Oh Captain! My Captain!
"Augghh! The croc! The croc!" Hook ran to the edge of the plank and his gaze swept over his crew, finally settling on the small boy in green holding the stick of dynamite. "Pan- no words of mine can express me utter contempt for you."
With that, the Captain jumped into the sea, followed by the crocodile, and then by the stick of dynamite. The explosion was enough to send Smee doubling over to cover his ears, but as the sound waves stopped, he straightened up, looked around, and zeroed in on the water which had yet to calm down. Around him, there was cheering and jumping and much praise given to Pan. Meanwhile, Smee was left to look at the remnants of his best friend.
Soaring Eagle was the Brave that captured the first mate.
"Well, I suppose you're Captain now," one of the boys, Slightly was his name, came over with a smirk.
Smee was confused until he looked down at the hat that was in his hands. He hadn't realized that Hook had thrown it to him in all the commotion. He had been so focused on the danger of the croc and Hook's impending demise that catching the proud object out of the air had seemed second nature. Only now did he realize he was clutching it as a life line. His knuckles were white. His heart was hammering as well, and he was practically hyperventilating. He had witnessed these same symptoms in men who had gone through particularly gruesome battles without the stomach for it. He began to breathe carefully after that, the voice of the Captain in his ear, "The sea is no place for those who can't stand to see or draw blood. Anyone who can't do either can get their arses off me ship."
Smee looked at the boy covered in dirt and glowing with victory and let out a sigh. He placed the hat on his head. It was too big, and it looked slightly ridiculous on the short man, but he but on a stoic face and held his chin high. He didn't look at the sour expressions of those Lost Boys around him. He didn't register the tightening of the hand on the back of his vest. He ignored the look of devilish plotting on Mullins's face.
"Give me your weapon," Soaring Eagle commanded in his (or was it her? Smee could not figure it out, and frankly did not care) deep tones. With no fight, Smee handed over his beloved sword. "Nice weapon, balanced, will do well in battle."
"His name is Johnny Corkscrew," Smee said in a flat voice. "And you may have him. I have no need for him without the man for whom he was bathed in blood."
"Strong words for a weak man."
"But true."
Soaring Eagle, not one for talking, held the blade to the pirate's back and marched him off with the rest of the crew to face whatever punishment they were to endure.
XXX
With no talking for the trip through the woods, Smee was left to ponder all he had lost. He remembered the promise Hook had made to him the night before. This day was to be of Pan's death and their union, but now there would be no union. Smee had lost not only his potential lover, but his Captain, his brother-in-arms, his leader, his advisor, his partner in crime, and his best friend. The man could not remember anything before his time in Neverland, could not remember the dissatisfied man he had been in the British Royal Navy, so skilled and yet so unmotivated; all he could remember was being woken up by James Hook and being given a purpose in life: to follow him. That was all he had known for decades, and now the very driving force in his life, the flame that kept him going had been extinguished. Now, he was supposedly in charge. Captain Smee. Who had ever heard of such a ridiculous notion? It was a horrendously stupid idea.
"Yo-ho! Yo-ho! Yo-ho! The wonderful Peter Pan!"
No. They couldn't possibly be singing their song, twisting it to something so opposite of what it was. Smee's insides twisted in disgust as Pan's chest pushed out and he grinned in delight at the praise from Tiger Lily.
He saw Hook in the boy in that moment. He had all of Hook's pride in that tiny little body, and Smee hated him for it. He wished the boy would grow up so he would become the thing that he seemed to despise. That was what was worst for Smee: he knew Pan didn't hate the Captain. He saw him as a challenge, a game; it was the way Hook might have seen the boy had he not cut off his hand. Pan and Hook were so similar that Smee was pained, because despite all the similarities, Pan would never be Hook.
Hook was gone.
Smee's head hit his chest as he fought off the swelling tides of emotion that twisted his face into something horridly disgusting. Salt water was only for the seas, not for the eyes and face.
Smee looked at the pirate captured beside him, and the new captain had brown eyes shining in an expression that asked the important, most humane question: why?
Later that night, the pirates were all sat around a fire at the Indians' camp grounds. All weapons were taken away, and they were guarded where necessary. There was no chance for escape.
"You aren't Captain."
Smee ignored the comment; instead curling tighter into the ball he had placed himself into over an hour previously. The hat fell down over his eyes, enveloping him in a darkness that was too temporary to bring him any relief.
"I said you ain't me Captain!"
The voice belonged to Mullins.
"No one here would follow the likes of you! You're spineless! Cowardly! You just gave up Johnny Corkscrew, your beloved sword to the enemy with no fight! You're no leader! You're just some pet!"
The bed was warmer with two. It was one of the nights that were hard on Hook, for whatever reason, when he would call Smee into his quarters with him. They laid with James' head on the pillow and Smee's head resting on his stomach. James ran his hand through his first mate's hair with a gentleness no one would attribute to the man; meanwhile, he smoked.
"Do the others know anything of our occasional sleeping arrangements, Smee?"
"Only what they can observe themselves, sir."
"And do they say anything ill of us?"
"Nothing of you, sir, only of myself, and really, it is nothing with which to be concerned."
"What is it they say, Smee?"
Smee inhaled the scent of tobacco and James' lye soap. He heard his heart beating under his head and felt his chest as it rose and fell. Their voices were quiet, not daring to break the darkness that was only illuminated by the burning in the pipe and the small candle lit beside the bed.
"They say I am your little pet," Smee closed his eyes as he admitted this.
"Ah, well, you are."
"Captain?"
"It is true, my Smee. You are Captain's little pet. But you choose to be, with all your actions. And I adore you more than one would adore such a creature. You are loyal and you care for me, and you sleep in my bed to keep me warm on cold nights such as this. And look! Here I am petting your head!" James let out a low laugh, and Smee resisted joining in, but soon found it was too much of a struggle.
"Yes, I suppose I am, aren't I?"
"Don't listening to the bumbling band of buffoons, Smee. It is only my opinion that should matter to you."
"Aye aye, sir," Smee smiled into James' white dressing gown. "Good night, my Captain."
"Good night, my little pet."
Smee shivered with emotion, grabbing his sides.
"That's it! I am laying claim- I am Captain!"
Mullins grabbed the hat off of Smee's head, placing it on his own.
Smee looked up, saw the foreign site of the grand accessory on another person's head, and he felt rage flood through his system. Decades of fighting came to him in that moment, and he lashed out without a second's hesitation.
The dagger he had kept hidden in his boot was torn free as he stood up quickly, the motions following seamlessly into each other. Mullins, no amateur with a sword himself but unarmed, went to defect the blow, but could do nothing as the shorter man used his smaller stature to his advantage, tackling the man at the knees and pinning him at the shoulders. He gave him a few blows with the hilt of the blade.
"You bloody traitor!" Smee snarled. "You always wanted the Captain's place, and now because he's gone you think you can just take it! Smee is JUST A WEAKLING! Let me tell you something: I don't kill for pleasure, you nit wit! I kill when those I love are threatened!" Smee's blows were relentless; still, Mullins tried to use Smee's distraction to his advantage, rolling them over. Smee rolled with him though, and soon they were back in their former position, only now the dagger was at Mullins' neck and his shoulders were pinned in such a way he couldn't fend off the fatal blow. "You may have the blood lust to be a better pirate and a less reserved fighter, but I'm the better man. When I fight, it's for a good cause, and that makes me more dangerous. No one ever knew Smee was the only one to take down Bill Jukes while he was in a fit. No one knew he could out shoot Noodler with a pistol. No one knew he was able to draw the blood of so many Indians in quick succession they fear now to scalp him. No one understood that he engaged the Captain for days and days and days despite the fact that he was in a rage not because he thought the Captain wouldn't hurt him, but because I knew I could stop James if he tried!"
The tears showed up again, but this time Smee let them flow onto Mullins' disgusted face.
"Be the buggering Captain. I don't give a bloody care. But don't you dare wear his hat."
Smee stood, grabbing the hat off the ground and placing it onto his head. He marched off to the woods.
He refused to look at what was left of the crew for their reactions.
"Stop," Soaring Eagle grabbed his arm. Without hesitation, Smee engaged the man, and soon had him in a hold, the dagger pressed at the small of the Indian's back.
"What will happen to them?"
"Come morning, all prisoners are to be put to death. Orders of my lady Tiger Lily."
"Pay careful attention to that man there," Smee pointed with his left hand to where Mullins was pushing away the men trying to help him up. "Don't underestimate him."
"Why you tell Soaring Eagle this? You no kill him?"
"No, I'm not. Not now."
"Not now, Smee?"
The Indian turned around when he realized there wasn't an immediate threat to his life. Smee's lips twisted at the familiar sentiment.
"No, not now. Good bye, Soaring Eagle. You be loyal to Tiger Lily," Smee backed off, seeing in front of him a kindred spirit.
"Mister Smee," the Brave nodded, letting the man disappear into the woods. He would not see him again.
XXX
Smee spent hours combing the water for what he could find, but eventually he did find the water-logged body, or what remained. James T. Hook was still mostly there, if not very worse for wear, but Smee still took him onto the shore where he collapsed on the corpse in exhaustion.
The sun was breaking on the horizon, but Smee didn't want to be around to see it. He spoke into the darkness, "I can't think of what to say, but I just never thought I would be without you. We were to die together, or just me, or not at all. This wasn't an option." Smee's tears had dried by now. "I suppose, if I were to have last words, I'm glad they are in front of only you, even if they are borrowed. "You once read a poem to me. I can't help but feel it's all too relevant now, sir. If I may be so bold, I would like to ask for silence for a man's last words to his best friend and lover.
"O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! Heart
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
The arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead."
Smee took out his dagger, held James's hand, and plunged the knife in hilt deep.
Thus perished William Smee.