Feedback: please do. New fandoms always make me wary ;)

Notes: This is all Cori and Nicole's fault. This particular story is all Nicole's fault. She's the one with the radioactive carrots. Oh, and this is my first try at HH fic. :)

Thanks go to Nicole, Cori and Kim for reading this and Kim betaing it.

Disclaimer: I make no money from this fic. Those rights went to people who apparently didn't appreciate Archie as much as I (or many of us) do.

The sight of a superior officer bound in a hammock shook me. It was... wrong somehow, for a captain, albeit an acting captain, to be so restrained. Finding him so flustered -- seemingly at my arrival as much as his condition -- drove me to finish my duties quickly so as to seek out the deck with its sun and fresh air.

And to find Archie.

I must confess I had been distracted during the fight such that I hadn't had time to wonder where he had disappeared. But having seen to Mr. Bush's care and Mr. Buckland's release, my thoughts again turned to my friend. Ever since we had been reunited in Spain I must confess to growing used to having Archie with me. I'm sure to any stranger it might appear we were attached at the hip, by how rarely we parted.

It is because of this that his absence since the fighting has grown from a distant buzz in the back of my mind to a cry that refuses to be ignored. This is obviously a benefit of rarely being apart. If it were otherwise, such commotion inside my mind could prove most disquieting should it occur at an inopportune moment.

Shaking the thought away, I climb the steps that lead up onto the deck. An odd sense of relief washes over me at seeing Archie there, although I do not let it show. It would not be proper to let such emotions be seen while on duty. Even still, when he smiles at my approach I cannot help smiling, however faintly, in return.

It seems a bit odd, that Archie is sitting rather than overseeing the activity that follows such a battle. Normally he would be in the middle of whatever work remained. I push the thought aside, however, and join him in the brief respite. I turn my head into the sun as I walk, relishing its warmth on my face for a moment. A moment is all I can spare toward such trivialities anymore, it seems.

"I heard about Buckland." Archie laughs, but it sounds more like a cough than true mirth. I am unsurprised by his humor all the same. It seems the last thing to abandon him, short of his honor, will be his humor. "Silly old fool."

A smile tries to tug at my own lips, but I smother it in time. "Let it be, Archie. If you had seen him as I did." As I speak I cannot help but notice the odd look that fills his face. I run my gaze over him, as I have done after countless battles before and shall no doubt do again in the future.

It is a most peculiar urge, this compulsion to ensure he is all right. It is, however, one I have held since Spain. Maybe even since the Papillion. What I see this time, however, causes me to pause.

"Is that your blood?"

I watch his face as I gesture toward the red that mars his white shirt. I do not miss the shuttered expression, as though he is trying to hide something from me.

"Oh. It's just a scratch." His expressions are quite at odds with his words.

His voice is... wrong somehow. I look closely at his face, struck with the realization that his voice is not the only thing changed about him. There is an air about him I've not known since... Not since we found him as little more than a broken wreck of the oubliette. Something chills inside me at that realization.

As if playing out some charade, he presses onward, even while his voice sounds weaker by the word. "Prisoners under lock and key?" He gasps, biting his lips, and there is a sinking feeling in my stomach.

A brief surge of anger takes me at that. The thought that he might play such a game with an injury is most distressing. "I said is that your blood?" Moving quickly, I kneel in front of him. I reach for his jacket, yet he makes no motion to stop me.

I pull his waistcoat open, the buttons breaking free to roll across the deck. I pay them little mind. If I'm wrong I shall mend them myself. If not... It is then, the second thought not having time to form, that whatever was cold inside me before freezes.

Red. Everywhere red. A hole torn through the center of it all. Shot. He's been shot and sat here bleeding, amid sailors and marines alike, and said nothing. Acting for all the world as if nothing were wrong.

I move my hands against his chest, not quite believing. Not wanting to believe. There's so much blood...

I find I cannot breathe. Suddenly I'm suffocating even with all the sea's own air surrounding me. I look to Archie's face, searching his eyes for some answer; some kind of sign that I'm wrong. That it's a mistake, a cruel jest. I find no such reassurances in his eyes. A detached acceptance rests there, and I can hardly stand to look upon it.

"Archie."

There is a plea in my voice. Nay, a begging tone to it that I cannot ignore nor deny. He is silent, simply meeting my gaze with his own. Those blue eyes, that I know better than my own, are far too bright. Accepting.

There's even the hint of a forced smile, which makes my stomach lurch as though we were pitching on rough seas. As always, he is striving not to be a nuisance, even at the cost of his own pain. I bite back an angry sigh, trying to convince my sluggish brain to do something before it might be too late. Yet I do nothing more than sit there, staring at my closet friend.

"It's not as bad as it looks." Yet the words are barely spoken before he coughs, more blood issuing forth from his lips. I do not speak. I cannot. My mind is made empty at the angry crimson on Archie's lips. If I could think, could find any words at all, none could express this... Terror, perhaps, though it is an emotion with which I'm rarely accustomed anymore.

A pain, a panic so blinding I would have thought myself shot, tightens my chest. All thoughts of protocol or duty are lost and I lurch forward, pulling Archie into my arms. He collapses against me, boneless and shaking. I hold onto him more tightly, crushing him against my chest, unable to let go even were I willing.

I wonder, could it really be just minutes since I walked onto the deck -- a bounce in my step, the sun on my face and my best friend at my side? Even in the wake of the rebellion and the unfortunate end of Captain Sawyer, the ship was recovered and prisoner's recaptured. It seemed as if enough was right with our small part of the world, even if not all was as it should be.

Holding Archie, imagining the warmth of his blood seeping through my uniform and burning my hands, I now truly know how very little is right with the world. With my world. Rather it has been promptly turned upside down and left askew.

What's left of the rational part of my mind realizes someone will come soon; to question what it is we are doing here. They might seek out another of the Lieutenants. Or find Dr. Clive to tend to Archie so that he might have a chance. Yet none of these thoughts move me.

I continue to hold Archie in my arms and he lets out a long breath. I find myself holding my own until I hear him draw another, and another. As I kneel, with the unfamiliar bite of tears in my eyes, I want nothing more than to hold him close and not let go. If I don't let go, a childish part of my mind insists, he cannot leave me.

And I cannot let him leave. I cannot.

end