(no subject)
Horatio glowered down at the kite in his hands. It was certainly nothing the kite had done to sour his mood, nor could any bit of wood and coloured paper fill a man so with dread as Horatio was today.
No, that was all Archie. Or rather, the situation Archie found himself in, painful in a way which Horatio was bound by friendship to feel as his own. "He isn't going mad," Horatio muttered. Even if he was, the poor man would be well entitled to it, given all that Archie'd endured over the years, though this thought was unhappy enough that Horatio did not voice it aloud.
"He isn't. Every man meets his limit, sooner or later. He'll recover."
They'd searched the caves together, he and William, and come up with nothing. No sign of Jack Simpson, no sign of anything to explain Archie's sudden dread. It could be attributed to nothing but delusion, but by god, there'd be a cure. The world had advanced far beyond their time, after all, and there were many capable doctors on the island. He'd be cured.
Still, thinking that simple phrase as hard as he could had done little to improve matters, as had endless pacing along the boardwalk and snapping at his husband, so Horatio had taken up every distracting task he could get his hands on.
Today's was a kite for Edward, and anyone who told Horatio his son was far too young to enjoy it was also lightly to catch the sharp side of his tongue. Nearly completed, it was now in his lap. As intently as Horatio was glaring down at it, it was really no one's fault but his own when the wind caught it, whisking it from his knees and directly into the lower branches of a tree.
"Damn," Horatio muttered. Standing, he walked to the roots of the tree and stared up at his kite. Bloody, wretched thing. Low as the branches were, they were still a fair distance from the ground, and Horatio's stomach leapt and lurched at the thought of going up after it.
He wasn't a man to be bested by either kite, tree, or wind, however, and soon had one booted foot against the trunk, grasping the lowest branch to swing himself higher into the tree. Focusing singularly on the kite as he neared it helped him to avoid thought of the ground below, and it was with a triumphant smile that Horatio grasped it finally in his hands.
His glory was sadly shortlived. With his mission fulfilled, it was only left to Horatio to find a way back down, a part of the scenario he had sadly failed to contemplate. He raised a hand weakly to the branch above him, grasping it tight to prevent himself pitching forward at the sudden wave of vertigo.
"Damn," he said once more, with feeling.
No, that was all Archie. Or rather, the situation Archie found himself in, painful in a way which Horatio was bound by friendship to feel as his own. "He isn't going mad," Horatio muttered. Even if he was, the poor man would be well entitled to it, given all that Archie'd endured over the years, though this thought was unhappy enough that Horatio did not voice it aloud.
"He isn't. Every man meets his limit, sooner or later. He'll recover."
They'd searched the caves together, he and William, and come up with nothing. No sign of Jack Simpson, no sign of anything to explain Archie's sudden dread. It could be attributed to nothing but delusion, but by god, there'd be a cure. The world had advanced far beyond their time, after all, and there were many capable doctors on the island. He'd be cured.
Still, thinking that simple phrase as hard as he could had done little to improve matters, as had endless pacing along the boardwalk and snapping at his husband, so Horatio had taken up every distracting task he could get his hands on.
Today's was a kite for Edward, and anyone who told Horatio his son was far too young to enjoy it was also lightly to catch the sharp side of his tongue. Nearly completed, it was now in his lap. As intently as Horatio was glaring down at it, it was really no one's fault but his own when the wind caught it, whisking it from his knees and directly into the lower branches of a tree.
"Damn," Horatio muttered. Standing, he walked to the roots of the tree and stared up at his kite. Bloody, wretched thing. Low as the branches were, they were still a fair distance from the ground, and Horatio's stomach leapt and lurched at the thought of going up after it.
He wasn't a man to be bested by either kite, tree, or wind, however, and soon had one booted foot against the trunk, grasping the lowest branch to swing himself higher into the tree. Focusing singularly on the kite as he neared it helped him to avoid thought of the ground below, and it was with a triumphant smile that Horatio grasped it finally in his hands.
His glory was sadly shortlived. With his mission fulfilled, it was only left to Horatio to find a way back down, a part of the scenario he had sadly failed to contemplate. He raised a hand weakly to the branch above him, grasping it tight to prevent himself pitching forward at the sudden wave of vertigo.
"Damn," he said once more, with feeling.