Carry On

Title: Carry On
Series: Horatio Hornblower
Rating: PG-PG-13ish
Pairings: Styles/Hornblower (so to speak)
Warnings: none.
Spoilers: Part of it takes place on board the Retribution. If you don't know who captains that, you might be spoiling something for yourself. References to the opening and ending of "Loyalty".
Author’s Notes: Just a tiny ideal after watching "Horatio Hornblower: Loyalty". Edited to correct all the horrible formatting that seems to have nommed up parts of my stories...
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"Carry On, Mr. Bush."

These words are very curt, very polite. But the meaning behind them is genuine.

"Carry On" is such a useful phrase in the nautical man's dictionary. It not only means "You may go about your duties, sir." It also means, "And a job well done. I am very pleased."

It's never "Carry On, Mr. Styles."

It's always, "For God's Sake, Styles!", or "That's Enough, Styles!".
Occasionally, it has even been, "Shut-Up, Styles!"

Because he is a pain. He is a thorn in his side; a constant annoyance. Nobody likes to work with Styles, save Matthews, and Matthews refuses to refuse to work with anyone. He is cocky, and he is belligerent, and he is downright mean in his stupidity.

But he means well.

And he always has.

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He saw them once, together, you know. He was touching him on the shoulder as he spoke to him. They had been standing in the shadows near the doorway to his cabin, and he had been touching Lieutenant Hornblower on the shoulder with the full palm of his hand.

Their words were lost in the sound of the sea, and there was only that tight flex of fingers against rough, blue wool, and his soft, hesitant smile that spoke of rum and candlelight, and secrets in the night.

Then, he had looked up, looked startled and flushed for only a second before barking, "For God's Sake, Styles, aren't you supposed to be on Watch in a moment?"

And Styles went, for the first time recognizing that coil in is belly as lust and jealousy. The lust part was simple. Men who stayed on ships too long were bound to start to look around sooner or later… It wasn't the first time, and he was damn sure it was not likely to be the last. Lt. Lieutenant Hornblower was damn near lovely as far as men went, with his slender frame and pointed chin. His eyes were dark and pretty, and his hair curled messy like soft hair is apt to do. He was a vision when at peace and an avenging angel when at war. Mortal man was only capable of so much mental restraint.

It was the jealousy that bothered him. When one man looks inward and sees one such as Hornblower, it is only logical that others would make the same leap. It was all right to share objects of lust, because lust is not really touching, and it holds no claims on a man.

So why then, did he feel so murderous at the thought of those fingers squeezing possessively on dark blue wool?

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Many months, nearly a year later, he'd figured it out. It had been a simple realization, one he was shocked he had not noticed before.

Lieutenant Hornblower had been on deck at sunset. He had stood on the aft deck, staring at the waves.
The wind had been sweet, and it had tugged several locks loose of the tightly bound ponytail.
He had reached up to brush one of these locks behind his ear.
And he had smiled.

And in that instant, Styles knew that he would die for this man.
He would go to hell, and back, and then to hell again forevermore if this man commanded it.
And he would do it… Out of love.

Not storybook stuff, mind you. Not the codswallop shoved down young lasses throats by their doting mams. No. It was the sort of love born of loyalty, and devotion. Not just the love a good soldier will have for a better commander; but also the sort of deep devotion a man can't help but feel swell in his chest when a remarkable human being should happen to pass.

This was the love that won wars.

And Hornblower had turned to look at him, and realized he was watching. "What is it, Styles?"

"Nothing, Sir. Just watching the sunset."

"Ah." He nodded, glancing back at the water. "It is beautiful."

"So it is, Sir. So it is."

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And so, he would continue to serve this man. To follow him wherever he leads, and, even if he questions every order he's given, he will fulfill it to his greatest ability. And then some, if that is what this man commands.

So then, one day, he orders, "Styles, run a shot off of her stern. Just close enough to scare her."

And while Matthews squawks in protest, he does just that.

But its, "For God's Sakes, Styles!"

Just once, he would like for it to be, "Carry On, Styles."

And he knows it never will be, but he's content to wait on it forever.

Just once.

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And a thousand years later on a beach where blood has turned the sands to mud, he lays a hand on his shoulder.

For one second, their eyes meet, and then Captain Hornblower looks away.

But he's smiling that smile, that secret smile that speaks oceans to him.

His mouth opens, and he starts to form the words.

But Styles turns away, saying, "Right You Are, Sir."

Because it's enough.

(And if he never hears him say it, then he'll always have to wait for it, and then never have to leave his side.)

And he realizes he'd better learn how to make coffee, or else he'll never come this close again.


End.