TITLE: The Pirate Lord: A Love Too Proud
AUTHOR: Spittle is Unclean
DISCLAIMER: We do not own the rights to the Hornblower books or miniseries.
NOTES/WARNINGS: This story, set at an indiscriminate point in time between the first two seasons of the Horatio Hornblower miniseries, deals with serious issues. The world of illness is filled with gritty hardships and night sweats, and the sailor sex is hurried and fraught with the danger of discovery. Please do not read this fic if you do not feel fit to deal with the emotional repercussions.

CHAPTER THREE: Not Trusting Archie

Captain Pellew lay listlessly in his hammock, gazing petulantly at the wall before him. His nightgown was soaked through from many sweats. And even now, his brow was furrowed feverishly. Where was Mr. Bowles with the chicken broth? Why hadn't Mr. Bracegirdle brought him the cold towel as he had promised? And most importantly, where was Horatio? And that other guy with epilepsy, where was he?

Captain Pellew managed to whisper from between his crusty, dehydrated lips.

Only days before, he had been feeling sprightly and full of vigor. Why, just the other day, as he had admired Horatio's youthful form swaying from the rigging, he had said to himself, Edward, this disease need not take over your life. You can be happy and competent, even if you are suffering from a chronic lung illness. I have faith in you!

But that faith was gone now, Pellew thought bitterly, leaning over the side of his hammock to hock up a clump of bloody mucous into his chamber pot. Gone indeed.

came a soft voice from the doorway. Might I come in?

The captain sank back into his hammock and smiled to himself. Of course, Mr. Hornblower. Do shut the door behind you, if you will.

Horatio sidled up to his captain's bedside nervously, which struck Pellew as somewhat ridiculous when contrasted with the many nights when Mr. Hornblower had been all too eager to take his place beside his superior officer in that sling of canvas.

The boy shifted uneasily from one leg to the other. Are you feeling at all better, sir?

Better, Mr. Hornblower? Better?

My apologies, sir. I will refrain from asking about your condition in future.

Pellew grumbled, spitting up some more blood with a grimace. You do that, young man. You do that.

Hornblower had pulled up a short stool and now sat beside the captain's hammock, substantially closer to the chamber pot than to the face of his commander. After a few minutes of staring vacantly at the bloody mess within that unfortunate receptacle, he pushed the stool aside and resumed standing.

Captain Pellew? His voice cracked miserably. Sir, what are we to do without you?

There was no response from the good captain. He lay still, breathing shallowly and watching the wall with vacant eyes.

I will return to you later, sir, Horatio finally choked out before turning on his heel and heading for his own quarters.

His hammock was so cold and lonely without Archie near. Of course, it wasn't really time to be lying about in one's hammock, which was probably why Archie was nowhere to be found. But Horatio could foresee many nights without Archie's hammock hanging beside his, and those nights did not look pleasant in the least.

A few midshipmen wandered by, scowling. One of them was complaining at the top of his voice about the scratchiness of his uniform. Horatio sighed and covered his head with his hat. If anyone came to find him, perhaps he could plead seasickness. Before long, he had fallen into a troubled sleep, and while he slept, he dreamed.

Oh Horatio, gasped Archie, wriggling pleasantly beneath his friend's sweaty body. Do you think we can excuse this by claiming to have been terrifically inebriated?

Horatio ejaculated. No, I really don't think we can.

Oh well, Archie moaned into Horatio's curly mullet. I hope you remembered to lock the door.


Mr. Hornblower, wake up!

Horatio was thrown back into the world of the living with a jolt. He looked about wildly. Wha-what is it?

Matthews was standing over him, his aged eyes crinkled benevolently. Just thought you might like to know that young Kennedy's having a bit of a fit.

A FIT? Horatio's voice broke painfully. Matthews, you must take me to him immediately!

The two rushed quickly to the scene. Archie lay flopping about on the deck, his hair escaping from its ponytail and quickly forming a flowing mullet once more. Without thinking twice, Horatio fell to his knees beside his love and took Archie's troubled head into his lap.

Quiet, Mr. Kennedy. Calm yourself!

The sailors stared unashamedly at the pitiful epileptic, who had ceased shaking and now lay unconscious in Hornblower's arms.

Mr. Hornblower, sir? Ought we to take Mr. Kennedy to the infirmary? a crusty midshipman by the name of Mr. Frank asked, tugging at his uncomfortable breeches as he spoke.

Yes, do, Horatio mumbled distractedly, helping to lift Archie's limp body and carry it to the berth of the ship's doctor. Mr. Kennedy has had an accident. He will soon be well again, but he requires a change of pants, as he has wet his own, he informed the doctor. I shall be down to look in on him shortly.

He made his way above decks, tipping his hat to Mr. Bracegirdle, who was conducting a rather ramshackle shipwide search for the midshipmen's underwear. Ignoring the lieutenant's request for help, Horatio strode to the side of the ship and looked longingly out into the waves. They were so blue and endless, and Horatio wondered sadly if he would ever see land again, ever tumble in the brush with Archie, sticks painfully jabbing them in the back.

Perhaps he had caused Archie's fit. Perhaps they would never lie together again, on land or sea. Just considering such a possibility was enough to break the young seaman's heart and soul. He should never have been so cruel, but how could he explain to Archie...he simply had an aversion to certain things.

His thoughts were sharply interrupted, however, by a hand grabbing his own slender wrist. A hand tattooed with a symbol familiar and petrifying to young Horatio Hornblower. And beneath that hand, clinging to the side of H.M.S. Indefatigable, was one Mr. Midshipman Jack Simpson.

Oh my, said Horatio as his wrist made a slight popping sound.