If you're still taking February prompts: "doomed voyage" or "instead of you" for The Hour?
“Should’ve been me, old man, instead of you. Should’ve been me,” Hector muttered, every part of him aching in the torture device the hospital considered a chair, pulled up beside the narrow bed Freddie lay in, far more quietly than Freddie had ever done anything before as far as Hector knew. What did he know, though, he’d cocked it all up, Marnie had filled every surface of their fitted kitchen with various puddings and the icebox was full of trifle setting, more varieties of citrus curd than anyone could ever want, and there was no room left for him at what was supposed to be his home, nor yet the office, where Bel’s eyes were the color of fresh bruises and Lix looked at him with the distaste she’d reserved for weak coffee and a bad lead.
“Don’t be silly,” Freddie whispered, all he could manage. Hector hadn’t thought the other man was awake, the nurses wouldn’t say whether he was sleeping, drugged or in a coma, and Hector hadn’t wanted to ask Bel. It was startling, to hear Freddie’s voice so diminished, as if he’d screamed himself hoarse instead of nearly hemorrhaging to death in Bel’s arms. The drab blanket covered him nearly to the neck and his chest rose and fell only slightly with his breath.
“Silly am I?” Hector said. He had to say something, a little jovial perhaps. The truth certainly, and it was a relief that whatever had happened to Freddie hadn’t taken that ability to see what was real away from him. He might have preferred it, but who among them got what they wanted?
“They’d never have missed with you, you great hulking sod,” Freddie said. “There are a few advantages to being built like a consumptive Romantic poet, as long as one isn’t actually consumptive. Or Romantic.”
“Being a poet isn’t a problem?” Hector asked. Freddie’s color was still terrible, like the whey Marnie sieved out of some failed attempt at cheese-making, and his tenor was still raspy, but there was a gleam in his eyes that said some essential part of him remained inviolate. When Hector left, Bel would be waiting and he’d be able to offer her a real smile before she hurried in, her gloves shoved into the pocket of her scarlet jacket. It made her so pretty, Freddie wouldn’t be reminded of blood when he saw her.
“Wouldn’t know,” Freddie replied. “Gave up after I’d butchered about a dozen sonnets. Absolute rubbish.”
He meant he’d written a crown of sonnets and they’d all been about Bel, Hector would have put money on that. They were probably all shoved into a drawer of Freddie’s desk at the office.
“Literature’s loss is journalism’s gain,” Hector said. “Though you’re not to rush back—”
“The case—”
“Is being looked into,” Hector said. “It’s not been forgotten. There’ll be other stories for you, when you’re well again.”
“I thought, in the ambulance, it was a hearse, that I’d died already and I’d never get there,” Freddie said. He winced, his mouth making a shape that spoke of dreadful pain. It was unfortunate that the grimace made him unutterably lovely.
“There?”
“Heaven. Hell. Peace. Limbo. Wherever I was supposed to go,” Freddie said. “They wouldn’t let Bel come along, that was the worst. Don’t tell her though.”
“I won’t,” Hector said. Had Freddie meant in the ambulance or into death, Eurydice speaking of Orpheus? Bel already knew how it had hurt him, even before the stupid young nurse named Connie had told her how Freddie had called for her as if his poor heart would break, miss, inconsolable he was.
“You should go home, Hector,” Freddie said. “You don’t need to waste your time here.”
“I’ll waste my time however and wherever I like, Lyon,” Hector said, leaning back in the excruciating chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. It had been the right thing to say. Freddie closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.
Bel would knock before she came in. It would be good for her to find them like this. To know he hadn’t left Freddie alone, not this time.
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I'm gonna be reblogging The Hour posts even if they're how many years old now because DAMN I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF IT. Definitely an addition to my list of comfort shows. I really just wished that there was a third season because there really was a lot more stuff that could have been unpacked in the series. (i'd like to imagine that there's a universe out there with a third season).
Ben Whishaw was just absolutely great in that series as a stubborn and relentless journalist. Also special mention to Lix Storm and Randall Brown??!?!? If anything, I really hoped for more stuff about them. Their chemistry is so perfect in the series! They got me at "middle aged exes turned co-workers".
If time (and energy) allows me, I'd probably make some portrait art of some of the characters!
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Although I just recently watched the first season of The Hour, as it came out over a decade ago I’m not going to put these thoughts under a cut. However, this is your warning that some spoilers for the first season follow.
The first season of The Hour seems thoughtfully and carefully put together on the whole, which is why the affair plot line is particularly baffling, because it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever and yet the show clearly expects us to believe it make sense, because otherwise why include it?
Bel’s only reason that I can tell, for having an affair with Hector, is that she thinks he’s movie-star attractive, and she knows he thinks she’s attractive. He’s absolutely terrible to her when they first meet - he’s smarmy and condescending and misogynistic and hits on her while being smarmy, condescending, and misogynistic. He’s also married and her employee, in a time in which she is absolutely going to suffer the most consequences professionally as well as personally if their affair is discovered. He’s a little less terrible after their first meeting, but A), that’s a very low bar, and B) he’s not that much better. He becomes more sympathetic, yes. He doesn’t particularly become a better person.
I know this show understands how to do a convincing “these people find each other attractive and sleep together” plot line because Freddie and Lix as a result of certain things that are going on, decide to sleep together. Freddie and Lix, who are both single, who are friends, who are kind to each other who like each other as people, who have a genuine affection for one another, who find each other compelling and intelligent and witty and attractive, and who are very clear about what they are and aren’t doing when they choose to sleep together. There’s a reason they do it that one time, and there’s a reason why it’s a one-time thing (this time).
I can only conclude that I must have missed something critical that would explain why Bel and Hector are having this affair, but I’ve no idea earthly what that is.
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