Hook held Emma back as he entered through the large hole in the side of the hull, glancing around at the fallen planks and the storage containers tossed about, as though they'd been rummaged already, and it gave him a tingle that burned his spine because he knew whatever they could find there, chances were the Lost Boys had found it as well. And anyone else who resided on this island. Turning back to give her a reassuring smile, he quickly shifted his gaze to the Doctor, pushing open a box in a corner with a satisfied humph as he allowed his own face to crumple with understanding: this was dangerous on a whole new level with this madman bustling about.
Who opened an crate marked "Explosives" on a ship crashed in the middle of the jungle?
Clara had been absolutely right about him.
The Doctor swooped his Sonic over the contents and then nodded back, "We can take a few armloads, or find something in which to carry them and then…"
"Uh," Hook managed, lifting a hand quickly as the Doctor shot his into the crate, "Don't!"
Freezing, the Doctor turned, eyebrows rising before he smiled, "Don't?"
Hook couldn't even crack a joke as he tilted his head slightly and winced, "I'm going to wager those have been sitting out for some time – this environment… not entirely safe."
"They're explosives, of course they're not entirely safe," the Doctor replied quickly, then asked to the look of terror on the other man's face, "Why are these, specifically, not safe?"
With a nod, Hook spat back, "Conditions mate, they could explode at the drop of a hat – and when I say the drop of a hat, I mean that somewhat literally."
Eyeing him, the Doctor withdrew his hand and frowned, "We could set diversions with these. We could rescue Clara and Henry using them. We could…"
"Not touch them; find another way," Hook supplied quickly, moving closer to lift his hand and gesture at the Doctor to back away, but the man remained, frown now set on his pressed lips. "Doctor, it really isn't a good idea."
There were few looks in the universe that could get the Doctor to change his mind, looks that carried with them a weight of both emotional and intellectual turmoil. Right now Hook was seeped in one of those looks, eyes widening slightly as he waited, breath held. With a rough sigh, the Doctor turned away, muttering a quick, "You're right."
Emma shifted back and let out a huff of laughter, "And we finally agree on something."
Glancing around, the Doctor tossed his Sonic from one hand to the other and told them absently, "Looks like an old slave ship – don't know how it got this far inland," he cocked his head sideways, "Maybe a tsunami, a tsunami within a hurricane, maybe," he pointed at them, "Magic."
"Getting more accustomed to the idea of magic?" Emma offered with a smirk, working her way around the room and lifting a set of shackles off the ground and letting them fall back with a loud set of clangs. She glared at the skeleton that had been left tied to a post, neck awkwardly hung, and she grimaced.
The Doctor lifted a hand absently, "Accustomed, possibly – more likely it's just a fun way of explaining away the things we don't understand."
"You got an explanation for pixie dust?" Emma challenged.
He glanced up at her, "Hyper radicalized solar particles."
"What's that?"
Shrugging, he admitted, "Dunno, just made it up," then he spat, "No, I don't have an explanation – yet. Magic is impossible. It's obviously a wormhole of sorts, opened after you landed, who knows how long it'll last. Same as the whirlpool on the ocean – wormhole, not pixie dust."
Hook snorted, gaining a smile from Emma, and he moved to a ladder and gestured up, "I'll search out the ship, make sure there aren't any Lost Boys lying in wait – and it might be good to have a bit of a rest," he glanced at Emma, seeing the exhaustion in her body despite her attempts to straighten.
Moving towards him, the Doctor agreed, "See if I might get another sword?"
Hook laughed, "Don't think a sword would be a good fit for you."
"Suppose your right," the Doctor replied, watching him climb upward before moving back through the hull and finding an old sword anyways, lifting it into his hand delicately and glancing towards the gaping hole in the ship's side. He sighed and stepped outside of the wreck, feeling somewhat claustrophobic in the damp environment and a bit wrought with nerves he'd never felt before.
"That thing's rusted," Emma told him, "You probably shouldn't mess with it."
"Rust gives it a good color," he replied plainly, continuing to walk towards the jungle a moment so he could get another read. It was beginning to feel futile. Everything in this place felt futile. All leaves and rotting vines and no computers or corridors – he certainly was out of his element. The Doctor smiled, Clara would tease him about that, if she were there. He sighed, seeing the spot, out of the corner of his eye, where she'd normally be smirking up at him, and pocketed the Sonic.
Feeling Emma on his heel and he turned, glancing at her in surprise. "Shouldn't you be," he gestured back at the Black Rock, "You know… not wandering off?"
She rolled her eyes, "Hook's not the boss of me."
"Didn't mean to imply that was so," he sighed sadly. "But you should go to him. Might be a good opportunity to get closer – one never knows which breath might be their last," he smiled, nodding to the ship, "Go on, I'll be alright out here. You two could get some rest; I'll wake you in an hour or so."
Emma stared at him, standing awkwardly just beside the shipwreck with the sword held loosely in his hand as he stared up at sky. Taking a step towards him, she asked cautiously, "You tell me to trust him, to have faith in him, get closer to him… why do you keep telling me these things?"
Head dropping, he grinned at the ground before bringing his sad gaze to her to admit, "Maybe I'm compensating."
"For you and Clara," she understood.
He lifted a hand, palm opening, before he told her, "I trust her, I have absolute faith in her… I just…" he trailed, mouth hanging open a moment before he shook his head.
"Can't get close," she told him knowingly.
He glanced up at her again and sighed, "I don't know how to."
Emma huffed a laugh and offered, "Don't know how to break it to you, buddy, but it doesn't take much effort."
"Doesn't it?" He smiled.
She shook her head, "No, just… she's followed you in a wooden box into space, I don't think it would take much for her to let you into her heart – I'm gonna bet you're already there, you just have to let her into yours."
Releasing a sigh, he explained, "The life of a Time Lord isn't one that easily accommodates love."
"True love accommodates anything," Emma replied quickly, thinking of Henry and how much he would appreciate those words escaping her lips.
And the Doctor wore the boy's satisfied grin for him as he nodded, telling her plainly, "Spoken as one who knows all too well."
Cocking her head, she shrugged. "My parents are Snow White and Prince Charming."
He nodded and responded, "You know what I mean."
On a sigh, she turned back to the ship, "Yeah, I probably should rescue him from his thoughts."
The Doctor nodded, looking back out to the night sky.
Peter Pan had left her alone, sitting by the bonfire, but she could feel his eyes on her as he danced around it with the other boys. The occasional hand brushed her shoulder, but she didn't budge, not wanting to let them in on the fact that she was properly terrified. The two children back home had played a similar game when she'd first arrived – after they'd dealt with their sadness, they became overwhelmed with anger and they directed it at her. Why had their father allowed her to stay in their home? Why had he chosen her as a substitute for their mother?
She was sure she'd yet to convince them she wasn't a replacement.
How could one so easily replace a mother?
"Clara," someone called.
Turning and glancing at the boys who laughed and hopped about, she frowned and sighed, holding Peter's gaze through the flames as he smiled at her, lifting a flute to his lips to play. She listened to the silence that emerged amongst the crackling of fire and the stomping of feet and clasped her hands in her lap around the empty coconut shell. They all shouted her name at once and she jumped in spite of herself, listening to their laughter.
"Peter, can she tell a story?"
"Peter, can she mend a wound?"
"Peter, can she dance?"
"Peter, make her sing a lullaby!"
The questions were shouted, taunts launched in her direction and Peter's jaw clenched as he watched her react to each one with frustration. She wanted to run, but she knew it was pointless, seeing the spears in their hands and the sentries on guard around the camp. And then she felt a hand slip into hers and yank her from the log, pulling her into the dancing circle and dragging her along as they laughed around her.
"Stop!" She shouted, trying to tug her hand away, but the fingers were stronger than her own and the face hidden behind the mask looked back at her in amusement. "Stop it now!"
"Careful boys," Peter quipped, "Mother's angry."
"Will she spank us," came a young voice on a laugh.
Peter paced behind the dancers, watching Clara round the bonfire for a second time, eyes darting about in cautious fear. He reached out quickly, arm slipping around her waist and he pulled her free, holding her apart from the boys to gauge the panic in her eyes, but she only stared at him, resolve as strong as ever and he shifted back, fingers lingering at her side.
"I've played these games before," she told him coyly.
"You have," he nodded.
"You don't frighten me," she growled.
"Don't I?" Peter smiled.
"You're just a boy."
"I AM!" He shouted in her face. Then he stepped back and gestured at the others who had stilled to a stop around the fire to watch them. "Aren't we all?"
She looked to them and shook her head, "You're not Lost Boys, you're lonely children without homes."
"Isn't it quite the same, Clara?" Then he tilted his head at her, "Are you not the same?"
Clara smiled angrily, "You think you're quite clever, don't you, Peter."
He bowed.
"But you're so unloved."
He inched forward, drawing his sword and forcing her into a tree and Clara felt her back press into it roughly as the blade settled against the skin at her neck, "Little girl who wanders the skies, what are you running from?"
"I'm not running from anything," Clara rasped.
"You aren't?" He huffed, lips spreading into a grin. He shifted the sword and whispered, "Mum and dad not around, the children you serve don't really need you – do they, Clara? And a mad man, a man whose intentions you question every day, shows up at your door and you run with him. Seeking adventure and attention." He glanced at the boys watching them, lips coming back just over her earlobe. "Really now, are you not the same?"