[for his_majestys_navy ] L'Allemande - Pecour ["1801"]

[midship]

By and large, things have been going surprisingly well. The rhythm of the fort is becoming natural. The new names and faces are morphing into men he trusts with his life. The land is beginning to feel like half a home, punctuated with the odd reassuring touch of a stretch at sea. Best of all, the chain of command feels solid in his chest again--proper, solid; absolutely worth throwing his life down for.

Then comes the first invitation.

At sea, it had been easier to ignore the fact that most of his brother officers had come from a much higher rung on the social ladder. Out in the brine, after all, everyone's uniform began to grow threadbare. Everyone's diet was eventually forced to the same hard meal and cheap liquor. Everyone bled and screamed and died on the same planks of wood.

On land, it's easier to see who sends their uniforms away and who mends things themselves. It's easier to see who's spent their lives eating on fine china and who feels the delicacy of even sitting in a comfortable chair. Worst of all by far, on such a small island, it's impossible to avoid the slowly closing noose of high society.

Horatio is still reeling as he wanders along the now-familiar halls of the fort. The young women had been painfully insistent, like an irrepressible gale which threatened to swamp him where he stood. The other officers had handled the encounter manfully, cheerful and gracious and just a the right touch of suggestive to have the women tittering with glee. It should have been enough that the actual lords among them had agreed, but the women insisted--and the fact he had fumbled through an agreement sits now like a stone in his stomach.

The Commodore will know what to do. With any luck, 'what to do' will be to immediately send him off to sea.

Comments

[midship]

Well, that certainly bleeds the concentration right out of Horatio.

It still feels just a hair bold to meet the older man's gaze, but the lieutenant's eyes snap to the commodore's in an instant. Perhaps it's a painfully small thing, to have this man's undivided attention for a few lingering moments--but God, the wicked little places in his heart utterly crave it.

Breaking his concentration does immediately bring his foot down onto James's. Happily, the abject horror of complete embarrassment over it is sufficient distraction to stop him from saying anything painfully ridiculous. "--hm."

[his_majestys_navy]

James' own answering smile is cut short, ended far before it's time as the foot hits his own. It's not the heaviest of steps, nor is it done in the heaviest of boots. It's plainly accidental, and it might well be James' own fault.

Too forward. Dancing is quite bad enough, but speaking so obviously about avoiding an engagement to spend time with another man, another officer, behind closed doors? Utterly unthinkable.

Although it proves a point. "I think... more practice is certainly required."

[midship]

Seeing that rare smile vanish is always a bit of a dull, prickling pain. For once, Horatio can't quite dwell on the loss.

It's too overwhelming to think of stealing moments like this, with delicate contact and soft expressions. It's too fragile to let himself blunder through. (It's too difficult to hold himself back from leaning in against James's shoulder for a heartbeat, snug and perfectly content, a hair's breadth from the noose.)

"If it's-- required, sir."

Or if the commodore simply asked it of him, or hinted vaguely that it wouldn't be too much trouble.

[his_majestys_navy]

James feels that gentle pressure, the momentary bliss of warmth that spreads from Horatio to himself. He should not find himself so inclined to lingering there, but there is something that encourages him to stay. It's something in Horatio's stance, something more at ease than he thinks he has ever known him to be on land before.

"It most certainly seems to be."

Required, or perhaps desired.

"But we may need to cut our lesson short for this evening. We have duties to attend to. Perhaps... tomorrow night."

[midship]

There's no hardship in returning to his proper duties. Horatio had always been more than pleased to serve, no matter the hurts and terrors and incredibly cruelties which so often accompanied the service.

Still, leaving a moment alone with this man always disappoints something buried deep in his core.

"Tomorrow night, then."

Boldness at sea is natural enough. Boldness on shore takes something more. Whatever it is jolts through Horatio briefly as he takes a step back, prompting him to bring the commodore's hand to his lips as he half-bows.

It's almost simple respect. Almost.

[his_majestys_navy]

The press of lips is a surprise, one that tugs a smile onto the Commodore's mouth before he has any chance to control it. He shouldn't feel a rush of pleasure, or be so charmed by such a gesture.

But he is.

"I'll look forward to it, Horatio."

Is the use of the man's first name too much? No, not if the way his heart beats in his chest is any indication. Dangerous, but not as bold as a kiss.

"Perhaps supper afterwards."

[midship]

Nothing comes close to James Norrington smiling at him, startled but utterly pleased. Nothing comes close to the man gently speaking his given name.

"As you wish."

Pulling himself away is difficult--although less difficult than having to throw himself into a dance with women whose names he barely knew and who all seemed to be in on some lovely little secret he would never understand. With luck, at least, the memory of being smiled at and the lovely promise of more time together with the man he admired most in the world.