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Things that never happened to Archie Kennedy
Title: Things that never happened to Archie Kennedy
Rating: PG
Three ficlets - AOS/Torchwood. AOS/LOTR, AOS alternative story.
Originally written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
calavarna n 2007! I’d forgotten all about these until the lovely josieb1 turned them up. So they’ve been taken out, dusted down and re-posted.
I don't own any of these characters, just play with them.
Set in the ‘Regeneration’ HH/Torchwood Universe.
“You talk in your sleep.”
“Do I? Horatio’s never mentioned it.”
Jack Harkness grinned. “Bet he doesn’t know. Probably dead to the world while you wax lyrical. I never sleep, so I hear it all.”
“Do you reply?” Archie Kennedy said, aggrieved that he might be unconscious while no end of interesting chit-chat went on.
“Only when necessary.”
“And what do I talk about?”
“All sort of things – what you’re dreaming of, I guess. Sometimes the theatre, or your family, or engaging the enemy in action.”
“Did I natter last night? It’s just that I feel rather odd today.”
Jacks pricked up his ears as though it was just the sort of question he’d been anticipating. “In what way?”
“I’m not sure. Like my memories have all got muddled up. I’ve been trying to recall some nasty things from when I was a middie but they don’t seem to be there anymore. And I was a prisoner, I’m sure of it, but I can’t picture it at all.” Archie sat up, frowning. Gingerly he felt around his knee. “There should be a scar here, not entirely certain why, but there should be and there isn’t. And here…” he felt the top of his buttocks, where he had a vague feeling that he’d once had something unpleasant dragged along and through the tender skin.
“That’s as clean as a whistle. Perfect.” Jack ran his fingers across the smooth flesh.
“And now I don’t know whether I just dreamed all the bad things.” Archie shook his head. He felt so much better – more whole if you like – than he had the evening before.
“Look at this.” Jack reached for Archie’s jacket, gave it to him, and waited for the reaction.
“That’s just what I mean. Yesterday I would have sworn I was something like a fourth lieutenant on a ship of the line. And now…” he lovingly fingered the shining swab, newly sewn on the broadcloth, “…I know that I’m the commander of a lovely little quarter-decked sloop.” He stopped, then turned Jack’s face towards him. “You did something. You made something change.”
Jack nodded, smiling wistfully. “In your sleep you talked to this guy – I thought you meant me at first but what you said made me realise that …well it made me realise I had to take action. So I asked you a few questions until I was sure where and when and who. And then…” He nodded towards the bedside locker.
Archie looked carefully; the revolver was there, the one that he’d seen Jack load the night before, but now all the barrels were discharged. And there was a grubby, frayed stock that had not been present previously. He recognised it, vaguely - and it had unpleasant associations. “And this is?”
“Proof.” Jack grinned, then drew Archie towards him.
“Is that allowed? Going back and changing history at a whim?”
“Archie Kennedy, there’s something about you that makes men want to break all the rules…..”
#########################################################
Set after ‘The Even Chance’ – based on an idea bycalavarna
When Archie woke, he was aware of three things; that his tongue felt like wadding, his head was sore and he had no idea where he was.
He'd been lining up on deck for a cutting out raid, then all of a sudden he was alone in a boat he had no memory of boarding, floating under a leaden sky in what he felt was a southerly direction. He’d been horribly thirsty and desperate enough to suck on a wet rag. And that was it, until he'd awoken in a sunlit room. Somewhere.
Archie was fairly certain he'd ended up in a friendly place, as the first thing that had caught his eye had been his uniform, neatly laundered and pressed, hanging from the door. It took several moments for him to begin to speculate that, if his clothes were over there, what was he wearing over here, in the bed in which he'd been put? Looking down, which was distinctly uncomfortable, it became apparent that he'd been dressed in a cool linen nightgown and lain in sheets of similar excellent quality and cleanliness. This was not some inn in Portsmouth, then.
The bright blue sky, similar in colour to that over the Med, added weight to his theory that he wasn't on home soil. But he was near the sea - the mewing of the gulls told him that, especially as the weather he could make out through his window was far too pleasant for the birds to have felt the need to make their way inland. He studied the little room and what he could see of the outside world. White seemed the predominant colour, with a dazzling sheen and clarity to the whole vista. Spain? Portugal? There was a feeling of calm and quiet about the place that made him wonder if he'd been taken in by monks.
He reached out, rather gingerly as his head still hurt like billy-oh, to take a cup of water. It tasted as fine as the stuff from the spring near his ancestral home, although this could not be Scotland either - not with such fine weather for the time of year. However, the man who entered his room as he drank could just about have passed for a native of the highlands - he bore a strong resemblance to Archie's father's ghillie. Although the cloth of this man's garb was - or had originally been - too fine to be that of a servant on an estate, unless his master was generous with hand-me-downs. And there was an air about him, some sort of noble mien that Archie immediately recognised and warmed to.
The man was not unlike Horatio in some ways, with dark, unruly hair of a not dissimilar length, although it was not worn in a queue, just loose over his shoulders. He wore a jerkin of some sort - it had seen better days but must have once been very fine - over a shirt of which the same could be said. Dark trousers and boots that had seen hard travelling but had been well cleaned and cared for - Archie recognised the provenance from the ones he'd seen among the more experienced hands on Indefatigable - gave an overall picture that this man had journeyed far, although probably not on a ship. And the style of clothes gave him no further clues as to where he’d landed.
"I'm glad to see you awake." The man's accent spoke vaguely of Ireland or the Scottish Isles but would not let itself be pinned down any further. He also did not appear to be a monk, or not one from any order that Archie was aware of, so that was one theory out of the way.
"Thank you. And should I give you further thanks for rescuing me?"
The stranger smiled. “And my friend the Prince, also. He was the one who saw your boat - I fear that if we'd delayed our journey by more than a few hours he'd have only found a corpse aboard it."
"Then I would be very grateful to you if you would pass on my most sincere gratitude to him as well."
The stranger raised his hand, laid it over his heart and then bowed his head - it was a most affecting gesture, one that Archie could imagine Horatio making in such a situation.
"And where am I? Not in England, of that I'm sure,"
The other man looked puzzled. “The name England means nothing to me, although I have yet to explore the lands lying over the sea. "You are in Dol Amroth - we found your boat out in the Bay of Belfalas."
It was Archie's turned to be confused - these must be foreign names, the sort of places that Horatio would recognise straight away, given his propensity for poring over maps and charts. They had a Mediterranean ring to them - he must have drifted a great way. "I'm afraid that I'm none the wiser, but I'm heartily glad to have found myself among friends. My name is Archie Kennedy.” He held out his hand to be shaken, but received only the strange salute in return.
“And I am Thorongil.”
#####################################################################
This is set post Retribution; based on a theory of my daughter’s.
“Archie?”
“I’m here, Horatio.” A steady, strong hand patted Hornblower’s arm. “Glad to see you awake at last.”
“But…” his trembling hand touched Archie’s shirt and seemed to be inspecting it.
“Steady there, old man. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“No, I’m fine, Mr. Kennedy. You’re the one who shouldn’t be sitting up. Your chest…”
Archie grinned. “Aren’t you going to finish that phrase? Usually it goes something like your chest is magnificent. May I….”
“Shhh!” Horatio’s head thumped as he hissed to his lover. “Clive might hear.”
“He won’t – there’s just you and me here at the moment. Glad of the peace and quiet, really.” Archie tapped his friend’s shoulder. “And you’ve needed it.”
“Me? I’ve just been having a nap – I’m fine. Don’t know why they brought me down here. Did they get the bullet out, then?” Horatio looked particularly puzzled.
“Bullet? You weren’t hit by a bullet.”
“Not me, you oaf; you. You were all strapped up when I last saw you – almost at…” He didn’t add death’s door. “I can’t account for you looking so healthy.
“Horatio.” Archie spoke gently. “Tell me what you think happened.”
“I don’t think. I know. You were in an awful state – bullets in your lungs and blood everywhere. How you didn’t expire up on the deck is beyond me. Then the court martial – you insisted on giving evidence even though you knew it would be the death of you. Just to save me. And now you’ll hang, just when you seem to be better.”
Archie picked up a damp cloth and applied it to Horatio’s brow. “Sh. Don’t be so troubled. You must have had a hell of a dream, Horatio, but then you’ve had plenty of time to indulge in it. I can assure you that I’ve not been shot, there has not been a court martial and that I would never be fool enough to risk my life to save you.” He grinned at the obvious lie.
“But weren’t you hurt?” Horatio frowned.
“I was – got a nasty cut here.” He stripped his sleeve and showed his scar, “When we took that fort. Now don’t touch, because it still smarts a bit.”
“So what happened? After the ship was on the rocks?”
“Horatio, you big daft lemon, are you delirious again? The ship was never aground. But then you wouldn’t know that, I suppose. Let me see – what happened after the accident? We battered that Spanish fort, giving it what Mr. Wellard, bless him, called a right hammering. William and I led an assault from the back while the great guns kept them busy at the front. They gave in quite easily. Very small butcher’s bill, all in all, as well. Took some nice little prizes afterwards. Sorry you missed all the fun.”
“And the captain? Where is Sawyer?”
“He’s in the hospital now. Pellew had his own surgeon see to him and they removed him quietly. That’s how he’ll go home, too. They’ll say it’s due to wounds, but the word is that it’s dementia.”
“Did he – did he cause trouble when we attacked the fort?”
“No, he’s been like a lamb since his fall - once he regained consciousness himself, that is. William reckons it was because you weren’t there to wind him up, being dead to the world yourself, and by the time he did come round it was all done and dusted with the Spanish.”
“He did fall then? I didn’t dream that?”
“Oh he fell all right – and took you with him, which is when you got this,” Archie gingerly touched Horatio’s crown. “Thought I’d lost you. You’re a lucky bugger, ‘ratio.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because in all the confusion of the accident no-one noticed that you’d pushed the old man. Except me and Wellard. I’ll not tell, naturally – you’ll have to hope your luck holds with him.”
Rating: PG
Three ficlets - AOS/Torchwood. AOS/LOTR, AOS alternative story.
Originally written for
calavarna n 2007! I’d forgotten all about these until the lovely josieb1 turned them up. So they’ve been taken out, dusted down and re-posted.I don't own any of these characters, just play with them.
Set in the ‘Regeneration’ HH/Torchwood Universe.
“You talk in your sleep.”
“Do I? Horatio’s never mentioned it.”
Jack Harkness grinned. “Bet he doesn’t know. Probably dead to the world while you wax lyrical. I never sleep, so I hear it all.”
“Do you reply?” Archie Kennedy said, aggrieved that he might be unconscious while no end of interesting chit-chat went on.
“Only when necessary.”
“And what do I talk about?”
“All sort of things – what you’re dreaming of, I guess. Sometimes the theatre, or your family, or engaging the enemy in action.”
“Did I natter last night? It’s just that I feel rather odd today.”
Jacks pricked up his ears as though it was just the sort of question he’d been anticipating. “In what way?”
“I’m not sure. Like my memories have all got muddled up. I’ve been trying to recall some nasty things from when I was a middie but they don’t seem to be there anymore. And I was a prisoner, I’m sure of it, but I can’t picture it at all.” Archie sat up, frowning. Gingerly he felt around his knee. “There should be a scar here, not entirely certain why, but there should be and there isn’t. And here…” he felt the top of his buttocks, where he had a vague feeling that he’d once had something unpleasant dragged along and through the tender skin.
“That’s as clean as a whistle. Perfect.” Jack ran his fingers across the smooth flesh.
“And now I don’t know whether I just dreamed all the bad things.” Archie shook his head. He felt so much better – more whole if you like – than he had the evening before.
“Look at this.” Jack reached for Archie’s jacket, gave it to him, and waited for the reaction.
“That’s just what I mean. Yesterday I would have sworn I was something like a fourth lieutenant on a ship of the line. And now…” he lovingly fingered the shining swab, newly sewn on the broadcloth, “…I know that I’m the commander of a lovely little quarter-decked sloop.” He stopped, then turned Jack’s face towards him. “You did something. You made something change.”
Jack nodded, smiling wistfully. “In your sleep you talked to this guy – I thought you meant me at first but what you said made me realise that …well it made me realise I had to take action. So I asked you a few questions until I was sure where and when and who. And then…” He nodded towards the bedside locker.
Archie looked carefully; the revolver was there, the one that he’d seen Jack load the night before, but now all the barrels were discharged. And there was a grubby, frayed stock that had not been present previously. He recognised it, vaguely - and it had unpleasant associations. “And this is?”
“Proof.” Jack grinned, then drew Archie towards him.
“Is that allowed? Going back and changing history at a whim?”
“Archie Kennedy, there’s something about you that makes men want to break all the rules…..”
#########################################################
Set after ‘The Even Chance’ – based on an idea by
calavarnaWhen Archie woke, he was aware of three things; that his tongue felt like wadding, his head was sore and he had no idea where he was.
He'd been lining up on deck for a cutting out raid, then all of a sudden he was alone in a boat he had no memory of boarding, floating under a leaden sky in what he felt was a southerly direction. He’d been horribly thirsty and desperate enough to suck on a wet rag. And that was it, until he'd awoken in a sunlit room. Somewhere.
Archie was fairly certain he'd ended up in a friendly place, as the first thing that had caught his eye had been his uniform, neatly laundered and pressed, hanging from the door. It took several moments for him to begin to speculate that, if his clothes were over there, what was he wearing over here, in the bed in which he'd been put? Looking down, which was distinctly uncomfortable, it became apparent that he'd been dressed in a cool linen nightgown and lain in sheets of similar excellent quality and cleanliness. This was not some inn in Portsmouth, then.
The bright blue sky, similar in colour to that over the Med, added weight to his theory that he wasn't on home soil. But he was near the sea - the mewing of the gulls told him that, especially as the weather he could make out through his window was far too pleasant for the birds to have felt the need to make their way inland. He studied the little room and what he could see of the outside world. White seemed the predominant colour, with a dazzling sheen and clarity to the whole vista. Spain? Portugal? There was a feeling of calm and quiet about the place that made him wonder if he'd been taken in by monks.
He reached out, rather gingerly as his head still hurt like billy-oh, to take a cup of water. It tasted as fine as the stuff from the spring near his ancestral home, although this could not be Scotland either - not with such fine weather for the time of year. However, the man who entered his room as he drank could just about have passed for a native of the highlands - he bore a strong resemblance to Archie's father's ghillie. Although the cloth of this man's garb was - or had originally been - too fine to be that of a servant on an estate, unless his master was generous with hand-me-downs. And there was an air about him, some sort of noble mien that Archie immediately recognised and warmed to.
The man was not unlike Horatio in some ways, with dark, unruly hair of a not dissimilar length, although it was not worn in a queue, just loose over his shoulders. He wore a jerkin of some sort - it had seen better days but must have once been very fine - over a shirt of which the same could be said. Dark trousers and boots that had seen hard travelling but had been well cleaned and cared for - Archie recognised the provenance from the ones he'd seen among the more experienced hands on Indefatigable - gave an overall picture that this man had journeyed far, although probably not on a ship. And the style of clothes gave him no further clues as to where he’d landed.
"I'm glad to see you awake." The man's accent spoke vaguely of Ireland or the Scottish Isles but would not let itself be pinned down any further. He also did not appear to be a monk, or not one from any order that Archie was aware of, so that was one theory out of the way.
"Thank you. And should I give you further thanks for rescuing me?"
The stranger smiled. “And my friend the Prince, also. He was the one who saw your boat - I fear that if we'd delayed our journey by more than a few hours he'd have only found a corpse aboard it."
"Then I would be very grateful to you if you would pass on my most sincere gratitude to him as well."
The stranger raised his hand, laid it over his heart and then bowed his head - it was a most affecting gesture, one that Archie could imagine Horatio making in such a situation.
"And where am I? Not in England, of that I'm sure,"
The other man looked puzzled. “The name England means nothing to me, although I have yet to explore the lands lying over the sea. "You are in Dol Amroth - we found your boat out in the Bay of Belfalas."
It was Archie's turned to be confused - these must be foreign names, the sort of places that Horatio would recognise straight away, given his propensity for poring over maps and charts. They had a Mediterranean ring to them - he must have drifted a great way. "I'm afraid that I'm none the wiser, but I'm heartily glad to have found myself among friends. My name is Archie Kennedy.” He held out his hand to be shaken, but received only the strange salute in return.
“And I am Thorongil.”
#####################################################################
This is set post Retribution; based on a theory of my daughter’s.
“Archie?”
“I’m here, Horatio.” A steady, strong hand patted Hornblower’s arm. “Glad to see you awake at last.”
“But…” his trembling hand touched Archie’s shirt and seemed to be inspecting it.
“Steady there, old man. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“No, I’m fine, Mr. Kennedy. You’re the one who shouldn’t be sitting up. Your chest…”
Archie grinned. “Aren’t you going to finish that phrase? Usually it goes something like your chest is magnificent. May I….”
“Shhh!” Horatio’s head thumped as he hissed to his lover. “Clive might hear.”
“He won’t – there’s just you and me here at the moment. Glad of the peace and quiet, really.” Archie tapped his friend’s shoulder. “And you’ve needed it.”
“Me? I’ve just been having a nap – I’m fine. Don’t know why they brought me down here. Did they get the bullet out, then?” Horatio looked particularly puzzled.
“Bullet? You weren’t hit by a bullet.”
“Not me, you oaf; you. You were all strapped up when I last saw you – almost at…” He didn’t add death’s door. “I can’t account for you looking so healthy.
“Horatio.” Archie spoke gently. “Tell me what you think happened.”
“I don’t think. I know. You were in an awful state – bullets in your lungs and blood everywhere. How you didn’t expire up on the deck is beyond me. Then the court martial – you insisted on giving evidence even though you knew it would be the death of you. Just to save me. And now you’ll hang, just when you seem to be better.”
Archie picked up a damp cloth and applied it to Horatio’s brow. “Sh. Don’t be so troubled. You must have had a hell of a dream, Horatio, but then you’ve had plenty of time to indulge in it. I can assure you that I’ve not been shot, there has not been a court martial and that I would never be fool enough to risk my life to save you.” He grinned at the obvious lie.
“But weren’t you hurt?” Horatio frowned.
“I was – got a nasty cut here.” He stripped his sleeve and showed his scar, “When we took that fort. Now don’t touch, because it still smarts a bit.”
“So what happened? After the ship was on the rocks?”
“Horatio, you big daft lemon, are you delirious again? The ship was never aground. But then you wouldn’t know that, I suppose. Let me see – what happened after the accident? We battered that Spanish fort, giving it what Mr. Wellard, bless him, called a right hammering. William and I led an assault from the back while the great guns kept them busy at the front. They gave in quite easily. Very small butcher’s bill, all in all, as well. Took some nice little prizes afterwards. Sorry you missed all the fun.”
“And the captain? Where is Sawyer?”
“He’s in the hospital now. Pellew had his own surgeon see to him and they removed him quietly. That’s how he’ll go home, too. They’ll say it’s due to wounds, but the word is that it’s dementia.”
“Did he – did he cause trouble when we attacked the fort?”
“No, he’s been like a lamb since his fall - once he regained consciousness himself, that is. William reckons it was because you weren’t there to wind him up, being dead to the world yourself, and by the time he did come round it was all done and dusted with the Spanish.”
“He did fall then? I didn’t dream that?”
“Oh he fell all right – and took you with him, which is when you got this,” Archie gingerly touched Horatio’s crown. “Thought I’d lost you. You’re a lucky bugger, ‘ratio.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because in all the confusion of the accident no-one noticed that you’d pushed the old man. Except me and Wellard. I’ll not tell, naturally – you’ll have to hope your luck holds with him.”