Seeing that far.

[quigonejinn]

Bush smelled like perfume. It was an unusual thing for him to smell of, but understandable, given the circumstances -- Hornblower, himself, did not know where his left shoe had gone. It had been difficult to walk this far out on the wharf with only one shoe, and they sat together by the water. A breeze came from the east, and they were each a hundred pounds poorer. Hornblower had two books and a new hat to show for it, but Bush did not, and they sat on the edge of the pier. It was a little before dawn; the sky was still gray, but there was an edge of pink.

"Look," Hornblower said, pointing. "There she is."

It was doubtful that Bush could see that far, but he made an effort.

"The Retribution," Hornblower said, without need, but he felt himself smiling anyways.

Bush really did smell like perfume. All his clothes were freshly washed, and he must have had his queue re-done. Perhaps he had even bought a bath with hot water, but he smelled like the girls, not soap. Perhaps it was the soap that the girls used. Perhaps, and now, Bush was smiling back at him. Did he smell the perfume on himself? The queue lay thick and black and neat down Bush's back, and sun was a little further above the horizon, making the mountains a little pink at the bottom. A small black shape could be seen on the waves, coming toward the pier. Bush was still smiling at him.

Ah, his shoe was here. Hornblower knew he was still a little drunk, and he was tired from not having slept very much in three days. He put it on, awkwardly, then gathered his things about him and rose.

There had been a red-headed girl. And a blonde one. And two girls with dark hair, one of whom had spoken nothing but Spanish. Tell me about your friend, she had said. Hornblower remembered seeing Bush down at the gambling tables with a girl on each knee, drunk as a lord, and consequently quite happy despite a fistful of losing cards.

"I must go," he said to Bush. "That is the launch from the flagship. Thank you for coming to wait with me."

Bush managed to get to his feet, too. "I didn't know admirals woke this early. Orders for you, sir?"

Hornblower nodded. "Most likely. I may be gone before your cruise with Cogshill is done."

There was a moment of silence. Bush wobbled a little; he looked tired and more than a little drawn, and despite the joy of having his own command, of finally getting orders for her, it was hard not to feel a little sad. Hornblower stuck his hand out, and Bush shook it.

"Goodbye, Bush." It was desperately unlikely they would ever see each other ever again. The most Hornblower could hope for was, perhaps, news. A mention in the papers if one of them should distinguish himself. Hornblower was unlikely even to find out if Bush should die, but Bush seemed either unaware or unconcerned. He was smiling, and the sun was coming up from behind his shoulders. He was perfectly in order, but he smelled like women's perfume. Flowers. Dry powder and silk.

"Goodbye, sir."

...

Bush smelled like perfume, and he had been smiling. Hornblower even thought, as he was taking the Retribution out of Kingston, that he saw someone on the deck of the Renown, standing and watching. He had pointed out where the Retribution had been, and he had also been the only ship leaving that morning, but Hornblower nevertheless suspected that he had imagined it. He knew himself to be weak and sentimental, and Bush had certainly never mentioned it.

In the days after Caudebec, Hornblower found himself wishing that it had been the last time he saw Bush: it was painful to think of life without Bush, and even more painful to think of the precise manner in which Bush had died. Nevertheless, the memory of what he had lost was very much with Hornblower, and in his grief, Hornblower thought that Kingston, quite clearly, would have been a better goodbye.





Inspired by Andrew Bird's Imitosis, which swingchick introduced me to, and a HOMFG AMAZING photoset on Flickr that black_hound linked.

Comments

[black-hound.livejournal.com]

That's just so good because BUSH SMELLED LIKE PERFUME.

Christ.

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

Like a whorehouse and a half, and in the strangest places, too. XD

This is entirely your doing, by the way.

[nolivingman.livejournal.com]

Oh. That is so sad, for all that Bush smelled like flowery whore perfume.

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

I'm glad it worked for you. It felt like an odd little beastie that wouldn't come out properly, but hurray for unforeseen effectiveness!

*loves on the icon as she does every time she sees it*

[iansmomesq.livejournal.com]

<33333333333333333333333333333333333

and Bush smelling like perfume I will repeat is complete and total love and the SHOE OMG and I love your brain and the way the things you think up just stab me in the heart sometimes.

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

Poor drunk Hornblower. I wonder what the best story that we could make up for Hornblower and Bush's individuals lives owuld be if they'd never met again after Kingston. I mean, I know the ideal circumstances for the characters -- Bush, captain of his own ship, Hornblower, happily settled with a swarm of knee-high babies and grandbabies -- but hm. I wonder if there's something that could be built out of that.

[phantomsangel.livejournal.com]

Mmm, I really like this. It has a great 'feel' to it--you know that Bush and HH are still slightly drunk and sleepy and exhausted. Great atmosphere, too. I really thought as if I were sitting there on the end of the pier with them.

And I love the last bit. So sad. D: I hate goodbyes of any sort.


<33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

D: CAUDEBEC. D: D: D: I'm pretty sure that in High Ancient Fangirl, the word translates to "place of unending emo and soul-eating goodbye pain."

[nautacarus.livejournal.com]

Only PG? Ah, that kind of "only PG" that really isn't once you think for half a second ;) Lovely! And sad. And flowery (I bet Hornblower liked it).

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

AHAHAH. YEAH. I have no idea how to rate things like this On the one hand, there's no sex! On the other hand, Bush smells like perfume because he's been sexxing expensive hookers all long weekend long.

I just tell myself that they rate all kinds of things as PG these days XD

[nautacarus.livejournal.com]

Yeah, like the father/son slash subtext in "My Family" ;)

I don't pay much attention to ratings but I suppose PG is meant to mean something like "nothing in it to disturb the kiddies, that is, nothing that they will understand".

[nautacarus.livejournal.com]

I just tell myself that they rate all kinds of things as PG these days XD

Yes, especially in the Netherlands, it seems, where frontal male nudity + violence = not suitable for persons under six!

[randomalia.livejournal.com]

Beautiful. Very measured and that image of Bush, with the sun coming up, tired and smiling and smelling like perfume is wonderful.

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

XD Yeah. The fic sprang out of a discussion with black_hound about whether Bush might ever notice that the crazy baby boyfriend didn't smell like all the other poor bastards on the ship.

<333333333333333333

[thehappyreturn.livejournal.com]

The shoe, I love. HH is so hard to picture drunk and this does it perfectly.

Hornblower was unlikely even to find out if Bush should die, but Bush seemed either unaware or unconcerned. He was smiling, and the sun was coming up from behind his shoulders.
And this for me is amazing, because I find it so easy to slip into thinking about the adoring Bush/unaware HH register when *of course*, Bush's specialism is being unaware and happy at times and HH's specialism is being precocious and miserable; all in all it's brilliantly preceptive and SUCH a gorgeous image of Bush.

And HH is right, this would have been a better goodbye. The contrast of the innocently drunk and rosy professional goodbye of the WAH painful Caudebec.

[quigonejinn.livejournal.com]

Forester really calculated that Caudebec goodbye for maximum pain. He knows how to break hearts so, so well. dfjkglkjdf. Just two little words! And you just know, you just know that Bush isn't coming back this time.

I mean, in my head, there are two other times in the books when HH and Bush think they're never going to see each other again -- once when HH is sailing out of Kingston, and Bush thinks it. Once when HH is leaving the Hotspur, and he thinks it. And it's possible to read this Caudebec as the third time they say goodbye to each other. Third time is the charm. :|

And ahaha, yeah. I'll admit to being pretty pleased about the shoe detail myself, but I'm pretty sure I stole it from something else that I read and admired back in the day.

[billytaylor.livejournal.com]

I don't know how I missed this when it first went up ... this is beautiful.