This is the first piece of HH fanfic I've submitted, so I would really
appreciate reviews! It's also the first of a two part piece - the second is
in progress. Hope you like it!
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"My dear friend." Words spoken too late. Had he uttered them a few seconds sooner, perhaps his present burden would not be so unbearable. Perhaps he would feel as if he could live with himself; as if he might, gradually, be able to mend and be whole again. Of course it would be difficult either way, but this terrible guilt wore on him like a dead weight - like an albatross around his neck. Pride. The bitter word echoed in his head. It was pride that had prevented him from speaking. He had been too proud to tell his friend how much he meant to him, as he lay dying, and now it was too late.
As he sat there, letting his grief envelop him like a shroud, Horatio made himself a promise. "If there is an afterlife, and if by some chance I meet Archie there, I will tell him. I will tell him what my pride prevented me from saying - that I loved him." It hadn't been romantic or sexual love, like the kind the ancient Greeks had practiced, one man to another, but something deeper. Something unattainable between a man and a woman, or at least so Horatio thought. He could never imagine having the depth of regard, of affection, of concern that he'd felt for Archie, for a woman. He couldn't imagine having such closeness. But then again, women were an alien race to him - he could not understand them. Probably the better for him, since he was solitary by nature and would most likely cause psychological damage to a wife.
Only Archie had understood him. And now Archie was dead, and Horatio was alone once more, condemned forever to shoulder the burdens of his conscience, of his damned unhappy personality, and now the guilt of his friend's loss. "My dear friend." Just words, now. Three meaningless words, disappearing quickly into the still, hospital air.
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"My dear friend." Words spoken too late. Had he uttered them a few seconds sooner, perhaps his present burden would not be so unbearable. Perhaps he would feel as if he could live with himself; as if he might, gradually, be able to mend and be whole again. Of course it would be difficult either way, but this terrible guilt wore on him like a dead weight - like an albatross around his neck. Pride. The bitter word echoed in his head. It was pride that had prevented him from speaking. He had been too proud to tell his friend how much he meant to him, as he lay dying, and now it was too late.
As he sat there, letting his grief envelop him like a shroud, Horatio made himself a promise. "If there is an afterlife, and if by some chance I meet Archie there, I will tell him. I will tell him what my pride prevented me from saying - that I loved him." It hadn't been romantic or sexual love, like the kind the ancient Greeks had practiced, one man to another, but something deeper. Something unattainable between a man and a woman, or at least so Horatio thought. He could never imagine having the depth of regard, of affection, of concern that he'd felt for Archie, for a woman. He couldn't imagine having such closeness. But then again, women were an alien race to him - he could not understand them. Probably the better for him, since he was solitary by nature and would most likely cause psychological damage to a wife.
Only Archie had understood him. And now Archie was dead, and Horatio was alone once more, condemned forever to shoulder the burdens of his conscience, of his damned unhappy personality, and now the guilt of his friend's loss. "My dear friend." Just words, now. Three meaningless words, disappearing quickly into the still, hospital air.