hmsindefatigable | welcome to purgatory ➢ archie & horatio

welcome to purgatory ➢ archie & horatio

Rainwater dripped from Horatio's uniform to the floorboards as he trudged belowdeck, shaking with the bone-deep cold the winter rain and the harsh wind in the rigging had left him with even once his punishment had concluded. His legs and arms ached, the palms of his hands were raw from the harsh rope used for the rigging, and the once-lively curls of his hair, now drenched with a combination of rainwater and ocean spray, clung to the edges of his face. The usual bawdy ruckus in the enlisted men's quarters was much too loud, doing nothing for the ache in his temples.

All he wanted to do was change clothes, climb under many blankets, and hope to god Simpson would stay out of the mids' quarters long enough for him to catch at least some rest. Of course, the previous day's wounds also had to be cleaned, lest any of the open cuts decorating his face were to become infected, so that would cut into any amount of time he'd find to sleep, too.

Please, God, don't have him be here. Please. I need to rest. I'm sore enough as it is.

To Horatio's surprise and great relief, all of the hammocks were empty when he opened the door and closed it behind himself. It was all the better, seeing as he still wasn't quite comfortable stripping down in front of other men and desperately needed to change into something dry. He wasted no time in shucking off each sopping wet layer where he stood, but took great care in spreading his drenched uniform out to dry on the floorboards afterwards - it would reflect even more poorly upon him to report for duty tomorrow in a crumpled uniform with footprints on it than it had to report in the deeply bruised state that had earned him the miserable punishment he'd just returned from.

With his uniform set out to dry as best he could, Horatio wrung a few drops of water from his queue, changed into a dry shirt and breeches, and climbed into his hammock at long last - but as soon as he reached for the wool blanket bunched up on the other end, the doorknob twisted. Dammit! He immediately went limp and slowed his breathing in an attempt to create the impression that he was sleeping - provided it was Simpson at all, perhaps being 'asleep' would be enough to spare him from a beating over some made-up reason that essentially amounted to his being present in the room at the same time as the bloody tyrant.

The door opened, then one foot, followed by the other, contacted the floorboards. Horatio cracked one eye open so slightly it almost remained shut altogether, his heart racing behind his sternum - only to realize to his great relief that the figure wasn't the mids' shared tormentor, it was Kennedy.

"Archie." The hammock creaked as Horatio sat up and offered a faint smile in greeting. The deep purple bruises dappling his skin and the swelling on both sides of his face had undoubtedly gotten worse since the last time Archie had seen them, but, lacking a mirror, Horatio wasn't certain just how bad it was, although he was sure he must look utterly pathetic.

Hardly how he'd expected his first week in His Majesty's royal navy to transpire. Welcome to purgatory, indeed.

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He laughs and Archie cringes away, only for Horatio to catch his cheek in one gentle hand a moment later. Reluctantly, again unable to deny him even such a small, tacit request, Archie lifts his eyes to Horatio's face, to see him...

Smiling?

For a moment he can only stare, uncomprehending yet unable to tear his gaze away from Horatio's beautiful face, his deep brown eyes, his soft pink lips...He has never allowed himself to gaze so long and so deeply before, but now, what does it matter? Horatio knows the truth. He has no further secrets to hide.

And it seems he doesn't have to.

It takes a few seconds for what Horatio is saying to sink in. I fancy you greatly. Surely...surely he doesn't know what he's saying. Surely it is a different expression, where Horatio grew up, one that means merely friendship. I care about you, it doesn't matter to me what you are. You are still my friend. But no. No, Horatio had smiled, brilliant and beautiful, he had brought his hand up to Archie's face, he had said I have hoped every day... Slowly, as if in a dream, Archie brings his own hand up to press against Horatio's, his eyes widening in hope and wonder.

"You..." He hardly knows how to say it, and he pauses, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. "You...you were sweet on... on me? You wanted..." It's too much to hope for, and he stops, falling silent.

"But...the Duchess..."

It dawns on him all at once - Archie wasn't envious of him this past morning, he was envious of the Duchess. Over the attentions of himself - ordinary, plain Horatio Hornblower. It all feels too outlandish to be true.

"A friendly acquaintance, Archie. I have no romantic feelings for her, I assure you." He briefly hesitates, then adds more quietly, "Or any woman."

It's the first time he's ever said as much to anyone. The feeling of relief, of freedom, is immense. He's still my friend even knowing that. He's more than my friend. His heart beats faster in his chest as he searches Archie's pale eyes for some level of understanding, of recognition.

"...And I am sweet on you. Presently."

Horatio swallows dryly - even though Archie has just said, more or less, that he feels the same way, he still cannot shake the feeling that he must have misheard the confession, that this cannot be real. He focuses on the surprising warmth of the hand resting over his, committing the touch--so simple, and yet, so intimate--to memory, as if it there is some risk that it will be abruptly withdrawn at any moment.

Edited 2018-08-28 23:14 (UTC)

Of course he was envious of the Duchess. Walking along the coast, in the sunshine, with Horatio Hornblower at her side, polite and attentive and with her arm securely enfolded in his? Sitting alone in his cell, he'd been able to think of nothing, nothing he wanted more than to be in her position. To walk with Horatio, in bliss and privacy and something almost like freedom, to be able to smile at him and see him smile back...Who wouldn't be jealous?

A friendly acquaintance. Nothing more. Of course. Horatio has always been too shy, too kind-hearted, to be anything but solicitous to any woman who glanced his way - and the Duchess is hardly the first. Archie knows this, of course, but he'd never thought...

He licks his lips, and then smiles, tentatively at first, still weak, still exhausted. But - for the first time in months, perhaps years - hopeful.

"Then...my earlier request stands, Mr. Hornblower." His smile grows wider. It's just him and Horatio here, and a comfortable bed, and though he may still be a prisoner, he is no longer alone. His life is no longer bleak and meaningless. There is a light in it now, in the form of Horatio Hornblower.

"Kiss me."

This can't be real.

He's fantasized about this moment for so long, and yet, now that it has by some miracle arrived, Horatio realizes that he's not quite sure how to go about it. His heart races, putting its previous pace to shame as he studies Archie's lips, momentarily hesitating before he leans in close enough to feel his friend's warm breath against his skin.

As soon as he moves closer, the rest happens as a gentle cascade - as if being pulled by an invisible magnet, he thoughtlessly bridges the rest of the gap between them and presses his lips to Archie's, gently at first, and then more deeply, the tip of his nose pressing into Kennedy's cheek. It is so much better than it had ever been in his daydreams - even in his frail state, Archie is warm, responsive. Hesitantly, Horatio lifts the hand that isn't on his cheek and weaves his fingers into his friend's hair, so much longer than it was the last time they'd seen each other.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you more than I have ever loved anything or anyone.

Horatio is certain that his legs would already have buckled beneath him had he not been seated on the edge of Archie's bed, and equally confident that he would sell his soul if it meant that this moment, this perfect moment, would never end. Soul-deep contentedness warms his whole body - and for the time being, nothing else matters.

It is real.

Archie knows it from the moment Horatio's lips touch his. He could not imagine anything so perfect. It must be real.

Horatio's hesitation is real too - that moment of uncertainty before he moves in, and Archie's heart floods with tenderness and affection at the sight of it. Oh, Horatio. Clearly, this is all new to him. Less so to Archie, who at least has the experience of a few clandestine encounters on shore leave - some more ill-advised than others. Up to him, then, to lead Horatio through this.

He brings his hands up to Horatio's face, brushing his fingers lightly along his jaw with a sense of quiet wonder, then cupping his cheeks gently, urging him forward. A noise escapes him as Horatio deepens the kiss, an eager, quiet whimper, and his fingers slide up to twist in Horatio's brown curls, as he has wanted to do since the moment when that curly head had first peeked over the side of the Justinian.

By the time they finally break apart for air, Archie is panting and exhausted. But he's happy, happier than he can remember ever being, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright as he lifts them eagerly to Horatio's face. He smiles, still with a hint of shyness, but wide and warm.

"Horatio Hornblower."

"Archie."

Thank God he's finally smiling again, the same smile that had greeted Horatio when he first looked up the Justinian's towering hull and wondered how on earth he would possibly get from the violently rocking jollyboat to the main deck. At last he allows himself to acknowledge the fear that's been curled deep in his chest from the moment he first saw his friend curled in a heap on his hard cot - he'd thought Archie might never smile again, that the Spanish had simply broken him.

But they didn't, and now Hornblower finds himself looking at the most brilliant smile he's certainly ever seen, and it's because Archie fancies him. He can't help but to smile back, still full of warmth and excitement, and after a moment of hesitation he returns hand to Archie's cheek, feeling the dip starvation has carved beneath his cheekbones. He wants to ask how long the feelings have been mutual, to resolve a few lingering questions about the meaning behind some of their closer moments, but Archie is clearly very tired, so he tucks the question away in the back of his mind and turns his attention back to the moment.

"I consider myself truly lucky to have met you."

Horatio's smile is truly beautiful, and Archie hasn't had the opportunity to see it nearly often enough. How cruel a world this is, that it should not have the joy of Horatio Hornblower's smile every minute. And yet how wonderful, that he should exist at all, that Archie Kennedy should be lucky enough to know him. More than just know him. To have so much more.

Lucky. Yes, they are both lucky, tremendously so, and perhaps none of the rest of it - the horrors of prison, Simpson's torments - perhaps none of it matters after all. Archie smiles back, or tries to. But weeks of starvation cannot be cured by a kiss, no matter how sweet. He had been weak and tired before, and the emotional flurry of the past few moments had done nothing to help that. He has been fighting his body just to stay awake, when all it needs is rest.

His body. Never reliable at the best of times; how many times had it betrayed him, and to what horrific results? Simpson's scorn and then rage at Archie's utter failure to keep control of himself. The near-ruination of the taking of the Papillion, a mission dependent entirely upon secrecy and silence. And the final, inevitable result, his own capture by the Spanish, adrift at sea.

Now it betrays him again. There is a moment of lucidity, a bare second when his eyes meet Horatio's, wide with fear and knowing horror. And then he arches up off the bed, head falling back, shaking so violently he's in danger of falling off the side and onto the floor entirely. No secure cocoon of a sailor's hammock here. Only Archie, falling victim to yet another fit, wailing all the while.

Oh, God. Horatio springs into action before his thoughts can fully catch up with the situation, leaning over Archie and bracing his hands on his friend's rigid arms in the hope of at least keeping him on the bed until the convulsions stop. The last thing he needs in his current state is to hit the ground when his body is stiff and unable to break the fall - he's too frail, and for all Horatio knows, it could result in a broken bone, one which he might not recover from.

"Archie, Archie, shh, it's okay." I did this. It has to have been the stress of thinking I was upset with him. This is all my fault. I should've been more aware-- "Everything's alright." He lightly rubs one arm in an attempt to be soothing, although his fingers never release their stabilizing grasp. The romance of the moment is gone, shelved without a second thought in light of the emergency at hand. There will be time later to dwell on the excitement of his first kiss, of learning that his feelings are reciprocated - but right now, all that matters is seeing the fit to its end.

He's much too far gone to hear Horatio's frantic attempts at reassurance, or even be consciously aware of him - of anything that is happening. But the touch helps - Horatio's firm grip keeps Archie safely on the bed, and the reassuring pressure of his hands, the rhythmic rubbing of Horatio's fingers upon Archie's arm, finally work their magic.

The fit passes at last, and Archie collapses in a weak, undignified heap on the bed, all but gasping for breath. His eyes dart around the room vaguely, never focusing on Horatio, but one hand reaches out, grasping blindly.

"I'm right here. It's okay, Archie. Just- just rest." Horatio gently guides his friend's outstretched arm in the direction of the shirt hanging loosely from his chest - like someone in great pain, Archie seems to want something to grasp at, and he is happy to oblige if it will bring him some degree of peace.

It is the first time that he is able to act as he would like to in the wake of a fit; now that the secret that has held him back up until now is no longer a concern, Horatio is free to scoot closer and lightly brush a few damp strands of Archie's bangs away from his eyes, leting his touch linger on the other's cheek for a few moments before he falls into lightly stroking his jaw.

"Are you okay?" He's careful to keep his voice soft and even, to avoid betraying his own stress and worry. Archie needs calm and quiet right now, and it would be selfish to deny him that. I have to get him to drink. Dehydration and hunger can't be helping his condition. Nonetheless, Horatio resolves to bring that up in a little while, but not immediately. First, he must simply catch his breath and regain his composure.

He clings gratefully to the shirt, vaguely disappointed that it's not Horatio's hand, but far too weak to seek out more just at the moment. Horatio's quiet words of reassurance are a comfort; his fingers pushing back Archie's sweat-damp hair and gently caressing his jawline are even more so. Archie shudders, then turns his face further towards Horatio's hand, seeking out his touch.

It helps. It's never pleasant, recovering from a fit. They're exhausting, and frightening, and even after he comes back to himself he often finds himself tense and anxious for hours afterwards. But lying here, Horatio's touch soothing him, his voice calming him, knowing that he won't leave him, he finds himself relaxing already. Just a bit.

His gaze finds Horatio's at last, and immediately he feels guilty at the clear worry in those brown eyes. Archie offers him a tremulous smile, rueful, dreadfully embarrassed.

"Quite a kiss to remember," he says quietly, and then has to stop, catching his breath, before looking away in shame. "I'm sorry, Horatio. You must think me..." He trails off. Weak. Pathetic. Nothing like a man. He'd heard it all before. "I'm sorry."

"What? Archie, no. Don't apologize. You've nothing to apologize for." Horatio offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Just rest. You must be very tired."

If anything, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm the one who brought this on, and he's simply too good-natured to admit it.

Belatedly, he responds to the second, less pressing part of the statement, the corners of his lips turning upwards. "My first," Horatio says quietly, almost as if making a note to himself instead of speaking to another.

He finally breaks eye contact to incline his head in the general direction of the pitcher of water on the side table. "You should drink, Archie." You're so weak. Please. There's finally a chance that he might, that now that Archie's at least mostly aware of his importance to Horatio's own heart he might take better care of himself - but he tries not to get his hopes up, tries not to be that self-important.

Archie's eyes widen slightly, before softening in fondness and wonder. "Your first," he repeats quietly. It's difficult to believe. Horatio, after all, is brave and handsome, with a promising career - everything that Archie is not. But after all, perhaps it isn't so surprising. He'll have had to hide who he is, just as Archie had.

And now he's gone and ruined it. Just like everything else.

But he is both very tired and very thirsty, and he sighs quietly before nodding in acquiescence. "All right, Horatio." It's still far too soon to start thinking of tomorrow, of the possibility of living beyond another day or two and all that it entails. But for now - for now, he doesn't want to die. He wants to drink, and sleep, and wake to find Horatio at his side.

He looks up, faintly embarrassed, but not enough to stop him asking. Trying to manage a drink himself, spilling water all down his front with shaking hands, would be worse.

"Will you help me? Please?"

Thank God. Horatio almost feels he could cry with the relief - in more or less words, Archie has agreed to live, and that is enough for the time being. Once he starts to recover, they can discuss escape.

"Of course." Horatio almost trips over himself getting up, but he manages to keep his balance and go on to pour some water from the pitcher into one of the tin cups on the side table. He doesn't fill it all the way to its lip, though - instead he leaves a good centimeter and a half of empty space at the top so that the fretful trembling in his friend's hands doesn't make its contents slosh onto the blankets just as the man beneath them is starting to dry off.

Horatio pulls his chair back to the bedside and sits there instead of on the edge of the bed itself, figuring it will be easier to help Archie if they're both facing the same direction. "Here, let me help you up," he mumbles half to himself, tucking his near hand beneath Archie's head to help him lift it (lest he accidentally inhale water) before gently pressing the edge of the cup to his pale lips.

"Thank you, Archie," he says quietly, looking upon him with unconcealed fondness. You know how important this is to me. For all of us.

Archie's more than happy to let Horatio help him up. Anything that means further physical contact, that gives him the opportunity to see Horatio gazing down at him, reaching out to him with fondness and affection, is more than welcome. More than he ever thought he could have.

He does his best to help, but he really is grateful for the support as Horatio lifts his head and brings the cup to his lips. The first few tentative sips turn to thirsty gulps, and then the cup is all but empty and Archie leans back again, breathing hard with the effort. It's hard to believe that he'll ever recover, that he'll ever be able to take even the smallest action without completely exhausting himself.

"Thank you, Horatio." He breathes in deeply, then sighs heavily, looking up to meet Horatio's eyes. "Thank you." And this time, it's for more than just the water.

"Of course." Horatio smiles down at him as he gently takes the emptied cup - something as small as drinking, merely sustaining life, constitutes major progress. He starts to open his mouth to ask Archie if he'd like more, then pauses as it occurs to him that drinking too much at once after going for weeks without food could make his friend quite ill. Horatio lightly sets the cup back down on the bedside table, then returns to his previous place on the edge of the bed and rests one hand over Archie's, gently stroking his thumb back and forth over the man's raised knuckles. They're so much more prominent now than they were the day the two of them met.

"They'll bring you breakfast tomorrow--probably something good, because you need to get up your strength, and they know that once word reaches the mainland England will retaliate if it is thought they abuse us in their prisons." But speaking of the next day - it's really quite late, and Archie's probably exhausted. Again he's let his own selfishness overshadow Archie's needs - in his excitement, he's allowed himself to forget, however momentarily, that he desperately needs to rest.

How he'd like to curl up beside him in bed to keep him warm, to simply enjoy the quiet intimacy of sleeping beneath the same blanket as another - but Horatio knows he shouldn't, because there's no telling what their ever so Catholic captors might think were they to find the two of them like that in the morning. Horatio knows that the British navy has a reputation for selective disregard of the 28th Article of War, and the last thing he wants is to be pulled away from Archie now.

"...You should go to sleep," he whispers, giving his friend's hand a light squeeze. "You've had a long day. I'll be here in the morning. Promise."

Horatio's thumb caresses his hand, so gently, and it's so sweet a gesture, so much what he had longed for, that Archie wants to cry. And what it implies - He knows, now, that he is reading nothing into Horatio's fond looks and affectionate touches that isn't there, that he isn't letting his imagination and misplaced hope runs away with him. This is real, all of it, and his own expression softens, a peaceful smile crossing his lips.

Sleep. He hardly hears any of the rest - something about breakfast, about England. It doesn't matter. His eyelids feel too heavy to keep open all of a sudden; he's so tired. All he wants to do is to close them, to surrender himself to warm, cozy oblivion, to the first truly peaceful night he's had in months, if not years - but he has to make sure of something first. He catches Horatio's hand in his, closing his fingers around it before he can pull away.

"You do promise, though, don't you, Horatio?" Fighting to keep his eyes open, he looks up into Horatio's. "You won't leave me?"

"Archie, of course." Horatio savors the moment - Archie's hand is so warm atop his own, making his heart swell until he's sure it will burst with the happiness of the moment. He leans forward to emphasize his point, at last allowing his eyes to drink in every detail of his friend's face and permanently etch them into his mind without worrying about being caught. "I'll never leave you."

It's a bold statement, and a little more revealing than he woould like - it feels much too intimate, too soon - but Horatio is simultaneously ecstatic and so very tired in body and soul, so much that he barely realizes what he's saying until he hears himself say it. "Not- not unless you want me to."

I'll never leave you. His heart leaps in his chest - it's the most wonderful thing he's ever heard, a promise he'd never yearned to hear only because he'd never dreamed that such a thing could be possible. This is no passing fancy, then, nothing that will fade the moment they escape this place and Horatio has other things, and other men, with which to occupy himself.

He cares for Archie. Somehow, impossibly, he truly does.

He smiles, and it's warm and genuine, quietly delighted despite how tired and weak he is.

"Now why would I ever want you to leave?"

Horatio feels rather foolish when it's pointed out to him, his cheeks warming as he clears his throat a little awkwardly under his friend's gaze, but it is an excellent thing to feel foolish over. Archie wants to be with him. Not permanently, per se, it wasn't a promise of permanence, but definitely an expression of something more than what most of the other men Horatio's known to be like himself in this regard have settled for or sought out. The smile that accompanies the words melts everything inside of him, filling him with warmth that seems to completely erase the existence of the nasty rain still rushing down outside.

"I..." There's not really much he can say in response to that. "I just meant that if-- if your feelings change, you needn't worry about our friendship. I will always consider it an honor to be your friend, regardless of whether or not my affections are returned." And it's true, although he would certainly prefer that they continue to be returned, because Archie is easily the most fascinating, handsome creature he has ever met.

Archie can't seem to tear his eyes away from Horatio's face. He blushes, caught up and at a loss, and Archie's smile grows wider, in fond amusement this time. To think that he should have such an effect on Horatio!

But his amusement fades as Horatio continues, replaced by deeper feelings. Foolish of him, perhaps - foolish of them both to think that their feelings will remain the same forever, that what they have, if they ever really have it at all, has more than the slimmest chance of standing the test of time. After all, they are both still young, the world is hard, and Horatio at least...

But he won't think of that now, of how much better Horatio could do than Archie Kennedy, if only he'd open his eyes long enough to see it. For the moment, at least, he is happy here, with Archie, and Archie is determined to enjoy that as long as it lasts. Horatio's vow that whatever comes, their friendship will remain, only makes it all the sweeter.

"And I you, Horatio," he says quietly, seriously. "The greatest honor of my life."

Horatio can't help but to openly smile at that, some of the embarrassment fading. "I'm glad," he says quietly, then pauses, taking on the facial expression of a man deliberating whether or not to jump off a cliff. He spurs himself forward, though, figuratively and literally, to press a light kiss to the middle of his friend's forehead.

It still feels so very unreal, being in a position to do something like that when he wants to, just because he wants to. He knows he shouldn't get used to it, that Mr. Hunter would mutiny on the spot if he were to see such a display - but for right now, he'll let himself enjoy it.

"Now go to sleep, Archie. The sun's almost up."

Archie tilts his head inquisitively, not quite sure what Horatio means to do, but ready for it, whatever it is. Horatio's lips gently brush his forehead, through his unruly fringe, and he smiles, deep and satisfied.

"Yes, sir," he agrees, quietly but with great feeling. Horatio could ask him to do anything right now - he'd jump off that hypothetical cliff right alongside him, never a question asked - it doesn't matter. Horatio is here and if he doesn't love him...well, it's a semblance close enough, for tonight.

He smiles, a smile of peace and great happiness, and finally lets his heavy lids slide shut, eyes on Horatio's face until the last. If he should wake to find all this a dream - and he's well aware that he very well might - it will, at the least, have been a very good dream. The best, perhaps, of his life.

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welcome to purgatory ➢ archie & horatio

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