They had given Archie opium, but the Commodore’s physician friend had feared he would bleed to death before the drug could take full effect. Archie had woken before they had begun the gruesome work at hand – he had only lost consciousness from the blood loss, the physician had said – his features whitening, twisting into a rictus as the knife cut into him. Blood still trickled from his lip where he had bitten it through. For his part, Horatio had felt the burn of that knife as though it had cut into his own body. It had taken all his strength not to be sick on the floor.
Archie’s face was still white now, drenched in sweat as the doctor groped for the bullet. Horatio tried not to look at the open, festering wound, the doctor’s bloodstained hands, or the new red-smeared incision; he kept his eyes on Archie’s contorted face, his palms wet where he held Archie’s shoulders down from behind. The sickness in his belly shamed him, being afraid to look; if Archie had to endure the pain and had almost died for him then he should at least have to face the gory reality before him. It was better than the alternative, better than –. Horatio clenched his jaw, fighting back the thought.
The physician’s assistants held Archie’s arms. Both their faces were grim, but neither appeared as near to being sick as he. Horatio swallowed hard to try and calm himself, in a cold sweat beneath his uniform. He had seen a guillotining and he had seen men blown to bits. This was no worse. What was more, it was dangerous to appear overly solicitous toward Archie in front of the others.
The doctor’s hand moved again. Archie let out a small groan but quickly bit his broken lip to hold in a full cry of pain. How he kept from roaring in pure agony, Horatio did not know. But then he went as white as the sheet half covering him. His eyes rolled back and his head rolled toward Horatio’s hand. He went limp. Horatio’s chest tightened. He opened his mouth to call out to him, but nothing would come out. His fingers moved over Archie’s bare shoulders, searching for a pulse, but he found nothing. Horatio closed his eyes, the nearest thing to a prayer racing through his mind. The room began to spin around him.
“I’ve got it!” the physician declared, pulling his red-stained hand away from the incision and holding out the pistol ball half wrapped in a piece of bloodstained uniform. “The source of the infection,” the man said, tossing it aside. “Now we cut away what the maggots haven’t eaten and sew him up.”
Horatio stared at the doctor numbly. He seemed kindly and competent enough – the Commodore claimed the man had saved his life once – and more importantly, he was Archie’s only hope. But Archie was not moving and the doctor did not seem concerned.
Damning what the others thought, Horatio sank to his knees, resting his head against Archie’s. He could not bear losing him now, not after his grief had been lifted by a precious glimmer of hope. But he could hear Archie breathing, softly; Archie had only passed out from the pain. Relief flooded him; Horatio let out the breath he had been holding, raising his face toward the sky and thanking God despite himself. Yet he remained on his knees, his cheek pressed to Archie’s sweat-drenched golden hair. He wanted Archie to know that he was there still.
Archie did not wake throughout the rest of the procedure. The doctor cleaned where the bullet had been, stitched the incision, and then wrapped a tight bandage around Archie’s middle. Horatio succumbed to his weak belly when it was over; he turned and emptied his stomach in a bucket, sure that the messy cutting and Archie’s contorted features would haunt him for a long time.
After wiping the sweat from Archie’s face, they covered him in a sheet and gently slid him onto a litter, where he would pass for merely the corpse Captain Hornblower intended to stow aboard Retribution in order to return him to the Kennedys for burial. Commodore Pellew had officially granted that privilege.
They did not receive so much as a strange look as they left the infirmary and walked the short distance to the doctor’s little home, where he and Archie would stay for the first night so Archie might be closely looked after. Retribution’s repairs would take a week, and in the meantime the Commodore had a relative by marriage in town who would take them in, ignorant of Archie’s true identity, of course.
When they reached the house, they brought Archie into the tiny spare bedroom. The room had no hearth, but there was no need to worry about cold in the infernal Jamaican heat. Instead, the narrow bed was covered in mosquito netting to keep the insects out. They laid Archie beneath the airy canopy and after a final look the physician and his assistants departed with a promise to return after Archie took some rest.
Horatio exhaled in relief when the door closed behind him. The last few hours had passed like a fever dream. Commodore Pellew had come with his promotion and the more private news that Archie was still alive before Horatio had even had the chance to comprehend the void Archie’s death had left inside him. The intensity of that pain gnawed at him though beneath the exhaustion and disbelief, stark panic that he had come so close to losing him. Horatio’s heart would freeze each time he tried to think on it, and so he had stumbled numbly through the past hours, pushing the notion from his thoughts. But now full awareness hit him, both the joy and fear.
There was a chair by the bed, but Horatio did not take it. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it there and then slipped out of his shoes, climbing carefully in the bed beside Archie. Sliding close against his friend’s good side, Horatio sat up against the headboard, draping an arm behind Archie’s shoulders, stroking his soft gold hair and laying his free hand upon Archie’s breast, simply to feel the steady rhythm of his heart – all that he had been afraid to touch during that nightmarish farewell in the infirmary. Archie was still gravely sick, but alive and strong. Alive.
Archie’s lids fluttered after a short while. He tried to turn, but Horatio held him steady by the shoulders. Too weak to wriggle free, he tentatively opened his eyes, searching the room in a daze. “Horatio . . .?” His voice was thin and hoarse.
“I’m here.” Horatio cupped his cheek, tilting Archie’s up face so that he could see him. Archie blinked several times, no doubt scarcely able to tell up from down through the opium’s malaise, but after a moment his blue eyes focused and his features relaxed into a smile. He sighed and leaned his head against Horatio’s side.
“Where are we?”
Horatio cleared his throat, hoping to sound cheerful. “At the residence of an esteemed friend of Commodore Pellew’s – the doctor’s, Archie,” he added when the first bit did not seem to register.
Archie made a small miserable sound and then rolled his head back onto the pillow again. It would be just like Archie to be restless even now. “I feel worse than before,” he muttered. “I never liked laudanum.”
Frowning, Horatio pushed the sheet down a little. Perhaps Archie was too warm. He was not sweating, but his forehead was hot where Horatio pushed the hair back from his face. The fever from the infection had not broken yet. “At least you aren’t in pain.” That was a small miracle; Archie had spent the past week refusing Clive’s laudanum, stubbornly determined to face the end with a clear head. More plainly, Archie had been too sick with worry over how he would fare at the trial to let himself rest. Horatio’s frown deepened. He was unworthy of all that worry.
“No,” Archie shook his head. “But I feel so sick.”
Horatio’s arm tightened around Archie’s neck in a surge of protectiveness. Archie was stubborn about admitting to his ailments, and in the infirmary had been so brave and strong. It had all been for his sake, Horatio knew, and he was relieved to see Archie shed that burden now. Archie did not have to be strong anymore; Horatio was there to take care of him.
“You’ll get better.” He reached for Archie’s hand, caressing the back of it. There was still the danger of infection, but Horatio refused to consider that.
Smiling at the touch, Archie brought Horatio’s hand up to his cheek, cradling it there was a small, content smile. Horatio chuckled. The opium must have made him childlike; Archie was ordinarily more sophisticated in demonstrating his affections. “And then what?” Archie asked after a moment, looking up into Horatio’s eyes.
Horatio smoothed Archie’s hair with his other hand. “I’m taking you home, Archie. Retribution will be ready in a few days time and we’ll set sail for England. I’m sure I can pass you off as some nobleman or another, eh Archie?” He forced a smile he hoped was encouraging – in truth he worried over how well the deception would work – but that smile faded when Archie’s expression tensed.
“I don’t want to part in England, Horatio.” His fingers tightened around Horatio’s hand.
“Archie . . .” Horatio swallowed. He could not bear to see Archie submerse himself in yet another worry. Archie needed all his strength to get better. What was more, Archie insulted his honor by even thinking he would leave him now. But Horatio would not argue with Archie in his condition and therefore went on patiently. “There’s nothing to fear, Archie. If Commodore Pellew can give me no hope of clearing your name when we reach England then I’ll resign my commission. I wouldn’t want it otherwise.”
Accepting his promotion would be dishonor, as bad as declaring Archie guilty with his own mouth, and he wanted little part of a Navy that would hang officers who had saved the lives of eight hundred men, that had a tainted notion of duty.
“Does Pellew know? He won’t take well to ultimatums.”
Horatio blinked. He had not meant it as such. “No. I’ll tell him before we set sail.” He had little hope Pellew would succeed, or even want to try, but he thought it fair to give him the chance. But Horatio did not want Archie to fret over it now. He did not want to think of Kingston or the Renown or the future at all. “Just rest, Archie,” he said, his fingers still in Archie’s hair. “In any case, the consequences of this mess are ours to share. I’d never leave you.”
Worry crumbled then, for the moment at least, and only the desire to be close to one another remained. Archie let out a sigh, still holding Horatio’s hand against his cheek. “I was afraid for you,” he said softly after a moment, “afraid of what would become of you after . . .”
“I know.” Horatio stopped him before could finish. He did not want to think on what had almost happened; he would rather treat it as nothing more than a harrowing dream.
Archie’s eyes fell closed and he was quiet for a time, growing drowsy again. Horatio tried to tug his hand free – it would not do for the doctor to see them clinging to each other – but Archie’s grip tightened, refusing to let go. He looked up at Horatio through his lashes and wet his lips. “I didn’t want to leave you.” His voice broke on the last word. “Darling, please . . .” Horatio’s other hand tightened involuntarily in Archie’s hair. A lump rose in his throat. He could still see Archie standing in the courtroom in the custody of the marines. The pain and disbelief welled up in all over again, the fear that Archie really had gotten better only to be dragged to the noose. Horatio’s eyes stung; he could not bear it. “Archie, what you’ve done for me, I . . .”
He could not finish; there were no words to properly convey how Archie’s sacrifice had humbled him. He simply tugged his hand free and cupped his cheek, tilting Archie’s face toward his. Their mouth met lazily, tiredly, melting away the lingering panic and grief, and when Horatio pulled back he felt a little more at ease.
A little out of breath, Archie reached up to playfully tap the end of Horatio’s long nose, grinning groggily at him. “I’m sure you’ll make up for it.” His half-open eyes brightened with the first spark of mischief Horatio had seen in him for a week now.
Horatio shook his head. “It’ll be a long time before you’re well enough for that.” He grinned back down at Archie nonetheless. He had such fond memories of lying with him. But Archie’s wound would likely take more than a month to heal. They could not afford to take the risk too soon.
Yet Archie continued to smile, his lids drooping wearily. He leaned as close as he could against Horatio’s side without actually moving. “I can’t wait,” he murmured, “even if it’s only a few moments in your cabin.”
The privacy of a captain’s cabin would certainly be an advantage; they would not have to worry so much about being discovered. But Horatio did not want their first time together after this nightmare to be so rushed and crude. “I should think it would be better than that,” he said gently. “Perhaps in a nice room ashore, with a fire . . . ”
Sighing wistfully, he propped an elbow behind Archie’s head, staring down at him. Archie always looked so beautiful in the firelight, his hair copper, his eyes blue gems, and his cheeks flushed. Even now, pale and miserable, he glowed golden. He looked even more beautiful whenever they took pleasure together, throwing his head back and parting his small pink lips. He was so sweet and so giving.
“I want it to be raining,” Archie whispered after a moment, taking up Horatio’s hand again.
Drawn from his reverie, Horatio blinked. “Why?”
“It was raining when we met, Horatio.” Archie’s warm fingers threaded tenderly inside his.
Yes, Horatio smiled. It had been an ugly and stormy January morning. He remembered staring out at Archie from across the water in that shoreboat, wondering how Archie could withstand the wet and cold so well. He had not known yet that Archie simply had a stout heart.
“Very well,” he conceded. “The heavens will open mightily at the injustice done you here.”
Archie snorted half-heartily, but it faded into a smile. “And we’ll be warm,” he said, running his fingertips along the inside of Horatio’s wrist, in the way that always made Horatio shiver when Archie did that along the rest of his body.
“Yes, Archie,” Horatio sighed with the blissful idea of it all, leaning down to kiss Archie’s forehead. “Very, very warm indeed.”
Sighing too, Archie closed his eyes. The same dreamy smile lingered about his lips that he had worn as a mid, lying in his hammock and spinning idle fantasies of having one another. They were older now; Horatio knew how to satisfy his whims and Archie knew how to satisfy his own. Tonight, those fancies went unsatisfied, put aside for a later time as they had so often then, but Horatio far from minded now. They were alive, had a future together, and a ship to sail them home.