(Untitled)

[strandedseaman]

He'd done everything. He'd patrolled, he'd carved an entire (and near unrecognizable) chess set, he'd very nearly taken up knitting, not to mention searched every damned inch of the island accessible to him, and Horatio'd yet to find either trace of Jack Simpson or an ounce of comfort

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[the_cop]

Ray met Horatio at the door and thrust Edward out to him. His shoulder and arm were covered in milk Edward had vomited all over him just moments before.

"Welcome home," he said, tired and sarcastic, and turned back into the room to go clean himself up.

[strandedseaman]

Horatio put his arms around Edward on instinct, though he was soon further jolted from his thoughts by the sour smell of sick. Ah well, there went his last clean uniform shirt.

"There now," he said, only a little distracted as he rubbed at Edward's back and followed his husband indoors. The place was in absolute disarray, he was displeased to discover, raising his eyebrows at Ray's frenetic form.

[the_cop]

Ray pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor, looking for a towel to wipe off whatever hadn't hit his shirt.

"I think he's getting a cold, I dunno, something's wrong," he said, shaking his head as he wiped down his arm. He searched for a clean shirt next. "Where the fuck have you been, anyway?" He looked over his shoulder at Horatio. "You shoulda been back from patrol more than an hour ago."

[strandedseaman]

Horatio sat on the edge of the bed, doing his damndest not to bristle at Ray's tone. It wasn't as if his absence had caused Edward's cold.

"I was searching," he said, hoping that Ray would take his meaning despite the fit he seemed determined to throw.

[stoicsidekick]

"Who's ill?" William asked, oblivious to Horatio's train of thought, even though his own had been trudging along a similar course for weeks. He had been doing some searching of his own. Fruitless, it was - how would he even know when he had found the man? - but it stopped his thoughts from following that worrying and inevitable path.

He sat down on a rock outside Horatio's hut, looking weary. "You don't have a spare needle lying about, d'you? I've got a shirt that needs mending." Keeping busy was the last thing there was left to do.

[strandedseaman]

Horatio gazed at him suspiciously. It'd been said before that his own fingers were too long and feminine. More fit for needlework than rigging - Jack Simpson had said it himself, and it was with a sickening lurch that Horatio's flare of temper met its end.

He shook his head in answer for the needle. "I'm not certain that anyone is ill," he said gravely, eyes turned towards the ground in apology. "Not entirely."

[stoicsidekick]

But Bush shrugged off Horatio's sudden unvoiced flash of temper. His shoulders rose and fell dismissively and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Perhaps he would find the needle elsewhere, perhaps he would use what light was left to go looking again.

"What do you mean?" he asked, not picking up on that to which Horatio was surely referring.

[strandedseaman]

"I am..." Horatio pressed his hands against his knees, steeling himself for the unhappy announcement. "I am beginning to explore the notion that Archie might be in need of a doctor."