fanfic: Unexpected Comfort
Title: Unexpected Comfort
Fandom: Hornblower, movieverse
Disclaimer: I borrowed Horatio from C.S. Forester, and Ebeneezer was inspired by the wonderful order_of_chaos - she knows what I mean. Only the crack belongs to me - and trust me, that's for the best.
Pairing: Horatio Hornblower/Ebeneezer Clive (no, not the doctor - also, not an OC)
Rating: PG
Summary: Someone highly unusual decides to confide in Hornblower.
Author's Note: I got the crack!bunny by mistake and you people, especially grace_poppy and black_hound made me let it in and feed it crack. Here's the result. I deny all responsibility.
Warning: If I haven't made myself clear yet: THIS IS CRACK. Read at your own peril.
Thanks to: jedipirate for beta-reading this piece of crap crack. ;) *glomps*
*****
When Hornblower left the wardroom to head for his cabin that night, it was already very late and he was quite inebriated. He should not have played that silly game of drinking whist with Archie and William, he realized that now, but the two had argued so convincingly and the alcohol had done the rest.
Doesn't the loser usually have to drink the bottle?, Hornblower pondered, but his head was pounding so loudly that he immediately forgot the question. He continued staggering through the dark corridors of the ship, hoping his cabin would finally come into sight.
He didn't reach it. Suddenly, he stopped, frozen to the spot. There was a sound coming from the inside of Dr Clive's cabin.
"Horatio."
The voice was low, barely audible, but he heard it. It was almost like an innocent little child's whisper, and there were clearly no such children aboard. Not even the powder monkeys had such a voice. But if it wasn't a member of the ship's crew that was calling him, who was it? Or what was it? Evidently, it was not the doctor's voice, and by then Hornblower was convinced the doctor wasn't even there.
"Horatio."
Hesitantly, he moved his hands to the doorknob and growled under his breath when the bloody thing decided to change locations just when he had almost reached it.
"Horatio. Come in."
If he only could! Horatio growled again, eyeing the doorknob suspiciously. It couldn't be that far away - and it couldn't be so difficult to get hold of. Like a bird trying to catch a fish from the water, he lunged out and grabbed it, turning it around and throwing himself against the door.
Seconds later, he was rubbing his shoulder and his knees, his face showing pain. Why had nobody told him the door wasn't bolted? And why did doors have to be so hard?
Sighing, he got up from the floor, closed the door and scanned the room. It was deserted. Not a soul was there. It looked as if Clive had left in a hurry, probably to go on deck or to the sickbay. His instruments weren't where he usually put them. Only his wig lay on the table, neglected, forgotten.
"Come closer."
Hornblower stared at the doctor's table, completely incredulous. This cannot be, he told himself. I'm merely imagining this. I should get back to my cabin at once and get some sleep.
"Closer, Horatio."
The voice was relentless.
Hornblower slowly stepped closer to the desk, his hands shivering slightly.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, addressing nothing in particular. Had a ghost come to punish him for his bacchanalia earlier?
"I want to talk to you. Sit down, please."
Hornblower obeyed, taking a seat in the doctor's armchair directly next to the table. His head was spinning and the wall seemed to move in front of his eyes, announcing great sickness, but he didn't care. This was neither the time nor the place to worry about such trivial things when there were strange voices speaking to him.
"Let me introduce myself. My name is Ebeneezer." The voice paused, then asked in a worried tone, "Is anything the matter with you?"
Hornblower couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh. Anything the matter? Oh no! I'm just subjected to an unfit captain and an even more unfit first lieutenant and the only midshipman who likes me on this ship must hate me now for the trouble I've put him through. No, it's nothing at all.
"But you mustn't think that you're the only one with problems here. While you seem to get all the attention, I'm getting none at all. Nobody takes interest to me - hell, nobody even speaks to me! You're the first person to speak to me in five years!"
"I..." Hornblower swallowed. "But you... how can you expect anyone to talk to you? You're... You're not even real!" There, he had said it. If the voice were reasonable, it would vanish now and leave him alone. Spirits usually didn't care for unbelievers.
"That hurt, Horatio." Hornblower heard a soft sniffle. "Just because you still haven't found out who I am doesn't mean that I'm not real! Look at me! I'm right in front of you! You can even touch me! I assure you, I'm as real as you."
And a moment later, a pair of deep greyish-brown eyes stared at him from Dr Clive's desk.
Thunderstruck, Hornblower grabbed the arms of the chair and held onto them like a drowning man held onto driftwood. It was the wig. The wig was talking to him.
Hornblower gasped. He swallowed. He cleared his throat. No words came out.
"You look as if you've never seen a wig before," the voice chided him.
It really was the wig. He couldn't see its mouth, but the pair of eyes, awake and lively, moved slightly when it spoke.
Hornblower thought he would faint right then and there. Of all the things he had expected to see, hear or feel after all the drink, he hadn't even remotely thought of talking wigs. Especially not talking wigs that craved attention.
Hornblower shook his head. Then, he pinched his arm.
The wig was still looking at him.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't stare," it complained. "Look, I know you can talk. You can't fool me."
The wig hopped close to the table's edge and right into Hornblower's lap.
The lieutenant did his best not to shriek like a girl but remain calm. There had to be a perfectly sane explanation for all this.
The fact that he couldn't think of one didn't mean anything.
He eyed the wig suspiciously. What had he done to deserve this? And what was the wig expecting of him, exactly? Was he supposed to touch it? To talk to it? Tell some stories? Act sane?
Ebeneezer confused him. And why was he speaking of the wig as "Ebeneezer" now? It was a wig, God damn it! A usually lifeless item people put on their heads when there wasn't enough hair left or when they wanted to create an impression. It certainly didn't merit a name, not even when it was sitting in his lap and looking at him with those eyes...
Out of a mere impulse, he stretched out his hand to softly caress the wig. It felt soft and warm beneath his fingers.
Ebeneezer purred and closed his eyes, snuggling closer. "Oh, Horatio..."
Maybe it was just because he was so ridiculously drunk that he continued petting the wig even after this. It seemed as if he had simply stopped thinking about the lack of reason and common sense in what he was doing.
Actually, Ebeneezer was quite a pretty and horribly underrated wig. The way he reacted to his touch, the sweet sounds he made, the way he snuggled against him, warming him in all the wrong places, just like a lover... Yes, Hornblower certainly blamed the alcohol for the rising tenderness inside himself.
Suddenly, the wig spoke again, his voice affectionate, soft. "If I may say something, my dear... You have wonderful hands." And to demonstrate the truth in that statement, Ebeneezer moved against Hornblower's hand, tickling him ever so slightly and sending a jolt through his whole body, almost giving him goosebumps.
Hornblower blushed and shifted in his chair, surprised at the sensation inside him. "Thank... thank you. That is most kind of you." He didn't even recognize his voice; it sounded as if he were talking to a beloved one. A very beloved one.
Ebeneezer sensed that and - was it possible for wigs to blush? Hornblower would have said no, but his eyes told him a different thing. Ebeneezer had clearly reddened slightly. "I have to thank you. I wouldn't have expected anyone to keep me company tonight, and then you came." The wig gave Hornblower a thankful, almost adoring look. "I'm almost worried, you know. You're such a pretty boy, and I'm just a plain old wig..." He averted his gaze, looking at Hornblower's upper thigh.
Hornblower swallowed, blushing even more at the unexpected compliments. "What... what about Dr Clive? Doesn't he care about you?"
Ebeneezer's eyes looked thoughtful all of a sudden. "He used to, when I was still young. When we were both younger. We were so happy together. He brushed me, he caressed me, treated me with the finest powders, perfumes and creams... But then, Captain Sawyer came and took him away. Just like that. For months, he didn't even look at me anymore. Then his hair fell out and he needed to wear me. But you can see how he treats me." He gave Hornblower a sad look.
Hornblower couldn't do anything else but lift Ebeneezer, pull him close and hug him tightly. "I'm sorry, Ebeneezer. So sorry."
Ebeneezer looked at him, his eyes smiling. "Thank you, Horatio. I... didn't want to tell you all this. I..."
"Oh, there is no need to apologize," Hornblower hurried to say, placing a kiss on Ebeneezer's forehead. "I'm here for you."
***
"He's probably sleeping already," William Bush said with a smirk as he and Archie Kennedy left the wardroom and three bottles of strong rum behind and headed for their own cabins. "Looked a bit too deep into the bottle, I daresay."
Kennedy laughed. "He's not such a good drinker," he said, grinning. "Poor Horatio."
Only then, they noticed how quiet it was. There was almost no sound at all, not even muffled laughter from the mess or voices from the deck where Buckland and his division were on watch.
Suddenly, the two men stopped and their eyes fixed the door to Dr Clive's cabin. They heard a voice talking inside, but it was definitely not Clive's.
They looked at each other.
What the hell is Hornblower doing in there? The question hung in the air, unasked.
"Let's go look," Kennedy offered.
Bush nodded. It would at least answer some questions.
When Kennedy opened the door and risked a glimpse inside, he was tempted to slam it closed again. He rubbed his eyes, but the image didn't change. Bush, who was peering over Kennedy's shoulder, nearly collapsed.
Horatio Hornblower, the sane, logical, reasonable Horatio, was actually cuddling Dr Clive's wig.
After a while of shocked staring, Kennedy closed the door again, leaving Hornblower to his little private tryst before he and Bush continued their way to their cabin.
***
Hornblower had still been sane enough - or lucky enough, one never knew exactly with him - to leave Dr Clive's cabin before the doctor came back, and when he woke up in his own hammock the next morning, it seemed as if he couldn't remember anything.
"We were playing whist and then I went to bed," he told everyone who asked.
Bush and Kennedy didn't correct him. They had their own private jokes and laughs about it, but they were careful not to let Hornblower know.
But they wouldn't forget it.
Neither would Hornblower.
Bonds like that lasted for a lifetime - and you could never be sure how long wigs lived.
Fandom: Hornblower, movieverse
Disclaimer: I borrowed Horatio from C.S. Forester, and Ebeneezer was inspired by the wonderful order_of_chaos - she knows what I mean. Only the crack belongs to me - and trust me, that's for the best.
Pairing: Horatio Hornblower/Ebeneezer Clive (no, not the doctor - also, not an OC)
Rating: PG
Summary: Someone highly unusual decides to confide in Hornblower.
Author's Note: I got the crack!bunny by mistake and you people, especially grace_poppy and black_hound made me let it in and feed it crack. Here's the result. I deny all responsibility.
Warning: If I haven't made myself clear yet: THIS IS CRACK. Read at your own peril.
Thanks to: jedipirate for beta-reading this piece of crap crack. ;) *glomps*
*****
When Hornblower left the wardroom to head for his cabin that night, it was already very late and he was quite inebriated. He should not have played that silly game of drinking whist with Archie and William, he realized that now, but the two had argued so convincingly and the alcohol had done the rest.
Doesn't the loser usually have to drink the bottle?, Hornblower pondered, but his head was pounding so loudly that he immediately forgot the question. He continued staggering through the dark corridors of the ship, hoping his cabin would finally come into sight.
He didn't reach it. Suddenly, he stopped, frozen to the spot. There was a sound coming from the inside of Dr Clive's cabin.
"Horatio."
The voice was low, barely audible, but he heard it. It was almost like an innocent little child's whisper, and there were clearly no such children aboard. Not even the powder monkeys had such a voice. But if it wasn't a member of the ship's crew that was calling him, who was it? Or what was it? Evidently, it was not the doctor's voice, and by then Hornblower was convinced the doctor wasn't even there.
"Horatio."
Hesitantly, he moved his hands to the doorknob and growled under his breath when the bloody thing decided to change locations just when he had almost reached it.
"Horatio. Come in."
If he only could! Horatio growled again, eyeing the doorknob suspiciously. It couldn't be that far away - and it couldn't be so difficult to get hold of. Like a bird trying to catch a fish from the water, he lunged out and grabbed it, turning it around and throwing himself against the door.
Seconds later, he was rubbing his shoulder and his knees, his face showing pain. Why had nobody told him the door wasn't bolted? And why did doors have to be so hard?
Sighing, he got up from the floor, closed the door and scanned the room. It was deserted. Not a soul was there. It looked as if Clive had left in a hurry, probably to go on deck or to the sickbay. His instruments weren't where he usually put them. Only his wig lay on the table, neglected, forgotten.
"Come closer."
Hornblower stared at the doctor's table, completely incredulous. This cannot be, he told himself. I'm merely imagining this. I should get back to my cabin at once and get some sleep.
"Closer, Horatio."
The voice was relentless.
Hornblower slowly stepped closer to the desk, his hands shivering slightly.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, addressing nothing in particular. Had a ghost come to punish him for his bacchanalia earlier?
"I want to talk to you. Sit down, please."
Hornblower obeyed, taking a seat in the doctor's armchair directly next to the table. His head was spinning and the wall seemed to move in front of his eyes, announcing great sickness, but he didn't care. This was neither the time nor the place to worry about such trivial things when there were strange voices speaking to him.
"Let me introduce myself. My name is Ebeneezer." The voice paused, then asked in a worried tone, "Is anything the matter with you?"
Hornblower couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh. Anything the matter? Oh no! I'm just subjected to an unfit captain and an even more unfit first lieutenant and the only midshipman who likes me on this ship must hate me now for the trouble I've put him through. No, it's nothing at all.
"But you mustn't think that you're the only one with problems here. While you seem to get all the attention, I'm getting none at all. Nobody takes interest to me - hell, nobody even speaks to me! You're the first person to speak to me in five years!"
"I..." Hornblower swallowed. "But you... how can you expect anyone to talk to you? You're... You're not even real!" There, he had said it. If the voice were reasonable, it would vanish now and leave him alone. Spirits usually didn't care for unbelievers.
"That hurt, Horatio." Hornblower heard a soft sniffle. "Just because you still haven't found out who I am doesn't mean that I'm not real! Look at me! I'm right in front of you! You can even touch me! I assure you, I'm as real as you."
And a moment later, a pair of deep greyish-brown eyes stared at him from Dr Clive's desk.
Thunderstruck, Hornblower grabbed the arms of the chair and held onto them like a drowning man held onto driftwood. It was the wig. The wig was talking to him.
Hornblower gasped. He swallowed. He cleared his throat. No words came out.
"You look as if you've never seen a wig before," the voice chided him.
It really was the wig. He couldn't see its mouth, but the pair of eyes, awake and lively, moved slightly when it spoke.
Hornblower thought he would faint right then and there. Of all the things he had expected to see, hear or feel after all the drink, he hadn't even remotely thought of talking wigs. Especially not talking wigs that craved attention.
Hornblower shook his head. Then, he pinched his arm.
The wig was still looking at him.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't stare," it complained. "Look, I know you can talk. You can't fool me."
The wig hopped close to the table's edge and right into Hornblower's lap.
The lieutenant did his best not to shriek like a girl but remain calm. There had to be a perfectly sane explanation for all this.
The fact that he couldn't think of one didn't mean anything.
He eyed the wig suspiciously. What had he done to deserve this? And what was the wig expecting of him, exactly? Was he supposed to touch it? To talk to it? Tell some stories? Act sane?
Ebeneezer confused him. And why was he speaking of the wig as "Ebeneezer" now? It was a wig, God damn it! A usually lifeless item people put on their heads when there wasn't enough hair left or when they wanted to create an impression. It certainly didn't merit a name, not even when it was sitting in his lap and looking at him with those eyes...
Out of a mere impulse, he stretched out his hand to softly caress the wig. It felt soft and warm beneath his fingers.
Ebeneezer purred and closed his eyes, snuggling closer. "Oh, Horatio..."
Maybe it was just because he was so ridiculously drunk that he continued petting the wig even after this. It seemed as if he had simply stopped thinking about the lack of reason and common sense in what he was doing.
Actually, Ebeneezer was quite a pretty and horribly underrated wig. The way he reacted to his touch, the sweet sounds he made, the way he snuggled against him, warming him in all the wrong places, just like a lover... Yes, Hornblower certainly blamed the alcohol for the rising tenderness inside himself.
Suddenly, the wig spoke again, his voice affectionate, soft. "If I may say something, my dear... You have wonderful hands." And to demonstrate the truth in that statement, Ebeneezer moved against Hornblower's hand, tickling him ever so slightly and sending a jolt through his whole body, almost giving him goosebumps.
Hornblower blushed and shifted in his chair, surprised at the sensation inside him. "Thank... thank you. That is most kind of you." He didn't even recognize his voice; it sounded as if he were talking to a beloved one. A very beloved one.
Ebeneezer sensed that and - was it possible for wigs to blush? Hornblower would have said no, but his eyes told him a different thing. Ebeneezer had clearly reddened slightly. "I have to thank you. I wouldn't have expected anyone to keep me company tonight, and then you came." The wig gave Hornblower a thankful, almost adoring look. "I'm almost worried, you know. You're such a pretty boy, and I'm just a plain old wig..." He averted his gaze, looking at Hornblower's upper thigh.
Hornblower swallowed, blushing even more at the unexpected compliments. "What... what about Dr Clive? Doesn't he care about you?"
Ebeneezer's eyes looked thoughtful all of a sudden. "He used to, when I was still young. When we were both younger. We were so happy together. He brushed me, he caressed me, treated me with the finest powders, perfumes and creams... But then, Captain Sawyer came and took him away. Just like that. For months, he didn't even look at me anymore. Then his hair fell out and he needed to wear me. But you can see how he treats me." He gave Hornblower a sad look.
Hornblower couldn't do anything else but lift Ebeneezer, pull him close and hug him tightly. "I'm sorry, Ebeneezer. So sorry."
Ebeneezer looked at him, his eyes smiling. "Thank you, Horatio. I... didn't want to tell you all this. I..."
"Oh, there is no need to apologize," Hornblower hurried to say, placing a kiss on Ebeneezer's forehead. "I'm here for you."
***
"He's probably sleeping already," William Bush said with a smirk as he and Archie Kennedy left the wardroom and three bottles of strong rum behind and headed for their own cabins. "Looked a bit too deep into the bottle, I daresay."
Kennedy laughed. "He's not such a good drinker," he said, grinning. "Poor Horatio."
Only then, they noticed how quiet it was. There was almost no sound at all, not even muffled laughter from the mess or voices from the deck where Buckland and his division were on watch.
Suddenly, the two men stopped and their eyes fixed the door to Dr Clive's cabin. They heard a voice talking inside, but it was definitely not Clive's.
They looked at each other.
What the hell is Hornblower doing in there? The question hung in the air, unasked.
"Let's go look," Kennedy offered.
Bush nodded. It would at least answer some questions.
When Kennedy opened the door and risked a glimpse inside, he was tempted to slam it closed again. He rubbed his eyes, but the image didn't change. Bush, who was peering over Kennedy's shoulder, nearly collapsed.
Horatio Hornblower, the sane, logical, reasonable Horatio, was actually cuddling Dr Clive's wig.
After a while of shocked staring, Kennedy closed the door again, leaving Hornblower to his little private tryst before he and Bush continued their way to their cabin.
***
Hornblower had still been sane enough - or lucky enough, one never knew exactly with him - to leave Dr Clive's cabin before the doctor came back, and when he woke up in his own hammock the next morning, it seemed as if he couldn't remember anything.
"We were playing whist and then I went to bed," he told everyone who asked.
Bush and Kennedy didn't correct him. They had their own private jokes and laughs about it, but they were careful not to let Hornblower know.
But they wouldn't forget it.
Neither would Hornblower.
Bonds like that lasted for a lifetime - and you could never be sure how long wigs lived.