simplestgift | Seventeen Bells: [WRITTEN/ACTION]

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Seventeen Bells: [WRITTEN/ACTION]

On July the 4th, 1776, one Horatio Hornblower was born in Kent. If you see him, bid him many happy returns. He will most likely grump about it all day and act ungrateful, but don't allow it to discourage you. He does appreciate it, he simply does not know it.

[For most of the day, Archie will be running around trying to furnish a bedroom in the house for a new housemate. He'll end up in the library, Good Spirits, the grocery store, then finally the Battle Dome, mostly staring in bewilderment at the controls before deciding this is too scary and leaving. At some point, he'll also take a walk in the woods, rain or no rain, in shirtsleeves and waistcoat but no coat. After a while, he'll get back on the journals.]

[Filtered away from Grell, 44%]

If you wanted to surprise someone dear to you, to cheer her up when she returned from being kidnapped, what would you do for her?

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[His mouth opens a little to ask if she had anyone, but that would be prying. He remembers her telling him about her addiction, about people who helped her become a new person, but that wasn't the only thing. Even when Simpson was at his worst, Clayton had been there, though it had been some time before Archie had understood how much. But the fact of the matter was that it was not his business and would bring him little understanding of her, and that while he would like to be assured that she had some friend through the most difficult times, he could only ask the question for his own peace of mind. His comfort was not the issue.]

I was most fortunate. I before Horatio came, Clayton did what he could to...well. To protect me, I suppose. From Simpson. [He'll resolutely use the last name. "Jack" is no longer a name he wants to associate with that man.] Hundreds of boys across the navy must have endured the same thing and I had someone who at least tried to do something.

We fortunate few.

[it's an idle murmur, not quite the correct quote...but more apt than the original. Because they were not a happy band, with all they'd faced, but they were fortunate indeed.

For all that Archie restrains himself from questioning, it's with his comfort in mind that she searches his face. He'd shared so much while she stayed silent behind her careful walls. It was acceptable. There was nothing written that said they had to bare themselves entirely as a fair exchange...but he'd started this looking for understanding. It was something he had, beyond a doubt, but that did little good if he didn't know.]

I wish you could meet Angel. [the words slip out before she's really decided, still unsure where this might lead. She just knows it will lead somewhere] Protecting people is what she did...does. We called her the Grasso Street Angel.

[there's a small smile at that. It might have been just a coincidental nickname, but in the end there was no denying that Angelina Marceau lived up to it in every way]

Edited 2011-07-06 19:35 (UTC)

She did it for her livelihood, or simply as a way of life?

[Either way, Archie is in a certain awe of this person already.]

I don't think she separates the two.

She's a-

[a pause, considering] Do they have social workers, in your time? People whose job it is to help...kids like us?

[Kids like us. Oh, Jilly. He didn't know how alike she meant, but the nature of abuse didn't mean a thing. Kids like us. What a hushed thing it had been, no one ever admitting it or wanting to cause trouble, let alone banding together over it.]

No. If Lieutenant Eccleston had done what he should have, he would have taken it to the captain, who would see Simpson tried for...s-sodomy, it happened, sometimes, but I daresay not as often as it should have. [The two sentences run together to disguise the word he's long refused to use. He's not sure he could have told a court-martial his story, either.]

[her hand tightens in his, a silent reaction to the tension in those sentences. Just holding on.

It's easier, talking about Angel. It always was]

Angel...she had a rough past, too. There's a lot of hurt there. But she uses it to get kids off the streets. To give them a second chance.

[there's a small smile, remembering] There are a lot of social workers, when I'm from. It's...in some ways, people understand more. That this happens. But for all you could ask anyone on the street if they know it occurs, it's still so...hidden. People aren't any quicker to stop it than they've ever been, I guess.

So they created a job. To do what other people should do on their own. Only, it's never enough when people just do it for money.

[she shrugs] I mean, I'm sure most of them go into it with the best of intentions. They'd have to. It's not really the kind of thing that makes you rich or gets you a lot of fans. Most of the people you work with don't like you, don't trust you, and probably will never thank you. If you manage to help them at all. But most of those workers...they get worn down. They start just...going through the motions.

It's never about motions with Angel. It's personal.

[There's a long pause. This had been the sort of thing he'd really wanted to do, looking after the boys on the Renown, and even with the idea he'd presented to Rydia about the safe houses. He remembered telling Buffy that teenagers are too young to be taken seriously and too old to be looked after, so...so what did that mean?]

She was your Horatio?

She was.

My lifeline, really. She didn't know me from anyone, and she had no reason to trust me...but she did anyway.

Made you yearn to be worthy of that trust?

[a nod]

How long have you known her?

...7 years. [there's a small frown at that. Spoke aloud, it seemed so small.]

I met her when I was 17.

[As old as Horatio had been when he'd challenged Simpson.]

We both got lucky, then. [A pause.] God, Jilly.

[He's never spoken before with anyone who understood. He suspected Bracegirdle sometimes, for the man had always been especially kind and understanding of the troubles he had had adjusting to normal life, but he could never presume about anyone. Not when he hated people presuming about him.]

Very.

[a small smile] Second chances.

Second chances.

[He does want to ask her, still, but he won't. He'd told her this so she would understand two men, not one, and she owed him nothing in return.]

I wanted to be like her, actually. Once I had my feet under me. I was determined to do what she did.

[a faint smile] She pushed me towards art instead. And she was right. I could help her and talk and listen and do all those things without changing who I was to become her. I don't think I would have realized that, without her.

[she can feel that hesitation between them, and she seeks to fill it. It's one of the few times when she's not sure she can bear silence.

...That alone should have been sign enough, really. She'd had this conversation with Geordie years ago, both of them sharing everything until they had nothing left to hide, and then the silence had just been right. All the words had been said. There was nothing more to say. But here, things still feel unfinished.

Not because she wants to share, but because it feels unbalanced. Only she's still reading signs. She was here for Archie, and she'd talk for Archie and nothing less.]

[He hesitates, gives a few false starts as if about to ask a question, then stops.]

I've never...spoken with anyone who understood, Jilly. Not ever, not that I know of. Some were understanding, but they did not understand.

[she nods. She doesn't need to ask what he means]

It's not something you ever want them to understand. Not really. But...

[her fingers tighten on his, briefly] No one should be alone, either.

[and there it was. That was maybe the biggest difference between them. Because Jilly had always known she wasn't alone in suffering, even if it had taken 17 years for someone to help her find a way out. But Archie? He carried it like it was a sign of weakness. Like the torture he'd suffered was somehow his fault.

...and what else could you believe, if you're the only one you know who had to face it?]

[Deep breath, Jilly.]

I was... I was three when it started. I think. You don't really remember those years clearly, I guess, but it seems right.

[it was never an easy story to tell, but this was easier than telling Jack. Magic aside, she'd been terrified Jack would reject her.

This time, it's just sharing.]

[No, you don't wish it on anyone. You just wish someone would stop pretending it wasn't a problem.

When she spoke, his chin jerked up a little and his eyes widened slightly. He blinks rapidly, and holds on to her hand like he's keeping her from falling. There is a definite, shocked horror to his voice.]

Three.

[It makes him wonder, somehow, what he has to complain about.]

Don't.

[She looks him in the eye, blue eyes catching blue.] The when doesn't matter.

[it's not the horror that bothers her. She'd felt the same for him. It's the comparison that she can see lingering in his eyes]

[He does not look convinced. At least he can remember a happy childhood, but...God, who would hurt a three-year-old girl?]

Who?

[and here is where things will become clear. She knows it even before she answers]

My brother.

He was...is, I guess...quite a bit older than me.

Edited 2011-07-06 23:46 (UTC)

[Her brother.

Her...

God in Heaven. He can remember when they were twins, reaching out to embrace her after her nightmare and her leaping back.]

Your brother. [It's all he can say.]

[her mouth is dry. She notices it now, talking about it, or, maybe it's just nerves, but she reaches over to pick up the wine glass with her free hand, sipping just a little before continuing]

I was eight when my mother walked in on us. I guess that would make him 16.

[a pause. There's a little bitterness in the next part, but it's small, mostly masked by resignation that's come with years of learning to cope] She walked back out again until he was finished. Then she took me to confession.

But why? Surely she could see--

[See the wanton little girl who won't even put up a struggle? How many times has he wondered if he will go to Hell because he did not fight hard enough? But it had been his own reaction, not the abuse itself, that had caused everyone to judge him. In a court-martial, he would only be a witness, unless Simpson managed to convince the court-martial that he had consented. Did Jilly's mother believe she had consented? If so, why did that make her more guilty than her brother? She was a girl. Girls and women are to be protected. It's men who are the perpetrators. As a man coming from a time that produced Pamela and Mozart's Don Giovanni, it's beyond his scope to immediately understand.]

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