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applecameronAuthor: Apple Cameron, September 2003
Fandom: Hornblower
Spoilers: Mutiny, Retribution
Keywords: conversation, introspection
Rating: all audiences
It's not Doctor Who, but a Bush-fic, so let's call it one last (unexpected) entry for the Versaphile Birthday Project™.
"Promises"
Lieutenant Bush moved very slowly, very carefully, from his bed over to the other one. He felt rather like a raw ship's boy, tottering on unfamiliar legs his first day a-sea.
He sat, gingerly, controlling the pain. "Mr. Kennedy." Doctor Clive was elsewhere. "Mr. Kennedy."
There was no answer.
He picked up Mr. Kennedy's exceedingly limp hand and held it in his own, gathering his thoughts.
"Mr. Kennedy. I - I am no orator. But," There was a clanging outside and he closed his eyes, calculating if he could make it back to his bed without being spotted, but the noise moved on, not someone entering the gaol at all.
He cleared his throat.
"But I make you this promise, Mr. Kennedy. I will...I will stand by him."
It was so much less than he wanted to say.
"I - I do not make this promise only for you, Mr. Kennedy. I make it because it must be so." That didn't sound right at all. He tried again. "I saw. I saw you, together. I saw him. Leftenant Hornblower. I mean, I see him. The way he is." Bush looked down at the hand in his own. "I do not have his gift for snatching victory from defeat, but --"
But it would be an affront to God's eyes to stand in his way, to try to keep him from using that bright flame in the service of King and Country. To stop someone so fully devoted as he, so engaged, from exercising those vital powers granted by providence. It would be more than mere cruelty, it would be an affront to all things right and just.
Such devotion as Hornblower's could only be answered in kind, with the loyalty that Bush knew his own heart had already given, and gladly, upon recognizing that light once he'd found it, that here was a man worth following. It had eased something in him he did not know existed, until then.
Hornblower. By his actions he called to all men whose hearts could be touched by this -- this fire, to brave the storm and hell and carry damnation to the enemy.
"He is worthy, Mr. Kennedy. Of all our devotion." He patted the unresponsive hand in his grip. "And he will have mine as he has had yours."
And yet, he had seen Kennedy tamp and tender and once, lay his hand on Hornblower's arm as he spoke, calling him by his Christian name, before the man could offer up so much of himself there would be nothing left of him but ashes. Because a candle that burns at both ends may be the brighter for it, but it must be handled with great care.
"I will stand by him, Mr. Kennedy." Meaning a hundred times more than he knew how to say. "I will not let him..." He groped for words. "...lose himself overboard."
The very still figure in the bed stirred slightly. Mr. Kennedy's hand twitched in Bush's, and his eyes opened, only to half-mast.
Bush leaned forward, wincing at the pain across his chest. Had Mr. Kennedy heard? Had he understood the meaning under his poor bald words?
"Love." said Archie Kennedy, his hand trembling now in its cage.
"Yes." That was the word. Bush's vision blurred and he blinked rapidly. "I promise. I promise."
Fandom: Hornblower
Spoilers: Mutiny, Retribution
Keywords: conversation, introspection
Rating: all audiences
It's not Doctor Who, but a Bush-fic, so let's call it one last (unexpected) entry for the Versaphile Birthday Project™.
"Promises"
Lieutenant Bush moved very slowly, very carefully, from his bed over to the other one. He felt rather like a raw ship's boy, tottering on unfamiliar legs his first day a-sea.
He sat, gingerly, controlling the pain. "Mr. Kennedy." Doctor Clive was elsewhere. "Mr. Kennedy."
There was no answer.
He picked up Mr. Kennedy's exceedingly limp hand and held it in his own, gathering his thoughts.
"Mr. Kennedy. I - I am no orator. But," There was a clanging outside and he closed his eyes, calculating if he could make it back to his bed without being spotted, but the noise moved on, not someone entering the gaol at all.
He cleared his throat.
"But I make you this promise, Mr. Kennedy. I will...I will stand by him."
It was so much less than he wanted to say.
"I - I do not make this promise only for you, Mr. Kennedy. I make it because it must be so." That didn't sound right at all. He tried again. "I saw. I saw you, together. I saw him. Leftenant Hornblower. I mean, I see him. The way he is." Bush looked down at the hand in his own. "I do not have his gift for snatching victory from defeat, but --"
But it would be an affront to God's eyes to stand in his way, to try to keep him from using that bright flame in the service of King and Country. To stop someone so fully devoted as he, so engaged, from exercising those vital powers granted by providence. It would be more than mere cruelty, it would be an affront to all things right and just.
Such devotion as Hornblower's could only be answered in kind, with the loyalty that Bush knew his own heart had already given, and gladly, upon recognizing that light once he'd found it, that here was a man worth following. It had eased something in him he did not know existed, until then.
Hornblower. By his actions he called to all men whose hearts could be touched by this -- this fire, to brave the storm and hell and carry damnation to the enemy.
"He is worthy, Mr. Kennedy. Of all our devotion." He patted the unresponsive hand in his grip. "And he will have mine as he has had yours."
And yet, he had seen Kennedy tamp and tender and once, lay his hand on Hornblower's arm as he spoke, calling him by his Christian name, before the man could offer up so much of himself there would be nothing left of him but ashes. Because a candle that burns at both ends may be the brighter for it, but it must be handled with great care.
"I will stand by him, Mr. Kennedy." Meaning a hundred times more than he knew how to say. "I will not let him..." He groped for words. "...lose himself overboard."
The very still figure in the bed stirred slightly. Mr. Kennedy's hand twitched in Bush's, and his eyes opened, only to half-mast.
Bush leaned forward, wincing at the pain across his chest. Had Mr. Kennedy heard? Had he understood the meaning under his poor bald words?
"Love." said Archie Kennedy, his hand trembling now in its cage.
"Yes." That was the word. Bush's vision blurred and he blinked rapidly. "I promise. I promise."
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on 2003-09-13 06:50 am (UTC)That was lovely. A very nice take on Bush and his efforts to come to terms with his own potent if still diffuse sentiments. I liked that last line and the awareness it embodies.
Damn, I wish Pam had birthdays more often if it gets us all more lovely fic like this.
thanks!
on 2003-09-13 12:02 pm (UTC)I wanted something that wasn't too off-canon from the books, which had *such* an impact on me as a kid. Bush is not a glib man. (And can't count worth a damn at whist!)