And I was burning up a fever
I didn't care much how long I lived
But I swear I thought I dreamed her
She never asked me once about the wrong I did
Captain Hook woke on the floor of his ship the next morning – not altogether an unusual experience for him after a night at the tavern – with a searing pain burning through his mind and his pulse hammering out a rhythm in his temple. He must have hit his head when he lay down – or more likely collapsed. But he thought – he thought he remembered…
There was a tavern wench, no she was more than that, a woman with bright green eyes and a tumble of golden curls, and by gods a delectable display of cleavage. She had drank with him, toyed with him, come back to the ship with him. What he remembers most, though, is how she had kissed him – full of fiery energy that had bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Gods, he would love to kiss that woman again. But – but while they had been kissing, had she hit him? No, no, he had hit himself. But that couldn't be right, why would he do that? The details were fuzzy, but he could have sworn…
No, it was simply a bizarre dream, he told himself. Captain Hook reaches for the bottle on the table and pulls the cork out with his teeth, taking a long, deep drink; must have been the rum.