Kiss of Life (1/2)
Title: Kiss of Life (1/2)
Author: Anteros
Characters: Horatio Hornblower / Archie Kennedy
Rating: PG
Words: 2184
Notes: Believe it or not this is a sequel to Friend or Foe, which I wrote in January 2010. I've been carrying the bare bones of this story around in my head ever since. It didn't turn out quite as I expected though :}
~I~
Archie Kennedy was beside himself. Horatio Hornblower, upright respectable Mr Midshipman Horatio Hornblower, had offered him, Archie Kennedy, both his honour and his virtue and he had not had a single opportunity to avail himself of this incalculable gift.
Hornblower no loner bolted like a startled colt whenever Kennedy hove into view, however he was still awkward and skittish in the other boy’s presence. Kennedy had the good sense to give his shipmate a wide berth while praying fervently for a period of shore leave that would allow him to put Hornblower’s bold offer to the test.
The Indefatigable was moored in Portsmouth but with orders expected to put to sea any day, shore leave had not been forthcoming. Though in all honesty, even if an opportunity had arisen, Archie doubted he had the courage. He had sported the reward for his first ill judged attempt on Hornblower's honour on his cheek for a good fortnight. The other mids had ribbed him mercilessly and done everything in their power to winkle the name of his mysterious assailant from him. "Been in the wars again Kennedy?" Cleveland had smirked on a daily basis. Hornblower had kept his head down whenever conversation turned to speculation over who had hit Kennedy sufficiently hard to leave a livid bruise across his cheek and earn him a dressing down from the fearsome Captain Pellew. Archie could almost feel the shame and rage radiating off Hornblower as he purposefully ignored the jibes and bent his attention to his slate and books.
"Tried to steal a kiss from the quartermaster’s wife did you?" Cadogan inquired less than innocently. The quartermaster’s wife was a large and formidable woman with a vocabulary that would make a sheet anchor man blush. Rumour had it that they carried her as ballast or as a last line of defence against the French should their broadside fail.
"Tried to kiss the captain's arse more like," Hether sneered predictably. Kennedy shrugged off the speculation and maintained a dignified silence.
"Maybe he tried to kiss Hornblower." Cleveland chipped in slyly. That was too close to the mark. Hornblower's head snapped up from his books, his cheeks scarlet. He opened his mouth to refute the scandalous allegation but Kennedy silenced him with a swift kick under the table and a glance that quite clearly said: "Keep your mouth shut".
"Sorry to disappoint you," Kennedy rose and casually sauntered over to the bench were Cleveland was smoking. "I tripped and kissed the deck. Which is exactly what you'll be doing if you don’t mind your own damn business.”
With a deft flick of his foot Kennedy tipped the bench over and sent Cleveland sprawling on the deck much to the entertainment of the other midshipmen. Kennedy bowed elaborately and made a swift exit.
“Always were careless, weren't you boy?" Cleveland yelled after him.
Archie's blood ran cold but he didn't turn round, didn't stop walking until he'd gained the deck and made his way for’ard to the bows. He clutched the rail and concentrated on taking one breath after another, forcing down the bile rising in his throat. Cleveland knew of course, Hether too. Many of the boys on Justinian had been careless and clumsy. Barely a week passed without someone tripping over a cable or missing their footing on a companion. It was a regular occurrence, and Archie had been more careless that most. Jack Simpson had seen to that. Archie gripped the rail and stared unseeing across the harbour. It was true, he had been careless, he had been long past caring then.
Archie took a long deep breath and set his jaw. That was before, that was Justinian, before the war, before the Indy, before Hornblower's mad duel. Before Hornblower. Archie sighed and rubbed the faded bruise on his cheek, the cold was making it ache.
He didn't hear Hornblower approaching until he was right beside him, standing a respectable distance away, hands clasped behind his back.
“I'm sorry Archie. It's all my fault.” His voice was low and thick. “I should say something, it's the honourable thing to do. I could say that I hit you by accident when... when...ummm..."
Hornblower presented such a picture of mortification that Archie couldn't help but laugh. He couldn't see Hornblower’s hands but he had watched them in fascination often enough to know that right now they would be twining themselves in knots behind his back.
"When? When what? When I mistook you for the quartermaster’s wife? You'd have to spin a better yarn than that to silence those fools. Sorry Horatio you’re not the most convincing liar.”
Hornblower looked even more crestfallen.
“Don't worry,” Archie hitched what he hoped was a convincing smile into place. “Let’s just forget it. Sticks and stones and all that. Your right hook is another matter entirely...”
“Archie….” The corner of Hornblower’s mouth twitched into a smile and something in Archie’s chest fluttered.
Archie had been tormented by the memory of the single kiss he had rashly stolen from Hornblower in the sail locker. His reward had been double watch, a bruised countenance and the ridicule of his messmates. But the real retribution for his transgression was dreams threaded through with the smooth warmth of velvet cheek, the fleeting press of soft lips, the heart stopping moment of capitulation before knuckle struck bone and brought him back to reality with a sickening blow. In that second when Hornblower’s fist collided with his face Archie knew he had burnt his boats. In a moment of weakness and folly he had sullied the one good thing that graced his pitiful existence. Jack Simpson had been right. He always swore boys like him were destined for the yardarm or the scaffold. Archie had expected dishonourable dismissal at the very least, a court martial possibly, or even a duel. Certainly Hornblower had every right to call him out. The last thing Archie had expected was for Hornlower to apologise and to offer him his honour by way of recompense. And here he was apologising again. Standing right beside him tall and straight, dignity and honour intact and with a smile that made Archie’s head spin.
“Talking of your formidable right hook, how’s your hand? No permanent damage done I hope?”
Hornblower frowned darkly and stretched his right hand out towards Archie, long fingers spread wide. “I do believe I have effected a complete recovery Mr Kennedy. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Archie swallowed hard and ran his thumb over the ridge of Hornblower’s knuckles, the palm beneath his fingers was rough and warm. “Good as new I’d say Mr Hornblower.”
Hornblower replied with the faintest smile that lit a bright spark in the brown depths of his eyes.
“And you Mr Kennedy?” Hornblower lifted his hand to Archie’s face, a brief fleeting touch that burned on his cheek. “I hope that unfortunate stumble hasn’t left an inedible mark?”
Archie tightened his grip on the rail, convinced it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“I think it’s fair to say it made quite an impression Mr Hornblower.”
~II~
The identity of Kennedy’s mysterious assailant was soon forgotten as word spread that Captain Pellew had received orders from the Admiralty. The Indefatigable was to put to sea as soon as preparations were complete and speculation was rife as to their station. One day scuttlebutt had it that they were to join the North Sea Fleet, a reasonable posting with some opportunity for prizes but little chance of action. The following day it was to be the Mediterranean, spirits rose noticeably, only to plummet the following day when the treacherous foggy banks of Newfoundland appeared to be their lot.
The station the entire company desired more than any other was appointment to a cruising squadron. This would put the Indefatigable directly under Admiralty orders, detached from the fleet and outwith the reach of a Commander in Chief, giving them free reign to harass enemy vessels and pursue any prizes that came within range. The frigate’s young gentlemen spoke of nothing else, boasting with youthful bravado of the prizes they would take, the frogs they would kill and the fortunes they would win.
Boarding actions and the preferred method of despatching Johnny Crappeau were favourite topics of conversation and Archie entered the gunroom one dog watch to find Hether holding forth on the use of small arms and steel. Hornblower was seated at the far end of the long table surrounded by his habitual pile of books.
“No point in trying to fence with a cutlass gentlemen. Forget all that fancy footwork your fencing master taught you.”
Cadogan swore under his breath. “What you mean all those tedious fencing lessons I endured were a waste of bloody time?”
“That’s the price you pay for the blue blood that runs in those pretty veins Georgey. Heavy blade like a cutlass, not an inch of space about you, most likely you won’t be able to see anything either, all you can do is swing at anything that moves.”
“Care to demonstrate Mr Hether?” Kennedy was standing behind Hether with a belaying pin in one hand.
“Give it a rest Kennedy,” Hether was not inclined to endanger his standing as senior officer of the mess by putting his money where his mouth was.
“But I’m afraid I have to disagree with you Mr Hether. If you know how to handle a blade there’s more chance you’ll keep your feet and your head.” Kennedy offered his messmate the belaying pin with all the ceremony of an Admiral presenting a Patriotic Fund commemorative sword. Hornblower looked up from his books and shook his head ruefully.
There was no denying the challenge, Hether took the weapon and lunged at Kennedy who neatly sidestepped him, seized a second belaying pin and deftly parried another blow. The other boys scattered out of the way as the two combatants skittered around the gunroom upsetting benches and tables in their wake. Hether lunged wildly at Kennedy who danced just out of reach of every blow while landing a good few of his own, at the same time keeping up a continual running commentary that goaded his opponent into increasing fury. Kennedy easily had the better of it when over confidence and an unnecessarily flamboyant backstep caused him to stumble against an upturned bench sending him sprawling backwards over the gunroom table, the belaying pin flying from his hand. Hether was on him in and instant, “So much for your dainty footwork now Kennedy!” But just as he lifted the surrogate sword to Kennedy’s throat he let out a loud yelp of surprise and indignation as something jabbed hard into his side.
“Bastard! What the bloody hell was that?”
Kennedy held up a smaller belaying pin he had produced from who knows where. “That Mr Hether was a knife, and you should never join a boarding party with out one because, as you can see, my knife is now stuck in your ribs and you are an ex frog!”
“Dammit that’s cheating!” Heather spluttered indignantly, releasing his hold on the younger boy.
“Cheating my arse Mr Hether, that’s how to survive.” Kennedy picked himself up from the table to a round cheers and whistles from the other midshipmen and made a great show of dusting off his jacket
“Trust you to fight dirty Kennedy.” Hether sniped as he returned to his seat.
“Only way to fight Mr Hether. Now if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, watch calls.”
~III~
Archie was in the waist when Hornblower joined him on deck half way through first watch. Night was falling and he could see the lights of Portsmouth glittering on the black waters of the anchorage.
“That was quite a performance Mr Kennedy.”
“Indeed Mr Hornblower, mama always said I should be on the stage. Sadly father disagreed, he thought the navy more suited to my...talents.”
Archie grinned, despite the bitter chill of the evening he was still in high spirits. Less so Hornblower, the episode in the gunroom had shaken him and the sight of his companion laid flat across the table with a supposed sword to his throat had damn near unmanned him.
“Aren’t you afraid Archie?”
Archie caught the hesitation in his voice and turned his bright gaze on Hornblower.
“Afraid? Of course I’m afraid Horatio. I’d be a damn fool not to be. We’re all afraid.”
“But you and Hether, Cleveland, the other mids, all you talk about is the war and fighting and....”
“Oh Horatio don’t you recognise fear when you see it? If those boys stopped boasting for a second they might have to stop and think about the reality of this blessed war, and then where would we be? Hmn?”
Hornblower gazed dolefully across the anchorage. He didn’t appear to be convinced.
“Are you really afraid Archie? You seem so...full of fight.”
“Me?” Archie snorted incredulously, “I can assure you Mr Hornblower I am as afraid as the next man. A great deal more so I should think. But then I always have been a coward. I thought everyone knew that.”
Author: Anteros
Characters: Horatio Hornblower / Archie Kennedy
Rating: PG
Words: 2184
Notes: Believe it or not this is a sequel to Friend or Foe, which I wrote in January 2010. I've been carrying the bare bones of this story around in my head ever since. It didn't turn out quite as I expected though :}
~I~
Archie Kennedy was beside himself. Horatio Hornblower, upright respectable Mr Midshipman Horatio Hornblower, had offered him, Archie Kennedy, both his honour and his virtue and he had not had a single opportunity to avail himself of this incalculable gift.
Hornblower no loner bolted like a startled colt whenever Kennedy hove into view, however he was still awkward and skittish in the other boy’s presence. Kennedy had the good sense to give his shipmate a wide berth while praying fervently for a period of shore leave that would allow him to put Hornblower’s bold offer to the test.
The Indefatigable was moored in Portsmouth but with orders expected to put to sea any day, shore leave had not been forthcoming. Though in all honesty, even if an opportunity had arisen, Archie doubted he had the courage. He had sported the reward for his first ill judged attempt on Hornblower's honour on his cheek for a good fortnight. The other mids had ribbed him mercilessly and done everything in their power to winkle the name of his mysterious assailant from him. "Been in the wars again Kennedy?" Cleveland had smirked on a daily basis. Hornblower had kept his head down whenever conversation turned to speculation over who had hit Kennedy sufficiently hard to leave a livid bruise across his cheek and earn him a dressing down from the fearsome Captain Pellew. Archie could almost feel the shame and rage radiating off Hornblower as he purposefully ignored the jibes and bent his attention to his slate and books.
"Tried to steal a kiss from the quartermaster’s wife did you?" Cadogan inquired less than innocently. The quartermaster’s wife was a large and formidable woman with a vocabulary that would make a sheet anchor man blush. Rumour had it that they carried her as ballast or as a last line of defence against the French should their broadside fail.
"Tried to kiss the captain's arse more like," Hether sneered predictably. Kennedy shrugged off the speculation and maintained a dignified silence.
"Maybe he tried to kiss Hornblower." Cleveland chipped in slyly. That was too close to the mark. Hornblower's head snapped up from his books, his cheeks scarlet. He opened his mouth to refute the scandalous allegation but Kennedy silenced him with a swift kick under the table and a glance that quite clearly said: "Keep your mouth shut".
"Sorry to disappoint you," Kennedy rose and casually sauntered over to the bench were Cleveland was smoking. "I tripped and kissed the deck. Which is exactly what you'll be doing if you don’t mind your own damn business.”
With a deft flick of his foot Kennedy tipped the bench over and sent Cleveland sprawling on the deck much to the entertainment of the other midshipmen. Kennedy bowed elaborately and made a swift exit.
“Always were careless, weren't you boy?" Cleveland yelled after him.
Archie's blood ran cold but he didn't turn round, didn't stop walking until he'd gained the deck and made his way for’ard to the bows. He clutched the rail and concentrated on taking one breath after another, forcing down the bile rising in his throat. Cleveland knew of course, Hether too. Many of the boys on Justinian had been careless and clumsy. Barely a week passed without someone tripping over a cable or missing their footing on a companion. It was a regular occurrence, and Archie had been more careless that most. Jack Simpson had seen to that. Archie gripped the rail and stared unseeing across the harbour. It was true, he had been careless, he had been long past caring then.
Archie took a long deep breath and set his jaw. That was before, that was Justinian, before the war, before the Indy, before Hornblower's mad duel. Before Hornblower. Archie sighed and rubbed the faded bruise on his cheek, the cold was making it ache.
He didn't hear Hornblower approaching until he was right beside him, standing a respectable distance away, hands clasped behind his back.
“I'm sorry Archie. It's all my fault.” His voice was low and thick. “I should say something, it's the honourable thing to do. I could say that I hit you by accident when... when...ummm..."
Hornblower presented such a picture of mortification that Archie couldn't help but laugh. He couldn't see Hornblower’s hands but he had watched them in fascination often enough to know that right now they would be twining themselves in knots behind his back.
"When? When what? When I mistook you for the quartermaster’s wife? You'd have to spin a better yarn than that to silence those fools. Sorry Horatio you’re not the most convincing liar.”
Hornblower looked even more crestfallen.
“Don't worry,” Archie hitched what he hoped was a convincing smile into place. “Let’s just forget it. Sticks and stones and all that. Your right hook is another matter entirely...”
“Archie….” The corner of Hornblower’s mouth twitched into a smile and something in Archie’s chest fluttered.
Archie had been tormented by the memory of the single kiss he had rashly stolen from Hornblower in the sail locker. His reward had been double watch, a bruised countenance and the ridicule of his messmates. But the real retribution for his transgression was dreams threaded through with the smooth warmth of velvet cheek, the fleeting press of soft lips, the heart stopping moment of capitulation before knuckle struck bone and brought him back to reality with a sickening blow. In that second when Hornblower’s fist collided with his face Archie knew he had burnt his boats. In a moment of weakness and folly he had sullied the one good thing that graced his pitiful existence. Jack Simpson had been right. He always swore boys like him were destined for the yardarm or the scaffold. Archie had expected dishonourable dismissal at the very least, a court martial possibly, or even a duel. Certainly Hornblower had every right to call him out. The last thing Archie had expected was for Hornlower to apologise and to offer him his honour by way of recompense. And here he was apologising again. Standing right beside him tall and straight, dignity and honour intact and with a smile that made Archie’s head spin.
“Talking of your formidable right hook, how’s your hand? No permanent damage done I hope?”
Hornblower frowned darkly and stretched his right hand out towards Archie, long fingers spread wide. “I do believe I have effected a complete recovery Mr Kennedy. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Archie swallowed hard and ran his thumb over the ridge of Hornblower’s knuckles, the palm beneath his fingers was rough and warm. “Good as new I’d say Mr Hornblower.”
Hornblower replied with the faintest smile that lit a bright spark in the brown depths of his eyes.
“And you Mr Kennedy?” Hornblower lifted his hand to Archie’s face, a brief fleeting touch that burned on his cheek. “I hope that unfortunate stumble hasn’t left an inedible mark?”
Archie tightened his grip on the rail, convinced it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“I think it’s fair to say it made quite an impression Mr Hornblower.”
~II~
The identity of Kennedy’s mysterious assailant was soon forgotten as word spread that Captain Pellew had received orders from the Admiralty. The Indefatigable was to put to sea as soon as preparations were complete and speculation was rife as to their station. One day scuttlebutt had it that they were to join the North Sea Fleet, a reasonable posting with some opportunity for prizes but little chance of action. The following day it was to be the Mediterranean, spirits rose noticeably, only to plummet the following day when the treacherous foggy banks of Newfoundland appeared to be their lot.
The station the entire company desired more than any other was appointment to a cruising squadron. This would put the Indefatigable directly under Admiralty orders, detached from the fleet and outwith the reach of a Commander in Chief, giving them free reign to harass enemy vessels and pursue any prizes that came within range. The frigate’s young gentlemen spoke of nothing else, boasting with youthful bravado of the prizes they would take, the frogs they would kill and the fortunes they would win.
Boarding actions and the preferred method of despatching Johnny Crappeau were favourite topics of conversation and Archie entered the gunroom one dog watch to find Hether holding forth on the use of small arms and steel. Hornblower was seated at the far end of the long table surrounded by his habitual pile of books.
“No point in trying to fence with a cutlass gentlemen. Forget all that fancy footwork your fencing master taught you.”
Cadogan swore under his breath. “What you mean all those tedious fencing lessons I endured were a waste of bloody time?”
“That’s the price you pay for the blue blood that runs in those pretty veins Georgey. Heavy blade like a cutlass, not an inch of space about you, most likely you won’t be able to see anything either, all you can do is swing at anything that moves.”
“Care to demonstrate Mr Hether?” Kennedy was standing behind Hether with a belaying pin in one hand.
“Give it a rest Kennedy,” Hether was not inclined to endanger his standing as senior officer of the mess by putting his money where his mouth was.
“But I’m afraid I have to disagree with you Mr Hether. If you know how to handle a blade there’s more chance you’ll keep your feet and your head.” Kennedy offered his messmate the belaying pin with all the ceremony of an Admiral presenting a Patriotic Fund commemorative sword. Hornblower looked up from his books and shook his head ruefully.
There was no denying the challenge, Hether took the weapon and lunged at Kennedy who neatly sidestepped him, seized a second belaying pin and deftly parried another blow. The other boys scattered out of the way as the two combatants skittered around the gunroom upsetting benches and tables in their wake. Hether lunged wildly at Kennedy who danced just out of reach of every blow while landing a good few of his own, at the same time keeping up a continual running commentary that goaded his opponent into increasing fury. Kennedy easily had the better of it when over confidence and an unnecessarily flamboyant backstep caused him to stumble against an upturned bench sending him sprawling backwards over the gunroom table, the belaying pin flying from his hand. Hether was on him in and instant, “So much for your dainty footwork now Kennedy!” But just as he lifted the surrogate sword to Kennedy’s throat he let out a loud yelp of surprise and indignation as something jabbed hard into his side.
“Bastard! What the bloody hell was that?”
Kennedy held up a smaller belaying pin he had produced from who knows where. “That Mr Hether was a knife, and you should never join a boarding party with out one because, as you can see, my knife is now stuck in your ribs and you are an ex frog!”
“Dammit that’s cheating!” Heather spluttered indignantly, releasing his hold on the younger boy.
“Cheating my arse Mr Hether, that’s how to survive.” Kennedy picked himself up from the table to a round cheers and whistles from the other midshipmen and made a great show of dusting off his jacket
“Trust you to fight dirty Kennedy.” Hether sniped as he returned to his seat.
“Only way to fight Mr Hether. Now if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, watch calls.”
~III~
Archie was in the waist when Hornblower joined him on deck half way through first watch. Night was falling and he could see the lights of Portsmouth glittering on the black waters of the anchorage.
“That was quite a performance Mr Kennedy.”
“Indeed Mr Hornblower, mama always said I should be on the stage. Sadly father disagreed, he thought the navy more suited to my...talents.”
Archie grinned, despite the bitter chill of the evening he was still in high spirits. Less so Hornblower, the episode in the gunroom had shaken him and the sight of his companion laid flat across the table with a supposed sword to his throat had damn near unmanned him.
“Aren’t you afraid Archie?”
Archie caught the hesitation in his voice and turned his bright gaze on Hornblower.
“Afraid? Of course I’m afraid Horatio. I’d be a damn fool not to be. We’re all afraid.”
“But you and Hether, Cleveland, the other mids, all you talk about is the war and fighting and....”
“Oh Horatio don’t you recognise fear when you see it? If those boys stopped boasting for a second they might have to stop and think about the reality of this blessed war, and then where would we be? Hmn?”
Hornblower gazed dolefully across the anchorage. He didn’t appear to be convinced.
“Are you really afraid Archie? You seem so...full of fight.”
“Me?” Archie snorted incredulously, “I can assure you Mr Hornblower I am as afraid as the next man. A great deal more so I should think. But then I always have been a coward. I thought everyone knew that.”