I'm writing this shortly after I lost a very dear friend of mine of 16 years.
Title: Fallen
Pairing/Characters: Edward Teague
Summary: Teague tries to save a trusted friend.
The Englishman shook in fear as the pistol remained focused on him while his patient lay dying on the cherry stained oak table in a captain's cabin aboard one of the most notorious pirate ships to sail the Seven Seas. He never thought that his life as a village doctor would be disrupted like so, especially by a band of marauding pirates who sole purpose was to seek him out, kidnap him and bring him back to their ship to save the life of one of their own.
At least he had been led to believe that the grievously wounded crewman had indeed been a man. Instead he found out that he was suppose to operate on a dog. What did these scoundrels think he was? He was a doctor of human medicine, not husbandry!
"I've told you a thousand times and I'll tell you a thousand times more, I heal people, not animals!" he protested despite having a pistol aimed at his head. He was gambling that this pirate would not kill him while the man wanted to save the dog. From what he could tell, the animal had been grievously wounded, possibly from an engagement with an opposing crew. Navy perhaps? Or a merchant ship?
"You'll heal me boy or you'll find yerself healin' your dead corpse," the pirate replied in an irritatingly calm tone. The doctor suspected this man was the captain for who else could demand an entire crew of pirates to raid a small port town for a doctor to save a dog?
"But I don't know anything about veterinary medicine!" The bi-corned and dreadlock bedecked captain cocked the pistol for emphasis to seriousness of his threat and the doctor could see him pulling the trigger. He threw his hands up in defense and shouted, "Wait! Perhaps... perhaps I'm being a little hasty in judging my own abilities? A wound is a wound, right?"
"Aye," the pirate agreed but still held the pistol to him. The dog yowled in pain and fear and tried to move from the table despite being held down by a deckhand as this battle of wills went on between the doctor and captain. "Yer life depends on his continuin', mate. Now save him."
"Alright, but just so you know, for the record I warned you." The doctor stepped over to the mangy dog and quickly did a visual examination of the animal. It was a tannish-brown mongrel with matted and dirtied fur. It's own blood further matted the hairs and from what he could see, the pirates had tried to help the poor beast with what limited knowledge of medicine they knew. But it apparently had not been enough. Internal injuries most likely, the doctor thought as he peeled back the blood soaked bandages that were wrapped around the animal's torso. A wound the size of a guinea seeped crimson liquid past caked blood and matted hair and the doctor replaced the bandage, shaking his head.
"Well?" the aged pirate inquired and the doctor could hear the concern and worry in his voice. He could not believe that this pirate could actually care about something.
"It's bad," the Englishman answered over another yowl of pain from the animal. "Deep. I assume that there is an exit wound on the other side?" The nod he received from the pirate confirmed his suspicions. "There is not much I can do for him then. All I can do is clean his wounds and sew him up and hope that whatever weapon did this, missed any of his vital organs."
"Then why are yeh still yappin'?" the pirate growled at him. The pistol pointed at the doctor had never wavered once. "Save him."
"I cannot guarantee it!" the doctor protested. "If you had any heart for the beast, you would put him out of his misery and spare him the pain!" Wrong choice of words he soon quickly learned. The pistol lowered a few inches and exploded with a loud report, smoke and brimstone. The doctor screamed in pain as he fell to the floor of the cabin, clutching his leg where blood welled up and stained his trousers.
"Save him or the next one kills you!" shouted the captain and his captive pulled away in fright and pain. The doctor had been right that the pirate would not kill him outright. At least not yet anyway.
"Captain," called the deckhand that had been holding the dog. He called again, this time using the man's name when he did not respond the first time. "Edward, he's gone."
The old pirate looked away from his prisoner to his dog, shock and loss written on his face at the news and the sight of the animal still on the table. His chest did not rise in labored breathing. No yowls of pain came from him to let them know he was fighting it even though he was frightened and hurting. He was still as if he was asleep.
"No..." he breathed and stepped over to the dog. "No... Keys." He reached a hand out to the mangy dog and softly stroked the animal's head, hoping beyond hope that it would be enough to awaken him, to make him breathe once more. Everything else was forgotten as the deckhand stepped away and the wounded doctor stared in astonishment and fear for his own life.
Nothing mattered now.
Not the doctor. Not his ship or crew. Not the plunder they had won at a heavy price. Not even himself.
The one true friend he's ever had and ever trusted was gone. A lost dog he had found on Pelegosto Island being chased by savages, but saved on a random chance of being nearby to restock the Misty Lady's fresh water supply; and whom had been his constant companion for the last several years since, was now gone.
"Sir," intruded the deckhand, bringing the pirate captain back to a reality he did not want to face at the moment. "What of him?" He turned to face the cowering doctor, his grief quickly turning into anger. This man could have saved his dog. Could have nursed him back to health. But instead of doing what he had been asked, the man had delayed with excuses and now his friend was gone.
"As promised, your life for his life," he growled and held out a hand for a pistol and the deckhand handed over his own. The pirate turned it on the doctor and pulled back the hammer.
"No, please! I beg of you...!"
"An' Keys begged for your help an' yeh did nothin'!" snarled the pirate just before pulling the trigger. A second body lay dead in his cabin and he tossed the smoking pistol onto it. He waved away the deckhand to clear the mess and be gone while he returned to his fallen friend. When he was alone finally, he pulled a chair over and sat down, the grief returning in full force as his anger subsided.
He buried his fingers of one hand into the fur of his fallen companion.
"I'm sorry, my friend."
The dog's name comes from Stutley Constable, whom I raided, pillaged, plundered and otherwise pilfered my weaselly black guts out out from to borrow the really cool name. ;)