Pointless
Title: Pointless
Author: Anteros
Characters: Bush, Kennedy, Hornblower
Rating: R
Notes: Just what this fandom needs; gratuitous Retribution angst fic. The title says it all really. This is a poor intrlude to rosiespark's The Simplest Gift and Revelation. I wrote it not long after I recc'd these wonderful fics and it's been hiding in my drafts folder ever since. I suspect it should probably have stayed there.
He sat and waited, book in hand, just holding it.
Bush had seen countless men die, some blown to bloody ribbons, others left untouched, laid out at their guns as if sleeping at quarters, breath snatched away by a passing shot. He had seen men die in the blink of an eye and men who dragged out their passing, clawing at every last second, as heat and decay finished the job started by splinter and shot. He had seen enough death to know there was no point in arguing with a dying man.
Not that there had ever been much profit in arguing with Kennedy. The man had been stubborn as a mule, and contrary with it. Bush checked himself. No, not had been. Was. He was still alive. Or at least he had been when he left their cell an hour after dawn. The stiffness of his gait and the pale sheen of his face betraying the fact that the last grains of sand were falling from the glass.
The argument had begun the previous night following Hornblower's departure. Kennedy had quietly explained that he wished to testify before the court and would appreciate assistance to ensure that he presented himself as was befitting a naval officer appearing before a Court Martial. "And death be damned." He added for good measure.
Bush initially assumed that Kennedy had lapsed into one of the increasingly frequent bouts of delirium that had stalked him for days. One look at the sharp blue eyes suggested otherwise and the platitudes of reassurance and comfort died on Bush's lips.
"You do not know him the way I do. You don't know what he is capable of." Kennedy had been insistent. "He will place his head in the noose if he believes that is the honourable and dutiful course of action. If that is what is required to see justice served."
"It's hard to imagine any man would willingly go the the gallows on such a whim. Is it not Mr Kennedy?" Bush had fixed Kennedy with a cool stare.
"Perhaps not so hard Mr Bush." Kennedy's voice had faded to a hoarse whisper as he turned his face away.
That was when it had fallen into place, when Bush understood what they were really arguing about, when he realised whose head would be in the noose.
"Need I remind you Mr Kennedy that I am the senior officer here and if anyone goes to that court tomorrow morning it should be me."
"And it is precisely because you are the senior officer that you will not go Mr Bush. I am of no account, an unremarkable fourth lieutenant. A footnote in the Gazette if I am lucky". Kennedy's voice was trailing again. "He will need a commander who trusts him."
"Dammit man you will not..."
That had lit a spark.
"Are you going to give me an order Mr Bush? Remember I am already a mutineer, a dangerous man. I will not hesitate to act again. Consider this a warning." He smiled a lopsided smile.
Given that he could barely lift his head from the cot the warning had clearly been a conceit of Kennedy's facetiousness. No doubt intended to deflect Bush from pursuing the argument further. Bush had held Kennedy's gaze for a long moment before retreating to his cot.
He knew there was no point in arguing with a dying man.
He sat and waited, book in hand, just holding it. A copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets that had appeared beside Kennedy's cot, he didn't know who had brought it. Kennedy had no strength to read, so Bush had read to him, self-consciously at first, has tongue tripping over the unfamiliar words and rhythms. But he had persevered because the words appeared to succeed where Clive's ministrations failed. The shallow laboured breathing would ease and relax, the clenched jaw release. Sometimes Kennedy would pick up a few words here and there, a whisper of an echo. Sometimes the words poured out of him as the dams of reason burst. Sometimes Bush recognised snatches of passages he had read, sometimes he heard other things. Mostly he just heard a stream of words.
Clive had come a little before dawn and they had proceeded with the painful business of attiring Kennedy in full dress uniform. There had been nothing to say. Nothing Bush could say that would make any difference.
As they made to leave Kennedy stopped at the door and tried to turn back to him. Bush had stepped forward, placing one hand on his arm.
"The watch is yours Mr Bush."
The shadow of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth, just a flicker reached his eyes.
"You will watch him won't you William?"
Bush stood, nodded, wanting to speak. There was nothing he could say.
He sat and waited, book in hand, just holding it. Hornblower came and left, hammering on the door. Bush let him go. He knew there was no point arguing with a dying man.
Author: Anteros
Characters: Bush, Kennedy, Hornblower
Rating: R
Notes: Just what this fandom needs; gratuitous Retribution angst fic. The title says it all really. This is a poor intrlude to rosiespark's The Simplest Gift and Revelation. I wrote it not long after I recc'd these wonderful fics and it's been hiding in my drafts folder ever since. I suspect it should probably have stayed there.
He sat and waited, book in hand, just holding it.
Bush had seen countless men die, some blown to bloody ribbons, others left untouched, laid out at their guns as if sleeping at quarters, breath snatched away by a passing shot. He had seen men die in the blink of an eye and men who dragged out their passing, clawing at every last second, as heat and decay finished the job started by splinter and shot. He had seen enough death to know there was no point in arguing with a dying man.
Not that there had ever been much profit in arguing with Kennedy. The man had been stubborn as a mule, and contrary with it. Bush checked himself. No, not had been. Was. He was still alive. Or at least he had been when he left their cell an hour after dawn. The stiffness of his gait and the pale sheen of his face betraying the fact that the last grains of sand were falling from the glass.
The argument had begun the previous night following Hornblower's departure. Kennedy had quietly explained that he wished to testify before the court and would appreciate assistance to ensure that he presented himself as was befitting a naval officer appearing before a Court Martial. "And death be damned." He added for good measure.
Bush initially assumed that Kennedy had lapsed into one of the increasingly frequent bouts of delirium that had stalked him for days. One look at the sharp blue eyes suggested otherwise and the platitudes of reassurance and comfort died on Bush's lips.
"You do not know him the way I do. You don't know what he is capable of." Kennedy had been insistent. "He will place his head in the noose if he believes that is the honourable and dutiful course of action. If that is what is required to see justice served."
"It's hard to imagine any man would willingly go the the gallows on such a whim. Is it not Mr Kennedy?" Bush had fixed Kennedy with a cool stare.
"Perhaps not so hard Mr Bush." Kennedy's voice had faded to a hoarse whisper as he turned his face away.
That was when it had fallen into place, when Bush understood what they were really arguing about, when he realised whose head would be in the noose.
"Need I remind you Mr Kennedy that I am the senior officer here and if anyone goes to that court tomorrow morning it should be me."
"And it is precisely because you are the senior officer that you will not go Mr Bush. I am of no account, an unremarkable fourth lieutenant. A footnote in the Gazette if I am lucky". Kennedy's voice was trailing again. "He will need a commander who trusts him."
"Dammit man you will not..."
That had lit a spark.
"Are you going to give me an order Mr Bush? Remember I am already a mutineer, a dangerous man. I will not hesitate to act again. Consider this a warning." He smiled a lopsided smile.
Given that he could barely lift his head from the cot the warning had clearly been a conceit of Kennedy's facetiousness. No doubt intended to deflect Bush from pursuing the argument further. Bush had held Kennedy's gaze for a long moment before retreating to his cot.
He knew there was no point in arguing with a dying man.
He sat and waited, book in hand, just holding it. A copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets that had appeared beside Kennedy's cot, he didn't know who had brought it. Kennedy had no strength to read, so Bush had read to him, self-consciously at first, has tongue tripping over the unfamiliar words and rhythms. But he had persevered because the words appeared to succeed where Clive's ministrations failed. The shallow laboured breathing would ease and relax, the clenched jaw release. Sometimes Kennedy would pick up a few words here and there, a whisper of an echo. Sometimes the words poured out of him as the dams of reason burst. Sometimes Bush recognised snatches of passages he had read, sometimes he heard other things. Mostly he just heard a stream of words.
Clive had come a little before dawn and they had proceeded with the painful business of attiring Kennedy in full dress uniform. There had been nothing to say. Nothing Bush could say that would make any difference.
As they made to leave Kennedy stopped at the door and tried to turn back to him. Bush had stepped forward, placing one hand on his arm.
"The watch is yours Mr Bush."
The shadow of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth, just a flicker reached his eyes.
"You will watch him won't you William?"
Bush stood, nodded, wanting to speak. There was nothing he could say.
He sat and waited, book in hand, just holding it. Hornblower came and left, hammering on the door. Bush let him go. He knew there was no point arguing with a dying man.