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When he turned over the watch to Buckland, William Bush had fully intended to go to bed and lay down for an hour or two in an attempt to forget about all of the troubles onboard ship at that time. That was his plan and focus, throughout the watch. He gave his reports to the senior lieutenant, informing him of Mr. Kennedy's sudden illness, and then went below.
He had intended to go to bed. But, caught in a moment of kindheartedness, he instead stopped off at the Fourth Lieutenant's cabin, intending to check on him. Cracking the door slightly and sticking his head in, he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't what he saw.
Sleeping peacefully in the chair, his feet up on the sea chest, the fair-haired lad in Kennedy's room most certainly wasn't Kennedy. Built a little bit slimmer, and much taller, the fellow wasn't very old. He had light brown hair, a very fair face, boyish features, and he was dressed in what looked to be some sort of nightclothes.
For a moment, William didn't know what to do. The first thought was that this was some sort of stowaway, someone who didn't belong, and to raise the alarm. But the sleeping man looked anything but threatening. Frowning a moment, Bush stepped inside the whole way, closing the door behind him, and reached over, prodding the gent in the shoulder.
James woke at that, blinking sleepily. He hadn't really meant to doze off, but Shakespeare had apparently influenced him more than he had intended, and before he knew it, he was dreaming. So, when he was awoken by that prod, he didn't immediately know where he was, who was there, or what danger he was in until he looked at the confused older lieutenant and it came flooding back. "Wha...?"
"I think I should be asking that," Bush said, sternly, though he kept his voice down. "Who are you?"
Unable to think of even a halfway plausible story, Jimmy decided it was wiser this time to stick with the truth. "James Moody, sir," he answered, quietly, standing.
"And where's Mr. Kennedy?" Bush looked over the man, maybe a little unnerved that he had to look up at him. Tall fellow, really, but still there wasn't any aura of anything dangerous about him.
"I couldn't honestly say I know for certain," Moody said, self-consciously, wishing in the back of his mind that Horatio would come to his rescue. But that didn't seem too certain at this point, and he tried to think of a way around this.
"Couldn't honestly say?" William's eyebrows went up. "You're in his cabin, but you couldn't say?"
"No, sir," came the mumbled reply.
"Let's try this again... where are you from?"
"Grimbsy, sir."
"And how did you get here?"
James frowned slightly, looking at his feet. "To be perfectly honest with you, sir, I haven't quite figured that out yet."
William sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. The entire day before and then the night had been taxing to say the least, and he was mentally worn out and getting exasperated by all of this. First Hornblower was acting odd as Hell, then he was acting somewhat normally again and now Kennedy was missing and this pup was in his place. Add in that the Captain had been found with his trousers around his ankles, and that they were now headed back into port... suffice it to say, it wasn't the Second Lieutenant's night. "You're making this difficult."
"Sorry, sir... if I could understand it myself, I would be more than glad to try to explain it," Jimmy offered, still looking at the floor.
"Sit down, and tell me this from the beginning," Bush commanded, eyes still closed. There had to be some odd and ridiculous story, because so far there had been many odd and ridiculous things that had happened already.
Moody sat back down obediently, folding his hands on his lap. "I... sir, it's a very strange story."
"I gathered that much," the older man almost snapped, but managed just barely not to. "Tell it anyway, before I decide that I've gone insane and need locked away."
"Yes, sir," James said, quietly, then took a deep breath. He didn't know where to begin or how to make sense of it, but maybe the other man wouldn't just up and have him hanged. "A... well, a few days ago, myself and a shipmate of mine basically vanished from our posting and ended up in Liverpool, with Mr. Hornblower and Mr. Kennedy."
"Vanished...?" Yes, this was going to be a ridiculous fish tale indeed. "Go on."
"Vanished. And when we got where we did, we noticed that Mr. Lowe and Mr. Hornblower were practically identical, and that they were from now... 1801, and we're from 1912."
William gave him an incredulous look. Did he really expect him to buy that? That he was from the future, him and this Lowe fellow? But the look on the younger man's face was sincere, and even a little bit anxious... he was a talented liar or an insane fellow, this Moody. "1912. The future."
"Yes, sir... your future." Moody cringed under the look, squirming under the scrutiny. He knew how crazy it sounded, but it was too late to take the words back now. "We all went to an inne, to try and figure out how or why it happened, and since I... since I had..." He tried to think of how to explain about the memoirs, but it wasn't easy. "Since I had some knowledge of history, I spoke with Ar-- Mr. Kennedy about his future in hopes to make it..." finishing rather lamely, he said, "...right."
By now, Bush was well beyond speaking. He was trying to make some sense of this odd tale, and it wasn't happening.
Noticing the look, James continued on, hoping to get the story out before he was keelhauled or something else for being a spy. "We spent some time together, the four of us, and then Mr. Hornblower and myself ended up on my ship... the Titanic. Mr. Lowe and Mr. Kennedy must have been back here. I can't say I know what all happened when they were, but when you were probably talking to Mr. Hornblower, it was actually Harold, not Horatio."
Oddly enough, that did seem to make some sense. Horatio didn't have short hair, a quick temper, or a Welsh accent. Playing back over their encounters in his mind, William frowned deeper. It still could be an act, but that part of the tale did fit, and it made sense to him as an explanation for Hornblower's general demeanor throughout the day.
Noting the expression, Jimmy plowed into the next part of the story, "Somehow or some way, Mr. Lowe and Mr. Kennedy must have been transferred to 1912, and Mr. Hornblower and myself back here. Thankfully, Mr. Kennedy noted some things that happened in his journal, or we might have been in more trouble than current, but as it stands now..." he let his voice trail off, having no idea of how he could possible continue with the odd tale, or make it any more sensible. To be honest, it wouldn't make much sense to him if he were listening, and he didn't expect the senior lieutenant to buy any of it.
William sighed, softly. Silence fell like a cloud over the room as a minute passed, then two. Really, neither of them knew what to say... what could one say to something like that? Bush did know that he wasn't going to just believe this story, but he likewise knew how to read people. And Moody wasn't lying -- he was sincere. And what would the senior officer say when he went above decks to Buckland? Would he try to relay the story and risk being looked at like he was a fool, or would he say that Moody was a stowaway, and that Kennedy was a deserter? When the silence became too uncomfortable, he finally asked, "Hornblower's in on this as well?"
"Not in on it so much as having no choice..." James murmured, not entirely certain if he should be relieved at the break in silence, or fear what would come next. Moody was not a coward, but even he had no wish to meet his end on a ship out of time, far away from his kin and kind.
Bush stood after a moment, speaking somewhat quietly, "Stay here," and then he stepped out and across the hall, knocking on Horatio's cabin door.
Sitting idly on his bunk, Horatio quietly worried about what was going to become of the four men until there was a knock on his door. Looking up from the spot that had been so interesting to stare at a moment before, he cleared his throat. "Come in."
William stepped in, a frown still wearing lines into his face and making him look older than he actually was. Leaving the door ajar only slightly, he looked at the young lieutenant he'd grown to admire somewhat even in the few days since they had met, halfway hoping that this would all turn out to be a prank, or some other arcane initiation. "Mr. Hornblower. I was wondering if Mr. Kennedy was prone to drastically changing his appearance as well as having fits."
Hornblower hadn't been expecting the question, so when Bush had asked it, the younger man was left blinking at the idea before stammering into words, "I, uh... well, sir... You see, um..."
The stammering was already making Bush feel his stomach knot, knowing somehow that this was only going to get harder instead of being explained away. "All right, get up."
Damning himself mentally, the Third Lieutenant stood up as quick as he possibly could without letting himself topple over, swallowing a little harder than normal.
William gave a sharp nod, then stepped out and back across to where James was pacing the two or three steps that he could manage across Archie's room. Moody looked up when he stepped back in, then looked past him to Horatio with apology in his eyes.
Hornblower couldn't help but give the Sixth Officer an understanding nod, taking a deep breath and waiting to hear what Bush would have to say about the whole situation.
"You know him, obviously," Bush stated, looking between the two, though he was addressing Hornblower. "How?"
"We met not too long ago on land," Horatio explained, figuring it best to come clean. "Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Lowe, Mr. Moody and myself found ourselves all on land when we weren't supposed to be, but the thought quickly faded away when we realized that Mr. Lowe and myself were near twins."
Bush shook his head, leaning on the wall and rubbing at his eyes yet again. They were stinging, thanks to his want for sleep, and the last thing he wanted to do before he went to bed was to forget this ever happened. "I've heard this story. I still can't quite believe it."
"If it helps, sir," Moody put in, thoughtfully, "I believe Mr. Kennedy will be back soon and then you won't have to worry about it."
"How do I know he hasn't deserted? And that you aren't a stowaway?"
"You don't, sir," Horatio said, softly, not liking in the least the upset the senior lieutenant was facing, nor the fact that he couldn't do a thing about it. It made him sick at heart to imagine James hanged for a crime he didn't commit, and Archie condemned as a deserter, all because of some strange twist of reality. "I can guarantee you, however, that you could search this ship from stem to stern, and you won't find Mr. Kennedy. I can likewise guarantee that he'll be back sometime soon."
James nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure himself if that much was true. Still, it honestly couldn't worsen their situation any if it turned out not to be, and he noticed the tired, frustrated resignation that crossed William's face. Naturally a kindhearted fellow, he added in offering, "It will be all right, sir. Somehow."
"I'm going to bed," William said, carefully. "I hope that this sorts itself out tomorrow, for all of our sakes and sanities."
"There'll be no need to worry in the morning, Mr. Bush," Horatio assured once again, gently ushering the higher ranked lieutenant out the door.
Perhaps it was mental fatigue that allowed Hornblower to carefully maneuver Bush from the room, and off towards his own cabin, or maybe it was just a very real desire to cling to that promise and not concern himself more, but William nodded and headed for his own cabin. He didn't dare dwell on this, not for any length of time, and as he closed the door to the small room, he did the best he could to put it from his mind.
After making sure that William was off to his room, Hornblower moved back to Kennedy's cabin, letting out a slight sigh and looking to his companion. "Let us hope this turns out the way we want..."
James nodded, sitting on the hammock and echoing the soft sigh. "Honestly, Horatio, I don't see how it could do us much worse. At least this gives us a little time."
"Yes, you're right... I think Sawyer would have had us dangling from the yard at the earliest opportunity."
Moody smiled slightly, agreeing, "Yes, I believe he would have. But thankfully, Mr. Bush seems to be a good bit more accessible, and with any luck, no one else will come calling on Archie this evening."
Nodding, Horatio moved towards the door, running a hand through his unruly, yet shortened hair. "I think we'll be fine, Mr. Moody."
"I hope so." James did his best to lay back in the hammock and make himself comfortable, though it was too short for him, much like his own bunk. Resolving himself that it would be a long night, at any length, he offered a tired smile to Hornblower. "Try to get some rest, and we can worry about it in the morning."
Offering a smile back, Hornblower then opened the door. "You as well, my good man," and out he stepped, moving to try to salvage a few hours worth of sleep.
James listened to the door close, leaving him to blow out the candle and think in the darkness. He felt trapped, somehow, like there was no escape from an inevitable end. Did it matter whether he was hanged for being a stowaway or spy, or whether he went down with the Titanic? In all truth, given the choice he would have rather given his life to save others, in his own time, where those who love him wouldn't wonder forever about his fate. But he didn't seem to have a choice in any of this insanity, nor would he.
For a moment, the young man felt like giving into the urge to break down in tears, not so much from the situation, but from the sheer helplessness of it all. James was by no means a weak-willed fellow; he had taken his share of blows in life and had never given up despite them, but it was almost tormenting to think that all of it could come to an end on either side, no matter his choices.
Swallowing hard in the small, black cabin, Moody called on his own strength of heart. Firmly, he pushed any thoughts of failure aside, not allowing them so much as a purchase on his mind. It Harold and Horatio and Archie were going to fight to the bitter end, then he would be damned if he wouldn't be fighting right there with them.
That reassuring thought was the last to cross his mind before sleep finally caught up with the tired, fair-haired lad from Grimsby.