This is the reult of a little exercise I began as I disliked(and always have) the ending of "Peter Pan" - It turned into about a 300 page story. As usual I claim no rights to Mr. Barrie's Story or any of its characters, just took them out and played with them a bit. I rated it 'T' most chapters but there are a few that area T/M or a definite 'M' for violence and language. Hope you enjoy. Please review - I have a thick skin and can take critcism, though I prefer the constructive form. It's named after the circles of mushrooms/toadstools my Mom used to point out when we were walking in the woods, because supposedly if you stand in one and make a wish it might come true. Evidently I never wished for the right thing.
Faerie Rings
Prologue
Time has a way of conspiring against us, doesn't it? There is never enough of it to do what one wants, and if there is, invariably something else comes along to eat up that precious time. Conversely, there are those occasions when time drags its heels like a frightened student on his way to the principal's office - besieged by chills, nausea, goose-bumps, sweaty palms, and that almost out of body sensation brought on by pure terror . If only it would just hurry up and all be over with, but time seems to stand still laughing at us, mocking our misfortune. One moment becomes an eternity of hellish humiliation and despair.
That was precisely the predicament James Hook found himself in - that awful moment when defeat is plucked from the jaws of victory and suddenly the whole world turns upside-down, all your carefully laid plans blow up in your face like so much dust, and you watch success and triumph slip between your fingers like water through a sieve. And on such a beautiful evening too. The air was brisk, the stars burned brightly in black sky and the full moon riding high above bathed his ship in its cold blue light. It was a perfect evening for vengeance - just not his.
Hope was returning to his formerly doomed adversary, flushing Peter's whole body like a blush on a schoolgirl's cheek. The world exploded, at least Hook wished it had, and for a moment he blacked out from the concussive force of fate aligning against him once more. The next thing he knew, he was spinning head over heels through the air before slamming back against something very hard. It knocked the wind from his lungs and left Hook bound and helpless and alone. In his shroud of confusion one thought kept running through his frazzled mind over and over - not again.
Revived by Wendy's prized secret kiss, Peter exploded from the deck with a sonic boom whose shockwaves blew the surrounding pirates far from the ship except for Captain Hook; he was left tangled in the rigging above the deck, stunned and disoriented. Peter flew a triumphant victory lap around the ship and past Wendy and the boys before turning his attention to the entangled Captain. He swooped down to the deck and grabbed the Captain's fallen sword before ascending to slash the ropes that bound Hook to the yard arm; he tossed the pirate's sword to him.
This just couldn't be, Hook thought, his senses finally returning to him. He had utterly defeated Pan. Peter had been on his back, on the deck, his will broken. Why, he'd been mere seconds from plunging his hook into that cocky boy's heart and tearing it from the brat's chest - what had happened? Wendy? That besotted little girl's kiss bestowed upon Peter had done this - to him? Hook sprang at Peter in a rage. "No!" he roared. "I have won!"
Peter floated easily out harm's way, giving Hook a sound kick between the shoulders blades as he passed. This sent the Captain tumbling once more until he smacked against one of the deployed sails. "You are old," Peter jeered at Hook. He jabbed the point of his sword under the startled pirate's chin.
Hook slashed at the blade with his claw and lunged at Peter with his sword. "But I won!" he insisted again. Peter merely caught Hook's blade with his own and with a flick of his wrist, began to spin the Captain head -over-heels, sending him floating away from the safety of the ship.
"And, you are alone!" Peter taunted, his green eyes flashing fire at the man.
"But I won! I won!" Hook complained; there was an unfamiliar quaver to his voice - rather like a child when he has just discovered he's been cheated out of his hard won reward. And now the Captain found himself drifted out over the ocean, and worse, he was sinking towards it. Under different circumstances Hook could have appreciated the panoramic view his position now afforded him of his fearsome galleon - except for the crocodile exploding from beneath the waves, its jaws snapping closed only a few yards from his feet. His stomach tied itself into a nice Celtic knot and he felt his genitalia cringe close to his body; his 'happy' thoughts of destroying Pan were slipping away and Hook desperately tried to find another.
"And," Peter said, "You are…."
"Done for," Wendy piped up, her once sweet face a picture of self-righteous scorn and disgust. The Lost Boys and Wendy took up the chant, pounding their fists in cadence against the bulkhead.
"Old, alone, done for! Old, alone, done for! Old, alone, done for! Old, alone, done for!"
Hook began to panic. It wasn't fair - he had won. And fairly, at that. He'd always believed that once he and Peter fought on an even playing field the boy would die. The only reason Pan was still alive was his ability to fly out of harm's way. That damnable flying was Peter's only advantage over the formidable pirate and once Hook had discovered the secret of how to fly he had chased Pan down and backed him into a corner, like he always knew he would.
Somehow though, Hook now feared he should never have sunk, or risen as was the case, to Peter's level. He should have made the cowardly little sparrow come down and fight him on solid ground. Oh, the Captain thought, wasn't hindsight always in perfect focus and always too late to be of any use.
How had Pan been able to turn the tables on him, Hook wondered. How had Peter managed to rob him of his victory, his retribution… his freedom? But for Wendy's intrusion the brat would already be dead. Ah, Hook thought, that was it. Peter always had an accomplice to save his scrawny ass, didn't he. And Hook's aide-de-camp had deserted him ages ago, scampering over the ship's railing like the large rat that Smee was.
Any potentially happy thought vanished at each re-appearance of the crocodile. "Killing, ripping, blood, murder," Hook stammered. "Choking, lawyers, politicians, death - a nice cup of tea." Unfortunately, he gradually sank lower, as no matter what vile and disgusting thoughts he formed to lift his spirits, they were immediately drowned out by the incessant chanting of Pan's impertinent urchins.
Every second that ticked by found him closer and closer to the crocodile. Surely there was one friendly face he could find to give him hope… to lift him from certain death. But alas, Hook found none; indeed, the children appeared more as an angry, hate-filled mob than a band of small boys, even dear Wendy, whom he'd thought enough of to invite into his crew. They despised him, as did all children.
Black-hearted pirate though he was, James Hook was ever the gentleman; his attire was impeccable as were his manners, his deportment and conduct, even if his motivation wasn't necessarily the most pure. It was demeaning to his honor to flail about in such desperation in front of his foes. Besides, he thought, the little brutes were enjoying his suffering far too much anyway. So, with as much decorum as he muster, he accepted his fate with dignity.
"Old, alone," Hook sighed. "…. done for." With those final words, he crossed his arms over his chest and dropped silently into the crocodile's waiting maw. He heard the jaws slam shut and the beast growl, and he was instantly enveloped in a suffocating, soundless blackness. He was going to die alone and unloved, just as he'd predicted.
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Edward pounded his small five-year-old fists on his knees. "No Mama!" he howled. "That's not right! It can't be!" His hazel eyes burned brightly through his angry tears.
"Well I'm sorry, Eddie," his mother said, perplexed at her son's reaction. "But that's the way the story goes. Peter Pan wins - he's supposed to." She closed the book and set it on the bedside table.
"No!" the small boy wailed, burying his face in his pillows. "It's not fair! He cheated! Captain Hook had already won! It's not fair! He can't be dead!" He pounded the mattress next to him with rage and grief until he felt his mother's hands restraining him.
With that, the boy collapsed into sobs, crying as though his heart was broken. Edward's mother shook head. She had started reading Peter Pan to her son about ten days ago; the book had been his birthday gift from her mother in Inverness, Scotland. Though the boy seemed to be thoroughly enchanted by the tale, some of his reactions had caught her off guard.
She had always thought all little boys wanted to be like Peter Pan, brave and honorable, fighting for what was good and right and decent, eternally young and carefree. But Edward's loyalties took a different path from the status quo; he had, in fact, taken an instant dislike to Peter from the moment he appeared in the story. Her son, it seems, had immediately fallen in love with Captain Hook, and now he was devastated at the mere notion of the fictional man's death; she had never heard of such a thing before in her life.
"Now Eddie," she soothed, trying to reach her distraught son. "Don't cry so. Don't you know that Captain Hook actually escapes?"
"What?" Edward sniffed, peeking out over his elbow. He wiped his face on the arm of his Tigger pajamas.
"Yes," his mother reassured, running her fingers through his dark brown hair. "Oh, it doesn't say so in the story, but don't you think he could get out if he tried hard enough?"
Edward sat up, glowering sullenly, and thought about this for a minute; it made sense. After all, the Captain still wore his very sharp hook, and if he could gut one of his crew, why not the crocodile? "Maybe he tore a hole in it? I mean, the crocodile?" he asked, blowing his nose with the Kleenex his mother handed him.
"I'll just bet he did," his mother agreed heartily. "Then he could swim back to Neverland and find his crew, and the crocodile can't ever bother him again."
"I guess so," Edward muttered. "That makes sense, sort of."
"See now," his mother said brightly, "and all those tears for nothing."
"But it hurt so bad, Mama," Edward said.
"What did, baby?" his mother asked.
"Right here," Edward pointed to the center of his chest. "It hurt awful, like someone stabbed me. And I couldn't breathe, and I was so scared."
"But you feel better now, don't you?" she asked the boy. Edward, she decided, had gotten entirely too wrapped up in the story.
"Uh-huh," Edward answered. "I mean yes ma'am, Mama."
"That's my good boy," she kissed him on the forehead and tucked him down into the covers. "I think that's enough story for tonight though. We'll read some more another day."
"Uh-uh," Edward shook his head decisively. "I don't want to. Whoever wrote that book lied about Captain Hook. And they lied about Peter Pan too, making out like he's so good and all. He's mean and hateful and when I grow up I'm gonna hunt him down and kill him. That old book's full of lies and I don't want you to read anymore of it."
"All right," His mother agreed, somewhat befuddled. "But if you change your mind we can finish it another night, o.k.?"
"O.k." the boy yawned. He snuggled under the warm blankets and starry night-sky bed sheets with the full moons on the pillowcases and closed his eyes, imagining Captain Hook cutting his way free from the crocodile's insides and swimming to shore. He fell asleep with visions of sharks feasting on the bloody crocodile corpse in his mind and a satisfied smile on his lips.
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Blackness - he could see nothing. Silence - he could hear nothing except his own heart pounding frantically. Alone - so utterly alone and deserted. Well, Hook decided, it could have gone much worse. At least it had been quick, and so far reasonably pain-free, though his oxygen-starved lungs were beginning to ache and the sea water and acids in the croc's stomach were burning uncomfortably at his skin; it would be over soon. He tried to relax and just let go, but as he did a sound screeched through his brain - the sound of a child screaming in agony before collapsing into grief-stricken sobs. He felt his jaw twitch and a uncharacteristic lump formed in his throat. It was the most pitiful sound James Hook ever heard; how odd it should choose the moment of his death to visit him.
The scream was not unaccompanied: almost simultaneously, in his mind's eye, two hands seemed to reach out from the unknown, stretching as if trying to drag him back out of his prison, begging him to accept their help. Perhaps, he decided, it was his somewhat inattentive guardian angel; better late than never. He heard it again, quite plainly, begging him - no, ordering him to fight, to struggle, to live. And though he could think of no good reason for him to continue living, James Hook was not about to let some left-over dinosaur allied to Peter Pan best him.
He shoved at the slimy walls which imprisoned him until he could squirm his right arm free and let it do what it did best. He ripped and clawed and tore at the stomach lining and then the leathery belly of the crocodile, egged on by the beast's roars of pain. And just when he thought his struggle might be a futile waste of time, cold sea water rushed into the crocodile's paunch with him, and Hook kicked and wriggled and squirmed until he freed himself from his reptilian sarcophagus.
His lungs ached and burned for air, but Hook couldn't resist the urge to thrust his claw back inside the beast and drag out every necessary organ he could reach until finally the staggering pain in his chest and head drove him to the surface. Just before he emerged from beneath the inky black waves, he looked back to see the crocodile's dead carcass sinking ever so slowly and gracefully towards the ocean floor in a shaft of moonlight, a plume of blood rising smoke-like from its corpse.
Hook exploded to the surface, gasping for air and trying to wash the burning acid from his exposed skin. The salt water stung his eyes and he tried to wipe them clean. His heart sank at his first sight; the ship - his ship, his freedom, being lifted from the water and carried away by a host of faeries. Hook could clearly see Peter Pan standing triumphantly on the quarterdeck, wearing his hat, with Wendy by his side. Now the entire island, nay, the entire world would know Peter had beaten him once again, grinding more salt into Hook's wounded pride.
"Impertinent little bastard," Hook swore to himself. He watched for only a brief moment though, as his first concern was to get himself safely to shore. The waters were full of sharks and the crocodile's blood would surely draw them. And soon the mermaids would realize he was in the water; having just survived one too close brush with death, James Hook was in no mood for another. He struck out for the shore with as much energy as he could gather.
Hook made his way up the steep , rocky sides of the Black Castle. It was a long and perilous climb on a good day, and this had definitely not qualified as such. The long trek across the island combined with his struggle to escape the crocodile had left him exhausted and he wondered if he would ever reach the top of the great stone fortress. And he had to reach the top; he had to make his way inside and rip everyone of those disloyal, mutinous scugs to shreds - beginning with Mr. Smee. The stench of the crocodile's guts still clung to him and made him retch.
After what seemed an eternity, Hook reached the top of the cliffs and headed for the inside of the Black Castle. The sea cave was deserted but evidence of his crew's presence led up the passageway to the center of the fortress, in the form of wet footprints and puddled water. He had paused to catch his breath when an odd sensation washed over his person; a warm, comforting feeling, rather like one he remembered when he'd been held in the arms of a lover - but that was ever so long ago and Hook doubted that woman even remembered him. On the other hand - he smiled grimly at his pun - how could she possibly forget him. He shrugged the feeling away and stalked up the long corridor to the main hall. Such memories could be pondered later, right now he had a massacre to commit.
Mr. Smee poked at the fire roaring on the hearth and wondered if he would ever thaw out. Nights in Neverland were chilly enough to begin with; being soaked to the skin made them downright frigid. He glanced around the hall at crew, merrily guzzling all the rum they could hold. One of them had found a box of Hook's cigars and was passing them out in fine celebratory fashion. The men laughed and slapped each others backs as they gaily sang grisly sea shanties. To the uninformed viewer, there was no evidence that this crew of pirates had just suffered a staggering defeat at the hands of a small band of little boys. There was certainly no evidence of sorrow for having lost their captain; indeed, that seemed to be primary reason for their celebration.
The door to the outside world burst open, slamming loudly against the neighboring wall and Smee's poker hit the stone floor with a resounding clank. Chairs and tables tumbled over and men leapt to their feet and all merriment ceased; hardly a man dared to breathe. They had all danced a merry dance and now Hell was here for its pay. Their recently deceased captain loomed in the doorway, the red spots in his eyes glowing brightly.
"Cap'n," Mr. Smee stammered; he tripped over the poker as he started towards his bedraggled leader. "Am I glad to see you. We was all dreadfully worried about ye. Come on in and warm yourself by the fire."
Hook settled his fiery glare on his cowardly bosun. Smee had been the first to desert; he had seen him go overboard with his own eyes. It had taken a bit of the fight out him too; after all, wasn't it Mr. Smee who had once promised never to abandon him. He glowered at the trembling old man for a moment, enjoying his suffering the suspense. With a roar of pain and anger he raised his claw, Smee cringed and the entire room held its breath… but Hook did not strike. His right arm fell back to his side as though all the tendons had been clipped at once and he felt an dreadful sinking in his gut.
"Mr. Smee," he growled between gritted teeth. "Draw me a hot bath. I reek of that beast's paunch and the stench is making me quite ill." He never looked back at the crew; he barely looked at Smee. He refused to acknowledge his own humiliating defeat and marched across the hall as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But that was precisely the problem, Hook knew; it was all too common for Peter to leave him humiliated and beaten, nursing his wounded pride. He was becoming quite weary of being the butt of all of Peter's 'jokes'.
Heading up the stairs to his suite, Hook over-heard the collective sigh of the crew once he had left the room. Well, he thought, may their wine turn to vinegar on their lips. "Serves them right," he muttered as he trudged up the stairs. "Mutinous bastards." They were all expecting to be slaughtered in a bloody rage and so he should have, and usually would have. But something about being swallowed alive seemed to have dampened his lust for blood for the short term at least - or was it that dreadful sobbing he'd heard? And where had it come from?
Hook mulled things over in his head while he stripped his stench-laden garments and the uncomfortable harness that bore his claw from his body and eased his aching muscles into the hot bath Smee had prepared. With the exception of a few scratches on his legs and one nasty scrape on his right ribcage, he found himself remarkably unscathed and he smiled wickedly to himself; Peter had no idea he was still alive - being 'dead' could have its advantages, after all. He leaned back against the tub and closed his eyes while the warm water relaxed his battered body, and began plotting Pan's demise.
"Cap'n" Smee tried to rouse his sleeping master. "Cap'n?" Smee said again, shaking the man's shoulder a bit harder. "Are you all right, sir?" Hook jerked awake and glared at his bosun.
"Quit pawing me so," he snapped. "I only closed my eyes for a moment."
Smee stared at the Captain. "But sir," he stammered, "I left ye in here over an hour ago. Ye must have dozed off."
"What?" Hook asked, incredulous. "And if I did, do you not think escaping from the belly of a crocodile is tiring?"
"Aye, Cap'n" Smee agreed. "I'm sure it would be."
Hook stood up and waited while Smee attended to drying him off and re-dressing him. God, he thought, how humiliating that he needed to be bathed and dressed like an infant. It galled his ego.
"Actually," he said thoughtfully, "You may be right. I seem to remember dreaming…"
"Of Pan again, sir?" Smee asked.
"Bugger Pan!" Hook snapped. "That little bastard cheated me out of my victory. I tell you, Smee, I had won. I was about to kill the brat too, only Wendy interrupted me and…." his voice failed him for a moment, the memory was still so painful. "I was most certainly not dreaming of Pan."
"Yes sir," Smee said, helping the Captain back into his harness.
Hook furrowed his brow. He had been dreaming, indeed, but not about anything or anyone in Neverland. Then again, he wasn't entirely positive it was a dream, for Hook had found himself in a strangle land, deep in a cool, green forest - but most definitely not in Neverland. It was obviously miles from the sea, for he'd detected no salt on the air.
At first Hook had thought it was some cruel trick of Pan's but as he had strolled through the trees he felt so calm and relaxed he felt sure Peter had nothing to do with this; it had been so long since he felt tranquil he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. He could almost believe he'd slipped into heaven had he not been so assured of damnation for his prior conduct and long list of misdeeds.
He'd been standing at the edge of the forest, looking out across a meadow to a house, and had been about to stroll over when Smee had awakened him, blast the old fool. The dwelling was unlike any he'd every seen in any of his travels - and they were extensive. From his vantage point, it appeared to have been built from bricks but the design was completely foreign to him. Further, he had seen several strangely dressed people going into and out of the house, and using extremely odd machines to travel in. But what he remembered most from his dream was that something, or someone, in that house seemed to be calling to him, drawing him to it. And now he was back here, in Neverland, an un-familiar feeling of longing swept over Hook; not merely longing to be away from Neverland, but longing to return to that forest and that house and find the soul that had sought him out, for while he'd been there he'd been at peace - and it was intoxicating; he wanted more.
"There we are, Cap'n," Mr. Smee announced brightly. "Good as new, ye are."
Hook snorted disdainfully. "Not likely," he huffed. If he went back to sleep, he wondered, could he return there? Tonight?
"Will you be wanting anything else then, sir?" Smee asked.
"No," Hook said. "And do not disturb me again tonight."
"But…"
"Get out!" Hook roared. Smee tripped over his own feet as he left, slamming the door shut behind him. Hook settled himself down with a bottle of whiskey, lounging in his padded leather chair in front of the fireplace, praying for sleep to return.
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Edward's mother watched him through the kitchen window, playing out back on the deck. Her husband had spent the last three week-ends fixing one end of it to look like a pirate ship, with a ship's wheel, pvc cannons, and a mast for Eddie to fly his skull and crossbones from. And didn't he just love it, she thought to herself as she watched her son engaged in thrilling sword-fights and shooting down enemies with his cap guns; Eddie had quite the imagination. If she didn't know better she would swear there was actually someone else out on the deck with him, the way he carried on conversations with his imaginary friends.
Captain Edward stood at the wheel of his ship in his most fearsome attire; his blue jeans were tucked into his cowboy boots and he wore his favorite Buckeye's t-shirt. His camouflage baseball cap was worn backwards and his wire-rimmed sunglasses reflected the afternoon sun, making him look frightfully intimidating. Of course, his pistols were strapped around his waist and his sword was tucked into his belt as well. As usual, he was in pursuit of his most despised enemy - Peter Pan. He was busily chasing that nasty boy back to Neverland where he would catch him and kill him - again. And then he would shoot the crocodile with his cannons and skin it for boots and maybe a belt, too.
He spun the ship's wheel, singing as he pursued his enemy. "Yo-ho-ho and an Oreo, sixteen men on a dead man's chest. It's off a pirating I go, off to kill ole Peter Pan." He would much rather have sung 'Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,' but Mama had said nice little boys didn't sing about nasty old rum. So just to make his song really gross and extra piratey he added, "And I'll keep his head in a coffee can. Yo-ho-ho!"
"Look alive, you dogs," he yelled at his 'crew.' The family's smooth-coated collie, Snickers, came trotting over wagging its tail. "Not you, boy," Edward patted the dog. "I mean that scurvy crew of mine. Lazy lubbers! Get a move on or I'll blow you full of lead! We gotta save Captain Hook!"
James Hook blinked at the bright sunlight filtering down through the canopy of green leaves; he was back - marvelous! Now to the business of discovering precisely where here was, before Smee or some other annoyance disturbed him and snatched him back to Neverland. He strolled from the woods, feeling once again drawn towards the brick house. He did not even bother to try and conceal his presence; after all, why should he? He was Captain James Hook and everyone feared him, and besides, he wanted to find whatever or whoever had brought him here - wherever here was.
As he neared the house, he heard the voice of a small boy barking out orders almost as well as he could and singing an awesome oath; Hook chuckled to himself. He crossed the yard to where the child played, a sort of porch… or rather more of a deck at the rear of the house, and he leaned against the railing, observing this buccaneer in the making. Not that James particularly cared for children; on the contrary, he despised them on general principle. But this one had such a roguish manner about him, Hook found him almost charming.
"There he is!" Edward cried, pointing towards a bank of puffy white clouds with his toy saber. "Blow him out of the air or I'll keel haul the lot of you! What do you mean you missed? What sort of sorry gunner are you? Do I have to do everything myself?" He was about to go to his cannons and shoot Peter from the clouds himself when he heard someone chuckling and realized he had a visitor. He froze in his tracks and caught Snickers by the collar, staring towards the man. He pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
Hook looked at the boy first and then to his dog and waited for the child to run screaming into the house, but it did not happen. He fully expected the boy to set the big tan and white collie after him, and again Hook was mistaken. Instead the child's hazel eyes sparkled and a broad grin spread across his face.
"Captain Hook!" Edward cried gleefully. He loosed the unimpressed dog and bounded over to the deck's rail.
" 'Tis I," Hook replied, a bit bemused. He still wondered if this wasn't all somehow Pan's trickery.
"Oh boy! I was just wishing you were here. How do you like my ship?" the boy asked. He was fascinated by the man's eyes - they were so blue. He reached a hesitant finger out and touched the silky gold embroidery on the right cuff of the Captain's crimson coat.
Still suspicious and somewhat mystified by the child's reaction, Hook glanced over the deck. " 'Tis a fine craft indeed, my hearty. And what would her name be?"
"The Black Death," Edward replied proudly.
Hook tried not to laugh. "Sounds positively fatal." He wasn't quite sure what to think of this boy; he'd never met a child before who had not run from him shrieking in terror. And those eyes, Hook thought, they held his gaze more firmly than most grown men and seemed to bore down into to his very soul.
"I thought about calling it The Jolly Roger, but you already used that one," Edward explained.
"Oh, The Black Death is a marvelous name," Hook said. "Sounds dreadfully dangerous." He glanced around the yard, searching for whomever or whatever had brought him here.
"Would you like to play with me?" Edward asked, fidgeting nervously with his shiny plastic sword . "You can even be captain of my ship if you want." He caught the pirate by his hand and examined his rings, tracing the skulls on each with his fingertips. He held one of his hands up to the Captain's palm and noted how much larger the man's hand was than his own. "Wow," he breathed.
"Play? Well…" Hook began, intending to refuse the child. The very idea, he thought, the great Captain Hook, playing with a mere child? Just think of the scandal. But then, Hook reminded himself, this was no ordinary child. He did not display any fear of the infamous pirate; indeed, he seemed overjoyed to see the Captain, almost as if the man were a long-lost uncle. Besides, the boy claimed he'd been longing for the Captain's presence, hadn't he? What if, Hook wondered, this child was one who had managed to draw the pirate out of Neverland? And when he noticed how the boy's hazel eyes twinkled with such mischief and delight, Hook could not find it in himself to say no. After all, he thought, who would ever know. "For a little while, maybe."
"Great!" Edward clapped enthusiastically. "But you better get out of the water quick, 'cause I haven't killed the crocodile yet today." He pointed to a large inflated pool float in the shape of a crocodile about twenty feet away from the deck.
"Oh good heavens," Hook feigned fright and leapt over the deck's railing. He chuckled softly to himself as the child proceeded to fire a barrage of cannon fire at the facsimile of his former reptilian tormentor while the dog barked its approval. "And what is your name, my little man?"
"Oh," Edward said, a bit embarrassed. He removed his cap with a grand sweep and bowed to the Captain. "I'm Edward Stuart, but my pirate name is Eddie the Butcher."
"How frightfully grisly," Hook grinned. "And a good name it is, too."
Edward caught the dog around its neck and hugged it. "And this is my first mate, Snickers. He takes orders real good. Watch."
Edward stood in front of the collie. "Snickers, sit." The dog sat quickly, thumping its tail on the deck's floor. "Shake," Edward commanded; Snickers obediently offered his right paw to the boy.
"See," Edward said, looking over his shoulder to the Captain.
"Aye," Hook said. "That I do. I wish my own crew obeyed half so well." He knelt beside the boy, who was now busily 'loading' one of his cannons in preparation for his next battle. "Tell me, little one, how dost thou know of me?"
"Mama read me the story last month," Edward replied.
"Story?"
"Uh-huh," Edward answered. "I mean yes sir. That's manners, you know."
"So it is," Hook said. "And you are quite the gentleman. But what story?"
"Peter Pan," Edward said; his merry expression suddenly grew quite stern. "But I don't like him. I hate him. That's why I want to kill him."
"You hate Peter?" Hook asked, incredulous; what a perfectly dreadful child this was. A child who didn't adore Peter? He'd never heard of such a thing ever. "But why?"
Edward's brow wrinkled into an angry scowl. " 'Cause he was mean to you and he cheats," the boy said seriously. "It was mean of him to cut your hand off. It was even meaner to feed it that crocodile. And then when she, I mean when Mama read that part about you falling into the croc…" he stopped short, feeling as if he might cry in front of the Captain if he said it. "So I hate him. He cheats. He's mean. And I'm gonna kill him and the crocodile."
"Thou dost not hate me?" Hook asked hesitantly.
"No sir!" Edward answered emphatically. "You're my best friend." He grinned up at the Captain's blue eyes. "I just knew you got away from that hateful old crocodile."
"And…" Hook paused, not quite sure what to think of this child. "Thou dost not fear me?"
"Uh-uh. I mean, no sir." Edward answered.
"Why not?" Hook asked, his ego feeling somewhat deflated.
" 'Cause we're, um… shipmates, and you wouldn't do anything to hurt me. You're my friend. "
The boy leaned close to the Captain, and Hook thought he wished to share a secret with him. He was thunderstruck by what happened next. He felt two small arms go around his neck and hug him tightly, and then the child kissed him on the cheek.
"You're my best friend in the whole world," the boy whispered into the pirate's ear, "and I love you."
Hook was positive he felt his heart miss several beats; the oceans ceased to ebb and flow and time itself seemed to have been frozen in its tracks. Even the planets and stars all came to a screeching halt in their orbits in the heavens above. Surely his ears were deceiving him; for certain, he must be dreaming - no little children loved him - did they? Loved him? James Hook, the scourge of the seas?
"You?" Hook asked, fighting to find his voice. "love me?" Dear God, he wondered, was this boy the one who drew him from Neverland? He must be, Hook thought - a child who loved him.
"Uh-huh," Edward answered, smiling with adoration. "I mean, yes sir. Bunches and bunches." He nestled his head against the man's shoulder and sighed, as if in a state of pure bliss. "Is that ok?" he asked.
A long-forgotten warmth seeped into the Captain's soul and before he quite knew what came over him, Hook found himself hugging the child in return. "Of course it is," he whispered hoarsely. "You're a good lad, Eddie the Butcher - a rare jewel indeed. Now, how would you like a lesson in sword-play, and then I shall tell thee of my adventures, if you like."
"Aye-aye, sir!" Edward threw him a military salute. "Ooo-rah!"
Hook had no idea how much time he actually spent entertaining the child, only that it ended much too soon. The boy was an eager fencing pupil and his lunge was improving quickly. Then they had spent hours locked in deadly battle with all manner of naval forces and buccaneers, culminating in their grand escape and Edward's killing of Pan - again. Hook regaled the boy with tales of his escapades, the appropriateness of which he now questioned. Ah well, he decided, the lad had seemed neither shocked nor scandalized, and had hung on his every word.
Eventually Edward's mother called the boy in for his supper and bath, and though the boy was loathe to leave him, Hook reassured Edward that he would come back and visit anytime the boy wished it. As he neared the edge of the forest, he could hear Smee banging on the door to his suite, and Hook woke up to find himself miserably back in Neverland. Still, it had been a blessed respite from the torment of his prison and he was positive he would indeed return to visit the boy again.