Chapter Text
When Horatio was eight, dark rooms scared him. As with many children, he feared what may be obscured by the shadows, what could lash out and attack him, mame him or even kill him. A wolf, a foul beast of the night, perhaps even a deadly spider could catch him unawares and pierce his flesh. These fears often were the subject many nights of unrest for young Horatio, who tossed and turned in his modest bed, careful to not awaken his father down the corridor.
Once, he dared to alert his father to these worries, during a brief spout of unruly weather on an unforgiving winter night. Slowly, he tip toed his way to his father’s room, careful to not alarm him too much when he gently shook him out of his sleep. On waking and being informed by Horatio of his fears, the physician calmly explained to his son:
“A wolf or any creature that lurks at night has no need for a raggedy boy like you to eat, that’s if they can even get in!”
Young Hornblower was not amused. He knew not to think so lightly of such a a terrible possibility.
“Then what about small creatures, like spiders?”
“A spider, hm? Are you worried they could become big enough to eat you?”
“I’m worried about their venom, like in your books father. Who’s to say they couldn’t catch me unawares, creep up in the shadows and assassinate me there?”
His father laughed and patted his head fondly, “well you’re in good hands then! If anyone was to be able to save you from the grips of venomous death at the hands of an arachnid, it would be a physician like me. Now go to your room Horatio, I have clients to check on early in the morning.”
Horatio, though somewhat quelled by his father’s reassurance, was not fully convinced of the physician’s plan with his abilities as a medical professional. Begrudgingly, he walked back to his room and got into bed, not convinced of the abilities of modern medicine to save him from his fear of the unknown that lurked within the shadows.
~
Twenty years later, as he watches the light slowly fade from his dear friend’s eyes, he is still unconvinced of the effectiveness of medical treatment.
Though, if Hornblower was being completely honest with himself, he was as much to blame for Archie’s death. He fully knew the consequences of even thinking of mutiny, let alone acting it out with the help of his fellow lieutenants. The whole ordeal was risky, and however confident he was that he was ‘doing the right thing’, he would be lying if he said he thought he would get out of it scot free. Even so, pushing Sawyer was an action that he willingly took, an action that a corner of his brain keeps nagging at him that was unnecessary, a step too far, regardless of what would have happened if Sawyer did see them all that night.
And where did that get him? He gained nothing from it. If he didn’t push Sawyer, the trial, though it will have still taken place, would have had less evidence against him and his comrades, and if luck would have it, they all would would’ve left with minor demotions and a safely retired Captain away from sea for good.
But he did push Sawyer, and Archie in an act of selflessness, took the fall. Brave, wonderful Archie, who had been so kind to him all those years ago when he first joined the Navy. Archie, who recovered back into his normal jolly self after his despair-full stint in the Spaniards prison. Archie, his first real friend in years, gone because of his righteous sense of justice.
This reality was the reason Horatio again tossed and turned in his bed. Peace with France had given him an unbearable amount of time to dwell on the actions in Kingston, which combined with the worries of half pay and debts, was giving Horatio a rather hard time, to put it lightly.
This particular night is no different. Portsmouth during a storm is no laughing matter, especially with lodgings like his own. He’s half sure the whole building will be ripped from the ground and chucked into the ocean, which alone does nothing to quell the own storm brewing in his head. Glancing to the sole window in his room, he watches the lightning flash outside with mild interest, wishing for once he could just sleep.
He wonders what Archie would think of him now. Would he be proud of the life Horatio is living, the life that he sacrificed himself for all those months ago? Would he joke about the matter, in his usual upbeat tone? Or would he react pensively, as he was back in the prison, a shell of the man he once was?
A violent flash of lightning shook him out of his thoughts. No, he shouldn’t be thinking about Archie too much. Lest he go mad with guilt. Archie would not want him to be stuck in the past, he would want him to move forward, succeed, rise even more so through the ranks of the Royal Navy. His sacrifice should not be in vain.
Satisfied with this conclusion, Hornblower relaxes back into his bed, glancing around his room as a force of habit one last time before resolving himself to sleep.
But when he does, a shadowy corner of his room catches his eye. Farthest away from the window, not much can be made out, but as the lightning strikes a flash of illumination into his room, Hornblower witnesses a horrid image.
There Archie stands, watching him, still in his lieutenant’s bloodied uniform, but with the unnerving pensive look of his prison days etched across his face. Horatio takes in a sharp breath, and feels nausea swell in his stomach.
Hornblower blinks once, and he’s gone. All that remains is a dark corner, and a strange damp feeling under his eyes.
He does not sleep that night.