running over the bottom of his lip. “Unless someone's been looking.”

There was a stutter on your lips and he stood there, giddy.

“No. I-I just, I mean, my room mate has a friend who's studying medicine and he's not here on Friday's,” you argued.

Jack nodded along with you, rocking slightly back and forward on his heels. “Oh yeah? What's his name?”

You shook your head. “You wouldn't know him.”

Jack doubted, he doubted this guy was even real. It lightened him up to have you wanting to know things about him. That maybe you'd asked around to know his schedule, looked it up, actually spared moments out of your day to think about him while trying to act like you weren't.

Quickly, he followed after you as you took the long way around the pitch.

“Is this guy coming to the party?” he asked, just to entertain the conversation a little longer. “Maybe you can third wheel your roommate and him.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds fun.”

“Well I'll be there to keep you company, don't worry.”

“Oh good, I feel assured.”

“C'mon,” he said, taking a jog to keep up with your long strides. “What's one night of relaxing, huh?”

You chuckled, dryly. “You and I clearly have a very different idea on what relaxing is.”

“You're a more book and a bath kinda person, am I right?” Jack asked.

You glanced at him, a small frown between your brows like you were trying to figure out how he knew. “There's nothing wrong with that,” you said, almost defensively.

“I didn't say there was. I enjoy a bath myself.”

“With the walls shaking? With all the noises and company? Not a moment's peace?”

Jack smirked, leaning in closer to you. “Just what kind of baths do you think I have?”

Your lips parted, a fresh sheen of gloss over the pink of them. Your tongue clicked as you shook your head, tucking it down but he still caught the corners of your lips tilting up that you tried to hide. One day you might just admit you found him funny, that you thought about him outside of your little coincidental meetings.

“Jesus,” you breathed out, turning from him and taking a path back to your dorm.

“That's what they all say!”

You were making your way down the path hurriedly.

“Think about it!” Jack's hands cupped over his mouth as he yelled after you.

You yelled back. “I've thought about it!”

Jack watched you until your form became a blur and he had pretty good eye sight so he must have been watching you a while. By the time he tore his gaze away from the long way you'd gone he saw jocks on the field, girls preening at them and looking at him with bitten back smiles.

All he thought was how you'd never bitten back a smile. Maybe you tried to hide your smiles around him but he'd seen you grin big before, when you were unabashed and un-afraid to be seen.

He wanted that smile to be his, one day.

The party was already in full swing by the time Jack abandoned his post at the door, trying to make peace with the fact you clearly weren't coming. It was going on midnight and he'd been keeping his spot in the entryway since well before the sun set, wearing a patch into the carpet that would definitely need looking at with sober eyes.

Jack allowed himself a flicker of disappointment before he replaced it with resolve. Next time, maybe he'd even just invite you out somewhere, try to get you on a date instead of carrying on the pointless crusade of dragging you to a party you clearly weren't interested in.

Girls lifted up their plastic red cups to him as he passed, guys clapped him on the shoulder yet none of it felt as rewarding as it should of.

“Jackie, boy!” yelled Derran from his own post of guarding the beers.

“Derran!” he called back with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

Derran spotted his glum look and empty side. “Better luck next time, bro!”

Jack nodded and continued on his venture.

Was it just him you didn't like? He'd seen you at a party before, Stacey M from psychology. He'd caught sight of you, little black dress, taking to someone he didn't know but wanted to if they were stealing your attention. He'd spotted you across the room and hadn't said anything because he didn't want to scare you away. He didn't think you'd seen him.

So, you could party. It must have been Jack you were trying to avoid.

He was thinking as much when he saw Kev.

Kev was Derran's buddy but even that was too generous a statement. He was more like a pestering fly you just couldn't get rid of and Jack spotted him buzzing around someone, animatedly.

“Geez, lighten up!”

“Lighten up? You were about to take a girl who could hardly stand upstairs!”

“She was literally begging for it an hour ago.”

“And now she can hardly string a sentence together!”

The crowd dispersed around the shouting, looking back and to each other with pulled faces. They were hoping for a fight. Someone always was. As they parted, Jack could finally make out who Kev was talking to.

You stood across from Kev, in a dress that demanded Jack's attention, your cheeks flushed and arms crossed over your chest. You were there, at his party, arguing with a guy notorious for being a huge dick.

“What the hell is it to you, anyway?” said Kev.

Jack shouldered past everyone, falling into the conversation. “Hey,” he said to you.

Your eyes moved from Kev's to his and softened. “Hey, Jack.”

Jack. He liked hearing it from your lips, instead of stalker.

“Jack, hey pal,” greeted Kev in a stony voice typical for him. “Get a hold of your fucking girl, would you?”

You scoffed as Jack took a step in front of you. “Excuse me?”

“She's not my girl, man,” said Jack. “And she's right. If a girl's too drunk to keep her eyes open she's way to drunk to commit to anything.”

“She wants it, bro! I can tell!”

“I guarantee you, she does not.” Jack watched Kev roll his eyes and guessed he wasn't a guy that took being told no easily.

“Whatever man,” he said, waving his hand in a dismissive sort of gesture as he turned. “Just get this bitch out of my face.”

Kev tried to go but Jack was hot on his heels. You were hot on his.

“What did you just say?” snapped Jack, yelling over the noise of the music that rattled in his bones and his own heartbeat he could hear pounding in his ears.

“You heard me!”

“Yeah, and I'm really hoping I fucking didn't!” Jack grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He was taller than Jack, bigger than Jack and heavier than Jack. But Jack was willing to bet he had only a tiny dick. “Say you're sorry.”

“Jack-” you interjected behind him.

“Apologise,” he ordered, standing his ground, ignoring the forming crowd.

“Fuck off, man. What the fuck is your problem anyway? Your girl not giving you any pussy so you have to go and ruin mine?”

Jack froze.

He didn't know how it happened. One minute, Kev was running his mouth, the next, your fist flew past Jack and a sickening crack sounded.

Kev was on the floor, cradling his broken and bleeding nose with a whine.

You brought back your fist, shaking it off. “Shit-” you seethed.

Jack was back at your side, quickly. “Ooh- are you okay?” Gently, he took your trembling hand, cradeling it in his as he would a hurt bird. There was a redness spreading along your knuckles, blood blooming at the tiny cuts.

Around the two of you, the party crowd that had formed and watched it all happen started to applaud.

“Let's go!”

“Whoop-whoop!”

“Dude, Kev just got knocked out by a girl!”

If Jack were anybody else he might have cheered to. He might have been apart of the crowd, clapping. But he was only himself. He was only focused on you and your had still held in his.

Your cheeks were flushed with spring time pink as you tucked your head low, leaving him to lower his own closer to hear you. “Is... is there... is there somewhere...”

It took Jack just a moment to realise what you were trying to ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, c'mon.” Jack kept a hold of your wrist as he dragged you past Kev still rolling around on the floor and moaning in pain. He pushed through the crowd that were meandering back to their drinking and dancing. He led you through and up the crowded stairs.

You were silent till Jack stopped the two of you in front of a locked door.

He fished the key out his pocket. “It's my bedroom.”

You stiffened under him.

Jack's eyes widened. “Oh! Oh no, I- it's ensuite. I'd take you to the other bathroom but I can promise you do not want to see what's going on in there. I just want to take a look at your hand, is that okay?”

Your lips pursed and you nodded.

Jack waited. “Words, please.”

“Yes, Jack, you can take a look at my hand,” you said, cheeks still red.

His room was organised, trophies from several sport competitions standing high and polished on shelves. Whenever his parents came around they made sure to keep them clean and straighten them up. On his desk there was a tall pile of medical textbooks, thick enough to act like building blocks and his half finished mug of coffee was left there next to them.

He flicked the lights on and finally let go of your wrist. “You can, sit, make yourself comfortable.”

Jack rushed into his bathroom that was a little less tidy, kicking towels on the floor and dirty boxers into a pile behind the door and reached under his sink to find his first aid kit.

You were stood at the end of his bed, looking around at the walls, at the posters of bands on the wall that he put up when he first moved in and didn't tear off. Your eyes scanned over sheets of paper he had stuck up, post-it notes full of medical terms that were like a different language if you didn't know how to read it.

Jack lingered and watched you study everything that made him, him. Suddenly he was very aware he didn't really listen to any of the bands plastered up on his walls, that his wardrobe doors were hutting open from a draw not closed properly.

“You used to play soccer?” you asked when he appeared again.

Jack eyed the trophies you stared at. “Er, yeah.”

“I didn't know that.”

Jack smirked. “There's a lot you don't know about me.” He held out his hand to his bed, inviting you to sit on the edge as he sat on his desk chair, switching on the lap and moving the neck till the gold glow was on your hand. He was lucky his room was small enough to accommodate the two of you close together.

You splayed out your hand.

“Nice throw,” said Jack as he took a cotton swab and dabbed lightly at the beads of blood.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“Where'd you learn to punch like that?”

“Self defence classes,” you told him. “When I thought about coming to your party I figured I best take another one, might come in handy.”

“Glad to know it wasn't me you were planning on punching the day lights out of,” he said.

“I'd have gone easy on you,” you shrugged. “Oh my god, I assaulted him!”

Jack chuckled at the sudden dawn of realisation on your face. “He had it coming. He's a dick anyway.”

The two of you fell silent again as Jack gently looked around your knuckles, checking for any injuries that he could see as if he was already a qualified doctor.

“It's probably the nasal bones you hit,” said Jack. “Might have fractured it.”

“Is it gonna harm is breathing?” you panicked.

“No. His nose will just be bruised for a while. Might have given him a free nose job, too.”

Your other hand combed back your hair. “He could report me for assault.”

Jack shook his head, glancing up through his lashes at you. “He won't. He'd have to explain how the fight began, how he wanted to have sex with a girl that couldn't say no, let alone yes. And besides, Kev wouldn't admit he was hit by a woman.”

“Some company you keep at these things,” you mumbled.

Jack swallowed away guilt. “I'm sorry, Kev just turns up to these things. Usually the parties aren't so bad,” he explained. “This is still going down as one of the best, in my books.”

“Because Kev got punched?”

“Because you showed up.”

Your gaze was hard on his, not un-kind but just watching him to try to catch out the lie. There was none. He was waiting to tell you.

“How come you changed your mind anyway?” he tried to distract you as he ran an anti-septic wipe over the small cuts.

Your hand still tensed and curled up. “Ow- Jesus!”

“Sorry,” he cringed.

You shuffled on the edge of his bed, pulling the hem of your dress back down. Not that he was looking. “My roommate was going, thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. And that way I didn't have to drive.”

“Where's your roommate now?” he asked.

“She and a couple other girls went to take the other drunk girl home, make sure she gets back safe and is okay.”

Jack smiled down at your hand.

“So much for sticking together,” you sighed with a little huff of laughter.

“You need a ride home?” asked Jack, perking up.

You raised your brows. “Haven't you been drinking?”

He shook his head. He'd never been happier to not be a big drinker. “I'm a med student. You think I can get drunk and the next day dissect a rat.”

Your lips pulled into a frown. “I thought dissecting rats in class was band in the fifties?”

“Who said anything about being in class?”

You laughed and Jack wished he could go back in time, make the joke again and savour it anew. He wanted to know what else he could say to make you laugh. What else made you smile. He wanted to know everything that made you happy and be apart of it.

He ditched the wipe on the side and went back to holding your hand. His eyes scanned over the expanse of the back of your hand as if he was trying to find factures or bruising when he just wanted to have an excuse to hold your hand a little longer and try to remember what it felt like.

“So, am I gonna live, doc?” you whispered, head ducking low and closer to his.

Jack raised a brow. “It's doc now, not stalker?”

“I guess I'm the one in your bedroom, I feel like the stalker now.”

“I really didn't have another agenda to this,” said Jack, stony at once at the implication he came up to his room with you for another reason. “You can leave at any time, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don't.”

It was perhaps the longest conversation you'd had together without you walking off and him wondering if he'd see you again. This was different. You were sitting, letting him touch you and look after you in a room that surmised him.

“Your hand should be okay,” said Jack. “You might want to ice it when you get home. Or I can get you a bag now?”

“Will I make it if I wait till I get back?”

Jack tilted his head to the side, holding your hand in his and leaning back. “I dunno. Let's see-”

Studying your hand side to side, Jack slowly brought it up to him, making sure to leave you enough time to retreat. You didn't. He kept his eyes lowered as he brought it up to his lips and kissed it gently. It was just a press of his lips, not a brush or a bite. He just held himself there and felt your pulse under his fingertips race.

He was enjoying this medical training thing more when he could use what he learnt on you.

“You'll make it,” he said, letting your hand down onto your lap.

You shivered and held the hand he'd just kissed in the other. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Thank you for punching Kev and putting him in his place,” he said. “Think you can stick around till three and get everyone out of here?”

“Three is a little after my bedtime.”

“Bath and a book?” Jack asked. He found his voice naturally lifting in his flirting sort of way but there was genuine curiosity underneath it. He wanted to see you room and not in a creepy way. He wanted to know what posters were up on your walls, or what colour they were painted. He wanted to know the photos you had framed and books you had stacked on your bookcase.

You glanced at him, a degree of shock that he'd remembered. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Jack figured you'd be surprised to know he remembers your favourite sweater you wore when the weather was cold, the Margaret Atwood book you carried with you more than any other. The fact you preferred the south corridors because there was a breeze in the north. That you wore one colour more than any other.

If he admitted it you might just tease him again.

He could live with it though.

“I can give you a lift back, if my cars not blocked up,” said Jack, spinning his keys around his finger.

“Oh no,” you said, standing up with him. “I can't ask you to do that.”

“You didn't ask,” he pointed out. “I'm asking you.”

You looked around his room again, trying to find an excuse.

“C'mon,” said Jack, nudging you. “If I were to let you get home some other way I'd only be worried, I'd get no sleep, then how would I study the next day?”

“At least the rats would be safe.”

Jack waited still, holding his hands behind his back and rocking.

You sighed. “Sure, fine, if your cars not blocked in.”

Jack was willing to ram into any car he needed to to get you home.

And so Jack took you home that night and for the rest of the week thought about you more than usual. After all, now he knew how soft your hands were, fingers slightly rough from the constant turning of your pages. He knew what your hair smelt like closer up and how your body relaxed with the vibrations of a car. He knew so much and so little but Jack was on a mission to know everything.

Decades later and Jack had memorised the touch of your skin when trailed by his own fingertips. How warm it felt in the morning sun and the slight tremble when it was night. He'd seen shades of your hair through the years and the lengths you changed but he always remembered how it looked in the gleam of the afternoon sun. He knew- when he could once only dream of knowing- every secret dent and tint of your body, knew your curves like it was a road he took down every day.

You knew where Jack was starting to grey, when his leg hurt him more than usual. You knew the roundness of his stomach and kissed down it when he realised he wasn't as lean as he was when he was younger. You could map every freckle on his body and join them dot-to-dot with your eyes closed. It was the sort of knowing one only got from years of dedication.

That was why Jack knew he needed you to run into the ED when he'd only been there for an hour.

“Jack?” you were wind-swept, coming in through the ambulance bay doors that had seen you come in and out almost more than it saw emergencies.

He would ask you to come in to share some crappy dinner he'd prepped the night before, wonder if you were driving by in the morning to your own job at teaching English just so he could steal a kiss and taste your morning coffee on your lips. Any excuse, Jack was asking for you.

You were always happy to deliver.

He smiled as you stepped up to him and he grabbed your hips, bringing you closer and kissing him.

“You're so in love, I hate it,” said Nurse Vivi from Lena's side.

“You're adorable,” cooed Lana.

Jack pulled back, brushing your hair and framing your face. He peeked with a smug smile at Lena. “Thank you very much.”

“What's going on?” you asked. “You said it was an emergency?”

“I didn't want you to miss this-” he took your hand, the one branded with the two rings he'd slid on there and dragged you to an exam room.

You knew the floor planning almost as well as Jack did. He'd given you a tour of the place after only a week of working, introducing you to Dana and Lena, showing you off to Robby who couldn't believe Jack's wife was... well, you... that he'd stared, mouth agape for at least ten seconds.

The both of you like to tease him about it now.

“Miss what?”

Like he was showing you a show he'd rehearsed, Jack held out his arms to the glass windows of nine.

Two young women, alike in look and stature, stood over a bed. They were talking down with anger between their brows to a man slouched in the bed, a crooked nose and black eye, beard long and ill-kept-

Jack watched your eyes widen and brows raise. He grinned.

“No,” you gasped.

He nodded and chuckled to himself. He tried to keep his back straight, holding onto the reigns of composure he kept for his night shifts. Yet, with the dazzle of amusement in your eyes he couldn't stop himself from the boyish grin only you ever brought out.

“Is that- is that Kev?”

Jack nodded. “He's here for a conference. That-” he pointed to the woman on his right. “- is the conference and that is his girlfriend.” He gestured to the other.

“Some people don't change,” you chuckled.

“No they do not.”

He let you study Kev. The length of the beard was one thing, the scraggle of it another. The hospital gown in white and grey did nothing to flatter him, nor did the black eye and crook in his nose. He was balding at the top and reseeding on the sides.

“Wait, isn't this a breach of some patient confidentiality?” you asked, a hand on his bicep.

Jack pulled his lips down and shook his head. “I don't think he'll say anything.”

Kev's eyes flickered from the girls (because they were very much younger than he was) and found you and Jack standing there on the other side. He shrunk back in his bed and rubbed over the crook in the bridge of his nose.

No, he wouldn't say anything.

Like I said, these are rough designs for them! Ryan's only on lvl like, 36, and Young Jack is literally an npc I hyperfixated on because his plot is ridiculous. Ryan (Silent Ryan Ironside) is on the right, Young Jack on the left 👍

Refs and wip sketch:

So, lore ramble as I warned about:

Ryan has the Grizzleheim origin, and her parents were killed in a Mutiny. She's a Swashbuckler, and her First mate is consistently Subodai (horse Warrior). Ryan became a Mute after her parents were killed, and communicates with her crew solely through a complex system of tapping patterns, or simple hand signals. She's slow to trust, and is very loose with dropping people at the first sign of disloyalty, but she picks up her crew like they're each a stray sopping wet kitten. She's still a teen, so when they all joined her, they basically pulled "It takes a village to raise a kid" and the entire Crew works to boost her up as well as keep her safe.

Young Jack recap (w/o bias I hope) I'd that he's the nephew of a guy on the docks of Flotsam who went missing. You find him near the broken lighthouse, he's cursed, you hunt down the dude who made the curse and kill him. Give the head to Young Jack to keep him from getting zombified. Young Jack swears off pirating, and that's the last time he's seen.

Personal Explanation for the art above:

Ryan took the quest would really planning to follow through. She stumbled across Young Jack's trail by chance and found him injured and surrounded by undead. His old crew. She sympathized, and helped him back to his uncle, but Old Scratch and everyone else of Flotsam agreed that the boy was doomed to die of his curse by sundown. Only way was to kill this old immortal famous pirate, so Ryan did just that. She felt like she couldn't just stand down, and she killed the guy and presented it to Young Jack just before sundown.

Jack swore off pirating and retreated with his uncle back home, but I like to think Ryan kept in contact. Jack started work in the tavern, and Ryan made Flotsam her crew's go-to stop just to check in on Jack. They were friends, Ryan's first real friend, and got along swimmingly. Ryan taught him the codes and translations for her taps, and they bonded. (Currently they're still courting. Jack thinks she's just the coolest girl he's ever met, and she thinks Jack is reckless, but sweet.)

One time, I like to think just after Monquista, Ryan went to the tavern, only to get news that Jack had been kidnapped, by pirates, then the Armada. Ryan has a paralyzing fear of the Armada, but snuck away from her crew. She was trading her surrender for Jack's safe return. Ryan managed to send Jack back safe, giving herself up to Deacon in the process.

Jack, in my headcanon, has a giant slash scar across his face because of this incident. When he got back and tried to tell Ryan's crew what had happened, Subodai was furious. Subodai is basically Ryan's mentor and adoptive father, so when he heard what had happened his was in such great distress he didn't even think. He drew his sword and slashed Jack across the face without a second thought, before the crew could stop him.

Everyone ended up bannmding together to vet Ryan back in one piece, but that incident is what I think drove Jack to join Ryan's crew. If he remained away from her, he'd only be a dangerous outlier for enemies to use against her. Staying close let both of them be safer, and happier, despite how he swore off pirating not long ago.

Much of the plot had to do with Jack dealing with memories stemming from his stolen watch. Yep, that gold engraved watch was taken in the break-in along with other valuables that included Tim’s prized All ‘Round Cowboy Trophy. We’re treated to several flashbacks from Jack’s perspective that include OH MY GOSH! Is that Young Jack? That’s right. Shea Johnston, Shaun Johnston’s own son, has reprised his role this episode, and was doing a fine job of it, too. Another plot point of note was Parker’s interest in tracking down the stolen items. She immediately gets the watch actually was important to Jack, despite his protests to the contrary. (Anybody get the sense she’ll soon earn the nickname “Nosey Parker”?) We also see Parker developing an Instant Crush on Logan when they meet for the first time. The third subplot gives us more development of the Logan character. Amy continues to be impressed by his horse instincts, and is therefore disappointed when she learns he’ll probably be moving away to make a fresh start when his dad is paroled. The final subplot is minor, in a sense, but it’s the only part of the episode that actually angered me on a few levels. Lou cannot find her Mayoral laptop. It could have been stolen in the break-in, or it could just be missing. Get ready for a rant, which I have not done in many long years. (Skip over these next few paragraphs if you don’t care to be subjected to it.) I’ve given lots of thought to the “Lou’s Laptop” subplot. It was terrible on all counts, in my opinionated opinion. I know it was probably intended to be played off for levity, but the episode did not need another Lou snafu for giggles. I cannot for a second believe the woman holding the *highest office* in Hudson has a.) such poor security on her WORK laptop, and b.) lacked serious judgment in what she allegedly kept on it. In real life, her I.T./security people would have been mandating a password change like every bloody week with 32-characters-including-capitals-numbers-special-characters, and she would have been schooled on what is appropriate use of her laptop and what isn’t. She deserves to called “Mayor Skroob” for apparently having a lame password something close to “1234”.

And you mean to tell me businesswoman “Spreadsheet” OCD Lou has a desk so messy she misses a note placed there telling her exactly where the laptop is being kept? Isn’t she Miss Organized?!

And don’t get me started on the pictures she was keeping on the laptop “inappropriate for my children to see” she mentioned that nearly gave Rick a coronary. I doubt it was anything *too* incriminating, and possibly stuff just embarrassing for Katie and Georgie, but just the suggestion Lou could have had something scandalous on her hard drive was poor judgment both for her and for whoever greenlit that odious plot point. “Bad pictures” are no joking matter, especially when in the real world, we’re becoming *very* aware of the connection between “bad pictures” and human trafficking. Big FAIL on that, and I’m not apologizing for calling it out. Don’t ever go there again, Heartland, even for laughs.

End of rant.

Back at Cooper’s Centre, Clint has bad news for Logan. His dad has failed to make parole. This upsetting news causes Logan to run off. They try without success to find him on the Centre grounds or in any of the buildings. Cooper seems at his wits’ end with both this and his funding crisis—later even abandoning his dream project and leaving Clint in the lurch. Amy returns to Heartland to continue gentling the wildie when Logan rolls in on his bike. But he’s not there to help. He’s there to say goodbye. He has decided to make a fresh start on his own without his dad, wherever that may take him, and Amy seems unable to convince him running away isn’t the answer. “Father and son relationships... they can be tough... and fragile,” Jack tells Amy when she mentions how angry Logan is at his dad. He speaks about looking up to Jefferson, and how he idolized the man... and how tough it is when that hero trips up; to discover he’s just a person. He reminds Amy it’s not her responsibility to fix what’s broken between Logan and his father. Cue another flashback to when Young Jack has another uncomfortable exchange with a drunken Jefferson. They’ve been fighting over Young Jack’s rodeo aspirations and his duties on the ranch. Jefferson throws the gold watch at his son, snidely saying “Happy birthday”; Young Jack throws it down on the hearth shouting that he doesn’t want it; that he doesn’t want anything from his father. It all boils down how Jefferson accused Young Jack of challenging his authority, of thinking he knew what was best for the ranch. “You think you know what’s best for this place? Prove it!” Jefferson taunted. Those mocking words haunt Jack this entire episode. At one point, Lyndy wakes up in her room, convinced something’s outside her door. That sends Jack rushing outside in the dead of night with his rifle. Of course there’s nothing there, but Jack can’t seem to shake the feeling he’s failed to keep his family safe. Jack finally admits to Lisa he’s not actually feeling guilty about the break-in, he’s angry about the watch, and the memories losing it has conjured up. Lisa hears how drunken Jefferson took out his grief and anger over June’s death on Jack, causing him to feel unsafe in his own home. She tells Jack what Jefferson did was heartbreaking, but that he cannot be angry at himself for what happened. Jack asks why not, since he believes he made her feel the way his dad made him feel. “I promised I would never do that to anyone,” he says. Lisa insists he always makes her feel safe, and that he is not his father. She encourages him to pull himself out of the past and to appreciate what he has now, because he made Heartland into what it is. Jack fortunately takes her advice to heart. Wrapping up the remaining plot points: Logan’s Run was short-lived. He’s back to help Amy after realising he didn’t want to be on the road on his own. (He’s probably also realised he should pursue this connection he has with horses, and Amy even gives him a riding lesson.) Parker and Tim track down both the watch and trophy at a local pawn shop. It seems the thieves were not from Cooper’s outfit; they were a gang involved with the fair that was moving from town to town, a pattern Parker identified during her sleuthing. Jack takes Lyndy fishing at the pond, which provides a bookend flashback to a happier time when Jack was a kid and Jefferson was still his hero, teaching him how to fish, perhaps the only time Jack heard Jefferson tell him he was proud of him.

End of Review; onto personal commentary...

I was really impressed by everyone’s performances in this episode. Shaun Johnston was particularly great, I thought. Jack’s not usually the one to show much emotion, but this episode gave him the opportunity to really show a great deal of emotion without having the luxury of words. Just watching him, sitting on the bench on the porch as he fumed over the robbery, or how he remembered the difficult past with this father... wow. 

We’re of course still completely ignoring the havoc the “June dies” timeline has wreaked on previously established Heartland canon. We’ll never be able to reconcile it, so I guess I’ll just have to let it go. Jefferson Bartlett’s grief and anger over June’s untimely death, and maybe even his resentment over his son’s aspirations led him down a very dark and destructive path. It wasn’t made overt, but one gets the sense Jefferson might have even been physically abusive towards Jack (beyond the drunken shoving match that could have happened). 

I’m feeling a little better now about the “There was a time I couldn’t wait to leave this place” quip from Jack when we were first hit with the “Jack had a sister and a bad relationship with his dad” backstory due to what Lisa said to Jack during their talk.

She was grateful to Jefferson for one thing: and that was instilling in Jack a sense of responsibility for Heartland. Jack didn’t actually have to stay with the bitter old man. He could have taken off on the road, taking in every rodeo he wanted. But he still felt responsible for the ranch that both his granddad and his dad promised would be his to take care of one day. 

Because ever since Day 1 of knowing Jack Bartlett, I’ve known two things: he’s proud of those 600 acres of Heartland, and he’s a homebody. 

Jack’s reasons for wanting to leave weren’t because he wasn’t interested in taking care of the family homestead. His reason for wanting to leave was more about not feeling safe in his father’s presence after June died. 

It makes sense he’d feel better about being there after the old man died, and perhaps in and through marrying Lyndy, brining her there to live, and having Marion. He must have put great effort into making sure they felt safe and secure when he was around, the same effort he’s been putting into it for his family now.

I’m so pleased to see how Jack was quick to counsel Logan, given what they’ve both experienced. The parallels between Logan and Ty cannot be ignored, but I’m also glad the Writers don’t seem to be beating us over the head with the comparisons. Ty, for example, wasn’t a prodigy with equines. Logan seems to have a preternatural ability about them, and Amy is all too keen to help him harness that. Ty was in juvie; near as I can figure, Logan simply ended up in a group home because he got too old for foster care and has never had a criminal record.