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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Even now, Archie doesn't know just what he'd been thinking, welcoming the new midshipman aboard, helping him get settled in, and all the while never breathing a word of warning about what awaited him. Perhaps it had just been the look on Hornblower's face as he'd climbed up from the boat and onto the ship - anxious and overwhelmed and more than a little nervous, of course, as Archie knows he himself had been - but hopeful and excited all the same, all innocence and optimism and pride in his brand-new uniform, embarking on a brand-new adventure. He simply hadn't had the heart to crush his dreams so quickly, to do anything but soothe the newcomer's nerves as best he could - get a smile out of him, if at all possible, and pray that it wouldn't all come crashing down the moment Jack entered the cabin.

It had, of course, and worse than even Archie had foreseen. He always seems to forget, when Jack's out of sight, just how horrible the other man can be. Somehow he'd made himself believe that Horatio would be all right, that it was something in Archie personally that offended him so, that their newest midshipman would be - safe. Untouchable. He'd only just come aboard, and been nothing but deferential and eager to prove himself; what fault could even Jack find in that?

Now, seeing Horatio's chest battered with bruises, his noble face so swollen as to be almost unrecognizable, Archie fancies he can feel every ounce of Jack's longstanding hatred for him turned in upon himself. He should have done something, he should have known -

He hadn't even lifted a finger to stop him. Hadn't been able to so much as look Horatio in the eye as he'd explained it - the way of things.

He does his best to smile back, weak, apologetic, but it vanishes almost immediately as he steps closer and sees the full extent of Hornblower's injuries. It's worse than he'd thought.

"My God, Horatio..." He trails off, staring in slack horror. All that, and then hours in the rigging, the cold, harsh rain beating down on him? It's a wonder he hadn't collapsed long before now. "My God, what's he done to you?"

Horatio offers a small, passive smile, averting eye contact when the question's posed. "I'll live." Probably. Although he's beginning to wonder if it's worth living if this is what awaits him every day. The dark, icy waves below him had only grown more inviting as the miserable hours in the rigging stretched on, and while their call has become somewhat muted now that he's in his own hammock in a set of dry clothes and finally out of the rain, it hasn't been altogether silenced. He keeps those thoughts to himself, though, seeing no need to trouble poor Archie with them.

Horatio bends forward and pulls the blanket at his feet up to his hips, taking a few moments to mentally compose his next statement before speaking. "Is he always this bad to new crewmen?"

Is it ever going to stop? He hasn't seen any bruises on the other midshipmen, even Archie, who seems to be the longstanding recipient of most of Simpson's wrath, but the man clearly still terrorizes them. Archie's terrible fits alone are evidence of that.

Archie hesitates. No is the easier answer, and the true one; they all have their initiation, of a sort, but while it's bad it's normally not as bad as all that. Never before had Clayton resorted to aiming a pistol at the man to stave him off.

"He'll let up on you soon enough," he says instead, with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Fresh blood, and all. Keep out of his way and his interest will wane."

Jack has other favorite targets, after all, and they all know it. Archie's smile fades once more, his expression darkening with memory and dread - with an effort he shakes it off, approaching Horatio's hammock.

"You're not going to try to sleep like this, are you? If you don't get these wounds cleaned up they won't possibly heal."

His interest in you didn't wane, Horatio almost says, but he stops himself. Archie already knows that, and it would be out-of-bounds to make such a comment anyway.

The tenderness is comforting, even if rather unfamiliar - contrary to what most who knew him in passing seemed to believe, having a father in the healing profession had not entitled Horatio to the type of gentle caring he'd been shown by Clayton and now Archie. But this - this feels decidedly different than Clayton tucking him into his hammock and telling him to just rest until he was himself again on his first night aboard the Justinian. Archie is his own age - and handsome, very handsome, enough so that even the occasional touch on the arm is enough to make Horatio's pulse rise to an embarrassing degree despite all attempts to keep himself calm and collected.

Without much thought, he lifts a hand to his forehead and allows the pads of his fingers to lightly drift across the gash over his right eyebrow, examining.

"I'm going to clean them," he says quietly. "Just wanted to warm up first."

It shouldn't be exciting, letting his hand fall to rest on Horatio's bare arm. Shouldn't make his stomach flutter or his heart skip a beat; after all, it's more than half Archie's fault that Horatio is in this mess at all, and if there's anything he should be feeling it's guilt.

And he does feel guilt - guilt at seeing Horatio cold and weak and in pain, compounded by the guilt at how much he welcomes even the brief contact, how attractive he finds the other man even with his features obscured by bruises. Unnatural, disgusting - Jack has told him often enough just what he is. How wrong, how broken he is, to feel the things he feels.

But despite all of that, despite everything, he can't stop himself from taking a moment, gazing quietly on Horatio's face, kind and fair - beautiful even in its suffering.

Unnatural.

Archie turns away, cheeks flushed with shame, and gropes blindly for water and cloth.

"Let me help you," he says quietly, turning back, now holding the dampened cloth. "Please."

Horatio knows he shouldn't feel disappointed when the momentary touch is broken off, but it's hard not to, flustered as he may feel - the hand on his forearm was wonderfully warm against his rain-chilled skin, and moreover, it belonged to Archie.

When his shipmate asks to clean the open cuts on his face , Horatio silently balks for a moment, scrounging his mind for a believable reason to decline. Naturally, innocent, lovely Archie doesn't realize how intimate such a gesture would be; to him it's certainly just a normal act between two normal shipmates - and Horatio would prefer that he continue to believe as much. But he can't think of a reason to decline, and even his usual urge to isolate himself and deal with the pain alone seems to be wavering in the face of an offer of genuine comfort, given how small and pathetic he feels right now.

"...Alright," Horatio agrees after a moment, averting his eyes as he undoes the single loop closure at the neckline of his shirt, exposing the deep bruises that bridge his left collarbone and another partly-healed nick just below. "Thank you, Archie."

Edited 2018-08-07 08:54 (UTC)

Hornblower - Horatio - visibly hesitates, and Archie cringes internally, convinced that he's crossed a line, revealed something he'd much rather keep hidden. The offer is innocent enough, in that he'd do the same for any shipmate looking as poorly as Horatio does, but...

But Horatio acquiesces at last, and Archie can't help but smile in relief, even as he gazes sorrowfully at the further cuts Horatio reveals. Why hadn't he stepped in? Is he so much of a coward, that he would stand by and watch Horatio suffer - Horatio who'd done nothing wrong, who couldn't have had the first idea what terrors awaited him in the mids' quarters - simply to save himself?

Suddenly his smile is gone, and he finds he can't bear to meet Horatio's eyes as he dabs as gently as he can at his cuts.

"It's nothing," he murmurs, throat thick with guilt. "Truly, Horatio."

Horatio can feel Archie's pity for him as the other studies his face and lifts a damp cloth to the first of the cuts. His shipmate is so gentle, even as his face abruptly falls and his eyes move away from Horatio's own as if he's suddenly remembered something sobering - and, for all Horatio knows, he may well have. You don't know half of what he's capable of, Clayton had told him this morning. He still is uncertain of the full extent of Simpson's wrath, and can only pray that he will never know.

When Archie speaks, his voice is stricken with what sounds to be guilt. But why? There's nothing that he could have done to stop that bastard, and he's already doing more than Horatio would ask of him, much more.

He hesitates before speaking, as if standing at the edge of a towering precipice and looking down at the depths below. To comment on it, assuming he's correct in his assumption that it's guilt in the first place, would be invasive - but it's difficult to see Archie like this, and the combination of sympathy and his own guilt win out.

"It's not your fault, Archie," he hazards, meeting the other's eyes with a shallow smile he hopes is reassuring.

He's heard that before, time and again. Yet now as every other time, he can't bring himself to believe it. Archie grimaces, shaking his head slightly and dropping his eyes again, concentrating on getting Horatio cleaned up.

"It is, though," he answers, eyes never leaving Horatio's chest. "The least I might have done is warned you, and - "

He cuts himself off, swallowing, shaking his head again. What if Jack had seen them together? True, they'd only just met - but Horatio had been more than kind, and Archie's attempts at friendliness and welcome couldn't have gone unnoticed, if it had been witnessed. That alone would be enough to paint a target on Horatio's back.

"It might be best if you were to avoid me in the future, Mr. Hornblower," he continues at last, tonelessly. "Outside of - of professional duties, that is." Finally, he catches Horatio's eye again, with a weak, miserable smile. "I'm afraid any friendship with me will do you no favors on this ship."

What? Horatio's brows furrow almost immediately, making him cringe when the motion pulls on the cut on the right side of his forehead a second later. Because of Simpson? The fits?

"Archie, no..." I'm not going to abandon you. And, he thinks to himself, although he doesn't intend to say as much aloud - you're my only friend here. "I won't, Archie." Horatio sets his jaw, stares into the other's pale eyes as if looking deeply enough will grant him some level of understanding. "You're my friend. I don't care what's 'best'. ...Alright?"

Archie stares back, surprised and - though it's hard to admit it - gratified. It's difficult to refuse an offer of genuine friendship - Clayton and the others are all right, but they're all so much older, and while he knows that none of them wish to see him suffer under Jack any more than they enjoy their own torment, they're also wise enough to protect themselves by looking the other way when Jack sets his sights on Archie. He can hardly blame them, but all the same, he's felt quite alone in his months on the Justinian.

Of course, Horatio hasn't a clue what he's agreeing to here. It's more than likely that he'll change his tune once he sees what Jack is truly capable of - but he seems quite determined now, and Archie is just lonely, or selfish, or desperate enough not to try to completely talk him out of it right at the moment.

"You're very kind, Horatio," he says, and smiles ruefully. "Thank you. I..." I don't deserve it. "I do hope you'll look out for yourself, though. He'll punish you for this, and I'm used to it by now. Whatever he does to me, I promise - I can bear it."

"You shouldn't have to," Horatio states, his words quieter than those he'd last uttered. "It's not right what he does. The man's a bloody tyrant who thinks he can rule with nothing but fear and violence." He correctly thinks as much. Horatio himself is disinclined from speaking out again lest he recieve an even worse beating at the hands of his fellow midshipman, a personal failure which brings him no small amount of shame.

The pink-tinged cloth in Archie's hand ghosts over the raised edge of a cut on his chin (yet another area where the hard heel of Simpson's shoe had split skin) and Horatio sucks in an abrupt, hissing breath through clenched teeth, cringing. The wounds are certainly still fresh, enough so that they're quite a bit tender. With effort, he takes a slow, deep breath through his nose and lowers his shoulders. "You can carry on."

And, the back of his mind, he hopes Archie does. Despite the momentary stabs of unavoidable pain and his own apprehension regarding whether or not he should allow such an intimate exchange with a man he fancies to such an embarrassing degree, it's comforting to be taken care of. Part of him still wants to pull away, to insist that he can take care of it himself, to escape from his position as the center of attention and the recipient of a very kind gesture from a man he can barely even meet eyes with without becoming flustered.

A vague feeling of shame lurks in the back of his mind as he sits in his hammock and allows this, as he comes face-to-face with undeniable evidence of yet another way in which he isn't like his shipmates, and quite possibly the worst difference of them all. Horatio had done a good job of repressing such unnatural feelings when they'd emerged in the past; it had been easy enough to stay away from the male classmates that attracted his attention more than the others (and certainly more than any of the girls he crossed paths with) when he was still in primary school, burying himself in arithmetic and the classics.

But now - now that he's been spending virtually every waking and sleeping moment in the company of a person who has to be the most handsome, most enchanting man he's ever encountered - it's virtually impossible to force such thoughts into the recesses of his consciousness. All he can do, Horatio supposes, is to wait for the feelings to pass and do his damndest to act naturally until then.

Why does it have to be his only friend here?

Archie gives no answer. It's true - whatever might be wrong with him, whatever sins he may have committed, he at least knows that he doesn't deserve to suffer at Simpson's hands the way he has.

But knowing that doesn't change anything. There is nothing to be done, no way Archie can see to stop him. Jack is cunning, never betraying a hint of who he truly is before the lieutenants or the captain, and the mids are too proud or too frightened to say a word against him, even when he leaves visible evidence as with Horatio's bruises. If he thinks he can rule with fear and violence, well, nothing has happened so far to prove him otherwise.

He freezes at Horatio's wince of pain, wanting nothing so little as to cause him more hurt than he's already suffered, but a moment later Horatio nods and relaxes again, and Archie gives him a tiny, apologetic smile and carries on as requested.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, cleaning the rest of his wounds, now, with infinite gentleness and care. Perhaps a little too much care - he finds himself nearly caressing Horatio's exposed chest with the cloth, and pulls back at last, terrified that Horatio might notice something amiss, that he's lingered too long over this.

"That's better," he says with forced cheerfulness, setting the cloth aside to clean later. "A day or two and you'll hardly feel it at all."

Horatio has to force back a shiver at the light touch. The innocent, well-meaning gesture is too real, too close to physically embodying the sorts of things he's allowed himself to imagine in moments of weakness - sexual fantasies, yes, but also things that somehow feel like more of a sin than they would if they were pure, uncomplicated lust, the kind that sailors could and often did blame on the absence of women - what it would be like to kiss Archie, to sleep side-by-side in a real bed and wake up with Kennedy's arm draped over his chest, its fingers gently running across his skin with the same tenderness they are now.

Horatio swallows hard, momentarily breaking eye contact in an attempt at maintaining his composure; a moment later, the gentle touch leaves his chest. If only it could have lasted longer, part of him thinks, but his rational mind chimes in before the thought can be elaborated upon: These are dangerous waters. It's already an unwise risk to allow him to do this much; if he were to go on for much longer he would certainly realize that your feelings toward him aren't proper. And, even though Horatio would rather not accept as much, every shared moment has thus far has only made it more difficult to keep to himself and maintain a veneer of normality.

"Thank you, Archie." Horatio offers him a subdued smile as the cloth and basin are set to the side. "I appreciate your kindness."

Poor Horatio. Archie watches him anxiously for any hint of suspicion or anger, any sign that he'd gone too far, but Horatio merely shivers and looks away. He must be cold, still; and sore, and exhausted. Archie smiles sadly, shaking his head in response to the thanks - it's nothing.

"Of course, Horatio," he says softly, gazing down at him, and tries not to think how much he longs to curl up at Horatio's side, banishing his chill and easing his aches with his own body. Of Horatio smiling in gratitude, and expelling a sigh of deep contentment... No. He closes his eyes briefly, remembering some of Jack's harsher condemnations of him. He has no wish to see Horatio look at him with the same horror and disgust in his eyes.

Reluctantly, he sighs, and moves to stand. "I'd better go," he says apologetically. "The others will be returning soon." And things won't go well for either of them in the future, if Jack finds Archie sitting at Horatio's bedside, tending his wounds.

Horatio has spent most of his life craving solitude, and by all means he should be enjoying the one-in-a-million chance to have some true peace and quiet right now. He's exhausted, cold, sleep-deprived, weak - he needs to rest and he knows it and this is the perfect time to do so. But when Archie decides to take his leave, presumably because he knows as much, Horatio hesitates.

"Archie-- you needn't do that. I assure you, I'm used to sleeping in much louder conditions than quarters shared with a single shipmate by now." He offers a small smile he hopes is convincing. "You don't need to tiptoe around because of..." He trails off, not particularly inclined to reference his own sorry state. It's evident enough when they make eye contact. Because of me.

"Besides. He's out there, somewhere, and not in here. There's no need to be around him when you don't have to be." If their other shipmates haven't come in by the time Simpson does, however, this may put them in a more dangerous position - his two favorite targets neatly separated from the flock, a door between any cries for help they may issue and any shipmates who may hear them. The thought makes Horatio swallow nervously, heart beating a little faster in his chest - maybe it was ill-advised to more-or-less ask Archie to stay. Selfish. "Although-- although I suppose there is some degree of safety in remaining under the eye of our senior officers."

Archie's thoughts follow the same thread as Horatio's. Wandering the ship alone could lead to a bad - solitary - encounter with Simpson, but that much is true any hour of the day, so long as Archie shares a ship with the man. He's gotten skilled at staying on alert, and sometimes is even able to see Jack before he's seen in return, and make himself scarce before anything happens.

And if he can't, well, it's nothing he hasn't suffered before.

But then he thinks of Horatio, alone in the cabin for who knows how long - it's still too early to reliably expect the other mids to turn in for the night for a while yet - weak and vulnerable and entirely at Jack's mercy. The thought of Jack finding them both here makes his skin grow cold and his stomach turn over. What will he say, on finding Archie acting as Horatio's nursemaid? What will he do?

But the thought of Jack finding Horatio here alone is that much worse.

"No, Horatio." He shakes his head, firmly despite his misgivings. Despite the fact that he fancies he can already feel his hands beginning to shake. "You're right. Better to stay here."

Horatio starts to open his mouth to object, then closes it again - Archie seems set on this, and Archie knows Simpson and his cruel tactics better than he does. He presses his lips together and hesitates, then nods. "Alright. If you're sure."

The thought of Simpson entering the cabin stays with him, however, enough to fill Horatio's chest with a deep sense of unease. He half feels compelled to lock the door, severe as the punishment for doing so would be. He can't take another beating. The man just about killed him last time, and he's still amazed that the delicate bones of his nose didn't break after being repeatedly slammed against the table. He remembers the taste of fresh blood in his mouth too vividly, can still feel the echoes of Simpson's hard kicks to his chest and sides, and is in no hurry to feel either again. If this is what awaits him every day, it would be much better to simply be dead.

Even worse than the possibility of a second attack is the thought of having to watch him do the same to Archie. Perhaps his friend is simply more sensitive to the same abuses they all endure, sure, but Simpson seems to prefer him as a target, and that alone is enough to make Horatio fairly certain that Kennedy has endured these kinds of beatings before, too - presumably with greater savagery than even he himself faced the previous night.

Archie is clearly just as nervous as he is, if not moreso; suddenly it seems to be of the greatest importance that he think of something reassuring to say.

"Clayton will probably be in soon," Horatio attempts, and hopes he sounds confident in his own claim.

He doesn't sound confident at all, but even if he had, it wouldn't have helped much. Archie gives him a tremulous smile and nods, unable, at first, to form words without fear of his voice breaking.

"Yes, I expect he shall," he says at last, and shakes himself off, looking around. He won't leave Horatio here alone, but he can't, can't be caught sitting here at his bedside like an anxious -

An anxious mother, he tells himself firmly before his mind can go to worse places. With a sigh, he gets to his feet, looking down at Horatio in his hammock.

"I should get some rest myself." Who knows what torment Jack will have for him, or both of them, tonight? Sleep deprivation isn't his only trick, but it does seem to be one of his favorites of late.

"A good idea, Mr. Kennedy." Horatio relaxes in his hammock, at last allowing the canvas to cradle his back instead of standing upright, but his eyes remain on the other as Archie gets up.

It's probably for the best that he returns to his own hammock - Horatio already fears that Archie will somehow see into his soul, that somehow he himself will give away his awful, unnatural thoughts and leave his new friend horrified and disgusted. Then he will be left entirely alone, without a single soul for company. It is the only way in which he can see his situation onboard the Justinian plausibly becoming any more miserable than it already is.

And yet, it isn't without concern that he watches Archie settle in. He's wrought with nerves, and that could cause a fit if he tries to go to sleep. Son of a doctor he may be, but Horatio had never seen such a thing before he joined the Justinian's crew a few days ago, and he doesn't know what to do when they happen apart from what he observed from Clayton.

He can't just ask Archie if he thinks he'll be alright going to sleep; the fits are understandably a sensitive issue and Horatio gets the sense that they're a point of embarrassment. He himself could stay awake in the hopes of stopping a potential episode before it happens, but his bones ache terribly and he's very cold and sorely in need of sleep. At the very least, he can try to keep Archie's mind off of the looming threat so that he falls asleep less anxious than he is at the moment - so Horatio racks his brain for something to say, some benign point of insignificant conversation.

"How long have you been aboard the Justinian, Archie?"

It's something of a relief to leave Horatio's side, even as it pains him. Much as he longs to stay there, comforting Horatio as best he can, with every passing moment he becomes that much more certain that the other man will see through him, that his true feelings will become clear no matter how he tries to hide them.

He undresses with his back turned - shamefully, like a boy, but he can't stand the thought of Horatio catching his eye as he removes his uniform and changes into his nightclothes. Then he splashes his face and climbs into his own hammock, all without meeting Horatio's eyes.

The cabin is quiet, or as quiet as it gets at sea, nothing but the creaking of the ship, the splash of waves against the side, and the not-so-distant shouts of the men above and abaft. Archie settles in, curling and uncurling his hands in an effort to ease the tension and hoping against hope he won't fall into another fit tonight.

Horatio's voice is unexpected, but he recognizes the question for the attempt at distraction that it is, and smiles tiredly into the dark, considering the question.

"Four months or so." He laughs a little, surprised. It's not a particularly happy laugh. "It feels like longer."

Horatio presses his lips together and spends a few moments processing the answer before he replies. Four months of this. How did he survive?

"Time is odd that way," he says at last, only to silently curse himself for his failure to come up with a better response to such a clear reference to their shared torment a second after the words leave his lips. A few moments of quiet pass before Horatio tries again, reaching down and pulling his blanket up to his collarbone with one hand as he speaks.

"Have you always wanted to be a seaman?"

Now he's just making Horatio feel worse. Archie squeezes his eyes shut with a quiet sigh. Is he fated to make poor choices at every turn, when it comes to Hornblower?

But still, Horatio doesn't give up talking to him, and Archie struggles to concentrate on what he's saying.

"I don't know that wanting had much to do with it," he says thoughtfully. "I joined as a ship's boy when I was ten - I haven't really known anything else."

"Even younger than twelve," Horatio murmurs, smiling wistfully. "And myself joining at seventeen."

He falls quiet for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling despite being unable to see it through the darkness and silently asking himself the same question - he still isn't quite sure why he joined, and views those who do with some degree of envy - to know what one wants with such certainty must be a wonderful thing indeed. To make something of himself, he supposes, is a general answer, yet even then, he's not quite sure why he chose the navy as the avenue through which he would do so.

He's still worried about Simpson, of course - but he's also tired, and after hours on end of bombardment by the January rain as he clung to the rigging, even the midly uncomfortable embrace of his hammock has become soothing. Horatio does his best to keep his eyes open, though, attempting to stay as alert as he can. He needs to remain awake until he knows Archie has fallen asleep - it's the least he can do to repay the other's kindness, and even if he didn't owe his friend a debt of gratitude, concern alone would be enough of a motivator.

Archie murmurs in sleepy acknowledgement. Yes, Horatio had joined the Navy late, but he's hardly the first to have done so. And even from what little he's seen, Archie has the feeling that Horatio won't be held back for long by his lack of experience.

"You'll catch up," he says drowsily, and yawns. Despite everything that had happened - or perhaps because of everything - he's exhausted. There's still a thread of tension running through him, a part of him just waiting for the door to crash open and Jack to appear, but even that isn't enough of a threat to keep him awake forever. Not after last night, when he'd been forced to wake Horatio up again and again - until the fit that had put an end to that. Archie himself had fought to stay awake as long as he could, terrified that he wouldn't wake and Jack would discover that he hadn't been doing as he was ordered.

He yawns again, turning his head and straining to see the shape of Horatio's head in the darkness of his hammock.

"You must be tired, Horatio. Aren't you?"

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welcome to purgatory ➢ archie & horatio

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