Crouch Touch Pause Engage

This is from 2009. No idea now why I was writing a HH/TW/DW AU crossover featuring Nigel Owens, and with William Bush as The Doctor, but I was. As you do. So here it is again.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of these guys, not even SuperNige. Wish I did.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. For someone who’s been abducted by aliens.” William Bush, wearing his Doctor’s long coat rather than his lieutenant’s jacket, grinned. “Showing a remarkable amount of reliance.”

“The Welsh are a plucky lot.” Archie Kennedy fiddled with his Starbuck’s coffee. Funny how this commodity never varied in quality – dubious – from one end of the country to the other. “And Ianto says this one’s one of the pluckiest. Battled through a lot in his life.” He didn’t elaborate; Bush seemed to know everything, or had the ability to finds it out which amounted to the same thing. He’d know what had happened to both of them – different circumstances but the same miserable years of growing up.

“Jack’s taken quite a shine to him.”

“Taken quite a shine as in go to the pub for a pint or taken quite a shine as in go to bed for a…”

“The former. Not quite Loose-zip’s type. Nice bloke, but not what you’d call a stunner.” William sipped his coffee with a grimace.

“He’s got a nice smile, though. Bet the women swoon over those chubby cheeks. And I wouldn’t like to get in a fight with him – susopect he punches his weight.”

“Well, I understand he nearly tried to take out his abductors. Lucky we got there in time, before things got nasty. One bloke with a whistle against three hefty Arcturabladians with plasma guns.”

“What I don’t understand is why anyone would want to substitute their own lookalike for the referee of the Scotland Italy game? I mean, it could hardly further the cause of world domination, could it?” Archie had convinced himself that every alien being had to be descended from Napoleon.

“Not world domination, this time. Spread betting. This mob were looking to make a fortune on things like the time that penalties would be awarded, who got yellow carded and when. How far Chris Paterson would attempt a kick from.”

“Ah, Chris Paterson; he’d be Jack’s type. Him and Parisse, distinctly – what’s the term – warm?” Archie’s blue eyes danced at the thought.

“Hot. And Horatio had better not hear you talking up the opposition.”

“Horatio can lump it.”

“He’s probably lumping it out there with the rest of them. I understand that Nige is getting in a bit of match practice. Ianto offered to escort him from dressing room to pitch and then to shadow him during the match. Nige said he’d look pretty silly if he ended up handling the ball in the ruck on the five yard line and had to get a yellow card. Told him he couldn’t be trusted not to mouth swear words in front of Princess Anne. Ianto said he thought there wasn’t a swear word he could use that Her Royal Highness hadn’t uttered, and Nige made him wash his mouth out.” Bush looked suddenly serious. “Could have done with him on Renown.”

“Aye.” Archie fingered his side – he was still aware of it, sometimes.

“The swine!” Horatio barged through the door, face flushed with anger and what might just be embarrassment.

Archie’s Who? coincided with William’s What?

“That man we rescued. Very grateful to Ianto and old Oily drawers. Want to know what he said to me?”

“Oh, definitely.” Archie controlled the urge to giggle.

“He was describing these aliens and I just rolled my eyes very slightly, and gestured a mere inch or two in the air with my hand. And he said If you’re going to overact I’ll send you to drama school.”

“What a star.” Archie had at last recovered his voice, which was more than William had done, still doubled over with laughter. “I’m buying him a pint after the game.”

“I won’t be there. I shall find my own entertainment.” Horatio was going to hold this grudge for a while.

“Suit yourself. If you get bored report to the Italian dressing room – Jack has got us all passes, we’re part of the match security now.” William wheezed out the words.

“Why should I go there?”

“No particular reason, Horatio. Just ask for Mr. Parisse and say Jack sent you.”

Nipping in quick to get this snippet posted before everything goes flopbot again. H/A AU, usual disclaimers.

So they were on their way to Provincetown. How the hell did I let that happen? Archie cast a surreptitious glance to his left, where Horatio had his eyes fixed on the Interstate heading south. You bloody know why. Him.

Last night. Meeting up for dinner. Horatio just back from touring the state, unusually loquacious and unusually at ease. Horatio’s dark eyes, looking right into him. Memories of Horatio’s body in a diving suit.

The meal had been nice, the walk to Horatio’s hotel – he’d relocated right into the heart of the city for the one night before he was off on his travels up the Cape – even nicer. The trip in the lift and the few yards to his bedroom and through the door best of all. Soft kisses shared in the Boston twilight, street lamps coming on against a darkening sky and the gentle hum of traffic outside.

The bed – that large, inviting bed – had called to them, making the soft kisses harden into passion. Bodies hardening, too, desperate for the touch of flesh on flesh. It was going to happen, the thing he’d been dreaming of for days. It would have happened, if not for the bloody fire alarm going off just as they’d got to the unzipping bit. By the time they’d assembled with the rest of the guests – feeling more than a bit sheepish and as guilty as if they’d set the thing off themselves – and then the Fire Department had come and played their part, all ardour had been dampened along with the smouldering pan in the kitchen.

Horatio had almost begged him, dark eyes burning with need, to come along on the trip to Provincetown and Archie, in a weak moment and spurred by appetite whetted, had agreed. Despite the calendar, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, he’d said yes and, as a man of his word, he’d packed his bag and let himself be whisked off.

“Do you ever get used to the feeling?”

“I beg your pardon?” Archie had been too deep in his own thoughts - what was Horatio on about?

“Driving an automatic. Are you listening?” Horatio smiled.

“In theory, yes. I mean in theory I’m listening, in practice I was in a nice little dream.” Better to let Horatio think it was entirely a sweet dream of him. “As for the automatic gearbox, we’ve reached an uneasy truce. I miss the responsiveness.”

“Responsiveness is everything,” Horatio replied, with the hint of a lascivious grin.

“So I hope to find out in Provincetown. The hotel didn’t mind about you changing the booking?”

“I had a double room anyway. I like to stretch my legs.” Horatio’s having to negotiate a tricky overtaking manoeuvre let any opportunities for further double entendres slip by. “If the place is half as nice as the website suggests, it’ll be a good weekend.”

“It will,” said Archie, shutting his eyes and praying that might just come true.

So, when I started writing this story, it was supposed to be crack fic based on this really silly concept. And from the very start, the story (and the characters in it) had their own ideas. They wanted to be serious and a bit dark and I had no idea what was happening, which is one of the reasons the story stalled for so long. I think I know what's going on now. I think...

H/A AU, usual disclaimers apply.

It had been an interesting day. Horatio – he was just about getting used to that name, now he’d taught himself to think of it in its Shakespearean friend of the hero way – had proved to be less of a nerd than expected. He certainly didn’t kiss like one. No desperate eagerness and lack of skill. On the first kiss scale it was up there with the best of them. ( Read more... )

H/A AU, usual disclaimers.

Going to see Ironsides had been a good idea. A better than good idea. Horatio had gradually relaxed, enraptured with his surroundings, and any magic of the ship had failed to work, the beer finished accomplished. Archie took a sidelong glance at his companion and smiled. This could be ideal. A holiday romance and then a, perhaps tearful, parting at the airport. He wouldn’t have to answer any letters or e-mails if he didn’t want to. Or he could give brief, almost dismissive answers and let the thing just cool off. It would be safer that way.
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Usual disclaimers apply. H/A AU

Most of Saturday passed in the sort of daze which only comes from your body waking you at three in the morning and asking why you’re not up, as it reckons it’s eight and you’ve had a lie in. Horatio had prevaricated for as long as he could before boredom had forced him out of bed, into the shower, inside some clothes and down to the hotel coffee shop, which at least catered for those who kept strange hours.
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OK, anteros_lmc, I did 400+ words as a reward for watching the rugger. K? :)

The Tapas bar was good and the—comfort style—food was better than expected. Chicken in some sort of spicy marinade, sweet potato fries, salad, something small and fishy and tasty. Just what the doctor ordered. The finger food, and the lack of loud music, was conducive to talking, the sort of all-embracing, entirely superficial small talk of a first date.

So is this a date? Horatio wasn’t sure. It felt like more than just a bite to eat with a friend; somewhere, crackling between them was the electricity of mutual attraction. The eye contact, held just a touch too long, the space between them just a touch too close, the smiles and laughter. All of it smacked of the run up to, “Your place or mine?” Shame that he was too tired to be able to take advantage of any proposition that got made. Still, there was time; two whole weeks of it, and maybe they could manoeuvre some opportunities.

“Do you dive?” Archie gesticulated with a sweet potato fry, in imitation of a figure broaching the waves.

“I have done, when I was younger. Why?”

“I’ve planned to spend Sunday doing some—got some investigation to do for my thesis and my diving buddy’s looking like he might have to pull out. I was hoping you’d be available for backup. I’d provide the equipment.” Archie grinned. “I promise I won’t make you touch any disgusting little creepy crawlies.”

“I’m not sure how much help I’d be, although I think I could act as backup, assuming I’m over my jetlag.” Horatio thought for a moment. “Maybe next weekend would be better?”

“No,” Archie said, then, “no,” again, less sharply. “Next weekend doesn’t quite work out.”

“Oh, right. Then it looks like I’ll have to tag along.” Horatio smiled. “And if your buddy pulls out I’ll do the honours.”

“Splendid.” They finished the last of the food, making the mundane, yet exciting, arrangements of where and when to meet. Horatio had got beyond being able to stifle his yawns by the time they got to paying the bill, conserving just enough energy for the trip back to the airport hotel.

“See you Sunday.” They parted at Aquarium station, a brief handshake as a sort of deposit on—maybe—more exciting things to come. Horatio was asleep not two minutes after his head hit the pillow, dreaming of huge pools of sea water, full of strange fish, and Archie among them, a veritable merman.

Arrival of counter-irritant...

Horatio watched the penguins easing their way through the pool. He’d read somewhere that they flew through the water, rather than swimming. At least he’d thought he’d read it somewhere—sometimes he couldn’t be sure he had just summoned things up from wishful thinking.

“Funny looking things, aren’t they?” The voice at his side was unexpected, especially as the accent was cut-glass English.

“There’s a lot of funny looking things here.” Horatio looked up as he answered, straight into piercing blue eyes.

“I hope you don’t include me in that.” The owner of the voice broke into a grin, a grin lighting up an already handsome face, framed by tawny gold hair.

“No. Good God, no. I’m sorry.” Why did it always happen this way? Just when it was so important to make a good impression, why did Horatio always find he was digging himself into a hole?

“That’s alright then. I happen to agree with you, though. Not all the oddest exhibits here are in the tanks.”

“I didn’t…” Horatio gave up explaining. It didn’t seem to matter.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” The golden head leaned over the parapet to watch the penguins again.

“The latter, I suppose. I flew in today, on holiday.” Not that he’d ever define a holiday as pleasure. Or never had wanted to, before.

“Then it’s you who brought the rain.”

“I feel like I should apologise for that, too.” Horatio wished those blue eyes would look into his again. Such a stunning colour; such a stunning face. “Do you think the locals will forgive me?”

“If they don’t, I will. Don’t worry about the locals. They’re not a bad lot.” The stranger straightened up, holding out his hand to be shaken. “Archie Kennedy. Over here studying.”

“Horatio Hornblower.” Horatio waited for the inevitable reaction to the name. If he was lucky it would be no worse than a raised eyebrow.

“That’s magnificent! More people should give their children names with such grandeur. Better than Wayne or Kylie.” Archie finished the handshake with what seemed to be reluctance. “Doing anything for dinner?”

“I’ve no plans.” Not up until now.

“Neither have I. Fancy taking pity on a lonely zoologist and joining me for a meal?”

“Absolutely. So long as the food’s edible. I’ve been pre-warned.” He’d not been warned about something that might just be love—and certainly lust—at first sight.

May I assure lokei and ioanite that the diving bit had been written before they posted their comments. Ah, our great minds, thinking alike!

Horatio got off the subway at Aquarium, simply because he liked the name. It reminded him of childhood, of hours spent in the aquarium at London Zoo, back in the days when he was determined to go to sea, diving in search of creatures undiscovered. That was before he’d had his head turned by maths and machines. And before he’d discovered that he couldn’t even cross the Solent on the Isle of Wight ferry without losing his dinner at Spithead.

At least the rain had eased a bit. He’d e-mailed his father, to confirm he’d arrived in one piece, only to receive an immediate reply castigating him for not getting out of his room. The day was still young, wasn’t it? There were opportunities aplenty, weren’t there? Why was he not taking them? Mr. Hornblower wrote his e-mails like he spoke, in the style of some Austenesque character. I know you prefer your own company but could you not make some effort?. Horatio had seen the futility of argument, got his rain jacket and taken the shuttle bus to the subway station.

He’d anticipated that the Aquarium itself would be soon to close for the evening, but summer opening promised at least a couple of hours to explore. That would suit him fine; he’d be more alone amongst the crowds than sitting on a bench somewhere, sticking out like a sore thumb. He bought a ticket, calculating the equivalent value in sterling instantly, then sauntered along with little hope the place would be as magical as his memories of London Zoo were.

He was wrong. From the moment he turned the corner and encountered the first elegant and intricate jellyfish dance he was transfixed, lost within another world. A safe, comfortable world where deadlines and targets and creating a good impression on the boss didn’t matter. And for the first time in his life he regretted not having someone at his side to say, “Isn’t it wonderful?” to.

As an antidote to the last angst-fest, here are five AUs for Archie and Horatio that I would never write.

***

I know I love sport, but this would be a game too far:

The ball sailed a good three hundred yards through the air without seemingly the slightest effort being expended on it. But then Archie Kennedy’s arms, chest and shoulders carried such power that it took very little to transfer all that force to the flight of the little white sphere. Ian Woosnam had been the same, many of the cognoscenti avowed; if Archie could only refine his already impressive bunker play then he too might be successful at the Masters, that happy hunting ground for European golfers in the 80’s and 90’s. Those halcyon days were becoming distant now and Archie, star of the previous year’s Ryder cup, had great things expected of him.

His tall, rangy caddy had seen it all, of course, from Archie’s early days on the US college circuit to his astonishing debut at the Volvo PGA where he’d taken Wentworth by storm and had only lost to Jose Maria Olazabal at the first extra hole of the play off. Hornblower was happy just to fetch and carry, wipe the clubs and give the yardages, feed his man bananas or chocolate and guard him from the hordes of autograph hunters who sought to swamp him.

Particularly the female ones. Because if Archie was the young prince of the greens, his caddy was the sole king of the man’s heart.

***

Just plain silly:

“Where are my footer bags?” Hether rummaged under his bed, among his drawers.
“I bet that new bug Hornblower’s swiped them.” Clayton looked up from his copy of the Eagle with mischief in his eye. He had no idea where Hether’s kit had gone, but he liked to stir things.

“Oh, that ugly swine who was sick on the train coming here? I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

Archie Kennedy shot up from his chair, where he had been reading the racier parts of Shakespeare. “I say you chaps, you should leave the little blighter alone.” The remark was incongruous, given that Hornblower was a good five inches taller than Kennedy.

“Cave,” Clayton hissed suddenly, “he’s on his way.”

A handsome – at least to Kennedy’s eyes – young man entered the room, looked around, spotted him and smiled.

The look was returned; as far as they both were concerned, this was going to be a marvellous term.

***

I suspect only the limeys/poms will get this:

“Your starter for ten. What is the more common term,” the honeyed voice of Bamber Gascoigne, clipped tones dripping with a sensual intellect, cut through the tension; things were at last under way, “for Ornithorhynchus anatinus?”

“Christ Church, Kennedy.” The voice over the loudspeaker sounded even more intimidating in the studio than it did through the medium of television.

“Duck billed p-platypus.” Archie Kennedy stammered slightly, surprised and nervous to be the first one on the programme to answer.

“Correct. Your bonus questions are all on Latin names for well known creatures. What is Acinonyx jubatus?”

Everyone looked at Archie; none of the team were zoologists and they all hoped that he would rescue them. He creased his brow – he knew that Gascoigne would be hurrying them soon, he could not let them down. “Cheetah,” he whispered across to his captain, Horatio Hornblower.

“Cheetah,” Horatio said decisively.

“Correct.”

Horatio looked over to Archie, smiling in gratitude.

Archie’s heart leapt – whatever the outcome of the quiz, he knew he had won the one thing that mattered – his friend’s heart.

***

This has potential:

Horatius beamed as his protégé left the arena; the man was bloodied but not bowed and most of the gore he was spattered with was not his own. He drew admiring glances from almost all he passed, his fair hair and blue eyes marking him out as being from those benighted isles far away. Non Angli, sed Angeli indeed.

As the slaves stripped, oiled and applied the strigel to the fighter, his master watched with hungry eyes. The precious olive oil, mingled with the warrior’s sweat, was carefully collected and preserved, but this would not be sold to some rich and spoiled woman for her to use as perfume. This highly prized unguent would anoint no-one’s torso but Horatius’ own.

***

This AU could never happen. No. Niet.

“Archie,” Horatio looked down from the bunk bed; it was unseasonably wet and cold outside – not a typical Spanish day at all. He felt in need of comfort and sought it from his dearest friend, brother-in-arms, confidante. Often he had come to that well and drunk of the camaraderie that Archie provided, the man being an endless source of cheer and good humour. Even when Archie had been ill he had been able to raise a smile on Horatio’s face.

“Yes, Horatio?” Archie looked up from his book, wondering if Horatio was bored and wanted to play one of the mad word games they had invented to pass the slow prison hours.

Horatio swallowed hard; it was a do or die moment. At this point he had to make his boldest thrust, after which Archie would not be a comrade; he would either be his lover or never talk to him again. Years it had taken him to pluck up the courage; it was now or not at all. “Archie, do you think it might be right to break one of His Majesty’s articles, in the name of love?”

Archie turned to face his friend, leaning his head up to see him clearly. “I do, should the circumstances be right. Oh do come down here, I’ll get a terrible crick in my neck if I have to do this.”

Horatio could feel a tingle of excitement slide up his spine; this was possibly an invitation. He came down, sat on the lower bunk. “Even Article twenty nine? The idea would not revolt you?”

“No – I have known many a decent officer who could not keep that particular law intact.” Archie smiled kindly. “What is this about?”

Horatio came and knelt by the side of his friend’s pallet. He gently laid his hand on his friend’s. “The feelings I have for you have gone beyond brotherhood; I burn with desire for you every night. It would be my fondest wish that you could share them with me. Tell me if that is possible?”

Archie smiled ruefully, patting Horatio’s hand. “Sorry old thing. Didn’t you know I have a fiancée back in Scotland, plus a mistress in Cadogan square? Don’t object to men with men but not my cup of tea, I’m afraid.” He put his head on one side like a little bird. “Thought about asking Styles?”

This is an old fic, reworked slightly and reposted in honour of this weekend. It was written most carefully, so that there can be no cries of ‘foul play’ afterwards.

“Gentlemen, I do not need to tell you of the importance of this engagement.” Sir Edward Pellew had addressed his men often when going in against the French, but this time the sense of awe and majesty he inspired was unprecedented. He was immaculate as always, not a speck on his coat, the buttons of which gleamed dazzlingly. “We have no alternative other than winning – England depends on our efforts.”

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