Pairing: Horatio/Archie
Rating: R, just to be safe
Category: POV, Angst
Summary: Horatio wakes up. (Sequel to "Easy Terms")
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, much less these fine characters (if you know where I could buy them, please let me know *g*). I refuse to make any money off them in any event, so please don't sue me.
Notes: Precipitate: to fall headlong b : to fall or come suddenly into some condition, stresses lack of due deliberation and implies prematureness of action
Spoilers: The Duel, The Fire Ships and The Duchess and the Devil


Precipitate
by Nicole D'Annais
Copyright 2001


It was the change of watch that woke me. Thank God, or else our captors might have walked in to find two British officers in bed together, naked as newborns--a situation I would very much like to avoid. We have a little time before daybreak, when they'll bother us. I am loathe to move with Archie sound asleep on my shoulder, and not just because I don't wish to disturb him.

The life of a Naval officer is a very solitary existence, and never is that more obvious than when you are surrounded by 700 men and yet totally alone. Having grown up alone, I never once thought that a problem, until Archie Kennedy drifted away in a boat.

That was Simpson's work, of course. The bastard received a far easier death than he deserved, though better his quick death at the end of Captain Pellew's rifle than my own by Simpson's blade. I wanted so badly to shoot him as he crouched there, on his knees, begging for his life. It was no more than he deserved. He'd just admitted to killing Archie and planning to kill me--and how I wish I could see his reaction to the fact that he failed on both counts--who would fault me for wishing him dead?

Had I known the extent of what I now suspect to be the truth of his torture of Archie, I'd have had no hesitation. I'd have put the bullet through his head at point-blank range.

I should have put the clues together years ago. I'd heard stories, of course, though no one ever spoke of it too loudly. Of all the difficulties young seamen had to endure, most were tolerated and even laughed at, but that particular brand of abuse was a hanging offence.

Of course, it had to be discovered in order to be dealt with. And since the abused party was as likely to hang with his abuser as not, depending on who his seniors believed, such things would, I imagine, frequently go undiscovered. A fact I realise only too late to change what has already come to pass.

I am amazed that Archie has endured such horrors and yet there was no hesitation in him when we came together. Even now, he lies here relaxed in sleep, as trusting as an innocent babe. Were I to go through the same, I doubt I could have that kind of trust in anyone ever again. That he could have such trust in me...it is a rare gift, one that I value above most everything else. To think that he feels safe here, now, is very gratifying.

Of course, there are far greater risks to Archie's safety, and my own, now, thanks to recent events. I could not protect him from Simpson; now it seems I cannot protect him from myself.

Even as I try to reason how we fell into this situation, I know it was almost unavoidable. I should have known it the moment we walked into this cell alone. There has always been the faintest current of something underlying our friendship, more so here in this prison than before, but even on my first day aboard the Justinian--at least once I found my sea legs enough to notice something other than just the queasiness in my gut.

Since being thrown into this cell all those months ago and discovering the not-quite-dead Mr Kennedy, however, that inexplicable *thing* beneath the surface has threatened to break through. Did break through, actually, when I realized he'd nearly starved himself to death and had to carry him to the hospital. Not even in battle had I ever been so frightened someone might die. I'd only just got him back; I had no intention of letting him slip away, even if he wanted to.

That time spent waiting for him to wake was torture. Even then, I didn't dare admit to myself *why* the thought of losing him again bothered me so greatly. It is only now that I truly understand the full reason behind my anxiety.

When I woke with the soft brush of his hair against my cheek, inhaling a smell I distinctly recognised as his, it all became quite clear. Much more clear than I would have liked. It would seem that too much knowledge of one's self is not a good thing.

I don't know how it happened. We were only talking--I'm not even sure what the subject was. And then we were literally on top of each other. I don't know how we managed to stay on this cot that barely has room for both of us now that we are lying still and half sharing the same space, but we did. Not that I think we would have noticed if we'd rolled into the floor. I remember the distant sound of the storm raging outside, but only as faint background noise that accompanied the fire that swept through me. I've never felt its like, not even in the heat of the fiercest battle.

Always in battle I've been able to keep a clear head; indeed, it is generally in battle when my mind is at its sharpest point. But this fire was all-consuming, burning me through and leaving nothing but ash in its wake. I hadn't the strength to think when it was over. I knew Archie was as confused as I, yet all I could do was say we'd have time for talk later. If I'd tried to talk about it then, I feel certain I'd have made a spectacular mess of it all.

Not that I have any idea what I'm going to say, even now. The whole damn affair is more complicated than anything I've ever had to deal with. The fire ship was nothing compared to this--anything to do with my commission is easy by comparison. There is a clear duty in everything in my life. Or there was until tonight.

My duty would be to forget this. Of course, to resist was also my duty, and it is too late for that. For the first time my mind is rebelling against doing my duty. When should one draw the line between mindless devotion to duty, and one's own regard for what is right and wrong. For inside me, bone deep, I feel the rightness of this.

Which is not necessarily the point.

I should move. I should get up and go back to my own bunk. It will be light soon, and I must not be here when the guards bring us breakfast. Especially not in my current state of dress. Or rather, undress.

But if I move, he will most likely wake. Perhaps if I am very careful and move slowly, and slide my arm out very carefully--

"Horatio?"

Damn. "Go back to sleep, Archie."

"No."

"Archie--"

"You said there'd be time to talk. We have time now."

"The guards--"

"Won't be coming in here for at least an hour. Horatio...I don't want to talk about it either. But I need to."

It is his eyes that are my undoing. I remember now, the moment before we both lost all reason earlier, his eyes had captured mine and held them, unable to move, at his mercy, as they are now. "Archie...I don't know what to say."

"Say you're not sorry."

Easy enough words to say. I may yet regret what we've done, but never will I be sorry. "I'm not sorry."

I am relieved to see his face relax a little at those words. "Then that is enough." No sooner does my own tension start to ease when he adds, "For now."

He is asking for nothing, the two words are simply a warning. Yet I know they will hang in my mind constantly until I can resolve my own feelings. "Archie...I'd better go back to my own bunk."

"Oh, of course." He rolls to his side, his back to me, affording me the privacy to get up and get dressed. Silly, of course, he knows every inch of me now, but I am grateful for the courtesy. I would have found it difficult to dress with him watching.

It is only after I am settled in my bunk and cannot see him that I hear him dressing himself. Then he climbs back into his own bed. The muted sounds of the garrison waking up seem louder than normal in the unnatural silence in this room, but I can think of nothing to break it, so I roll over and pretend to sleep while I wait for the guards to bring some sense of normalcy back to our cell.

---

END

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