Disclaimer: [H]ouse isn't mine and never will be. Historical and medical facts were constructed from spandex. It supports and shapes the story where necessary.
Prompt: Written for sickwilson_fest. 1. Sailing Age - House and Wilson are officers/passengers on a ship that is taken a prize or captured by pirates. Harsh treatment ensues. Apologies, my muse took me slightly off course.
Beta: Beta magic performed by the inestimable hwshipper.
The story is complete, but it's broken into three chapters. Enjoy!
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1806 A.D.
The promise of sleep danced on the edge of his awareness. Despite the rocking of the ship, the rhythmic snoring of his cabin mate, and the slaking of his sexual desires, Morpheus flirted but never fully committed to him. As noiselessly as he could manage, he dressed and went on deck.
The voyage to England had been tedious and unproductive. House looked forward to returning to his lodgings in Princeton and sleeping in his own bed.
Leaning against a crate under the star spattered sky, he was immediately aware that something was afoot. The coal bucket was alive with an orange glow but left unattended. And yet, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he was aware that the deck teemed with sailors. They scurried about like frantic rats, speaking in hushed tones.
No orders were shouted yet clicks and whistles emanated from the quarterdeck as if exotic birds nested there. In response, soft hammering like a family of woodpeckers disseminated from the crow's nest, bow, and stern.
Thoroughly engrossed, he was startled when a shoulder bumped his. "Let it go, House. The lack of foresight by the Royal Medical Society shouldn't come as a shock. You have an original mind. Give them a decade or so to catch up."
"More like a century," House scoffed.
"Right now, you should concentrate on getting some sleep." Wilson nudged with his elbow and whispered, "Come back to bed."
"Shut up."
The thick eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "I was only trying to help."
"And I'm trying to listen. Look at the ocean. What do you see?"
"The usual. A crescent moon, black sky, black water…"
"And what do you see there?" House nodded toward the bow. "And there." His tilted his head back to the stern.
He could make out Wilson's eyes darting back and forth and heard an intake of breath.
"Waves reflecting moonlight on three sides but not…." Wilson covered his mouth with his hand and stepped backward. He pointed a finger at the sky.
Where darkness had prevailed a moment before, the insignia of a skull and crossbones whipped in the breeze.
"A blacked-out pirate ship. We're about to be attacked," House affirmed.
"We must warn the Captain!" Wilson blurted out, not realizing he was speaking loud enough to draw attention.
House clamped a hand over Wilson's mouth.
"Thank you, Paul Revere, but he already knows. Haven't you noticed the unusual quiet except for the tapping? The crew are communicating in code. Preparing for the sneak attack." House jerked his head toward a cluster of men gathering at the rail. "Not that it will do us any good against pirates." They were holding a variety of weapons. Sadly, the majority were pots and pans.
A small man, hat in hand, walked up and bobbed his head. "Gentlemen, the Captain regrets he can't deliver his message in person. He is engaged at the moment."
House snorted.
"However, he has charged me with your welfare. Mr. Pepper at your service, sirs." Another almost imperceptible nod. "If you will please follow me."
The man crossed the deck and motioned toward a rope ladder slung against the outside hull. Below, a crewman in a rowboat waved for them to board. Four fellow passengers were already sitting in it.
Wilson planted his hands on his hips. "Get in a bathtub in the middle of the Atlantic? I refuse."
At a loss to deal with such recalcitrant behavior, House cajoled, "Must I remind you who the petulant child is in our relationship?"
"You are. And that's exactly my point. You can't resist the chance to play with cannons and gunpowder." He wagged a finger. "Except these aren't toys, House. They can kill you. I'm not leaving your side."
At that moment a wobbly streak of red light shot overhead—a flare. The sails billowed like pink ghosts.
"Sirs, I beg you, do not tarry."
Wilson held his ground. Obstinate fool.
House sighed. "I'll go first. Will that satisfy you?"
"I'd feel better if you were strapped to an oar and lowered with a pulley, but all right."
House followed Pepper down the ladder. Before he made it to the bottom, he saw a fireball with a ruffled tail of curling smoke hurtling toward the prow. It landed with an ear-splitting explosion. The ship shook and loosened his grip. Trying to break his fall, his hand desperately grabbed at empty air. He landed hard onto the naked wooden ribs of the tiny craft. Besides knocking the wind out of him, he heard his right wrist snap, followed by blistering pain blazing up his arm.
Engulfed in a snowstorm of ashes, Wilson's concerned face appeared from the deck. He cupped his hands and yelled, "House, are you hurt?"
While House regained his voice, he attempted to hide his damaged hand in his coat pocket. "I'm fine," he called out. But the boat swayed and he bumped against a passenger causing him to flinch.
Thirty feet above, Wilson registered the reaction. "I'll get my medical bag," and disappeared.
There was a fluttering sound, like a flock of angry birds. The sails were on fire. House could hear commands shouted by the Captain and a round of cannonballs boomed from their ship. The hull rocked from the blast and water sloshed into the boat.
"Doctor House, we can't wait any longer. Our boat is in peril of getting scuttled." Pepper started to release the tethers.
"No! Wilson will return. He always does. You can set your clock by him." Ignoring the pain in his wrist, he stood up and hollered, "Wilson!"
One of the passengers gruffly admonished, "Sir! I must insist you sit down! You're tipping the boat and endangering us by delaying."
Before he could whip out a put down, a surprisingly firm hand shoved him into his seat. He lunged at the seamen, but a fist struck his jaw. Stars veiled his vision before he blacked out.
~.~
The gnawing ache in his arm lured him to consciousness. The sight before him made him wish he hadn't. A forest of fire stretched in every direction. A blanket of smoke hovered above his head. The heat from both threatened to suffocate him. If there were a hell, this was it. House blinked to clear his stinging, watering eyes and recognized the debris fueling the flames as parts of the ship—benches, drawers, doors. Spokes from the ship's wheel floated past.
"Wilson," he whispered. He scanned the group in the boat—the same six men and him. "Where's…?"
"Your friend didn't make it, sir. I'm very sorry."
He slumped forward, observing a drip of water that fell upon his good hand. It was joined by another, and a third. He was too drained to wipe his skin dry. Too numb to fathom what it meant.