simplestgift | Thirty Bells: [Action/Written]

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Thirty Bells: [Action/Written]

[Archie Kennedy opens his eyes with his back against something hard, his wings spread out over solidness even as he grows aware of the prickle of grass underneath him. He is curled up on his side, wearing new feather trousers and shivering horribly. He hugs himself for warmth, and movement brings the rain to his attention. He is soaked.

My God, what did I lose? His hand grasps for the St. Michael pendant Horatio gave him for his birthday last year, only to find empty air.

He left it at home.

His wings twitch, and he twists to find himself pressed against a tall rock, probably near one of the lakes. His disorientation in full swing, he doesn’t even bother to try to figure out which lake it is. He sits up, waits for the world to stop whirling, and takes a shaky, hasty inventory.

Arms and legs. Nose and ears and eyes. Touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing. Ten fingers, ten toes, a wild mass of blond hair unbound and sticking to his damp neck and forehead.

What did he lose?

Still trembling, he curls against the rock and tries breathing for a bit.

Memories, maybe? Any holes in his memory? How is he to know?

Horatio. He remembers Horatio, thank God. Buffy, Jilly, Jack, Leonard, Elizabeth. Father is Finley Kennedy, mother is Elspeth, siblings Finley, Neil, and Abigail. His grandfather pushed him into the Navy. His first ship was the Swiftsure. Is everything important there?

Off on a mission, and now he's back as if he'd never left. Nothing hurts. The only pain now is in finding out what he paid to come back to life. And in telling…

No. He is not going to tell Horatio about another instance where he wasn’t able to protect him, especially from death. He can’t call for help, because anyone who finds him in this state will know, and no one can know.

His wings shiver, shaking off water, then wrap around his body as well as they can. He’s always so inclined to forget they exist, but they do help to stave off the rain and warm him a little. Then, weakly, his knees threatening to buckle under him, he stands up. It’s a long walk home, and he has to make it alone.

The next two hours pass in a haze as he finds the road and follows it, limiting himself to two thoughts every quarter-hour if he can help it. After a while, he doesn’t feel especially cold anymore, which he vaguely knows from his first appearance in Luceti is a bad sign. Sheltering in the tree village won’t help him get dry when he’s already soaked, so he continues at the quickest pace he can manage. It’d be even worse to die of hypothermia just after coming back from the dead.

In the village, he steals quietly toward the clothes shop, shivering hard and pale as a ghost.

It’s going to have to be a matter of putting on the face again. No one can suspect something is wrong. Those who aren’t scornful will be compassionate, and he doesn’t think he can take compassion right now.

The door to house 36 opens very, very quietly, and the lieutenant slips inside as if he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s there. As quickly as he can, he’ll find the St. Michael pendant and slip it on.

It takes some time, but in the evening, over a cup of tea in the tea shop, he writes on the journals, shortly:]

I’m back from my mission.

-AK

[At night, he goes out for a drink. He doesn't make it to Good Spirits.]

[OOC: First chronological tag goes to Amelia, last to John Watson.]

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[It's early afternoon before Captain Horatio Hornblower makes his way back to House 36.

Sleep on the ship? Or simply up and about early? With Horatio, one or both is completely likely.

He finds Archie as he enters the parlour, his course set for the kitchen. (There is evidence that at least one of the men living in the house has tried their hand more than once at cooking during Archie's absence, though the captain still half wishes this place had money so he could make the too-smart investment of a proper steward.) When he sees his friends, his dark eyes immediately light up. Some of the typical melancholy that makes a home there and always lessens when Archie is near does as it ought and fades. His lips curl into a slight smile, and he changes his path immediately, heading for his friend.]

Archie!

[Archie, on the couch with hot coffee and a book, looks up as Horatio enters. Until this moment, he was sure lying to his dearest friend would be the hardest thing in the world. Now, seeing him, the events of the last fortnight shrink into insignificance. His worries fall from his shoulders. Horatio is here, and everything is like it was. He sets down the book and cup and stands up, hair still damp, but otherwise warm and well on his way to recovery as he moves in to clasp Horatio's hand.]

[Horatio took Archie's hand, squeezed it firmly, then briefly wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulder to embrace him for a moment.

He took a step back then, that faint smile still playing on his features.]

Welcome-- [Welcome back isn't quite right. Neither is what else he can say, but... But it's Archie. It's always right.] Welcome home, Archie.

[A beaming smile. This is the best is could possibly get. He's alive, he's okay, and whatever he lost isn't important enough for him to immediately notice.] I see you haven't burned down the house in my absence. And one of you even tried to cook!

We haven't burned it down and I haven't poisoned either of the others. [A chuckle.] Or, at least, they've hidden it well if I have.

You cooked? By God, Horatio, I think my influence over you has come to its zenith.

You would have to ask Mister Bush and Mister Wellard whether it was at all edible or whether they were simply humouring me.

You ate it, didn't you?

I did. Hardly anything to boast about, but tolerable.

Then I'm sure they'll tell me you did well enough. Even if they are relieved by my punctual return.

They'll be very glad for their reprieve from my attempts. [And for other reasons, but this is to be a light conversation.]

[Archie sinks back to the couch, still feeling stiff and tired from his the mild hypothermia.] I made coffee, if you'd like some.

I just well may. Would you like some, too?

Thank you! [Archie hands his mug up to Horatio to be topped off.]

[Horatio takes the cup and returns a few moments later, bearing it filled and fixed and carrying his own.

He settles beside Archie and smiles faintly. Like any battle... He won't ask about the mission. If he talks about it, Horatio will gladly listen. But he won't start the conversation.

Not yet.]

[As usual, Archie leans enough into Horatio that their shoulders press together. It's not common for him to be the one to initiate touch, but it's not unheard of. Coming back from a mission and wanting to prove his friend solid and real is reason enough. This is just...more so.]

I met an interesting sort today.

What sort of "interesting"?

[He smiles faintly, but there is the undercurrent of concern. Simply because that word can have varied meanings enough and because of the way Archie leans. It could be nothing... or it could be indicative of something more.]

Royal Army, eighteen-thirteen. Major Richard Sharpe.

Eighteen-thirteen. Well. [He can't help but smile. Army or not... He hardly cares right now. The year. It might not be their times exactly, but... it's damn close.]

Battling Napoleon, as always. [A brief flash of homesickness triggers his last memory of the last time he was on a ship. Last night or a week ago, it doesn't matter. His eyes glaze over, and he glances very briefly at Horatio--a shamefaced look, before he looks away.

He wants so badly not to have to hide anything from this man.]

Maybe someday we'll be rid of that man.

[Because that's all he can hope for with Napoleon. An eventual victory... the man's death... something to cease the danger he represents.

The look from Archie... is worrying. But Horatio holds his own gaze steady at the man, concerned but aware that prying could get him the opposite of what he wants.]

He says we are winning. [But Archie sounds distant. His gut feels hollow.

What did I lose?]

We've heard that before.

[Because he can't quite bring himself to question Archie properly. Not yet.]

...We do win. Waterloo.

Can't happen soon enough.

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