Horatio looked up from the pages he held by lamplight, smiling at his pale friend.
"I've heard the girls love a hero with a scar."
"Hero?" Archie raised a mocking eyebrow.
"Yes," Horatio grinned.
The lamp flickered, making Archie squint. Horatio moved it further into the corner. There wasn't much room to maneuver in his cabin, but he did his best. Archie lay in his bed. Not as he had so many times before, to enjoy Horatio's company, but because he was wounded, and Horatio had given up his cabin for his friend. He could hardly have done any less.
They'd swarmed on to the merchantman after a short, sharp chase. Horatio had never seen the pistol levelled at him. Archie had knocked his officer out of the way, but hadn't been so fast himself. The pistol exploded in fire and smoke, the lead shot tearing through flesh.
Horatio spun around.
"Archie! God, no! Archie!" He scooped his bleeding friend into his arms, oblivious to the close fight that raged about him.
"Oh, dear God, Archie, why did you do it! Archie! " Christ, where was the fucking loblolly boy. He searched about desperately through the smoke. "Archie, why," he pleaded, holding his friend's limp and lolling body tight in his arms.
He helped carry Archie back onto the Indefatigable, and fretted while the surgeon poked and prodded for the ball. In the end the surgeon had decided to leave the ball where it was, the surgery to retrieve it being almost certainly fatal.
Sweat beaded on Archie's forehead.
"Are you in pain?" Horatio asked, ready to fetch him water, opium, anything.
"No," Archie lied, closing his eyes for a moment. He licked his dry lips. "No, just the lights, it makes shadows."
Horatio smiled and touched his hand gently. "I'm here. So there's no reason to worry about shadows."
"No, I guess not," Archie agreed weakly.
The smile fell from Horatio's face.
"I do love you, Archie," he declared.
Archie turned his head to face him.
"Do you?" He doubted it.
Horatio's brow creased.
"Yes. Very much." He picked up Archie's hand and kissed it softly, holding it against his cheek.
"Lucky I saved you then."
"I owe you my life. Several times over. I'll never forget that." Horatio's eyes glowed with warmth.
Archie studied him, judging his sincerity, looking for something. He must have found it, for his blue eyes softened.
Horatio leant across and kissed Archie lightly on the lips. A chaste kiss, but it didn't stay chaste for long. Archie's lips opened and Horatio took up the invitation, his tongue stroking Archie's, his hand moving down to stroke Archie's member, growing hard under Horatio's touch in spite of everything.
Archie was always aroused around Horatio. It had long since become his natural state of being. Even now the pain, drugs and fever couldn’t kill his desire, just mute it a little. Horatio teased his semi-sleeping state and the desire quickly burned brighter than his fever, his eyes bright and shining, his dry mouth eager, he gave into the sweet caresses, a single tear rolling from his eyes as he gave in, dying a little as his life’s essence spilled out into Horatio’s hand. For a moment, all his pain was gone. He closed his eyes and gave thanks, until Horatio woke him again with another kiss. Archie pushed the insistent mouth away gently with the last of his strength. Horatio wanted to devour him, and he wanted to give himself up to him, slip away in his arms, yet a small part of him held on, stayed rational, and told Horatio that he had given enough, he had nothing more to give. Horatio, unslighted, unscorned, lavished him with affection borne of guilt and friendship, his bubbling enthusiasm exhausting Archie. Archie wanted him to go, wanted to sleep, but he knew he could not sleep alone, so his hand sought Horatio’s and they stayed together as the ship moved through the motions of the night watch.
Archie closed his eyes for a moment.
"I love you, Horatio," he admitted.
He opened his eyes to see Horatio smiling over him, curls framed by the lamp like an angel.
"I do love you," Horatio dotted his forehead with a kiss. "Love you. Love you." He kissed each cheek, making Archie chuckle.
Horatio sank back in his seat.
"How long have you loved me, Horatio?" Archie asked, a rasp in his voice.
Horatio tilted his head. "You were always my friend. I've always loved you."
Archie smiled palely, satisfied with the answer.
"Read me some more, Horatio."
Horatio brushed his dirty blonde hair back tenderly, and began to read again.
Horatio looked up, the soft smile fading on his lips. He sensed something was wrong, the sudden silence troubled him.
"Archie?" he asked. He leant closer. Dear god, he wasn't breathing. "Archie!" He shook him. "Archie!"
"No!" Horatio's scream pierced the ship, followed by dull crashes and thuds.
"Horatio! No, boy. Not like this." The Captain was the first to find him, battering himself against the bulkheads and doors, the wood already flecked with blood. "Steady now." He held Horatio tight, holding him still, pressing his face against his shoulder, so he wouldn't have to see.
He looked over Horatio to Bracegirdle's white face in the cabin doorway.
"I'll watch him. You take care of Mr Kennedy."
The mention of the name brought a new wave of sobbing bursting up from inside Horatio. He tore away from the Captain and threw himself over Archie, screaming his name. They had to wrench him away from Archie’ body, he held it in a death grip, screaming and weeping, the blood now pouring down his face.
Horatio was bundled from the room, kicking and screaming, to the Captain’s cabin. It took the Captain, Bowles and Bracegirdle to hold him down while the surgeon poured his most potent sleeping draught down the boy’s throat. Then the Captain dismissed everybody. Alone he sat on the edge of his cot and kept tight hold of the boy, feeling his thrashing and struggles slowly fade into twitches and tremors, then these too sank into a listless, lolling stillness at last as Horatio finally sank into deep unconsciousness. Pellew laid him carefully out his cot, then rearranged him slightly when he realised if he arranged him too neatly he looked like a corpse. He laid his blanket gently over the sleeping boy, his long frame half folded in the tiny cot.
Pellew turned away from the sight and covered his eyes with his hand. What to do now?
"Dear God."
Pellew slumped in his chair, watching the boy, then pinching his brow, as though he could take away the vision.
They had already laid Archie out upon the sail cloth. Bathed and dressed in his best uniform, he looked as though he was sleeping. Pellew stroked the pale cheek.
"I should have watched over you with more care, more attention. Forgive me," he murmured. He let a long strand of blonde hair fall between his fingers. Then, thinking of Horatio, he cut the strand and folded it into his handkerchief.
Bracegirdle presented him with a small pile of belongings. Pellew met him with a blank, confused look. Why was Bracegirdle troubling him with these trivialities.
"Mr Hornblower, Sir, he might want, require, a keepsake of his friend." Bracegirdle explained, his face mottled with grief.
Pellew nodded curtly. Of course. He snatched up the pathetic bundle. He took a small leatherbound journal from the top, dumping the rest without care on his desk. He read the first few lines, then let the book sag in his hand. He'd never known Archibald Kennedy. Horatio's friend. Nothing more. Here was a young man of hopes and dreams, too soon snatched away. He placed the lock of hair inside the front pages and closed the journal, placing it softly on the bed, beside Horatio's head, dark hair curling over blood and bruises.
Pellew sat uncomfortably on the hard wooden edge of his cot, dipped his handkerchief in his glass of water, and gently dabbed at the worst of the blood that matted his hair and had dried in thick and thin rivers down Horatio's face. The bruises and cuts were ripe and swollen. One cut, very deep, just below his hair line, he would keep, and it would show everytime he frowned. The rest would heal. As for the cause of his grief, Pellew couldn’t say.
Two bells. Pellew shook Horatio awake gently as the watch changed. The dark eyes focused, then contracted in pain, the handsome face creasing. Horatio blinked and frowned and slowly focused on the pile of things on the long board opposite. Archie’s things. Oh god, Archie.
Horatio suddenly rolled and hung over the side of the cot being violently ill, his vomit splashing over the deck and the Captain's shoes and stockings.
Pellew just looked down at the retching boy, his shoes, and the vomit that was already rolling across the deck with the pitch of the ship and he realised things were going to get worse before they got better.
"It's alright, Mr Hornblower." He tried his best to soothe, helping the now sobbing boy back onto the cot, patting his hair, wiping down his face with his handkerchief.
They tried to dress Horatio, but the best they could manage was to get his coat over his bloody shirt and waistcoat. Bracegirdle offered to shave him, but he pushed him angrily away.
He stood tall and pale beside the Captain as the service was read, trying not to look at the flag shrouded body, yet unable not to. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. Everyone else kept their heads bowed until the body was dropped over the side into the sea and all the hands looked towards their breakfast, though there was no idle chatter today.
The captain steered Horatio back to his cabin, the table already laid for breakfast, though neither had any appetite for food.
Horatio saw Archie's belongings piled on the sideboard where they had been moved, his tears bubbling up again of their own will. He cried helplessly, not knowing where to go, where to look.
Pellew, heart breaking, took the young man in his arms, steering him towards the cot, nursing him, trying to comfort him.
Horatio sank onto the cot, helplessly overcome with grief, tears spewing up, the boy unable to hold them back. He shook with sobs, such a pitiful figure Pellew tried to calm him with words from a small distance, but that wouldn't do. He perched uncomfortably on the cot next to the sobbing boy, slightly annoyed at being brought to this level of intimacy, prickling at the closeness. God, he was so beautiful, even in tears.
"Mr Hornblower," he tried, but Horatio couldn't hear his words. He reached out and touched the back of Horatio's hand to get his attention, to bring him back to this world. Horatio turned suddenly and surged at the Captain, flinging his arms around him and sobbing loudly against his throat.
Pellew stiffened for an instant, then gave into humanity, gathering the boy in his arms, holding him tight, trying to soothe him with soft words, smoothing his hair, like a father to a small child. He could feel the heat of his body, the wrack of his ribs as the strained with each new cry, the hot, wet tears that soaked through his shirt. His hand slipped under Horatio's coat, rubbing up and down his back to try and soothe the spasms. "Sssh," he whispered softly as the near screams softened to gulping whimpers.
Horatio snuffled, burying his wet face against his Captain's throat. It had been so long, so very long that Pellew had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold another living being in his arms, a body with a beating heart, warm blood, twitching skin, and, dare he say it, moist mucus dribbling down his left shoulder. Horatio looked up, to find his Captain watching him with such anguish.
"You mourn him, and that is well, but this grief is a dangerous thing," he murmured quietly. He feared what the boy would do. He was torn up, confused and frightened, liable to be reckless, and like hell was Pellew going to lose any more of his officers. Not today. "Sssh," the tears started up again. He held Horatio tighter, becoming comfortable with the experience, the joy he felt being able to give comfort in stark contrast to Horatio's cold sorrow. His rough skinned hand smoothed a tear stained cheek. "You'll live through this. You have my word on it, Horatio," he promised.
Horatio looked up at last, hearing his given name uttered so softly, so warmly by the Captain cutting through his grief. He was in the Captain's arms, and the Captain was holding him, caressing him, watching him with such warm and understanding eyes. Horatio's lips parted, though no words came. Somehow their lips met, their mouths opened. Pellew's hand tightened in the long hair, his other slid along his thigh to press down on the boy's swelling erection, rubbing it, stroking it as his tongue stroked Horatio, slipping his hand inside the boy's breeches, his hand working the strong, young manhood until Horatio gasped, arching back, and planted his seed in his Captain's palm.
Pellew kissed him tenderly on his lips, his eyelids, laying him down in the tiny bed, with one last caress of a tear streaked face.
"Sleep now," he bade.
Mr Hornblower was excused from his duties, which he duly recorded in the day's books, losing himself in soulless administration, not daring to look up at either Kennedy's belongings or the sleeping boy in his cot. Nor did he allow himself to think of the taste of the boy, or the feel of his supple flesh beneath his fingers. He found himself staring at the small pile of Kennedy's books on his sideboard. That way lay madness, surely.
He would let Horatio grieve, for he knew Horatio would never love anyone else like he had loved Archie Kennedy. His first love, a love born of adversity, of friendship, of youth. There would be other lovers, no doubt on that score, but none would touch his heart like Archie Kennedy.
With due solemnity Captain Pellew recorded the letters dd beside the named Archibald Kennedy in his books. Discharged Dead. He then reached for his wine and swallowed it whole. Nasty business. This was worse than any before. He felt Horatio's eyes accused him at every glance. He should have cared for Kennedy more, realised the young lad's bent for self destruction. The Captain was all seeing, all powerful, and yet he had not seen this, had not prevented this. Why, he asked himself again and again. Had he considered young Kennedy a rival? Had he stood by and deliberately done nothing?
Yet what could he have done? Not even Horatio had been able to save or protect Kennedy.
The surf surged about them, frothing and white, slicking down their skin. Archie's hands tight on his body, locked around him as he drove deep. Horatio bucked as he came, turning his head, wet hair flying. Only it wasn't Archie he saw fucking him. It was Simpson, grinning at him.
Horatio's scream split the unpleasant silence.
Pellew was woken from his light doze by the terrible cry and the running of feet. Snatching up a lamp he peered down into the wardroom.
Bracegirdle was holding Horatio's shaking body in his arms, soothing him back to sleep, easing him back into the very cot his friend had died in.
Pellew raised his lamp.
"What is it? Is he ill?" he demanded.
"It was a fit," Bracegirdle sighed.
"A fit?"
Bracegirdle continued patting the damp curls. "Guilt and hysteria, nothing more." He looked up at last. "You did know Mr Kennedy suffered fits?"
Pellew nodded. "I had heard it, though I understood he had not been troubled of late."
"Ah," said Mr Bracegirdle, then deciding it would hurt no one, continued. "When Mr Kennedy came aboard after being in prison, Mr Hornblower gave him his cabin, so he might sleep undisturbed. He was troubled…"
"You covered for him," Pellew realised.
"At first. Then he settled down. Are you aware of Mr Kennedy's history?"
Pellew shook his head. "Rumours only."
"Mr Kennedy was beaten, monstered and sodomised by Simpson on the Justininian. That is when his fits began. Then Simpson began to turn his attentions to Hornblower."
"Dear God," Pellew murmured in horror. So that was the cause of their duel. Not Hornblower's vanity, but self defence.
"Yes," Bracegirdle agreed. "Mr Hornblower cared for Mr Kennedy. He had his reasons. Simpson made them brothers in adversity."
Horatio sat down on the table with all the weariness of a man a hundred times his age, propping his head on his hands, staring ruefully at the scattered letters he pushed away from himself.
Bracegirdle understood the situation immediately. While the rest of the ship delighted in the arrival of the post, it had also brought with it letters for Kennedy. Horatio took a deep sigh and fished among the small collection, his own thin letter from his father ignored, picking up one, then the other, reading the fronts. One surprised him, it was written in a hand he recognised as belonging to Kitty Cobham. He slipped that one into his pocket. He picked up another.
"It’s from his father," he announced sadly.
"Would you like me to reply?" Bracegirdle offered.
Horatio set his mouth firm. "No. I will do it." With determination he broke open the wax seal and opened the letter. He scanned the letter, his young face frowning, then almost crumbling. He looked up, utterly defeated. "Archie was acknowledged at last. He was to inherit. He could have left..." He let the letter drop. He could have been a young gentleman about town, never having to worry about logs, watches or French muskets. The tears bubbled up, overflowing.
"I don't understand." Horatio complained after a moment to compose himself. "I've seen men live with worse wounds."
"But perhaps they wanted to live more strongly than they wanted to die."
Horatio looked up. "Archie?" He slumped over again. "Oh, Archie." He looked to Bracegirdle. "I thought he was well. All those times, when he was very brave, first into the fray - he was trying to kill himself." Realisation hit hard. "I thought he took the bullet for me. He took it for himself," Horatio accused bitterly. "I loved him."
"He loved you, I feel. But I think he hated himself more. Simpson destroyed him, from the inside out. It's not your fault, Hornblower. The wound was laid long before you met Kennedy."
Horatio slumped even more.
"I loved him, and it wasn't enough." The young faced frowned. "He lied to me. He said he was fine and he wasn't." Since their return to the Indy Horatio had seen nothing but Archie's cheerful face, laughing at jokes, teasing him, flirting with him. And all the while he had been desperately wretched. Archie had been wrong, he was a very good actor. "He pretended he was happy, to make me happy. How could he?"
"Because he loved you. Because he wanted to spare you his suffering."
"It's not love," Horatio insisted, tears covering his brown eyes again. "It's dishonest."
"Love and truth often have little to do with each other." Bracegirdle tried to impart his wisdom, but he knew Hornblower wasn't listening. He glanced up and saw the Captain watching from the doorway. He shook his head silently. Horatio was in no fit state to receive the Captain.
Bracegirdle leant close to Horatio in sympathy. "All the love in the world couldn't have cancelled the hate Jack Simpson fed him. You know that. He's at peace now. Jack Simpson can't hurt him any more."
A small tear rolled down Horatio's cheek, about all the tears he had left. He made to wipe his nose on his sleeve, but Bracegirdle intercepted him with a handkerchief.
Horatio had kept only Archie’s journal, yet the rest of Archie’s things all found their way back to his quarters over the next few days, left as gifts, as well as the money that had been paid for them. Everybody had known that Kennedy had left no wife, only Horatio.
Bracegirdle glanced to Horatio’s door, and saw the blue cloth of his coat hanging there. Horatio had put a nail over the door and used it to hang his coat. If his coat was hung there it usually meant he wanted to be left alone. If the coat were hung inside out it meant he wanted to be alone with Mr Kennedy. Now his coat just hung there, lonely and blue.
Horatio rolled on his side, pressing his head close to his pillow, trying to breathe deeply of Archie's scent, and the memory of the days he had lain in Horatio's cot. Bracegirdle had aired all the cot's bedding after Archie had died in it, yet Horatio still imagined he could sense a residual aural image of Archie on the pillow. He snuggled down deeper, hugging the pillow to him. He didn't think of that last day, though the act of pushing the memory away brought the sting of tears to his eyes. He closed his eyes and remembered instead Archie burrowing in beside him in the middle of the night. When the nightmares were bad Archie would always sneak up from the midshipman's berth and snuffle in beside Horatio, seeking out his warmth and comfort like a wet nosed puppy. They'd cuddle for a while, before falling asleep pressed close. Sometimes they'd wake up before the middle watch and frantically make love with desperate strokes, trying to finish before the tolling of the bell. Horatio would lie there, dark curls scattered over his pillow, laughing and thrusting as Archie raced to bring him off before the first stroke of the bell, giggles gurgling over as his seed spluttered about just seconds after the first strike of the bell. He smiled at the memory of the smell and feel of Archie's blonde head buried against the crook of his shoulder. He'd wrapped his arms around Archie and promised to protect him as he slept. The grief reared up again. Precious poor protection he had offered. Archie, Archie, Archie. He hugged the pillow tightly. He missed him so.
Bracegirdle heard the small sounds of tears being sucked back up, and he dropped his head, grieving too. Never again would he hear the sound of stifled laughter echoing across the wardroom.
Horatio was roused from his mournful contemplation of the deck planks above him by the Captain suddenly framing his little doorway. The Captain motioned Horatio to stay where he was, which was just as well because Horatio had neither the inclination nor ability to raise himself from his bunk. The Captain's appearance in shirtsleeves indicated this was a casual interview, and he let himself sink back into his squalor.
Horatio ran a shaking hand through his wild curls. "They haunt me, you know. Simpson and Kennedy. They come to me at night." Dark eyes shone with the beginnings of madness. "Did you come here for me?" Those eyes burned right through him.
"I just wanted to see that you were all right."
"Is that all?" Horatio ran his hand slowly, lightly down his chest, stroking the skin visible where his shirt hung open, eyes burning.
Pellew almost rocked back where he stood, blasted by the raw sexuality of the young man.
"Mr Hornblower, you are drunk."
"Very." Horatio agreed.
Pellew made to leave, but Horatio grabbed his hand and kissed it, his tongue running hot and hungrily over the flesh.
Pellew snatch his hand back as though burnt.
"Mr Hornblower, please." He struggled to compose himself. "Come now; Mr Kennedy is not yet cold in his grave."
Horatio struggled up in his bunk, movements slurred, face creasing horribly.
"I should think Archie would be quite cold enough where he is. Cold, dark, frightened and alone - no one but Jack Simpson for company," he spat the words. The tears welled up again.
"Mr Hornblower, you are drunk. Go to sleep and perhaps we'll forget about this in the morning.
Pellew sat down at his desk. He was wrong to have weakened. He should have never have touched the boy. Hornblower might forget, but he could not. He'd wanted the youth since he'd first stepped aboard the Indefatigable, but not like this, not broken and twisted by grief.
The soft pink light spread over the flat sea, occasionally rippled with violet, muted by the low, thin lilac fog. Up on the foretop, Horatio masturbated quietly as the dawn changed from pale blue to bright rose. The laudanum had killed a good part of his natural desires, but his determined ministrations, and thought’s of Archie, especially Archie, brought his occupation to a satisfactory conclusion. He exhaled, leaning back against the mast, still fondling himself lightly. The Captain had set him these lonely watches as punishment, a punishment he deserved, his attention to his duty being scrappy at best, hazardous at worst. His captain wanted an attentive, competent and reasonable Hornblower, but he just wasn’t able to make it so. He’d loved Archie with all the passion and enthusiasm of a boy not yet twenty, and his grief was equally headstrong and unmanageable. Just the thought of Kennedy brought his grief rising up to meet him anew, and these thoughts came to him unbidden at all times. These watches were a blessing in disguise, for up here at least, though cold, he could indulge and weep, and smile, doze and dream, without having to appear upright and respectable, without being looked to for decisions or duties. He just had to look out for distant sails, nothing more. The rest of his time was his own, in his own little world.
He closed his eyes, hand trailing across the sensitised skin, imaging it was Archie's hand that touched him, and not his own. He smiled at the bitter sweet memory, and smiled still as a single tear fell.
Below, the men were on their hands and knees holystoning the deck. Matthews glanced up to the foretop for at least the seventh time.
"He’ll be alright," promised Styles. "You’ll see."
Matthews nodded, of course he would. Inwardly, he wasn’t so sure. Hornblower showed a different face to Matthews than the one he showed to Styles. Matthews saw Hornblower as much less in command of himself than Styles or Oldroyd. He’d seen Hornblower doubt, hesitate, fret and worry. He’d seen a Hornblower much more fragile than his bravado in front of the men made him out to be. He’d seen men, and animals, pine themselves into death. He glanced again at the foretop. What was the captain bloody well thinking, leaving the poor lad up there, all by himself, with no one to shake him from his melancholy with a joke or a tot of rum. Cold bastard, their Captain. He’d never liked Mr Kennedy, and now it seemed like he was punishing Mr Hornblower for mourning his passing.
Pellew noted two things when he came on deck. A general excitement, and the increasingly miserable state of Mr Hornblower.
"A sail, Sir," Bracegirdle reported, even though Horatio was technically officer of the watch. "Mr Hornblower spotted her, we've been following her for some time now. She runs fast, put not as fast as the Indy, Sir."
The last time Pellew had seen Bracegirdle this excited was over the prospect of a particularly fine figgy-dowdy. He snapped out his telescope and trained it on the ship hull up on the horizon.
"French?" he asked.
Bracegirdle shrugged. "French, Spanish or privateer, she picked up her skirts and ran the moment she saw us."
Pellew nodded. He snapped his glass shut. "Very well, Mr Bracegirdle. Let's see what she's about."
Bracegirdle turned and roared for the studdingsails to be set. The ship heeled sharply, and Horatio, already unsteady on his feet, fell over. The ship rolled again as he rose to his feet and he staggered across the deck to heave his cold, late breakfast over the side.
The boy was swaying drunk!
"Mr Hornblower - get below!" Pellew bellowed.
Horatio turned a white, frightened, pleading face to his Captain, but Pellew would not be moved. "Below I said."
Horatio saluted numbly and slunk below in disgrace. Pellew ignored Bracegirdle's look. The boy was clearly ill, and the last thing Pellew needed to worry about in a close action was watching over Hornblower.
Now he was short two officers. He ordered the ship cleared for action, banishing Horatio further down into the orlop as the cabins were struck and the guns were run out. The ship began to close on her quarry, now tacking desperately to catch the wind, flying a variety of signals, at one moment pretending to be friendly, then openly defiant.
"Cheeky evils," murmured Pellew, watching the signals haul up and down as fast as the sails. "Forward chasers!" he commanded.
The moment before the light carronades fired, the sound of a pistol shot came up clearly from below.
Horatio blinked at the smoking pistol in his hand in surprise. He'd missed. How could he miss. He blamed his shaking hands and the roll of the ship, starting to curse as the ship heaved and a strong jet of water spurted over him. He stuffed his coat into the hole and sat down to prime and load his pistol again, the actions coming to him automatically now. This time he placed the barrel of the pistol in his mouth, remembering how it should be done, but his powder was wet, and the flint snapped down with a harmless click. He threw the pistol away in disgust, nearly pitching forward off his seat as the first starboard broadside fired.
Horatio ran up on deck, to the Captain's infinite relief, so relieved he quite forgot his previous order of banishment. He couldn't see the other ship through the thick smoke, only the bright orange flash as the second and third broadside's rippled down the side of the Indy. A retaliatory cannon ball whizzed past him, but he seemed entirely unconcerned, leaning on the netting, watching as the two ships closed.
"Your division, Mr Hornblower," Pellew reminded, not wanting Horatio to step in the path of a ball, nor consider boarding. Horatio went to stand by his division, but they didn't need him, they knew what they were doing, deep in the rhythm of sponging,, loading and firing, not bothering to aim through the smoke. Horatio stood back, out of their way, absently fingering the hilt of his sword.
Another ball shot through, missing Horatio but taking the arm of the man who stood just behind him. Not even hot blood splashed across his face or the screams could rouse him into the present. He ordered the man carried below, and willed the ship to come about, so they could climb aboard and take her.
Matthews watched him and nodded across the steaming gun to Styles. They had a wordless understanding that would have eased Pellew's heart had he known, Hornblower would not be going into action without at least two guardian angels. The men struck up a cheer as the main yard crashed down on the corvette. They ran their guns out faster, and the smaller ship, battered and bleeding hard, lowered her colours. There was to be no boarding, no wild melee, just a civilised handing over of the wounded ship to Mister Marriott, Horatio being considered, and quite rightly too, unfit for the command.
Mervyn, ships surgeon, looked up from his books at the tall baleful figure that stood before him, haunting him like a ghoul with red rimmed eyes and sunken cheeks. The young man who had charmed everyone with his beauty had grown ill and ugly in his grief.
Mervyn slammed the book shut. "Loss of appetite, insomnia, night terrors, strong emotions. It’s nothing more than grief, Mr Hornblower. It will pass. You might not believe it, but it will. I cannot recall mention of you carrying on like this when you believed him lost."
Horatio’s dead eyes flickered with a spark of anger. You didn’t have your lover die in your arms, he accused silently. His eyes flicked to the sturdy medicine chest behind Mervyn. Mervyn reached back casually and slammed the heavy oak lid shut.
"There’s nothing for you here, Mr Hornblower. Go back to your duties."
Horatio wandered off as though sleepwalking. Which wasn’t far from the truth, with the amount of laudanum inside him. Mervyn had already had to purge him once, he didn’t want to have to do it again, nor deal with the look of angry regret on Bracegirdle’s face as he held the boy over a bowl where he retched up the poisons he’d taken.
Mervyn glared at the chest. Damned if he was going to lose another one of these silly overly romantic young men. He sent his loblolly boy to the armourer with instructions to make some new, sturdier locks for his medicine chest.
Captain Pellew came up on the quarterdeck and found Horatio in a dreadful state, obviously drunk, unkempt, unshaven, swaying more than the ship’s motion required, uncaring of his duties.
This would not do. He’d be damned if he’d let the boy piss away his career over such a trivial setback. It was a part of life. Hornblower had been indulged and it was ruining him.
"Mr Hornblower, a word, in my quarters, if you please."
Pellew looked the young man up and down, the confusion and bitter disappointment openly apparent on his face.
"Look at you, Mr Hornblower. This can’t go on. You have a duty to yourself, the service, your men, to me. You must pull yourself together, man. You must never be seen as weak. Never. You must think of your career. You must be strong."
A tear rolled down Horatio’s cheek, and Pellew glanced away. He had never imagined the boy to be so...fragile. He’d always seemed so in control. Now Pellew saw the cost of that control.
Pellew turned back to him. "I want to see you shaved, sober, in a clean uniform, going about your duties in a competent fashion. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Sir." Horatio answered automatically.
"Very well then."
Horatio sat in his cabin, his face lathered, his stropped razor ready in his hand. He considered it for a moment, then pressed it to his throat, pressing so hard it cut deep. He watched the blood roll down his throat. He stared at his own eyes in the mirror. He couldn’t do it that way, his hand trembled so much. He didn’t have the strength. He considered his hands, and turned his wrist slowly over.
Bracegirdle heard the hiss of pain, saw Horatio staring at the blood that welled up and dripped quickly to the floor. He knocked the door open, snatched up the razor and threw it in the corner. Horatio, clutching his bleeding wrist, looked up at the angry man who framed his door like a frightened dumb animal.
When Pellew came on deck at noon he found Horatio clean shaven and freshly laundered. He noted the blood spotted bandage on his wrist as Horatio reported on the log. The handsome face was pale, not meeting his eyes, but everything was proper and correct. He was glad of it. Horatio had too promising a career, was too good a man to throw his life away on a dead lover.
Behind Horatio’s pale and proper face rage and despair surged together. The cold bastard had obviously never loved. Would the captain even shed a tear if he died? He doubted it.
His duty done, Horatio turned away from the Captain, watching mutely over the cleaning and polishing of the guns by the crews, watching in a state of limbo for the sounding of the watch, or the Captain’s orders. The crews worked, but watched for the call to dinner.
The Captain still had the log books in his hands. He absently passed them to Bracegirdle.
"Do you know how Mr Hornblower hurt his wrist?" Pellew asked conversationally.
Bracegirdle looked grave, even miffed, as he answered.
"He cut himself shaving this morning."
Pellew snapped around, naked horror in his eyes for a moment before he composed himself.
"What do you expect?" There was as much reproof in Bracegirdle’s voice as he dared. "He’d rather die than disappoint you. He knows he has failed you. He’s young. He’s confused. He blames himself for not being able to prevent a death. He feels a good officer should know when one of his men, particularly a friend, is in trouble. He feels he did not care enough. He feels he should have been more sympathetic, less proud. He believes that had he not practiced being a perfect officer, his friend might have confided in him, and a tragedy might have been averted."
Pellew nodded, absorbing the words, knowing what it must have cost Bracegirdle to speak so plainly. "Did he tell you this?"
"One only has to look, Sir." And they turned to Horatio, standing thin and alone, no longer a part of the world, merely an observer.
"You’ll lose him if you don’t reach out to him," Bracegirdle warned. "He needs guidance. Not just how to be a better officer, but how to be a better man."
The Captain could almost taste Horatio’s misery as he watched him.
"Mr Hornblower, will you dine with me this evening."
Horatio shook himself out of the daze he’d been living in. "Yes, thankyou," he stumbled over his acceptance. Dinner with the Captain, when invited, wasn’t optional. It was a summons. He wondered if anyone else had been invited. He found himself glancing sideways at Bracegirdle, begging, pleading that he too would be there. If it were just the Captain and he, it would be a nightmare, unending suffering as long as the courses took to be served.
He couldn’t remember what he’d said to the Captain that night, but he’d had enough versions repeated back to him to be utterly mortified underneath the dull cloak of the laudanum he was dosed with every night. His cries in the middle of the night were more than the Captain could bear, and he’d ordered young Hornblower dosed, for the good of the ship. Horatio couldn’t control his night terrors. With Archie gone, Jack Simpson was free to roam through Horatio’s nightmares, haunting him more horribly in death than even he had managed in life. Horatio had taken to dosing himself throughout the day, just to get through it without the agony Archie's death caused him.
The colour rose high in Horatio’s pale cheeks. What was he going to say to the Captain? The stern silence over the salt beef or mutton would be worse than a court martial. He glanced up into the perfect blue sky and prayed for a thunderbolt to strike him where he stood.
"Didn’t take the Captain long to make his move," grinned Oldroyd, swabbing below the quarterdeck. Styles smacked him across the back of the head, hard.
"Ow, what was that for?"
"You and our bloody great mouth, that’s what. Ain’t none of your business what goes on up there," he jerked his head towards the quarterdeck, the hallowed officer’s ground.
"Yeah, but," Oldroyd started, but stopped when he caught Style’s glare.
"That boy needs someone at the tiller," observed Matthew quietly, nodding to Horatio, lost in his own little world again. "Or we’ll lose him, too." And they all agreed silently of with the tiniest nod. Mr Hornblower was better than most, and they had a mind to keep him as long as they could. Besides, few aboard ship had the luxury of grief, and comfort was taken where it was offered, above and below decks.
When Horatio arrived very punctually Pellew told the sentry outside his door he was not to be disturbed. The Captain also bade his servant leave them alone for the rest of the night. He would serve himself and Mr Hornblower. They had confidential matters to discuss.
Horatio's worst fears were confirmed. Dinner was a miserable, stilted affair, Pellew unable to talk, Horatio unwilling; the side of pork carved in silence, Horatio drinking far more than he should until at last the Captain halted his reach for the nearly empty port.
"I think you've had enough, Mr Hornblower, don't you? It doesn't do for His Majesty's officers to be seen falling down drunk."
"Just enough to sleep is all I need." The port loosened Horatio's tongue in ways he would probably regret in the morning.
Pellew sighed. Horatio's pain was naked in his face.
"Did he really mean that much to you?" Pellew had to ask, for himself.
The tears rolled down Horatio’s face. Pellew sighed, then reached out to wipe them from the boy’s cheek. Horatio turned into the caress, kissing the hand. Pellew closed his eyes for a moment. He leant forward and brought the boy’s face close to kiss those lips. Horatio, eyes closed, opened up under him like a newling, sucking greedily upon his mouth and tongue. Chairs scraped back as Horatio burrowed against him, hungry for love. So young. so beautiful. So desperate.
Pellew's hands pushed away the boy’s coat, waistcoat, finding his way under the shirt, then that too was tossed away. Pellew allowed his hands to trace the smooth browned flesh in the candlelight. So smooth, like under his fingertips. His hands ran greedily over Horatio’s flesh. He dragged the boy to his feet and stripped him naked, worshipping every new inch of perfect skin exposed, kissing it as Horatio leant against him, eyes closed, lost to the sensations burning across his skin where the Captain touched him. He brushed his hand over the skin, then bent to kiss Horatio's shoulder, his arm, feeling the muscles hard beneath the softness. He let the skin sink into his mouth in a soft bite. He grazed his teeth over brown nipples, his hand in the small of Horatio's back as he arched back. Trousers, shoes and socks were kicked away with an almost angry desperation, anxious to be rid of them, anxious to get past the first moments of terrifying vulnerability as the Captain looked at him, taking in each imperfection, each flaw, though Pellew only saw beauty, artistry...he’d not seen a statue carved so perfectly...he knew he was no past the point of return. Never mind manoeuvres, go straight at ‘em. He caught Horatio’s wrist and pulled the boy sharply into his arms, feeling hard muscle under smooth tender skin. He meant to take him, claim him. He smoothed the fluttering skin with a soft sweep of his hand across the skin of his throat. Like a skittish new colt with a new rider, unsure, waiting for the first command. "Steady," he murmured, hands rubbing across flesh, luxuriating in the feel, trying to calm the boy, though not too much, as his touch excited. His cheek grazed Horatio’s. Horatio met his eyes, then looked away. Pellew caught his face gently and with the tip of one finger raised his chin slightly, seeing the emotions racing across that pretty face; fear, desire, betrayal, self loathing, need. He sealed his mouth over those lips and the dark eyes mercifully closed as he tasted him. And Pellew kissed him, deep, as he brought him off in his hand, several short strokes until he heard Horatio exhale harshly against his shoulder. He wished he had been the first, but the flower that was Horatio had already been plucked by the time he had boarded the Indefatigable.
His hand crept from the small of his back to the sweet little cleft, rubbing the tender nub softly, making Horatio gasp under his mouth as he devoured him. Horatio swayed back and forth between his hands as Pellew coaxed him. A short spasm shivered through the young body, and he gave up his essence with a sigh. Pellew kissed him warmly, resting his hands on the angular hips.
"Turn around, Horatio," the Captain instructed quietly.
Horatio obediently braced himself against the table, back arching like a colt, face creasing as his Captain entered him. His passage was smooth and easy, and thoughts of Kennedy came unbidden to Pellew's mind. He thrust deep, making Horatio groan through gritted teeth.
"Sssh." Pellew ran his hands along Horatio's flesh, smooth and warm. He ran his hands up his ribs, slipping under to rub the hard brown nipples in rapid circles, then his hand slid down to clasp the young cock. He stroked it briskly in time with his own thrusts.
Horatio rocked against the desk, browned skin sweating, eyes closed as his Captain plunged into him. Horatio arched and bucked, dark hair hanging down over his face, arms straining against the dark, hard wood of the table. He pressed back, wanting to be filed, needing to be filled. He began panting, knuckles white, pressing back and forward, the Captain's hands clutching at his hips hard. With a choked cry he broke, spilling his seed as the Captain pumped inside him. He sank against the table for a moment, as the Captain released him, then Pellew gathered him up in his arms, kissing him lavishly, tasting the sweetness of his youth, sucking upon his top lip, his hands almost frantically rubbing the naked flesh, still playing with the sweetly wet erection that nudged at him. So young, so firm. Horatio was languid in his arms, almost wanton, eyes closed, accepting every touch, kiss and caress. He'd hungered for this moment for so long, even now he was not yet quite sated. Yet Horatio was almost swaying in his arms, exhausted beyond words. He led his young lover to his bunk and bade him lie down and sleep
Pellew draped a sheet over Horatio's curled body. Somehow knowing he was naked under the sheet was very alluring. Naked and sated. Pellew sat back, swallowing his wine without tasting. Impulsively he leant over the boy and kissed his sleepy mouth. A drowsy hand reached up and cradled his head, deepening the kiss. Pellew wondered if Horatio was kissing him or Kennedy, but the greater part of him didn't care.
The kiss ended, Horatio settled back into slumber, the most natural sleep he'd had in weeks, and Pellew, still dressed bar his breeches, which he buttoned, sat down in his chair, with his brandy and book, which remained unread, as he watched the lad sleep until the lamp guttered and went out.
In the dark of night the y found each other sleeping together and the Captain was woken by Hornblower grazing upon his chest, and felt the weight of the young body climb over him and settle above him, the young back straining, rising and falling as the young cock carved a channel in his hips. They came together, kissing violently, mouth smothering mouth, and Pellew felt the young man settle above him. His hands stroked the strong young back, the perfectly formed buttocks and the long, lazy thighs until two bells were struck, and the captain reluctantly pushed the young man's warm body off him, lest his servant or worse, one of the other officers, should find them like this. He left their bed to dress, but when he turned back he found Hornblower had merely rolled onto his side and fallen sound asleep again. He had half a mind to shake the boy awake, but the paternal and loving part of his mind reminded him that the lad hadn't slept through in the night in weeks, and it would be better for all if he let him sleep. The smell of bacon and coffee roused Horatio though. He woke, naked and tousled haired in the Captain's bed, had the decency to blush and smile so charmingly Pellew felt his heart give yet another lee lurch. Damn that boy for bewitching him so. He found it hard to believe Hornblower could be so beautiful without the least amount of guile. Even now, the shy way he snatched up his clothes and dressed while the table Pellew poured the coffee charmed him entirely, as though the show had been designed solely for his pleasure.
"Did you sleep well?" The Captain asked, teasing. Horatio blushed again, god love him.
"Yes, Thankyou, Sir," he flirted back mildly, laughter in those deep brown eyes. Laughter, The Captain's heart soared. He had made Hornblower smile again, and he thanked god for it.
"Have some breakfast, you're all skin and bone," he teased further, and Horatio, with a charming flush to his cheeks, took his seat at the table and helped himself to an impossibly large helping of ham, darting coy looks at the Captain who watched him eat with rat attention. He cares, thought Horatio, and it warmed his heart right through.
Horatio pushed back his chair at last, well fed.
"I’ll see you up on deck, Mr Hornblower," Pellew prompted as they both rose. It wouldn’t do to be seen leaving the cabin together.
Horatio swung towards him suddenly, clutching his hair and waistcoat, pressed against him soft and warm, with tender lips.
Then just as easily he danced away, flashing Pellew a cheeky grin as he ducked under the door.
He loved him, Pellew thought. He loved him.
Pellew was still smiling when he realised Bracegirdle was waiting to come in.
"I trust your talk with Mr Hornblower was satisfactory, sir," Bracegirdle could see the Captain’s good humour and knew a certain leeway could be taken.
The Captain beamed.
"I think we may yet save him, Mr Bracegirdle, piece by piece."
Pellew had a sudden thought as to what it would be like if he lost his bright and bonny boy. The breath left him and he felt cut off at the knees. And that was only a fancy. He had some inkling of what Hornblower must be feeling.
Pellew rested his hands on the table.
"I never realised Hornblower and Kennedy had been so close."
"Their time in prison tested them."
Pellew raised his head and nodded. Of course. Hornblower and Kennedy had relied on each other to survive. No wonder the shattered bonds had caused Horatio such agony.
"We will win him back," he promised. The see would not claim Horatio. Not yet.
Days turned into weeks and Horatio began to settle, like the sea after a squall. He grieved, the grief slowly changing to a quiet sadness. He grew into a very handsome young man, his sadness giving him a fashionable romantic, tragic air. He had given his lover to the sea, what more could be asked of him.
He divided his spare time in equal parts between the Captain and solitude. He'd walk the deck alone sometimes, often after dark when it was quiet, yet there were always one or two of his division watching over him, until they became cold and wet and bade him to come indoors. If he declined the Captain would be fetched, and Horatio would be firmly coaxed below.
They would sit and talk, and drink, the Captain would try to impart his knowledge of seamanship to his young protégé, and he would teach Horatio how to take comfort in the pleasure of the flesh as he lay sprawled naked across the Captain’s table, lips swollen, eyes half closed, filled and sated.
The Captain made him forget with his company, and forget with his body. Horatio no longer expected anything more from life. Pellew had been right, he would never love anyone ever again quite the way he had loved Archie Kennedy.
Bracegirdle found Horatio fo’r’ard, exactly where he’d been instructed he would find the young man, no longer a boy, one hand wrapped around a line, watching the night sky as it rose and fell with the Indefatigable.
"...and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the word will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun." Horatio quoted softly, looking up into the stars.
Bracegirdle couldn’t see the tears on his face, but he could hear them, gentle, in his voice. He squeezed Horatio’s shoulder softly. "I miss him too," he admitted.
Horatio turned to him, quiet surprise on his face, almost astonished to notice someone else’s sadness. His own was so omnipresent, colouring everything he thought and did, even his few moments of pleasure with the Captain...he choked, forcing down the tears that threatened to well up again. The sense of loss, it was the only thing he had left.
Bracegirdle’s arm slipped to the small of his back, trying to steer him away from the rails.
"Time to go below," he suggested gently. Horatio nodded and wiped his eyes on his sleeve like a guilty schoolboy. He understood. The Captain was waiting, with brandy, already decanted and warmed on the table.
He glanced back at the stars, one last time. "It’s alright, Horatio," Bracegirdle assured, nudging him along. "You will always carry him in your heart."
Horatio disappeared down below, blinking as he steeped from the darkness into light, into his world of forgetting, and the Indy sailed on through the night with no sound but the wind through the rigging, the waves down the side and the hushed orders of the middle watch.
Pellew gazed down upon his beautiful boy, bathed in lamplight, sprawled over the table Pellew normally spread his maps over. He ran his hand down a long, lean thigh, pleased even now that his touch brought a wanton rising of the young hips. He patted the thigh fondly. No more tonight. Well, maybe not. He felt his appetite stir again. Damn you, Hornblower, you have bewitched me, he smiled.
Horatio closed his eyes as he felt the Captain’s hands work their way along his flesh again. He gave himself up to the sensation. At least here, in the Captain’s arms, he could forget, and the nightmares would be kept at bay.
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