This story is set in the Horatio Hornblower universe, and is a sequel to my previous story, "Down Among the Dead Men".This tale is AU in that in this world, Clayton survived the duel with Simpson and went on to become a lieutenant in Indefatigable. It is also slash. Be warned, and if you find sexual relationships between male characters offensive, please stop reading now.

Disclaimer: I didn't write this with the intention of infringing copyrights, or to make money. I wrote it for the love of the characters, and the desire to find out what could happen next. Permission is given to archive and print for personal use, provided this disclaimer and my name remain attached. The characters are purloined, the story is mine, and hopefully, the enjoyment is yours.

Rating: NC-17 Pairings: HH/EP HH/HC AK/HC

Ghosts

By The Ragged Rose

Archie was touching him, running his hands along his sides as they lay naked in a grassy field warmed by the summer sun. Clayton's skin tingled as they roved over him, and he tangled his own hands in the boy's soft hair as he pulled him forward to claim a kiss. Archie's arms slid round his back, pressing against him, wanting him, echoing the need in Clayton's own body. The feel of the dew-soft flesh was intoxicating, Archie's hardness pressing into him rousing his own body to fevered desire. He cupped the boy's rounded arse in his hands, and pressed him against that hardened part of him. Archie's teeth nipped passionately at his neck, sending a bolt of desire through his whole body, making his breath catch in his throat. He felt his lover's warm tongue as he trailed it up his jaw.

"I want you, Henry," Archie breathed against his mouth. That bewitching tongue darted out and licked delicately along his lower lip. "I want to feel all of you inside me--I want to be yours--"

"No," he whispered. "Archie, I don't want to hurt you."

The boy chuckled, and put his hands on the ground, stretching upwards like a cat. "Hurt me?" He smiled, a slow, lazy warm-summer grin. "Do I look hurt?" He rocked against Clayton, rubbing himself against his lover. "I know you'll be different." He slid upwards, pushing his arse against Clayton's aching member.

"Oh Archie," Clayton sighed. He rolled the golden lad onto his back, and began to cover his chest and neck with kisses. The sighs and soft moans that rewarded his attentions only made him want more. Slowly, he meandered down the compact body, drinking in the sight and feel of that which he had only been allowed glimpses of before, for fear of discovery and disgrace. "My sweet angel," he murmured, running his tongue along Archie's ribs. Gently, he closed his teeth on that warm flesh, making the boy cry out with desire.

"Henry, please--" the husky voice caressed Clayton's spine, centering in his own backside. He pulled Archie over to straddle him.

"Yes, please Archie, please make love to me."

"I asked you first," came the answer from those full lips, now pouting slightly. "And I mean to have what I want, Henry." The grin was back, mischievous this time. "Don't you want me?"

Clayton chuckled softly. "Do you doubt it?" He caressed the soft cheek. "I won't hurt you. I won't be merely another tormentor to you, Archie."

The eyes gazing down at him were full of love and trust. "Of course you won't. Do you think you play with a boy here, sir? Grant me at least the dignity of knowing my own desires."

Clayton was mesmerized. He allowed Archie to take him in his mouth, then firmly in hand, his breath coming hard and fast as he felt the head of his member touch the soft entrance. Slowly, silkily, he felt the lad sit back on him, taking him inside himself. He saw the wondrous eyes flutter closed, the beautiful mouth gape open in desire…

Darkness, and the swaying of the hammock to the measured roll of a ship under sail. It seemed to Clayton that he still felt the summer heat, and the evidence of his desire lay sticky between his thighs. But Archie was not there. Why must the memory of him torment him, even in sleep? Clayton pulled the blanket around him more tightly against the chill and lay, staring at the deckhead. He wished, as he always did after one of the dreams, for a drink, but he put the notion firmly out of his mind. Archie was gone, his duty was the only thing left to him now. He would do it well and give no cause for shame to his ship. His private desires were only just payment for what had gone before. The familiar litany began to calm him. If he had not acted so shamefully with Archie before, then he would not be having such dreams now. Eventually, toward morning, he slept again.

****

It was midsummer before Indefatigable saw Spithead harbor again. The bright sunlight seemed to Clayton rather like the paint on a cheap whore's face, hiding the essential vileness of the place. He half expected to see Justinian rotting at anchor. He felt the old despair rise up again, and with it, the desire for drink. It had been months since he had had more than his daily ration, and he had thought himself free at last. The work of getting the ship into harbor and properly anchored had been welcome, but now it was done, and Indy rode quietly to her cable.

The sound of a fiddle and a burst of laughter drifted up from the opened main hatch. The off-duty watch was making the most of their opportunity. Clayton smiled, remembering the chaos as the newly returned frigate had been surrounded by bumboats, carrying food and cheap goods, women, and the inevitable spirits. He and the other officers had had their hands full regulating the first three and keeping the last from getting aboard at all. The course of the evening would tell them how successful they had been. So far, there had been only minor incidents, none of them drink related. Two of the women had been sent ashore for fighting, and there had been a dispute over the quality of the apples one of the traders had been selling.

From his place by the quarterdeck ladder, Clayton looked aloft at the ungainly jury-rig that stood in place of the foremast. The last engagement they had fought had been fierce, and while they had done what they could to make good the damage, spars of that size and a sheer-hulk to fit the lower mast could only be had at a dockyard. There were still scars in the deck, and new patches in the larboard rail, where the great mast had gone by the board. The carpenter and his crew were hard at work even now, and the sounds of their tools mingled with the merrymaking below. He looked back aft as a ship's boy scuttled down the ladder to him.

"Mr Clayton, sir!"

"Yes, what is it Tom?"

The boy knuckled his forehead to the officer. "Cap'n's compliments an' 'e'll see yer in 'is cabin directly."

"Thank you," Clayton dismissed the boy and did as he had been bid.

"Ah, Mr Clayton! Come in, sir!" Pellew looked up expectantly as the sentry ushered the lieutenant into the great stern cabin. He was seated at the gleaming table, and a pile of recently arrived despatches lay upon its surface. Mr Bracegirdle sat to one side of him, and nodded politely to the new arrival. "Please, sit down," Pellew said. "There are matters which we need to discuss." He noted the man's guarded expression, the polite smile he had worn from the moment he stepped into the cabin. The ensuing months had not given him the key to the man, and Pellew was beginning to find his bland façade annoying. For a moment, he gave in to his irritation. "Come now, Mr Clayton, have you anything to say about your recent performance?"

'Here it comes,' thought Clayton despairingly. "Sir, I hope that I have discharged my duties adequately." He riffled through the last few months in his mind, but could find no glaring flaw. What was the man driving at? He searched the faces in front of him, Pellew's stern, Bracegirdle's faintly amused. Suddenly, he went cold. He had done nothing to merit this, he realized. Nothing at all. "If I have failed in my duty, I apologize, sir."

Pellew saw the uncertainty leave the face in front of him, saw the cold anger before it was quickly replaced by the usual expressionless mask. This time, he realized, his teasing had gone too far. "I did not mean to give you cause to think so, sir," Pellew said, dropping his bantering manner. He selected a despatch from the neat stack in front of him. "As a matter of fact, I have found you to be an exemplary officer. The Admiralty concurs, and has confirmed your appointment into Indefatigable." He handed the document to his surprised new officer. "Of course, you will need to make the necessary arrangements." He eyed the shabby, salt stained midshipman's coat and the threadbare, but painfully clean shirt his officer wore.

Clayton hardly comprehended the words on the page before him. "Thank you sir," he said faintly.

Pellew shook his head. "It was your own doing, Mr Clayton, I assure you." The stern look returned. "But there is one matter more, sir! I cannot allow an officer of mine to appear so ill dressed! I am prepared to advance you twenty pounds against your pay, and I expect you to return clothed in a manner that does your ship credit!" He picked up a cloth bag from the table and handed it to the officer.

Clayton blinked, and swallowed before answering. "Yes sir." What else could he say?

"Good," said Pellew. He picked up a letter, folded and sealed.

Just then, another knock sounded, and the sentry ushered Mr. Hornblower in.

"Mr. Hornblower," Pellew acknowledged the other officer. He handed the letter in his hand to the startled Clayton. "I would be obliged if you would take this to the victualling yard, and then you and Mr. Hornblower may consider yourselves at liberty until your duties require your presence aboard." He enjoyed the delighted smile that spread over Mr. Hornblower's face, though Clayton still looked as if he had been struck a blow. "Mr Hornblower, I expect your first errand in town after delivering our supply list to be the selection of a decent tailor for Mr. Clayton. We cannot have a confirmed officer cutting such a sorry figure in port, now can we?"

Hornblower smiled back. "No sir, certainly not!" He turned to his fellow. "Congratulations, Mr Clayton!"

As usual, Pellew could not help but be cheered by Hornblower's joy, a distant echo of his own high spirits at a similar age. He wished briefly that he could share their time ashore with them. The handsome face shone with such selfless pleasure at the promotion of another, showing the generous nature within, that Pellew was touched by other desires as well, desires that had no place, and that he would never be free to express. "Be off with you," he said gruffly, to cover his feelings. "You may use one of the ship's boats, to ensure the prompt discharge of the business of the ship."

"Thank you, sir!" Hornblower took his friend by the hand and all but pulled him from the cabin, carefully closing the passage behind him.

Pellew chuckled and sat back in his chair, taking pleasure in the small things he could give his young officer. "Were you ever so delighted at the prospect of an afternoon in Portsmouth, Mr. Bracegirdle?"

"That I was, sir," the portly officer answered. "Did I ever tell you of the time I met Miss Sally Marr, and came back aboard in another man's breeches?"

"I daresay I would have remembered such a story if you had, sir!" Pellew got up and crossed to where a decanter and a rack of glasses winked in the sunlight streaming in the stern windows. "A glass, Mr. Bracegirdle?"

****

Hornblower and Clayton walked out of the little tailor's shop, both well content with the afternoon's work. The man had been both thorough and efficient, and had even been able to supply a shirt and a decent pair of breeches on the spot. Henry's once fine boots, now sadly stained and cracked, had been sent out while he was being fitted for his uniform and now looked as presentable as a generous oiling and polishing could make them.

"They'll do well enough for shipboard, sir," the tailor had said," but good boots, like good horses, should never be put away wet." He had looked measuringly at the man, and at the size of the order, and had named a figure, within Clayton's means, but still substantial. "And that will include both boots and serviceable shoes, sir.

After arranging to call for the order, the two were truly at liberty.

"What shall we do, Henry?" Hornblower asked excitedly. He had never seen Portsmouth before, save for the short spell of duty he had served on the press gang, and was eager to sample the delights of the port.

Clayton smiled, though he did not share his companion's eagerness. "A decent dinner would be in order, I think." He led Horatio toward a small, but cozy inn he had known from earlier days. On the way they passed a small bookstall. Horatio was instantly snared, and in the end, there they parted.

Truth to tell, Clayton was just as glad to be alone. The docks around Spithead harbor would never hold any joy for him again. He walked aimlessly, with no particular destination in mind. He passed out of the dockside, and into the town itself. When he found himself in front of the old church, he realized how fitting it was to have been led to this place on this day, above all others. He passed into the churchyard and sat himself down next to a plain marker. It was peaceful, so quiet after the crowded frigate and he was glad to remain there, paying his respects to the silent dead.

****

The late afternoon faded into evening as Hornblower waited at the quayside. The burgeoning clouds had gathered, and now the rain slanted down as he stood under the narrow shelter just off the dock. What was keeping Henry? He walked to the edge of the pier, where he could see down the narrow alley that led to the main road. No sign. They would both be late returning to Indefatigable if he did not arrive soon.

Hornblower finally went to the Pelican, the small unprepossessing inn frequented by junior officers. It was a short way from the harbor, and as usual, it was well filled. Perhaps Henry had stopped for a tankard and the time had gotten away from him? As he pushed open the door, a wave of heat and the rich smell of stew hit him. His wet cloak steamed as he stood beside the door, and he was glad to take it off and fold it over his arm. The low ceilinged taproom was smoky, the tables were lively, and the talk that reached him was full of the war, and the chances for advancement. Cleveland waved him over from where he sat at a table with other officers from Indefatigable.

"Horatio!" he signaled the server. "Have a drink with us!"

Hornblower's eyes still scanned the room. "You haven't seen Henry, have you?"

Cleveland pointed to a table near the kitchen door. Clayton sat alone there. Horatio sighed. He was obviously far gone in drink, gazing into the tankard that he held between his hands.

"He said he wanted no company, Horatio, and he was a right bastard about it too." Cleveland lifted his tankard as the potman arrived. "Another ale for me, and one for my friend here!"

Hornblower smiled and shook his head. "No, thank you, but our leave is up, and I must get Henry back to the ship. He's on watch in an hour."

"Pity," said Cleveland. "I don't envy you your task."

Hornblower made his way through the crowded taproom. Clayton looked up slowly as he came up to the table.

"Henry, we've got to get back to Indy--our leave is up soon."

Clayton's drink sodden eyes met his companion's. "You go ahead, Horatio. I'll be along presently."

Hornblower's eyes were clear, and beginning to show his impatience. "You've got a watch tonight Henry, and it looks very much as if you're in no condition to stand it."

"Whether I do or not is not your concern, and I'd thank you to leave me in peace, sir." Clayton shook his head. "Tonight of all nights, at least."

"Why?" Horatio looked curiously at Clayton. "What sets tonight apart?"

Clayton took a drink and sighed. "Memories, and the need to mark them."

"Surely some other night would do as well," Hornblower answered.

"What would you know about it, Horatio?" Clayton looked dispiritedly into the bottom of his tankard. "Go away and leave me alone."

"No, I will not!" Hornblower said hotly. He dropped his lanky body onto the bench opposite his drunken friend. "You have been given a chance for advancement, and I cannot watch you drown it in drink!"

Clayton's head snapped up, the grey eyes smoldering. "I say again, what do you know of it, Horatio! There are many things in the past that you cannot understand--you were only in Justinian for a few months, and even then you knew very little of matters there!"

Hornblower struggled to put aside his own anger. Even if Henry could not be reasonable in his present condition, there had to be some way to get through to him. "Then make me understand," he said intensely. "What happened that could possibly be worth your career?"

Clayton laughed. "I doubt that a single night's drinking will cost me my career, Horatio." He drained what was left of his drink. "And what is past is best left there, I think." He raised his upturned tankard to the potman.

'You do not seem to think so,' Hornblower thought to himself. "And an ale for me as well," he told the man who came to fill Clayton's empty pot.

"I am not good company tonight, nor do I wish to be," Clayton said. He leaned on the worn wooden tabletop and fixed his bleary eyes on his messmate. "I really would prefer that you leave me."

'In your condition,' thought Hornblower, 'not likely, my friend.' "Surely you won't refuse to have a glass with me," he said.

"Oh certainly not," Clayton said with exaggerated care. Damn the boy!

Two pewter pots were set on the table in front of the men. Hornblower fumbled in his pocket for coins. Clayton handed the server his portion of the charge and picked up his drink.

"What shall we drink to," Hornblower said brightly.

Clayton's smile was cold. "To the memory of Davy Hodges". He hardly tasted the rum punch as he drank off half the tankard.

Hornblower raised his tankard as well. "To Davy Hodges," he said, and drank. He tried unsuccessfully to place the name. He had not been in Justinian long enough to learn all of the crew, but the officers and midshipmen he knew. There had been no Davy among them. "Tell me of Justinian then, Henry," he said. "I fear you are right, I was far too sunk in my own misery then to see all that I should have."

Clayton shook his head. "Better that you should remain ignorant then, Horatio. Those were dark times, and better left in the past." He took another pull at his drink.

"You cannot do so," Hornblower smiled sympathetically. "If it were not for you, I would likely have died there in the darkness. What happened there that drives you to this?"

Clayton stared into his nearly empty tankard. "Many things. Day following upon weary day, one small event upon another." He looked at his companion. "You faced a trial all at once, and never allowed it to change you. The rest of us did not, and so were changed without realizing it."

"Like Davy Hodges?"

"Ah yes," Clayton chuckled mirthlessly. "He has been forever changed." He tried to banish the sound of the boy's heels dragging on the deck with the ship's roll. He called for another glass.

Hornblower set down his tankard. "How did he die?"

How to describe it? And why should he be forced to tell this prying child how it was? Suddenly Clayton didn't care any longer. So Horatio wanted to know the whole of it? Then he would tell him, and be damned to it all! "He hung himself, Horatio. He could no longer endure being buggered by Mr. Simpson." He watched the shock spread across the handsome face with savage pleasure. "Does that surprise you, sir? He was barely fourteen years old, and I did nothing to stop it. It was four years ago today that I found him. He would have been your own age, Horatio. Are you not now grateful that your father did not see fit to send you to sea earlier?"

Hornblower realized that his mouth was hanging open and closed it. "Why was this not reported? Why did someone not go to the officers and say something?"

Clayton laughed. "Because we all would have been on the yardarm beside him, Horatio! Do you think that Davy was the only one?" He took up his pot. "You truly had no idea what went on, did you? Didn’t you ever wonder just how Simpson kept his hold on us all? You were probably the only one who didn't take his turn bent over the mess table--and if he had not beaten you senseless that night, you likely would have been his next boy!"

"Never!" It was out of his mouth before Hornblower thought to speak.

Clayton shook his head. "No. You are likely right. You would have died rather than submit. And I would rather have died than to have met the man who could stand against him and show me just how pathetic I was." He met the brown eyes muzzily. "Are you satisfied now, Horatio? Will you leave me to drink in peace?"

"Would you leave me with such a weight of despair, Henry?"

Clayton could no longer bear the steady gaze. All he could see in the brown eyes was sympathy and sadness, and he knew that he deserved neither. "Don't you understand, Horatio? If you had become another of Jack's conquests, I would have allowed it, as I allowed all the others."

"Are you speaking of the others, or of your own inability to resist him, Henry?" Hornblower raised his hand for the potman. "I could hardly be credited for escaping a danger that I was never aware of, and you can scarcely blame yourself for allowing something that never occurred." He submerged the shock and disgust and concentrated on the man before him. He could not consider the implications now, nor the rage that he felt rising in him at a man now dead--a rage that would do no one any good, least of all Clayton.

"Have you coffee," he said to the server.

"I think so, sir," he answered. "Not something we get much call for, though."

"I'd be obliged if you'd bring us a large strong pot--and a couple of bowls of that stew."

"And another rum punch," said Clayton listlessly.

"Henry, will you not dine with me instead," Hornblower asked.

Clayton shook his head. "No, I will not, Horatio," he answered. "You heard me, now fetch it," he told the potman. "You cannot change what is past with a word, no matter how well chosen."

"No, I cannot," Hornblower agreed. "But neither can I allow Simpson to destroy yet another worthy, honorable man. He has taken so much, Henry, far more than a worthless bastard like him should have been able to."

'Yes', thought Clayton, 'he has. My self respect, nearly my life, and Archie. And I helped him to do so.'

"You have the respect of Captain Pellew, and you have mine as well, Henry. When will you stop punishing yourself for what is past? You have served very creditably or you would not have been confirmed."

"I will take up my duties tomorrow, Horatio," said Clayton. "Surely I have earned one night of reflection."

"Reflection?" Hornblower shook his head. "I would hardly call it that. We are expected aboard Indy, Henry! What can you possibly achieve by this? It won't bring back the dead, or help the living."

"Damn you, Horatio!" Clayton slammed his tankard down onto the worn wood before him, slopping a generous portion over the side. He stood up, swaying slightly. "How dare you sit there, smugly judging what you do not understand! You cannot know how it was!"

Clayton's shouting brought the potman back at once. He had been perfectly willing to serve a quiet, melancholy drunk--he did not see the point of the exercise, but as long as a man paid the reckoning and made no trouble, why the mood he drank in was his own affair. An angry, shouting drunk though, that was another matter. "Sir, calm yourself, I pray you," he said firmly.

"What?" The face that was turned to him was confused, and the man swayed on his feet.

Small wonder, with so much rum punch in him, thought the potman. "I'll have to ask ye to leave, sir, if you don't sit down and calm yourself." He smiled reassuringly and picked up the tankard. "Drink up, and leave off shouting, 'tis a raw night and I'd not put you out into it."

Clayton shook off the hand Hornblower placed on his shoulder. "Damn you, Horatio, and be damned to you as well, sir!" He took the tankard carefully from the hand that held it, drained it, then tossed it aside to clatter against the leg of a nearby table. "I'll find myself a place where I can drink in peace!" He made his unsteady way through the taproom to the door.

Hornblower looked after Clayton, then back to the disgruntled server. "I apologize for my friend, sir. He isn't himself this evening I fear."

The potman shook his head and returned the courteous young officer's smile. "Himself or not sir, you'd best look to him. I'd not give much for his chances out there in his condition." He bent and retrieved the pewter pot from the floor. "No harm here that can't be mended." He surveyed the other inhabitants of the taproom. "I daresay it'll be repeated before the evening's over."

Hornblower hurried after his departing friend, glancing back as he went. "Thank you, sir. I will."

The rain and cold were doubly unpleasant after the warmth of the tavern. Darkness had fallen, and the storm lashed street was all but empty. Clayton hardly felt them, so great was his anger. It had been a long time since Clayton had been truly angry, and he realized drunkenly that it had now happened twice in one day. Was it really asking for so much, he thought bitterly, to be allowed one day of peace? One day of reflection, without the incessant demands of the Royal Navy or one Horatio Hornblower to contend with? He staggered along singlemindedly, intent only on putting as much distance between himself and that one particular officer as possible.

But the bastard would not let him alone! Even now he was behind him, calling after him. When the hand on his shoulder came, he spun, swinging wildly, only to collapse in the mud.

Hornblower was appalled, and not a little overwhelmed. What was he to do now? He couldn't bring Henry back aboard in this condition. He thought briefly of going back and taking his watch in his place, but hesitated. Who would see to him? He certainly couldn't leave him like this.

Clayton tried to stagger to his feet, but somehow, before he had found them, both he and Hornblower were in the mud. When he lifted his head again, he was violently ill. An eternity of dizziness and nausea later, he was allowed at last to collapse into warm softness.

****

Hornblower woke with a start, as a warm hand insinuated itself inside his shirt. Clayton had turned in his sleep, and had wrapped him in his arms. Not knowing quite what to do, he allowed the liberty, not wanting to wake his drunken companion. It was comforting, he decided after a short time, to lie here thus, and how could he deny Henry such a small thing as the companionship of a friend? God knew, he needed one right now. He had almost dropped off to sleep again when soft lips brushed his forehead and the hands pulled him closer, cradling his head and curling protectively around him. Hornblower settled into the new position, a bit ashamed of himself for taking such comfort from the touch, but seeing no way to withdraw without waking his bedfellow. Henry's arms wound around him then, his mouth seeking his, his hands sliding under his shirt. His whole body tingled at their passage and Hornblower could no longer deceive himself as to his fellow officer's intentions, or, indeed, his own physical response to them. The seeking tongue tangled with his, and for a moment, he returned the hungry kiss. The softness of the other man's mouth warmed him down to his groin, and with the arousal came near panic. Hornblower quickly disentangled himself from Clayton's grasp, barely able to do it gently, trying not to wake him in the process. "Archie--"

What? Hornblower froze.

"Archie," Clayton murmured again, catching one of Hornblower's hands in his and kissing it.

A moment later, their eyes met.

Clayton came to himself, suddenly terribly sober, and in bed with someone he did not remember lying down with, or making advances to. Apparently, he had done both. He tried to turn away, but was held.

Hornblower was, for the second time that evening, completely at a loss. Well, the first situation had resolved itself when he had applied himself to it. It had been a simple enough matter to engage a room for the evening, and convince Carter to go back and take Mr. Clayton's watch in exchange for due consideration of his own requirements--which had included Hornblower's spirit ration for the week. This second situation, however, was considerably more confusing. How could he condemn Henry for something that he had allowed, had not stopped before it had come to this, and, if he were to be completely honest, had himself taken pleasure from? Yet how could he not? It was completely beyond belief, beyond toleration, but as the events of the past came together, they all made a sudden, terrible sense. Clayton's protectiveness of Archie in Justinian, and his complete collapse when he had learned of his capture were all of a piece.

"Henry, I--"

Clayton shook his head. "You don't have to say it, Horatio, and it would have come out in the end, one way or another." He raised his eyes to his friend's. "I am exactly what you think me, and I apologize most humbly for putting you in the position of having to be the one to report me at last."

The brown eyes clouded, confusion apparent in them, but they did not drop. "I am as much to blame, I suppose."

Clayton stared back, disbelief warring with despair. "How could you possibly bear any blame in this, Horatio? I used you most inexcusably, and have obviously done so in the past with my fellow officers."

"Did I stop you, Henry?" Hornblower cut into the recitation. "I was the one who brought you here, and I was awake, and did not stop you when I should have." He held the grey eyes with his. "Henry, have you ever taken anyone against their will?"

Well in that, at least, his conscience was clear. "Never," he answered, meeting the gaze.

"Not even Archie--" Hornblower trailed off uncertainly.

"No. Especially not Archie."

Hornblower believed him. It was something in the way that Henry said the words, the remains of his dignity coming around him quietly as if to say that there were still some things that were beneath him, and that even now, he still retained some conception of honor. Both of them knew what he left unsaid. It was as if they still held the foul weight of Simpson between them.

In that moment Henry knew Hornblower would not report him. He could not, for he now shared that which tainted him. So none of them had escaped Simpson in the end. "I am sorry, Horatio," he said softly. "I never meant to involve you."

Hornblower smiled. "Nor yourself, I'll be bound." He lay back, trying to be as easy in body as his words seemed to be. "You were right, Henry. Dark times they were, and we have seen them to their end. We are both stronger for it, and will return to Indefatigable tomorrow in friendship to prove it."

He lay there feigning sleep for a long time, long after Henry's breathing had smoothed once more into slumber. He did not want to face himself, did not know how he would face Pellew the next day and lie, and say all was well. How could he, now that he knew what had gone on aboard Justinian? How had he never seen what Simpson was, what loathsome services he had demanded from his fellow midshipmen, and what his appetites had created? Henry, Archie, and now, it seemed, even himself, prey to such desires?

For he could not deny, Henry's hands on him had roused feelings that he had not known were there. He had responded, not just to the simple desire for companionship, but to everything that Henry had offered. To Archie. Not to him. Hornblower did not doubt that Kennedy would have given him what he had asked, and that opened the door on even darker questions. How long had they loved? How had they kept it from everyone else? For surely they had done so. If Simpson's more public attitudes carried over to this darker vice, he would surely have tolerated no rival.

His mind ran in such circles till morning, but returned inescapably to the same place. He had enjoyed what he had allowed, and so he was as guilty as Henry. All he could do now was to keep his silence and resolve never to allow the desires he had discovered to find expression again.

The next morning, Hornblower appeared to be as good as his word. Clayton woke to a pot of steaming coffee, and no word was spoken about what had passed between them the night before. The incident took on even more of an unreal air as they were rowed back to Indefatigable. Hornblower had seized upon the subject of the repairs, and pulled a book from his pocket. It was a strange thing, a small treatise on the leading of rigging that appeared to have been hand written, and which Horatio had found at the bookseller's the previous day. The dull ache in his head and the sick feeling in his stomach kept Clayton from gathering any more from the conversation than that, and he was glad when they reached the ship and he could escape below.

Pellew was on the quarterdeck when the pair came aboard. He noted the condition of the two officers, and could well see the reason for their late arrival. He knew he had no official reason to question them, for they had obeyed the letter of their orders. He saw Clayton slink below, and waited until Hornblower came to report to him.

"Sir, the Victualling Yard will send our supplies aboard in three days time." Hornblower touched his hat and waited, praying that he would not be asked about their delay.

Pellew touched his hat in return. "Thank you, Mr. Hornblower," he said formally. "And I trust that you and Mr. Clayton did not meet with any trouble ashore?" He watched the young face before him change marginally. So something had happened then.

"Nothing of note, sir," Hornblower said, hoping that his answer would satisfy his captain. He had no wish to speak of what had passed between Henry and himself to anyone, but neither would he lie to save him. "Mr. Carter traded duties with Mr. Clayton, sir, so that we could pass the night ashore. I presume he did take his watch?"

"He did," said Pellew shortly, feeling the guarded quality that had crept into the exchange, and disliking it. "Is Mr. Clayton well?" He doubted he would receive a useful answer, but was unwilling to let the matter rest. Though many officers came back aboard rather the worse for drink, the fact that Clayton had done so recalled to him his first experience of the man, and his words on that occasion.

Hornblower knew what his captain was implying, and he met the brown eyes openly. "He spent the evening in a tavern, sir, and made sure that his duties were seen to. I hope that I did not err in staying with him while he did so?"

Pellew was warmed by the admission, and by the way that Hornblower defended his friend. Once again he was struck by the nobility of the young man, and his essential honesty. An honesty that he could not match, he knew, as he ignored the other feelings it stirred in him. "I thought as much," he said. "Thank you, Mr. Hornblower, that will be all."

"Yes sir," Hornblower said, and touched his hat again before retreating down to the waist.

Pellew watched him go. One night ashore would do the ship no harm, and he could remember nights when he had come aboard other ships in similar condition. He tried to go over Clayton's performance, a matter that he had already covered thoroughly, but a far safer subject to think upon than the resolute expression in Mr. Hornblower's eyes, the difference between that and the way they would look in the throes of passion. He shook himself angrily and stalked to the rail. Damn the boy and damn his impossible hunger for him! He focused on the problems at hand, the list of stores he had yet to prepare from the reports he had received from his officers, the damned interminable wait for the sheer hulk, and the things he might do to shorten it. He was in a foul temper by the time he went below to take his luncheon.

****

Hornblower took the replacement of the foremast as an opportunity to learn all he could. He pushed aside the knowledge that it was also a way to avoid Clayton's company and lose himself in his work. The rigging of a mast was an elegant mathematical puzzle, requiring not only to stand on its own, but also to take a variety of forces that changed constantly. In addition, the foremast was an integral support for the other two masts, carrying the pressures forward to the bowsprit. They had come perilously close to losing the whole rig when the foremast had been shot away, and in the urgency of the moment he had not been able to learn all he had wanted to about the problem. He loved the work, and allowed it to consume him. He enlisted the help of Indefatigable's younger midshipmen as well, using the task as a practical demonstration of mathematics, and an opportunity to learn precisely how the various parts of the rig were constructed. Each night he tumbled into his hammock exhausted, and thus the darkness he had found ashore receded, and the memory of desire.

Simply inspecting the shrouds and ratlines was not enough for him. He had them taken completely apart, ratlines cut away, service, parcelling and even the worming removed to inspect for rot beneath. Seamen and midshipmen alike cursed his thoroughness, but the officers were glad of something to keep the company busy during the long wait for the services of the sheer hulk. No one could fault him for his own lack of effort, however much they might complain. Hornblower was always the first to pick up a serving mallet in the morning, and the last to lay it down at night, and when the time for tarring down came, he was as blackened as the rest of them.

As time wore on, Henry noticed that while Hornblower tried mightily to treat him no differently, the quality of their interaction had somehow changed. It was not just the fact that they saw so much less of each other, for Hornblower's eagerness and his total concentration on any job given him were not new. At first, he could not put his finger on it, exactly, but as time passed, he noticed something. He was never alone with the midshipmen, not even when they were not engaged in repairs or study. He waited, observing carefully, and then he was certain. It saddened him, to see the routine of unobtrusive observation that he himself had adopted as the only means of dealing with Simpson's predatory behavior employed against him, but he had spent too much time at it not to recognize it. He attempted to broach the subject between them, but his every attempt was deflected. Finally, Clayton had had enough. One night he sought out his shipmate's company on deck.

"Horatio, I can control myself." There. He had said it.

Horatio's guilty start was all the confirmation he needed. He rounded on him, and his heart sank with Hornblower's eyes.

"You really have been keeping them away from me then, Horatio?" Clayton's tone was resigned and sad. He turned to gaze out across the harbor. It was well into the first night watch and save for the officer of the deck and the lookouts, the deck was deserted.

"I know you would never--"

"Never what, Horatio?" Clayton put a hand on Hornblower's shoulder and made him meet his eyes. "Never lead young boys astray? Never tempt those younger, and more impressionable into a life of vice?" He kept his voice low, but his indignation was all the more intense as he realized that he had, indeed been right. "If you feel that I cannot be trusted, then why not turn me in? Have done with it, sir!"

"It isn't that, Henry, I know that you would not mean to do so, but I have seen for myself just how easily we all might fall prey to such desires." Hornblower looked at the deck, unable to face his friend.

Clayton paused. "Horatio? Am I really so desirable that young boys would throw themselves after me?" The eyes still would not meet his. "Or do you really think that I would force myself on them, then?"

He waited, but there was only silence.

"So. You think me no better than Jack Simpson."

"No! You would never--" The face that Hornblower turned to him was full of confusion.

Clayton me the gaze calmly. "No. I wouldn't. But don't you see, Horatio? You watch me all the time. Just as I watched him. Don't you think I would recognize my own former actions? What were you going to do, offer yourself to me in their place?" Then he knew. "Horatio? Would you want to?"

Hornblower turned away, unable to answer. He had not allowed himself to act on the feelings he had had since that night, but he had been unable to completely forget them either. He realized then how he had wronged his friend. "I apologize, Henry. I did not understand. If I can have such desires and not act upon them, then surely you as well can do the same."

"Horatio, we all have our weaknesses." Even you, it seems, Clayton thought sardonically. He made Horatio face him. "I give you my word that mine will never give you cause for concern." He left him then, the twin urges to slap him or kiss him making the blood sing in his ears. He had never been so angry, and he knew that if he did not get off the deck, he would do something they would both regret.

****

Soon after, Indefatigable sailed, bound for Brest to take up her station in the blockade again. Fully provisioned and repaired, she would be able to remain at sea for some time, and Pellew meant to make up for the time lost in port. Several other vessels had sent rich prizes in while they had been wasting the summer waiting for the sheer hulk to be freed for their use. He felt that the hand of Providence had blessed them when the lone French frigate came into sight.

She was running for the coast, and Indy was in the perfect position to run down on her before she could seek safety. Through the glass, Pellew could see her seamen as they swarmed aloft, and all the canvas she could muster soon fell from her yards and was swiftly sheeted home.

Pellew spun back to his first. "Mr Bracegirdle! Set every stitch she'll carry. I want that ship!"

"Aye sir!" Bracegirdle ran to the quarterdeck rail. "Hands aloft! Set all plain sail!"

The silver calls chirped in the hands of the boatswains' mates and the swaying ratlines filled with men. Hornblower felt the rig vibrate as he stood with his hand on the mizzen shrouds.

"Mr Hornblower, this is not a pleasure cruise! Send the men to quarters." Pellew did not wait to see that his order was obeyed, but turned quickly back to the enemy ship, rapping out orders to the helmsman as he did so.

Hornblower passed the word on deck, then ran below. A drummer boy raced past him, settling the strap of his drum in place as he rushed on deck. He turned out the watch below, as well as the wardroom. As he ascended the ladder again, he heard the measured drumroll, competing with the noise as screens and bulkheads were torn down and sent below the waterline. As the men aloft reached the deck, they joined their crews smoothly, casting off the lashings on guns, sanding decks and placing rammers and firebuckets neatly in their places. In ten minutes, the guns were loaded and ready to run out, their crews standing expectantly by them.

"Ten minutes, twenty seconds, sir--including the setting of the sails." Bracegirdle snapped his watch shut with a satisfied click.

Pellew still stood by the weather rail watching the enemy ship. "Starboard a point," he said before going to the rail. "We'll be up on them in a trice, lads--are you of a mind to earn some prize money?" His eyes were alight with the joy of the chase, and the crew roared their answer to him. "You shall have it, then! Open the ports on the starboard side!"

They were fast overhauling the frigate, and the name on her counter was clear. 'Embuscade, 32, said Hornblower softly beside Bracegirdle.

"A fortunate find indeed, eh, Mr Hornblower?"

Hornblower nodded. Embuscade had been a King's ship, but she had been taken by a corvette. Her company and officers were exonerated in a court of inquiry, but the disgrace remained. Had her captain not been so grievously wounded that he would never go to sea again, he would undoubtedly have been cashiered.

The frigate's stern chasers wreathed the tarnished name in powder smoke as Indefatigable drew within range. The balls ricocheted off the water, but did no damage. The next round was not long in coming, and was better aimed. The balls screamed through the rigging, and severed blocks and cordage bounced into the nettings spread over the quarterdeck.

"Better gunnery than usual," Bracegirdle commented.

Indefatigable passed within range of Embuscade's larboard side, and the trapped vessel's ports opened.

"Fire!" Pellew cried.

The broadside crashed out, the guns firing as one. The other ship was momentarily hidden in powder smoke, and the answering broadside came in a screaming wind overhead. The nettings jerked as severed rigging bounced into them, and the ship shook as shot struck home in the hull. Swiftly, the Indefatigables reloaded, rammers rose and fell and the guns were again hove outboard on their tackles.

"Fire!" The gun captains' hands jerked the lanyards and the second broadside roared out. The starboard rail amidships burst inward as the French cannon found their mark. Hornblower heard the screams as one of the guns was upended, breaking the tackles and plowing through its crew. Hands dragged them from the blood and below to the surgeon while the remaining guns kept up their steady fire.

Then the starboard quarterdeck was swept with a round of grape, Hornblower saw Pellew tossed aside by it, as well as the helmsmen. "No!" he screamed. He ran toward his captain, but the way was barred by Bracegirdle. "He'll be seen to! Get that helm manned and get us alongside!"

Hornblower took a deep breath and did as he was told. "Matthews! Hargill! Take the helm!" The seamen ran to the scarred wheel. Hornblower tried not to think of Pellew, lying in his blood on the deck behind him as he kept them alongside Embuscade. He could hear Bracegirdle shouting orders, hear the methodical fire of the Indefatigable's guns, and he kept his eye on the enemy ship and the sails and did his duty.

It was soon over. Embuscade fought well, but was hopelessly outgunned, and Indefatigable had closed with her. Clayton assembled his boarding party along the starboard side and watched the watery gap between the two ships grow ever narrower. He forced himself to wait calmly, not wanting his uneasiness to spread to his men. He had never led a boarding party before, had never fought the enemy face to face. He knew that this was yet another of Pellew's tests, and he was determined to pass it. He pulled the pistol from his belt to check the priming, and nearly spilled it on the deck. He tucked it back in his belt, closing the pan with shaking hands and drew a deep breath. If the seaman beside him saw, he gave no sign.

"Ready grapnels", Clayton said in a firm voice.

"Ready aye", came the answer. The men with them crouched just below the bulwarks, waiting for the next command.

The two ships came together with a grinding crash. "Now! Make her fast and boarders away!" Clayton jumped over the rail and onto the enemy deck below. The grapnel men quickly buried their hooks in the enemy bulwark and bound the two ships together.

There was no time to think, and Clayton was glad of it. He twisted aside as a French seaman tried to spear him with a boarding pike and brought his sword down hard on the man's neck. He kicked the body free of his blade and pulled one of the pistols out of his belt. He cocked it and fired point blank into the face of another man, who had just sunk his blade into the arm of the seaman beside him. The man screamed and fell back, clawing at his face.

More Indefatigables flung themselves over the rail, and the action surged aft as the defenders were forced back. Clayton gained the quarterdeck ladder. He sliced upwards with his sword, and the lieutenant at the top jumped back. Another man leaned over the quarterdeck rail and took aim with a pistol, but fell to a marine's musket. Clayton scrambled up the ladder and pulled the other pistol out of his belt. The lieutenant dropped his sword. It clattered on the deck as he raised his hands.

"Get those colors down!" Clayton kept his pistol trained on the lieutenant. He heard the squeak of the halyard as the Tricolor came down.

The enemy quarterdeck was a slaughterhouse. The lieutenant was the only officer left standing. The captain lay in ghastly ruin by the helm, and the great wheel creaked to and fro with no hand to guide it. The bloodstained deck was scarred by canister, and another lieutenant lay draped over a gun, his blood like a red curtain covering the metal. A few men twitched feebly, and moaned for help, but when the flag fluttered down, the firing stopped. Clayton could hear his men taking charge of the prisoners, and he passed the captured French officer into the care of a seaman before going below. He stopped to charge his pistols before descending to the stern cabin.

The cabin was dark and cool after the bright deck above. Clayton paused in the hatchway, pistols at the ready, but there was no one to impede him. The cabin had been cleared for action with the rest of the ship. The sand on the deck grated beneath Clayton's shoes as he walked to the sleeping cabin. The captain's cot still swung from the deckhead, but the captain's papers were gone. The tin box they had been in was lying in a corner where it had been discarded. Clayton searched through the sea chest that sat under the cot, but found nothing.

He emerged back into the bright sunshine and went to report to Pellew. Instead, he found Bracegirdle on the quarterdeck.

He touched his hat to the officer. "Sir, I must report that Embuscade's orders and signal book were destroyed."

Bracegirdle nodded. "Very well, Mr. Clayton. Well done."

Hether came on deck, a small ditty bag in his hands, wearing a boat cloak. He touched his hat to Bracegirdle.

"Mr Hether, take charge of Embuscade and take her into any English port you can make."

"Yes sir!" Hether's happiness was obvious, and he all but ran to the entry port, trailing a party of seamen behind him.

Bracegirdle turned to Clayton. "I am sorry not to be able to send you, Mr. Clayton, but I need you rather badly. Captain Pellew has been gravely injured, and with the loss of Mr. Eccleston and Mr. Chadd, I cannot send an officer of your experience with Embuscade."

Clayton forced himself to smile. "I understand, sir." Wasn't this always the way of it, he thought bitterly.

"I'm truly sorry, Henry," Bracegirdle said. "You earned it, and I am sure that the captain would concur, were he able. Your part in this action will be in my report."

Clayton realized then how unfair his thoughts were. "I am glad to have been able to do my part," he said truthfully. "I hope that the captain will have a speedy recovery." He looked about the deck, taking in the battle scars, the wounded being helped below, and the dead. The truth of Bracegirdle's words was apparent to anyone. He returned to his duties, and all the tasks that the aftermath of the battle demanded.

****

Hornblower came below as soon as his duties allowed, seeking his captain.

Pellew lay on the orlop, insensible still. His wounds had been dressed, the ball taken from his arm and the deep gouge in his side stitched, but the ball that had creased his skull had left him unconscious.

"Why hasn't he been taken aft", Hornblower demanded.

Hepplewhite's eyes narrowed at the lieutenant's tone. "I hadn't the men to spare to do so, sir-and truth to tell, I don't like the look of him and I shouldn't want him left alone until he wakes."

Hornblower realized belatedly that his words had been more forceful than he had intended. He smiled apologetically at the doctor and moderated his tone. "I'll see to it then, Doctor Hepplewhite, and have someone stay with him." He motioned to the Marines who had been standing guard. "He'd be better off in his quarters and away from all this."

Hepplewhite nodded, happy to be rid of the officer and the wounded captain he could do no more for at present. "Aye, you do that, Mr. Hornblower. Have me called when he wakes. There's naught I can do for him till then." He turned back to his patient, a seaman whose arm had been crushed beneath a gun. He examined the arm briefly, then shook his head and selected a saw from the instruments laid out beside the table.

The screams of the seaman followed them aft to the stern cabin, but Hornblower scarcely heard them. All his attention centered on the still, white face of his captain. After the Marines had settled Pellew in his cot, Hornblower dismissed them and sank down on the sea chest in the tiny sleeping cabin. He leaned back against the bulkhead and drew a deep breath, wishing the trembling in his limbs would stop.

****

Pellew woke to pain. It was like hot lead, spreading redly down his left side and centering in his head, as if an auger were being driven into his skull.

Hornblower saw the eyelids flicker, and leaned closer. "Sir?"

Pellew coughed, the sound changing to a hiss of pain as he tried to bring his wounded hand up to his head.

"Don't move sir," Hornblower said quickly. He moved to the door and quickly told the sentry to pass the word for the surgeon.

Pellew opened his eyes and blinked to clear them. He gasped as even that movement sent pain shooting through him. The deckhead rippled in a red mist for a moment, and when it cleared, Hornblower's anxious face looked down into his.

"Did we take her?"

The voice was faint, hardly like his captain's at all. Hornblower forced himself to smile, covering the terror he felt.

"Yes sir. Mr. Bracegirdle is in command and he sent a prize crew to bring her in."

"That's well, then," Pellew managed to say before unconsciousness claimed him again.

The next two days passed slowly. Pellew did not wake again, and by the next noon, he was burning with fever. Hornblower went about his duties in a daze. When his watches ended, he went to the stern cabin where Matthews tended the wounded man. It was there that Bracegirdle found him that evening.

He studied the young profile for a moment. Hornblower was oblivious to his entrance, his whole attention focused on the cot and its occupant. He looked scarcely better, Bracegirdle thought to himself, looking at the drawn and weary face, and the white, still one that belonged to his captain. He broke the silence. "Mr Hornblower, why are you not on watch?"

The officer jumped to his feet, wincing as his head bounced off the low deckhead. The stool he had been sitting on clattered off the bulkhead behind. "I apologize sir, I will go immediately!"

"A word with you first, if you please," said Bracegirdle shortly. He led the way to the day cabin, more concerned than he wanted Hornblower to see. He stood for a moment, facing the great windows, choosing his words carefully as the young lieutenant stood at attention behind him. Finally, he turned to face him.

"Your performance since the capture of Embuscade has not been of the quality we have come to expect of you, Mr. Hornblower."

He saw the young man blink, and the strong chin come up, masking for a moment the misery that surrounded the man like a grey mist.

"I cannot allow your inattention to endanger this ship, sir."

"It has not, sir." Hornblower looked perplexed.

"Has it not?" Bracegirdle clasped his hands behind his back. "Your mind has been elsewhere, Mr. Hornblower. You have not relieved the watch in good time today, and I cannot know if you will do so in future. How many days has it been since you have slept in your cabin?"

He was met with stony silence.

"We'll have no more of this, lad. From this point forward, you are to set your mind on your duty. You are to sleep in your cabin, and you are not to enter this cabin without a direct order to do so. Is that understood?"

Hornblower could only nod, furious, knowing that he deserved the correction. Absurdly, he found himself on the brink of tears. He must not display such weakness to Bracegirdle!

Bracegirdle saw the conflict within the lad and smiled sadly, trying another tack. "You cannot help him this way, Horatio," his tone reflected the sympathy he felt. "We are shorthanded, and I need you, Mr. Hornblower. You can serve him best by serving the ship."

Hornblower took a deep breath, the anger dropping away as he realized the truth of what Bracegirdle was saying, and the kindness he was being shown. Kindness that he most certainly did not deserve, he thought remorsefully. "You are right, sir, and I apologize. I will endeavor to remember my duty and do it as I should."

"Very well, Mr. Hornblower," Bracegirdle said. "Mr. Cleveland is expecting to be relieved"

Hornblower escaped gratefully to the deck.

Much later, he awoke to a hand shaking him gently. Damn! Had Bracegirdle given him extra duty?

"Sir!" Matthews’s voice, low and urgent.

Hornblower was instantly awake. "Yes, Matthews, what is it?"

"It’s the captain, sir—"

Hornblower was out of his hammock and on his way aft before Matthews had a chance to finish.

Pellew had been quiet before, but now he tossed restlessly in his cot.

"Should I pass the word for the surgeon, sir?" Matthews had followed his officer in. "I don’t like the look of this." Truth to tell, he didn’t like the look of Mr. Hornblower either. The man was strung as tight as the main topmast backstay. He briefly regretted pulling him out of his hammock to deal with this, but knew that it had been the right thing to do. At least Mr. Hornblower would see that the right thing was done, and no nonsense.

"Yes, Matthews," said Hornblower. He went to the cabin door and sent the sentry to fetch Hepplewhite.

Matthews sat down next to the sick man and resumed his care of him, sponging the sick man’s forehead and cheeks with a dampened cloth, being careful to avoid the large bandage that covered one side of his head. "Easy now, sir," he said. "We’ll soon have you right again." He had his doubts, particularly with Hepplewhite in charge. When the bandage had been changed that morning, he thought he had smelled the faint odor of corruption, though Hepplewhite had disagreed. If that got good hold, then he knew his captain was a dead man.

When Hepplewhite entered the cabin, he was in his nightshirt. "There is really very little I can do without going into port," he said peevishly. He felt of the sick man’s forehead and lifted the bandage. He stopped his complaints at the sight of the wound, now oozing faint yellow fluid and turning an angry red. "There is little that can be done if the infection takes hold," he said gravely. "Keep him warm and still." He dressed the wound again. "I will return in the morning, but without proper facilities, I cannot do what is needful."

"Is that all you have to offer, Doctor?" Hornblower’s fear for Pellew was making him lightheaded.

"Sometimes there is nothing more that can be done, Mr. Hornblower," Hepplewhite answered.

"My father—"

"Is not here, sir, and I have given you my professional opinion. Good evening, lieutenant." Hepplewhite left the cabin before Hornblower could say any more.

Matthews looked from one white face to the other with dismay. He went to resume his place beside the cot, not knowing what else to do. The movement seemed to jerk Hornblower back to his senses.

"Go to bed, Matthews," he said softly. "I’ll see to the captain for a while." He looked at the seaman, realizing that the man had had scarcely more sleep than he.

Matthews shook his head. "Oh I’m all right, sir, you should go yourself. I’ve been taken off the watch bill while I’m here, so I have."

"I couldn’t sleep now, Matthews," Hornblower admitted. "One of us might as well get some rest." His tone was light, and the familiar kind smile was on his face, but Matthews could sense the despair that lay behind it, and he knew that there was nothing more he could do for the troubled man.

"Aye sir, thankee sir," he said, and made his way out of the cabin.

Hornblower sat down beside the cot and took the damp cloth from the basin to gently sponge the heated face. Pellew was moaning faintly now, and he thought he could hear words, though he could not distinguish them clearly. He put his hand to the wounded arm carefully as the captain tried to raise it.

"No sir, please. You must lie still." Hepplewhite’s advice might have been useless, but he had nothing else to offer. His hand tingled faintly as it brushed the sick man’s arm. He forced himself to draw it back, not wanting to, but knowing that he must. With horrible clarity, the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The night at the inn with Henry, and the feelings he had fought so hard to bury now rose to the surface. He knew the reason he had been unable to keep his cabin while Pellew lay sick, until Bracegirdle had forced him to do so. God! What was he to do? His captain would despise him, his career would be over before it had fairly started! He rose from the stool, then sat down again as the man in the cot tried again to raise his arm. He had been right, it was a contagion, a loathsome weakness that had spread from Simpson to all of them. This time, he felt the contact with Pellew’s flesh all the way to the pit of his stomach and beyond. How could he face his captain when he woke—if he woke?

Alone with Pellew, Hornblower was forced to test the limits of these new, terrifying feelings. As Pellew’s fever deepened, his tossing grew worse, and Hornblower had no choice but to restrain him. He alternated between anticipation at the opportunity to touch what he desired, and shame at using the captain’s weakness as an excuse to do so. Part of him wanted to call Matthews, to have the honest seaman take the burden from him, but he could not bring himself to do so.

As Pellew became more agitated, the words that were mingled in his delirium became clearer, and Hornblower realized that he was reliving the action. He began to recount it for him, using the ritual of the formal report as a means of calming both of them. He told him of the boarding, and of Mr. Clayton’s part in it. By the time he got to the dispatching of the prize crew, he became aware of Pellew’s eyes on him, red-rimmed and full of pain.

"Sir? Can you hear me?" Hornblower leaned forward and snatched his guilty hand away from his captain’s.

"Mr. Hornblower." The voice was thready, barely audible over the creaks and groans of the ship as she made her way through the water. "Where—"

"We are on station, sir. Mr. Bracegirdle has assumed command."

The hand tried to come up again, and Hornblower reached to restrain it. Desire shot through him as their fingers joined. He tried to pull away, but Pellew held him. Though he was sick with shame at the pleasure he gained from the contact, he held fast, trying to give what comfort he could from the touch. Pellew smiled faintly and slipped into unconsciousness again.

Pellew floated in red darkness. It was comforting to lie deep within it, knowing nothing, but the pain was an incessant force, and it dragged him to the surface. He could not stay there long, he was tossed in and out of consciousness. But he had to know--what had happened to Indefatigable? He struggled to rise, but was restrained, pushed back down, and he heard Hornblower, telling him what he needed to know. He struggled to wake, and know that this was not a dream, and his eyes fastened on the face that swam above his. It was true then. He fought to stay awake, pulling strength from the hand that clasped his, warm and vital, but the weakness was too strong and it dragged him under again.

He dreamed of Hornblower. The beautiful hands held him, shielding him from the pain, waking the desires he had not allowed himself to feel. He felt them touch him, hold him, but he could not move, could do nothing but lie there in their shelter.

***

The Indefatigable sailed along silently. In the light airs, under all plain sail, she was beautiful, had there been any to see her. Bracegirdle turned from the rail, and went to the companionway. It was time to report to the Captain. Sick or not, he felt it his duty to report their progress daily, and he did so without fail.

When he entered the cabin, he was shocked to see Mr. Hornblower slumped against the bulkhead beside the cot, his fingers tangled in Pellew’s.

"Mr. Hornblower?" the words were soft, for Bracegirdle had no wish to disturb Pellew, who lay utterly still, his breathing labored in the silence of the cabin.

Hornblower opened his eyes to find the first lieutenant standing over him. Hurriedly he stood, and followed the officer out into the day cabin.

"I thought I told you to resume your duties, Mr. Hornblower," Bracegirdle said sternly, not knowing quite what to make of the scene he had just walked in on. There was something beneath the weariness, something that had drawn the young man to the cabin even against orders, and it nagged at him, though he could not identify it. But this obsession had gone on long enough.

"The captain worsened in the night, sir, and Matthews called me."

"And where is Matthews now," Bracegirdle inquired.

"I sent him to rest, sir," Hornblower answered. The awful shame welled up as he remembered the night and what he had learned during it. "The captain is much worse, sir, and we must go into port-"

"What?" Bracegirdle could not believe his ears. "We cannot leave our station, Mr. Hornblower, surely you know that."

Hornblower looked at the deck, but persisted. "But Dr. Hepplewhite said that he needed care that cannot be given him at sea."

"Did he now?" Bracegirdle’s tone was hard. "I will speak to him presently. However, you were forbidden this cabin, an order which you saw fit to disobey."

"But sir, I stood my watch, and I will continue to do so!"

"But what good will you be, your body on deck and your mind here in this cabin? You are relieved for the next twenty-four hours, Mr. Hornblower," Bracegirdle said. He watched the shock spread across the young man’s face, the only real sign of life he had shown in days, and knew that he had done the right thing.

"Relieved? Hornblower’s voice rose. "Sir, I—"

"You heard me, lieutenant," Bracegirdle cut off the protest. "I expect you to take yourself in hand, Horatio." He knew that at last he truly had the man’s attention, and he used his opportunity. "You cannot put one man’s life above your duty, no matter who that man may be. He will not thank you for it, lad. Now I want you to go to your quarters and think on this, and tomorrow I expect to see you on the first night watch, ready to do your duty." He smiled kindly, hating the task and the drawn white face before him, but knowing that it had to be done. "Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Hornblower answered, trying to keep hold of himself and the cold shame that possessed him. He could say nothing else.

"Very well, that is all." Bracegirdle opened the cabin door, looking expectantly at the young officer. He forced himself to sternness, knowing that his natural inclination to kindness would not mend matters. The lost, haunted look on the lad’s face stayed with him long after he had returned to his duties.

Hornblower went directly to his cabin. As he passed through the wardroom, Clayton put a hand out.

"Horatio?" His hand was shaken off as the young man passed. Clayton rose, puzzled, and made to follow. "Horatio?" The cabin door was shut in his face.

Hornblower’s fragile control almost failed him as the door shut behind him. He felt tears sting his eyes as the shame and grief welled up in him, threatening to drag him under. He clenched his fists by his sides, and managed to master himself for the moment. What was wrong with him? Bracegirdle’s words hammered in his brain. The first lieutenant was right. He knew it. He had never felt so ashamed, or so helpless. Since the last battle, his thoughts had never left his captain, and the ship had suffered for it. His first duty was to his ship…Why had he forgotten that? No one, nothing was as important as that. The Navy depended on that one phrase, and he had lived by it until now. Bracegirdle had been right to relieve him.

A knock sounded at the door. He ignored it, sunk in his own misery.

It sounded again. "Horatio?" Henry’s voice, full of concern, and the last person Hornblower wanted to see.

"Go away."

Instead, the door opened. Hornblower whirled, and his head cracked against the deckhead as he instinctively straightened. "Damn you, I said go away," he said through a haze of pain.

Clayton took in the face, white with more than the pain of the blow, and the barely leashed fury that radiated from his friend. "Horatio, what’s wrong?"

Silence. Horatio didn’t trust himself to speak. All he could see was Pellew’s face, slack and unconscious.

Clayton was shocked to see his friend obviously on the verge of tears. He closed the door behind him. "Horatio, what is it? Is it the captain?"

The floodgates burst. Hornblower turned away and buried his face in his hands.

Clayton was across the tiny cabin in two strides, and he gently took the sobbing young man in his arms, easing him down to sit on the bed.

Hornblower was drowning, the pain of knowing what he was and the pain of losing Pellew joined into one. He didn't care any more. Bracegirdle had taken the one thing he could do for his captain, and soon the fever would take his captain as well. He gave himself over to grief.

Clayton held his friend, stroking him gently, trying to ease that which could not be eased. e half expected to be pushed away, but He

So he had seen it for himself at last, he thought sardonically. Even the oh-so-perfect Horatio Hornblower could succumb to his feelings, could fall in love as other men did. With other men as well, it seemed. Hero-worship had deepened into love and the boy had not known it until now.

Clayton's arms tightened around his friend, and he was ashamed of his uncharitable thoughts. Horatio had always given his best, whatever the circumstances, and he had kept his secret--and Archie's too. He could not be blamed for his naivete, and now he needed a friend himself. Night after night, Henry had seen Horatio go to Pellew's cabin, he had scarcely seen him since the action save at the change of watch. Now the reason was obvious. He wished regretfully that he had made time to speak with his friend before it had come to this.

The strangled sobs were easing now, and Hornblower tried to pull away from his comforter. Henry let him do so, though he made no move to rise. The tormented man turned away toward the bulkhead, for he could not face his friend.

"Horatio, it will pass," Clayton began.

"It will not," Hornblower said softly, wiping his face on his spare shirt.

"What has happened, Horatio?" Clayton started to put a hand out to touch the tense shoulder in front of him, but stopped himself.

"I've been relieved," said Hornblower, putting the lesser hurt out between them, not wanting to share the dreadful secret that was consuming him.

Clayton sighed. "For how long?"

"Twenty-four hours." It sounded ridiculous even as he said it, but Hornblower had neither the strength nor the inclination to say more.

"Was there a reason?"

Hornblower gave up and faced his friend. "I disobeyed a direct order. I was to keep my cabin or the wardroom when I was off watch and I did not do so." He could not bring himself to tell Henry that he had been forbidden Pellew's cabin.

"I heard Matthews wake you last night," Clayton prompted.

"Yes." Hornblower turned away again. "He's much worse, Henry. He'll likely die if we do not get him to a proper doctor."

He'll likely die, proper doctor or not, Clayton thought, but wisely kept that to himself. "He is a fine officer, Horatio, worthy of your admiration, and your love."

Hornblower flinched at the words, but did not face Clayton.

"He would not have you in such a state, Horatio, and he would wish you to be the officer you can become, whether he lives or dies."

"But I am not worthy of his expectations," Hornblower whispered.

"Why not?" Clayton's words were soft, despite the anger that welled up in him. "Because you love him so well?"

"Yes." The word hung between them, out in the open at last.

"Does it make such a difference in you, Horatio? Does it make such a difference in me?" Clayton resisted the impulse to grab Hornblower by the shoulders and force him to face him.

Hornblower turned of his own volition, his empty eyes seeking Clayton's. "I am no longer sure. The only thing I know is that he will despise me if he ever knows, and that his death will save me from his contempt, as it robs me of his presence." He slumped, staring at nothing. "I am undone, Henry.

Clayton felt his anger and his sympathy rise up, choking, in his throat. He wanted to strike the man, and to comfort him, and was able to do neither, so overwhelming were the conflicting emotions. Thankfully, he at last was able to shove them aside and focus on the tormented soul before him. Horatio truly knew no better, and the revelation of his own desires was turning the weight of his own disapproval on himself as surely as it had been turned on Clayton. The man was grey with despair, and could not do more.

"Horatio, you must sleep," Clayton said at last.

"I cannot," came the reply.

"You cannot help him if you do not rest."

Obediently, Hornblower lay back, and let his friend remove his shoes and loosen his clothing. It was too hard to struggle any longer.

Clayton sat in the tiny cabin for a long time after Hornblower fell into an exhausted sleep. He was grateful for the chance to think things through in relative privacy. Hornblower’s admission had shaken him, even as it had laid some of his own demons to rest. Looking into that tortured face, Clayton had realized that his desires were not, after all, the fatal flaw he had thought them to be. He looked at the sleeping face, and knew with a quiet happiness that yet another part of himself had been returned to him, one he had thought lost forever. He bent and gently kissed the sleeping man before leaving him to his rest.

***

Clayton woke to a gentle hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to Matthews's concerned face. "Yes, what is it," he asked, coming fully awake as years at sea had conditioned him to. The seaman stepped back as he rolled out of his berth.

"Begging your pardon sir, but it's the Captain. He's asking for Mr. Hornblower," Matthews said uncomfortably. "I can't calm him, and I don't know as there's aught else to be done for him. I didn't like to call Mr. Hornblower, sir, but I don't know what else to do."

Clayton regarded the seaman before him with dismay. He had known that Pellew's condition had not changed, and that there was no possibility of going into port. He felt the old helplessness close in around him at the thought of Pellew's death.

Matthews watched the lieutenant in front of him take a deep breath, indecision plain on his face. Damn! He had not wanted to get Mr. Hornblower in trouble, but it appeared as if he had no choice. He shuffled his feet uncertainly, and darted a look out the open door into the wardroom beyond.

Clayton's anger rose as he followed the look, and he came to a decision. "I'll deal with it Matthews. Have you informed the surgeon of the captain's condition?"

"No sir," Matthews said promptly. The sudden change in the lieutenant relieved him. Perhaps he'd done the right thing after all. "He looked in afore he went to the gunroom, and I don't know as it'd be much use to get him again sir," he said flatly. "It isn't the surgeon the Captain's wanting." Their eyes met, and they understood each other.

Clayton sighed and started aft. Matthews was right. Hepplewhite had never been a figure that inspired confidence, and God knew, the man didn't save many lives. He remembered vividly the lugubrious face hovering above him after the duel with Simpson. The man had given up before he'd even seen to his wound.

Quietly the two men passed through the stern cabin. North, the captain's steward, was slumped against the bulkhead on the seat in front of the great windows. "He's been beside himself," Matthews explained quietly. "He only sat down for a moment, and fell fast asleep there. I didn't like to wake him."

"No, no need," Clayton said softly. In the sleeping cabin, Pellew was muttering disjointedly and the smell of sickness hung in the air. Clayton was appalled. He bent over the cot and put a hand on the sick man's forehead. Pellew sighed at the touch. "Mr. Hornblower," he said distinctly. Clayton kept silent.

Matthews picked up a heap of dirty bandages and a bowl of water. "Would ye mind if I took care of these, sir? I don't like to leave him for long, but now you're here, I can tidy up a bit."

Clayton nodded and sat down on the stool next to the cot. "Certainly, Matthews. See to whatever you need."

The seaman nodded his thanks and left the cabin.

Hornblower crept aft, ashamed at his weakness, but unable to keep to his cabin after what he had heard. The Captain had asked for him. He knew that it was not a direct order, but he didn't care. He tried to pass through the wardroom silently, but caught the edge of a chair with the full sleeve of his shirt. It scraped against the deck, and he barely caught it before it fell over. He pushed it back under the table where it belonged. He ducked through the doorway and carefully through the corridor beyond that led to the stern cabin. The sentry came sleepily to attention by the door, but did not challenge him as he had feared he would. Hornblower felt even more ashamed, realizing that Bracegirdle had trusted his honor to keep him from the stern cabin, and had said nothing to anyone else about the matter. He pushed the door open and went in though, the pull to do what he could to ease Pellew's pain overwhelming his promise to his acting commander.

Clayton looked up as he entered the tiny sleeping cabin. "Horatio, what are you doing here?" The little sleep Hornblower had managed to get had done little to erase the misery or the fatigue from his face.

"I couldn't stay away, Henry. He needs me."

Clayton rose and left the small cabin, motioning Hornblower to follow. "Horatio, are you mad?" He kept his voice low, mindful of the steward and the sentry outside.

"Perhaps I am," Hornblower admitted. He raised his eyes to meet his friend's. "But he's asking for me."

"You're disobeying a direct order."

"To hell with Bracegirdle," Hornblower's tone was quiet, but utterly determined. "He can do with me as he pleases, but I will not abandon him, Henry--I'd expect you, of all people, to understand why I can't do that."

Clayton met the brown eyes, and nodded slowly. Yes, he did understand, would have done the same if it had been Archie in there. "All right, Horatio." He smiled. "I expect you'll do him more good than I." He stood there as his friend went back into the sleeping cabin.

Hornblower felt far less confidence than he'd shown as he bent over the sick man, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. There was a basin of water on a small table next to the stool, and he moistened the cloth beside it and bathed the white face. Pellew's head turned into the cloth, a sigh escaping him as it molded to his cheek. His hand came up to grasp Hornblower's wrist, his hold firming as the young man tried gently to pull away and moisten the cloth again.

Hornblower didn't want to disentangle himself. The warmth of Pellew's touch stirred him as strongly as ever, sparking deep in his belly. With the desire, the shame rose too, and he knew that he was lost. If Pellew did not wake and discover his secret, then Bracegirdle surely would. Accusing faces floated before him, Pellew, Bracegirdle, his father. He closed his eyes against them. When he opened them again, Pellew's gaze truly was on him, weak but lucid at last.

"Mr Hornblower," he said, so softly the words could barely be heard. "It was you, then."

Hornblower's heart sank. So it had come at last. "Yes sir," he answered.

Pellew's eyes roamed over the face before him. The eyes were sunken with fatigue, deep pools of misery. What had caused this? He wished he could take the young man in his arms, and thanked God that his weakness prevented him from betraying himself. Whatever was troubling Mr. Hornblower would not be helped by the unwanted attentions of his captain. He must be ill indeed even to consider such an action! "My thanks."

Hornblower looked away guiltily. "Matthews has been here as well, sir, and he has done far more than I have." Hornblower could not face those eyes, so full of gratitude. Neither could he tell him the truth, if he had not already guessed. Relief filled him, and shame as he realized how little honor he had left.

Pellew realized than that he still had hold of the young officer's wrist. He let go quickly. "I apologize Mr. Hornblower, I didn't mean--"

"It is I who should apologize," said Hornblower. "I have no right to your gratitude, or your respect." He stood, stooping to avoid the deckhead. "I will find someone to care for you properly, sir."

"No you will not," Pellew said, unsure of what was going on, and hoping that he had the strength to find out. The young man stayed where he was, his eyes on the deck, tensed and ready to bolt. What could have caused this? "Explain yourself, Mr. Hornblower. What is the matter?"

How could he? Hornblower thought desperately. How did one tell one's captain that he had conceived a shameful passion for him? That every touch of his hand sent shivers through his body? But how could he not? It was bad enough to have such feelings. Perhaps that could not be helped. But to conceal them, to take one's pleasure on a gravely ill man and not to confess it? He raised his head, meeting Pellew's eyes squarely. Perhaps this was the end of his career, but he would do as honor demanded. "I have found myself capable of violating the twenty-eighth Article, sir."

Pellew was shocked to silence. Then he understood. The twenty-eighth Article of War was known to every man aboard, as was every Article. He read them out himself to the assembled crew every month. " …the unnatural and detestable sin of buggery and sodomy with man or beast, he shall be punished with death…" Was he dreaming? He must still be deep in the fever, for Hornblower's words to match his own desires so perfectly. He swallowed, feeling suddenly faint.

Hornblower saw Pellew's eyelids flutter, the convulsive workings of his throat as his disgust became apparent. "I understand, sir. I will await punishment in my quarters."

"Punishment, Mr Hornblower?" Pellew stared at the beautiful lieutenant, startled into speech. How many times had he visualized that strong young body lying naked, eager for his touch? How many daydreams had he jerked his mind away from because it was neither proper nor possible to realize them? "How can I do so, when I am as guilty as you, sir?" He met the wondrous brown eyes levelly, watched them turn darker with shock. "Do you not know your own beauty, Horatio?" His eyes wandered over the strong chin, and the softly curling brown hair. It was such a relief to be able to look at him at last, and not to fear the consequences. If it were a dream, there would be none, and if it were true…The lovely young man blinked, and his mouth gaped slightly open as the words sunk in.

Hornblower felt as if the deck had dropped out from under him. He blushed as he registered Pellew's frank appraisal, and realized that his passion was not only accepted, but returned in full measure. He dropped his eyes, suddenly shy. Passion he surely had, but no knowledge of what to do with it. He smiled uncertainly, and returned Pellew's gaze.

Pellew saw the uncertainty, and the intensity of feeling that lay behind it. He felt his own feelings rise, all but choking him with their strength. He held his uninjured hand out to Hornblower, cursing the weakness that kept him from holding it steady. The young man took it quickly, seeing the effort the simple gesture took.

"Sir, you must not tire yourself."

Pellew pulled the young officer closer, and closer still, until he could raise his lips to kiss him. Even the pain in his side was nothing to the fire that flashed through him as their mouths touched. He buried his hand in the silky hair and revelled in the feel of those full lips against his.

Hornblower felt the kiss deepen, and readily gave his mouth up to Pellew. He slid his arms around the sick man, barely remembering to avoid the wounded side as he did so. He could hardly think, could hardly breathe. Terror replaced lust as the captain went limp in his arms. He eased the man back down into the cot, frantically feeling for a pulse. There it was, weaker than his own, but stronger than it had been.

Matthews had stepped discreetly back into the great cabin when he had seen the two of them locked together, but now he came into the sleeping cabin. So that was Mr. Hornblower's trouble! And a good part of the captain's as well, it seemed. He put his hand to Pellew's forehead. The man truly slept at last. "Sir, you'd best get back to your quarters," he said, hoping that his words would not be taken as insolence.

Hornblower looked at the seaman. "I can't just leave."

"Aye sire, ye can," Matthews replied. "I'll see to him now, sir, he's quieted now, and rest is the best thing for him. Don't ye worry now, sir."

The voice was coaxing, and sure of what he spoke of, and Hornblower nodded. "All right then, Matthews." He went slowly back to his cabin, not wanting to leave, but knowing no convincing reason to give that would not compromise them both. He thanked God that Matthews had not seen, or had chosen not to say anything if he had. He wondered which it had been through the rest of the night as he lay in his hammock waiting for morning.

***

Pellew woke to the sun streaming in the porthole above his cot, the awful pain in his head gone at last. Matthews was busy in the corner, and Pellew was gratified at the smile that had broken across his face at the sight of his captain awake and aware.

"Sir, are ye feeling better? It’s good to see you awake!" He doubled up the dirty bandage in his hand. He had been relieved to see the pus and redness gone when he had changed the dressing that morning, and had done his work quickly before his captain woke. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

Pellew looked about the cabin. "How long have I been ill?" There was no one there but himself, Matthews and his steward. Had he dreamed Hornblower's presence then?

"Quite some time, sir," Matthews answered. "We feared for ye, sir."

Pellew was touched at the simple sincerity of the statement. He smiled at the seaman. "Were you the one who cared for me, then, Matthews?"

Matthews smiled back. "We saw ye right, sir, and glad to do it. Mr. Hornblower did his share as well, he did."

"Oh did he?" Pellew said, knowing now that it was not a dream. "My thanks to you both, I see I was ably looked after indeed." He addressed the steward. "North, I wonder if I might have something to drink?"

"Aye sir." The steward hurried off.

***

"You’re wanted in the captain’s cabin, " Bracegirdle came to Hornblower as he stood on deck. The young officer still looked like hell, he thought privately, but a few nights of regular sleep had done him good. Perhaps after he saw Pellew aware and obviously on the mend, he would drop this damned obsession and get back to work.

"Yes sir," said Hornblower. Oh God! There was only one reason he could think of for such a summons, and he dreaded facing it. He went below in silence.

"Come" said the captain's voice in answer to his knock. Hornblower entered the cabin. Pellew was sitting behind his desk, looking himself again, except for the dressing gown and the bandages that still distorted the side of it.

"Sit down, Mr. Hornblower," Pellew said, gesturing at the chair before the desk.

Hornblower sat warily, "You wished to see me sir," he said formally.

"Yes, Mr. Hornblower, I did," Pellew responded. The young visage before him was exhausted and unsure. Hornblower had not shown such a guarded face to him since their first meeting. It must have been a dream--but he remembered the voice too well, the touch of his hand. His conviction grew. He had not imagined the softness of his lips, and the bare confession the officer had made. "I wished to thank you for your kindness of last night." He saw the man start, and knew he was right.

Hornblower was trapped by those brown eyes, boring into his. There was nothing before him but disgrace, then. "I took advantage of your weakness, sir, and I will do whatever you require of me." Once he began to speak, he found that he could not stop. "I know that there can be no excuse--"

"Be silent!" Pellew broke into the confession as Hornblower's voice rose. "I will certainly decide your punishment, sir," he said deliberately, letting his imagination run free along the paths he had not followed before. Hornblower, stripped naked, lying across the bench below the stern windows, the sun showing his full glory to Pellew. "Keeping such things from your captain is certainly not acceptable, Mr. Hornblower." He relished the look of confusion the crossed the face before him. "Come here, Horatio." He held out his hand as he had the night before. It was steadier now, and he watched the eyes before him clear as he understood at last.

Hornblower realized that Pellew was playing with him, and rose. He could hardly believe that his feelings really were returned, but the warm smile on his captain's face was unmistakable, the invitation in his eyes plain. He came around the desk, and into the waiting arms.

Their lips met, and it was as it had been the night before. Hornblower felt the kiss consume him, and he willingly opened his lips to allow Pellew's tongue entrance. He felt himself pulled closer, and the hard shape of his captain's manhood pressed against his thigh. He moaned into the hot mouth that claimed his, and pressed himself into the other man.

Pellew slipped his hands inside the uniform coat and pushed it off Hornblower's shoulders. The arms around him loosened and fell away as the other man let the coat fall to the deck. The wound in his side throbbed, but he ignored it, intent only on the feast before him. He dove once again into the eager mouth before him, and wrapped his arms around the slim body that pressed itself against him, as eager for his touch as he was to possess what he had wanted in secret for so long.

Hornblower willingly let himself be drawn close against his captain's body, and met the exploring tongue with his own. A moment later Pellew sagged against him, overcome by the exertion and his wound. He tightened his hold on his captain's body and walked him aft, until he could lay him on the stern bench under the great windows.

"Sir, are you all right," he asked anxiously. Pellew's face was white again, and the familiar fear clawed at him, mixed with guilt newly discovered. The dark eyes opened and fixed on his.

"I'm fine, Horatio," Pellew answered. "Don't distress yourself, please." He reached up and trailed a finger along one smooth cheek. The dizziness was receding now that he was no longer on his feet. He smiled into the warm brown eyes above him. "I am glad indeed to find that last night was no dream."

A small shy smile quirked the lips above his, and Hornblower turned away, his features reddening.

Pellew chuckled, and put a gentle hand on his cheek, turning him to face his captain. "If you wish, this need go no further. But I consider it an honor to have won the attentions of so handsome and honorable an officer."

The eyes Hornblower turned on him were frightened, but filled with the enormity of the feelings he held for Pellew. The captain let go of the young officer, and forced himself to a sitting position, patting the cushioned bench beside him. He sensed that events were moving far too quickly for Horatio, and he knew that he was the cause. Knowing also that his feelings were returned, he felt the frantic need for Hornblower's touch recede to something more manageable. Surely there was time enough later, when the boy was not frightened and unsure. Pellew knew what he wanted, even if the boy did not, and he wanted Horatio to be as sure of his feelings as he was.

"I--I thought you would be disgusted with me, sir." Hornblower began. He took the seat his captain had indicated and stared at the checkered canvas that covered the deck under his shoes.

"How could I be?" Pellew answered. "I've wanted you since our first meeting, Horatio. But I never wanted to frighten you, or take you against your will."

"But how can this be honorable, sir?" Hornblower did turn to meet Pellew's eyes then. "Every law of God and man forbids it! There must be a reason they do so--" He felt his feelings for Pellew rise up, choking him with their intensity. Why had this happened to him, and why did such a man as his captain share feelings that could only bring shame and disgrace on both of them? He searched the face before him for an answer. The sad smile that crossed it told him nothing.

Pellew sighed. The eyes that met his were tortured, beginning to shine with unshed tears. He was touched yet again with the essential nobility of the man before him. "I had no wish to cause you such pain, Mr. Hornblower," he said softly. "But you should know that honor lies in the way men deal with each other, not in what they may do together. There are times when we cannot be guided by the law, and must choose for ourselves." He paused, drinking in the sight before him, letting Hornblower see his admiration. "I do share your feelings, Horatio. You are beautiful, and I would gladly continue what we have begun, without shame or reserve." His voice changed, and his eyes fell away. "But not if it would cause you pain. If you will it, we need never speak of this again."

"Never speak of it again?" The words were out of his mouth before Hornblower realized it. He remembered the press of Pellew's lips on his, just moments before. The pure pleasure of it and the sure knowledge that he was giving equal pleasure to his captain. Wrong though it was said to be, he knew that he would not willingly give it up, and that it was entirely different from what Simpson had demanded of his victims. He realized also the true nature of what Henry and Archie had shared, and that it was not evil, and was kin to what Pellew wanted from him. If it were not so, would the man before him make such admissions, and then set him free so gallantly? He realized then that his feelings in and of themselves were not dishonorable, and that Pellew was right. Honor did indeed lie in his actions. He knew in that moment that love returned was worth the risks involved, and that he would regret it to the day he died if he did not take all that Pellew offered him.

Pellew felt a hand gently turn his head, and then a pair of full lips met his. He returned the kiss, and as it deepened, he felt the hand slide slowly to the back of his head as Hornblower's other arm slid around him. He felt himself cradled as the strong arms made sure that no pressure came on his wounded side. He ran his own fingers up the soft skin of Hornblower's throat, forcing himself to move slowly. As the other man's tongue probed his mouth, he answered it with his own, shaking with the effort of holding back. He wanted to rip the fine white shirt from the strong young body before him, to taste every inch of what he most desired. As the soft lips pulled away from his, he heard Horatio's roughened breathing, and knew it matched his own. He gently pulled the shirt free of the waistband of Horatio's canvas trousers and over his head.

"God, you are beautiful, Horatio," he said. The dark eyes met his now, without fear.

Hornblower loosened the tie that held his dressing gown closed. "As are you, sir," he returned. The tightening of his belly was delicious now, and all fear had left him. He pressed their bare chests together, relishing Pellew's gasp of passion as he did so. He felt the breath leave his own lungs as the other man bent his head and ran his tongue along his throat, nipping and licking until he was dizzy with desire. He lay back on the bench under Pellew's weight as the talented tongue travelled downward, stifling his sounds of pleasure. As the hands ran over the front of his trousers he arched his back, pressing himself into them. "Oh god, sir," he whispered.

Pellew raised his head, his eyes dark with passion. "My name is Edward, Horatio," he said throatily. He slowly pressed his palms against Hornblower's erection again, smiling as the young man threw his head back. He filled his hands with the taut buttocks and pressed his face to it, feeling it jump in response. He moved his mouth to the buttons that held the front flap closed and used his teeth to force the buttons through the holes, then clawed the cloth down from behind. Hornblower's penis sprang out against his cheek as he thrust, helpless in his desire.

"OgodEdward!" The words were husky, as Hornblower fought to keep quiet. Passion consumed him, and he barely managed not to shout as he felt himself enveloped by Edward's mouth. His vision darkened as he felt the delicious pressure of tongue and lips against his shaft.

Pellew was lying prone on the stern bench now, thrusting into the cushions as he fed on his glorious young lover. The wound in his side throbbed, but he was too intent on their pleasure to stop. The boy's head was rolling from side to side, his hands claws tangled in the cushions and his body writhing under Pellew as he fought to keep silent. As he exploded in his lover's eager mouth, Pellew felt his own seed spill from him before darkness claimed him.

Hornblower surfaced from desire to realize that Pellew lay between his legs, a dead weight. Frantically, he scuttled backwards, his legs still tangled in his trousers. He freed himself and dropped to his knees beside the bench. Pellew's face was slack, the side of it pressed into the pillows, but he was breathing and had some color. As he carefully checked the wound, he felt his captain stir. Thank God! There was no blood on the bandage, and he helped Pellew turn over onto his back. The brown eyes were weary, but a satisfied smile touched the mouth below.

"Have no fear, Horatio," he said softly, seeing the worry on the other man's face. "I'm fine." He lay there as gentle hands pulled his dressing gown to rights and put a cushion under his head.

"Shall I call your steward, sir--Edward?" Hornblower asked.

Pellew shook his head. "I think not, Horatio," he replied. "I would prefer your company. We have much to discuss, I think."

And they did, all through the rest of the glorious morning, sitting in the sunlight that streamed in the stern windows.

THE END