Ambiguous time period, but there's a definite anachronism about Horatio's qualifications. I like my Doc Ratio jokes, okay?? It's not my fault Hamlet thinks it's sexy!
Anywho, this occurs after the canon events of the play, if that isn't clear later (which it very well might not be).
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In the days following his prince's death, Horatio was so rarely coherent in thought that Fortinbras began to wonder why Hamlet went on and on about the man's wit as he did. Where was Hamlet's Horatio, so full of "harrowing loyalty, stunning intelligence; I swear I'd have gone insane as King without him at my side"?
In the eyes of the public, of course, Hamlet had never said that. In the ears of poor Fortinbras, he said it constantly. Almost always as the new monarch quietly closed Horatio's door.
How is he?
Hamlet's voice came through in a sort of echo, sounding from all directions. Fortinbras searched around the hall to find the pale apparition draped across a windowsill.
"He's no better than yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. He's drenched himself in akvavit this time. Mumbled something about a pearl."
Oh, Horatio, no...
Hamlet's eyes went soft and sad, a sharp contrast to the intent hope they held previously. Fortinbras was reminded of Horatio's eyes as the physician told him the prince would not survive the poison and he clenched his jaw in frustration.
"If you actually cared, you'd have visited him long ago instead of using me as your damn messenger-"
Hamlet's sad eyes had turned to steel. Fortinbras felt a pressure at his throat; a cold finger, maybe two, digging into the soft flesh above his adam's apple. He didn't dare to breathe.
I would not say such things if I were you. I care about him more than you could possibly comprehend.
"Then explain why he cut your name into his arm with a letter opener."
The warning touch at his throat vanished, and Fortinbras gratefully took in a deep lungful of air. Hamlet's ghost faded from the window and appeared before him.
He cut himself?
The soft, sad eyes were back. Fortinbras sighed.
"He used a letter opener because we removed everything sharp from his room after he cut the first time. Now I've got to step up his supervision."
Something like liquid silver dripped from Hamlet's hand, but disappeared the instant it hit the floor. Fortinbras realized the ghost was digging his nails into his palms. He sighed again.
"He's desperate to see you. Maybe you should talk to him."
Hamlet shook his head, eyes squeezed shut and more silver blood dripping from his fists.
No. He needs to get over me, not go mad because of me. I'd only make him worse.
"Let me amend myself. He's desperate to see you and he doesn't care how. Maybe you should talk to him before he figures out how to hang himself with his belt and his bedsheets."
Fortinbras felt a rush of cold air, and suddenly Hamlet's voice was everywhere, around him, through him, in him, utterly panicked.
But you won't let that happen! You won't let him kill himself! He must live! He will not die because of me!
Now shivering due to the chill and the ghost's frantic energy, Fortinbras nodded meekly. He gasped when the fingers returned to his throat, digging in hard.
Swear you'll protect him!
He nodded again, stronger.
SWEAR!
"I swear!"
All at once, he could breathe, he was warm, he was calm, and Hamlet's form had shrunk back into a shadowy spot against the wall.
Keep him safe. Please. He was the only thing worth living for.
And the ghost was gone.
~~~
Horatio got better.
He stopped drinking, he stopped cutting, he didn't indulge any self-destructive thoughts. Under the careful eye of the King, he grew from the shell of a person he once was back into Horatio: the man that the dead prince loved. And the one that Fortinbras was beginning to, much to Hamlet's mixed joy and horror.
Alas, when Horatio moaned "my lord" beneath him, Fortinbras couldn't tell who he was thinking of. He wondered if it could be both of them.
He decided it didn't matter as Horatio's breathing evened out beside him. The royal bedchambers were quiet, and peaceful enough with the presence of the scholar for even Fortinbras' alertness, learned from war, to fade into content relaxation.
It was this relaxed state that did not allow the King to realize Hamlet was there until a pale hand was reaching over him to reverently touch Horatio's cheek.
He's beautiful, isn't he?
"He is, but what the hell are you doing here?" Fortinbras hissed through clenched teeth.
It's been forever since I've seen him like this. Just because I'm dead and you're not doesn't mean you're the only one of us allowed to admire him.
"It still doesn't feel right."
Hamlet appeared on the other side of the bed, sitting on the edge with loving eyes fixed on Horatio. Had he not addressed him, Fortinbras would have guessed the ghost wasn't even aware of his presence.
It only needs to feel wrong if I don't love him too, and God knows you're entirely aware that I do.
Then he was silent, transparent fingers tracing Horatio's lips and jaw and closed eyes, a deep yearning in the way he smiled.
Fortinbras was back at ease, eyelids drooping sleepily. "Just don't wake him."
The ghost didn't look up, but his smile faded.
Don't worry. I can't.
~~~
"Oh, fuck. Another one of these," Horatio said when he opened his eyes.
It was Elsinore, but the halls were different and none of the doors opened and it was always night outside. He sat against a wall and banged his head on it.
"Tired of this, tired of this, tired of-"
He cut himself off. Hamlet, the one he knew at Wittenberg that had a constant sort of happiness buzzing around him, was speed walking down the dark hall with his nose in a book. Horatio stood and caught him by the arm as he passed.
"Hamlet!"
At his name, the prince grinned, dropping the book to pull Horatio into a crushing hug. Horatio allowed himself a long moment to drown in Hamlet's presence, his smell, the feel of his arms around him, and then pulled away.
"The psychiatrist said I'd stop having dreams about you by now."
Hamlet's mouth opened in bewilderment and he reached out for Horatio, but the scholar stepped back.
"I- what? Ratio, it's me. I didn't know I could dreamwalk but apparently I can and so I can see you safely, this is amazing. Please don't back away-"
"Hamlet, stop talking."
Hamlet stopped. Horatio took a deep breath in through his nose, then let it out through his mouth. He closed his eyes.
"You're dead," he said carefully. "I dreamed about you every night for months. Then I started putting myself back together, and the dreams stopped. There's no logical reason for you to be here now." He opened his eyes on a groan. "Oh my God, please don't tell me I'm seeing you again because I slept with Fortinbras but pretended he was you."
"So you were thinking about me!"
"... Hamlet?"
"Ha! Oh, Fort's gonna be pissed, but this is priceless."
"Hamlet."
"I mean, I'm a little shocked you still care about me after everything, but still-"
"Hamlet, how did you know?"
Hamlet's eyebrows furrowed. He tilted his head. "What?"
"How did you know I slept with him?"
The prince's eyes went big. "Ohhh. Yeah. So, I kinda followed in my father's footsteps, not in the way he wanted, but, ah, I managed to snag onto the edge of the mortal realm instead of passing on peacefully or whatever, so I've been pestering Fort non-stop. It's great. Long story short, he believes in ghosts now."
Hamlet's happiness dissipated as Horatio sank shakily to a sitting position. He crouched down, trying with increasing desperation to meet Horatio's eye.
"Five times," Horatio choked out, tearing up. "Five times I almost killed myself, and you never once thought it might help to talk to you? You've been here all this time and contacted Fortinbras, of all people? Why would you-" he paused for a sob to wrack his body. "Why would you do that?"
"Hey, hey, shh, I didn't talk to you because I thought it'd make you worse, not because- Christ, not because I didn't want to! I did, I wanted to so bad, but I didn't want to hurt you worse than I already had," Hamlet explained frantically.
"It hurt," Horatio gasped, "to have you die in my arms."
"Better to have one of us live than-"
"You're so fucking SELFISH!"
Hamlet's argument died in his throat.
"Selfish, Hamlet." Horatio's voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with the effort of containing all the things he wanted to scream. "If you ever loved me, stay out of death's clutches a while longer. Live for both of us and tell our story. It's so easy to die, Hamlet, and so much harder to live. You cannot imagine the hell you put me through every goddamn day because of those words."
Hamlet was crying too, now, whispering broken syllables of "I'm sorry," "didn't mean to hurt you," and "you're right, you're right."
Horatio bit his tongue and shook his head hard like his thoughts might fall out of his ears.
"Fuck this. I need to wake up."
He placed his thumb nail against his forearm, shooting one last scorching glare at the sobbing prince before he slashed his skin.
He gasped as he sat up in bed, already feeling tears rolling down his cheeks. He quickly bit into his fist fo stifle noises so as not to wake Fortinbras, laying next to him.
Horatio stood, dressed, and quickly scribbled a note. He cringed at the use of some of the more basic phrases: it's not your fault, you did everything you could, etcetera. It would do, anyhow. He left it on the nightstand where Fortinbras was sure to find it.
Horatio tended to be a very straightforward thinker. Not like Hamlet, who could think himself in circles for hours on end. Horatio identified the goal, the obstacles, and ways around them. In this case, he identified the highest battlement, the guards posted there, and the place between them.
He closed his eyes as he fell, and thought of Wittenberg.
~~~
Despite never having been a very emotional person, Fortinbras was tempted to cry. He had lost a faithful and knowledgable advisor, after all. The precession for the funeral was kept small and simple. There were no known family members to notify. There was only the closed casket, some choice flowers from Osric (who was having a crisis of his own: how many more people had to die because of Claudius?), and a grave next to the younger Hamlet's.
A younger Hamlet whose presence lurked under the large oak tree next to his headstone, very confused.
Until Fortinbras said the name of the deceased.
Then Hamlet's ghost was out in an instant, a chaotic black mass just barely similar enough to his usual form to be recognizable. His eyes glowed red with fury, the edges of his being snapping in and out of sight like a nightmarish mirage. He swarmed across the ground toward Fortinbras.
YOU SWORE YOU WOULD PROTECT HIM.
Fortinbras was knocked to the ground by the force of the impact. Hamlet's hand, bearing more resemblance to bubbling tar than the human limb, circled around his neck in both directions like twin snakes.
The King gasped several times, each shorter than the last. He swatted weakly at the shadowy mass holding him down; his hand passed through it. Slowly, his kicks grew smaller, his eyes crossed in pain, and his arms stilled.
Hamlet lifted him up, his lax feet hanging just above the ground. The spirit recoiled slightly for the final squeeze that would snap his victim's neck. Then-
Hamlet, stop!
He turned at the sound of his name, quiet as a whisper though it was. His hold on Fortinbras loosened a little.
Put him down!
He did. Not gently. Fortinbras crashed to the ground, coughing and wheezing. Hamlet's color lightened from blackest night to a depressed grey.
Horatio?
Hope and soul-crushing sadness mingled in the echo of the prince's voice.
Horatio, are you there?
A light blue outline, barely visible in the bright sunlight, traced itself at the foot of the casket. Hamlet made a beeline for it.
Careful, my love, you may not be able to hold a stable form yet.
At the proximity from the other, the blue apparition became more defined. Head, torso, arms.
Are you doubting me?
Head, torso, arms, legs, and the beginnings of a face.
Never.
The small group of living people gaped at the two ghosts, some in fascination and some in horror. Fortinbras was still rather in shock. Marcellus was delighted, and shot a fond here-we-go-again look to Bernardo.
As Horatio's face became identifiably his, Hamlet's color changed back to its usual silverish blue. When Horatio pulled him into a hug, it was tinted pink.
Are you mad at me?
Hamlet's murmur would have seemed a trick of the wind to living souls (several confused people stuck fingers in their ears), but Horatio heard him loud and clear.
Yes, I'm absolutely fucking pissed, but I won't have you murdering the new King over it.
Hamlet looked down sheepishly, shuffling his feet even though he hovered several centimeters above the cobblestones.
I'm sorry.
Horatio's sigh made the leaves dance in the trees.
I know you are, my lord.
Their foreheads touched, fingers lacing together, and it was the purest display of love anyone at Horatio's funeral had seen since Hamlet's.
~~~
Fortinbras forgave Hamlet quickly. He figured he'd have done the same in that situation, being just as impulsive as the dead prince, so he let it go.
He would not, however, forgive the constant ghostly antics Hamlet and Horatio got up to. It was funny at first, even endearing, but the fourth time he brought a potential suitor to his chambers only to have her startled by the transparent men making out on his bed, the King put his foot down.
"Jesus, you two! Are you out to scare off every single person I take a liking to?!" Fortinbras exclaimed.
I might point out, your majesty, that- Hamlet, get your hands out of my shirt, please- she does not appear to be particularly frightened.
Fortinbras turned. Yes, she was staring more in confusion than fear at the ghosts.
"Oh my God. I'm- oh my God. Well, introductions had to happen at some point. Rosaline, these are Hamlet and Horatio. The previous heir to the Danish throne and his boyfriend. Deceased."
Oh, is that my title in your head? I've got a PhD in physics, so technically I'm a doctor. Royal advisor for several years, author of Hamlet's biography, and I'm only his boyfriend? The audacity.
Yes, Horatio, you're amazing, but your qualifications are a mouthful. Besides, our dear friend Fortinbras is trying to bed this here lovely maiden, and he's ever so slightly irritated that we've interrupted him. In the knowledge of this, it is reasonable for him to abbreviate to the essentials.
"Wait, who said anything about- I'm not trying to bed her!"
The spirits each raised an eyebrow.
"Easy, Fort," Rosaline laughed. "They're messing with you."
Ooh, she gets to call you Fort~
"Jesus fucking Christ, Hamlet, shut up!"
Yes, Hamlet, do shut up.
I see how it is! You're all ganging up on me! Well, when you need relationship advice to court the lovely lady, don't come crying to me!
Hamlet's body flickered briefly before disappearing. Horatio sighed and floated to a standing position.
I'd better stop him from knocking all the library books off their shelves again. For the record, this was his idea. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Rosaline.
"Oh, please, drop the Miss," Rosaline scoffed. "It makes me feel old."
Horatio smiled wryly, then went straight through the door.
"He's going to keep using it, I hope you realize that," Fortinbras said.
Rosaline giggled. "Yeah, well. He's sweet."
He nodded. "Hamlet is too, once you get used to him."
They moved to sit on the bed, exchanging a brief but meaningful look before Rosaline cleared her throat.
"So, what's the story behind those two?"
"Oh God- I mean, uh, Horatio's better at telling it than I am, but it all started when Hamlet's uncle poisoned his dad..."
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*silently screaming at almost 3,000 words*
So... I kind of focused on Hamlet's eyes a lot? I think that without tangibility, slamming doors and knocking things off tables and shoulder-checking people, he has a harder time expressing himself, so a lot of his feeling comes out through his face; mainly his eyes.
I'm having a lot of fun with these two as ghosts. So many ideas. The issue with spectral beings under such undefined rules as the Hamlet universe is that there are so many things they have the potential to be able to do. On one hand, they could be like the Hogwarts ghosts: always visible, holding the same form, and merely translucent/intangible. However, since Old King Hammy was metaphysical and much more versatile, affecting and being affected by the environment around him (damn that rooster), there's a lot of wiggle room for how much a ghost could interact with the physical and the living. I'm playing with it.
Goodnight, faeries! Parting is such sweet sorrow!