Pairing: Horatio/Archie
Rating: R, just to be safe
Category: POV, Angst
Summary: Archie reflects on the price of getting what you want.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, much less these fine characters (if you know where I could buy them, please let me know *g*). I refuse to make any money off them in any event, so please don't sue me.
Notes: It's all Cori's fault. Well, and a little other people's, but mostly Cori. 95% Cori. At least. :-)
Spoilers: The Duel and The Duchess and the Devil


Easy Terms
by Nicole D'Annais
Copyright 2001


I knew from the beginning, of course, that it was impossible. But Horatio Hornblower has this way of making one think that anything can be done if you just believe in it enough.

From an early age I realized two things--that I was not 'normal,' and that I had to hide that fact at all costs. Others managed to guess from time to time, others with similar leanings. Simpson managed to guess; a misfortune that made waking up alone in a rowboat adrift at sea under a hot sun with no food or water almost a relief. At least there I was removed from both the biggest torture in my life as well as the biggest temptation.

I have never been a particularly good liar. I had to learn to shut that part of myself away in order to survive. Heaven only knows what self-destructive trait prompted me to join the Navy. Certainly any sane sodomite would not choose to hide on ships crowded with other men where his particular preferences are rewarded with a ghastly death by hanging.

There are, of course, far more delicate terms to describe what I am, but why bother? If my desires are wrong, then calling them by more polite words is not likely to save me.

I should have known this would happen. It was inevitable. I saw the Navy as a way to prove to my family that I was a man. Instead, it may well prove to be my undoing.

The oubliette gave me time to think. Too much time. If the physical punishment had not been enough to stop my attempts at escape, the realizations I came to while in that hole had been. True, I was a prisoner here. But I was free of Simpson, I was free of Horatio...in a way I was freer behind these bars than I had been onboard my ship.

Fate, it seems, had no intention of letting me rot away in peace. I lingered in my cell, forced to eat, made somewhat presentable by my captors, as days turned into weeks and months until it seemed as if I'd been here forever.

And then the door to my cell opened, and someone sat on me. I was surprised, as I'd had no cellmates in my time here, but not nearly as surprised as I was when I rolled over and saw Horatio there. I was certain I'd finally gone insane. Even when he spoke, I was convinced he was only in my imagination.

It wasn't until hours later that I realized it was not an hallucination, dream or nightmare. When I woke from my fit, he was there, taking care of me, like some kind of angel or saviour, and I knew at that moment he was real.

I also knew he would not be satisfied unless he dragged me out of here and back to the ship.

I couldn't go back. Death would be preferable to suffering through Simpson's cruelty and Horatio's pity. So I told him I wasn't going back. I chose words deliberately to wound him in the process, hoping he would be hurt enough to leave me here.

Clearly I was insane at the time if I thought that would work. Even after I set out to starve myself--an endeavour Hunter was all too happy to assist in--Horatio refused to leave me behind. I'm told he carried me to the prison hospital himself, though I have no recollection of that. I only know that when I woke up he was there, taking care of me again. I tried to push him away, truly I did. With words based in my own dark resentments, I practically accused him of wanting to play the hero by rescuing me. His response was to insist he needed me.

Was I to be expected to resist that? I am accustomed to being used; I am not accustomed to being needed. And even though I knew perfectly well he did not need me to escape, a part of me wanted to believe he needed me. Not just for escape.

When he leaned over me, hand on my chest, and placed that tumbler of water to my lips, I was lost. I grabbed the drink and his hand as if they were lifelines, which I suppose in a way they were.

If I had only known...but then how could I have? For all of the possible outcomes of my life, good and bad, this is not one I would have ever imagined. And would I have really been able to resist the lure, even if I had had the opportunity to do so? To have that which you most desire, even if only for a short time, is a powerful temptation.

Horatio had no idea how much he had done for my recovery just by telling me of Simpson's death. I know he was aware Simpson liked to torment me, but I doubt the true nature of that torment would occur to him, even now. It is not in him to comprehend such evil, which is just one of the many things I...I love about him.

There. I've admitted it, if only to myself. I could not admit it to him, despite all that has transpired. That is not possible. Then again, until recently I thought many things were impossible. And yet here I lie, healthy, officially a midshipman on the Indy again, a willing prisoner of the Spaniards, and in the arms of my best friend.

I agreed to come back because I owed Horatio everything. And because I wanted to be where he was. My body imagined all sorts of possibilities that my mind told me were crazy to even think of when I considered that the two of us would be alone in a cell together. But I had no intention of acting on any of them.

I'm still not sure quite how it happened. We were sitting on my bed, unable to sleep through the storm, though we'd endured far worse at sea and slept like babes. We talked long into the night, and then suddenly we weren't talking. We were kissing, and undressing each other, almost frenzied in our haste to be skin to skin.

The storm lent an almost dream-like quality to the whole night, making it possible to forget it was real and let go of my fears for a short, glorious time. But now the storm has ended. Horatio is asleep beside me, and my fears have returned tenfold. What will he say when he awakes? I tried to talk to him once we were both spent, but he kissed me gently and said to rest. "There'll be time to talk tomorrow."

As if I can rest now. So I lie here, my mind racing, unable to comply with my body's demand for sleep. I don't think I will rest until I know his reaction. I have created responses for any eventuality. If, as I expect, he wants to forget this ever happened, then I will pretend to do so, though in reality there is no chance of me ever forgetting what happened here tonight.

As for other possibilities, the heavy weight of his arm draped across my chest and the slow, even heat of his breath on my shoulder give me the strength to hope just a little that we might get the chance to do this again. I would not have the power to resist that opportunity.

I know this and anything that comes after can only last as long as we are confined to this prison. How strange to only be allowed freedom when one is locked away. I suppose nothing is ever earned on easy terms. So I will take what I can have on whatever terms I can have it, and be grateful to have it at all.

After all, to have your heart's desire for but a little while is still having your heart's desire, terms be damned.

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END


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