Long enough for his absence to be noted, it would seem. Smiling to himself, Horatio drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders and continued to gaze out upon the water, drinking in the familiar sights of a sleeping English port with a strange mixture of warm nostalgia and frank contempt. To think he could miss the time that had torn him from this.
It would be at least a week before the Hotspur was outfitted and prepared to sail. He had been sharing a room with William Bush for the past two days, with five more yawning ahead as his friend made constant efforts to assure himself that Horatio was real, and had not disappeared again. It was – endearing, though it chipped steadily at Horatio’s resolve to behave appropriately now that he was back in his time, and meant to be a naval captain rather than the true heathen witch he had become – a truth he could no more reveal than his time among pirates, he was rather sure.
“Not long,” He assured quietly, once he had drank in the last quiet moment. Turning to William, he considered the man’s expression and felt a pang in his heart as he went over to the man. It was bold and downright scandalous of him, but he opened the blanket and wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, drawing him in to share in his warmth as he assured softer still, “The ocean has not taken me again, my friend. I’m still here.”
Ocean Archive 