The Way Out

Warning: Death fic. Dark.

The others had noticed that Lieutenant Hornblower wasn't quite himself lately. Well, yes, of course he was generally quiet and tended to keep to himself, but this seemed to go beyond that.

He wasn't eating well, for one thing. He never had been what one would ever call a glutton, but he was merely picking at his food and there were a number of meals when he would politely excuse himself from the table in the wardroom with barely two bites removed from his plate. He was becoming thinner and thinner, his face sunken and his uniforms hanging on his frame.

He wasn't sleeping, either. That was apparent to the other officers. There would be a light coming through his berth's window until all hours. Reading, that was what he was doing, if anyone looked in, or sometimes writing. Some nights he would walk the deck for long hours after the rest of the ship had long been asleep. He never spoke to anyone, unless spoken to; he would just walk quietly and slowly, hour after hour, circuit after circuit of the deck.

He didn't look well; pale under his tan and the smudges about his eyes weren't healthy. Finally, the ship's doctor had gone to the young man and asked if he was unwell. In some annoyance, the Lieutenant had made it clear that he was just fine, thank you, and simply had some things on his mind that were of no concern to anyone other than himself.

He did, certainly, attend to each of his duties. He stood every watch, he taught the Mid's their navigation and French and Spanish, he exercised his gun crews and oversaw his division. He was punctual and professional and he never lost his temper. He attended every meeting and watch report and officers dinner that was called by Captain Pellew and he was never heard to complain about anything. He even reported to the Captain's cabin two or three evenings a week for a round or two of chess, the commander insisting that he was the only man onboard who could give him a decent game.

The men of his division were worried about him, too. They had known him since he had gone aboard his first ship two years ago and had quickly come to realize that he was worth their loyalty and their respect. They had come to like him as someone they worked with daily and loved him as a leader, knowing that he would do anything he deemed necessary for their well-being. He was exceptional, and they recognized it to a man.

One day Matthews had tried to ask him, in a round about way, if something were troubling him. Politely but firmly, he had made it clear that the older man was crossing a line between rating and officer and that it wouldn't be allowed. No more was said, but after that his men redoubled their efforts to ease whatever his problem might be. They fetched and carried, did their duty and beyond and asked about, tactfully, to learn if anyone else onboard had any idea what could be at the root of the situation. No one knew.

One day, Styles had reason to climb the rigging up to the fighting top. It was a nice day, no enemy about and he was just as happy for the diversion. He liked it up in the rigging; it made him feel freer than he did below. He liked the wind blowing by him and looking down at the ship below, the water running past the ship's sides, the wake trailing, the rigging singing and creaking, the slap of the sails. As he climber higher, he heard something, a sound he couldn't immediately place. Pausing, he listened; it was someone crying on the platform above him. Well, whoever it was would just have to do their bawling somewhere else, he had work to do. Putting his hands on the edge of the platform, he lifted his head above the flooring enough to see that someone was sitting hunched with his arms hugging his knees, crying like a lost child.

Hornblower.

Without a word, he lowered himself down to the deck.

Two more weeks of this passed with no change. The men began to wonder why Pellew did nothing. The best officer on the ship was fading away before their eyes, and nothing was being done to stop it happening.

Finally, one day Hornblower didn't report for watch as expected. A Mid was sent down to his berth to fetch him and returned breathless and frightened. Yes, Lieutenant Hornblower was in his berth, in his cot, in fact. Seeing him inside by looking through the small window, the Mid had knocked, but had received no answer. Thinking that he was just deeply asleep, he had entered and had nervously shaken the Lieutenant, but couldn't wake him. Pellew ordered the ship's doctor to report at once.

Twenty minutes later the Captain was informed that Hornblower was deeply unconscious, possibly in a coma, and had been moved to sickbay so that he could be more closely watched.

What had caused this?

A small bottle containing the remains of what seemed to be laudanum was found on the Lieutenant's floor. It appeared that he had taken too strong a dosage. A terrible accident, no doubt and one that couldn't be easily explained. As the son of a doctor, it would be thought that the young man would have a better knowledge of these things than most people would possess.

But he would recover, wouldn't he? Well, he was quite run down by his not eating or sleeping. That may have been what had impaired his judgment in the first place. They could only wait and see.

Later that night, shortly after midnight, Hornblower's breathing stopped. The doctor shook his head at the needless waste of such a promising young life and pulled the sheet over his head.

The men of his division were greatly upset by his loss and insisted that they be the ones to prepare his body for burial the next day. He was stripped and gently washed and then reclothed in his dress uniform, the one he had been so very proud of such a short time ago.

The Captain read the service, but the men noticed that his voice caught and his eyes stared at the form under the flag. The men were silent, genuinely grieving, and stood for several long moments after the splash over the side had disappeared.

When Acting Lieutenant Kennedy went through Hornblower's belongings to prepare them for return to his father, he found the two letters in the sea chest. One was addressed to his father and was the usual one about not over grieving his loss, that he had known the risks his career involved and accepted them willingly. He had been happy and fulfilled in his choice and he had known that he had found the niche that he was meant for. He had been content.

The second letter was addressed to Kennedy.

Archie,

I regret deeply that you will likely be the one to whom the onerous task of clearing out my kit will fall. Forgive me. I know the difficulty of such a thing and if there had been a way to spare you I would have done so.

I could no longer continue on the Indefatigable under the circumstances that have come to pass. I know that you are likely aware that I have chosen to take my own life. I fought against this, but could see no other solution to what I have fallen into.

You recall, of course, the position that Simpson had you forced to when we first met. I managed to stand up to him, but I fear that this time I have failed and am under the control of another on the ship. I see no way to escape this, short of deserting and I cannot do that. You know me well enough to know this is true. Nor can I report this to our superiors. It would be beyond useless and I see no other alternative.

Understand, the acts into which I am forced are of no great import; the loss of sovereignty over my own body isn't enough to force me to this. It is the knowledge that it will continue and that after he is finished with me, my career will be ended which makes this all so unendurable.

I had such hopes, Archie, such dreams. I had dared to think that there might come a day when I would command my own ship, have my own crew.

I know that is impossible and I have been assured that when he is through with me, I shall be forced out of the service-transferred to a backwater where I can do no possible damage to his reputation or his career-if I go quietly. Should I make trouble, I shall be court martialled and hung as a sodomite who attempted to force my attentions where they were unwanted.

I have no doubt that these things will happen and I cannot bear this.

You were my true friend, and I thank you for that.

Please tell my father none of this.

Horatio.

He folded the letter, placed it in his pocket. Kennedy had known, of course, that recently Horatio was not himself, but he'd had no idea what the cause had been. If he had known, he could have…what? Reported the Captain, for that was the only man aboard it could be. What would that had accomplished? Who would have believed him, or Hornblower, for that matter? Even if they had been believed, no one would have cared. Pellew was a senior Captain, a Knight of the Bath, a national hero. The Admiralty would never allow his reputation to become stained with a scandal such as this. Even had they been believed, nothing other than their transfer or their muster out would have occurred.

Hornblower was expendable, unimportant. He didn't matter.

There was nothing to be done. Horatio knew that. He had done the only thing he could.

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