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Late nights on a ship were nothing more than invitations for a nap when it came to Archie Kennedy. Yawning, his paced back and forth on the deck in an attempt to keep himself awake. He hadn't been able to get much sleep since he had woken up in the middle of a strange place in a time where nothing seemed to have reason to it. He wished that he had forced himself to sleep as the bell was struck behind him.
He wasn't having a bad time with Harold on board, but he still missed Horatio. Kennedy knew that there were just some things that he couldn't and wouldn't tell the Fourth Lieutenant, but he seemed to want to spit out his life story to Lowe. Perhaps the whole reason he was compelled to do so was because Harry was willing to listen where Horatio would sympathize for a moment before replying with some heartwarming story that just seemed to rip at Archie's heart. He loved his family, and they loved him, but things weren't always the easiest.
With three older brothers, Kennedy almost felt like an outcast when he was home. The lieutenant looked back on his childhood and expected to remember pranks and gags that would make him chuckle, but he saw nothing of the sort. If he only remembered one thing vividly, it would be how protective his brothers had been when he was a boy. Even a mean glare directed at the youngest of the Kennedy boys brought forceful glares and rolled up sleeves from the rest.
In a way, Archie was bothered by the fact that he wasn't treated like any normal younger brother. He was practically pampered by both of his parents and they all regarded him as if he were made of glass that was old and brittle, willing to break at the slightest breeze, or the lightest hug. At first it seemed like a way of life for Kennedy, but when he began to make friends and see all of their families, he came to the conclusion that he was the one that was being treated oddly. Even as a boy of eight, he knew that there was something terribly wrong with his life and the course it was running.
Probably the most important factor that changed how the child looked at his life was a young boy he had met while playing out in the forest behind his house. Both boys had managed to run into each other, and after a lengthy stick fight, each ended up in the grass, hair tousled and throats stinging with laughter. Archie later found out that the boys name was Jonathan Adderham, but at that time all he knew was that this short brown haired boy was someone who knew how to put up a good fight.
The striking blow would have come a good few hours later while the sun was just setting and the boys had been talking for quite a while. It seemed as if they had known each other forever until Jonathan, who preferred to be called Johnny, brought up the fits that were never anything out of the ordinary to young Archie. Confused, the little blond Kennedy seemed exasperated to find that epilepsy was very uncommon for the residents of his town, let-alone in children. Of course, they were called "falling out spells" to soften the delicate nature of the situation back then, but Archie sooner or later translated the soft words to epilepsy.
At eight years old, it was terribly difficult for Archie to realize that he was the child who was different, and at time, he even became angry with the fact that he hadn't been told. Of course, his family being caring as they were, felt it necessary to let Archie grow up as any other child would, and in his best interest, passed it off as something that shouldn't be mentioned, and certainly something that should be taken care of gently. It was only after finding out in such a cruel way did he realize why his brothers were so protective, and why the other boys never cared to get into any brutal, elbow scraping battles. Everyone saw him as fragile and avoided him because of it.
Kennedy rebelled not long after finding out, doing his best to pick fights in the school yards and trying his hardest to make his bothers angry. Once in a while he succeeded, only to reprimanded by his mother and looked at sternly by his father. Looking back, he could hardly even remember a time in his childhood that he had been beaten for doing wrong. It certainly didn't seem natural for the twenty-three year old when he looked back over the years.
When Archie finally believed he was old enough to make his own decisions, he sat his family down and had a long talk around the old family table. He wasn't going to be the glass child anymore, he told them so in his most mature fashion. When he finally told his parents that he planned on joining the Navy, his mother shed her tears and his father shook his head, but his brothers looked at him with admiration, unbelieving that their youngest brother had come to such a conclusion on his own accord.
After such a nervous talk, his mother tried many times to talk him out of his fate on the ocean, but Archie would have no part of it, and when his parents saw the determination in his eyes, they could do nothing but offer him the money he needed for schooling, and a blessing that he would be safe under the eyes of God. The last memory he had while in his own house was as a twelve year old lad, standing tall in front of his mother who was trying her hardest not to cry. "What about your fits?" She had asked, delicately, taking her youngest son's hand, to which he replied softly, "I haven't had one in years and I don't intend to have one any time soon." They exchanged their quiet good-byes and he kissed his mother on the cheek before managing to walk out the door of his comfortable home, gripping tightly at what little belongings he had thought to take with him.
By the time he had found his spot as Fourth Lieutenant on the Renown, he had been plagued by fits from his past, and the letters from his family had trickled to a stop. Once again he felt as if he was the one that everyone tiptoed around. Even Horatio seemed careful about what he would say to Kennedy. However, Harold seemed to know how far he could venture into the younger man's mind, even if he never tried to, and that gave Archie a sense of adventure as well as kinship. Someone seemed to understand him completely for once, and still liked him as he was. It was a different and new feeling, but not something the twenty-three year old feared.
Leaning on the railing, Kennedy remained lost in thought as he came to the conclusion that having Harold around was like having a brother that wasn't afraid to beat the snot out of a little English pup. He was the type of person that knew things would be all right in the end, and just the thought of someone who didn't go easy on him because of his condition made him smile.
The man in question was barely awake himself, as he leaned on the railing with his eyes sliding closed every few minutes only to be snapped open again by a brutal shake of the head. Lowe was tired out. He was deprived even of the short four hours of offtime he had aboard the Titanic for sake of sticking with Archie and trying his damnedest to survive on a backwards ship at only the start of a long journey. But now, as a day had passed, his mind wasn't half as sharp as normal and it was only willpower and stupidity that kept him on his feet.
Really, it was anyone's guess whether it was more will or stupidity, but given the heavy stance and the groggy look in Harold's eyes, it seemed to be leaning with stupidity even as the bells rang out. Add in the fact that he was starving, and the entire night seemed to be taking forever. Briefly, the Welshman rubbed at his eyes, dully unsurprised when they refused to open again, and tried to fight down a yawn with no success.
Archie noticed the long yawn and eyed Harold sympathetically. "Why don't you go below? I'll bring you something to eat when Mr. Bush comes up and relieves me."
"'M fine," Lowe mumbled in response, still battling it out like a stubborn fool. "Just resting m'eyes."
"They look more like they're resting in peace. Come on, old man, get some rest before you pass out and I have to find someone to carry you below." Taking off his hat, the younger man grinned lightly, leaning on the rail as well, and listening to the waves lap against the side of the hull.
"Hm..."
William made his way up in fortunate time, walking to the railing. He looked wickedly awake, having just gotten up from a reasonably peaceful sleep, and he smiled at Archie and Harold, though the older of the two didn't even acknowledge his presence. "Gentlemen."
Touching his hat, Kennedy smiled at Bush and elbowed Harry lightly in an attempt to wake the poor soul.
"Not due on watch yet, Jimmy," Harry mumbled, though the words were practically unintelligible.
Bush raised an eyebrow, leaning over to eye Lowe in something between amusement and concern. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked like a standing corpse..."
"Not quite so yet, sir." Grinning, Archie leaned close to Harold's ear and took a deep breath before letting out a bellowing yell, "HORATIO!!!"
The resulting leap was impressive, though not quite so impressive as the landing. Lowe landed with his eyes wide open and his breathing hard, both fists up and shaking, and he did actually take a swing, but Bush caught his arm halfway. The senior officer was surprised that the Third Lieutenant was even capable of fighting, let alone instinctively... it didn't strike him as something Horatio would do. "Mr. Hornblower, it might not be the wisest thing to punch the nearest person out."
Harold caught himself before be turned on William, and the wild look left not long after as he cleared his throat turned a little red. "Sorry, sir."
"Quite all right," Bush replied, giving him a half-smile. "Though you may want to go below and get some sleep before someone loses teeth."
"Aye, sir," Harry said, taking a deep breath.
Archie snickered at the whole scene, shaking his head and leaning on the rail goodheartedly. "My thanks to you, Mr. Bush. I've grown to like my teeth, though I doubt this bloke could do too much damage." He paused a moment and grinned, looking at Lowe. "With all due respect, of course, sir."
"Don't do that again, Kennedy," Lowe warned, nearly growling now that his heart wasn't trying to make a forced exit from his ribcage, "or there will be a row."
"Not on deck, if you please, Mr. Hornblower," Bush broke in, heavily, before anything bad could come of it. "Below, the both of you."
"Aye, sir," Harold answered, after a pause.
"Aye aye, sir," Archie seemed to add, touching his hat once again and starting below. Lowe followed a moment later, now very much awake and still running high on adrenaline.
"Anywhere to get something to eat this late?" Harold asked, a slight note of apology in his voice, which was likely the closest thing to an apology he would give for threatening Archie.
"Well, the galley's not open, but I think we could probably at least sneak some biscuits and go to the wardroom to eat. That is, unless you'd rather go to your box."
"Whichever's easiest," Lowe commented, looking around the very dimly lit below decks. "Lead on."
Managing his way through the decks quite easily, the younger lieutenant stopped outside the galley and slipped inside long enough to retrieve some food for the both of them. Making his way back down the hallways with Lowe, he quietly opened the door to the wardroom, and finding it empty, he stepped inside and started to light the candles with the one that had been left ablaze.
Harold sat down at the table, inspecting the biscuit before munching on it halfheartedly. He rather missed the Officers Mess on Titanic, where a meal could be had at all but the most odd of hours. A hot meal, with tea... not coffee, Harry reminded himself with a slight smile. Definitely not coffee, not that coffee, which was so bad that it required special emphasis and could make everyone on the Bridge shudder. But the tea was good, and so was the roasted beef and the fresh fruits and vegetables... well, the biscuit wasn't bad, if not a bit dry. He had lived on less before and could again.
A short glance was offered to Archie, who had finished with his candles and taken a seat. Lowe smiled slightly, hoping to make up a little for his harsh words on deck -- he had a temper and it had on occasion got him into trouble. There was no use in losing a friend over it. Quietly, he said, "Thank you."
The younger of the two men smirked and looked over at his companion. "Not many people are thankful for hard biscuits."
"Or for a hand in getting adjusted?"
"You would have done the same for me." Picking at his bread idly, Archie picked up two cups from on the table. "Want something to drink?"
"Water if it's possible," Harold answered, "nothing if it isn't."
"I think I can manage to get you some water. You'll get sick if you don't have something." Smiling, he stepped out the door for a moment and came back with some water that he set in front of Lowe. "Drink 'em both."
"One's enough for me." Harold leaned back in the chair, picking the cup up and nursing it like fine brandy. It was as stale as Hell, though they were only just out of port, but then, he was used to the reasonable amenities of the Titanic. It still tasted good.
"But two would be better seeing as how you won't drink the rum." Pulling apart his food some more, Kennedy couldn't help but yawn.
Lowe chuckled quietly, "Don't argue with me, Archie. It's too late for me to have a chance to win."
Laughing, the younger man sat back in his chair as well. "I'm not usually one to argue, but this is something I insist upon."
"Insist, do you? To a superior? Hmmph!"
Grinning, Kennedy swatted at Lowe's arm lightly. "It's for your own good."
"My own good?" Harold fought back a smirk and eyed the younger man suspiciously and appraisingly. "Are you a doctor?"
"No, but I've been to enough to know." Munching on the biscuit, Kennedy snickered lightly.
"Ah yes, the sickly lieutenant who's entire career seems fraught with attacks and opportunities to undermine his captain's authority," Sawyer's voice said, without the mad captain stepping from the shadows by the door. The sound of a musket being cocked very nearly echoed, or perhaps that was just because it was so utterly shattering that it seemed that way.
Thrown somewhat off guard by the whole situation, Archie froze for a moment before getting to his feet, squinting to see where Sawyer was. "S-sir...?"
"Sir." Sawyer stepped out into the candlelit area, the musket pointed at the Fourth Lieutenant. He went on to mimic, "'Yes, sir' or 'no, sir', or 'right away, sir'... oh, but you and your friend are conspiring, aren't you? You seek to make a mockery of me, and of my ship!"
Lowe stood, all thoughts of water, joking or sleep cast aside as he felt anger well up. Still, though, he tried to keep that fire from his voice as he said, "Sir, you look to be in need of rest."
"Oh yes," Sawyer seethed, turning to point the gun at the other lieutenant. "And the ever thoughtful Horatio Hornblower comes to the rescue. Your record's not terribly shiny either, boy."
"No, sir, I imagine it's not to such a highly acclaimed hero as yourself," Lowe shot back, sarcastically. He regretted it not more than a split second later, but by then, it was too late to take the words back.
"You see? Mutiny! I was right, by God, and you'll both hang for it!!" Sawyer glared at the two of them, stepping in front of the doorway.
"Sir," Kennedy pleaded hopefully, "mutiny is the last thing on the minds of these men and ourselves. Now please, put the gun away, sir."
"No!" Narrowing his eyes, the Captain hastily pointed the gun back and forth between the two men. "By God, I'll shoot one of you now, and the other will hang!"
"Like Hell you will!" Harold snarled, leaping like a horse from the gate and bowling into Sawyer. The click of the musket misfiring didn't even occur to him at the time, as he wrestled the gun away and stood again.
Sawyer, however, didn't move.
Archie had jumped at the click, but when the loud sound didn't penetrate the hull of the ship, he looked at the Captain, then to Harold and the gun. "Bloody Hell, give me that thing before it actually does some damage!" Reaching for the gun, he made sure to stand clear of Sawyer, though more concerned that the misfired gun might send a shot into his friend.
"Damn... damn!" Harry half-yelped, not sure whether he should be relieved or terrified about the circumstances. He knelt next to the captain, checking him for a pulse before sighing slightly, "He's still alive."
"Well, that's good, but we won't be if someone finds out what happened..." Carefully fixing the gun, Kennedy then placed it in his belt and knelt next to Sawyer as well. "Bastard deserved it, though."
Lowe moaned, frantically trying to come up with some idea on how to explain or anything that would cross his mind. "We have to do something... dammit, kick me next time I do something this stupid, would you?"
"I'll be sure to." Looking around, Kennedy stood and began to pace. "We have to do something..."
"We could say he fell..." Harold tried, weakly.
"Fell with a gun in his hand?"
"You have the gun," Lowe commented, then possibly the most devious and sickening thought crossed his mind. He didn't know where such an idea came from, but desperation and the knowledge that unless he really came up with something so damn farfetched that it wouldn't be questioned, he would hang and so would Archie had something to do with it. Why would the captain be up and about in his nightclothes, in the wardroom? "Dear God... it might actually work," the Welshman muttered, though he was already turning green at the mental picture.
"What might?" Raising an eyebrow, the younger man stopped and looked at Lowe.
"I can't believe I'm doing this, I can't believe I'm doing this, I can't believe I'm doing this," Harold repeated in a litany, as he began doing what under less desperate circumstances he never would do. He began taking the captain's trousers down.
Blinking, Kennedy wondered if he was seeing things. "Jesus, man, what're you doing?!"
"Don't ask," Harry whimpered, hurriedly finishing his less than noble task. He jumped back to his feet, quickly, his hands shaking. "Take the gun and hide it. Go back to your quarters. You didn't see anything."
"What?!"
"Just do it, Archie!" Lowe cried, exasperated and as jittery as a man could possibly get. "Nothing... you saw absolutely nothing, and you've been in your cabin."
"I can't leave you here to take the blame for this," the younger man frowned, looking out the doorway to make sure no one was coming.
Harold wiped his hands on his pants feverishly, then gave Kennedy a light shove between the shoulder blades, hissing, "Dammit, there's no time to argue, just go!"
Looking over the scene once again, Archie then nodded quickly at Lowe. "Good luck, then." Turning, he jogged down the hallway away from the wardroom.
Waiting until Archie was out of sight, Lowe took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He still couldn't believe he was doing this... it couldn't work. It was too insane, too odd... too...
Too un-Hornblower, which is exactly why it could.
Another deep breath to steady his nerves. His hands still trembled slightly, and he was certain it would take at least several showers to ever feel clean again, but there wasn't any time to waste. After a moment to make sure the sickening scene was set, he slipped from the wardroom and headed up to the quarterdeck, where Bush was on watch.
"Sir," Lowe began, trying to keep the shaking from his voice.
Raising an eyebrow, William looked over at the Third Lieutenant. "Mr. Hornblower... I thought for sure you would be asleep by now."
Harold swallowed hard, not having to even act the anxiety and upset. "Sir, there's been an accident..."
"An accident?" Immediately the soft look fled from Bush's face, leaving a hard look of concern. "What's happened?"
"I..." Lowe shook his head, trying to find the right words, "I can't really... I don't think it's prudent of me to say it out loud. It would probably be better to show you."
Contemplating for a moment, Bush finally nodded. "Find someone to take over here and then we'll go below. Unless, of course, it is urgent."
"Very urgent, sir."
Nodding, Bush placed his hat on his head and started below. "Where was this accident, Mr. Hornblower?"
Lowe led him down the steps, dropping his voice to a nervous whisper. "The wardroom, sir. I was going to get something to eat, and I... I... dear God, sir, it's not something I can explain."
Walking quickly through the hallways, William didn't offer any other words, sure that he would get nothing more out of the younger man. Harold winced as he pushed the wardroom door open for his superior, but didn't actually say anything. His stomach was too knotted for him to find words anyway, honest fear coursing through every vein of his body.
Immediately turning his head from the situation in utter disgust, Bush managed to take his hat off, turning to look at Lowe. "How did it happen?"
"I don't know, sir," Harold said, hoping to sound baffled and disgusted himself. Well, disgusted was easy enough. "I was on my way back here for a late dinner, and I found him like this...."
"And you set your food down before reporting this?"
Damn. "Well, yes sir," Harold murmured. "I couldn't very well check his pulse with a biscuit in my hand."
Eyeing the younger lieutenant, William nodded and looked back over the scene with almost a green tint. "Perhaps you should get Mr. Buckland." Nodding to himself, he stepped over the unconscious captain. "Yes. Send someone up to keep watch as well."
"Aye aye, sir," Harold replied, remembering for the first time the second 'aye' in an almost subconscious way. He left the wardroom, hurriedly running back towards where his and Archie's cabins were, hoping that Buckland's would at least be easy to decide. He forced himself to slow his frantic steps as he neared the doors, noting that Kennedy's light was on, and then tapped on the only other lit cabin with a silent prayer.
Jostled from his sleep, Buckland sat up and pushed the book off of his chest. "Yes, what is it?"
"Sir, you're needed in the wardroom."
"Now?" Pertly replying, the First Lieutenant moved to the door and opened it. "This had better be something important, Mr. Hornblower."
"Very important, sir," Lowe answered, his voice a little more tense than normal and his face a shade or two whiter.
Noting the look on Harold's face, Buckland nodded and started off towards the wardroom, not bothering to look back and see if he was being followed or not.
Lowe watched, then moved across and down to Kennedy's quarters, tapping on that door next. "Mr. Kennedy!"
The door opened quickly and Archie looked at Lowe, then looked down both ends of the hall. "What's happening?" Whispering, he made sure no one was around once again.
"You're needed to take over watch for the time being," Harold answered, his own voice low.
The younger man nodded. "Just be careful, Harry."
"I will." Lowe gave him a reassuring smile, even though it was a little strained, then jogged his way back to the wardroom as quickly and quietly as he could. He closed the door behind him when he stepped in. "Mr. Kennedy is taking the watch, sirs."
Bush, looking over the unsteady figure of Harold, nodded, and looked to Buckland who had been shocked nearly silent. "I think perhaps we should get Dr. Clive."
"Would you like me to get him, sir?" Lowe asked, though he hoped that he wouldn't be called to. He had no idea where the surgeon's quarters were.
Bush shook his head, ready to leave the room on his own accord. "No, I'll get him. Clean up your dinner, though, Mr. Hornblower."
"Aye aye, sir," Harold answered, shakily going to gathering up the cups and biscuits. He only belatedly realized there was food for two there, and hoped to everything good that no one noticed that.
Buckland kept his distance from the Captain before looking over at the Third Lieutenant. "You found him like this?"
"Yes, sir," the nervous Welshman answered, stashing bread and the cups into the closest pockets he had.
Shaking his head, Buckland was forced to sit down. "Good God, this won't look good for the service..."
"No, sir." Lowe gave him a worried look. "We aren't that far out of port... we may be able to get back and get this to the admiralty before the word spreads."
"And what of the crew? It will pass through the ship like fire!"
"So far, only you, myself, Mr. Bush, and soon Dr. Clive will know," Harry pointed out, respectfully. "With any luck, sir, we may be able to keep it between us for the short time until we're back in harbour."
Nodding, Buckland remained quiet for the moment that remained before Clive came through the doorway, gasping, "Dear God! What happened?!"
"We... we don't know for certain, sir," Lowe mumbled, going pale again. If anyone could throw a monkey wrench into this insane and halfcocked plan, it was the surgeon. "I... he must have been..." he finished lamely, "...you know."
"So it seems," Clive offered, distastefully, kneeling down and checking on the Captain. A moment or two of silence brought him back to words. "He looks to have hit his head, but I believe he will be all right."
"We have to keep this from the crew, sir," the acting-Third Lieutenant said, hoping desperately that one of the other seniors would jump in, "or his reputation and everyone's will be destroyed."
"Quite right," chimed Buckland, nodding deliberately.
The doctor stood and wiped his hands off. "Of course. I'll have to get him to his room."
Harold winced, but offered, "I would help you, sir." Why he would was beyond him, but perhaps it was something to do with guilt -- even if he sincerely disliked Sawyer, he had just taken and completely destroyed what little career he had left. Still, with any luck, the damage wouldn't be widespread.
Nodding, Clive managed to get the Captain's trousers up without much incident, and took the front end of Sawyer's body. "Take his feet."
The younger man nodded, taking the Captain's feet carefully and helping to hoist him into the air, still being as gentle as he could. He cast a worried glance at Bush and Buckland both, before letting Clive lead him out.
"Have someone set course back to shore." Buckland stood, visibly shaken, and walked out.
Bush touched his hat belatedly, answering to no one to hear, "Aye aye, sir." Pausing for a moment, his sharp and intelligent blue eyes scanned over the room, trying to reconcile the sense that Hornblower hadn't been alone with the logic of bringing no more grief to anyone than necessary. Kennedy had been there. Hornblower was protecting him. If Bush didn't know better, on intuition and experience alone, he would say that something had happened more than the Third Lieutenant had claimed.
In that sense, Lowe's plan worked. There wasn't a single person on board, not even the Captain, who would have expected something so devious. Hornblower may be capable of mutiny, but he was not capable of taking the captain's trousers down and thereby ruining his reputation in such a manner that it would need to be kept silent and resolved as quickly as possible. So, when William Bush came to the conclusion that Horatio hadn't been alone, he also came to the conclusion that other than protecting his friend, nothing had gone wrong on board besides the Captain's overzealousness in...
Hell. William made his way back up on deck, looking to Kennedy. "We're to set course back for port," the senior lieutenant said, quietly.
"Back to port?" Kennedy raised an eyebrow, somewhat tiredly, looking at the senior officer. "Now?"
"Yes, Mr. Kennedy, now," Bush snapped, a little on edge himself now. Especially now. A little more gently, he added, "Work out a heading, please."
Kennedy touched his hat, sensing the tension that had been caused. "Aye, aye, sir." Moving away from the Second Lieutenant, he let out a sigh of relief and began to work out the heading back home.
Bush waited for a moment for the navigational heading, then turned to the maindeck, bellowing, "All hands on deck! Pass the order!"
Loud shouts swam across the deck as more and more people were roused to wake. Kennedy leaned on the railing as this happened, his mind wandering and his eyes threatening to close.
William took a moment from his powerful yelling, a brief pause between the men getting to the deck to reswing the yards aloft to pick a west wind up, and the actual deed. Hoping to make up for his gruff approach, he tapped Archie on the shoulder. "Go back below, Mr. Kennedy," the older man said, forcing a half-smile, "before you fall asleep where you stand."
Somewhat startled, Archie looked over at Bush seemingly uncomprehending. "It's quite all right, sir, I'll be fine when things begin to pick up."
Bush nodded slowly, respecting the Fourth Lieutenant's wishes, though he could have made it an order. Looking back to the men, then the calculation in chalk Kennedy had given him, he turned and barked to the quartermaster, "Helm-a-lee!" As the quartermaster turned the wheel, he watched the sails, and as she began to swing away from the wind, he shouted to the maindeck sail crew, working the yards, "Bring 'em around!"
Watching the crew bustle around for a good while, Archie yawned and stretched in an attempt to keep himself alert. It wasn't until Harold came on deck that he realized that he probably wasn't the sleepiest person on the ship. The wayward Fifth Officer looked as though he was one of the walking dead. His eyes were nearly closed, and he walked with little spirit in his step.
Feeling it best, Kennedy moved over to his friend and stood next to him. "You should get some sleep, Harry," he offered, quietly.
"Probably," Lowe agreed, yawning. He felt about how he looked, now that the absolute most immediate crisis had been covertly avoided. Smiling to himself, he fished one of the partially chewed on biscuits out of his pocket. "Hungry?" he teased, trying to be lighthearted. "I know I'm not."
"Me either," Archie grinned, taking the biscuit and eyeing it up. "Of course, fuzzy biscuit seems much more appealing than one would think." Laughing lightly, the young lieutenant picked at the bread with no real intent to eat it.
Harold chuckled, leaning on the quarterdeck railing with most of his weight. The feeling of the Renown settling into her new course was enough to unstep his usually excellent balance, but he was aware of the speed picking up now that she was running with the wind instead of tacking against it. "How long d'you suppose until we're back in harbour?"
Leaning next to him, Kennedy managed a shrug and tore a small piece of the biscuit off. "A day or two, I suppose. Maybe quicker if the wind works with us." Popping the bread into his mouth, he looked over at Bush for a moment before looking back to Harry.
"Tomorrow evening," Bush said, face tilted to the stars. "The wind'll be stronger at dawn, provided we have fair weather."
"That's good, all given," Lowe agreed, his own head bowed slightly and his eyes closed lightly. "A fair west wind, and even better if we can catch the high tide going in."
"Might I ask why we're going back to port, sir?" Archie turned once again to Bush, putting on an acting mentality. He wasn't going to ruin their chances of success if he could help it.
William looked at the Fourth Lieutenant, pondering for a long moment. For a brief second, he almost wanted to say that Kennedy knew exactly why they were going back, but once again decided to leave him out of it. "No, Mr. Kennedy, you may not," Bush finally chided, though he softened it with a gentle look. "Best not to reason why."
Nodding, Archie looked back towards the front of the ship. "No, sir, I suppose if it's something that we must return to shore for then I'm better off not knowing."
"Very right." Bush smiled again, more sincerely, leaning over to look at Harold, who was fast asleep. If the Second Lieutenant were more cruel, he might have given him a push and knocked him from his precarious balance, but that wouldn't have looked good in front of the crew.
Glancing over at Harold, Kennedy couldn't help but feel bad for him. He had been working on nothing but adrenaline for the past hour, and hadn't had any sleep for a good long time before that. The younger man would have probably woken the older sailor if he had the heart, but letting his friend sleep where he was seemed more important than making him wake again and go below.
"You both should go below and rest, before you take ill," Bush commented, but quietly. "When's the last time you've slept, Mr. Kennedy?"
Rubbing his eyes for a moment, Archie did his best to remember and failed quite readily. "I couldn't say for sure, sir. I would have to say, best guess, twelve or fourteen hours ago."
"Go on below," Bush commanded, nodding in the direction of the stairs. "And take him with you, before he falls over."
"With respect, sir, I was ordered onto watch by Mr. Buckland, though I'd be happy to take Mr. Hornblower below." Making his way over to Harold, he shook him lightly.
"Only temporarily, while I was below," Bush argued, not particularly liking the fact that he would have to go and talk to Buckland to get Kennedy below decks. "If there are any problems with that, I'll take responsibility."
"Aye aye, sir," the younger lieutenant replied, defeated, and shook Lowe once again.
It took a few moments for the Welshman to drag himself back to consciousness, and he picked his head up to look around, forcing himself to look halfway alert. "Yes?"
"Get yourself before, Mr. Hornblower," William said.
"Aye, sir," Lowe answered, forgetting the second aye once again. He looked blearily at the stairs, thinking in the back of his mind that the journey was too long and he would have been thrilled to just sleep on deck.
Taking Harold's elbow, Archie did his best to guide the acting-Third Lieutenant below. "C'mon, not too far to your cabin."
"I'm going, I'm going," Harold murmured, his steps heavy as he trudged down the stairs, trying to remember where he was going. "Hell, I'm worn thin..."
"Yes, I think you need to get a few good hours of sleep, my friend. And then you need to eat a good meal when you wake up." Oddly enough, Kennedy found it somewhat abnormal to be telling such things to a person who looked so much like Horatio. He thought for sure that normal everyday activities would be remembered, but then he reminded himself that his new friend and his best friend were nothing alike in most things.
"Yes, mother," Lowe joked, picking his way slowly back to Hornblower's cabin. "Plan on reading me a bedtime story as well, Archie?"
"I could," Kennedy laughed, "but they would all be in verse and I'm sure you would have heard them before."
"Verse?" Harold shook his head, not quite falling through the door into the small quarters. "I'm not that well read."
Shaking his head, Archie stopped outside the door opposite of his own. "Well, if you ever want something to read, I can let you borrow one of my books. They're mostly Shakespeare, but they're good reading."
"I'll bear it in mind," Harry answered, leaning on the door frame heavily. "Until then, though, I'll..." a slight grin crossed his face, "...I'll bid thee adieu, and pleasant dreams."
Laughing, Archie dipped into a low bow and flashed a smile before disappearing into his own room, quietly.
"Still in one piece," Lowe said to himself, closing his own door and dropping into the hammock without even taking the time to get undressed. "It'll be all right," he reassured, though no one was there to hear it, and let sleep carry him off.
Back in his own room, Archie sat back in his hammock and picked up the book he had discarded earlier in the day. He'd read through it many times, but for some reason, Shakespeare's tragedies were more appealing to him than the comedies. He did enjoy the lighter works, but the darker tales always seemed more real to him.
Flipping idly through the book, he smirked and closed it once again, noting the well worn cover as he set it aside and picked up another book that wasn't in much better shape. He wasn't usually the type to write in a journal, but every once in a while he would put quill to paper and scrawl down some words about the his day on the ship, or a short poem that came to his mind.
Figuring it prudent, he moved to get his quill and laid the book carefully on the edge of his bookshelf. Dipping the feather's tip very delicately into his ink well, he began writing in his own messy form, denoting a new entry with a quick line after his last words.
The strangest thing has happened and I'm not quite sure how I could explain it. Needless to say, this occurrence has brought me two new friends. Harold Lowe and James Moody from the RMS Titanic. It looks crazy to even write such a thing, but here I am with Harry, and it's all real.
He's certainly different from Horatio, even though they bear some striking similarities around the face. I find myself feeling more rebellious when there's someone beside me who treats me as more as a man than a lieutenant. I doubt I could ever say that Mr. Lowe is a better friend than Horatio, but he's certainly no worse. Yes, he's quite a character.
Today was proof that perhaps neither of us are in a good state of mind, though, when we both found ourselves standing in front of Captain Sawyer who was on the floor with his trousers at his ankles. Mr. Buckland has decided to take the ship back to port, so I have a feeling we'll all be on trial soon enough. The whole situation just seems too insane to have been thought up by Harry (or Horatio), which is why I think it might succeed. Of course, there's no telling what can happen until we're on shore once again.
Harry's done his best to protect me by saying that I wasn't in the wardroom when everything happened, but I was. Honestly, I was scared to death to think that I would be shot by a madman, but feared for Mr. Lowe's life more when he lunged for the gun. Either he's a very stupid man or a very brave man. I believe it's the latter.
Waiting a moment for the ink to dry, Archie could feel his eyes closing slowly, and in a final attempt to keep his thoughts private, he slapped the leather-bound book closed and tucked it carefully in behind his other books. Then, with as much relief as grogginess, he laid back in the hammock and fell asleep.