[for his_majestys_navy ] when your day is night alone ["1802"]

[midship]

Horatio is here for a reason. He had come this far from home on his own merit. He had been entrusted with his own command by the recommendation of competent men. He had kept all his own men on this next adventure off the love he had earned from them, one nerve-wracking day at a time.

But the Caribbean is still new. The particularities of the Caribbean haven't yet become a part of him.

For a man so willing to bend the rules of war, Horatio puts an odd amount of trust in the flags of other ships in the distance. He hasn't seen all the friendly British ships in the islands. He doesn't know on sight which old Dutch refits belonged to the King.

Quick as his mind is, it starts too late. Fast though he's acclimated to the warmer winds and stranger tides, it sinks his heart into his feet when struck colours are replaced by the unfamiliar dark of a Jolly Roger.

The battle comes like a tropical storm. More than ever, it's a blessing that he's got his own men with him, strong and certain and unflappable even in the hot waves and irregular volley of guns. Trusting them to trust his thoughts, even half-formed and shouted over the violence around them, is not unlike trusting himself.

It's better than trusting himself.

As much as the pain bursting through his shoulder ought to caution him, it's Matthews suddenly at his elbow that first brings his senses to him in the thick of battle. They can't hold their own in a little sloop with twenty guns. The decks are starting to seep red through the black of powder. The time has come to throw themselves back to the wind and cut their losses. The faces he knows are on too many crumpled bodies; the whistle of shot is too close to too many ears.

Maybe there's time for one last gambit. There's always an even chance that even these pirates will be taken aback by something bold at the last moment. Desperation always leaves space for invention. Backed into a corner is often where Horatio flourishes.

The thought is barely in his head, his lips barely parted, when the world goes black.

He won't remember when the mast came down. He won't remember when the Hotspur came crawling back into port, barely under her own power. He also won't remember what must have been horrendous pain of wood splintering off the mast and into his own side.

Comments

[midship]

Even in a daze, even in the discord of his own thoughts struggling to piece together what had obviously been missed, Horatio's mind catches instantly to that familiar voice.

It's James.

It isn't the Commodore, strangely enough. It isn't the crisp commanding voice that calls him 'Mr. Hornblower' and before whom he makes his report. It isn't the polished tones of a man commanding his fort, his fleet.

Instead, it's simply the man. It's the man who has kissed his throat delicately in the darkness. It's the man whose hair his own fingers have been tangled up in desperately. It's the man who spared him the echo of a smile in difficult moments. It's also, it would seem, the man who stuck beside him into the night while pain and fever began bleeding properly from his injured body.

For a few heartbeats, the sensation overwhelms him into stillness. There's enough difficulty in letting his gaze focus properly on James's features, in making himself settle into the room.

It's a little easier with James sitting beside him. It's a little easier when he lets his fingers settle more comfortably in the older man's.

It's still not perfectly easy.

"The-- The Hotspur--"

[his_majestys_navy]

It was cowardly perhaps to have wanted to avoid this. Not forever. Not even for a day, but just until he could be certain that Horatio's recovery was guaranteed. He had known men to come around and then to die because of bad news.

He would not lie to Horatio. He could not, in good conscious do such a thing. But perhaps he could spare him some pain and distress. That was his duty.

"She took heavy damage. She has lost a mast, much of her sail and rigging. I understand there is a great deal of water below decks. But we will save her if we can. She brought you home."

And for that James would do all he could to salvage her. He had already some idea that the spare mast from Interceptor could be made good. She would have to be hauled out the water, no doubt, but it might be possible.

"Your Mr Matthews will receive a commendation you can be sure. Without him I would have neither you, nor the ship, nor what crew remains."

His free hand moved, to the lieutenant's brow and brushed his hair from his face.

"This is not your doing, Horatio. I should not have sent a man inexperienced with pirates out alone. The guilt is mine."

[midship]

The Hotspur had been dismasted.

The first shudder that passes through Horatio is the simple shiver of mourning, a man wracked by the news of a loved one terribly injured. The second shiver brings his eyes flickering closed again, lips pressed firm together to prevent a sob escaping them as the first wracking of guilt settled into his tired limbs.

Men had died and the Hotspur had been dismasted on his watch.

He doesn't deserve the comfort of the fingers smoothing against his hair. He doesn't deserve the gentle offer of relief on the other man's lips.

"It was... m-my command, sir."

Taking too deep a breath hurts. His eyes squeeze firmer shut for a moment, fingers tight and unhappy around James's fingers.

(He doesn't deserve the small comfort of the man sitting beside him and caring for his hurts. He can't bring himself to let go yet.)

[his_majestys_navy]

"And you are my command."

The words are still gentle; unlike Horatio, James is well aware how close he came to not having any of them. He will take the Hotspur, demasted, he will take Horatio, injured. He will take on his shoulders every name that must be entered in Hotspur's log as fell in action. The guilt does not fall at the lieutenant's feet. It falls at is.

His fingers stroke, aware even in the darkness of the water gathering in Horatio's eyes.

"She was not lost, Horatio. I will not see you court maritalled. Not when you ordered the men to disengage." That was what Matthews had reported, that the order had been given the second before the mast was torn to shreds and their only commissioned officer had been incapacitated.

No, it was James' fault. He has sent Horatio out unsupported, he had failed to ensure the threat of pirates was controlled, he had failed to even provide them with a surgeon. Should anyone deserve a court martial, it was him.

"But I will see you recover, fully. I will see you take a command again, and I will see you earn your Captaincy. You are not the first man to ever come close to losing a ship."

[midship]

"It was-- too late."

There had already been so many losses when Horatio thought to turn them around. There had already been lives sacrificed to his inexperience and pride. It's impossible, with the battle so fresh in his entire being, not to feel stuck somewhere far away from the gentleness being offered.

"You trusted me."

His thoughts slam in a much more disjointed tumble than their usual flurry. There were so many sharper hurts among them than in the pain radiating softly through his side now.

"You trusted me, and I was-- too slow."

[his_majestys_navy]

James shakes his head. He has had Matthew's report, in brief, when Horatio had been taken ashore. From his account, it had appeared Horatio had little time to consider any other action that return fire. But he will have Horatio's side of things, in the fullness of time. Not now, when pain no doubt clouds his recollection.

"I trust you still, as do your men."

They had been more concerned with Horatio that with their own injuries, but James did not need that evidence to prove that the lieutenant was loved by the men who served him.

"I allowed you to go out unprepared, Horatio. The responsibility lies with me, and I will put it to rights as best I can. We will both learn from this, and we will both be expected to give our explanations to the admiral. But by then the foul creatures that did this will be at the end of a rope, God help me."

James clears his throat, jaw relaxing. He had not intended to sound so vehement. It was said now though, and he could not take back the words. He could not make them sound less angry, nor could he take back the implication that he would be leaving.

"I will be setting sail on the next favourable tide."

[midship]

Pellew had yelled, from time to time. His voice had rattled through to Horatio's core. It had been a very paternal sort of anger, the sound and fury of what felt like a force from on high.

It's different with James. The tension is half-familiar, a set jaw and a growling tone. It's just that there's also something half-strange in the anger. There's something he might even call protective about James's words.

He could almost allow them to soothe him for now. He could almost simply accept that his men--good, honest, earnest, foolish in their resolute devotion to such an imperfect officer--would hold onto their faith in him. He could almost sink back into oblivion knowing he wouldn't immediately be sent away or, worse still, sent back to a life on the shore.

Except.

To his credit, Horatio doesn't actually try to sit up properly. His fingers dig tighter at the hand in his own, blunt nails making half-moons in the commodore's skin.

"Will they l-let me on my feet by the next t-tide, sir?"

[his_majestys_navy]

Shouting is part and parcel of being an officer. You have to shout across a ship in bad weather, over guns, over the sounds of battle. Orders must be heard over whatever din there is aboard ship, but James has always favoured cold anger, quiet and cold. It seems less passionate, but that is not the case.

He is not angry at Horatio. Worried, frightened, yes but not angry. All his spite at the moment is saved for the pirates who ran false colours, who used the colours of the king to kill and maim his loyal servants, who dare to sail around the colonies as if it is their right.

This time Horatio moves, James' hand is not required to push him back into the bed, but his hand moves to the young man's shoulder even so. It's a weight meant not only to keep him still, but also to make him realise the gravity of his injuries.

It does not strike him at the moment that they are clinging to each other, holding tight like a man to driftwood.

"No, Horatio, they won't. You need to stay and rest, and recover. I saw the splinters they took out of you, and I can not condone you getting out of bed for several days. If you try I will demote you personally."

He says, and then he leans in, and for the first time in what feels like months, presses a kiss to Horatio's lips. "You are not to die, understood?"

[midship]

These words crash over Horatio like a crush of violent waves. They knock the breath from his chest, head shaking even as he allows himself to be held in place.

Having lips pressed to his brings the breath back into his lungs. Unfortunately, he can't quite keep that breath even and steady.

"Please-- Please."

James must understand. James must remember the intense panic of being a junior officer struggling under the weight of lost lives.

"Please don't-- make me stay here."

Not when there were men leaving. Not when James himself would be sailing to face the very men who had blown the Hotspur so close to pieces.

[his_majestys_navy]

James understands. The guilt does not ebb as rank increases, not when suddenly one has the responsibility for the health and well-being of several hundred men or more, not simply one gun crew or one ship. Norrington has the lives of over a thousand men on his shoulders, navy seaman and marines, and he knows the crushing weight of that responsibility.

"Listen," He says, pulling back so he can watch Horatio's face, watch his eyes and make sure the words sink in. "You must serve the memory of those men. You must serve to the best of your abilities, for as long and as hard as you can. God has their souls but you have their memories, and you must honour them. No one else, do you understand? You must be well, you must be fit for duty, or you disgrace them."

He will not order Horatio to stay ashore, not in so many words, not directly, not if he can get the lieutenant to understand by any other means. He knows Horatio wants to earn his atonement now, he wants to throw himself into work to survive the guilt, but he can not. If he were not so gravely injured, James would take him in a heartbeat.

But it is not to be.

"Do you understand? We will repair the Hotspur and you will have her again, but you are no use to me, or your men, or the Navy unless you recover. If you were better, if the surgeons were not concerned about your life, I would take you. This is not to punish you, I know you do not want to be left here."

[midship]

It's difficult to meet the other man's eyes. It isn't as difficult, of course, as it will be to meet the eyes of the men he'll need to face if he ever wants to walk the deck of a ship again.

A short, sharp breath helps him focus. It does nothing to cure his frown or the unhappy tension in his shoulders, but it's a start.

James is right, of course. It doesn't lessen the weight pressing down on Horatio's heart, but that certainly doesn't make reality less real. There is no rushing back and hoping for death. There is no dragging what's left of his men to their doom--or to watch him die and drag the names of the lost with him into the deep.

He can't help the briefly frustrated sigh that falls from his lips. He can't help the unhappily tight way his fingers cling just a bit too tight to the older man's.

If this is reality, it's far better that he isn't alone while growing accustomed to it.

"Ah-- Aye aye, sir." It isn't the most conviction he's ever spoken with. Still, no small part of that is the general tightness in his throat. "But will you not-- leave me something?"

It couldn't be that he simply had to lie here and wonder. Surely there was some penance he could make in his convalescence. Surely there was some task to set his mind to apart from hating every inch of himself.

[his_majestys_navy]

Horatio will have to learn to live with the heavy weight in his chest, he will have to learn to walk with it pressing down on his soul and the pain it will cause in the small hours of the night. James knows that Horatio barely sleeps as it is, that he sleeps lightly, but so do almost all officers. James rarely sleeps through the night- he normally hears each watch change.

No doubt Horatio will have even more sleepless nights in his future, but James can only pray that in the meantime, boredom will force him to sleep, to heal.

"I will leave you an entire study full of books, and a view of the sea, and all my affection." And the prospects of a newly repaired and refitted Hotspur. But James will not press that, not until he can speak to the shipwrights and ensure it.

"We could not carry you back to the fort," James says, after a moment. Horatio isn't likely to have noticed his surroundings, he would not recognise them even so. "So you are to recuperate in my lodgings. I shall have Matthews or Mr Wellard bring you news front the fort and the town. Is that not something enough for you?"

That at least is said with a rare smile, an arched eyebrow. Horatio is quiet, but that is not to say he does not make his demands. James is well aware of that.

[midship]

This is so, so much more than Horatio deserves.

Being brought into the strange new sanctuary of the commodore's home is overwhelming. Being offered the use of James's books, loved and prized things that they are, is beyond his merit after such a disastrous return. Being gently assured that a handful of those dearest to him were alive--were alive and capable of coming down to visit him under their own power--was far more than he deserved.

Being so simply handed James's affection and a gentle smile has his entire being trembling again.

"S-Sir."

What else is there to say? What else is left in his mind when this much overwhelms everything from his lips and mind?

[his_majestys_navy]

The 'sir' is enough to .ale him sigh again, albeit gently. But it will do and he will press Horatio for nothing more now. He must rest and this has probably already been too much exertion for a body still stressed and strained.

"The surgeons will have my head if you do not get more rest." James says, hand moving to once more brush through Horatio's hair. "I will stay with you as long as I can, until morning, I promise you that."

But then he would have to go. The sea and duty called to him, demanded he righted his mistakes and avenged lives lost or ruined. He would see that through even if he had to leave his heart here to recover alongside Horatio.

"Go to sleep, and I will remain here."

[midship]

This last kindness brings prickling tears of exhaustion to the corners of Horatio's eyes. It's difficult to move, but his less bandaged arm shifts to catch at the wrist of the hand smoothing his hair.

There's something painfully important about pressing his cheek into James's hand. There's the first step of absolution in fumbling his lips against the heel of James's palm.

"You won't... leave. W-Without waking me?"

He nearly manages to simply repeat the sentiment. The question tacks itself on without much conscious thought.

[his_majestys_navy]

James should have considered the question before he answered. Horatio needs rest. Once awake, James has little doubt Horatio will try and do something, even if it is simply sit up and read. He is simply not well enough for that yet.

But despite that, James nods into the darkness. "I will not go without telling you so."

He really has grown soft. Perhaps it is that gentle kiss that makes him even more so, makes his heart skip before settling back into its natural rhythm. Horatio has no doubt done something to him, although he can not easy say how or when the change happened, or if it is as simple as that.

There's enough room for James to sit up against the head-rest on Horatio's otherside, and he shifts to move there. At least then Horatio has some comfort in knowing James is close.

[midship]

Horatio doesn't deserve the quiet sanctuary of James's assurances. He doesn't deserve the odd safety of having the older man beside him. He doesn't deserve the firm promise that he won't be abandoned to wake up with only his tormenting thoughts for comfort.

His fingers scramble to stay firm around the hand nearest his. He won't risk sitting up properly for a kiss. He won't risk rolling over and sending fire through the hurt in his side.

He can't help clinging all the same.

"...thank you, James."

[his_majestys_navy]

Horatio doesn't need to move, not as James gently settles as close as he can, so his free hand can continue to gently stroke through the younger man's hair. He's going to stay there, stay close, until he has to leave. He'll make sure Horatio gets what sleep he can, and that is all he can do until the tides change.

Then he has to trust his heart to the surgeons, to the officers he is leaving behind. He will have stern words with Wellard and Matthews, leave strict instructions that Horatio should not leave his bed for at least a week.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to Horatio's forehead. There's no need for the thanks, but he will accept it, in the hope that Horatio will settle down, that the quiet in the room will help ease some of that pain and anxiety.

[midship]

There are many things Horatio doesn't deserve, in this moment. He doesn't deserve this gentle proximity. He doesn't deserve this genuine reassurance. He certainly doesn't deserve the light press of affection against his forehead.

He ought to punish himself, if James won't punish him.

But his body betrays him. Little though he deserves any grace, his neck arches slightly, lips offered half-blindly toward the commodore's.

One quiet kiss, and he'll sleep. One last moment of feeling certain he's home, and he'll let himself sink back into the odd oblivion.

[his_majestys_navy]

Horatio has no need to punish himself. No doubt he will attempt it, and as long as he doesn't go too far, and only tries once he's healed, James won't be too upset. This is Horatio, after all.

But for the meantime, he knows what Horatio is after, what the slight tip of his head means. He leans down, the kiss gentle and soft. He'd like to linger, to kiss Horatio more, longer, lingering over each.

He can't however. It would be wrong, it would disturb Horatio from his rest and he sorely needs that. He needs rest, and James has no intention of disturbing him.

[midship]

Guilt will settle on him in the morning. Rage at himself, at his own foolishness, will consume his quiet reflection when he's been left properly alone.

For now, Horatio melts with relief into the comfort of James's gentle kiss.

His fingers have to keep clinging tight to what fabric he can catch hold of. His face has to press into the warmth of the body close beside him.

His mind will drift into unconsciousness again, safe in the knowledge that he hasn't lost the new place he'd come to call 'home.'