jollyboat | starhue valley test

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starhue valley test

It's a little confusing, being here.

One moment, he knows he was in captivity at the Set. He knows he was injured and worried about Horatio and afraid for his own life. He knows this, because the memories are vivid in his mind.

The next, he was on a bus, and that bus was dropping him off here in this strange little vale.

He's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It's good to be away from the Set, even if it means being away from his proper home universe, as well. He's not going to stay forever-- he's not entirely certain he'll even stay a week-- but it's good to take the time and regroup. He can go over what he remembers of where he was trapped and strategize about how to get out without having to actually worry about being there until he's ready.

So he's stopping by Pierre's to get some food that he doesn't have to grow. He doesn't have time to work the farm that he's been given while he's planning; it's better to just buy what will tide him over until he's ready.

At least, that's the plan. Except then he sees an entirely familiar face, and he can't help the absolute relief that floods his entire body.

"--Horatio!"

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Every morning is a little easier. Every sunrise brings a little more certainty that he's actually somewhere safe, not dragged back into an open wound and a tiny cave and the panic of stillness. Every day lived under his own power is a defiant little victory that makes Starhue a bit more real.

New faces are becoming familiar. New voices perk up his ears and get him turning his head with the flickering beginning of something like a smile.

This voice is practically ancient.

Even a year after the other young man's death, Horatio Hornblower would know Archie Kennedy's voice anywhere in any world. It still flits through his dreams and sticks to the back of his thoughts, less painful now but not much faded. When his eyes flit up from the ground, the illusion doesn't dispel in the slightest.

That's Archie Kennedy--more well-fed, a bit taller, but undeniably Archie Kennedy.

And all he can think to do is freeze.

It's easy enough to mistake the freezing for surprise, especially knowing his boyfriend had probably assumed the worst when he went missing. Archie can't focus on that. He's far too caught up in the relief to stop for even a moment to think.

It's far more important to fling his arms around Horatio for an adoring, fretful hug.

"Thank God," he says, "I was so worried about you. I had no idea where you ended up or if they'd caught you, too, or if you were hurt or-- worse. But you're here and you're alive. Are you hurt? Did they take you, too? Is-- everyone okay? Are you okay? God, love, it's--" A tired laugh as he pulls back just enough to press his forehead against Horatio's, "It's so good to see you."

That's Archie's smile. That's Archie's voice. That's the tight familiar crush of a hug, stronger and at a slightly different angle, but undeniably Archie's.

Horatio's breath comes in a sharp rush, eyes still slightly wild even as his forehead nudges into place against the other young man's, fingers clinging impulsively to the fabric of Archie's shirt.

Maybe this isn't actually a place to go back from. Maybe this is just death.

"...A-Archie...?"

"Yeah, 'ratio. 's me."

His expression is incredibly soft and fond as he lightly bumps their noses together. This close, he's starting to properly register the panic in his boyfriend's eyes. It's easy enough to shift his hold slightly (he feels skinnier than he remembers; that's worrying) to more properly cradle Horatio.

"Breathe, mm?"

Now that is achingly familiar.

There's a rattle in Horatio's throat as he attempts to comply with the gentle reminder. It's just been such a long time since the soft familiar voice telling him to breathe was outside his head that there's no fighting the first prickling of tears.

He has to pull his forehead away, bury his face instead in the warmth of Archie's neck. That's got to be the easiest way to find his breath, if the one he'd been allowed least often back home.

After he's gotten through this series of choked sobs, anyway.

"Oh-- hey. Easy."

He can't help the soft murmur as he holds him a little closer, his lips bumping lightly against Horatio's temple.

"'ve got you, 'ratio."

The sense of reality is overwhelming, but Horatio can't fully shake the sense that he's holding onto a ghost. Perhaps the constant repetition of the other young man's death--clip after clip, angle after angle, every possible version of feeling the very real hope of seeing Archie again snuffed out without a thought--had built up too thick a scar for even this hug to break clean through.

It's the off-chance that Archie is dead that finally pulls his voice back into his throat, already small but muffled even more by the press of his face to the other boy's neck.

"He's-- dead." If they only have a minute, Archie has to know this. "Simpson. It-- It w-was us this year, but-- h-he's dead now. I promise."

Well. Now Archie can’t help but be a bit puzzled, his brow furrowing. It doesn’t have him pulling away, though.

“I know, ‘ratio— I killed him,” he answers, a little quizzically, “What— year is it for you? What d’you— mean “it was us this year”?”

Ah. That's decidedly different.

And death wouldn't have changed that. Death wouldn't have erased the truth that Horatio was left with Jack Simpson when Archie was taken away, or the fact that Archie--having killed his share of other Tributes--hadn't been the one to smash Jack Simpson's head into a rock a year later.

Everything else is so familiar. Everything else feels so exactly right, down to the bump of foreheads and tightness of arms.

But this isn't Archie Kennedy. Or, at any rate, not his Archie Kennedy.

A happier one, he hopes, as he begins to unburrow himself properly, extracting the way a cat does when it's changed its mind about a moment of cuddling. "--sorry. I-- sorry."

Archie does shift to let him go. It’s just he’s not going to go very far, and he’ll be frowning fretfully as he does.

“What is it?”

"We--"

The concept of the multiverse is still new. There aren't enough quick, easy words yet for his growing understanding that other possibilities existed, and that other versions of himself even inhabited those other possibilities.

"I just... thought you were someone else."

His, if he can even be so bold as to really claim Archie for his own in his own mind.

"You said-- my name."

And he'd hugged him back. He'd cried on his shoulder.

More than anything, he can't imagine Horatio not knowing him. Archie can't help the obvious confusion, even as his own mind struggles to try to understand.

"Is this one of those-- weird universe things?"

Calling the Deck home has made it touch easier to start to wrap his head around the strangeness of this new world. It doesn't quite get him all the way there, though, when faced with the fact the man he's loved for so long is claiming not to know him.

A shaky breath helps. It doesn't help nearly as much as pressing his forehead against Archie's would, but it does help.

"M-Must be." Best to just lay things out as clearly as possible, surely, before his heart felt any more rended. "The Archie Kennedy I know didn't kill Jack Simpson. He... He was killed before he could."

Because of course, if Archie had come home, he would have saved everyone in the District from Simpson.

"Oh."

Archie can't help the way his expression quiets a little, at that. He can't help but reach for Horatio again, briefly.

"I'm-- sorry you lost him."

He can't imagine what that must feel like.

The knowledge will settle eventually, but the impulse is impossible to control. Being reached for by Archie of all people is the sort of thing his body is too used to crumpling in against the safety of for Horatio to catch himself back now.

"Hm."

Maybe this isn't the Archie he had grown up with. Maybe this isn't the Archie his heart had spent a few young years fluttering for. There's still something infinitely comforting about sighing out his exhaustion with this comfortable face close at hand.

"But... you still-- know a Horatio?"

Somewhere else in the many universes, life had allowed the two of them to stick together at least a year longer?

He can’t help the slow smile as he shifts to hold him more properly again.

“I do,” he says, and he can’t help but sound entirely happy, “We’ve been— We’re happy.”

Happiness in Archie's voice isn't unfamiliar. In spite of everything, Archie had always seemed to manage to find a spark of sunshine to cling to. This is still... fuller. Deeper. More, in a way Horatio doesn't understand but which drags him in closer all the same.

"You're happy?"

It feels oddly important to hear that 'we' again.

He can’t help but smile softly at that, even if there’s a small hint of something fretful to his brow.

“We’re happy,” he confirms, “Things’ve been— hard, lately.”

What with the war and everything.

“But we’re— we’re happy. I— love him.”

He doesn’t enough if that will help this Horatio to know, but he can’t help it.

Of course things have been hard. Of course there isn't a universe where they get to live entirely at ease.

None of that matters, because somehow they're happy. Somehow there had been enough room to breathe for Archie to say 'love' in exactly that soft tone.

"...h-he knows?"

"He knows."

It's so nice to be able to confirm that for this Horatio. It's so heartbreaking to think of his own Horatio, (hopefully) back home and worried.

"A-and-- I know."

Because that's important.

That puts a whole new ache into Horatio's chest. The sucker-punch of seeing Archie's face can't quite compare to the sense of clear certainty in Archie's familiar voice.

They knew. Somewhere, in some universe, they both knew that they were in love with each other.

It will feel good on the other side of knowing. For now, all his heart can force him to do is bury his face in against Archie's neck to try to breathe through the conflicting waves of hurt and joy.

He can't help but feel sorry that it hurt. He can't help but hold Horatio close-- even if he isn't quite his Horatio.

(He doesn't know if his Horatio's alive. It's so much easier to hold this one than to let his thoughts linger on that.)

"...'m sure-- yours did, too, 'n a way."

Horatio had always made him feel valued, at least.

This feels right. Being called 'love' had felt right. Horatio isn't certain if that's wonderful or terrible.

"...but w-we... n-never said it."

"Still."

Archie can't help the gentle squeeze even as he says it.

"Even-- before my Horatio said it, I had a-- good feeling, you know?"

There's a shudder in his breath as he crushes in a little closer. This is surely beyond selfish, but it would seem all his resolve had been spent the last time he pulled himself away.

Thank goodness this Archie has the same big heart. Thank goodness there will be a long night ahead to try and begin to accept the hope that his own Archie might have known how he felt.

Archie won't mind settling in here for some time. Even if it's not the Horatio he knows, he's still a Horatio. His heart can't help but do anything but care for him.

It's easier to cling here than face the ever growing worry that if this Horatio's Archie didn't make it, perhaps his Horatio isn't home to return to.

They're still just standing. They're still allowed to simply be here, clinging and breathing through the waves.

Hopefully Horatio is allowed to whisper a soft, exhausted 'I love you' against Archie's shoulder, because it bubbles up unbidden.

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