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Two's company - part the third
Two's company - part the third and definitely the last!
Pairing: Apollo/Hornblower - yes, you read that right.
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lamis_p plot bunnied me Maybe when Battlestar Galactica finds earth it can be regency era earth ; so I had to write this. (I've seen very little BSG - forgive me if Lee's all wrong.)
Please no rabbits in the comments this time!
Notes: No ownership or profit from these characters.
Horatio could not face going back to his lodgings - he needed a stiff drink, or perhaps three, before he could clamber up to bed and risk dreaming again. It had been a hell of a day; Portsmouth seemed entirely populated by Archies - none of whom were his - and Hornblowers who would all be snuggling up to Kennedys tonight while he slept alone again. There had been a long discussion in the Keppel's Head that had clarified - if they could call it that - the situation vis-a-vis the doubles. Horatio remembered Archie once trying to explain to him the plot of The Comedy of Errors, but that sounded simple in comparison.
There was a living Archie, who had been operated on in Kingston and revived, now living with a Horatio in a cottage over Portsdown. In their world there hadn't even been a court martial. There was another Archie who was masquerading as his own relative; he'd sacrificed himself in court and been whisked off afterwards to be saved by a somewhat eccentric Irish surgeon - he was looking for his own penurious Hornblower to offer the man a chance of serving his country again. Which all meant that his Archie was very likely still dead and buried in Jamaica; lightning couldn't strike the same place three times.
He and Artie had soon left the other two to their pleasures - they could tell that their presence was not wanted, particularly by the darker and more solemn of the pair; they had simply shaken hands all round and been allowed to disappear into the night. Even then, Horatio had not been able to get Kennedy's face out of his mind; there had been a fellow in the street who bore a stunning resemblance to his friend, except that the hair was much shorter and slightly darker and this chap had been wearing a boldly striped waistcoat that Archie would have thought rather vulgar. The man had looked closely at Hornblower, almost spoken, shaken his head and walked on. All very odd. Perhaps when Horatio awoke in the morning everyone would bear the mask of his lover's face, even Mrs Mason and her daughter - and Hornblower would be driven mad and have to find a desert island or a convenient pistol with just one bullet. That was another good reason to postpone sleep.
He found a small tavern near Spice Island, purchased a pint, sat down. There was only one other occupant of the long table which Hornblower had chosen for its relative privacy - a youngish man, one who appeared to be talking to himself on and off and who, inevitably in keeping with this mad day, was the image of Archie Kennedy. Except this would be an older Archie - into his thirties perhaps - more rugged, less whimsical, bearing the marks of battle and hard times across his face. But it was still a ridiculously handsome visage, the characteristic little, child's nose and bright blue eyes - Horatio could not help but stare at him, eyes drawn again and again to the image of the one he had loved so very much.
"Can I help you?" The man spoke, a hint of belligerence in his voice indicating that he had noticed he was being watched and did not like it.
"I'm sorry, it was very rude of me to stare; I hope that you will pardon the intrusion. You bear an extraordinary likeness to a friend of mine, one who is now dead. I could not help..." Words failed Hornblower; it had been an overwhelming day, one of hopes sprung phoenix-like from the ashes only to be dashed again. He had kissed Archie, held Archie, might have lain with him again had not the other man burst in on them and now he felt tired, lonely, hopeless.
Kennedy's double smiled - a rueful, tired smile. "There's no need to apologise then. I know what it's like to lose someone close." He drained his glass, looked at it, turned to Horatio, "I'm getting myself another, can I treat you?"
Hornblower nodded and the man went off to the bar, leaving the lieutenant to consider his new acquaintance. The accent spoke of the colonies - perhaps the Americas somewhere. There were plenty of men from the other side of the Atlantic who had entered His Majesty's service either willingly or through the press; this chap could well be a naval officer or one of the many merchant seamen who traded their wares here. His clothes certainly looked like fine broadcloth and his demeanour spoke of time in the service. When he returned, he took a seat facing Horatio and raised his tankard. "To departed friends."
"Departed friends indeed." Hornblower drank deeply, contemplating this apparition over the rim of his vessel. His hair seemed exceedingly short for a gentleman, the cut of it unlike anything that Hornblower could remember seeing outside of a bunch of renegades who had been taken from prison to serve on Justinian. And there was a look in the man's eyes that suggested that he had lost his direction in life.
"Do you have a name, sir?" the question came quite unexpectedly.
"Hornblower, Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower, once of His Majesty's Navy but now cast up on the beach." The bitterness in his own voice surprised him - he did not usually speak to anyone with such candour, had not done so since his confidante had left him. This strange foreign officer, if that's what he was, must have made him feel at ease again and free to talk openly. "And you?" he hastily added, remembering his manners.
"Captain Lee Adama, like yourself currently without a ship."
"What was your last command?"
Adama smiled. "The last ship I served on was not my command."
Hornblower nodded his understanding - a flagship then perhaps?
"She was called Galactica."
At this Horatio looked blank; not a vessel he had come across, probably one of the ships of the line being rolled out by the Americans as they sought to secure their position on the Western coasts of the Atlantic. "From what we would call the far side of the world then?" He smiled, the beer and this man's fascinating presence putting him at ease.
"I guess you could say that." the captain grinned. He was strangely taken with this stiff young officer and found himself relaxing for the first time in weeks.
"So how do you find yourself here?"
Hell, there was a question - one Adama could hardly begin to answer. What would terms like Cylons, Battlestars, wormholes, rips in the space-time continuum mean to a sailor of the 1800's, when not even heavier-than-air flight had been discovered? But reply had to be given or his own precarious position might be risked. "My ship was attacked," so far so good, his companion could understand things if he kept it in those terms. It would also enable him to keep as near the truth as possible.
"Pirates?"
Adama nodded - it was not a bad description. "We were driven into uncharted waters, lost our bearings." The computers went out like lights but you'd never begin to comprehend that. "I took some of my men," generic term for the species, it would do, "in a smaller vessel to lead an assault." Horatio thought of a surprise boarding raid and nodded, "but we were ourselves attacked. I alone made it here - the rest of my crew were lost - I found myself adrift off some hell hole of a place, back of beyond. I've no idea what happened to my ship."
"Perhaps she overcame her assailants and has gone home to refit. She will find you again I hope." Hornblower looked kindly at his companion, another lost soul like himself.
"Me too," Adama raised his glass in salute to Galactica but he had little optimism on his face.
"So you made your way here?"
"I did - I was lucky enough to be picked out the water by one of your nobility I guess you would call them. Eccentric old guy, had his own private vessel to patrol the western shores. He helped me on my way." A way that Adama was not willing to describe, past the point where milord had begun to suspect that he was a Napoleonic spy and he'd been forced to escape with the aid of some pistols acquired from his host - and they were the frakking end to load. Feral living it had been then, making his way by what he could nick or barter. He'd been fortunate enough early on to come across a collector of curiosities who had paid him a handsome price for his flying suit. Perhaps it was the unusual materials that had made him so generous - perhaps it was the fact that Adama had let the man help him out of the uniform and had not minded the liberties he took in the process. The captain had been able to use the money to get a set of clothes that would not draw attention to himself and to find a bed each night and provision for his stomach.
"And what are your plans now?"
"I've no fr.. bloody idea. Get a ship. Find a job. Survive. It's what you do."
"It is indeed." Hornblower's eyes filled with tears. Surviving - that's what he'd been doing since Kingston. Not living really, just doing whatever had to be done to keep body and soul together till the next noon's observance, which is how he marked his days.
Adama noticed the tears, pretended not to, seemed to make up his mind about something. "You wouldn't know where I can find a bed for the night, would you? Haven't fixed myself up yet and it's getting late. Been a tiring few days."
A bold streak remerged in Horatio, one that had been dulled by the months of heartbreak and disappointment. "My landlady would not mind if we shared, as long as she could make a profit from it. As long as you would not mind sharing a bed..." He fixed his eyes on his now empty glass and hoped - almost as hard as he had hoped for Archie to survive both the bullet and the gallows - that this man would say yes.
"That seems to be pretty much the norm here for officers down on their luck," if he saw the slight look of offence in Horatio's eye, Adama ignored that too; he could tell how the land lay. "Suits me." He finished his drink, stood up and indicated that they should go.
They walked back to Hornblower's lodgings in comparative silence, Horatio only talking briefly to point out where they were in relation to some of Portsmouth's more notable places; his mind was racing. Why had he been so bold? What had he hoped to achieve - some frantic coupling with a stranger whom he could make believe was Kennedy? There was not even the slightest indication that an advance would be welcomed. Perhaps he could just look at that lovely face and pretend that it was his Archie he saw as he went to sleep and his Archie still there when he awoke. Maybe he could just stay the night awake and watch Adama slumbering; the rain had cleared and the moon was full, there would be enough light through his window. He could observe and simply enjoy the experience.
They reached the house, squared things away with Mrs Mason - she seemed very taken with the American officer - and went up to the room, whose meagre state confirmed Adama in all his suppositions. Hornblower was definitely an officer who, however proud and well spoken he might be, had seen better days and was not content in his present condition. The captain was touched by strong emotions - pity, sympathy, desire, lust. As the door closed behind them, leaving just the moonlight for illumination, he suddenly clasped Hornblower's arm and drew him closer, as if to speak confidentially. "Did he share your bed? This friend of yours you miss so much?"
Horatio could not answer coherently; he simply nodded.
"Want to pretend that I'm him?"
Hornblower swallowed hard, looked Adama straight in the eye. "I've wanted that ever since I saw you in the tavern. But you need to understand - we did not just use the bed for sleeping." Better to be clear from the start; no point in raising expectations and finding it was just friendship offered.
The captain smiled. "I didn't think for one minute you did. Not if you looked at him like you've been looking at me. Not if he held you and felt what I do now." He leaned closer, face almost touching Horatio's, breath as sweet and beer laden as Archie's had been on many an occasion. When he was this close, blue eyes boring into Horatio's, the lieutenant could easily believe that this was his erstwhile lover - there was even a little scar on his left cheek that might well have been the double of the one that Kennedy bore. It was more than flesh and blood could stand.
They kissed - it felt absurdly good. Adama nudged Hornblower's nose with his, brushed his mouth with his lips again, just as Archie used to do; kiss after kiss interspersed with little nudges and touches - face on face, lips on lips. The tears started to flow down Horatio's cheeks - they were caressed away with strong, rough hands, hands that then ran through his hair and held his head firm. "If its not right don't do it. Just tell me. I'll go."
Hornblower shook his head, "Don't go, not now. Just call me by my name and kiss me once more."
"OK Horatio. We'll do just that." He kissed Hornblower again, much more passionately this time, then pulled back. "What was his name?"
"Archie. Archie Kennedy. He gave his life so that I could live and I wish now that it was me dead and him here laughing with you."
"He'd have laughed, would he? Stuck in this frakking place like we are?"
Hornblower winced at the strange American vocabulary, then unexpectedly smiled. "He'd have slapped your back and found you a bottle and a meal. He'd have somehow contrived for you to drink the tavern dry and rolled you home fit to burst with laughter. And the night - Captain Adama, you have not the first idea of what the night would have been like."
"Show me." Blue eyes burned deep with a strange mixture of hopelessness and longing. "Horatio, I'm as lost as you are. Maybe you can't take pity on yourself. Pity me."
Hornblower leaned down, nuzzled into Adama's neck. "I'll pretend twice over then. Pretend this is for your benefit." He gently saluted the captain's ear, sighed. "I've missed you so much, Archie."
"Course you have Horatio. Been a while." He tugged at Hornblower's waistcoat buttons - frakking ridiculous things to truss yourself up in, these clothes.
Horatio smiled. "You always were hopeless with buttons, Archie. Allow me." Adama let him; let him undo every button the pair of them possessed. Let him do whatever he liked. Didn't even mind that Hornblower kept murmuring I love you Archie, don't leave me again. Lay back. Thought of Galactica. Didn't think at all. Coupled. Tried to work out what the hell he was going to do in the morning. Coupled once more.
The moon shone more brightly than either man had ever known it - Adama felt torn between homesickness and the desire to travel these strictly terrestrial oceans with his new friend, a man he was - for no logical reason - sure would never betray him; who had seen enough of sacrifice not to demand it of another man.
Horatio looked at the moon and wondered if a special angel had been given charge of it, an angel too mischievous to be trusted with anything else and who was shining down his authorization on this congress. He upbraided himself for such sentimentality.
They fell into an easy sleep, Adama dreaming that he was on a ship, naval uniform just like those he had seen on his travels, hair long and bound up in a pigtail, wind in his face, pistol in his belt that took a frakking age to load.
Horatio dreamed as he had never done before; his own command - that was nothing new - Archie at his side - neither was that - but this ship sailed among the stars and that was something he had never even contemplated.
Pairing: Apollo/Hornblower - yes, you read that right.
lamis_p plot bunnied me Maybe when Battlestar Galactica finds earth it can be regency era earth ; so I had to write this. (I've seen very little BSG - forgive me if Lee's all wrong.) Please no rabbits in the comments this time!
Notes: No ownership or profit from these characters.
Horatio could not face going back to his lodgings - he needed a stiff drink, or perhaps three, before he could clamber up to bed and risk dreaming again. It had been a hell of a day; Portsmouth seemed entirely populated by Archies - none of whom were his - and Hornblowers who would all be snuggling up to Kennedys tonight while he slept alone again. There had been a long discussion in the Keppel's Head that had clarified - if they could call it that - the situation vis-a-vis the doubles. Horatio remembered Archie once trying to explain to him the plot of The Comedy of Errors, but that sounded simple in comparison.
There was a living Archie, who had been operated on in Kingston and revived, now living with a Horatio in a cottage over Portsdown. In their world there hadn't even been a court martial. There was another Archie who was masquerading as his own relative; he'd sacrificed himself in court and been whisked off afterwards to be saved by a somewhat eccentric Irish surgeon - he was looking for his own penurious Hornblower to offer the man a chance of serving his country again. Which all meant that his Archie was very likely still dead and buried in Jamaica; lightning couldn't strike the same place three times.
He and Artie had soon left the other two to their pleasures - they could tell that their presence was not wanted, particularly by the darker and more solemn of the pair; they had simply shaken hands all round and been allowed to disappear into the night. Even then, Horatio had not been able to get Kennedy's face out of his mind; there had been a fellow in the street who bore a stunning resemblance to his friend, except that the hair was much shorter and slightly darker and this chap had been wearing a boldly striped waistcoat that Archie would have thought rather vulgar. The man had looked closely at Hornblower, almost spoken, shaken his head and walked on. All very odd. Perhaps when Horatio awoke in the morning everyone would bear the mask of his lover's face, even Mrs Mason and her daughter - and Hornblower would be driven mad and have to find a desert island or a convenient pistol with just one bullet. That was another good reason to postpone sleep.
He found a small tavern near Spice Island, purchased a pint, sat down. There was only one other occupant of the long table which Hornblower had chosen for its relative privacy - a youngish man, one who appeared to be talking to himself on and off and who, inevitably in keeping with this mad day, was the image of Archie Kennedy. Except this would be an older Archie - into his thirties perhaps - more rugged, less whimsical, bearing the marks of battle and hard times across his face. But it was still a ridiculously handsome visage, the characteristic little, child's nose and bright blue eyes - Horatio could not help but stare at him, eyes drawn again and again to the image of the one he had loved so very much.
"Can I help you?" The man spoke, a hint of belligerence in his voice indicating that he had noticed he was being watched and did not like it.
"I'm sorry, it was very rude of me to stare; I hope that you will pardon the intrusion. You bear an extraordinary likeness to a friend of mine, one who is now dead. I could not help..." Words failed Hornblower; it had been an overwhelming day, one of hopes sprung phoenix-like from the ashes only to be dashed again. He had kissed Archie, held Archie, might have lain with him again had not the other man burst in on them and now he felt tired, lonely, hopeless.
Kennedy's double smiled - a rueful, tired smile. "There's no need to apologise then. I know what it's like to lose someone close." He drained his glass, looked at it, turned to Horatio, "I'm getting myself another, can I treat you?"
Hornblower nodded and the man went off to the bar, leaving the lieutenant to consider his new acquaintance. The accent spoke of the colonies - perhaps the Americas somewhere. There were plenty of men from the other side of the Atlantic who had entered His Majesty's service either willingly or through the press; this chap could well be a naval officer or one of the many merchant seamen who traded their wares here. His clothes certainly looked like fine broadcloth and his demeanour spoke of time in the service. When he returned, he took a seat facing Horatio and raised his tankard. "To departed friends."
"Departed friends indeed." Hornblower drank deeply, contemplating this apparition over the rim of his vessel. His hair seemed exceedingly short for a gentleman, the cut of it unlike anything that Hornblower could remember seeing outside of a bunch of renegades who had been taken from prison to serve on Justinian. And there was a look in the man's eyes that suggested that he had lost his direction in life.
"Do you have a name, sir?" the question came quite unexpectedly.
"Hornblower, Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower, once of His Majesty's Navy but now cast up on the beach." The bitterness in his own voice surprised him - he did not usually speak to anyone with such candour, had not done so since his confidante had left him. This strange foreign officer, if that's what he was, must have made him feel at ease again and free to talk openly. "And you?" he hastily added, remembering his manners.
"Captain Lee Adama, like yourself currently without a ship."
"What was your last command?"
Adama smiled. "The last ship I served on was not my command."
Hornblower nodded his understanding - a flagship then perhaps?
"She was called Galactica."
At this Horatio looked blank; not a vessel he had come across, probably one of the ships of the line being rolled out by the Americans as they sought to secure their position on the Western coasts of the Atlantic. "From what we would call the far side of the world then?" He smiled, the beer and this man's fascinating presence putting him at ease.
"I guess you could say that." the captain grinned. He was strangely taken with this stiff young officer and found himself relaxing for the first time in weeks.
"So how do you find yourself here?"
Hell, there was a question - one Adama could hardly begin to answer. What would terms like Cylons, Battlestars, wormholes, rips in the space-time continuum mean to a sailor of the 1800's, when not even heavier-than-air flight had been discovered? But reply had to be given or his own precarious position might be risked. "My ship was attacked," so far so good, his companion could understand things if he kept it in those terms. It would also enable him to keep as near the truth as possible.
"Pirates?"
Adama nodded - it was not a bad description. "We were driven into uncharted waters, lost our bearings." The computers went out like lights but you'd never begin to comprehend that. "I took some of my men," generic term for the species, it would do, "in a smaller vessel to lead an assault." Horatio thought of a surprise boarding raid and nodded, "but we were ourselves attacked. I alone made it here - the rest of my crew were lost - I found myself adrift off some hell hole of a place, back of beyond. I've no idea what happened to my ship."
"Perhaps she overcame her assailants and has gone home to refit. She will find you again I hope." Hornblower looked kindly at his companion, another lost soul like himself.
"Me too," Adama raised his glass in salute to Galactica but he had little optimism on his face.
"So you made your way here?"
"I did - I was lucky enough to be picked out the water by one of your nobility I guess you would call them. Eccentric old guy, had his own private vessel to patrol the western shores. He helped me on my way." A way that Adama was not willing to describe, past the point where milord had begun to suspect that he was a Napoleonic spy and he'd been forced to escape with the aid of some pistols acquired from his host - and they were the frakking end to load. Feral living it had been then, making his way by what he could nick or barter. He'd been fortunate enough early on to come across a collector of curiosities who had paid him a handsome price for his flying suit. Perhaps it was the unusual materials that had made him so generous - perhaps it was the fact that Adama had let the man help him out of the uniform and had not minded the liberties he took in the process. The captain had been able to use the money to get a set of clothes that would not draw attention to himself and to find a bed each night and provision for his stomach.
"And what are your plans now?"
"I've no fr.. bloody idea. Get a ship. Find a job. Survive. It's what you do."
"It is indeed." Hornblower's eyes filled with tears. Surviving - that's what he'd been doing since Kingston. Not living really, just doing whatever had to be done to keep body and soul together till the next noon's observance, which is how he marked his days.
Adama noticed the tears, pretended not to, seemed to make up his mind about something. "You wouldn't know where I can find a bed for the night, would you? Haven't fixed myself up yet and it's getting late. Been a tiring few days."
A bold streak remerged in Horatio, one that had been dulled by the months of heartbreak and disappointment. "My landlady would not mind if we shared, as long as she could make a profit from it. As long as you would not mind sharing a bed..." He fixed his eyes on his now empty glass and hoped - almost as hard as he had hoped for Archie to survive both the bullet and the gallows - that this man would say yes.
"That seems to be pretty much the norm here for officers down on their luck," if he saw the slight look of offence in Horatio's eye, Adama ignored that too; he could tell how the land lay. "Suits me." He finished his drink, stood up and indicated that they should go.
They walked back to Hornblower's lodgings in comparative silence, Horatio only talking briefly to point out where they were in relation to some of Portsmouth's more notable places; his mind was racing. Why had he been so bold? What had he hoped to achieve - some frantic coupling with a stranger whom he could make believe was Kennedy? There was not even the slightest indication that an advance would be welcomed. Perhaps he could just look at that lovely face and pretend that it was his Archie he saw as he went to sleep and his Archie still there when he awoke. Maybe he could just stay the night awake and watch Adama slumbering; the rain had cleared and the moon was full, there would be enough light through his window. He could observe and simply enjoy the experience.
They reached the house, squared things away with Mrs Mason - she seemed very taken with the American officer - and went up to the room, whose meagre state confirmed Adama in all his suppositions. Hornblower was definitely an officer who, however proud and well spoken he might be, had seen better days and was not content in his present condition. The captain was touched by strong emotions - pity, sympathy, desire, lust. As the door closed behind them, leaving just the moonlight for illumination, he suddenly clasped Hornblower's arm and drew him closer, as if to speak confidentially. "Did he share your bed? This friend of yours you miss so much?"
Horatio could not answer coherently; he simply nodded.
"Want to pretend that I'm him?"
Hornblower swallowed hard, looked Adama straight in the eye. "I've wanted that ever since I saw you in the tavern. But you need to understand - we did not just use the bed for sleeping." Better to be clear from the start; no point in raising expectations and finding it was just friendship offered.
The captain smiled. "I didn't think for one minute you did. Not if you looked at him like you've been looking at me. Not if he held you and felt what I do now." He leaned closer, face almost touching Horatio's, breath as sweet and beer laden as Archie's had been on many an occasion. When he was this close, blue eyes boring into Horatio's, the lieutenant could easily believe that this was his erstwhile lover - there was even a little scar on his left cheek that might well have been the double of the one that Kennedy bore. It was more than flesh and blood could stand.
They kissed - it felt absurdly good. Adama nudged Hornblower's nose with his, brushed his mouth with his lips again, just as Archie used to do; kiss after kiss interspersed with little nudges and touches - face on face, lips on lips. The tears started to flow down Horatio's cheeks - they were caressed away with strong, rough hands, hands that then ran through his hair and held his head firm. "If its not right don't do it. Just tell me. I'll go."
Hornblower shook his head, "Don't go, not now. Just call me by my name and kiss me once more."
"OK Horatio. We'll do just that." He kissed Hornblower again, much more passionately this time, then pulled back. "What was his name?"
"Archie. Archie Kennedy. He gave his life so that I could live and I wish now that it was me dead and him here laughing with you."
"He'd have laughed, would he? Stuck in this frakking place like we are?"
Hornblower winced at the strange American vocabulary, then unexpectedly smiled. "He'd have slapped your back and found you a bottle and a meal. He'd have somehow contrived for you to drink the tavern dry and rolled you home fit to burst with laughter. And the night - Captain Adama, you have not the first idea of what the night would have been like."
"Show me." Blue eyes burned deep with a strange mixture of hopelessness and longing. "Horatio, I'm as lost as you are. Maybe you can't take pity on yourself. Pity me."
Hornblower leaned down, nuzzled into Adama's neck. "I'll pretend twice over then. Pretend this is for your benefit." He gently saluted the captain's ear, sighed. "I've missed you so much, Archie."
"Course you have Horatio. Been a while." He tugged at Hornblower's waistcoat buttons - frakking ridiculous things to truss yourself up in, these clothes.
Horatio smiled. "You always were hopeless with buttons, Archie. Allow me." Adama let him; let him undo every button the pair of them possessed. Let him do whatever he liked. Didn't even mind that Hornblower kept murmuring I love you Archie, don't leave me again. Lay back. Thought of Galactica. Didn't think at all. Coupled. Tried to work out what the hell he was going to do in the morning. Coupled once more.
The moon shone more brightly than either man had ever known it - Adama felt torn between homesickness and the desire to travel these strictly terrestrial oceans with his new friend, a man he was - for no logical reason - sure would never betray him; who had seen enough of sacrifice not to demand it of another man.
Horatio looked at the moon and wondered if a special angel had been given charge of it, an angel too mischievous to be trusted with anything else and who was shining down his authorization on this congress. He upbraided himself for such sentimentality.
They fell into an easy sleep, Adama dreaming that he was on a ship, naval uniform just like those he had seen on his travels, hair long and bound up in a pigtail, wind in his face, pistol in his belt that took a frakking age to load.
Horatio dreamed as he had never done before; his own command - that was nothing new - Archie at his side - neither was that - but this ship sailed among the stars and that was something he had never even contemplated.