1880, NEW YORK
Thermopylae sat comfortably in her berth, dozing in the midday sun. She had just offloaded a cargo of lime (the rock, not the fruit!) and was glad to be rid of it. The stuff was incredibly flammable when wet which did no ship any favors. She wasn't sure what was next and honestly didn't care, as long as it wasn't explosive. From behind her came the noise of some kind of commotion but Thermopylae was content to remain in her dose. Let the tugboats cause mischief. They knew better than to come and annoy her. The old clippers may have lost their trade but they were still a highly regarded breed by most ships. It was the cry of "find a doctor!" that got her attention and her eyes snapped open. A pair of steamships were assisting another into her dock. And by assisting, I mean carrying. They were carrying the third ship. Thermopylae couldn't make out much other than the fact she had a black hull and was definitely a sailing ship. She has three masts which wasn't unusual but it was the shape of her hull that was. Sleek and streamlined, the other could only be a clipper. That was what made Thermopylae's action mandatory. There were so few of them left. Every effort had to be made to protect each other.
As the old clipper backed out of her dock, relying solely on the lower sails on her mizzenmast she was forced to stop as Carmania pushed past her at a speed that briefly made Thermopylae jealous of steam engines before she pushed that aside. The Cunard liner was young but she was a damn good healer! If anyone could help this poor clipper, it was her. Thermopylae came up behind her, looking over her shoulder as she worked. She couldn't hide her cry if she tried. It was Cutty Sark. She hadn't seen her old friend since their days in Asia. She had been a sorry sight then but if Thermopylae had thought she couldn't look any worse, then she was wrong. Cutty Sark was too weak to even wheeze. Her flanks didn't even move. Only the flare of her nostrils and the ever so faint beat of her heart indicated to Carmania she was still alive. "Talk to me, doctor." Thermopylae asked quietly, finding her voice at last. Carmania, not realizing the clipper had snuck up behind her (the advantage of sails, no moving parts), glanced at her. "I could use a helping hand here Thermopylae." She said. "You have it." Thermopylae replied instantly. Carmania handed her a bottle of something and a swabbing stick. "Smear this on her nose." She ordered. Thermopylae opened the bottle and took a sniff. The oil was incredibly sweet smelling and all too familiar. She glared at the healer. "I don't like it anymore than you do. But until she wakes, I won't risk shocking her system by depriving it." Carmania said. Thermopylae sighed and gently applied the opium across Cutty Sark's nose.
Cutty Sark shuddered as she breathed it in, her heart rate almost instantly settling down where before it had been thready and frantic. Thermopylae capped the bottle and handed it back to Carmania before washing her wires. "Want to avoid the temptation?" The healer asked. "I don't have one to begin with. Not many realize this but I'm the only ship of my kind who never developed an addition for opium." Thermopylae replied. Of course, the same could not be said for other things. Her tobacco habit for one was particularly bothersome. She could not smoke her pipe for more than half a day before she started feeling dizzy. Carmania grunted, secretly impressed. "Good. You've just volunteered to be my assistant full time." She said. "I'm not a healer, Carmania." Thermopylae pointed out. "I just want to help my friend." "And you will." Carmania promised, now handing her a cold cloth. "Keep at it until she stirs. If she ever does."
Thermopylae followed her instructions to the letter, tending to Cutty Sark as the other battled a raging infection in her lungs and stomach. The days went by and Thermopylae grabbed cat naps when she could. But she never left Cutty Sark's side. As she worked, she got the full story from the ships who brought her in. White Star's Atlantic and Britannic. They told her that Cutty Sark had been short of provisions and had not eaten anything for over a week. Ravenous, she devoured the quick meal Atlantic had managed to scrap together but then she quickly took a turn for the worst. Atlantic said when they met mid-ocean, she could smell the alcohol on Cutty Sark and almost certainly the cutter was high on opium as well. The indulgence in drink had made her forgetful, starving her. No doubt her severely weakened state left her vulnerable to the illness that ravaged her body. Thermopylae cursed Cutty Sark even as she tended to her, love issuing from every soft brush of the cloth.
Finally, late one evening, Cutty Sark stirred. Thermopylae heard the change in her breathing and brought her cloth back up to her face. She dabbed her eyes gently, clearing away the sweat. Cutty Sark opened them, her green gaze clouded and unfocused but after a few blinks she focused on the other cutter. "Thermopylae?" She rasped, erupting in coughs as soon as she finished the word. Thermopylae brushed her muzzle against hers. "I'm here." She replied softly. Cutty Sark shivered as she leaned into the touch, bow rising enough to bury itself in Thermopylae's shoulder as she cried. Thermopylae cradled her. "Shh. It's okay. You're alright now." She whispered. "I am never leaving you again." She planted a kiss atop her head. Cutty Sark's breath hitched and even though it hurt her she rasped "Promise?" "Promise." Thermopylae smiled and kissed her again.