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anteros_lmcTitle: Smile
Author: Anteros
Characters: Kennedy / (Hornblower), Bush
Rating: R
Notes: Grim Kingston angst fic. A companion piece to Pointless, and which refers back to Friend and Foe and Kiss of Life. Apologies for the second person. I've no idea why it came out like this.
Kingston January 1802
It would have been too much to hope for. To die an old man, at home, surrounded by people who cared. Men like you don't die like that. Men like you die young. With precious little ceremony. Not that you feel young. You left your youth behind years ago. Torn away in Justinian's hold. But you're not old enough to die. Not now. Not now that you've come so far.
Now that you've come so far with him.
It's the thought that he'll be left alone that starts the fear crawling in your belly. That suffocating fear that smothers your breath and leaves you gasping and pleading and raging.
You knew your turn would come, surely sooner rather than later. That you’ve lived this long and evaded the noose must surely be a miracle, or the whim of some fickle god. You hoped it would be an honourable death. Quick and clean, over in an instant. Wind of shot perhaps, or a single musket shot, with just a moment left to blink and smile. Or maybe drowning. You'd come close once. A lifetime ago it seemed, in the freezing waters off Camaret Bay. You could still remember the calm fascination as cold glassy arms encircled you, squeezing the breath from your chest. No panic then. Not till they threw you unceremoniously on the deck, and he kissed you. You've never forgotten that kiss. The look of disbelief and determination in his eyes. As if belief alone could bring you back. And it did. It did.
His belief brought you back and you got your wish. You got your bullet and you'll get to drown, in your own blood in the stifling heat of the Kingston gaol. No more sea cold kisses for you. The thought that you will never feel the touch of his lips again draws the darkness closer. But even as you bite down hard against tears that would never fall, you know that nothing and no one, neither Spanish lead nor Admiralty justice, can take away what he gave you. These treasures are yours forever and the darkness recedes with every remembered kiss, every touch, every breath. Every time he smiled.
You can see his lips so clearly; deep and full and parted. You’ve never forgotten the first time you kissed him, the way he'd stiffened in shock and then that glorious moment of melting capitulation. And then he'd hit you. You've teased him about it mercilessly for years. He’d sigh and roll his eyes. And then he’d smile.
But now you’re afraid. Afraid for him, afraid he will cut himself off behind an implacable façade of duty and honour. Cold and hard and impervious. And the man who laughed and pleaded and begged you to please, just please, will die as surely as you.
Perhaps you should be glad, take some comfort in the fact that there is a part of him that will only ever belong to you. You know there will be others, you know there have been others. But they will never touch him the way you have. They will never see him pleading and helpless with love and with laughter. Perhaps you should be glad, but you would not wish that fate on him. You know that loneliness. To condemn him to that life is your worst fear. Even now, you would sell what little remains of your soul to see him smile.
But no. He won't be alone. Pellew will see his foot on the ladder and his name on the list. And there’s Bush. That Bush is here is a comfort. He's too stubborn to die. Bush will be his commander, not for long, but he'll see him by.
Weary, so weary. All you want to do is close your eyes and sleep. But you struggle with every ounce of your failing strength, afraid that if you close your eyes it will just stop. Even now, you can't help pondering the irony. How many times did you pray for it all to stop? In the hold, in gaols to numerous to recall, on the bridge, in the pit? But not now, not now, it can’t stop now. Not now you’ve come this far.
Archie woke with a jolt, unsure if he’d slept for hours or closed his eyes for a second. Bush was snoring quietly in his cot. The darkness had passed and the grey light of dawn was filtering through the bars of the cell.
There would be time to sleep soon enough.
Author: Anteros
Characters: Kennedy / (Hornblower), Bush
Rating: R
Notes: Grim Kingston angst fic. A companion piece to Pointless, and which refers back to Friend and Foe and Kiss of Life. Apologies for the second person. I've no idea why it came out like this.
Kingston January 1802
It would have been too much to hope for. To die an old man, at home, surrounded by people who cared. Men like you don't die like that. Men like you die young. With precious little ceremony. Not that you feel young. You left your youth behind years ago. Torn away in Justinian's hold. But you're not old enough to die. Not now. Not now that you've come so far.
Now that you've come so far with him.
It's the thought that he'll be left alone that starts the fear crawling in your belly. That suffocating fear that smothers your breath and leaves you gasping and pleading and raging.
You knew your turn would come, surely sooner rather than later. That you’ve lived this long and evaded the noose must surely be a miracle, or the whim of some fickle god. You hoped it would be an honourable death. Quick and clean, over in an instant. Wind of shot perhaps, or a single musket shot, with just a moment left to blink and smile. Or maybe drowning. You'd come close once. A lifetime ago it seemed, in the freezing waters off Camaret Bay. You could still remember the calm fascination as cold glassy arms encircled you, squeezing the breath from your chest. No panic then. Not till they threw you unceremoniously on the deck, and he kissed you. You've never forgotten that kiss. The look of disbelief and determination in his eyes. As if belief alone could bring you back. And it did. It did.
His belief brought you back and you got your wish. You got your bullet and you'll get to drown, in your own blood in the stifling heat of the Kingston gaol. No more sea cold kisses for you. The thought that you will never feel the touch of his lips again draws the darkness closer. But even as you bite down hard against tears that would never fall, you know that nothing and no one, neither Spanish lead nor Admiralty justice, can take away what he gave you. These treasures are yours forever and the darkness recedes with every remembered kiss, every touch, every breath. Every time he smiled.
You can see his lips so clearly; deep and full and parted. You’ve never forgotten the first time you kissed him, the way he'd stiffened in shock and then that glorious moment of melting capitulation. And then he'd hit you. You've teased him about it mercilessly for years. He’d sigh and roll his eyes. And then he’d smile.
But now you’re afraid. Afraid for him, afraid he will cut himself off behind an implacable façade of duty and honour. Cold and hard and impervious. And the man who laughed and pleaded and begged you to please, just please, will die as surely as you.
Perhaps you should be glad, take some comfort in the fact that there is a part of him that will only ever belong to you. You know there will be others, you know there have been others. But they will never touch him the way you have. They will never see him pleading and helpless with love and with laughter. Perhaps you should be glad, but you would not wish that fate on him. You know that loneliness. To condemn him to that life is your worst fear. Even now, you would sell what little remains of your soul to see him smile.
But no. He won't be alone. Pellew will see his foot on the ladder and his name on the list. And there’s Bush. That Bush is here is a comfort. He's too stubborn to die. Bush will be his commander, not for long, but he'll see him by.
Weary, so weary. All you want to do is close your eyes and sleep. But you struggle with every ounce of your failing strength, afraid that if you close your eyes it will just stop. Even now, you can't help pondering the irony. How many times did you pray for it all to stop? In the hold, in gaols to numerous to recall, on the bridge, in the pit? But not now, not now, it can’t stop now. Not now you’ve come this far.
Archie woke with a jolt, unsure if he’d slept for hours or closed his eyes for a second. Bush was snoring quietly in his cot. The darkness had passed and the grey light of dawn was filtering through the bars of the cell.
There would be time to sleep soon enough.
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no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 04:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 08:12 pm (UTC)Archie drowning in the end, only in blood not water, is a really powerful image.
Poor Archie. Not a nice way to go at all. He got his honourable death in the end though, even if only a handfull of people knew the truth of it.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 05:15 pm (UTC)I can only handle these because I know in my heart that it happened my way. Otherwise this would have left me a wreck for days.
Which is to say: Well done, damn your eyes!
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 08:15 pm (UTC)Don't worry though. We all know that Archie made a full recovery, hijacked a pair of leather trowsers and went off and had a successful career as a professional pirate ;)
Well done, damn your eyes!
I'll take that as a compliment!
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 08:24 pm (UTC)And yes, it was a compliment!
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 10:26 pm (UTC)and leather trowsers...very suitable indeed!no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 11:02 pm (UTC)He borrowed the coat off a certain Earl he knows, I think...no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 06:04 pm (UTC)I think it is his gratitude that hurts the most. That he should dwell on the brief crumbs of joy, when he was entitled to so much more. He deserved that love well into his eighties. They should have been old shuffling men together, honored for their courage. (Can you not imagine them with arthritis and false teeth?)
Gross sobbing here too. And nose wiping.
The idea of this as another kind of drowning makes me chilled all over. Of course you are right. But it is so much uglier than the other kind, somehow. A horrible death.
Your writing is knife sharp, as always. And Esmerelda is right, as usual. Second person really works for you. There is something powerful about that 'you' 'you.' It commands the reader to see. And so we do, and weep.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 09:08 pm (UTC)I'm glad you thought it worked though. I wrote this last year more or less in one sitting and the voice was quite clearly second person. I tried to re-write it in third person last night but it just didn't work. Somehow this had to come straight from Archie.
I think it is his gratitude that hurts the most. That he should dwell on the brief crumbs of joy, when he was entitled to so much more.
I know. To die such a terrible death after coming so far...He got his wish though, one last smile from Horatio.
Thank you for your very moving and eloquent comments.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 09:18 pm (UTC)Funny how some clumps of writing come all at once, and some you have to struggle for. I am always tempted to think that the easy ones are better in my case. But really I am not sure it is true. I find writing rewarding, even when it is being difficult.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 09:50 pm (UTC)I find writing rewarding, even when it is being difficult.
Yes I know what you mean. Each piece is different and rewarding in its own way.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 10:53 pm (UTC)I imagine if he could be whisked forward in time somehow he would find it quite frightening though.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 11:05 pm (UTC)They were more than a little frightened of the traffic (so fast!) and they could not stop flipping the electric lights on and off.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 11:23 pm (UTC)I doubt he would be convinced that he was being helped.
I do have a sweet picture of Horatio asleep, later beside the hospital bed.
Silly, right?
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 11:34 pm (UTC)ArchieMatt into surgery, because I was showing it throughHoratioAndrew's POV, but asleep by the hospital bed? Damn skippy.no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 12:16 am (UTC)Silly, right?
Not silly at all.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 11:07 pm (UTC)(can you tell I did not enjoy my experience with general anesthesia?)
no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 08:31 am (UTC)And that very last bit is something I;d never considered - how now he has something to live for...
*mwah*
no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 10:27 am (UTC)And that very last bit is something I;d never considered - how now he has something to live for...
Yes, that's what really gets me about Archie's death, he came so far and had so much to live for. It's tragic.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 01:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 08:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 10:53 am (UTC)Thanks for posting. I'm glad to have friends that show me what the English language is capable of.
Besides that Archie's love for Horatio bears a lot of pain as it contains a lot of joy, too. *sighs ans sniffles a bit* I'm glad that Bush is with him, with them :) *smiles*
no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 12:14 pm (UTC)Besides that Archie's love for Horatio bears a lot of pain as it contains a lot of joy, too.
Yes, I really think there was a lot of joy in their relationship despite everything. I am firmly convinced that Archie was the only one who could ever make Horatio laugh. Sadly he seems a much colder harder person after Kingston. I'm glad Bush is stubborn enough to stick with him though.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 08:12 pm (UTC)The praise is well earned :) While reading it, I thought: 'Hm. Sounds like me in German.' :) I hope there will be more!
no subject
Date: 2012-06-10 09:07 pm (UTC)Amen to that! I'm also rather partial to Archie / Bush fic, although it's rare as hen's teeth!
He too has humour. Perfect fit.
tv!Bush was a wonderfully dry sense of humour, book!Bush is rather more ernest.
I hope there will be more!
This fic and Pointless were inspired by
no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 08:36 pm (UTC)but they were held back by a sense of standing in silence in honour of the insight you show in Archie here
There is all so much of who he essentially is here - indomitable, far more than the sum of the fractured happiness he has had, angry and loving - and in the second person it has added strength
I am fairly sure there will be weeping on a re -read but for now i offer a thank you from one of those still places where we treasure things.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-15 10:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 02:20 pm (UTC)The characterizations are spot-on, IMO, even though I can't see a *thing* through the slash goggles. It's Hornblower, to the core:
And Bush:
And oh, Archie himself. Too many fine passages to pull out just one or two. But this: Wow.
Gorgeous writing! Many thanks for sharing it with us.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-15 10:29 pm (UTC)I'm glad you thought the characterisation worked. To me, Hornblower has all the hallmarks of a man bereaved, which I suppose he is really. And it's the fact that Archie overcame such overwhelming obstacles to reach the rank he did that always strikes me as such a tragedy. Having read contemporary accounts of midshipmen who were captured, escaped and eventually returned to the service, Archie's fate is sadly all to common.
Thanks again for reading and commenting.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-06 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 02:29 pm (UTC)