My needles were threaded. The candles were lit. The knife strapped to my side felt hot. Hooks fingers closed on some metal, I looked for something to overturn, anything to postpone this moment. Not this moment. Time stalled.
"Miss Darling," he was at my side. He had thrown his coat to the wall, and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. I could see twisted, scarred skin, snaking under straps and cap of his prosthesis. The leather was stained dark, the rivets caked in blood-rust. He held the flat of the blade against Peter's chest. I was out of time. I pulled out my knife in one hand, and grabbed his hook in the other. I sliced at his throat. He was faster, batting my arm away with the pen knife. I cried out and my weapon flew across the room.
"I was wondering when you were going to try that." He wiped my blood on his shirt. My left forearm burned. "I'd say you waited a bit long. Next time strike when your opponent is unarmed."
I backed away from him in fear, waiting for the bite of his knife.
"You're not much of a killer, though... are you?" he asked, "More of a doll-maker... rather macabre choice of materials for a little girl, I must say."
"I could be a killer if I wanted to. I'd kill you," I said, "You horrible monster," I glanced at Peter, so still and small.
"Oh..." Hook smiled, "I see how it is. You have feelings for the boy. He can't change, girl. He won't! He cannot love you!"
"You're wrong. I know he does because-"
"Oh yes, yes, that is all very touching. Alright, how about this, little Wendy: new deal..." He took my knife off the floor, "You do as I say, and I don't kill him when I'm finished." He saw me eying the crocodile knife, "You don't do as I say, and I start doing a bit of..." he stroked Peter's small hand with the spine of my knife, "Pruning."
The game of chess was over. Queen, pinned to King, a stalemate was the best I could hope for at Hook's whims, "What would you have me do?"
Hook stared at Peter with loathing, "Miss Wendy, would you care to make the first incision?" He held the small knife out to me and a second an inch above Peter's hand, "Say yes." He dragged out the word in a hiss.
I knew what he asked. A long cut down the center, big enough to pull aside the muscles. If I did it myself, I could keep it clean and repairable. Hope welled up. And I'd have a knife in hand again. Maybe I had one more play for our lives. I took the knife from Hook, and held it above Peter. His skin was tea and cream, flushed with the warmth of life and blood. Beneath this skin, a glorious treasure could be found. If such beauty could be found above, what sacred sights could be hidden below? I set the blade on him. The cold steel raised goosebumps on him. He could still feel.
The realization hit me like a sickness. What could they give him that would leave him like this, and yet conscious? And why? Revenge? The weight of the little knife made a lovely dimple in his skin. I pressed my other hand to the soft flesh above his heart. My blood ran onto his skin and puddled between my fingers. I could feel his heart flutter within its cage. A young and beautiful bird, longing to be free. I could imagine the feel of cutting into him. A long, gentle stroke. The snapping of sinews. I could wrench apart his bones and explore this wonderful boy in the most intimate way I knew. I desired it. Better it were me, than the bloodthirsty man across from me, after all. Then I caught sight of Peter's soft bowed mouth. It seemed almost smiling, even now. Small boy. Beautiful, perfect boy. No... one doesn't do things like this.
"I won't." I said, pulling back.
"You won't, or you can't, Miss Wendy?" Hook taunted.
I considered, petting the back of the knife fondly, wetting it in my own blood and admiring it in the lamplight, "No, I can. I just won't."
Hook looked down at the knife in his hand, then back at me, flustered. He grabbed the knife back from me, "Fine. Be that way." He made a show of raising a knife above his prisoner. He opened his eyes and furrowed his brows in a most fearsome way.
I licked blood from my fingers, "I would not bother with that, Captain Hook."
"What?"
"Since you will kill us both anyway, you might as well know: You will not find what you seek in this boy's body." He stared. I shrugged, "It's not there."
His black-lined eyes widened, then narrowed, "The fairy lied to me."
"No. You just misunderstood."
He took this as an insult, gasping, "I did not! She said... It was in his heart." A youthful frustration took him when he realized his mistake. He yelled, and took the knife to my Peter. Peter twisted against his bonds. If he made a sound, I could not hear it over my own cries. Hook drew aside muscle like a curtain. Inside, the boy was made of light. Glistening rubies and diamonds, held in by caring ivory fingers. A dewy crimson web wrapped and wove into him. Its roots grasped at the muscle that pulled away from him. They cried in pain as their perfection was desecrated.
Suddenly I was on the table, standing over him. I was supposed to protect them, I was supposed to protect them all. I bit and iron bit me. I spit and I pulled at the devil's hair. It was his blood under my fingernails now. I found myself with a knife in my hand again. His hook was in my side, but I had a blade to his throat.
"I will give you..." I gasped for breathe, leaning in, "I can give you what you want. Only leave him alone."
"Surely," He swallowed hard, "You jest."
"I gave Tinkerbell her life. I may just return yours," forced the steel to his skin. I backed him up to pick up the crocodile blade.
"Life is nothing to me," He said.
"Liar," I cut the leather binding his hook to his stump and took a deep breathe at the movement of iron under my flesh.
"Can you give me my youth?" I hung the leather strap around my arm to keep the hook from ripping out by force of gravity. My ears pricked at the sound of patting feet outside the door. "Can you give me eternity?"
"I cannot make you something you are not." I pressed Hook to the base of the table, and made him sit.
"Alright... what am I then?"
I didn't answer. The answer came up from behind him, and the shadow rose up behind me.
"A codfish," said Peter.
Then a great ringing of swords and bells began outside, as the boys attacked.