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[for betteralready & bettingman] history in the making [1794]
This is calm water. This is a steady skimming on the surface. This is genuine safety in a home port.
This is already too much for Mr. Midshipman Horatio Hornblower.
Clutching his arm a little tighter around his own stomach, reflex and unhelpful, is at least enough to suppress the baser impulses roiling inside him as the little boat continues to glide along beneath him. It's far too late to tell the rowers to turn them back. It's far too late as well to simply let out a bit of a scream. A properly childish fit would, at least, force his shoulders to relax from the intense pressure he's been building up between them.
The oars are eerily quiet on the water. If their little craft is making much of any noise at all, Horatio can't hear it. Much louder, as if whipped directly to his ears, is the new sensation of a constant crackling and groaning. The sound is half-recognizable--like the protest of an old table with too much hefted up onto it, like the stinging wail of a well-bucket dropped too fast. The closer they creep toward the hulking mass of the HMS Justinian, the more deafening the aching sounds become in his ears.
For better or worse, of course, most sound was drowned out soon enough by the thudding of his own heart in his ears. That pounding vibrates through him, morphing from a thud in his ears to a thud in his skull to a general uncomfortable pounding through his entire frame that drowns everything out.
He barely hears the first words spoken to him. He can't tell you, a few weeks later, what the voice that became home first said to him.
This is still calm water. This is a gentle rocking at anchor. This is a port to find one's feet in and take the first few hesitant steps toward the future.
This is still only bearable because of Mr. Midshipman Archie Kennedy.
Horatio doesn't quite notice the odd sense of vacuum on the ship until the seasickness begins to fade properly. There's a space that seems to linger like a ghost just at Archie's elbow; to catch the other young man's attention from an odd middle distance. There's a faint sense of absence that clings to the berth, a certain noisy silence in the space where someone else is meant to be.
Archie sets him to the signal book, and the gentle corrections seem to come from almost another voice. Archie shows him the trick to the last twist of a knot, and the steady movement seems to have sprung from another set of hands. Archie grins, and it is at him (and it's just a bit like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds or the first breath of wind after a long stuffy night), but it's also always beyond him.
His fingers drum absently at the pages of the book he should be studying intently. The absence that isn't his own--the absence that's built into his new home, because his new home is Archie so much more than the Justinian--gnaws at his gut and, somehow, sets all the words swimming together before his gaze.
Blinking brings his eyes up to Archie, completely without intention.
"It's-- soon, isn't it?" Speaking up first is new, still. His voice wavers with uncertainty before settling into itself. "That Mr.-- Mr. Bush is due back?"
This is already too much for Mr. Midshipman Horatio Hornblower.
Clutching his arm a little tighter around his own stomach, reflex and unhelpful, is at least enough to suppress the baser impulses roiling inside him as the little boat continues to glide along beneath him. It's far too late to tell the rowers to turn them back. It's far too late as well to simply let out a bit of a scream. A properly childish fit would, at least, force his shoulders to relax from the intense pressure he's been building up between them.
The oars are eerily quiet on the water. If their little craft is making much of any noise at all, Horatio can't hear it. Much louder, as if whipped directly to his ears, is the new sensation of a constant crackling and groaning. The sound is half-recognizable--like the protest of an old table with too much hefted up onto it, like the stinging wail of a well-bucket dropped too fast. The closer they creep toward the hulking mass of the HMS Justinian, the more deafening the aching sounds become in his ears.
For better or worse, of course, most sound was drowned out soon enough by the thudding of his own heart in his ears. That pounding vibrates through him, morphing from a thud in his ears to a thud in his skull to a general uncomfortable pounding through his entire frame that drowns everything out.
He barely hears the first words spoken to him. He can't tell you, a few weeks later, what the voice that became home first said to him.
This is still calm water. This is a gentle rocking at anchor. This is a port to find one's feet in and take the first few hesitant steps toward the future.
This is still only bearable because of Mr. Midshipman Archie Kennedy.
Horatio doesn't quite notice the odd sense of vacuum on the ship until the seasickness begins to fade properly. There's a space that seems to linger like a ghost just at Archie's elbow; to catch the other young man's attention from an odd middle distance. There's a faint sense of absence that clings to the berth, a certain noisy silence in the space where someone else is meant to be.
Archie sets him to the signal book, and the gentle corrections seem to come from almost another voice. Archie shows him the trick to the last twist of a knot, and the steady movement seems to have sprung from another set of hands. Archie grins, and it is at him (and it's just a bit like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds or the first breath of wind after a long stuffy night), but it's also always beyond him.
His fingers drum absently at the pages of the book he should be studying intently. The absence that isn't his own--the absence that's built into his new home, because his new home is Archie so much more than the Justinian--gnaws at his gut and, somehow, sets all the words swimming together before his gaze.
Blinking brings his eyes up to Archie, completely without intention.
"It's-- soon, isn't it?" Speaking up first is new, still. His voice wavers with uncertainty before settling into itself. "That Mr.-- Mr. Bush is due back?"
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"It is," he replies brightly, grin growing all the more at the thought, "You'll-- get on with him, I think. He's really clever, too."
In a slightly different way from Horatio, yes, but-- Not in a way that will hinder things. He thinks William will probably get on well with Horatio, too. That's nice to think.
(It will be worrying, later, but it's nice for now.)
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This is what it will be like, surely, when this other piece of the ship returns. Archie will smile just like this. With any luck, the ghost will smile back just the same. With more luck--and it's not so far off, it sounds like, the way the men talk about William Bush--there will be another set of eyes examining his work, another steady hand to nudge him into place during drills.
What an odd thing, Horatio muses as his fingers drum again over the pages before him. What an incredible thing to almost miss someone he's never even met.
"He must be. It's-- It's a good sign, isn't it? If he's delayed coming back?"
Surely that meant a promotion.
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It should probably be more a hope than something he feels almost with positivity in his gut, but-- William was so good at teaching him, once. William's learned so much over the time they've known each other. William will do so well at being a lieutenant, and Archie wants all that for him desperately.
"'f we're lucky, in a few days he'll be popping up-- new uniform and all."
He'll probably look even more dangerously attractive in said uniform, even. It's got the faintest hint of a flush to Archie's cheeks to contemplate it, for a moment. Hopefully Horatio doesn't notice.
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Almost all of his attention, since arriving on the Justinian, has been on the work at hand. Almost every thought in his mind has been passing back over new information, testing out a new equation, reviewing the last few hours for every little mistake he needed to correct going forward.
In the odd quiet moment, however, his attention hasn't been able to help sticking to this particular anchoring point.
"And then you'll join him, I expect."
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"Not so soon," he replies, though he's gratified by the statement and it shows, "'m not even an Acting Lieutenant, after all. You'll be stuck with me for a while."
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But every spark from Archie is a wonderful reassurance. Every bit of assurance is building toward smiles that might actually stick for more than a heartbeat.
"We'll see." His gaze flits away briefly, looking first to the open book before him, then flitting on over the half-familiarity of the Justinian herself. "There's a lot-- that'll depend on, I'd think."
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"That's true," he replies, "The rate you're picking things up, you'll be moving ahead in no time."
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That clearly startles him. That sets his fingers flexing and clasping on the surface of the page before him.
Being believed in is really quite nice. Being believed in by someone he's come to respect as he's come to respect Archie is better still.
His lips twist nervously for a moment before he lets his gaze drop again.
"I don't-- know about that, Mr. Kennedy."
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"Well, I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"
He's confident in the other young man will succeed. He's certain William will agree with him, when he comes back.
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"I'd rather find out-- more about Mr. Bush."
That's a safer topic. That's a chance to watch Archie smile and sparkle without feeling so much attention focused on himself.
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"Very well," he accepts, "What more would you like to know? Surely I've-- talked your ear off about him by now."
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And this is nicer, in some ways, than asking after knots or signals. This is something that matters to the other midshipman as a person--not just a role.
"It makes him feel-- real."
Like someone Horatio could be excited about the return of.
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It's certainly not like it's a hardship, to talk about William, after all.
"He's-- quite stern. Much better at being serious than I, that's for sure." A pleased little sparkle in his eyes, "But-- he's his moments of good humor, especially when we're on shore leave. And he's-- So long as you do your duty; or at least properly show that you're trying at it, he's very good at guiding you. He works best with those that wish to be worked with, I think."
So he and Horatio ought to get on like a house on fire.
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But Horatio hasn't quite gotten there yet.
"Will it be the same, d'you think? When he's lieutenant?"
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"I suspect he'll be rather busier," he says evenly, "But he'll make time for you."
If only because Archie will ask him to.
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That's confusing. That assumes, after all, that any piece of Horatio will be as compelling as the development of the more senior midshipmen.
Which would likely mean that any piece of Horatio was compelling enough for Archie to recommend him in the slightest.
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"'s not-- every new midshipman that comes around that I actually-- enjoy helping out, mm? He'll want to meet you-- at least-- because of that."
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"--o-oh."
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"You're-- rather welcome, here, Horatio. I hope you realize."
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Enjoyed, however, is something else entirely. Enjoyed is something faintly more intimate.
Enjoyed is enough to keep a flush in his cheeks.
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He can't help but properly grin, at that blush. He won't make it worse by emphasizing things verbally further.
"...Come on, then. What d'you still need help with?"
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It's a genuine struggle, of course. It's difficult to learn, with how often his vertigo kicked in during actual study.
It's just also usually a reason to sit with Archie close beside him.
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It's so easy to want to help Horatio. It's so easy, to feel comfortable here.
"Any part in-- particular that's a problem?"
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"It just-- doesn't stick."
spoiler alert i still don't.... know how to talk about ships
So hopefully that helps to know.
"Think of it-- like this, mm?"
And with that, he'll start a careful explanation that's hopefully able to be followed.