into the blue.

[quigonejinn]

Mild spoilers for Lieutenant Hornblower passim. Major OMFGZ BFF GAYZ0RLOVE spikes -- ie, the things that make me squeal like the fat, pasty plebe I am -- at numbers 3, 9-10, 12, 15, 17 and 22

1. The first official date was a practical affair. p. 38-39Bush and Hornblower stood side by side on the poop, feet wide apart on the heaving deck, as they steadied themselves and looked through their sextants at the horizon. Through the darkened glass Bush could see the image of the sun reflected from the mirror. With infinite pains he moved the arm round, bringing the image down closer and closer to the horizon. The pitch of the ship over the long blue rollers troubled him, but he persevered, decided in the end that the image of the sun was just sitting on the horizon, and clamped the sextant. Then he could read and record the measurement. As a concession to newfangled prejudices, he decided to follow Hornblower's example and observe the altitude also from the opposite point of the horizon. He swung round and did so, and as he recorded this reading he tried to remember what he had to do about half the difference between the two readings. And the index error, and the 'dip'. He looked round to find that Hornblower had already finished his observation and was standing waiting for him.
   
   "That's the greatest altitude I've ever measured," remarked Hornblower. "I've never been as far south as this before. What's your result?"
   
   They compared readings.
   
   "That's accurate enough," said Hornblower. "What's the difficulty?"
   
   "Oh, I can shoot the sun," said Bush. "No trouble about that. It's the calculations that bother me - those damned corrections."
   
   Hornblower raised an eyebrow for a moment. He was accustomed to taking his own observations each noon and making his own calculations of the ship's position, in order to keep himself in practice. He was aware of the mechanical difficulty of taking an accurate observation in a moving ship, but - although he knew plenty of other instances he still could not believe that any man could really find the subsequent mathematics difficult. They were so simple to him that when Bush had asked him if he could join him in their noontime exercise for the sake of improving himself he had taken it for granted that it was only the mechanics of using a sextant that troubled Bush. But he politely concealed his surprise.
   
   "They're easy enough," he said, and then he added "sir." A wise officer, too, did not make too much display of his superior ability when speaking to his senior. He phrased his next speech carefully.
   
   "If you were to come below with me, sir, you could check through my calculations."
   Bush listened in patience to Hornblower's explanation. They made the problem perfectly clear for the moment - it was by a hurried last-minute reading up that Bush had been able to pass his examination for lieutenant, although it was seamanship and not navigation that got him through - but Bush knew by bitter experience that tomorrow it would be hazy again.
   
   "Now we can plot the position," said Hornblower, bending over the chart.
   
   Bush watched as Hornblower's capable fingers worked the parallel rulers across the chart; Hornblower had long bony hands with something of beauty about them, and it was actually fascinating to watch them doing work at which they were so supremely competent. The powerful fingers picked up the pencil and ruled a line.
   
   "There's the point of interception," said Hornblower. "Now we can check against the dead reckoning."
   
   Even Bush could follow the simple steps necessary to plot the ship's course by dead reckoning since noon yesterday. The pencil in the steady fingers made a tiny x on the chart.
   
   "We're still being set to the s'uth'ard, you see," said Hornblower. "We're not far enough east yet for the Gulf Stream to set us to the nor'ard."
   
   "Didn't you say you'd never navigated these waters before?" asked Bush.
   
   "Yes."
   
   "Then how -- ? Oh, I suppose you've been studying."
   
   To Bush it was as strange that a man should read up beforehand and be prepared for conditions hitherto unknown as it was strange to Hornblower that a man should find trouble in mathematics.
   
   "At any rate, there we are," said Hornblower, tapping the chart with the pencil.
   
   "Yes," said Bush.
   
   
2. The date draws to a close, and Bush realizes that this mayb become something more: p. 39: Bush's mind did not consciously frame the words 'motive' and 'opportunity' to itself -- it was not that type of mind -- but it felt its way along an obscure path of reasoning which might well have been signposted with those words. He wanted to ask again the question he had asked once before, but to do so would not merely invite but would merit a rebuff. Hornblower was established in a strong position and Bush could be sure that he would never abandon it through indiscretion or impatience. Bush looked at the lean eager face, at the long fingers drumming on the chart. It was not right or fit or proper that he should feel any admiration or even respect for Hornblower, who was not merely his junior in age by a couple of years - that did not matter - but was his junior as a lieutenant. The dates on their respective commissions really did matter; a junior was someone for whom it should be impossible to feel respect by the traditions of the service. Anything else would be unnatural, might even savour of the equalitarian French ideas which they were engaged in fighting. The thought of himself as infected with Red Revolutionary notions made Bush actually uneasy, and yet as he stirred uncomfortably in his chair he could not wholly discard those notions.
   
   
3. While leaving, William glances up and catches a . . . glimpse of her naked! In the bath? O.O p. 41: "Turn it on me," said Hornblower, casting his towel aside and standing naked in the sunshine. The hoseman hesitated.
   
   "Hurry up, now!"
   
   As dubiously as ever the hoseman obeyed orders, turning the jet upon his officer, who rotated first this way and then that as it splashed upon him; an amused crowd was gathering to watch.
   
   "Pump, you sons of seacooks!" said Hornblower; and obediently the men at the pump handles, nowgrinning broadly, threw all their weight on the handles, with such enthusiasm that their feet left the deck as they hauled down upon them and the clear water came hurtling out through the hose with considerable force. Hornblower twirled round and round under the stinging impact, his face screwed up in painful ecstasy.
   Buckland had been standing aft at the taffrail, lost in thought and gazing down at the ship's wake, but the clanking of the pump attracted his attention and he strolled forward to join Roberts and Bush and to look at the strange spectacle.
   
   "Hornblower has some odd fancies," he remarked, but he smiled as he said it - a rather pathetic smile, for his face bore the marks of the anxieties he was going through.
   
   "He seems to be enjoying himself, sir," said Bush.
   
   Bush, looking at Hornblower revolving under the sparkling stream, was conscious of a prickling under his shirt in his heavy uniform coat, and actually had the feeling that it might be pleasurable to indulge in that sort of shower bath, however injurious it might be to the health.
   
   
4. The memory stays with him. p. 42: "Dunno if it's good for discipline," commented Roberts, as Hornblower disappeared; [after his naked on-deck shower] and then, with a tardy flash of insight, "I suppose it's all right."
   
   "I suppose so," said Buckland. "Let's hope he doesn't get himself a fever, checking the perspiration like that."
   
   "He showed no sign of one, sir," said Bush; lingering in Bush's mind's eye was the picture of Hornblower's gleaming naked body grin. It blended with his memory of Hornblower's eager expression when they were discussing what Buckland had best do in the dilemma in which he found himself.
   
   
5. The lady is courtedby other parties, but this only causes William to come to a realizaiton. p. 42-43: Bush looked at the pair of them, the elderly, worried first lieutenant and the young fifth lieutenant, the older man pathetically envying the youngster's youth. Bush was learning something about personalities. He would never be able to reduce the results of his observations to a tabular system, and it would never occur to him to do so, but he could learn without doing so; his experience and observations would blend with his native wit to govern his judgments, even if he were too self-conscious to philosophise over them. He was aware that naval officers (he knew almost nothing of mankind on land) could be divided into active individuals and passive individuals, into those eager for responsibility and action and into those content to wait until action was forced on them. Before that he had learned the simpler lesson that officers could be divided into the efficient and the blunderers, and also into the intelligent and the stupid -- this last division was nearly the same as the one immediately preceding, but not quite. There were the officers who could be counted on to act quickly and correctly in an emergency, and those who could not -- again the dividing line did not quite coincide with the preceding. And there were officers with discretion and officers with none, patient officers and impatient ones, officers with strong nerves and officers with weak nerves. In certain cases Bush's estimates had to contend with his prejudices -- he was liable to be suspicious of brains and of originality of thought and of eagerness for activity, especially because in the absence of some of the other desirable qualities these things might be actual nuisances. The final and most striking difference Bush had observed during ten years of continuous warfare was that between the leaders and the led, but that again was a difference of which Bush was conscious without being able to express it in words, and especially not in words as succinct or as definite as these; but he was actually aware of the difference even though he was not able to bring himself to define it.
   
   
6. And they have a second date p. 45: In the east the sky was turning dark, and the sun was setting over the starboard quarter in a magnificent display of red and gold; from the ship towards the sun the surface of the sea was gilded and glittering, but close overside it was the richest purple. A flying fish broke the surface and went skimming along, leaving a transient, momentary furrow behind it like a grove in enamel.
   
   "Look at that!" exclaimed Hornblower to Bush.
   
   "A flying fish," said Bush, indifferently
   
   "Yes! There's another!"
   
   Hornblower leaned over to get a better view.
   
   "You'll see plenty of them before this voyage is over," said Bush.
   
   "But I've never seen one before."
   
   
7. Afterwards, though, our hero has doubts: what sort of creature does he love so valiantly? p. 50: During the dogwatches Hornblower had paced the deck by himself, head bent in meditation; Bush noticed the fingers of the hands behind his back twisting and twining nervously, and he experienced a momentary doubt. Was it possible that this energetic young officer was lacking in physical courage? That phrase was not Bush's own - he had heard it used maliciously somewhere or other years ago. It was better to use it now than to tell himself outright that he suspected Hornblower might be a coward. Bush was not a man of large tolerance; if a man were a coward he wanted no more to do with him.
   
   
8. William realizes how important this relationship is to him; his hesitation disappears p. 68: Whom did he want at his side at this, one of the most important moments in his career? Another lieutenant, if he asked for one, would be second in command, might expect to have a voice in the decisions to be made.
   
   "Do we need Mr Hornblower any more, Mr Bush?" asked Buckland.
   
   Hornblower would be an active subordinate in command. A restless one, would be another way of expressing it. He would be apt to criticise, in thought at least. Bush did not think he cared to exercise command with Hornblower listening to his every order. This whole internal debate of Bush's did not take definite shape, with formal arguments pro and con; it was rather a conflict of prejudices and instincts, the result of years of experience, which Bush could never have expressed in words. He decided he needed neither Hornblower nor Smith at the moment before he looked again at Hornblower's face. Hornblower was trying to remain impassive; but Bush could see, with sympathetic insight, how desperately anxious he was to be invited to join in the expedition. Any officer would want to go, of course, would yearn to be given an opportunity to distinguish himself, but actuating Hornblower was some motive more urgent than this Hornblower's hands were at his sides, in the 'attention' position, but Bush noticed how the long fingers tapped against his thighs, restrained themselves, and then tapped again uncontrollably. It was not cool judgment that finally brought Bush to his decision, but something quite otherwise. It might be called kindliness; it might be called affection. He had grown fond of this volatile, versatile young man, and he had no doubts now as to his physical courage.
   
   "I'd like Mr Hornblower to come with me, sir," he said.
   
   
9. It's getting hot in here!Hornblower stood in the sunshine, already far too hot to be comfortable. His face was pale, dirty and bearded, and in his expression eagerness and weariness were oddly at war.
   
   "Have you had any breakfast yet?" asked Bush.
   
   "No, sir." Hornblower looked straight at him. "Neither have you, sir."
   
   "No," grinned Bush.
   
   He had not been able to spare a moment for anything like that, with the whole defence of the fort to be organised. But he could bear fatigue and hunger and thirst, and he doubted if Hornblower could.
   
   "I'll get a drink of water at the well, sir," said Hornblower.
   
   As he said the words, and the full import came to him, a change in his expression was quite obvious. He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips; Bush could see that the lips were cracked and parched and that the tongue could do nothing to relieve them. The man had drunk nothing since he had landed twelve hours ago - twelve hours of desperate exertion in a tropical climate.
   
   "See that you do, Mr Hornblower," said Bush. "That's an order."
   
   
10. And William wants to take off all your clothes: p. 84: On the gun platform they were casting loose the remaining guns, and as Bush descended from the platform he saw Hornblower organising other working parties, snapping out orders with quick gestures. At the sight of Bush he turned guiltily and walked over to the well. A marine was winding up the bucket, and Hornblower seized it. He raised the bucket to his lips, leaning back to balance the weight; and he drank and drank, water slopping in quantities over his chest as he drank, water pouring over his face, until the bucket was empty, and then he put it down with a grin at Bush, his face still dripping water. The very sight of him was enough to make Bush, who had already had one drink from the well, feel consumed with thirst all over again.
    
    
11. But the monster of doubt again :(Hornblower pounding his left hand with his right fist as he upbraided himself was a comic sight; Bush could not help laughing at him. And Bush knew perfectly well that Hornblower had done excellently so far, really excellently, to have mastered at a moment's notice so much of the technique of using red-hot shot. Moreover, it must be confessed that Bush had experienced, during this expedition, more than one moment of pique at Hornblower's invariable bold assumption of responsibility; and the pique may even have been roused by a stronger motive, jealousy at Hornblower's good management -- an unworthy motive, which Bush would disclaim with shocked surprise if he became aware of it. Yet it made the sight of Hornblower's present discomfiture all the more amusing at the moment.
    
    "Don't take on so," said Bush with a grin.
    
    "But it makes me wild to be such a --"
    
    Hornblower cut the sentence off short. Bush could actually see him calling up his self-control and mastering himself, could see his annoyance at having been self-revelatory, could see the mask of the stoical and experienced fighting man put back into place to conceal the furious passions within.
    
    "Would you take charge here, sir?" he said; it might be another person speaking. "I'll go and take a look at the furnace, if I may. They'll have to go easy with those bellows."
    
    
12. True love, reconciled p. 124: Now the maindeck was clear save for the corpses that lay heaped upon it, although below decks he could hear the fight going on, shots and screams and crashes. It all seemed to die away. This weakness was not exactly pleasant. To allow himself to put his head down on his arm and forget his responsibilities might seem tempting, but just over the horizon of his conscious mind there were hideous nightmare things waiting to spring out on him, of which he was frightened, but it made him weaker still to struggle against them. But his head was down on his arm, and it was a tremendous effort to lift it again; later it was a worse effort still, but he tried to force himself to make it, to rise and deal with all the things that must be done. Now there was a hard voice speaking, painful to his ears.
    
    "This 'ere's Mr Bush, sir. 'Ere 'e is!"
    
    Hands were lifting his head. The sunshine was agonising as it poured into his eyes, and he closed his eyelids tight to keep it out.
    
    "Bush! Bush!" That was Hornblower's voice, pleading and tender. "Bush, please, speak to me."
    
    Two gentle hands were holding his face between them. Bush could just separate his eyelids sufficiently to see Hornblower bending over him, but to speak called for more strength than he possessed. He could only shake his head a little, smiling because of the sense of comfort and security conveyed by Hornblower's hands.
    
    
13. The lovers steal a moment together. p. 127-28: Hornblower returned to Bush's cabin after having supervised the departure of the gig. This time his smile was clearly not forced; it played whimsically about the corners of his mouth.
    
    "I don't see anything to laugh at," said Bush.
    
    He tried to ease his position under the sheet that covered him. Now that the ship was stationary and the nearby land interfered with the free course of the wind the ship was much warmer already; the sun was shining down mercilessly, almost vertically over the deck that lay hardly more than a yard above Bush's upturned face.
    
    "You're quite right, sir," said Hornblower, stooping over him and adjusting the sheet, [which is, for the record, the only thing covering Bush -- he's naked because he's bandaged (*#@)@(*)(@* bad underneath] "There's nothing to laugh at."
    
    "Then take that damned grin off your face," said Bush, petulantly. Excitement and the heat were working on his weakness to make his head swim again.
    
    "Aye aye, sir. Is there anything else I can do?"
    
    "No," said Bush.
    
    "Very good, sir. I'll attend to my other duties, then."
    
    Alone in his cabin Bush rather regretted Hornblower's absence. As far as his weakness would permit, he would have liked to discuss the immediate future; he lay and thought about it, muzzy-mindedly, while the sweat soaked the bandages that swathed him. But there could be no logical order in his thoughts. He swore feebly to himself. Listening, he tried to guess what was going on in the ship with hardly more success than when he had tried to guess the future. He closed his eyes to sleep, and he opened them again when he started wondering about how Buckland was progressing in his interview with Admiral Lambert.
    
    A lob-lolly boy - sick-berth attendant - came in with a tray that bore a jug and a glass. He poured out a glassful of liquid and with an arm supporting Bush's neck he held it to Bush's lips. At the touch of the cool liquid, and as its refreshing scent reached his nose, Bush suddenly realised he was horribly thirsty, and he drank eagerly, draining the glass.
    
    "What's that?" he asked.
    
    "Lemonade, sir, with Mr Hornblower's respects."
    
    "Mr Hornblower?"
    
    "Yes, sir. There's a bumboat alongside an' Mr Hornblower bought some lemons an' told me to squeeze 'em for you."
    
    "My thanks to Mr Hornblower."
    
    "Aye aye, sir. Another glass, sir?"
    
    "Yes."
    
    
14. This being more the way that that our hero typically treats visitors. p. 128-29: There were steps outside his cabin door and Clive, the surgeon, entered, ushering in a stranger, a skinny, white-haired man with twinkling blue eyes.
    
    "I'm Sankey, surgeon of the naval hospital ashore," he announced. "I've come to take you where you'll be more comfortable."
    
    "I don't want to leave the ship," said Bush.
    
    "In the service," said Sankey, with professional cheerfulness, "you should have learned that it is the rule always to have to do what you don't want to do."
    
    He turned back the sheet and contemplated Bush's bandaged form.
    
    "Pardon this liberty," he said, still hatefully cheerful, "but I have to sign a receipt for you - I trust you've never signed a receipt for ship's stores without examining into their condition, lieutenant."
    
    "Damn you to hell!" said Bush.
    
    "A nasty temper," said Sankey with a glance at Clive. "I fear you have not prescribed a
    sufficiency of opening medicine."
    
    He laid hands on Bush, and with Clive's assistance dexterously twitched him over so that he lay face downward.
    
    "The Dagoes seem to have done a crude job of carving; you, sir," went on Sankey, addressing Bush's defenceless back. "Nine wounds, I understand."
    
    "And fifty-three stitches," added Clive.
    
    "That will look well in the Gazette," said Sankey with giggle; and proceeded to extemporise a quotation: "Lieutenant -- ah -- Bush received no fewer than nine wounds in the course of his heroic defence, but I am happy to state that he is rapidly recovering from them."
    
    Bush tried to turn his head so as to snarl out an appropriate reply, but his neck was one of the sorest parts of him and he could only growl unintelligibly, and he was not turned on to his back again until his growls had died down.
    
    "And now we'll whisk our little cupid away," said Sankey. "Come in, you stretcher men."
    
    
15. But I miss you, baby p. 134-35: With Cogshill gone Bush had time to worry about the future; the fear of it haunted him a little even while he ate his dinner, but the lob-lolly boy who came to take away the remains ushered in another visitor, the sight of whom drove away the black thoughts. It was Hornblower, standing at the door with a basket in his hand, and Bush's face lit up at the sight of him.
    
    "How are you, sir?" asked Homblower.
    
    They shook hands, each reflecting the pleasure of the others greeting.
    
    "All the better for seeing you," said Bush, and meant it.
    
    "This is my first chance of coming ashore," said Hornblower. "You can guess that I've been kept busy."
    
    Bush could guess easily enough; it was no trouble to him to visualise all the duties that had
    been heaped on Hornblower, the necessity to complete Renown again with powder and shot, food and water, to clean up the ship after the prisoners had been removed, to eradicate the traces of the recent fighting, to attend to the formalities connected with the disposal of the prizes, the wounded, the sick, and the effects of the dead. And Bush was eager to hear the details, as a housewife might be when illness had removed her from the supervision of her household. He plied Hornblower with questions, and the technical discussion that ensued prevented Hornblower for some time from indicating the basket he had brought.
    
    "Pawpaws," he said. "Mangoes. A pineapple. That's only the second pineapple I've ever seen."
    
    "Thank you. Very kind of you," said Bush. But it was utterly beyond possibility that he could give the least hint of the feeling that the gift evoked in him, that after lying lonely for these days in the hospital he should find that someone cared about him - that in any case someone should give him so much as a thought. The words he spoke were limping and quite inadequate, and only a sensitive and sympathetic mind could guess at the feelings which the words concealed rather than expressed. But he was saved from further embarrassment by Hornblower abruptly introducing a new subject.
    
    
16. William really does love you, Horry :D p. 142-43: "Good old Hornblower!" he said [more than a little drunkenly because he'd been drinking wine and brandy and some more brandy after that and had an empty stomach because he'd been lying around with FIFTY THREE STITCHES IN HIM] "Good old Hornblower!"
    
    To him it was really excellent news; he leaned over and patted Hornblower's shoulder. He knew his face was one big smile, and he put his head on one side and his shoulder on the table so that Hornblower should get the full benefit of it.
    
    
17. And well, for once, Horatio. Recognizes the, um, love[Bush] always remembered that afternoon as one of the most successful dinners he had ever attended. He could also remember Hornblower's smile at the end of dinner.
    
    "We can't send you back to the hospital today," said Hornblower. "You'd better sleep in your own cot tonight. Let me take you there."
    
    That was very agreeable. Bush put both arms round Hornblower's shoulders and walked with dragging feet. It did not matter that his feet dragged and his legs would not function while he had this support; Hornblower was the best man in the world and Bush could announce it by singing 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow' while lurching along the alleyway. And Hornblower lowered him on to the heaving cot and grinned down at him as he clung to the edges of the cot; Bush was a little astonished that the ship should sway like this while at anchor.
    
    
18. The morning after. p. 143: Bush saw something of him during this time, and could congratulate him soberly on the epaulette which, worn on the left shoulder, marked him as a commander, one of those gilded individuals for whom bosuns' mates piped the side and who could look forward with confidence to eventual promotion to captain. Bush called him 'sir', and even when he said it for the first time the expression did not seem unnatural.
    
    Bush had learned something during the past few weeks which his service during the years had not called to his attention. Those years had been passed at sea, among the perils of the sea, amid the ever-changing conditions of wind and weather, deep water and shoal. In the ships of the line in which he had served there had only been minutes of battle for every week at sea, and he had gradually become fixed in the idea that seamanship was the one requisite for a naval officer. To be master of the countless details of managing a wooden sailing ship; not only to be able to handle her under sail, but to be conversant with all the petty but important trifles regarding cordage and cables, pumps and salt pork, dry rot and the Articles of War; that was what was necessary. But he knew now of other qualities equally necessary: a bold and yet thoughtful initiative, moral as well as physical courage, tactful handling both of superiors and of subordinates, ingenuity and quickness of thought. A fighting navy needed to fight, and needed fighting men to lead it.
    
    
19. And no the word limp in the following passage is NOT one of my little additions. p. 144: It was perhaps an unfortunate coincidence that the height of his exasperation with this state of affairs coincided with the payment of prize money for the captures at Samaná. A hundred pounds to spend, a couple of days' leave granted by Captain Cogshill, and Hornblower at a loose end at the same time - those two days were a lurid period, during which Hornblower and Bush contrived to spend each of them a hundred pounds in the dubious delights of Kingston. Two wild days and two wild nights, and then Bush went back on board the Renown, shaken and limp, only too glad to get out to sea and recover.
    
    
20. All good things must come to an end, though And when [Bush] returned from his first cruise under Cogshill's command Hornblower came to say goodbye.
    
    "I'm sailing with the land breeze tomorrow morning," he said.
    
    "Whither bound, sir?"
    
    "England," said Hornblower.
    
    and They shook hands and parted; it says much for Bush's feelings towards Hornblower that in the grey dawn next morning he rolled out of his cot and went up on deck to watch the Retribution, ghost-like under her topsails, and with the lead going in the chains, steal out round the point, waftedalong by the land breeze. Bush watched her go; life in the service meant many partings. Meanwhile there was war to be waged against bedbugs.
    
    
21. But wait! Nothing beautiful ever dies! *insert wavy time signals, NERD bass*It was a cold winter's day in Portsmouth; a black frost, and there was a penetrating east wind blowing down the street as Bush came out of the dockyard gates. He turned up the collar of his pea-jacket over his muffler and crammed his hands into his pockets, and he bowed his head into the wind as he strode forward into it, his eyes watering, his nose running, while that east wind seemed to find its way between his ribs, making the scars that covered them ache anew. He would not allow himself to look up at the Keppel's Head as he went past it. In there, he knew, there would be warmth and good company.
    
    Someone came out from a side street just in front of him and turned into the wind ahead of him - a naval officer. The gangling walk; those shoulders bent into the wind; he could not help but recognise Hornblower.
    
    "Sir! Sir!" he called, and Hornblower turned.
    
    
22. And well, really, who could ever turn his back on a boyfriend like William? Half pay was bad enough; it meant a life of constant care and economy, but one could live. Hornblower had nothing at all. Bush knew now why Hornblower had no greatcoat. He felt a sudden wave of anger. A recollection rose in his mind, as clear to his inward eye as this pleasant room was to his outward one. He remembered Hornblower swinging himself down, sword in hand, on to the deck of the Renown, plunging into a battle against odds which could only result in either death or victory. Hornblower, who had planned and worked endlessly to ensure success - and then had flung his life upon the board as a final stake; and today Hornblower was standing with chattering teeth trying to warm himself beside a fire by the charity of a frog-eating gambling-hall keeper with the look of a dancing master.
    
    "It's a hellish outrage," said Bush, and then he made his offer. He offered his money, even though he knew as he offered it that it meant most certainly that he would go hungry, and that his sisters, if not exactly hungry, would hardly have enough to eat. But Hornblower shook his head.
    
    "Thank you," he said. "I'll never forget that. But I can't accept it. You know that I couldn't. But I'll never cease to be grateful to you. I'm grateful in another way, too. You've brightened the world for me by saying that."
    
    Even in the face of Hornblower's refusal Bush repeated his offer, and tried to press it
    
    
23. And well, in the end, there may be that bitch Maria and all that, but really."That's a nice room you have upstairs," said Mrs Mason. "You wouldn't be leaving me just on account of a few words."
    
    "Don't leave us, Mr Hornblower," said Maria.
    
    If ever there was a man completely at a loss it was Hornblower. After a glance at him Bush found it hard not to grin. The man who could keep a cool head when playing for high stakes with admirals -- the man who fired the broadside that shook the Renown off the mud when under the fire of red-hot shot -- was helpless when confronted by a couple of women. It would be a picturesque gesture to pay his reckoning -- if necessary to pay an extra week's rent in lieu of warning -- and to shake the dust of the place from his feet. But on the other hand he had been allowed credit here, and it would be a poor return for that consideration to leave the moment he could pay. But to stay on in a house that knew his secrets was an irksome prospect too. The dignified Hornblower who was ashamed of ever appearing human would hardly feel at home among people who knew that he had been human enough to be in debt. Bush was aware of all these problems as they confronted Hornblower, of the kindly feelings and the embittered ones. And Bush could be fond of him even while he laughed at him, and could respect him even while he knew of his weaknesses.
    
    SO YES. THERE YOU HAVE IT. Two dudes who do things like bring each other fruit baskets and lemonade and go charging into decks strewn with the dead for each other and watch each other bathe and get all prickly under the skin and then go brothel-hopping together ALL IN CANON AND ACCORDING TO THE WORDS THAT THE AUTHOR PUTS DOWN, OK, AND THIS IS THE GAYEST BOOK IN THE SERIES and shut up, butterscotch, I can hear you laughing at me all the way over hear -- except for the fact that in the next book, Guy A is hanging curtains in Guy B's cabin (I'm not even shitting you) and three books later Guy B is reaching across a dark carriage to take Guy A's hand to help him make it through the night.
    
    And this is in addition to the fact that Bush and Horatio are insanely, incredibly interesting in their own rights, separate from teh gayz0r? And heartstoppingly beautiful writing that resonantes even for somebody who only cares enough about boats to know which side to puke off of? And the further fact there are just piles and piles of 100%, no EU, no bullshit hand-flapping arguments about canon to go through, so I can take every word as gospel truth and spin, spin, spin to my heart's content?
    
    Book fandom, I have missed you so much.