"Mister Kennedy!"

Bush had been passing by Kennedy's quarters when he heard the crash. He hurried inside to find Kennedy insensible and shaking on the floor. "Mister Kennedy," he cried out again, trying to call the shuddering lieutenant back to consciousness. "Mister Kennedy! Can you hear me?" Bush felt a well of panic springing in his stomach, but he quashed it down quickly. He held down Kennedy's flailing limbs and head as best he could. "Archie!"

There! His given name, he heard that. "Archie," he repeated, putting as much comfort into his voice as he could muster. "Archie, can you hear me?" The shaking began to ease. Bush released Kennedy's body as he stilled.

"Archie?" Kennedy blinked as he came back to himself. He groaned quietly.

"Oh god, no. Not again." He rolled away from Bush and struggled into a sitting position. Bush tried to help, but Kennedy just waved him away weakly. He rested against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Mister Kennedy," Bush began. "What happened? You were having some sort of fit." Kennedy merely sighed in response, a sigh of resignation. Bush was surprised at his reaction. "You have had fits before, I take it," he said. A serious medical condition such as this, and it went unreported! Concern and annoyance warred within him. "You should at least have informed Doctor Clive of this."

"I thought they were over," Kennedy replied, bitterly. "I thought myself free of them." He gave a sharp laugh. "It seems I am not."

"How long has it been since..."

"Almost a year. Long enough." He sighed, then looked up at Bush. "Please, do not speak of this to anyone. It must have been the last, I am certain of it."

"You were certain before," Bush said.

"Please!" Kennedy begged. He looked imploringly at Bush. "Please, they happen so rarely now that even if I were to have another fit, it would not be for months. Our fates are uncertain, Mister Bush, and we may not yet see more than weeks. Please, let this be."

"Does anyone else know of your condition?"

Kennedy frowned. "Mister Hornblower is... familiar with it."

"Then I will tell him, and charge you to his care," Bush said. There was a chance, no matter how slim, that another fit could strike him, and Hornblower would be able to care for him if luck was against them.

"No!" Kennedy said, his voice loud in the small cabin. "No," he repeated, quietly but with equal force. "Do not mention this to him."

"For God's sake, why not?" Bush was getting exasperated by Kennedy's obstinacy. "You and Mister Hornblower are close, surely--"

"Because I do not want him to know," interrupted Kennedy. "He does not need to know."

"Your condition could be a danger to the safety of this ship, Mister Kennedy," Bush said. "I am concerned by how little care you hold for your shipmates and for yourself."

"I am fine, Mister Bush," he insisted. "The attacks are rare and as you can see they do no lasting harm."

"They would do great harm if they occurred in the middle of battle."

Kennedy shifted uncomfortably at this. "Mister Bush, I have lived with this condition for years, and I promise you, that will not be the case. Now please, I ask you again: do not tell Mister Hornblower."

"What are your reasons for keeping this from him? He already knows you have had them."

"He thinks them over as I thought them over," Kennedy admitted. "You would not understand. You do not know Horatio very well, Mister Bush."

"And if I did know him well?"

"If you did then you would know that to tell him now would serve no purpose but to distract him from his duties. I would not trouble him with this."

"But surely I am not mistaken in thinking you are good friends with Mister Hornblower. It is rare that I have seen any two men as close as you. Surely he would be concerned."

At this Kennedy's eyes grew distant, as if recalling troublesome memories. "I do not want him to bear the guilt. The attacks remind me--remind him of things better left behind."

Bush had no reply to this. They sat in silence, Bush watching as Kennedy stared at the wall.

"Mister Kennedy," he began, "if you would permit me... let me help you. If you feel you cannot speak to Mister Hornblower about this, that is your choice, but for the good of the crew you must talk to someone. I will keep your confidence."

"Very well," replied Kennedy. "I accept your offer, Mister Bush." He gave a small smile. "I must admit, you surprise me. I thought you to be a harder man."

Bush's lips quirked involuntarily. "Perhaps I am," he said, "but it is not my nature. And I have been informed by my sisters that I am often too tender-hearted on land.

Kennedy chuckled. "I have great difficulty imagining you as such."

"To be plain, I did not think you would welcome my intrusion. You and Mister Hornblower... such friendship is a rare gift. I admit some jealousy on my part. It surprises me that you yet have things between you."

"There are hard times in even the best of friendships, and it brings him pain to think of them."

"And yourself?" Bush asked.

"It brings me fits," Archie said, the bitterness back in his voice.

"Then you must focus on the good times. I have never held a kinship deep as yours, but if I did I would esteem it highly."

"You are full of surprises, Mister Bush. Never?"

"Perhaps I have been too hard a man, Mister Kennedy."

Kennedy nodded, then looked Bush square in the eye. "Perhaps. Perhaps you have not given yourself the chance for such acquaintance."

Bush shifted under his gaze and turned his head away. He looked at the wall for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. A hand was thrust before him, and he looked at it in surprise.

"Call me Archie," said Kennedy, holding out his hand. He was smiling softly. Bush reached out and grasped Kennedy's hand with his own.

"And you may call me William, Archie," he said, and he found himself smiling in response.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, William."