Title: "UNLEASHED"
Pairing: Archie/Horatio.
Rating: PG-13 for now, but may increase with later parts.
Summary: This is a revised version of the story 'Admission' that I posted previously, an angsty series portraying the relationship that develops between Horatio and Archie, beginning in the sick room in 'The Duchess & the Devil'. Please R&R, you know you want to...
PART 1 - HORATIO
By Lizard
I cannot do it. How do the others expect me to leave him behind and make an escape? Yes, I know that without him it would be easier to get out, but...I cannot. My conscience will not allow it. Look at him, lying there - can they not see the pain, the misery he must have suffered for these past years? How dare they even contemplate leaving him here to the mercy of these Spanish brutes? Every time I look at him I cannot help but notice all his torment etched clearly upon his face and in his eyes.
That merriment of old is not there to look back at me and brighten my day. I must do whatever I can to bring it back, for it is my fault he has ended up here. That one night - I could not persuade the other men in the Jolly boat that he needn't be knocked on the head to keep him quiet. I could have held him tightly until the fit had passed. But I did not. I was a damned coward. I do not know why I could not hold him, but I dared not try - it felt wrong, as though it were something unclean that I had no right to imagine.
I admit that I wanted to hold him. Who would not want to comfort their friend when he is in pain? Yet I dared not do so, though my conscience wrenched at my inaction. Perhaps I felt awkward and did not wish to reveal this weak, pathetic nature of mine to the other men. When Archie suffers, I feel honour-bound to suffer alongside him. I cannot explain it - in my mind, I know that what I feel for Archie is right and just. The truest sort of friendship, pure, unsullied by jealousy or competition. And yet I fear to act out my feelings of closeness. What holds me back? Damnation, I do not know the answer.
And now, we are here in this dank pit of a cell. Alone. I feel liberated - without the others to see me, I can indulge myself and look at his face for hours as he lies asleep. That familiar profile that I would recognise instantly. He awakes often in a fever or crying out due to some demonic vision from his subconscious. And I hold him - hold him tightly until I have absorbed his pain and he has relaxed. Breathing deeply and calmly into my neck, dampening the skin there. Even when he has recovered, I cannot let him go. Always within me is this fear that he will leave. That I have not yet convinced him of his importance to me.
Sometimes I am amazed he allows me to do this. I'm sure he knows of my weakness and yet he allows me to embrace him in such a manner. Almost as if he were a child, or as if I were a child and he a much beloved toy. But toys can be discarded, and he is irreplaceable. I cannot survive without him - I do not know why. A commander of men should not feel so close to anyone, friendships and acquaintances are always so untenable in the navy. But I cannot help myself.
Perhaps it is because he was the first one to befriend me on the Justinian. But I have made many friends after Archie, and I have never felt as strong a link as this with any one of them. When I am with him, I feel strengthened. I know that what I do is truly appreciated - not merely a job well-done; he understands the heartfelt effort I put into my work, how closely akin I feel to the sea and the navy.
Perhaps *I* am the child, always seeking approval for some task he has completed to the best of his ability; and Archie the parent, who smilingly exclaims how delighted he is and how proud of me.
I wonder what he thinks of me now as he lies on his cot beside my own. I know he does not hold it against me for causing him to be cast adrift in the first place all those years ago. I blame myself tirelessly, as I deserve; and yet my dear friend reproaches me for pursuing such self-punishment. His heart is too pure and generous to feel any malevolence.
I often question why he was so kind to me that cold November morning aboard the Justinian. What on earth made him want to befriend a snivelling boy who was so unsuited to the sea that he was bloody seasick at Spithead? I do not know and I do not care. All that concerns me is that I hold onto his friendship with both hands and never let it loose. Can he not see how much he means to me? How could he even have considered starving himself to death? Does he not feel that our relationship is worthy of his life?
No, I will not think in such a manner, for I will only become more incensed. When one has suffered as much as he, they are bound to feel that life is not worth living. I cannot understand why or how. All I can do is show him that I am here for him, and that if he goes, I will surely die.
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