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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Preslash Will/Horatio. Horatio/Archie, hints of Jack/Norrington, Jack/Archie and Bootstrap/Norrington.
Feedback: Typos, character discussions, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Crossover with Horatio Hornblower. Pretend the first four HH movies happened, only adapted to the time of PotC.
Summary: Horatio and Archie indulge in a little gossip.
***
Horatio looked up at the approaching footsteps, squinting against the sun. When he’d made out who was coming up the path, he smiled and made room for Archie. Plenty of it, for Archie never could merely sit, but instead had to sprawl over slightly more space than was ever available.
“Thank God for that seagull. I think if I’d had to work a full day today, I would have simply had to fake a drowning,” Archie said, flopping down. His knee banged into Horatio’s leg and he began to apologize, but stopped after Horatio had looked at him. He tapped at the book Horatio had been reading. “Catching up on your…no. Well, that’s certainly an interesting choice of reading material.”
“Especially with this sunny weather. I suppose you should read this sort of stuff when a storm is battering at your window and your candle is near to guttering out.” A bit embarrassed, Horatio snapped the book shut and put it down. He could feel the burn in his cheeks and his self-consciousness about it was beginning to be unbearable, so he sought to steer the conversation in other directions. “I found it tucked in one of Will’s cabinets behind some bowls, and thought it might help explain his odd habits.”
Archie’s eyebrow rose. He rolled over and raised himself on his elbows. “Why, Lieutenant Hornblower, do I detect a hint of exasperation in your voice?”
“Now, Archie…” Horatio began, but as it was obvious he was pursuing a lost cause, he gave it up. He slid the book behind himself in hopes that the principle of out of sight, out of mind would come to his aid. “Mr. Turner is clearly a well-respected and well-liked citizen of Port Royal, and he’s certainly a fair landlord. He’s a good man.”
“Before dark, anyway?” Whatever Horatio’s expression was, it made Archie drop back laughing. His hand slid back to stroke lightly along Horatio’s thigh. When Horatio jumped, it only pressed more firmly.
Horatio darted glances all around them, but it seemed that this little hollow was still safe from passersby.
“Oh, so he believes in ghosts and monsters. I’m almost inclined to agree.” Both Archie’s face and voice sobered, and his hand was now lying against Horatio’s leg more for comfort than for teasing. “There’s something very odd about this region. Very odd.”
“Oh, no, Archie,” Horatio moaned. “Not you as well.”
“No, hear me out. Remember that strange little trip we had to Tortuga? Well, while I was ashore…”
* * *
Though the air was its usual sweltering self, Archie could detect a strange hint of cold in it. He put one arm around himself, then remembered the men looking to him and hastily turned it into a tug at his coat. Then he glanced behind him, but curiously enough, the few looks he received were sympathetic. Generally the men were unforgiving of any signs of weakness in their officers.
Generally they took every chance they could to look up and stare about, but now they kept their eyes fixed to their boots when they weren’t staring nervously at the window.
The door opened rather suddenly and they all sprang to attention, one hand rising to their faces and the other tight on their swords or muskets. Commodore Norrington, accompanied by two redcoats and a man dressed in somber civilian clothes, walked into the room and returned their hasty salute. “Back to your positions,” he said quietly but firmly.
He alone didn’t seem to be affected by the atmosphere…or perhaps he was merely having an unusual reaction. Certainly fear did not have him, but some worry shaded his face, as did a dark sort of humor. He marked the way the men were in an instant and gave them a tight, wry smile. “It’s the new moon, men. You need have no fear.”
It was a peculiar thing to say, but the men instantly relaxed. Some looked sheepish, as if they should have realized it themselves, but most simply looked grateful.
Norrington dismissed the soldiers that had accompanied him, then came over to Archie. “You had a pleasant watch, I hope?”
“Oh, very. I had plenty of peace and quiet in which to practice my prayers.” Archie hadn’t meant to sound quite so glib, and smiled quickly to take off the edge.
Both the joke and the smile were noted by Norrington, but no rebuke was delivered. Instead he nodded stiffly and turned around to confer with the third man, who had followed him quite closely, almost as if he were linked to Norrington’s elbow.
This man was quite tall, with a long, thick tail of brown hair hanging behind him and a beard that made it difficult to give him an age. He seemed about Norrington’s age, but the skin around his eyes sagged in weary rings. His eyes themselves were disturbing to look at, flat as a windless sea but with hints of darkness, and Archie could not look at them for long. Of course, he hardly had a chance to given how the man constantly watched Norrington. The stranger was dressed very plainly but not poorly, and he seemed oddly familiar.
Norrington paused to point to Archie. “This is the lieutenant that’s taking Groves’ place,” he said. “Mr. Kennedy, this is Bootstrap Bill Turner.”
“Turner?” It was a common enough name, but it blazed in Archie’s mind. He absently put out a hand; Bootstrap’s grip was firm but inexplicably damp and cold. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever stayed in Dead Man’s Inn?”
The man’s eyes widened as he raised his eyebrows questioning, but they didn’t flicker a bit. “Where is that?”
“It’s—damn Groves, I told him to stop telling that story,” Norrington muttered. Then he recollected himself and darted a lowering look at Archie into the bargain. “Never mind, Bill.”
“Yes, never mind me,” Archie said, anxious to mend things. He did like his post here and his life under Norrington, but that alone couldn’t explain his sudden unease. He was…afraid of this Bill Turner. Something was wrong in the man. “My tongue runs away with me sometimes.”
Bill didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He let go of Archie’s hand when Archie let go of his and stood back, head slightly tilted. “Do you know my son?” he said. “Will?”
“Will…oh, Will Turner is your son?” Now that Archie thought about it, that did explain the haunting sense of familiarity. And it didn’t, because Will had an earthy practicality and a full set of emotions besides, whereas his father wouldn’t have been out of place in a fairy cavalcade. “Vaguely, I suppose. We’ve been introduced.”
“Bill, I need to talk to…” Norrington gently began to turn Bootstrap towards the corner with the table.
The other men in the room looked at Bootstrap with a mixture of fear and pity, but whatever the proportions of those were in each soldier, they all kept their distance. Archie frowned and studied Bill Turner more closely, though he could not rid himself of the feeling that he was looking at a wrecked ship. At first he thought the man might be some poor victim of a bad head wound that Norrington still employed for sentimental reasons, but that theory was gradually dashed. Bill Turner spoke little, but when he did, Norrington leaned forward with an intent face, and Archie could hardly credit a man as efficient as Norrington with taking an idiot seriously. In addition, it had not been the absence of awareness that had bothered Archie in regards to Bootstrap’s eyes, but more…the overabundance of that. The man looked as if he’d seen things no man should ever see.
Something rattled outside. Norrington looked up, but Archie waved a hand. “I’ll see to it, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” Norrington said, promptly returning to his talk with Bill.
A quick round about the building found no one, so Archie and the three soldiers he’d taken with him returned to the front. The men went inside, but Archie lingered on the porch for a while. The air was fresher and, he secretly admitted to himself, Bill Turner was not there.
“It’s a fine evening for a fine lad,” someone said.
Archie stepped back, hand going to his sword and mouth open to call, but froze when he felt a prick in the side of his neck. He very carefully turned his head.
A man that was obviously a pirate from the jaunty ostrich feather in his hat to the beaten boots on his feet stood there, sword to Archie’s neck. He swayed to one side, then swung the sword back into its scabbard with a flourish. His smile seemed to tip onto his face like the sun did into the horizon at the end of the day. “Sorry, but I thought I’d save us the trouble of a tussle. It’s not a night for sword-fighting—we’d be liable to wake the dead.”
If he hadn’t been holding out a book stamped with what Archie recognized as Norrington’s seal, Archie would have run him through. But he was, and so instead Archie hesitated long enough to realize exactly who this man must be. “You’re Captain Jack Sparrow.”
“And I like you already, lad, for having the respect to give a man his due title,” Jack grinned. He slowly bent over to lay the book on the ground, then slid it over to Archie. “The good commodore left that behind, and he’ll be wanting it.”
“Then I’ll be sure to return it to him. Though you could do it yourself, if you wanted. I can call for him.” Archie wasn’t so foolish as to pick it up now. “I—”
“Oh, no, let’s not be bothering him. He’s got his duties and I’m certain he’s busy carrying them out right as we speak.” Jack was smaller than Archie had expected, but only in terms of the physical. His presence seemed to fill the whole night, and to warm it as well, Archie suddenly noticed.
He was rather taken aback by that realization, and nearly glanced out to sea before he remembered himself. “I’m sure he’d appreciate a conversation with you. He’s talking to, ah, Bill Turner now—”
“Ah, yes. Talking. Men do that together, of course.” The lightness in Jack’s tone briefly soured. His mouth twisted and he glanced at the door, then shook his head. The gaze he returned to Archie was still too dark to match his smile. “How long have you been at sea, boy?”
“Close to six years now,” Archie replied, a touch bitingly. It was dark, but if he could make out the curve of Jack’s mouth, then Jack could see, if not hear, that Archie’s age was not quite that small.
Jack understood and made a half-bow. “Ah, my apologies then. A man, then, but that’s good. That’s all fine and well…best to be a man at sea, and not a sea in a man.”
That bitterness had sneaked back into Jack’s voice, and it made Archie’s already racing imagination plunge forward into all sorts of wild conjectures. It was whispered that Commodore Norrington had a most irregular relationship with his pirate ally, and certainly Jack Sparrow looked as if he would and could take that euphemism to its extremes, but not so much the Commodore. “Excuse me? Is this a message you want me to relay to Commodore Norrington?”
“Him? Oh, no, he’s heard it before.” The question seemed to surprise Jack and he rocked back on his heels. “No, he’s a solid one. I was referring to my old sailing-mate, Bootstrap Bill. I called him friend once, but he’s taken on too much water. It turns the brain, you know.”
“You mean to say…his wits are…” Archie wasn’t certain as to how to continue. It was a strange idiom spoken by a strange man, and he had his hands full understanding it, let alone speaking in it.
Jack shook his head and began to step back along the porch. “There’s nothing wrong with Bill’s wits, except that they’re ruled by his heart, and his heart’s been swallowed by the ocean. You can love her too much, you know.”
Then he was gone. Archie blinked, then walked rapidly about looking for Jack, but saw no sign of the man. He returned to the porch, thinking over Jack’s words, and nearly tripped over the book. Sighing, he picked it up and went inside.
* * *
“And what did Norrington say?” Horatio asked, interested in spite of himself.
Archie shrugged. “He thanked me, and looked professionally opaque when I related my meeting with Jack Sparrow. Bill seemed somewhat downhearted but defensive, if I was reading that blankness he calls a face correctly. With a father like that, can you blame Will?”
“I suppose not…” Though in Horatio’s opinion, that hardly began to explain things. Will and Bootstrap hadn’t seemed very close when Horatio had seen them together, and it would have been more logical for Will to forsake all that was supernatural in reaction to his father. “Archie?”
“Hmmm?” The fringes of Horatio’s uniform seemed to fascinate Archie.
That in turn was quite distracting, but Horatio persevered. “How did Jack Sparrow strike you? Truly?”
“Interesting.” The word was unusually clipped for Archie. He didn’t look up at Horatio.
The cold seed that had been planted in Horatio that night grew to fill his chest. He tried to reason with himself, reminding himself that in the first place it was a danger they didn’t need hanging over their heads and in the second, he’d always made it clear that he would only let it go as far as he was comfortable. Which hadn’t been very far, though he’d thought Archie had wanted to push the matter.
“Well, then,” Horatio finally managed to say.
“Horatio. This in no way lessens our friendship. I—” Archie exhaled, then looked up at the sky. “The weather may change, but no matter how many clouds are present, the sun will always be there behind them.”
A small smile pulled at Horatio’s mouth. He couldn’t quite let it emerge, but neither could he remain upset at Archie. “And in the meantime, enjoy it while it is out?”
“Of course.” Archie rolled over to give Horatio a bright, open smile. “And besides, I think your sudden interest in Will Turner has to do with something else besides his peculiarities…”
“Archie!”
***