Harboured and Encompassed
Happy 2017! In case any of you are in the mood for a long fic to sink your teeth into, I've written a 120,000 word modern AU (but don't worry, it still has plenty of Age of Sail goodness!), and I started posting it on AO3 today! See below for details! Hope you enjoy it!
Title: Harboured and Encompassed
Author: BBCPhile
Chapter: 1/25
Word Count: 3300
Pairing: Horatio Hornblower/Archie Kennedy
AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9135700/chapters/20759302
Summary: All Horatio wanted from his internship at the National Maritime Museum’s special collections was some time alone with the Nelson-era naval manuscripts. He didn’t expect to fall in love with one of the library patrons, an exuberant, confident actor about to make his film debut in a Napoleonic naval period piece.
All Archie wanted was to leave the nightmare of RADA and Simpson far behind, and to start preparing for the role that would change his life. The last thing he expected was to fall for an adorably gangly, social awkward naval history nerd who worked the special collections desk.
But how do you navigate a new relationship when the past won’t stay in the past?
NOTES: This modern AU’s plot loosely incorporates and adapts elements from the first six movies, and Horatio's characterization combines elements from the books and the movies. The fic addresses recovering from the trauma of rape, but there will be no scenes of rape included in the story, and the rapes in question happen before the narrative begins. Do what you need to do feel safe while reading.
Trigger Warnings for this chapter:
Epileptic seizure
Chapter 1:
“And when those patrons bring back their materials, make sure nothing’s damaged, mark the item as returned in the system, and give them back their ID. Have you got that?”
“Damage, mark, ID. Yes, sir, I think so,” Horatio replied, his head spinning from his morning of rapid-fire instructions. He had assumed the first day of his summer internship would have been more . . . well, quiet, really. He had imagined filling out paperwork, or maybe watching a video about proper protocol for handling some of the more delicate items in the archives. He hadn’t realized that, four hours into working at the National Maritime Museum’s Caird Library, he would have been shown how to create new Reader’s Tickets, how to check items out and in, how to search the archive, how to fill out his timecard, how to sign off for a lunch break, and what to do when the camera crashed, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember what Mr. Matthews had said about the swords. And it seemed he would be mostly helping library patrons instead of sharing his solitude with the archival materials. He wasn’t cut out for customer service. There were far too many people involved. To make matters worse, Mr. Matthews was still imparting wisdom to his inattentive trainee.
“ -and the umbrellas. Sneaky little buggers, they are. Always check for ‘em, and make sure they’re in the cloakroom where they belong,” Mr. Matthews concluded.
“Of . . . of course, sir,” Horatio stuttered. “Umbrellas. Cloakroom. Naturally.”
“That’s the spirit, lad!” Mr. Matthews said. “You do all that, and you’ll be just fine. I’ll be back around 1500 hours; it’s usually near dead this time of day, so you shouldn’t have any interruptions. If anything does come up, mind, give me a ring. The number’s written down next to the phone.”
“Y. . . yes, sir. See you at 3 . . . I mean, 1500 hours, Mr. Matthews,” Horatio called out as his mentor hastily left the building. Horatio dropped onto the stool behind the desk and closed his eyes with a sigh as he relished the sudden silence after his frantic day. His temples throbbed, and he rubbed them to dull the pain. At least he would have an hour to himself to recover.
“Excuse me? Is this where I get a Reader’s Ticket?”
Horatio’s eyes shot open and he stumbled to his feet, toppling his stool over in the process with a resounding clang. “M . . . my apologies!” Horatio said as he bent over to right the stool. He was already mucking it all up, and this was only his first patron. “How can I help you?” he asked as he straightened up, smiled, and hoped that a professional demeanour could salvage this disaster.
Two extremely blue eyes in a very amused face put paid to that plan. “I called ahead about a Reader’s Ticket for the summer? My name’s Archie Kennedy.”
Horatio racked his brains: had Mr. Matthews said anything about expecting someone? It didn’t sound familiar, but, between his headache and current level of embarrassment, he couldn’t rule it out. He quickly glanced around at the surface of the information desk in front of him to see if a note in Matthews’ scrawl would helpfully provide him with the necessary details. Unfortunately, he had no such luck. He would have to improvise.
He looked back up at the young man in front of him--how were his eyes so blue?--before mentally shaking himself and following the protocol Matthews had taught him earlier that day. “Welcome to the Caird Library, Mr. Kennedy. Do you have your two forms of identification?”
The young man looked particularly amused at the formality of the question. “Why, yes I do,” he replied with a barely suppressed smirk as he handed over his passport and bank statement with a flourish.
Horatio took the documents, willing his hands not to shake and reveal his nervousness. He opened up the passport and peered at the picture inside. He had always assumed that passport photos made everyone look as though they had been dead for years, but this man was remarkably photogenic. The light caught his blond hair, producing a veritable halo around his face, and his smile was--well, the only possible word was radiant.
“Does everything meet with your approval?” The posh, slightly smug voice cut through Horatio’s stupor and spurred him into action.
“Er, yes, quite.” Horatio shook his head to clear it, switched over to the bank statement to type the address into their computer system, then handed the papers back. “Everything looks in order.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Archie said with a grin. “For a second there, I was worried you weren’t going to give them back. They’re the only identification I brought with me!”
Horatio cursed himself silently and wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment. Sadly, he didn’t think he could escape that easily.
“Erm, it’s my first day here. I’m still . . . learning the ropes, as it were.”
Archie’s grin became tempered with sympathy. “And they’ve already left you at the desk to fend for yourself? Abandoned you to the whims of maniacal patrons?”
Horatio attempted a smile that had more in common with a grimace. “Something like that,” he admitted. “But they did instruct me on the protocol for creating patron accounts. The next step is for me to take your picture for the Reader’s Ticket. Unfortunately, this camera and I are not on the best of terms, so I’d appreciate it if you could hold off on any maniacal plans until after I’ve had a row with it.”
Archie stared unblinking at Horatio for a second, before bursting out laughing.
Horatio froze and wished the ground would swallow him. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. “Could you just pretend none of this ever happened? Or you could come in again and we’d go through it a second time without me mucking the whole thing up?”
“That would be a shame,” Archie said, still chuckling. “This conversation has been the highlight of my day! But I’m about to have lots of experience doing second and third takes of things, so I’m happy to get an early start. Shall I just exit stage left, and we’ll try again?” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the entrance.
Horatio looked quizzically at Archie, who shrugged. “I’m an actor,” he explained. “Or, about to be. My first professional gig starts filming in September: it’s a period piece, set during the Napoleonic war. I’m here researching--ship life, the British navy, those sorts of things--to get into character!”
That explained the passport photo. “Oh . . . erm, congratulations! You’ve come to the right place, then!” he said eventually, kicking himself again for his inability to converse like a normal person. “Do you know what materials you’d like to see first?”
Archie’s smile flickered, but returned to its normal wattage almost immediately as he retrieved a list from the back pocket of his jeans. Archie’s remarkably snug jeans. Horatio blinked and forced his eyes back to Archie --- Mr. Kennedy’s face as he tried to look the part of a morally-upstanding intern instead of the failure he was.
“Well, I thought I’d start with John Norrie’s The Epitome of Practical Navigation, ” Archie said, consulting his list, “but I’m open to suggestions. Any tips?”
This, he could do. “That would give you a fair amount of information about period-appropriate navigation techniques, but some people find it rather dry and heavy on maths. As for other reading materials, I suppose it depends on who your character is. We have diaries from ship surgeons and chaplains, some letters from the lower decks and people who were pressed into service, and some log books from midshipmen and lieutenants. We even have some letters from Nelson himself!”
Archie’s face lit up. “Brilliant! My character is a lieutenant, so I suppose I should start with relevant letters or log books from officers, and then move on from there.”
Horatio grinned. Maybe he wouldn’t disgrace the War Studies department after all. “Excellent! We’ll just finish your Reader’s Ticket, and then I’ll show you how to request materials. Let’s try that picture, then.”
Archie nodded. “Right! Where do you want me?”
Horatio’s brain ground to a screeching halt.
Archie raised an eyebrow. “For the picture?” he asked, the corners of his mouth rising with his inflection.
Horatio’s brain started up again with a lurch. What the hell was wrong with him? “Right! Of course! Erm, could you stand just there, please?” he asked, pointing to the tape line on the ground half a metre in front of the desk. It was already lined up with the camera to minimize error. All he had to do was click the mouse to take the picture. Surely it would go better than last time?
Archie nodded again and walked over to stand behind the line. “I’ll try to make it as painless as possible for you,” he said, his eyes dancing. And then, like a switch had been flipped, he grinned at the camera, his smile as wide as it had been in the passport photo. Horatio had to remind himself to breathe. “Like this?”
Horatio blinked, looked the at image the camera was sending to the computer screen, swallowed, and nodded. “Erm, yes. That . . . will do nicely.” He clicked the mouse.
Nothing happened.
Horatio stared at the computer as though he could force it into submission with the sheer power of his will.
Nothing happened.
“We seem to be . . . experiencing technical difficulties,” Horatio said through gritted teeth.
Archie looked like he wanted to laugh but was exercising restraint. “Well, you did promise me a row with the camera, so in a way, it’s all going to plan,” he said with a smile and a shrug. Then he walked up to the desk, resting his arms on it and peering over the top. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” he asked with a grin and, inexplicably, an Irish accent.
Horatio raised an eyebrow at him.
“Oh, it’s from the IT Crowd. Great show! Good advice, too!”
That explanation hadn’t helped clarify matters at all.
After a moment, Archie’s face fell. “You aren’t having a very good day, are you? How can I help?”
Horatio raised an eyebrow. “Any chance you can perform exorcisms on electronics?”
Archie looked surprised for a moment, then chuckled. “I’m afraid not. I seem to have left my holy water in my other pair of trousers. Anything else you need?”
Horatio shook his head. “Just need your patience while I reboot this blasted thing.”
Archie nodded. “Of course! At least it’ll make your first day memorable?” he offered with an apologetic grin.
Horatio rolled his eyes. “I could do with fewer memories and more smooth sailing,” he said, checking the status of the camera. “Ah, good. It’s back. Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards the tape line.
“We shall!” Archie said, dipping his head in mock-formal acknowledgement. He returned to the tape line. “Fire as you bear,” he called out, his grin back in full-force.
Horatio prayed with all his might to a God he didn’t really believe in that this damn camera would cooperate and put an end to his humiliating errors. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and clicked the mouse.
A picture of Archie appeared on his screen that looked more suited to a magazine cover than to a library card. Horatio’s mouth was suddenly dry.
“It worked,” he managed.
To Horatio’s astonishment, Archie’s grin somehow became even brighter.
“The day is yours, sir!” Archie said, walking towards the desk.
Horatio found himself smiling along with him. “Yes, I’m sure they’ll add this tale of my exploits to the exhibit any day now.” He hit some buttons, and the card began to print. “While we wait for the Reader’s Ticket, I’ll go ahead and place a request for some of the letters and journals.” A sudden realization made him hesitate. “Oh . . . can you read 18th century handwriting?”
Archie’s eyes widened, and his tongue skated across the surface of his lower lip. “Is it really that different?”
“Well, the long ‘s’ can give people trouble. And spellings weren’t standardized. And the contracted words and abbreviations can take some time to get used to. But if you’re comfortable with modern cursive, you should more or less be able to mostly muddle through.”
Archie frowned. “And if I’m not?”
“Well, the modern monographs on the British navy won’t present a problem, but the journals, log books, and letters certainly would. I suppose . . . that is . . . if you wanted, I could . . . er . . . if you need help . . .” Horatio paused, shook his head, took a breath, clasped his hands behind his back, and tried again. “I’m writing a thesis on British naval strategy during the Napoleonic wars, so I’ve spent a fair bit of time deciphering 18th century handwriting. If you want, I’d be happy to help you make sense of some of these texts . . . when I’m not needed elsewhere, that is.”
What was he doing, making this offer to a stranger, who probably had better things to do with his time than spend it with a tall, gangly fool more at home with books than people?
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your own research, or distract you, or get you into trouble with your new job, but, if that’s a genuine offer, then yes! Absolutely!”
Horatio felt weak-kneed with relief. “Yes! Yes, it’s a genuine offer. It would be my pleasure, in fact!”
Archie’s grin was now positively incandescent. “You’ve saved my summer . . . .” Archie trailed off, his smile fading slightly. “Oh, you haven’t told me your name yet!”
This was Horatio’s least favorite part of meeting people. “Oh. Er, it’s Horatio. H . . Horatio Hornblower.”
Archie raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? Horatio, as in, Horatio Nelson?”
Horatio sighed. “Yes, really.”
Archie tipped his head to the side as he shrugged with a smile. “Then I suppose you chose an appropriate subject to be passionate about.”
Horatio blinked in surprise. “Er, quite. That’s . . . not the reaction I usually receive,” he admitted.
Archie laughed. “I can imagine. But, seeing as my first name is Archibald, I would be the worst of hypocrites if I said anything else. So, Horatio, wh--” He frowned suddenly as a loud buzzing filled the silence.
“Oh, shit! I thought I turned that thing off.” Archie dug his phone out of his back pocket with an apologetic smile. “Let me just--” Archie abruptly stopped talking as he stood transfixed by the message lighting up his phone’s screen. Horatio watched as the colour drained from Archie’s face, and his new friend became completely motionless. Then, his hands began to shake.
Horatio had never seen such a sudden change in someone before, and his limited experience with friends hadn’t prepared him for this. But he had to do something. “ . . . . Archie? . . . Archie? Are you alright?” he asked. His own fingers started to flex and fidget as he restrained himself from running to Archie’s side. Years of watching his father practice medicine had given him a mental checklist that he ran through automatically whenever he saw someone in distress, and it wasn’t in his nature to sit on the sidelines.
Archie jerked to awareness and glanced at Horatio, although, for some reason, he couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. “What? Oh . . . yes. Fi . . . fine. Um, I . . . I’ve got to make a call,” he stuttered. He glanced frantically around him like a cornered animal, spotted the exit, and walked quickly out of the room, his shoulders hunching in further towards his chest with every step.
Horatio started to follow him, but stopped on the other side of the desk. Archie obviously didn’t want to confide in him. He should honour his desire for privacy. But how should he act when Archie returned? Should he say something? Pretend nothing had happened? No one had covered this in his training this morning. He belatedly realized he had been pacing for the past minute as he turned this over in his mind. What would Archie think if he came in while Horatio was fretting like this? Horatio forced himself sit down and resorted to rapidly drumming his fingers on the table. He waited, glancing furtively to the clock on the wall every few seconds.
After five minutes and twenty-five seconds, Archie returned, looking a mess. His eyes were unfocused, his eyelids were fluttering, his hair was mussed, his breathing was unnervingly shallow, and he was almost vibrating with tension.
Horatio cleared his throat. “. . . . Hello. Welcome back. Is . . . . is everything alright?”
Archie dragged his face up to look at Horatio, his glassy eyes going right through him. “Hmm? Oh. Yes. Fine.” Archie then cast a feeble smile in his direction before staring at the floor. It was not a convincing performance.
Horatio opened his mouth to call his bluff, and then paused. They had only just exchanged names! What right did he have to press for details? “Oh . . . alright. Good! . . . Good.” He cast about frantically for something to say. “Er, would you like me to put in a request for some of those journals or letters I’d mentioned earlier?”
Archie didn’t respond or even look in his direction.
“ . . . Archie?”
Archie blinked slowly, shook his head sharply to clear it, then winced with his entire body. He staggered forward and caught himself on the desk, gripping it with both hands until his knuckles went white. He groaned and doubled over, pressing his forehead against his knuckles. He was becoming progressively more pale by the second and starting to tremble and sweat.
“ . . . Archie? What’s wrong?”
“Pre . . ictal . . . headache,” Archie gritted out. “Shit. Not now.”
“Pre-ictal . . . “ Horatio cast his memory back frantically to the summers spent in his father’s office. “That’s . . . epilepsy? No, it’s alright, you don’t need to talk. Raise one finger if that’s correct.”
Archie lifted a shaking index finger without looking up.
“Right, good. Let’s see . . .” Horatio took a deep breath and looked around the room. “There are pillows on the chair over by the window. I’m going to run and bring them here. I’ll be right back. 30 seconds.” He took off to the other side of the room, grabbed the four large pillows in his arms, and sprinted back. He dumped them unceremoniously on the floor and spread them out.
“Alright, Archie, the pillows are ready. Can you lie down?”
Archie tried to relinquish his hold on the desk, but clamped down on it again immediately with a shudder and a groan. He was shaking harder now. “Can’t . . . move,” he whispered.
Damn it all to hell. “Let me help? That will hurt less than hitting the floor.”
Archie gave a slight nod.
Horatio stepped up behind Archie so they were almost touching and reached one arm around his waist. Archie clutched Horatio’s hand like a drowning man would a Kisby ring and collapsed into his arms with a pained whimper. Horatio gently lowered Archie onto the pillows, then knelt by his side to the right of the makeshift bed. Archie maintained his vice-like grip on Horatio.
“There. It’s alright. Can I get you anything else? Any meds you need to take?” Horatio hoped desperately that he was doing a good job of being soothing.
Archie’s face was screwed up tightly in pain, and tears were starting to leak out of the corners of his eyes. He shook his head slightly.
Horatio felt his own eyes start to water in response. “I’ll be right here,” he whispered, and ran his thumb gently over Archie’s with what he hoped was a comforting stroke.
Archie opened his eyes. They met Horatio’s, and conveyed all his pain, fear, and something softer that Horatio couldn’t quite decipher.
Then, with a scream, Archie began to convulse.
Title: Harboured and Encompassed
Author: BBCPhile
Chapter: 1/25
Word Count: 3300
Pairing: Horatio Hornblower/Archie Kennedy
AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9135700/chapters/20759302
Summary: All Horatio wanted from his internship at the National Maritime Museum’s special collections was some time alone with the Nelson-era naval manuscripts. He didn’t expect to fall in love with one of the library patrons, an exuberant, confident actor about to make his film debut in a Napoleonic naval period piece.
All Archie wanted was to leave the nightmare of RADA and Simpson far behind, and to start preparing for the role that would change his life. The last thing he expected was to fall for an adorably gangly, social awkward naval history nerd who worked the special collections desk.
But how do you navigate a new relationship when the past won’t stay in the past?
NOTES: This modern AU’s plot loosely incorporates and adapts elements from the first six movies, and Horatio's characterization combines elements from the books and the movies. The fic addresses recovering from the trauma of rape, but there will be no scenes of rape included in the story, and the rapes in question happen before the narrative begins. Do what you need to do feel safe while reading.
Trigger Warnings for this chapter:
Epileptic seizure
Chapter 1:
“And when those patrons bring back their materials, make sure nothing’s damaged, mark the item as returned in the system, and give them back their ID. Have you got that?”
“Damage, mark, ID. Yes, sir, I think so,” Horatio replied, his head spinning from his morning of rapid-fire instructions. He had assumed the first day of his summer internship would have been more . . . well, quiet, really. He had imagined filling out paperwork, or maybe watching a video about proper protocol for handling some of the more delicate items in the archives. He hadn’t realized that, four hours into working at the National Maritime Museum’s Caird Library, he would have been shown how to create new Reader’s Tickets, how to check items out and in, how to search the archive, how to fill out his timecard, how to sign off for a lunch break, and what to do when the camera crashed, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember what Mr. Matthews had said about the swords. And it seemed he would be mostly helping library patrons instead of sharing his solitude with the archival materials. He wasn’t cut out for customer service. There were far too many people involved. To make matters worse, Mr. Matthews was still imparting wisdom to his inattentive trainee.
“ -and the umbrellas. Sneaky little buggers, they are. Always check for ‘em, and make sure they’re in the cloakroom where they belong,” Mr. Matthews concluded.
“Of . . . of course, sir,” Horatio stuttered. “Umbrellas. Cloakroom. Naturally.”
“That’s the spirit, lad!” Mr. Matthews said. “You do all that, and you’ll be just fine. I’ll be back around 1500 hours; it’s usually near dead this time of day, so you shouldn’t have any interruptions. If anything does come up, mind, give me a ring. The number’s written down next to the phone.”
“Y. . . yes, sir. See you at 3 . . . I mean, 1500 hours, Mr. Matthews,” Horatio called out as his mentor hastily left the building. Horatio dropped onto the stool behind the desk and closed his eyes with a sigh as he relished the sudden silence after his frantic day. His temples throbbed, and he rubbed them to dull the pain. At least he would have an hour to himself to recover.
“Excuse me? Is this where I get a Reader’s Ticket?”
Horatio’s eyes shot open and he stumbled to his feet, toppling his stool over in the process with a resounding clang. “M . . . my apologies!” Horatio said as he bent over to right the stool. He was already mucking it all up, and this was only his first patron. “How can I help you?” he asked as he straightened up, smiled, and hoped that a professional demeanour could salvage this disaster.
Two extremely blue eyes in a very amused face put paid to that plan. “I called ahead about a Reader’s Ticket for the summer? My name’s Archie Kennedy.”
Horatio racked his brains: had Mr. Matthews said anything about expecting someone? It didn’t sound familiar, but, between his headache and current level of embarrassment, he couldn’t rule it out. He quickly glanced around at the surface of the information desk in front of him to see if a note in Matthews’ scrawl would helpfully provide him with the necessary details. Unfortunately, he had no such luck. He would have to improvise.
He looked back up at the young man in front of him--how were his eyes so blue?--before mentally shaking himself and following the protocol Matthews had taught him earlier that day. “Welcome to the Caird Library, Mr. Kennedy. Do you have your two forms of identification?”
The young man looked particularly amused at the formality of the question. “Why, yes I do,” he replied with a barely suppressed smirk as he handed over his passport and bank statement with a flourish.
Horatio took the documents, willing his hands not to shake and reveal his nervousness. He opened up the passport and peered at the picture inside. He had always assumed that passport photos made everyone look as though they had been dead for years, but this man was remarkably photogenic. The light caught his blond hair, producing a veritable halo around his face, and his smile was--well, the only possible word was radiant.
“Does everything meet with your approval?” The posh, slightly smug voice cut through Horatio’s stupor and spurred him into action.
“Er, yes, quite.” Horatio shook his head to clear it, switched over to the bank statement to type the address into their computer system, then handed the papers back. “Everything looks in order.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Archie said with a grin. “For a second there, I was worried you weren’t going to give them back. They’re the only identification I brought with me!”
Horatio cursed himself silently and wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment. Sadly, he didn’t think he could escape that easily.
“Erm, it’s my first day here. I’m still . . . learning the ropes, as it were.”
Archie’s grin became tempered with sympathy. “And they’ve already left you at the desk to fend for yourself? Abandoned you to the whims of maniacal patrons?”
Horatio attempted a smile that had more in common with a grimace. “Something like that,” he admitted. “But they did instruct me on the protocol for creating patron accounts. The next step is for me to take your picture for the Reader’s Ticket. Unfortunately, this camera and I are not on the best of terms, so I’d appreciate it if you could hold off on any maniacal plans until after I’ve had a row with it.”
Archie stared unblinking at Horatio for a second, before bursting out laughing.
Horatio froze and wished the ground would swallow him. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. “Could you just pretend none of this ever happened? Or you could come in again and we’d go through it a second time without me mucking the whole thing up?”
“That would be a shame,” Archie said, still chuckling. “This conversation has been the highlight of my day! But I’m about to have lots of experience doing second and third takes of things, so I’m happy to get an early start. Shall I just exit stage left, and we’ll try again?” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the entrance.
Horatio looked quizzically at Archie, who shrugged. “I’m an actor,” he explained. “Or, about to be. My first professional gig starts filming in September: it’s a period piece, set during the Napoleonic war. I’m here researching--ship life, the British navy, those sorts of things--to get into character!”
That explained the passport photo. “Oh . . . erm, congratulations! You’ve come to the right place, then!” he said eventually, kicking himself again for his inability to converse like a normal person. “Do you know what materials you’d like to see first?”
Archie’s smile flickered, but returned to its normal wattage almost immediately as he retrieved a list from the back pocket of his jeans. Archie’s remarkably snug jeans. Horatio blinked and forced his eyes back to Archie --- Mr. Kennedy’s face as he tried to look the part of a morally-upstanding intern instead of the failure he was.
“Well, I thought I’d start with John Norrie’s The Epitome of Practical Navigation, ” Archie said, consulting his list, “but I’m open to suggestions. Any tips?”
This, he could do. “That would give you a fair amount of information about period-appropriate navigation techniques, but some people find it rather dry and heavy on maths. As for other reading materials, I suppose it depends on who your character is. We have diaries from ship surgeons and chaplains, some letters from the lower decks and people who were pressed into service, and some log books from midshipmen and lieutenants. We even have some letters from Nelson himself!”
Archie’s face lit up. “Brilliant! My character is a lieutenant, so I suppose I should start with relevant letters or log books from officers, and then move on from there.”
Horatio grinned. Maybe he wouldn’t disgrace the War Studies department after all. “Excellent! We’ll just finish your Reader’s Ticket, and then I’ll show you how to request materials. Let’s try that picture, then.”
Archie nodded. “Right! Where do you want me?”
Horatio’s brain ground to a screeching halt.
Archie raised an eyebrow. “For the picture?” he asked, the corners of his mouth rising with his inflection.
Horatio’s brain started up again with a lurch. What the hell was wrong with him? “Right! Of course! Erm, could you stand just there, please?” he asked, pointing to the tape line on the ground half a metre in front of the desk. It was already lined up with the camera to minimize error. All he had to do was click the mouse to take the picture. Surely it would go better than last time?
Archie nodded again and walked over to stand behind the line. “I’ll try to make it as painless as possible for you,” he said, his eyes dancing. And then, like a switch had been flipped, he grinned at the camera, his smile as wide as it had been in the passport photo. Horatio had to remind himself to breathe. “Like this?”
Horatio blinked, looked the at image the camera was sending to the computer screen, swallowed, and nodded. “Erm, yes. That . . . will do nicely.” He clicked the mouse.
Nothing happened.
Horatio stared at the computer as though he could force it into submission with the sheer power of his will.
Nothing happened.
“We seem to be . . . experiencing technical difficulties,” Horatio said through gritted teeth.
Archie looked like he wanted to laugh but was exercising restraint. “Well, you did promise me a row with the camera, so in a way, it’s all going to plan,” he said with a smile and a shrug. Then he walked up to the desk, resting his arms on it and peering over the top. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” he asked with a grin and, inexplicably, an Irish accent.
Horatio raised an eyebrow at him.
“Oh, it’s from the IT Crowd. Great show! Good advice, too!”
That explanation hadn’t helped clarify matters at all.
After a moment, Archie’s face fell. “You aren’t having a very good day, are you? How can I help?”
Horatio raised an eyebrow. “Any chance you can perform exorcisms on electronics?”
Archie looked surprised for a moment, then chuckled. “I’m afraid not. I seem to have left my holy water in my other pair of trousers. Anything else you need?”
Horatio shook his head. “Just need your patience while I reboot this blasted thing.”
Archie nodded. “Of course! At least it’ll make your first day memorable?” he offered with an apologetic grin.
Horatio rolled his eyes. “I could do with fewer memories and more smooth sailing,” he said, checking the status of the camera. “Ah, good. It’s back. Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards the tape line.
“We shall!” Archie said, dipping his head in mock-formal acknowledgement. He returned to the tape line. “Fire as you bear,” he called out, his grin back in full-force.
Horatio prayed with all his might to a God he didn’t really believe in that this damn camera would cooperate and put an end to his humiliating errors. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and clicked the mouse.
A picture of Archie appeared on his screen that looked more suited to a magazine cover than to a library card. Horatio’s mouth was suddenly dry.
“It worked,” he managed.
To Horatio’s astonishment, Archie’s grin somehow became even brighter.
“The day is yours, sir!” Archie said, walking towards the desk.
Horatio found himself smiling along with him. “Yes, I’m sure they’ll add this tale of my exploits to the exhibit any day now.” He hit some buttons, and the card began to print. “While we wait for the Reader’s Ticket, I’ll go ahead and place a request for some of the letters and journals.” A sudden realization made him hesitate. “Oh . . . can you read 18th century handwriting?”
Archie’s eyes widened, and his tongue skated across the surface of his lower lip. “Is it really that different?”
“Well, the long ‘s’ can give people trouble. And spellings weren’t standardized. And the contracted words and abbreviations can take some time to get used to. But if you’re comfortable with modern cursive, you should more or less be able to mostly muddle through.”
Archie frowned. “And if I’m not?”
“Well, the modern monographs on the British navy won’t present a problem, but the journals, log books, and letters certainly would. I suppose . . . that is . . . if you wanted, I could . . . er . . . if you need help . . .” Horatio paused, shook his head, took a breath, clasped his hands behind his back, and tried again. “I’m writing a thesis on British naval strategy during the Napoleonic wars, so I’ve spent a fair bit of time deciphering 18th century handwriting. If you want, I’d be happy to help you make sense of some of these texts . . . when I’m not needed elsewhere, that is.”
What was he doing, making this offer to a stranger, who probably had better things to do with his time than spend it with a tall, gangly fool more at home with books than people?
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your own research, or distract you, or get you into trouble with your new job, but, if that’s a genuine offer, then yes! Absolutely!”
Horatio felt weak-kneed with relief. “Yes! Yes, it’s a genuine offer. It would be my pleasure, in fact!”
Archie’s grin was now positively incandescent. “You’ve saved my summer . . . .” Archie trailed off, his smile fading slightly. “Oh, you haven’t told me your name yet!”
This was Horatio’s least favorite part of meeting people. “Oh. Er, it’s Horatio. H . . Horatio Hornblower.”
Archie raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? Horatio, as in, Horatio Nelson?”
Horatio sighed. “Yes, really.”
Archie tipped his head to the side as he shrugged with a smile. “Then I suppose you chose an appropriate subject to be passionate about.”
Horatio blinked in surprise. “Er, quite. That’s . . . not the reaction I usually receive,” he admitted.
Archie laughed. “I can imagine. But, seeing as my first name is Archibald, I would be the worst of hypocrites if I said anything else. So, Horatio, wh--” He frowned suddenly as a loud buzzing filled the silence.
“Oh, shit! I thought I turned that thing off.” Archie dug his phone out of his back pocket with an apologetic smile. “Let me just--” Archie abruptly stopped talking as he stood transfixed by the message lighting up his phone’s screen. Horatio watched as the colour drained from Archie’s face, and his new friend became completely motionless. Then, his hands began to shake.
Horatio had never seen such a sudden change in someone before, and his limited experience with friends hadn’t prepared him for this. But he had to do something. “ . . . . Archie? . . . Archie? Are you alright?” he asked. His own fingers started to flex and fidget as he restrained himself from running to Archie’s side. Years of watching his father practice medicine had given him a mental checklist that he ran through automatically whenever he saw someone in distress, and it wasn’t in his nature to sit on the sidelines.
Archie jerked to awareness and glanced at Horatio, although, for some reason, he couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. “What? Oh . . . yes. Fi . . . fine. Um, I . . . I’ve got to make a call,” he stuttered. He glanced frantically around him like a cornered animal, spotted the exit, and walked quickly out of the room, his shoulders hunching in further towards his chest with every step.
Horatio started to follow him, but stopped on the other side of the desk. Archie obviously didn’t want to confide in him. He should honour his desire for privacy. But how should he act when Archie returned? Should he say something? Pretend nothing had happened? No one had covered this in his training this morning. He belatedly realized he had been pacing for the past minute as he turned this over in his mind. What would Archie think if he came in while Horatio was fretting like this? Horatio forced himself sit down and resorted to rapidly drumming his fingers on the table. He waited, glancing furtively to the clock on the wall every few seconds.
After five minutes and twenty-five seconds, Archie returned, looking a mess. His eyes were unfocused, his eyelids were fluttering, his hair was mussed, his breathing was unnervingly shallow, and he was almost vibrating with tension.
Horatio cleared his throat. “. . . . Hello. Welcome back. Is . . . . is everything alright?”
Archie dragged his face up to look at Horatio, his glassy eyes going right through him. “Hmm? Oh. Yes. Fine.” Archie then cast a feeble smile in his direction before staring at the floor. It was not a convincing performance.
Horatio opened his mouth to call his bluff, and then paused. They had only just exchanged names! What right did he have to press for details? “Oh . . . alright. Good! . . . Good.” He cast about frantically for something to say. “Er, would you like me to put in a request for some of those journals or letters I’d mentioned earlier?”
Archie didn’t respond or even look in his direction.
“ . . . Archie?”
Archie blinked slowly, shook his head sharply to clear it, then winced with his entire body. He staggered forward and caught himself on the desk, gripping it with both hands until his knuckles went white. He groaned and doubled over, pressing his forehead against his knuckles. He was becoming progressively more pale by the second and starting to tremble and sweat.
“ . . . Archie? What’s wrong?”
“Pre . . ictal . . . headache,” Archie gritted out. “Shit. Not now.”
“Pre-ictal . . . “ Horatio cast his memory back frantically to the summers spent in his father’s office. “That’s . . . epilepsy? No, it’s alright, you don’t need to talk. Raise one finger if that’s correct.”
Archie lifted a shaking index finger without looking up.
“Right, good. Let’s see . . .” Horatio took a deep breath and looked around the room. “There are pillows on the chair over by the window. I’m going to run and bring them here. I’ll be right back. 30 seconds.” He took off to the other side of the room, grabbed the four large pillows in his arms, and sprinted back. He dumped them unceremoniously on the floor and spread them out.
“Alright, Archie, the pillows are ready. Can you lie down?”
Archie tried to relinquish his hold on the desk, but clamped down on it again immediately with a shudder and a groan. He was shaking harder now. “Can’t . . . move,” he whispered.
Damn it all to hell. “Let me help? That will hurt less than hitting the floor.”
Archie gave a slight nod.
Horatio stepped up behind Archie so they were almost touching and reached one arm around his waist. Archie clutched Horatio’s hand like a drowning man would a Kisby ring and collapsed into his arms with a pained whimper. Horatio gently lowered Archie onto the pillows, then knelt by his side to the right of the makeshift bed. Archie maintained his vice-like grip on Horatio.
“There. It’s alright. Can I get you anything else? Any meds you need to take?” Horatio hoped desperately that he was doing a good job of being soothing.
Archie’s face was screwed up tightly in pain, and tears were starting to leak out of the corners of his eyes. He shook his head slightly.
Horatio felt his own eyes start to water in response. “I’ll be right here,” he whispered, and ran his thumb gently over Archie’s with what he hoped was a comforting stroke.
Archie opened his eyes. They met Horatio’s, and conveyed all his pain, fear, and something softer that Horatio couldn’t quite decipher.
Then, with a scream, Archie began to convulse.