PART 2 - ARCHIE
By Lizard
Clever bastard. Using that 'almost-about-to-cry' ruse to make me eat and drink. And weakling that I am, I fall for it. I can't help myself. He leans over me as I lie on my cot, determined to ignore him. And I hear his breathing quaver as he repeats that old phrase "We need you" again and again and again...Despite myself, I feel a clenching in my chest as he strives to make me remember all those good times aboard the Indy. Oh, there are plenty of memories, he does not really have to try.
I know he thinks that I am being selfish by choosing to end my existence. More fool he - what good am I? What purpose have I ever served upon this Earth except to cause an inconvenience? I know that Horatio feels he needs my friendship, but the time he speaks of is long gone. He is chasing after a dream, the simpleton. He doesn't realise he has no need of me - he's found his footing and has flourished a damned sight more than I ever will.
I am the one tagging along behind him wherever he goes; can he not see that? I will forever be behind him, hindering him in some way. So why not leave him? Break off the friendship for good, for it does me no favours. I have tried, but it seems I did not try hard enough. If only there were a merciful God that would remove me from this world. Two birds with one stone then, I guess - the world would be rid of Archie Kennedy, and Archie Kennedy would be rid of Horatio Hornblower.
The man has thrown me into overwhelming confusion! I had everything planned, and then he has to come along and ruin it all. I don't want to feel so dependent - I don't want to feel that I need Horatio beside me always. When he is not there before my eyes, it is easy to convince myself that wallowing in hell wouldn't be such a bad thing. But then he leans close to me, bombards me with all his feelings, his pleas that he will not survive without me. What bollocks. But alas, I am a weak selfish man, and I feel touched that he says he needs me. It is not true - how can it be? And yes, he might need me as a companion, someone who understands him through and through. But that is not enough. He will be better off without me there to hamper his success. A true commander of men has no friends, everyone knows that. I know it, and yet I want to start living again.
Truth be told, I never truly wanted to die. There was always that niggling flame of hope deep within me that Horatio might come and stop me from doing this. Starving is not the only method of suicide - there were many opportunities for me to slit the inside of my wrist, and the beams on the ceilings would have been ideal to hang from with a bed sheet. I wanted to die slowly, to wallow in my feelings of uselessness. But I know that I always had that spark in the back of my heart hoping that something, someone, *Horatio*, would save me from myself.
What a pathetic creature I am! I could not even commit suicide with conviction. But it does no good to dwell upon it now. Horatio needs me, and so I shall live. I feel that I am wanted, and that feeling is far too pleasurable to relinquish. See how selfish I am? Here is my dearest friend distraught and worried, and I change my mind because I wish to bask in his distress and concern. This self-regarding nature of mine disgusts me, but I cannot help it. And besides, it is more than just feeling good. I believe I now have a purpose - be it merely as the friend of a hero.
I do not know why I first befriended him when he first joined the Justinian - I felt compelled. There was something about him that made me feel he was my other half - he reminded me of myself when I was younger. Shy, uncertain, awkward, withdrawn. I wanted to make him grow, to make him realise his full potential, to give him the friendship and support he needed to succeed. And succeed he has. Oh, I do not take credit for his accomplishments. But I was there, watching him, guiding him through those early days when he knew no better. And stupidly, I became attached. Too attached. He came into my cell here. I saw him look down at me; oh, the expression on his face when he realised I was not dead! Those innocent eyes wide open in shock and bewilderment. Always he has this effect on me. An absence of *three years*, and immediately that old fondness shot through me. I was so disgusted at my ridiculous weak spot that I could not even face him. I realised then that if I ever had enough resolve to separate myself from him, it would have to be with death. A mere parting would be agony.
How morbid have my thoughts become; I wonder what he would think were he to realise I have contemplated suicide on a regular basis since I began naval life? Call me disgusting, call me stupid, call me insane. I call it being realistic.
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