simplestgift | Thirty-One Bells: [Action/Written]

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Thirty-One Bells: [Action/Written]

[It’s been over a month since Archie Kennedy died and had his worst fears realized.

It’s been over a month since his first seizure in almost eight years.

Ever since, he has barely left the house, barely spoken to anyone. But last night, he opened the window before falling asleep. Somehow, it made all the difference.

In the prison at Ferrol, it had been a drink of water, soothing his parched mouth and throat and letting him sleep easier so he woke hungry. Eating strengthened him, and he slept even better after breakfast, waking with the strength to live the rest of the day. Little by little, small things, and most of all Horatio, had coaxed him back into health and the belief that things can be good again.

Today, it’s the sun and a light breeze waking him after a long sleep. Fresh spring air and the promise of warm light make him want to leave the house at last. So after showering, shaving, and trimming his hair, he dresses in something decidedly civilian but still native to his period and steps outside.

Anyone who sees him as he wanders the village, if they knew him before, will notice he has lost a good ten or fifteen pounds in the last month, and is pale as a ghost. Others might see how loosely his clothing fits him. Provided no one intercepts him and makes him eat first, he starts at Seventh Heaven with a hearty breakfast platter, regaining his appetite as he replenishes the nutrients in his body. Feeling much better, he heads to the barracks for some shooting practice, then his own backyard to try to get back in shape with swordplay. The drills Jack taught him are even more exhausting now than they were when he first started, but the exercise feels good for about half an hour.

After another shower and a quick library trip, by which point he has reached a somewhat manic state (he’ll be going back and forth between manic and depressive in the months to come), he walks out of the grocery store with what seems to be enough food to feed Kent (or possibly Rhode Island, if you’re American). He then spends the rest of the afternoon cooking up a Proper British Dinner on board the Britannia the way Jack Aubrey used to do. A simple message alerts his housemates, James Norrington, and, as an afterthought, Richard Sharpe, to dinner in the captain’s cabin right around four o’clock, promising wine, cider, and brandy, steak and turnip pie (but not for you, William), salmagundi, lobster, spinage toasts, a shoulder of beef, asparagus, mushroom catsup (which resembles Worcestershire sauce), a spiced steamed pudding, and peach tarts with heavy cream. The leftovers, he will take to Jack Sparrow at his house.

Boy needed a calling. This may as well be it.

After cleaning up and washing the dishes and an impromptu nap in the grass behind his house with an open book on his chest, he thinks he has finally worked up the courage to visit Jilly at House 7 and Buffy at Good Spirits and write a message to Amelia McFly to meet him somewhere. Time to come clean about some things. Telling Horatio about recent events lifted a huge weight from his chest, so maybe telling everyone else will enable him to fly.

Lastly, he writes a message to Elizabeth Swann to meet him behind house 36 and to wear something comfortable. When she arrives, there will be a campfire in the backyard, and Archie will have a bottle of whisky and makings for s’mores.

Feel free to run into him at any point during the day. Housemates can catch him in the morning and late at night as well as at dinner.]

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I've been...trying to be sure I've confessed the essential things, today. It's been a trying time, and I...I think there's something you should know before our relationship progresses.

Very well. [Confessions, for good reason, make her a bit nervous, but she is determined not to show it. It is better that they should be honest, because she knows all too well that not speaking was exactly what had torn she and Will apart. She wants no secrets with Archie, and she hopes he feels the same.] You have me.

[He swallows, and then there's a very awkward pause. He never knows how to begin.]

When I was a mid...well. You're a sailor, you know...things that happen.

[Maybe not the right way to end it.]

Bullying, and...worse.

[It wasn't something she was expressly aware of, for her entertainment of all things naval as a child into her adolescence had not included lessons in the harsher ways of sailors. She was not blind to such things, it was that she saw the cruelty of pirates more than the men of His Britannic Majesty's fine Navy. Pirates were outright in their cruelty, though subtle in their lies. Bullying, she supposed, was every bit a part of being a scoundrel. It had occurred to her, to some lengths, that the navy was not without its crooked men, but cruel?

She had not ever fathomed the "worse" Archie spoke of.]

They were cruel to you.

[She says it as a realization, and it is. Soft, yet a statement. She is learning.]

One was.

[He swallows, then clears his throat.]

In a few ways. It began as just...making me flat-iron his neck stock or wash his shirts. Not letting me eat or sleep, or...and then he made me answer questions as he beat me. He did that with everyone, but he did it with me several times.

[So the Navy had not always been good, even to one who seemed so fitted and spirited for it.]

He favoured you... why? What wrong could you have done?

I was...younger, more popular. [Better looking.] That's what Clayton said, at any rate. I don't spend much time dissecting Simpson's motivations.

Edited 2012-07-11 01:24 (UTC)

What a horrid man. [She reached out for his arm, taking hold of it gently.] You cannot think I would hold this "Simpson's" actions against you or your character.

[She could not quite understand why he was so worried, but her voice was not reprimanding. It was reassurance.]

You haven't...heard all of it.

[Isn't this supposed to get easier every time? Buffy was easier than Jilly, who was easier than Dawn. Suddenly, it's harder again.]

[The surprise in her face is minimal, a widening of her eyes that is gone quickly.]

No?

[What could the man possibly have done more?]

He used to...

[His body language goes shut. His arms have wrapped around himself, and his head his bowed, stray strands of long hair obscuring his face.]

Do things. Lewd things, things he could've hanged for.

[His voice is unsteady. He takes a moment. Why can't he just say it the way he said it to Buffy? He used to fuck me. Because this is Elizabeth, and through no fault of her own, this feels more like apologizing than explaining.]

[She processes it in her head. Lewd things he could have hanged for? There were plenty of hanging offences in the Royal Navy, but not many that she knew of were lewd. Lewd could refer to language or actions but what could be done to...

He used to... do things. Lewd things...

The realization rattles her in a way that she was not prepared for. Not because she is horrified of him, but because the thought of what this man has been through is horrifying. To think there were such men in His Majesty's Royal Navy shocks her. She had known men to be ambitious to a fault, she had known them to be overly righteous, she had known them to be paid off and corrupt for it, but never had she suspected such outright cruelty. Perhaps from pirates but never...

God in heaven, he must have been terrified. She as a lady had been thrown to pirate crews, held prisoner in Sao Feng's cabin and nearly taken advantage of, grabbed in hostile ways and been threatened such indecencies, and had been terrified even then. She had >i>only been threatened, and she had been terrified. She could not imagine enduring a torment that would return again as he had.]

Archie... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

[She doesn't wish to be pitying, but she could not be more sincere. She is sorry such a thing ever happened to him, that anything ever gave him reason to be afraid in that way. To be humiliated in that way.

Her palm cups his forehead and brushes strands away from his eyes. She wants him to look at her, and if he does, he will see many things.

She doesn't want him to be ashamed. She doesn't want him to be terrified of shadows in the past. It suddenly becomes clear to her that her love has plenty of his own reasons to be so abashed, though she cannot abide by them. She cannot agree that he has true reasons to feel so unworthy, or any at all.

He will see her shock, he will see that she is pained, and he will see that there is nothing in this world that would make her leave his side for it.]

[That touch breaks him.

He can't look at her because he can't see through the blur. It's awful, but he knew it wouldn't really deter her. And he still can't shake the belief that it should. That it would be safer for both of them if it frightened her away, even if it meant sacrificing all chance of happiness.

Yes, he was horribly terrified. So much so that he sometimes still shakes if he thinks about it for too long. But that fear only abates. It hardly ever goes away. Archie Kennedy is always afraid, even when he doesn't realize it. And sometimes, being loved is more terrifying than being hated. With hatred, there is certainty. With love, he has no idea when she will wake up and realize she doesn't want a man like him. Dawn might have come around to that realization. And if physicality ever becomes a part of his relationship with Elizabeth, what then? What if she behaves the way Dawn did, blaming herself? There is already so much guilt and uncertainty, pain, fear, and confusion in the act.

But more than that, it means putting up with his periodic bouts of incurable melancholy. Not everyone has the fortitude Horatio managed to scrounge up for that awful time after Ferrol. What if he is responsible for wearing down this majestic spirit?

Why doesn't this make her understand?]

[She can feel how ashamed he is, and it's so very easy to see.

Evenly, without reprimand, as she has before, she asks him.]

Look at me.

[Her voice is steady, but her expression does not change. This is breaking her heart.]

I love you and I want you to look at me.

[The sound he makes in his throat is soft and dry, but it's still a sob. He gives a slight shake of his head, unable to bear raising his eyes to her.]

[She will not force him to look at her, but she will not leave him be, either. Wordlessly, she pulls him into her arms.

What can she say that he, in such a desolate state, would truly believe? No amount of comfort can warm away self-deprication, no matter how much heart such words of hers may bear. What can she say?

How could she begin to help him see that he is no less dear to her?

She envelops him, heart fervently beating against her ribcage, her thinking just as wild in pace. It isn't about being delicate. It isn't about avoiding anything that could hurt him. It's finding a way to show him that her love is not given without understanding and acceptance, and is not naive. It is about proving that her loyalties will remain with him, along with her heart. He needs to know these things. He needs to understand.]

I wish it had not happened, my Gentle Lieutenant, but nothing about you has changed because it had. Along with my heart, you have myself and all my loyalties. I refuse to judge you for the actions of another man, and Archie, my dear, I refuse to let you think my love blind because of it.

[She takes a deep breath. She won't beg him, but she really does wish to just look him in the eyes and ask him, Please?]

[Pressed against her, he has given in partly because it’s so physically easy to collapse in on himself, shrinking, becoming as small as possible. What a horrible old habit it is, from the days when it was a survival skill. Now, there’s a certain sense of safety in the posture.

He exhales long and does not inhale for some time, until he can be sure he can do so quietly. Closing his eyes results in tears being knocked onto his cheeks, and the game is up. The next time he exhales, it’s in two chest-heaving, voiceless sobs. With the next breath, he finally begins to calm down. It’s not a forced collection of himself, but an actual easing of his spirit.

Then, he looks at her. His voice is thick, low, but calm.]

Do not mistake it, Elizabeth. It was a crime. That I was forced to commit it does not mean I did not commit it. At least…no, I understand why I would say differently to someone else. I understand why I would have been safe from the law. But Elizabeth, for the love of God I cannot accept it. Not for myself.

[His composure falters. His face crumples, and he buries it against her shoulder.]

I know.

[She lifts a hand to stroke the back of his head, lightly combing through his hair as he leans. She doesn't mind, wishing nothing more than to encourage his catharsis. What ever he may need to purge this.]

Yet if we are to speak of crimes, perhaps it is I who need to name mine.

[We are both guilty.

She doesn't need to state it, but there's a reminder in what she does say. She's a pirate, a treasonous creature who ought to have, and nearly hung for her crimes. She doesn't know if she could name them all, but she would begin to.]

[He shakes his head, but he does not interrupt. His throat hurts too much to speak.]

[She lets out a breath that is not as steady as she would like. She has never seen him like this, but after seeing him so vacant in the weeks after his seizure, she is relieved. This, as painful as it must be for him, is still him. She would rather hold him than wonder, for having a hold on him at all makes her feel as though she cannot lose him. Not to anything.

While she doesn't truly understand, she can see why he would not be able to accept what had passed. Still, it seems he can't quite grasp her acceptance.]

So you cannot accept it. Then refuse to, and banish it. Refuse any thoughts that bring back those shadows, and remind yourself... or perhaps understand for the first time that those shadows can hold no power over you if you refuse them.

[Archie Kennedy is far more than the evils that plagued him as a midshipman, and Elizabeth Swann easily believes that she would be the first to swear it.]

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Thirty-One Bells: [Action/Written]

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