Harboured and Encompassed, Chapter 21
Title: Harboured and Encompassed
Author: BBCPhile
Chapter: 21/25
Word Count: 3073
Pairing: Horatio Hornblower/Archie Kennedy
AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9135700/chapters/24185595
Trigger warnings: Blood, violence, and stalking
Horatio sat down in the Indy and turned on the ignition. His heart twinged as he looked back over his shoulder at the flat. Perhaps he should go back inside to make sure Archie was still alright--
He shook his head. He could be far more help to Archie with this short errand than he would be if he hovered over him, trying to gauge his breathing, his pupil size, his anxiety level--
Surely Archie must be going mad with his overprotective tendencies.
Horatio took a deep breath and started driving. He should grab some clothes and Archie’s Xanax as well, just to be safe. It wouldn’t add any time at all. The blue duffle bag was in Archie’s closet. The pills were in the medicine cabinet. The clothes were in the dresser opposite the bed. No need to bring spare pyjamas, toothbrush, or razor. It would only take a few minutes to run in, grab everything, and run out. He would be back home and by Archie’s side in under half an hour.
Horatio gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly. So much could happen in half an hour. What if Archie had another panic attack? Or a seizure? What if Archie wasn’t able to call Jack? Or didn’t try? Or if he did call, and Jack came, but was utterly useless? The coffee table was still out of the way in the kitchen, so there was a space for Archie to lie down on the floor, but what if Jack couldn’t cope with the recovery position? What if Archie stopped breathing?
Horatio drove a little faster. Archie needed the medication. It was the only way to keep him safe. If it was a race against the clock, then that's the way it had to be. And defeat was not an option.
A red light. Horatio glared at the offending traffic light and tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. This was fine. It was only a short delay. He’d get back before anything horrible could --
Archie, backed up against the Caird’s desk, eyes wide with terror. Simpson, looming over him, gripping his shoulder, his face only a hair’s breadth away--
Horatio flinched as the memory slammed into his mind and shook his head, trying to push it away. What would have happened if he hadn’t walked into the room and interrupted them?
No. He had come back in time then, and he would now, too.
The light changed, and he started driving again.
But Archie seemed more worried for Horatio than for himself. Did he really think that Simpson would have tracked down his address? That hardly seemed logical. The library was a much more likely spot for a confrontation.
And if he did run into Simpson, he’d run or hide. He had promised Archie. It’s not as though he would be much good at fighting: his fencing skills would be worthless here and he’d never tried to punch anyone before.
Archie’s face, frozen in terror, his eyes glassy and unseeing. Archie, curled in a ball on the floor of the men’s room, trying not to sob as though his heart were breaking. Archie, lips turning blue, his unconscious body arching off the floor as every muscle clenched.
Horatio narrowed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel more tightly. Suddenly, putting his fist through the bastard’s face didn’t seem so daunting.
Horatio pulled up in front of Archie’s building and parked the Indy. He looked at his mobile: 8:20. He needed to be back at the car by 8:30. He could do this.
He got out and started walking toward the staircase, his walk gradually turning into a run as he got closer. He got out his key, then paused in front of the door as a new plan came to him.
He put the key ring back in his pocket and knocked on the door to the left of Archie’s instead. After a few moments, Hannah opened it, looking bleary-eyed, her long blond hair pulled back in a messy low ponytail and wearing an oversized sleepshirt. She took one look at his face and was instantly alert.
“What’s wrong, Horatio?” She craned her head to look on either side of him. “Where’s Archie?”
“He’s at my flat. He--” Horatio paused and took a deep breath, fighting off his guilty conscience. “He has a stalker. His name is Jack Simpson. He followed Archie here from uni and showed up to terrorise him at the library yesterday.”
“Oh, God.”
Horatio nodded. “And he’s--” Horatio struggled to choose a word that wouldn’t completely betray Archie’s trust, “dangerous,” he finally decided.
Hannah’s eyes flashed, then narrowed. “Do you have a picture? I’d like to report him to the police if he shows his face.”
Horatio shook his head. “There wasn’t time. But if you see a tall, thin, unfamiliar man hanging about, call me, call the police, and call Archie, and tell him not to leave the flat.”
Hannah nodded. “Understood.”
“Thanks for your help.” Horatio nodded and turned to go.
“Wait!” Horatio stopped and turned around. “Does Archie know you’re telling me this?”
Horatio stilled, swallowed his guilt, then shook his head.
“Tell him. He needs to know that someone else has his back.” She paused, bit her lip, then continued. “I know a little something about problems like this. Tell him that if he wants to talk, if there’s anything I can do, he can always call or knock.”
Horatio nodded.
“And in future, if there’s another emergency, you can always give me a call, ask me to grab things for him. That way, you don’t have to leave him with someone else.”
Horatio’s stomach clenched with a guilty twist.
“Archie told me where the spare key is in case he had a seizure and the paramedics needed to get in; you knew that, right?”
Horatio cursed internally. How had he forgotten that?
Hannah sighed. “Archie’s alone in your flat, isn’t he?”
Horatio’s anguished expression was answer enough.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Go get what you need. Call me when you get back. Keep me updated.”
Horatio nodded and walked away, focusing on putting one foot in front of another. He had needless endangered Archie, and all because he couldn’t stand to sit by and do nothing. What if Archie had had another seizure and hadn’t gotten help? What if he was d--
No. He was not even going to entertain that possibility.
As he unlocked the door, his hand drifted to his phone. He could call Archie, just to double-check that he was safe. He shook his head and pulled his hand away again. It would only slow him down. He didn’t have the luxury of time.
He stormed through the kitchen and into the bathroom. He flung open the medicine cabinet and found the prescription bottles. He grabbed them from the shelf, closed the cabinet door, and hurried into the bedroom.
He opened up the closet door. Pure chaos greeted him. How did Archie find anything on here? He dug around in a pile of suitcases and bags for the blue duffle bag, before he found it at last, wedged in the back corner next to the laundry bag, and tossed it on the bed. He yanked open dresser drawers and grabbed the first shirts, shorts, and boxers he saw. There was no time to try to remember which combinations Archie frequently used.
Everything packed, he glanced once more around the room. What had had missed? His eyes fell on Archie’s phone charger, its cord draped over the nightstand and running alongside two items Horatio had never seen before: a Shakespearean teddy bear, complete with Renaissance garb, a quill pen in one hand and a bundle of plays in the other, sat placidly on the nightstand, its green velvet hat a little faded and worn, and a printed photo lay propped up in its lap. Horatio picked up the photo to get a closer look: it was of the two of them.
Horatio glared at the mound of monographs in front of him on the dining room table. It had been three hours and he still couldn’t find the one reference he needed to finish this footnote. His jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly, his temple throbbed, and he felt the overwhelming urge to throw his books across the room in frustration.
Archie’s quiet chuckle carried from the other end of the table. He glanced up to see Archie watching him with an amused smile on his face, leaning back in his chair, his book lying open and forgotten in front of him.
“What?” Horatio grouched.
Archie stood up, shaking his head, the smile still playing on his lips, and walked to Horatio’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Scoot your chair back?”
Horatio raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Archie rolled his eyes. “Just do it, Horatio.”
Horatio sighed and pushed his chair back, wincing as the scratching noise it made on the tiles reverberated in his pounding skull. “There. Now, what was so--”
He cut himself off as Archie plopped down in his lap, draped his arms around him, and held him tightly, running his hand up and down his back.
After a minute, Horatio felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders start to unclench.
“There,” Archie murmured. “Much better.” He shifted and moved his hands up to Horatio’s temple and started gently massaging the tension away.
Horatio made a soft whimper of pleasure as the muscles around his eyes started to relax. He leaned into the contact, resting his head against Archie’s chest.
Archie chuckled quietly and shifted closer to improve the angle.“You shouldn’t work so hard, Horatio,” he murmured. “I think these muscle knots are trying to apply for permanent residency.”
Horatio rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Archie, just a headache.”
Gentle lips pressed against his temple, before fingers took over again. “It’s not fine if it’s hurting you. And what’ll you do next semester, when I’m off at filming? Ask Will to take over this task?”
Horatio huffed out a laugh. “Hardly.”
“Oh, he’s not good at giving massages, is he?”
Horatio rolled his eyes again. “I wouldn’t know. He’s not exactly a . . . tactile person.”
Archie’s hands shifted to start massaging his neck and shoulders. “Well, his loss, then.”
They lapsed into silence as Archie worked away on a particularly stubborn knot. After a moment, Archie sighed. “I’m going to miss this,” he murmured.
Horatio pressed his lips together, and braced himself to ask the question he’d been putting off for over a week. “Will you be back to visit?”
Archie’s hands paused. “I’ll try. It depends on the filming schedule. But . . . you could always come visit me. I could see about getting you a behind-the-scenes pass, meet the rest of the cast. I know you don’t like flying, but, maybe with some Kwells, it might not be so bad. And . . . and I don’t much fancy the idea of going for three months without seeing you.” He chuckled quietly, then shifted to run his fingers through Horatio’s curls. “Even a day seems like far too long, actually.”
Horatio swallowed as he pulled back to look into Archie’s eyes. “Are you sure I wouldn’t . . . be in the way?”
Archie rolled his eyes. “Horatio, you could never be in the way. I want to spend time with you.” His amused expression softened into something so affectionate it made Horatio’s heart ache. “As much time as possible, in fact.”
Horatio started to smile as a sense of warmth suffused him from head to toe. It didn’t make any sense-Archie was charming and handsome and confident and was about to be famous-but somehow, Archie somehow wanted this-wanted them--to continue past the summer as much as he did! He’d have plenty of time to worry about the logistics later. All that mattered for the moment was that Archie was in his arms, beaming at him like that. Anything in the future would be manageable with Archie by his side. “I’d like that.”
Archie grinned so widely the sun paled in comparison. “Then it’s settled. We’ll find a way.” He leaned in for a kiss, then paused and pulled back, a faint frown on his face.
“Hang on,” Archie said, fumbling in his pocket for his mobile. “I don’t have any pictures of us yet. Do you mind?”
Horatio hesitated. He hated having his picture taken and always tried avoiding looking at photographs of himself at all costs, but, strangely enough, right now, he didn’t seem to object. He smiled and shook his head. “Go ahead.”
Archie beamed again. “Alright then!” He leaned in, their cheeks touching as he held Horatio close, then stuck his mobile in front of them, slightly higher than eye level. “On the count of three! One . . . two . . . three!”
A click, followed by Archie’s bright smile as he looked at the result on his phone. “All set. And I think we’ve done enough work for one day. What do you say we take the evening off?”
Then, warm, loving lips met his once more.
Horatio blinked, coming out of the memory with a crash. Had that only been last week? It seemed almost impossible that they could have gone from carefree laughing and smiling, feeling optimistic about to future, to -- well, to this in so short a time. Would it ever be like that again?
Horatio cursed himself internally. He was losing valuable time reminiscing when Archie needed him. He could think about everything else later, when he was back at home. He grabbed the charger and shoved it in the duffle, hesitated for a moment, then stuck the bear and the photo in as well. Perhaps they would cheer Archie up.
He took one last hurried glance around, then zipped up the duffle, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out of the flat, closing the door behind him.
It was time to go home.
He put the key in the lock and turned it. Soon Archie would be safe in his arms again, and this nightmare would be over. If he broke the speed limit on the way home, he could shave a minute or two off his return trip, and be there in--
“Hello, snotty.”
That voice. Horatio whipped around, hoping against hope that he was wrong.
He wasn't.
Slowly, deliberately, Jack Simpson stepped out of the shadows of the stairway and walked towards him. Simpson looked him up and down, narrowing his eyes as he took in the duffle bag and the key to Archie’s flat in his hand.
“Where is he?” Simpson asked, dripping with affected nonchalance.
“He’s not here,” Horatio managed through gritted teeth.
“So I see,” Simpson said, taking another step. “Hence the question. Don't make me ask again.”
Horatio’s mind was racing a mile a minute. He didn’t have time to unlock the door, Simpson was blocking the stairwell so he couldn't run to the car, and even if he did, he couldn't go home without leading him to Archie. There was nowhere to run.
“I’m not going to let you hurt him.”
Simpson shook his head. “You have something that belongs to me,” he said, advancing another step. “I want it back.”
Horatio’s attention, which had been split as he tried to come up with a plan, suddenly snapped together again in white hot anger.
“He does not belong to anyone. Now get off his property before I call the police.” He pulled his mobile out of his pocket for Simpson to see.
Simpson sighed. “Ah, snotty. So righteous. So idealistic. No wonder he likes you. But unfortunately--” he knocked the mobile out of Horatio’s hands--” you have no power here. Now,” he said, taking a final step towards Horatio, backing him up against the door, “tell me where that cowering whore is, or I’ll--”
Horatio’s fists had connected with Simpson’s nose before he realised what he was doing.
Simpson reeled back, clutching his face, his eyes wide with shock. Then surprise changed to fury, and his eyes narrowed to livid slits as he stormed towards Horatio. “You’ll regret that,” he yelled.
Horatio tried to make a break for the stairs, but Simpson grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back against the door to Archie’s flat. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, as he pinned him down. “Time to teach you some manners.” He drew his arm back.
Horatio’s eyes closed involuntarily and he braced himself. Nothing could prepare him for the sickening crunch and jarring sensation that rattled his teeth and brain as Simpson's fist collided with his nose. He spluttered as blood started to gush from his face and to trickle down his throat. His eyes were watering too much for him to see.
A second later, a fist slammed into his solar plexus, driving all the air from his lungs and forcing him to his knees. He tried to suck air in, to make his lungs inflate, but nothing happened.
Before he had time to panic, fingers clenched around his hair at the roots and pulled. He barely registered the pain before the carpeted stairwell was coming toward his face.
“He’s MINE, you bastard, MINE!” Simpson yelled.
Then the ground stopped moving, and the talons let go of his hair. Horatio almost sobbed with relief.
Then he screamed. Pain shot through his arm, the likes of which he had only experienced as a child after falling out of the tree in their front yard.
Simpson removed his booted foot.
“Last chance, snotty. Tell me where he--”
A metallic clang. A thump. Then silence.
“Horatio! Horatio, it's Hannah. Talk to me!”
Gentle fingers touched his wrist.
“Simpson?” he gritted out.
“Unconscious. Handy things, fire extinguishers. The police are on their way. Ambulance, too.”
Horatio grunted in acknowledgement. The world was spinning harder now, even with his eyes closed.
“Archie?” he groaned.
“I’ll call him. He can meet us at hospital.”
“Must --- take -- his medication,” Horatio managed. He couldn't tell the difference between ground and sky anymore.
A faint, wet sounding chuckle. “I’ll make sure of it. He’ll be fine, Horatio. So will you. Rest now, it’s--”
The ringing sound became louder, and everything went black.