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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

welcome to purgatory ➢ archie & horatio

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject