Faerie Rings

by HooksGuardian

No little children love Captain Hook, except one little boy does with such tenacity & fervor that he manages to draw the fierce pirate captain out of Neverland and into his own world & time nightly. Years later, the boy now a man, his career and life floundering, finds himself sucked into Neverland via a faerie ring, a circle of mushrooms. How will his presence affect Neverland?

Faerie Rings

Prologue

i me 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.

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 grandmother 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.?"

"Okay." 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.

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 an 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 every one 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 other's 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, 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 a 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 ever seen in any of his travels - and they were extensive. From his vantage point, it appeared to have been built out of 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 carriages 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.

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 the Butcher 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 Stewart, 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.

When Peter Pan returned to Neverland with The Jolly Roger, he quickly abandoned the pirate galleon. It was, after all, rather boring to him without any pirates aboard to fight and kill. This made Captain Hook's retaking of his ship a simple task, and he lay in wait for days hoping Peter would return, thinking him dead. Unfortunately for the Captain's plan, the crocodile's rotting corpse washed up on the beach just a little south of Pirate's Cove and the stench wafted across the entire island for days, turning everyone's stomach - except for Hook's; he relished every nauseating moment. The manner in which the beast had been slaughtered told Peter that his old nemesis was still alive and kicking, but strangely enough, Hook seemed pre-occupied with other matters than him, which piqued Peter's ego.

Hook sat on deck in one of his padded chairs, staring out toward the island and puffing on a cigar. Peter was keeping himself suspiciously inconspicuous. He was definitely not using the under-ground house anymore for a hideout; Hook had checked there first, and frequently rechecked the spot, just to be sure. He had combed the island end to end, with the exception of the Indian's camp, and had not laid eyes on Pan nor any of his hoard of urchins though it was rumored the lost boys had opted to stay in London with Wendy's family. The brat hadn't even bothered to fly out and harass the crew.

Peter though, was not the primary object of the Captain's attention of late. He was far more interested in those blessed escapes to visit a small dark-haired boy who adored him; a child Hook had believed for centuries would never exist - a child who loved him.

At first Hook had thought Edward was part of a series of vivid, recurring dreams. Sometimes he still wasn't sure; but dream child or real it was the first time the pirate could remember being the recipient of another's genuine affection - and certainly the first time he could recall caring for anyone other than himself. And there was no denying it; no matter how hard he tried to rationalize his way out of it, Hook craved the boy's love and attention. It was more addictive than any of his vices; no drink, no drug, no pleasures of the flesh, no amount of killing or pillaging had ever soothed the lonely ache in his soul the way one small boy had.

It was easy to lose track of time in Neverland, so Hook was not exactly sure how many years and months had passed since he first started his nightly visits to that strange and peaceful world where the boy lived. Time seemed to pass differently there also, and Edward, as all normal boys do, was growing older though his affection for the Captain had not seemed to wane. Indeed, it had grown much stronger to where, even on those days when he was unable to visit with the Captain, Hook could feel the boy's longing and yearning to be with him, and that made him feel just a little less lonely in this island prison.

The day passed slowly and dreadfully uneventful, as usual, and when darkness finally came, Hook once again retired to his cabin to sleep. He first lounged at his desk, smoking a last cigar and enjoying a few brandies to calm him nerves before settling into his bed. Then it was merely a matter of relaxing and allowing sleep to overtake him, of waiting for the clean, green smell of those woods….

Edward stomped angrily through the horse barn and out back behind the tractor shed. He spent several minutes hurling fir cones and rocks at an old, rotting maple at the edge of the woods. To improve his aim, he envisioned his father in place of the maple tree that he was targeting.

"Lying son-of-a-bitch," Edward mumbled to himself. The rock he threw bounced off the maple's trunk and ricocheted off through the trees. Daddy was supposed to take him deer hunting next weekend and they were supposed to be buying him new hunting boots today, but now he was on restriction and had to stay home. It wasn't fair, Edward thought. Daddy had told him if he got good grades in school, he could have the boots. Just because Mrs. Poole had sent a note home about him, Edward thought, it wasn't right to go back on their deal; he had gotten all A's on his report card.

But that wasn't the worst part. His father had been so angry that he had taken down the ship's wheel and mast from the back deck and had taken them and Edward's cannons to the dump. Edward had made the mistake of trying to stop his father - boy, was he sorry he'd done that. All he'd managed to do was to add a first class whipping to his punishment and had been put on restriction; no tv, no hunting trips, no going to the store, and he had to go to bed early too, even on the week-ends. He leaned back against the shed's wall, glaring at nothing in particular. He was not going to cry, he told himself. He was nine years old and he was not going to let Daddy make him cry this time.

Captain Hook strolled through the crisp autumn woods, admiring the brilliant colors of the leaves. He had never seen anything as extraordinary as them in all his travels, not even in Neverland; they were truly breath-taking. He was making his way towards the house when he spied Edward, still venting his wrath upon the hapless maple. The boy had quite an arm, he thought, and excellent aim also, for he struck the tree almost every time. He walked over and stood behind Edward.

"You've got a good eye there, lad," Hook remarked, inadvertently startling the boy; Edward practically jumped out of his skin. "Steady lad," he chuckled, "I thought you saw me come through the forest."

"No sir," Edward replied. He ducked his head and jammed his ball cap down over his face so the Captain could not see where he'd been crying. The cap, however, did not hide his ears, which were still flushed red with anger, and Hook did notice them.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, noting Edward's behavior.

"No sir," Edward mumbled, then felt very ashamed for lying to his friend. "I mean, yes sir, sort of."

Two Adirondack chairs were nestled comfortably under an oak and Hook led Edward over to them. "What's happened, child?" Hook asked softly. He sat down and waited for the boy to take his seat. It was quite obvious the boy had been crying recently and was still very upset; he would not even look at the Captain.

Edward sighed and flopped down next to Hook, still keeping his face turned away. He stared down at his feet for what seemed ages before he spoke again. "Sir, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you think I'm too old… I mean… I know I'm nine but…"

"What is it lad?" Hook asked.

"Am I too grown up to sit on your lap?" Edward ducked his head again, afraid of what the answer might be.

"You will never be that grown up, lad," Hook patted one knee invitingly and Edward crawled onto his lap, nestling his head under the pirate's chin. Hook wrapped his arms around the child. He felt the great sigh the boy heaved and the child's tears that soaked through his silk shirt and onto his chest. "What's this?" he asked softly; he felt the boy's shoulders heave.

"I'm gonna miss you so much," Edward sobbed.

"What!?" Hook tried to control his alarm. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Daddy tore down my ship this morning," Edward wheezed. "He said I was too old to be playing like that. I tried to stop him but…" he hesitated, ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry. I tried to make him stop but I couldn't. And then he gave me a whipping and put me on restriction."

"The dog," Hook said angrily. "To scuttle your ship like that. 'Tis a barbarous thing, this growing up." He gave the boy's shoulders a squeeze. What pluck this child had to challenge his father, and him such a small boy. "But what's all this talk of missing me? Why? Are you going away?"

"No, but my ship is gone, and now you won't come back," Edward whispered.

"What?" Hook snorted indignantly. "Me? Abandon you? Are you not my friend?"

"Of course," Edward sniffed. "Always."

"Child, I come to see you, not your ship," Hook soothed. "I have a ship in Neverland if I want to look at one, but alas, I do not have a friend there. My friend is here." He lightly tapped one of Edward's knees with the back of his hook.

"Yes sir," Edward wiped his face with the backs of his hands and hugged the Captain. He felt incredibly safe in the man's arm. He wished he could go back to the pirate's ship with him and never come back. He was sure it was a sin, but Edward felt he loved Captain Hook more than his own father and he was absolutely convinced the Captain loved him more than Daddy did. He burrowed as close to Hook as he could.

Presently he pulled the man's right forearm close to him and traced the exquisite gold embroidery on the cuff of Hook's coat with his fingers. It was silky smooth to the touch and very shiny. He absent-mindedly let his fingers wander onto the ornate carving on the wooden base which bore the Captain's claw and then along the gleaming steel hook itself.

Hook nervously watched the boy's examination of his appliance. That glorious, warm little ache in his chest was back. No one ever dared to lay a finger on his person, let alone his hook. Most people seemed repulsed by it and avoided his right side altogether. Yet Edward frequently lavished attention on his deficiency, as if trying somehow to ease his pain and to understand what it all meant. The child's benevolence brought a lump to his throat which Hook quickly swallowed away.

Edward looked up suddenly and caught a glimpse a of Hook's anxious expression. "I'm sorry," he snatched his hand back. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No child," Hook answered hoarsely. "I don't mind." He offered his arm back to the boy. "You make me feel - normal."

"Silly," Edward snorted, "You are normal." He continued his examination of the man's shiny hook, then returned to tracing the silky gold embroidery on the lapel of Hook's coat.

Reconciling his love for the boy often left Hook in quite a mental quandary. As a rule, he despised children on general principle because they despised him. Until Edward, the only children the fierce pirate had contact with were Pan's lost boys and hating them was easy, for they tormented him at every opportunity. In return, Hook killed every one of the little brutes he caught.

For a brief while he had thought the girl, the story-teller, had been different from the rest; she had shown some promise - a cut above the usual caliber of Peter's associates. He had originally considered Wendy as an intelligent individual capable of understanding and compassion, not one of the throng of Pan's sheep following the brat blindly. But in the end, Wendy had hated the Captain as vehemently as any other child might; she had been quite a discouragement to Hook. And then, there was Edward.

Hook supposed he should thank Wendy for hating him so and ultimately causing his defeat and much celebrated demise. Had she not interfered, the Captain might never have found Edward, and nothing could be more diametrically opposed from Wendy and the others than Edward. Heaven forbid any of his crew see him so besotted with a mere child, they would surely mutiny at once. But truth be told, Hook knew he would cut off his entire left arm himself if it meant he could have the boy with him in Neverland. He smiled with satisfaction when Edward burrowed deep into his arms once more.

"Daddy lied to me," Edward sniffled. He softly patted Hook's forearm resting on his knees.

"About what?" Hook murmured. He rubbed the boy's shoulders and let his chin rest atop Edward's head. It distressed him to find the child so upset and though it piqued his pride to know it was all over him, it hurt also.

"He said if I brought home a good report card I could have some new hunting boots and we'd go deer hunting."

"And?" Hook queried. "Didst thou keep your part of the bargain?"

"Yes sir," Edward grumped. "I made all A's. But that mean old Mrs. Poole sent a note home just because I argued with her in class, and now Daddy says I can't have the boots and he won't take me hunting with him neither."

"Hmmm," Hook mused, "Arguing with your instructors can be a dangerous business, lad. What was the cause of this discord?"

Edward looked up at the man, perplexed. "Huh?"

Hook smiled to himself; Edward was such a solemn child that sometimes he forgot just how young the boy was. "What were you arguing with your teacher about?"

"Oh," Edward ducked his head, embarrassed. "She said Black Beard was the most terrible pirate ever, and I kinda rolled my eyes 'cause she was wrong." He wrinkled his nose with disgust.

"And for this you are being disciplined?"

"Sort of," Edward admitted. "She asked me who I thought was worse than Black Beard and I told her you were, on account of how you took his best ship away from him."

"Aye," Hook smirked, very satisfied with himself at the memory. "I ran that pompous peacock through using the very thrust Barbeque taught me at Rio."

"I know," Edward said glumly. "But she said she was talking about real pirates and I said you were real… and then we had that argument." He paused and took a deep breath to steady his voice. "That's why she sent the note home. 'Cause I kept telling her you were real and that you killed Black Beard, not that stupid British Navy guy - and then everyone laughed at me…" His voice faded away. "You are real," Edward whispered. "Aren't you?"

Hook took Edward's hand in his and tucked it inside his shirt so the child could feel the beating of his heart. "Well?" He smiled gently at Edward and felt the boy heave a sigh of relief.

"That's what I told that dumb old Mrs. Poole," Edward said. "But she kept saying you weren't a real pirate, or even a real person. And I told her that you were 'cause I can see you and hear you and touch you. I even know what you smell like, so you have to be real."

"Well of course I am," Hook chuckled. He noticed Edward's glum expression. "What?"

"Some of them, the kids in my class and even Mrs. Poole, they said I was," he hesitated and looked up into the man's eyes. "They said I was, like, crazy - seeing things that really aren't there."

"What ignorant teachers there are in your school," Hook muttered. He felt Edward lean his head against him once more and he hugged the boy's shoulders. "And this teacher's nonsense is why your father refused to get thee your boots?"

"Yes sir," Edward sniffed, trying very hard to be strong in front of his friend. "And I can't go hunting with him either." He hid his face inside the soft, warm folds of Hook's coat.

"What a shame," Hook sighed. " 'Tis bad form to break a promise on such grounds. I should like very much to make your father walk the plank, and that teacher of yours as well."

Edward inhaled the sweet, spicy scent of Hook's cologne and closed his eyes, listening to the man breathe and to the steady beating of his friend's heart. "I don't care," he grumped. "I wish you would."

"Do you now?" Hook chuckled, nudging the boy. "Well then, we will just have to hatch a plot to get them both back to my ship, won't we?" He winked at Edward and grinned.

"Yes sir," Edward grinned back. "That sounds like fun."

"All right then," Hook tugged the brim of Edward's hat down over the boy's face playfully. "But first I think I should teach you that famous thrust which brought down Black Beard, among many others."

"Oh," Edward said, disappointed. "I don't have my sword anymore. Daddy threw it away too."

"That won't do," Hook grumbled in his throat. "Don't fret, lad. I will bring thee a sword of thy very own when I visit you again." He was beginning to dislike Edward's father very much. It wasn't necessary for him to be so hard on the child; the boy always seemed so eager to please.

"You'd do that? For me?"

"Well of course I will," Hook answered. "Am I not a man of my word?" He suddenly found himself a captive of the boy's clenched arms, noting how much stronger the child had grown. "That's a good lad," he whispered, hugging Edward equally tightly. "Meanwhile," Hook said, "I was thinking we might try hunting some redskins, or maybe we could find Peter's hideout. I'm sure hiding places abound in this forest."

Edward wiped his face dry on his shirtsleeves. "You think so?" he asked the Captain.

"It looks like a fine environment to harbor savages or lost boys," Hook replied. He stood up and reached for the boy's hand. "Come along now, let's see what sort of mischief we can find."

Hook was glad that no one he knew would ever see him so relaxed and at ease, and especially not when he was consoling the boy. His reputation as the terror of the high seas would be ruined forever. But at the moment Hook cared little about his reputation in Neverland or the cursed place itself. He had made Eddie the Butcher happy again and for a brief moment, his soul was at peace.

1985

Edward stared out the school bus window, watching the fields and woods rush past. Any other day he would have been anxious to get home and time would seem to crawl, but not today. He rubbed his right eye; it still stung and he was sure it was going to swell shut. His stomach knotted up when he thought about how much trouble he was going to be in when Daddy found out.

He trudged up the long gravel driveway. He knew he could forget about going to the mall this weekend, and probably the fishing trip Daddy and Uncle Keith were taking in June. His cousin John would get to go, and Edward thought that was completely unfair, as John had been the one that started everything anyway. Edward though, knew he was probably in for another long restriction, extra chores, and another of Daddy's raging lectures. He heaved a sigh of relief when he found his father's truck missing from the garage; maybe he had time to lessen his father's anger.

Edward shut the door behind him and heard his mother in the kitchen. "Hi Mom," he called out. He slunk into the kitchen to give her the note the school had sent home.

"Oh Eddie," his mother sighed when she saw his bruised, swollen eye. "Why do you do this?"

"It's John's fault," Edward tried to explain. "He took my notebook at lunch and wouldn't give it back."

"You know what your father is going to say, don't you?" She opened the letter and skimmed through it. "Well at least they didn't suspend you; that's something."

"Yes ma'am," Edward nodded. "Do you think it'll help if I go clean up the barn before he gets home?"

"It might help a little," his mother mused. "You change out of your school clothes first though."

"Yes ma'am." Edward hurried upstairs and changed as fast as he could, then ran to the barn to get busy. Daddy had told him he needed to sweep the hay loft and straighten up the barn this weekend, but maybe if he got it done a day early it would make things go a little better. He gathered all the old hay ropes up into an empty feed sack, then swept all the old, loose hay down into the barn's aisle. Next, he got the wheelbarrow and moved the old hay out to the compost pile and cleaned all the horses' stalls. He scrubbed out the troughs and buckets and filled them with fresh clean water and swept out the tack room. He had just finished gathering up all the empty feed sacks and empty pop cans when he heard Daddy's truck coming up the driveway.

He hoped maybe, just maybe, his mother would intercede on his behalf this time and point out how he was cleaning the barn early. She usually didn't say anything when his father punished him; Edward guessed she was probably just glad it was him getting yelled at and not her. He was beginning to think everything would be all right too, his father was in the house for so long, and he let himself relax a little. Then he turned around and saw his father's silhouette in the barn's doorway; Daddy looked pissed.

James Hook strolled casually down the well-worn path he'd made through the trees. It was a fine spring evening and the golden sunlight filtered through the new green leaves on the trees. He wondered if Edward would be practicing with that new bow of his again. They boy was quite a good shot and getting better every day. And his skills with a sword made the Captain's chest swell with pride; he wasn't a half-bad fencing master himself, Hook thought.

A cold shiver ran down Hook's spine and an odd feeling of apprehension crept over him. He scanned the surrounding forest, listening intently for any signs of danger but all he heard was the wind in the tree-tops and a few birds chattering amongst themselves. He shrugged the feeling off and continued on towards Edward's house.

When Hook arrived at their meeting place behind the shed though, the boy was nowhere to be found. A sense of terror suddenly washed over the Captain, and now he realized what was happening. It was not his own fear he was feeling, but Edward's, and he began hurriedly searching for the boy.

Edward wiped away the tears while he dropped hay down to the horses from the loft. He had thought that at twelve he was much too old for whippings and he had hoped all his hard work would have made a difference in his punishment. And after all, it was John who had started everything. Next time, he told himself, he would finish strangling his cousin and be done with him. He silently cursed his aunt and uncle for calling and telling Daddy their side of things before he had a chance to explain what had happened.

He limped gingerly to the last stall and dropped a section of hay down for Jedi, his horse. Well, he thought, at least his chores were done for this evening. Now he would just hide out here until supper, and maybe Daddy wouldn't come after him again. Maybe, Edward hoped, he would go visit Uncle Keith and he wouldn't have to even see Daddy again until tomorrow morning.

He peeked out towards the house to see if his bedroom light was on; it was not, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Daddy had threatened to take all his Captain Hook stuff away because he'd been in another fight but maybe his mother stopped him. Daddy had no right to take his posters and things down; it was Edward's bedroom, not his. And anyway, Edward thought, Daddy was just jealous of Captain Hook.

"Mean old bastard," Edward said under his breath.

"Why thank you," Captain Hook said. "Though I have been called far worse." His hand shot out and grabbed the boy by his shirt collar to keep him from falling backwards out of the hay loft. "Careful there lad. Did I startle you?"

"Yes sir," Edward whispered. He turned his back to the man to hide the fact that he'd been crying. "I didn't mean you, sir," he sniffed.

Hook sat down on a nearby hay bale and motioned for Edward to join him. "What's happened lad?"

"I got in another fight at school," Edward confessed, ashamed. "And then I got in trouble when I got home."

"And they've left you with a black eye, I see," Hook tilted the boy's head up to examine the eye more closely; that was when he noticed the redness of Edward's cheeks and eyes, and around his ears. "What's all this?" he asked. "You're a big lad now."

"I'm sorry," Edward said hoarsely. "But Daddy gave me another whipping and…"

"Whatever for lad?"

" 'Cause I got in a fight at school," Edward explained. "My stupid cousin John came and picked on me at lunch and he wouldn't leave me alone."

"Ah," Hook nodded. "So 'tis he who gave thee the black eye?"

"Yes sir," Edward muttered.

"Come sit down," Hook patted the hay bale next to him. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"I can't," Edward sniffed.

"Of course you can," Hook snorted. "You know you can always talk to me about anything. Come on now." He patted the bale again.

"That's not what I mean," Edward sidled a bit closer to the Captain. "I can't sit down," he whispered, ashamed.

Hook caught the boy by one arm and turned Edward to face him. "What do you mean?"

"I told you," Edward said, trying very hard not to cry anymore, "Daddy gave me a whipping and I …" His voice seized up in his throat and he lifted up his t-shirt, turning so Hook could see his lower back.

"Oh child," Hook breathed; he suddenly felt very sick to his stomach. Angry narrow, red whelps peeked out from the waistband of Edward trousers; some of them had even oozed a tiny bit of blood. It appeared as though the boy had been flogged. "Lad, what did he do this with?"

Edward looked back over his shoulder at the man. "The lunge whip," he whispered, and pointed towards the tack room door. The whip still leaned against the door frame, in plain view.

Hook walked to the edge of the hayloft and stared down at the long, keen whip; it was about six feet in length and made of fine strips of leather braided around a stiff core. Hook felt himself go ice cold for a moment and then his eyes burned red with rage. He resisted the urge to storm into the house and gut the boy's father. The man deserved it, but the boy needed him more right now. He walked back towards Edward and sank down on the hay bale once more.

"Let me see, child," Hook said softly. At first Edward refused, from shame he was sure, or maybe he feared ridicule, though that was the last thing Hook would have ever done to the boy. Finally he coaxed enough to get Edward to lower his jeans and Hook saw the full extent of the damage; the boy had been thrashed to his knees - no wonder the child had refused to sit. He was sure Edward should have received some sort of medical attention but there was nothing he could offer the boy, save for a sympathetic ear.

"Son, why did he thrash you so?" Hook asked.

"Son?" Edward looked into the Captain's blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," Hook said. "I meant it only as…"

"No," Edward stopped him. "It's alright. I wish you were my daddy instead of him." He thumbed towards the house.

"So do I child," Hook sighed. "So do I. But why…"

"I beat the crap out of John," Edward confessed.

"You?"

"Yes sir," Edward continued, re-buckling his belt. "He took my notebook when I was at lunch and started showing all his friends."

"But why did he…"

"Because he's an asshole," Edward grumbled. "I was drawing on the back page of my notebook and John snatched it away and started showing everybody. He's such a pain. He picks on me all the time anyway, but he wouldn't give it back. The notebook, I mean."

Hook had seen Edward's cousin and had little use for the brute. He reminded him entirely too much of Peter, both in his looks and his ways, and Edward often complained how John harassed and tormented him. "What was he doing?" Hook asked. "Was he trying to destroy your school work?"

"No sir," Edward answered. He stared down at his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was drawing a picture… of you, and he snatched it away and messed it up and…" he looked back up at Hook. "He started saying the most awful things about you, making out like you were some sort of…" his voice faded.

"What?" Hook asked, but Edward shook his head and he saw the boy's shoulders heave. "Never mind," he soothed. "His opinion matters not at all to me. My only concern is with you, lad."

"I tried to kill him," Edward choked angrily. "I hit him with my chair and then I tried to choke his hateful ass to death, but his rotten-ass friends pulled me off him."

"You did what?" Having seen Edward's cousin, Hook knew he was several years older and much bigger than Edward. "You little fiest. I wish my crew had half thy courage." He brushed the boy's tears away but more took their place and Edward turned away, thoroughly embarrassed. At this point, Hook would normally have taken the boy on his lap and let him cry as much as he needed, but Edward's father had made that nearly impossible.

Hook stood up and turned Edward to face him, opening his arms to the boy. "Come here child," he said gently. Edward needed no second invitation and buried his face inside the Captain's coat and against his chest. Hook wrapped his arms around the heaving shoulders and held the boy tightly while he wept. "There now," Hook soothed. "You're a good lad, you are."

"No I'm not," Edward wheezed. "I'm always in trouble. I'm always screwing something up."

"What rubbish," Hook huffed. "You're an excellent swordsman, a damn good shot, and bright, smart lad." He bent his head down and kissed the boy on top of his head. "And you have the kindest heart of anyone I have ever met." He stroked Edward's head and neck, trying to calm the boy and all the while growing more furious with his father. The man was a monster as far as Hook was concerned; he was sure Edward's father would never take a whip to one of his horses the way he had to the child.

It seemed like hours passed before Edward finally calmed, though Hook knew it had only been a matter of minutes. He leaned against a stack of hay bales with Edward still held firmly in his arms and listened to the boy vent his anger and frustration against his parents. It pained him to see the boy like this, especially when he had been so happy only the day before. Something had to be done; he would not tolerate the boy being thrashed so mercilessly over him.

"Edward," Hook said softly. "Would you do something for me?"

"Yes sir," Edward sniffed and looked up into his beloved Captain's eyes. "Anything."

"I want you to promise me that you won't fight any more in my defense."

"But sir…"

"Listen to me Edward," Hook said, holding the boy's gaze. "I know your cousin does his best to goad you into fights - he takes pleasure in getting thee in trouble. And while I'm sure you derive satisfaction from giving him the sound trouncing he deserves, you would vex him ever so much more if you ignored him completely."

Edward leaned his forehead against Hook again. "I don't know if I can," he said quietly. "He makes me so mad when he says those things about you…"

"I know it does," Hook consoled, "and I appreciate your loyalty Edward, truly I do. But he is not the first to vilify my name, nor shall he be the last."

"So - what?" Edward stared at the Captain. "Am I supposed to just let John get away with it, just because everyone else does it too? That's not right."

Hook could not help but smile at the boy. If only Pan could hear him, how it would irritate the brat. "Lad," he said. "It really doesn't bother me that much, and I expect such from the run-of-the-mill like your cousin anyway. Not everyone understands as well as you."

"I love you," Edward said. "It hurts when people say bad things about you."

"I know it does child," Hook soothed. "So you must understand how I feel. However much it might injure my feelings when people malign my name and reputation, it hurts ever so much more to see what thy father has done to you because you defended me. Do you understand that?"

"Yes sir," Edward wiped his eyes free of tears again. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again if you don't want me to. I'll do anything to keep from making you feel bad. I promise."

Hook hugged the boy tightly, swallowing the lump away that tried to crawl up his throat. "That's my good boy," he whispered. "Thank you, son." He was glad Edward didn't mind the term of endearment, for in his heart, Hook would have done anything to have the boy as his own. He kissed the boy on top of his head again and eased his embrace, though he felt Edward still clinging as tightly as ever to him. "Are you feeling any better?" he asked softly.

"Yes sir," Edward sniffed. "A little."

"Good," Hook patted the boy's head. "Is one of these lovely animals yours?" he asked, trying to find a more pleasant subject to lift Edward's spirits.

"Yes sir," Edward replied, much more at ease. "In the stall by the door. Do you want to see him?"

"Of course I do," Hook answered enthusiastically. The boy seemed much brighter all ready, he noted, following Edward down the stairs to the stalls.

"This is Jedi," Edward opened the stall door so the Captain could see his horse. "Isn't he neat?"

"Ah," Hook clapped his hand to Edward's shoulder. "What a fine steed. A bay, isn't he?"

"Yes sir," Edward pushed the horse's rump aside. "He's a blood bay with three white socks - see?"

"One day I should like to see you ride him."

"Sure," Edward patted the horse. "Maybe tomorrow…" he stopped short and thought about the condition his butt was in. "Well, maybe next weekend would be better." He grinned up at the Captain, and Hook could not help but smile back.

Edward spent the rest of the evening introducing Hook to the other horses and showing off his saddle. Eventually the sun began to sink low on the horizon and inside the barn grew darker. Edward's father roared from the house for the boy to come to dinner and Hook saw the child cringe at the sound of the man's voice. "Shall I come with you?" he asked.

"No sir," Edward sighed. "I'll be o.k. And I won't get in no more trouble, I promise."

Hook hugged the boy and walked him to the barn door. "You're a good lad," Hook reminded him. "I'll see you soon." He watched Edward slink reluctantly back into the house rather like a puppy that had been kicked around. He felt his ire towards the boy's father increase with every timid step Edward took; he was going to have to find a way to kill that man one day.

1989

Edward stood looking back down the long gravel driveway towards his house. He cocked his head to one side straining to hear the sounds of footsteps in the leaves, but all was quiet, except for the birds singing their morning vespers. "Good," he muttered under his breath, and hurried up towards the mailbox to wait on the school bus.

He walked over into the woods about twenty-five feet as he'd done for the past week or so and felt in his coat pocket for his ink pen. Taking one more look around just to be sure, Edward shoved the pen down the back of his throat, retching until he vomited up several mouthfuls of his breakfast. He stirred the mess with a twig until he found the pills and smirked with satisfaction, then kicked leaves over the pile to hide the evidence. He would have to go further back into the trees tomorrow; he didn't want to leave too many little piles of pills in one area.

He sauntered back out onto the drive and looked down the road for the bus; he was early so he probably had about fifteen minutes or more to wait, but that was fine with him. Just so long as he had time to puke up those damned pills Dr. Matthews had put him on.

"Asshole," Edward grumbled. It wasn't bad enough his parents made him go see a shrink - and everyone at school seemed to know about it - but Dr. Matthews had put him on Lithium for his mood swings and Clozapine for his hallucinations, and they both made him feel like crap. He felt more jittery and grouchy than he had before he started taking the medications, and he frequently suffered from headaches and dizziness. He didn't need the bloody pills anyway, he told himself. He was not crazy nor was he seeing things that weren't there. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone and to stop picking on him.

Edward looked up at the bluebird autumn sky and prayed for no homework tonight. He really wanted to go deer hunting when he got home this afternoon - and he was dying to visit with the Captain. He had felt so shitty he hadn't even tried to go see the man for six days… or was it seven? Maybe even ten or more. He spat angrily at the ground. The stuff had him so confused he wasn't even sure what day of the week it was sometimes.

"Fucking pills," Edward swore. Now he had to come up with a way to hack up the Librium he took before bedtime, without anyone hearing him; maybe he could do it during his shower. It was supposed to help him sleep, and it did - to the point where he almost peed in the bed on several occasions, and he was almost sixteen. The damned stuff left him feeling so hung-over sometimes that Edward often nodded off on the bus ride to school or in one of his early classes.

He looked down the road again. In the distance he could hear the heavy drone of the buss's diesel engine and he heaved his backpack onto his shoulder. "Please no homework, God," Edward mumbled.

James Hook sat with his boots propped up on the quarterdeck bulkhead, staring out towards Neverland. His remaining fingers drummed impatiently on the arm of his chair. Peter had been making a royal pain in the ass of himself of late: the foresail's rigging had been slashed, he'd rung the ship's bell in the wee hours of the morning and awakened Hook on multiple occasions, and he'd made a habit of floating outside the Captain's cabin making loud ticking noises. Of course, Peter was far too cowardly to stay and fight after arousing Hook's fury; he merely flew away, laughing and crowing like a demented chicken. All this would not have bothered Hook so, had his visits with Edward not been so abruptly interrupted. It had been almost two weeks since he last saw the boy and while he could sense Edward's loneliness and frustration, something seemed to be blocking his visits to the boy.

As the sun slipped below the horizon, Hook gave up his vigil for Pan and retired to his cabin. He was almost sorry Peter hadn't put in some sort of appearance; it would have taken his mind of Edward. He kicked off his boots and wrestled his way out of his white silk shirt and the uncomfortably restrictive harness which held his claw to his arm, letting it thunk noisily to the desktop. His right arm ached to the elbow and Hook sought relief from the brandy decanter.

Edward crossed the horse pasture at a jog. As he'd hoped, he had no homework to keep him from the woods and the weather was perfect for hunting; about fifty-five degrees and a light wind from the north. Once he reached the edge of the forest, Edward nocked an arrow on his bow and crept stealthily towards his deer stand. He hoped he had been off the Lithium long enough to get rid of the shaking in his hands. It had screwed up his hunt last week when a nice nine-point buck had fed under his stand for almost fifteen minutes; his hands had shaken so he hadn't been able to hold steady enough on the deer for a clean shot. It could not be put off as 'buck-fever' either. He'd had that before, always after the shot - never before.

Deer, however, were not what Edward was really hoping to meet today. He had felt so ill he'd neglected to come and visit with the Captain for almost twelve days and it grieved him to be separated from the man for so long. Clad head-to-toe in camouflage, he eased over the fallen autumn leaves silently, his heart pounding in anticipation of seeing his friend. When he spied the man waiting beside his deer stand, Edward forgot all about deer and being quiet and moving stealthily. He charged the last sixty yards through the trees to the stand, and his bow fell from his hands as he clenched Hook in his best bear hug.

"Steady there, lad," Hook soothed, holding the boy close. "Calm down and tell me what's happened." Something had him terribly distraught.

Edward buried his face inside the man's midnight blue coat and shook his head. "Not right now," he wheezed. "Later, please."

"All right," Hook rubbed the boy's shoulders to calm him. "Whenever you're ready. Just calm down, child."

"That's part of it," Edward muttered, listening to Hook's voice rumble in his chest. "I'm not a child anymore. I'm fifteen - almost sixteen, and they still want to treat me like I'm a baby."

"I'm sorry," Hook replied. "If it upsets you that much, I won't refer to you that way anymore."

"No," Edward shook his head against the man again. "I didn't mean you. I don't mind it if you say it. You're not trying to put me down like he does."

"He?" Hook queried. "Your father?"

"Yes sir," Edward nodded.

Hook tried to squelch the anger he felt building inside himself. Edward's father seemed to delight in tormenting the boy and it had gone on for far too long. Though he had sworn he would never do anything to lower himself to Pan's level, Hook was beginning to seriously contemplate kidnapping Edward. Surely the child would be better off with him than here with that brute of a man. "Would you like to go somewhere and talk?" he asked quietly.

Edward glanced up at the deer stand. The Captain had sat up there with him quite comfortably before, but his heart was no longer in the mood for hunting. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt. "We could go down by the creek," he suggested.

"If you'd like," Hook straightened the boy's jacket collar. He waited while Edward leaned the bow against the stand's ladder and then followed the boy down to a broad, shallow, rocky creek. Edward walked downstream until they were well out of sight of the foot path and Hook sat down on a large flat rock, watching the boy skip stones across the creek.

"Why didn't you bring the bow with you?" Hook asked. "I can see where the deer have come to the creek to drink. What if.."

"Because I couldn't hit one if it stood ten feet away from me," Edward swung around to face Hook. "I can't hit the broadside of a barn anymore." He held his hands up so Hook could see them shaking.

"Good Lord son," Hook stood up and went to the boy. "What's happened?" He caught Edwards left hand in his and examined it.

"You won't find anything," Edward sighed. "It's those fucking pills they've made me take; they've got me all screwed up."

"Pills?" Hook echoed. "What pills? Are you ill?"

"I was just fine before I started taking those damned things," Edward answered, looking surly. "My mother decided I was depressed, whatever in the hell that means, so she made me go see this shrink…" He could tell from the Captain's expression he wasn't familiar with the term. "A psychiatrist," he explained. "A doctor for crazy people."

"But you're not..."

"I know that," Edward continued, pacing along the creek's edge. "But he told Mom that I was um, a depressed maniac - no, wait. I think it was manic depressive." He chuckled mentally; depressed maniac probably suited him better.

"You're no maniac," Hook said. "A bit moody, maybe, but that is due to thy age. It is my experience that young men are often moody, are they not?"

"Obviously I'm not supposed to be," Edward grumped. "Anyway, they put me on this medicine to quote 'calm me down' and all its done is make me sicker than a dog."

"What sort of medicine?"

"Clozapine because I'm supposedly paranoid. Oh yeah, and because I have hallucinations."

"What utter rubbish," Hook snorted.

"No doubt," Edward nodded. "Then I've been taking Lithium, which is supposed to stabilize my mood. That's the crap that gave me the shakes among other things."

"Such as?"

"Oh, headaches, dizziness, nausea - to hit the high points. Then they make me take one before I go to bed. Librium. It leaves me so hung over I can't function the next day." Edward scuffed his boots in the loose gravel by the water. "That's why I haven't been to see you lately. I've been too damned sick. I can't think straight when I'm on that shit."

"But you seem better now," Hook observed.

"Yeah," Edward grinned. "About five days ago I started hacking the crap up while I wait for the bus and I already feel more like myself."

Hook sat back down on the trunk of a fallen tree and rubbed his forehead. "So, if this medicine only serves tomakes thee more ill, why must you take it?"

Edward sat down on the tree's stump beside Hook and leaned against the man. "I guess…" he hesitated. What if the Captain thought he was nuts as well? "I do have these spells…"

"Yes?" Hook eased a reassuring arm around the boy's shoulders.

"Sometimes… sometimes I can't stand to be in my own skin. I just want to tear it all off and run through the woods, screaming like a mad man. Sometimes I get so angry I can't see straight, and I don't know why. When I try to go to sleep at night my mind is going a hundred miles an hour and I can't relax and get any sleep… but I don't really feel tired the next day either." He looked up into Hook's intense blue eyes. "Does that make any sense?"

"Well," Hook began. He wasn't sure what to say to the boy. He most certainly did not want to make the child feel any more stigmatized than his parents already had. "I won't pretend to understand it, but I have known men with similar complaints and the last I heard of them they were still alive and well. And I see nothing wrong with you at all. Are you still doing well with your studies?"

"Yes sir," Edward grinned. "All A's and B's."

"That's my boy," Hook hugged Edward's shoulders. "I knew you were a bright lad the first time I met you." He smiled at Edward; the boy's eyes still had the same sparkle to them as when Edward was a small child, so very long ago. Now he was a young man; Hook could see that he'd begun shaving and he felt a certain personal gratification at Edward's breeching of that milestone in his journey towards manhood. If he could hand-pick a successor, Edward would be it.

"I ain't been in no more fights neither," Edward declared smugly. "Not since you asked me not to, just like I promised."

"And I am so proud of you," Hook replied, equally pleased. "You're a fine lad, my boy, a fine lad indeed." He felt Edward's shoulders heave suddenly. "What is it child," he asked.

Edward wiped his eyes with his hands and tried to clear his throat. "You won't ever stop coming, will you?"

"Of course not," Hook reassured; he squeezed the boy's shoulders to comfort him. "Why would I?"

"It's just," Edward paused to sneeze. "I'm sorry about all this, crying like a big baby, but I missed you something awful. I think I would go crazy if you stopped coming."

Hook coaxed the boy's head to his shoulder and hugged him tightly. "Child I would no more abandon thee than I would cut off my last hand. I'd rather die than lose you."

"I'm so scared," Edward croaked, trying not to cry in front of his friend. "I heard them talking about sending me away to this… place, like a hospital. It's for kids who are potheads and druggies, and people who have mental problems and such. I don't want to go. I'm trying to behave myself, so they won't, but I'm scared. I'm so damned scared, I don't know what to do, sir."

"Over my dead body will they send you away," Hook growled between clenched teeth. He held Edward tighter and realized he was rocking back and forth ever so slightly with the boy. "Don't be afraid, son. I won't let any harm come to thee."

"I'm sorry," Edward wheezed. "I don't mean to cry all over you like this."

"Nonsense," Hook huffed. "After all, if a shoulder can't be cried upon occasionally, what good is it?" He hugged the boy again. "And at least I have two of them, should you wear one out." He felt Edward chuckle and smiled.

"You've got one damned strange sense of humor," Edward said, still hoarse, "kind of twisted, but I like it." He lifted his face from Hook's shoulder and looked at the man. "And I love you," he said solemnly.

"Child," Hook said gently, "If you were my own flesh and blood, I could not love thee anymore."

"I know," Edward smiled. He leaned against the Captain again and heaved a great contented sigh. "Will you walk back to the house with me tonight?"

"You know I will," Hook answered. "Do you expect trouble from thy father?"

"No sir, not really. I just always feel safer when you're with me, that's all."

"I will go anywhere with you that I am able to," Hook said. "And if I should find a way to take thee with me I will, so long as you don't object."

"Object?" Edward gave the man a playful shove. "I would need my head examined then. You just say when and where and I'm with you all the way, sir."

"Mind you, I'm not sure if it can be done," Hook explained. "I will have to seek the counsel of the faeries, and they are generally allied with Pan. I do not expect them to be helpful if I do."

"I understand," Edward sighed. "But if you do figure out a way…" His voice trailed off and he lay his head against the Captain's chest again.

"You shall be the first to know," Hook said. He sat quietly with his arm around Edward, listening to gurgling creek and the sleepy chirps of the crickets while chickadees and cardinals flitted amongst the glowing golden leaves.

Edward closed his eyes and listened to the air rushing in and out of the man's lungs. The woods were so quiet and he felt so peaceful at this moment that he loathed the thought of going back to the house. He would give anything to go away with his friend. He was tired of being harassed and picked-on and bullied, at home as well as at school. The only time he could really relax and be himself were these few brief hours he spent with the Captain. He felt the man's hand rest gently on the back of his neck and he let another contented sigh slip from his lungs.

Hook glanced down at the boy; Edward's eyes were closed and judging by his breathing, Hook guessed he must have dozed off. What a shame the boy was so miserable in his own home, he thought, but how wonderfully marvelous it was to be so trusted. To be trusted at all was a novelty for the Captain indeed, and then to be such a source of comfort that Edward had no fear whatsoever of using him as a pillow - who else would dare put themselves in such close proximity to such a nefarious pirate as he, Hook wondered. Of course, he knew the answer; no one.

Hook let his chin rest lightly on top of the boy's head. Edward was growing up to be a fine, strong young man that, at least the Captain thought, any parent would or should be proud of. Of course, he would always remember the roguish little boy that bounded across a porch and invited him to play - that hugged and kissed him as joyfully as if he were a long, lost uncle. Hook smiled wistfully. Hadn't he surrendered ever so quickly and easily to those adoring eyes that danced with mischief, and him the only man Barbeque feared. If only Pan could have seen them together, it would surely drive him insane.

Darkness was beginning to settle in around them and Hook reluctantly nudged his sleeping companion. "Edward," he said softly. "Wake up, child."

Edward forced his eyes open begrudgingly. He'd much rather have stayed put for the night, but he knew that wasn't possible. "Sorry about that," he murmured, stretching. "I didn't mean to…"

"Think nothing of it," Hook said. "You were tired, probably from that blasted poison you've been taking." He offered Edward a hand up, escorting him back towards the path. "How far do you want me to come?"

"To the barn," Edward replied, "If that's o.k."

"Of course," Hook draped his left arm around Edward's shoulders and felt the boy lean into him. They walked quietly through the deepening twilight, the brilliant orangey-gold maple and hickory leaves glowing like embers on a fire. Edward retrieved his bow from the stand and looked towards the pasture.

"I'll have to feed up before I go in for supper…" he began.

"Well, that will give us more time to talk," Hook cut in, "Won't it?"

"Yes sir," Edward grinned. He glanced up at the man and sighed wistfully. Why, he wondered, did the powers that be have to keep him trapped here, when all he wanted was to be with Hook.

Edward hurried down the drive, eager to change into his hunting clothes and head for the woods. His hands had not shaken at all today and he could hardly wait to draw on a deer. "I'm home," he called, hustling into the house and heading for the stairs. "Goin' hunting."

"They hell you are!" his father roared from the kitchen. "Get in here."

Edward froze in his tracks. Daddy was pissed about something, but as hard as he tried, he could think of nothing he had done that would get him any trouble. "Yes sir?" he said, slinking into the kitchen. His answer was on the kitchen counter; a little pile of gray and yellow capsules and crumbling white tablets. Busted, he thought.

Captain Hook walked into barn and checked the loft for Edward, but there was no sign of the boy. He had not been behind the sheds nor had he been waiting at the deer stand where they had begun to meet. Hook though, could clearly feel the boy crying out for him, wherever he was. His throat tightened and his chest began to ache terribly, almost as bad as when he'd been staring down the crocodile's maw; he was feeling the overwhelming fear and panic that had seized Edward.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Hook stormed in through the back door of the house, roaring for Edward. He could hear the boy's parents arguing outside the front door but paid them little attention. Instead he bounded up the stairs towards the boy's room, briefly wondering how he knew which one it was. He took a moment to regain his composure so as not to frighten the boy further and eased the door open. Edward's bed was pushed up against one wall and Edward was cringing in the corner at the head of the bed.

Hook froze in his tracks for a moment; the walls were covered with images of himself… drawings of him, or other people pretending to be him - some of them weren't half bad at it either. He looked down at Edward; the boy was shaking with fear, and Hook could see his shoulder blades jerking from silent sobs. He reached out and gently touched the boy's shoulder, horrified that, for the first time ever, Edward flinched from his hand.

"Lad," Hook said softly, "Whatever is the matter?"

"He tried to kill me," Edward answered, barely audible.

"Who?" Hook tried to coax the boy closer to him, unsuccessfully at first.

"Daddy," Edward whispered. He glanced over his shoulder to Hook for a brief moment. " I'm sorry. I broke my promise, but I had to do something or he would have…

"Oh bugger the promise," Hook said, easing himself down on the side of the bed. "Tell me what happened."

"He found where I've been puking up the pills," Edward choked. "He had them in a little pile on the kitchen counter when I got home."

"Damn," Hook swore. He reached for the boy's shoulder again, and once more felt the muscles recoil; by now though, he had a good idea why. He caught Edward by his left bicep and tried again to coax the boy from his corner. "Come here, child," he said quietly. "Let me see."

Hook lifted the back of Edward's undershirt and felt his hackles rise. The boy had been beaten badly; whatever was used had left wide red whelps all over his back and probably the rest of his body. "Bloody son-of-a-bitch," Hook growled between his teeth. "I'll have his hide for this!" He eased Edward's head to his shoulder and stroked the boy's head while he wept. Edward had been much more like his usual self now the side-effects of the medication had finally worn off, all grins and mischief. To see the boy like this tore at Hook's very soul. "If there was any way I could take you with me…."

"I know," Edward sobbed. "I wish you could. I heard them talking again about sending me away to that hospital again. They both think I'm dangerous now."

"Dangerous?" Hook snorted. "Why?"

"Because I fought back," Edward groaned. "But I had to. He said he was going to…" He buried his face inside Hook's coat and tried to regain control of his voice.

"It's all right, son," Hook soothed. "I'm here now."

"He said he was going to start tying me down and he'd…" Edward hesitated, ashamed. "He said he would shove the damn pills up my butt every night if he had to."

"He wouldn't dare!" Hook sputtered

"He already had the rope to tie me up with," Edward wheezed. "So when he tried to grab me I hit him… with a chair, among other things."

"That's my boy," Hook chortled.

"It's not funny," Edward objected. "He took his belt and beat the crap out of me. I tried to get out of the house but he had all the doors locked. Mean old bastard."

"I didn't mean to make light of thy situation," Hook apologized. "But you are such a feist. I hope you left him with a few bruises of his own."

"Yes sir," Edward whispered. "I did, only now even my mom thinks I might be some sort of crazy ass psychopath."

"You are not!" Hook snorted. "You're a good lad; there's nothing wrong with you at all."

Heavy footsteps thumped up the stairs and down the hallway; Edward jerked away from the Captain, cowering in his corner again. Hook felt his rage boiling up and he sprang between Edward and the door, his claw ready to exact a little revenge. The door burst open and Edward's father stormed into the room.

"That'll teach you to take on the old man, you stupid little son-of-a-bitch!" the man sneered, looming in the doorway. "Who in the hell do you think you are anyway, huh? - Answer me!"

"No one," Edward whispered. He could see the Captain glowering angrily at his father.

Hook glared daggers at Edward's father. The man might make a formidable opponent, he thought. He probably stood over six feet tall and his physique was definitely that of a military man. His hair was cropped close to his head and Hook saw the tattoos on the man's forearms; USMC on the left and an eagle atop a globe clutching an anchor on the right. Still, Hook decided, he must suffer from a severe case of inferiority to constantly harass and belittle his own son so. "Bad form," he hissed.

"When I tell you to do something, you fucking well better do it! I said you'll take those pills and by God you will or so help me…" The man looked around the room at the pictures on the walls. "And I'm fucking sick and tired of all this fucking Peter Pan shit all over the place. I told you to take it down last month!" He glared at Edward; he could feel the boy's rage and hate for him. "How dare you disobey me! I ought to come over there and kick your mother fucking ass again!"

Edward's father ripped one of the posters from the wall and lunged towards the boy. To his horror, something shoved him away. He stared wildly around the room and again something pushed him away, sending him staggering back against the doorframe. He glared at Edward again. "What the fuck do you think you're doing!? Didn't you learn anything down stairs?"

"I didn't do anything!" Edward protested. He dared not tell his father who was attacking him, though he could see it quite plainly. Hook slashed at the man with his claw again and again, each time pushing Edward's father further from the boy until finally the man staggered out into the hallway, thoroughly baffled.

"All right you little bastard," he snarled at Edward. "We'll just see about that." He stomped back down the stairs and angry voices of two people arguing could be heard.

Hook closed the door quietly and went back to try and calm Edward. "It's all right," he said gently. "He's gone now." He sat on the boy's bed with his back to the headboard and let Edward bury his face against his chest and weep freely. He carefully lay his right arm across Edward's sore shoulders, mindful not to touch any of the whelps beneath the boy's shirt. His hand rested on the boy's head, gently stroking the short, dark locks.

"They're gonna send me away," Edward choked. "I know it."

"I doubt that," Hook soothed. "I don't think your father would want anyone else to see how he has beaten thee."

"Maybe," Edward sniffed. "But I wish I could come with you. I'm so scared they'll send me away."

"You don't know how badly I wish I could take you with me," Hook said. "I just don't know how." Sadly, Hook knew no way to accomplish that feat; he still had no idea how Edward had managed to draw him into this world. Yet it must be possible, he thought, for he traveled back and forth, so there had to be a way to get Edward to Neverland without him having to fly there with Peter. He felt Edward shiver and pulled an afghan over the boy.

"What do I do if they try to take me away before… before you can…"

"Run," Hook said firmly. "Hide in the woods and I will come to thee as quickly as I can."

"O.k.," Edward answered hoarsely. "I mean, yes sir."-

"Please child," Hook said. "Don't be afraid of me. You don't have to so formal always."

"I'm not afraid of you," Edward corrected him. "I love you. But that's just good manners, and anyway, I call you 'sir' because I respect you."

Respect? Hook swallowed hard at the word. He thought Edward had run out of ways to flabbergast him. Obviously, he was wrong. The word warmed him almost as much as when the boy had first confessed his love for the Captain. "Child, I love thee, but I do fear you will break my heart one day."

"Me?" Edward snorted. "Never. I won't ever do anything to hurt you, not as good as you've been to me. I still wish you were my daddy instead of that hateful son-of-a-bitch."

"If only I were," Hook sighed. "You have no idea how happy I would be." He felt Edward burrow deeper into his arms and he kissed the boy on top of his head. "You rest now," Hook murmured. "I will keep watch over thee until morning if necessary."

Downstairs, Hook could still hear the boy's parents arguing, their angry voices breaking the quiet safety of Edward's room. Occasionally, one of them would shout loudly at the other, and the boy would flinch in Hook's arms.

"Talk to me," Edward said. "So I don't have to listen to them."

"About what?" Hook asked.

"Oh, anything," Edward sighed. "Tell me about all the pirates you've killed."

Hook chuckled under his breath. "Lad, that would take all night and part of tomorrow."

"O.k., just the more famous ones then."

"Do you know how many times I have recounted their names for thee?" Hook queried.

"I know," Edward murmured, focusing on the rumble of Hook's voice in his chest. "But that's my favorite."

Hook tousled the boy's hair playfully. "All right. If it will help set thy mind at ease."

"Thanks," Edward mumbled sleepily. He heaved a sigh of relief and slid his arms inside Hook's coat and around the man, his face pressed close to the Captain's breastbone.

"Where shall I begin," Hook started. "I dare say the most famous man I ever slew was Black Beard himself. We crept up on his ship in Ocracoke inlet and sprang upon his crew before they knew what hit them. 'Twas really a rather short battle, you know. I struck many a blow to that arrogant ass and killed him with Barbeque's thrust, finally cleaving his head from his shoulders for good measure. Then we looted his sloop and took his finest galleon as our prize."

"Yeah," Edward said, very satisfied. "And that lying Naval officer took credit for it."

"True," Hook agreed. "The scoundrel. I believe his name was Maynard. Mewling little worm. He'd been sent to engage Black Beard and when he came upon our handiwork, he claimed the victory for himself."

"Chicken shit little bastard," Edward snorted.

"Well, he gained neither fame nor fortune for his mischief," Hook smirked. "I, on the other hand, gained a sizeable treasure and a fast ship - which I used to capture Jack Rackham, he who sailed with two women pirates."

"I didn't think women were allowed as crew," Edward said.

"Ah, you're a bright lad, you are. A female aboard a pirate ship will bring nothing but bad luck. Jack would tell you so himself, were he not dead by my hand. Oh, history tells another version son, but I tell you the truth. I killed Calico Jack and took his flag as my own, after I had my way with his women." Hook grinned with wicked pride. "And then I did pillage the ship of Christopher Condent and hung him from his own yardarm, and then there was Stede Bonnet, and of course the much-lauded Barbeque, and Captain Flint, and…"

"Who is Barbeque," Edward asked, sounding a bit sleepy now. "I always thought barbeque was something you ate, not a pirate."

"Ah," Hook answered, straightening Edward's hair and stroking the boy's head. "But you see lad, Barbeque was not his true name, just as Hook is not mine. The man started out as a sea cook, hence the moniker. His name though, was John Silver and mind you, while he had only one leg, he was no less a threat than I with my one hand. I met him when I was very young, not much older than you, and just beginning my career, while he was still a mere cook."

"How did he lose his leg?" Edward wondered. "Did you cut it off ?"

"No lad, that bit of bad luck befell the man before we met. But though he had only five toes, a more fierce man I had never met. Still, he could be kind as well and taught me a great many worthwhile skills - including the thrust I eventually used to kill him one day." Hook paused in a quiet moment of reflection. How odd, he thought, that he too should lose a limb as Barbeque had. But Silver had lost his leg in battle at sea; his hand had been hewn from his body by Peter, under far less honorable circumstances.

"Ah well," he sighed. " 'Tis not wise to make close friendships with pirates, for you never know who you may have to kill one day to save your own hide. But, that is the way of it, lad." He glanced down at Edward and felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards for a brief moment; the boy had drifted off to sleep. "That's my boy," he murmured.

Outside, the gray evening light had faded and darkness enveloped the room. The strident voices below finally wore themselves out and retired to their bedroom and blessed silence settled in for the night, save for the sound of his own breathing and Edward's low snores. Twice the boy moaned in his sleep with nightmares and Hook did his best to sooth the child back to a restful sleep, until he suddenly found himself back in his own cabin on board the Jolly Roger and wondered what had snatched him back so cruelly. He silently bemoaned his fate, wishing he still had the boy safely in his arms here in Neverland. True, for him it was a hellish prison, but it would be a blessed sanctuary for Edward.

Edward cracked his eyelids and blinked, trying to focus in the dark bedroom. His heart sank a little when he realized that he was now alone and wished the Captain had not left him, but he supposed the man had stayed with him as long as he could; he always did. Gingerly, he rose from his bed and went to the dresser mirror to check out his back; some of the redness had faded from the whelps but they were still quite visible and very sore. His father's voice below made Edward's breath catch in his throat and he strained trying to make out what was being said.

Presently, he heard the kitchen door bump shut and Daddy's truck grumbled to life in the garage. Edward peered cautiously from his bedroom window and watched the vehicle as it backed out and drove off up the driveway, gravel crunching under its tires as it went. He checked his clock; 5:07 a.m. Good, he thought, the old bastard had gone deer hunting with Uncle Keith and John and would be gone until at least mid-day; now he could get something to eat. As his belly was gnawing on his backbone in protest of missing out on supper, Edward headed down to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. To his surprise, he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Well, well," she mused sarcastically. "Look what crawled out from under his rock."

"Yeah," Edward said, delving into the refrigerator for the lunchmeat. "I wasn't coming out as long as he was here. Besides, I don't feel so good."

"You don't say?" his mother huffed. "I wonder why?"

"Ha-ha," he sneered mockingly. He smeared some mayonnaise on two slices of bread and slapped on several slices of ham.

"What in the name of God were you thinking, Eddie?" his mother asked. "Spitting your pills up like that. Do you know how much those cost?"

"It's Edward," he corrected her, layering slices of Swiss cheese on top of the ham. "And I don't care what the fucking pills cost. I have to put up with the side-effects, not you guys."

"Watch your mouth."

"Whatever," Edward snapped. He grabbed a can of pop from the fridge and leaned back against the counter, wolfing down the sandwich.

"What side-effects?" his mother asked dubiously.

Edward shook his head and snorted. "See, you don't listen to me. I've been telling you guys for weeks how sick that shit makes me - it gives me headaches, it makes me so dizzy I feel like I'm gonna fall out of my desk some days, I feel queasy all the time..."

"Well you should have told me."

"I did tell you!" Edward snarled, then reigned in his temper. "I told the both of you several times. I even showed Daddy how it made my hands shake, and all I got was 'it'll get better." He had polished off his sandwich but was still hungry and got a bag of chips from the cupboard over the sink. "And I'm here to tell you it didn't get any better."

"You didn't give the medication time…"

"I tried for a month!" Edward snapped. "How long am I supposed to go around stoned out of my skull? And the other, the Librium, that stuff made me sleep so hard I almost wet the bed. God Mom, I'm almost sixteen. I'm too damned old to pee in the bed."

"Maybe," his mother said, "But do you have any idea how dangerous it is to make yourself vomit like that every day?"

"Don't care," Edward replied, pausing for a swallow of soda. "I'm tired of feeling like a fricking zombie. So you can just call Dr. Matthews and tell him to give me something different, cause I ain't taking those anymore." He gestured towards the pill bottles on the kitchen counter.

"Your father says you will."

"That asshole can kiss my hairy little butt," Edward huffed.

"That asshole is calling Brynwood on Monday," his mother said.

"No!" Edward howled. "I ain't going!"

"You should have thought about that before you attacked your father."

"Before I…" Edward sputtered. "Why that… What the hell was I supposed to do, huh? Let him tie me down over the bed and…. The hell I will! I'll go hang myself in the barn first!"

"All right Eddie," his mother warned. "Calm down."

"That's right," Edward huffed. "Take his side again."

"Watch it, son," his mother snapped. "You know as well as I do what your father is like."

"Yeah," Edward pulled his t-shirt off and turned so his mother could see the whelps on his back. "I do - I know really fucking well." He wrestled his way back into the shirt. "You know what," Edward sneered. "Tell Daddy to go ahead and send me to wherever it is. And when they ask me where I got all these stripes on my back and legs from, I'll be more than happy to tell them. Let him have to explain that to someone... other than you."

"Now Eddie, you know your father has a temper…"

"What the hell kind of excuse is that?!" he roared. "Why are you always making excuses for him? Why is everything always my fault, huh? He can beat the crap out of me ten times a day and that's just fine with you, as long as he doesn't touch you, eh?"

"That's not fair!" the woman slammed her fist on the table.

"No, it sure as hell isn't!" Edward leaned over the table to meet her, face-to-face. "It's never been fair. You're supposed to be looking out for me. You're supposed to stop him from beating me like a dog. Why don't you ever stick up for me, huh? Why?"

"That's enough!" his mother growled, standing suddenly. She bit her lip and glared at her son. "Fine, I'll say something to Roger when he gets home this afternoon, but you better watch your ass and walk a fine line, understand." She paused in the den and looked over her shoulder at Edward. "And if you were smart, you'd take those posters down before he gets home."

"What?" Edward half-choked. "Why?"

"You know what your dad thinks about those. It would go a long way…."

"That is so crazy," Edward snorted. "I suppose if I had KISS posters and Iron Maiden or Ozzy Osborne posters all over the wall, that'd be ok. But heaven forbid I have a poster of Captain Hook. He's just jealous, you know."

"Your father?" the woman raised an eyebrow. "Jealous? Of some fairy tale character?"

"He is not!" Edward began. "He's my…. Aw, never mind."

"Well, you just think about what I said."

"Yes ma'am," Edward sighed. He watched his mother head back to her bedroom and sank back down at the table. She wouldn't say anything to Daddy, she never did. And he was not going to any damned hospital. They couldn't make him. He wouldn't do it. And what the hell did his Captain Hook posters have to with any of this? Daddy was just jealous of the man, Edward thought, he always had been. Daddy couldn't hold a candle to the Captain and he was jealous of him on account of how good Hook was to Edward, how he listened to him and took up time with him. If only…

Edward glared at the pill bottles on the counter and went over to the sink, pouring the contents of each down the drain. Then he flipped on the garbage disposal and turned on the faucet for several moments, smiling smugly to himself.

"I ain't taking any more of those," he said softly. 'And nobody can make me."

He went back up to his bedroom and locked the door behind him. Aggravated, he flopped down on his bed and was instantly sorry; all the slashes on his back and legs screeched in agonized unison and Edward quickly rolled onto his side. He considered getting dressed in his camouflage and going hunting himself, but his heart wasn't in it and he felt to ill anyway; his muscles ached and the whelps still burned and stung. All he really wanted was for Captain Hook to come back and talk to him some more and sit with him so he didn't have to be so afraid. He was sure the man would if there was any way possible. Maybe when Hook did come back, Edward thought, he might have found a way to take him along.

Edward sighed wistfully. It would mean giving up his bow and his shotgun and his horse and all his records… ever so many conveniences, he was sure. But it would be worth it to be with someone who really loved him and cared about him. Oh sure, Hook was a pirate and a very dangerous one at that, but Edward still longed for the day when he and the Captain would go back to Neverland together, and he would never come back… never. And he couldn't care less if his disappearance upset his parents. He loved the Captain and Hook loved him and would protect him, and that trumped everything else.

Edward closed his eyes and tried to remember how safe he had felt curled up next to the Captain, how comforting it felt when Hook stroked his hair and talked to him. He could almost feel the man's presence lingering in the room, like a watchful spirit, or maybe a guardian angel and Edward let himself relax a little more before finally retreating into the safety of his dreams.

Edward ambled aimlessly down the drive, flipping through the pages of the new issue of Field & Stream that had just come in the mail. He made mental notes on which deer hunting articles looked interesting; he would read those first. The afternoon sky was bluebird clear but though the sun shone brightly, the air was quite chilly, even for November; Thanksgiving was still over two weeks away. As he neared the house Edward noticed the barn doors were shut, which was a little odd; they were usually open until he fed the horses in the evening. He decided his father must have closed them because of the cold, and if Daddy thought it was that cold, Edward was almost sure the deer would be moving good this evening. Maybe, he hoped, Daddy would let him go hunting this afternoon as he had very little homework and could always finish it after supper. With that happy thought firmly in his mind, Edward sauntered into the house.

Captain Hook dozed lazily in his chair on deck. The morning sun was warm and he had not slept well for the last two nights for fretting over the boy; it was beginning to take a toll on him. Even though Edward had seemed fairly bright and chipper during their last visit, especially considering the recent beating his father had doled out, and seemed to think his mother had managed to diffuse the hospital stay he'd been threatened with, every now and again Hook felt a twinge of the boy's anxiety and it troubled him deeply. He hadn't been able to shake the cloud of foreboding that hung over him, and Edward dominated his thoughts.

For the past two days Hook had spent his time in Neverland trying to make contact with the faeries, unsuccessfully, even though he had managed a quick conversation with Pan's pixie and requested she speak to her brethren and set up a meeting. He had not divulged the exact nature of his business for fear that Tinkerbell would rush straight to Peter and tell the imp of Hook's brief respites; surely he would do everything within his selfish power to put a stop to the visits with Edward, as every moment not spent tormenting the pirate was wasted time to Peter, or so it seemed. And Hook knew the brat was piqued by the Captain's lack of interest in him. He had to admit that killing Pan was still a top priority, but it was not as pressing an issue as Edward; the boy's well-being and safety superseded all of Hook's other affairs. There had to be a way of bringing the boy back with him, Hook thought.

"And the answer," he muttered to himself, "is not on this ship." He stretched and yawned and let his feet slip lazily from the bulkhead where they'd been propped. "Mr. Smee!" he bellowed. "Ready the boat. I'm going ashore."

"Aye Cap'n," the old bosun replied.

Hook started for his cabin to gather his sword and pistols. He was halfway through the cabin door when it hit him, harder than a load of shot from a cannon at point blank range. Fear, rage, complete panic - so overwhelming it almost dropped the formidable pirate to his knees.

"Never mind!" he growled at Smee.

"But…" Smee began. He heard the door's bolt clank and sighed. "Oh well," he muttered. "I'm the crazy one, mind you." He set off in search of another drink of rum.

Hook leaned heavily against the inside of the door, clutching his aching chest. There was no doubt in his mind as to what was happening - Edward was in trouble. He could practically hear the boy crying out for him and, being fully awake this time, he felt the odd sensation of leaving Neverland as he was drawn into Edward's world. It was not a very pleasant experience either, reminding him somewhat of being swallowed by the crocodile. That same sliding, helpless, falling sensation, except this time Hook knew he was not going to his death. "Split my infinitives," he murmured as he slipped between worlds; it was the only thing he could think of to say.

It took Hook a moment to orient himself as he did not immediately recognize what part of the forest he was in. He swung around to get his bearings and saw Edward's deer stand beside the oak, patiently awaiting the arrival of a hunter - but the boy was not there, nor did he answer when Hook roared his name at the top of his lungs and the Captain set off towards Edward's house at a dead run. He emerged from the trees near the back of the barn and hesitated, listening for any sign of the boy. His heart roared so in his own ears that at first he could not hear clearly, but it only took a moment for them to clear enough for him to hear the struggle occurring at the front of the barn.

"Edward!" Hook bellowed.

Edward's full attention locked onto the sound of his friend's voice. "Sir!" he roared, "Help me, please, sir!" He struggled furiously to free himself from the straight jacket he'd been forced into, and to impede his captors progress.

"I am helping you," Edward's father grunted, wrestling his son towards the waiting panel van, along with the help of two attendants from Brywnood Behavioral Health.

"You!?" Edward spewed venomously. "You get your filthy hands off me or so help me I'll kill you when I get loose! You don't give a damn about me!"

Hook rounded the corner of the barn and momentarily froze in horror. Edward, wearing an odd-looking white coat which seemed to have swallowed both the boy's arms, was fighting tooth and claw to stay out of a strange white metal carriage. Two burly men and his father struggled with the boy trying to force him inside. When the boy's eyes met Hook's he saw Edward's despair and his blue eyes burned red with bloody rage.

"Sir!" Edward cried out, struggling fiercely. Don't let them take me. Please!"

One of the two men grappling with Edward glanced towards the barn to see who the boy was talking to, but as he had forgotten how to see, he saw nothing but empty space. "Who's he talking to?" he grunted.

"God only knows," Edward's father answered. He shoved hard against his son's back and Edward's feet slid on the gravel driveway.

Hook went for the bearded man at Edward's left side first, slashing him across the back with his sword. The man groaned and stumbled, but Edward's father quickly took his place.

"You're a dead man," Hook snarled and plunged his sword deep into Edward's father, through the man's left shoulder blade. Edward's father clutched at his chest and fell to his knees, but there was no blood. Hook stared at the blade, still gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun - not a drop of blood anywhere. It made no sense to him. The man had felt the pain, both of them had. So why….

The bearded attendant seized hold of Edward again and kicked at the boy's feet, shoved up against the van's door frame. "Come on, you little shit!" he snarled.

Edward groaned and redoubled his effort to push away from the vehicle. The black attendant on Edward's right side joined in the attack on the boy's legs. Edward looked frantically over his shoulder to see Hook standing over his crumpled father.

"Kill him!" Edward growled. "Kill the son-of-a-bitch, please." He felt his feet beginning to slip, his ankles were giving way to the punishing blows. "Sir! Help me!"

"Here I am!" Hook reached for Edward, looking for a hand to grab hold of so he could pull the boy free, but he couldn't find one; Edward's arms were bound inside the white coat. He saw the men kick once more at the boy's feet and Edward almost lost his footing. He grasped at the heavy white canvas jacket and tried to pull the boy free, but there was really nothing he could gain a firm grip on. "Damnation!" he swore. If only he had two hands, then he could catch hold of Edward. For a split second he considered digging his hook in the stiff material but feared it might slip and wound the boy, so Hook shoved the man to Edward's right, trying to get his arms around the boy's chest. He could feel the boy shaking with exhaustion and fear. "Just a moment more son, and I'll have you," he grunted to Edward.

Then suddenly Edward was inside the carriage with the bearded brute holding him down and a heavy metal door slammed shut between him and the Captain. The carriage made a strange, deep growling sound, muffling Edward's pleas for help. Hook slammed his fist against the glass window, then his claw, trying to break in and free the boy. He managed to crack the glass before the vehicle sped away up the long gravel driveway with the attendants wondering what unseen force had attacked them and damaged the van so, and leaving Hook stunned and baffled. His last glimpse of Edward was of the boy with his head craned backwards, his terrified eyes fixed on the Captain; the boy mouthed something to him several times, but it was not until the strange carriage was out of sight that Hook deciphered what Edward had said… I love you, sir.

"Edward!" he called. "Edward! No!" He could feel himself shaking and icy sweat rolled down his face and back. He shook his head. This could not be happening; it just couldn't happen. They could not just take the boy from him like this. He would not let them - but they had and try as he might he had not been able to stop them. The sound of a door slamming shut jolted Hook from his astonishment and he bolted for the house in pursuit of Edward's father, kicking the back door open. He heard the man's footsteps overhead and headed for the stairs.

He found Edward's father in the boy's room, systematically stripping the walls of all Edward's prized images of the Captain. He shoved the shredded remains along with books, figurines, model ships, everything and anything vaguely related to pirates or Captain Hook into a large black bag, purposely ripping and breaking everything he could while a constant stream of obscenities poured from his mouth. Watching him was torture, and Hook's anguish and fury would not be caged one moment longer. He sprang at the man, ripping at his left ribcage with the razor-sharp claw.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Edward's father yelled. He rubbed his side ruefully. "What the fuck?" Maybe, he thought, he had pulled some muscles in the struggle. That was probably it.

Hook glared at the man and slashed at his throat with his dreadful claw. The man screamed in pain, and though Hook was thoroughly puzzled at the lack of visible wounds and blood, the thought of causing such agony to his friend's tormentor brought him much satisfaction. He watched the man's eye's growing wide with fear. "Good!" he hissed, "You bloody bastard!" and struck another blow at the man, slashing him over the heart.

"Shit!" Edward's father groaned and clutched his chest. "Evelyn! Where are you? Help!"

Hook listened for a reply, but the house seemed empty. "Too bad," he placated. "There's no one here for you, you despicable, worthless sack of entrails." He bashed the man aside his head with the claw as Edward's father staggered to his knees. Hook kicked him with all his might, hurling the man out into the hallway.

"What the fuck is going on?" he roared. Cold sweat poured from his forehead and his heart was pounding. This was the second time some unseen force, some thing had forced him from Edward's bedroom. Had his son been possessed by a demon from hell, he wondered? "In the name of God Almighty leave this house, demon!" he commanded in his best drill-sergeant tone.

Hook chuckled. "How utterly amusing," he smirked. "I supposed I should be flattered." He kicked the man again, sending him sprawling backwards on the carpet. "Demon from Hell, indeed. You may wish you would get off so lightly." He dug his claw into the man's chest and twisted and slashed while Edward's father screamed and writhed in agony, and Hook's eye-s burned a fiery red with rage. "I'll tear your heart out for what you've done to that child!" he snarled.

"Roger?" a woman's voice called from below. Hook froze; Edward's mother had returned.

"Evelyn!" her husband panted. "Help me!"

Edward's mother hurried upstairs. Her hands flew to her mouth at the sight of her ex-Marine husband crumpled on the floor, pale and sweaty and shaking. "Oh my God, Roger. Are you having a heart attack?"

"No," Roger shook his head emphatically. "That… that thing attacked me again. In Eddie's room."

"Thing?" she echoed.

"I told you about it Friday night."

"Oh," Evelyn replied, rolling her eyes. "That." She looked around now and wondered where her son was. "Where is Eddie?" she asked. "Did you let him go hunting?"

"No," Roger answered, crawling to his knees. "I had Brynwood come pick him up."

"You did what?!"

Hook leaned back against the doorframe of Edward's bedroom and crossed his arms. As he'd thought, this was all the father's doings - now maybe the boy's mother would put a stop to this nonsense.

"I called Brynwood and had them come pick him up, Evy," Roger staggered to his feet. "Something has to be done before he kills someone."

"Eddie?" Evelyn stared at her husband as if he'd just sprouted tomato vines from his ears. "Have you been drinking again?"

"No!"

"I thought you said you were going to think more about it before you did anything," Evelyn snapped. She started towards Edward's bedroom.

"Don't go in there," Roger warned.

"Why not?" she hesitated and looked back over her shoulder.

"That thing," Roger said. "It might go after you."

"Oh poof," she snorted. "Of all the …" Evelyn's voice faded as she looked at the state her son's room was in. "Oh my God, Roger," she breathed. "What have you done?"

"I told him to take that shit down months ago," Roger grumbled. "That's part of his problem."

Hook felt his hackles rise at this. Why, he'd never done anything to harm the boy, he told himself. He treated Edward as though he were his own son, and far better than the boy's own father ever had. He leaned against Edward's desk and glowered at Roger.

"What utter nonsense," Evelyn huffed. "I believe Eddie was right. You are jealous."

"Bull shit," Roger snarled. "This crap has been a bad influence on him since…"

"Eddie has been crazy about Captain Hook since he was a little boy…"

"But he's not a little boy anymore!" Roger snapped. "He's too old to be off in the woods talking to someone who isn't real."

Evelyn sat down on the corner of Edward's bed and shook her head. "I can't believe you wanted to send him to Brynwood because you're jealous of an imaginary friend."

"That's not why I called them!" Roger roared. "I sent him because he fucking tried to kill me Friday and I'm not waiting on him to try again."

"Of course you did nothing to him," Evelyn snarked.

"I tried to make him take his medicine."

"He told me what you tried to do," Evelyn cut in, "and he showed me his back after you beat him. What's wrong with you Roger? That's our son."

"He's sick," Roger insisted.

"You know," Evelyn stood up and folded her arms in front of her chest, "Eddie does have an over-active imagination, and he's moody but he's always been a bit solemn. And yes, he has quite a temper and has had some problems at school, but Dr. Matthews said that goes with…"

"He's tried to choke his cousin on more than one occasion," Roger butted in.

"Yes, but John teases him mercilessly and no one has ever lifted a finger to stop him," Evelyn pointed out. "And I won't overlook it just because he's your brother's kid." She looked around the room again. "He's going to be furious when he sees this."

"He won't see it," Roger said. "It'll be gone long before he comes home."

"The hell it will," Evelyn snapped. "I'm going over there and get Eddie right damn now."

"You can't" Roger protested.

"Oh yes I can and I will. I'm his mother. Eddie is not dangerous and he doesn't need to be locked up. He just needs to try some different medicine."

"Finally," Hook whispered to himself. Finally the boy's mother was making a stand; he just hoped it wouldn't be too late for Edward. He eased across the room and stood close to the woman. "Go get my boy," he purred. "Go on. Bring the lad back." If the father could feel his wrath, he thought, maybe the mother would be receptive to his suggestions. "Bring the boy back home, where he belongs."

"He won't take it," Roger snapped.

"If it doesn't make him as sick as the other, he will," Evelyn insisted. "He told you how sick the Lithium made him, and the Librium."

"Bull shit," Roger snorted. "He just didn't want to take it.

"Whatever," she snorted. "I'm still going and bringing him back home."

"They won't let us see him for at least three days," Roger said. "They explained it when I signed the papers."

"I didn't sign any damned papers!" Evelyn screamed angrily. "And they won't stop me from bringing Eddie home, and neither will you." She shoved her husband aside and started for the stairs.

"Now hang on Evy," Roger stammered. "You can't do that. It'll only screw him up worse…"

"Worse than what?" she stomped her foot at him. "God, he's already going to hate us for what's been done so far. And if you think for one moment I'm leaving him there…" she hustled down the stairs for her car keys.

"You're not going," Roger insisted.

"Oh yes I am," she snapped. "And you can just stay here with your… your boogey-man."

"My what?"

"Maybe he'll drag you off to Hell with him before I get back," Evelyn slammed the door and Roger hustled to catch up to her.

Hook leaned against the banister and stroked his beard. Hopefully, Edward's mother would not give in to her husband, and Edward should be back home within a few hours. He decided to wait in the boy's bedroom; it would be a nice surprise for Edward when he walked in.

Hook sank down onto the bed and glanced around the devastated room. Dear God, he wondered, what would happen to Edward if they didn't bring him home? What sort of a place was this Brynwood? The thought of going there had terrified Edward and if it was bad enough to finally spur the boy's mother to action…. Hook shook his head and tried not to think about it. He picked up a sketchbook that had been tossed onto Edward's bed and flipped through the pages; they were filled with all sorts of drawings of him, his ship, he and the boy together. He felt the corners of his mouth flick upwards as he smoothed several crumpled pages back out. He was taking Edward with him tonight or he would die trying.

Hook waited for hours. Outside, the sun was setting and the boy's room was growing steadily darker, along with Hook's own feelings. Surely, they should be home by now, he thought. What if Edward's father had prevailed?

"No!" he said firmly. "You bring him back."

Soon darkness enveloped the room and Captain Hook waited still. Finally he heard the crunching of gravel; Edward's mother was home and Hook hurried to the stairs to greet his companion… but the boy was not with her and Edward's mother wore a grave, stunned look of defeat. Hook staggered down the stairs and went to the sofa where Evelyn was seated.

"No, this isn't right," he insisted. "You have to go back. You have to bring my Edward back. You can't do this to him. I won't have it. I won't let you do this to him… or to me." He knelt beside the woman. "Go back and get the boy. Bring my Edward home… please." But Evelyn did not move. She stared at the wall as if in a trance.

Hook went back up to Edward's room to wait. The boy's father had not returned yet, maybe Edward was with him? He sat in the dark room for hours, waiting, straining to hear the gravel crunch again and herald the arrival of the boy's father, but the man never came home that night. As the hours ticked by slowly, dread began to creep over Hook. His chest ached as though someone had run him through with a broadsword and a sense of emptiness filled his soul. The fear and rage he'd felt from Edward were gone, and aside from the dreadful ache, he could feel nothing of the boy anymore. He brushed away the fly that was crawling on his cheek - only it wasn't a fly. He looked at the moisture on his fingers and felt more tears spilling down his face.

"Damn," Hook breathed. He'd done it. He'd let himself love Edward and now the boy was going to break his heart, even though he had sworn he would never hurt the Captain…. But it wasn't Edward's doing, Hook reminded himself. This was all the handiwork of the boy's beastly father. He still didn't understand why he hadn't been able to kill the man, though tormenting him had been most entertaining. He looked around the dark room once more.

"It's not your fault, lad," he said softly. "Wherever you are child, know that I do not blame you." He sat waiting for even a twinge of recognition, something that would let him know Edward was all right and could still reach out to him, but there was nothing. The boy was gone and there was nothing he could do about it. Hook set the sketchbook back onto Edward's bed and started to leave. He looked back at the bed and went back, slipping Edward's sketchbook carefully into his coat pocket. He let a great, sad sigh slip from his lungs and left the house, heading back towards the forest and Neverland, and loneliness.

Somewhere in Northeast Ohio, 1997

The rocking chair's rocker's creaked gently, as if humming softly to themselves. Edward Stewart sat in the chill darkness of a mid-October evening in northeast Ohio, rocking slowly while he listened to the apologetic chirps of crickets and the occasional cackling hoots of a pair of barred owls. Steam curled lazily from the mug of hot tea he rested on the right arm of the rocker. The full moon had almost reached its apex for the night, casting its silvery light on the lonely, remote farm below. The heavy dew that had already fallen had frozen into a shimmering coat of ice on the lawn that stretched before him. Somewhere in the distance he heard the lonesome whine of tires of asphalt, eventually fading into the distance; the clock on the fireplace mantle chimed, marking nine o'clock and he could hear a U-2 song, "One", playing on the radio in the den.

Edward shifted in the rocker and half-sighed, half-snorted to himself. As usual, nothing in his life was going according to his plans. As a matter of fact, it was all going straight down the toilet. Until a few weeks ago, he thought he'd been making a good life for himself, extraordinarily so. He had landed a cushy job at the Post Office during his sophomore year at college…. because he'd been kicked out of school. What a twisted path his life had followed.

His parents had placed him in a prestigious private prep school when he was 16; his grades had been excellent. He made few friends but cared little. Edward found his own company preferable to that of other people; they were not to be trusted and he could concentrate on his studies. Besides, he didn't care for the whispers about "the crazy boy" that found their way to his ears. His time at Brynwood was supposed to be kept top secret – but there were no men or women of honor left it seemed to Edward. His one solace had been the fencing team.

The fencing master had doubted Edward's abilities as he'd had no lessons whatsoever, but after Edward disarmed the man three times in a row he was welcomed onto the team and quickly became their star pupil. He rarely lost a match and had moves that astounded even his teacher, including being able to switch sword hands in mid match and fight as well with his left hand as his right. The sudden and unexpected multiple switches caught his opponents off guard, as they never knew when Edward would pull the swap, so they had no effective defense against him; it was something he had made up playing as a child. Edward's talents with epee and saber earned him a scholarship to Kent State; he was even offered a try-out for the US Olympic fencing team, which he promptly turned down. Edward deplored any attention that made him stand out of the crowd. He clung to his anonymity as fiercely as a Pit Bull Terrier.

He had been planning on a degree in drafting and engineering. Unfortunately, the great talent that got him in college was ultimately what got him expelled from college. Again, Edward felt he'd been treated unfairly. After leading the Golden Flash fencing team to one of its few victories against Ohio State, one of the Buckeyes team members – a freshman who looked like a fourteen-year old, with curly blonde hair – for some reason swatted Edward across the buttocks with his epee'; that had been a grave mistake. Edward turned and attacked the young man so ferociously both foils had broken, Edward's near the tip and Edward slashed the Buckeye from his left shoulder to his liver. He had to be dragged away by his own teammates, roaring obscenities and foaming at the mouth with rage. He had no good explanation as to why he'd gone off the deep end; there was just something about that swat had ignited an ancient red fury in him. Parts of his youth were a blur or just missing completely. With the help of a good psychiatrist & his time at Brynwood, he avoided jail, but his chance at college was gone.

So Edward had applied and tested for a position at the US Postal Service, and scored very high. He was hired within 3 months of taking the test as a processing clerk, working second shift. The money could not be beaten and the job had afforded him luxuries most college graduates had to wait until their mid-thirties for. He'd had his own house, two vehicles, a horse, a boat - almost everything he had ever dreamed of. Now here he was, living back in his parents' house while they enjoyed their retirement in Hilton Head, South Carolina, and his five-and-a- half-year long stint at the P.O. was just a memory, thanks to Fang.

He supposed he should be glad he had a roof over his head. The house was in good repair as were the out-buildings so at least he had somewhere to keep his horse, and plenty of land to hunt and fish on. Edward had planned on putting a deer stand in the same oak tree he'd hunted from as a boy, but when he visited the spot, it had given him the creeps. He kept feeling like at any moment someone would come walking out of the forest, though he didn't have a clue whom it might be. He'd been so spooked he had thrown up and had gotten the awful shooting pains in his legs he so often woke up from his nightmares with.

That was another reason he hated being back home - the nightmares, or night terrors as his therapist had termed them. More often than not, Edward could not even remember what he'd been dreaming about, only that he woke up in a cold sweat, screaming at the top of his lungs and overwhelmed by grief, though for who or what he did not know. He supposed it was a good thing he didn't remember what the dreams were about; it would only be one more thing to gnaw at his sanity, just as Fang did.

He mulled the post office incident over again in his head. He had been running mail on the bar-code sorter, as usual, and having a fairly good evening at work. It was a Friday, the mail was light, the new medication he was on for his mood swings seemed to be working and he had the following Monday off as well. He was merrily whistling Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" while he loaded two trays of letters onto the feeder belt, scurrying over to the adjacent machine to pick up more mail to run. As he wheeled the APC over to his station, several precariously stacked trays of mail slid off the top rack and spilled all over the aisle way.

"Damn it!" Edward swore under his breath. He dropped to his knees and began gathering up and facing the letters back into the trays. Valerie, the supervisor trainee came by and began helping with the clean-up. They were both laughing about the incident when another clerk walked up - Fang. Fang was not her real name, but it was the one Edward best remembered her by.

"That wouldn't have happened if you had closed the doors on the APC, you know." Fang had snorted.

"Yeah, I know, alright," Edward had replied, still focusing on facing the letters as quickly as he could.

"That's why they tell us to always close the doors," Fang continued, "so this sort of thing won't happen."

Edward was getting irritated. There was nothing worse than someone who rubbed your nose in your mistakes, especially when you had already acknowledged that you were

wrong in the first place. "Are you gonna help us," he asked sitting up on his heels for a moment, "or are you gonna just stand there and be a pain in the ass?"

"I didn't make that mess," Fang sneered. "You clean it up yourself."

"Fine!" Edward snapped. "Then bugger off and leave me alone."

"Yeah," Valerie chimed in. "Don't you have a job to do?"

"Just look at all the time you're wasting," Fang needled.

"Go back to your station before I write you up," Valerie threatened, becoming irritated herself.

Edward had had enough by then, so when Fang had started to say something else, he had cut her off. "Oh bite me!" he snarled.

"What?"

"You heard me," Edward snapped, once more focusing on getting the mail back up on the cart and over to his sorting machine. "Bite me."

"Yeah," Valerie chimed in, "Ditto on that for me too."

"What does that mean?" Fang asked. Both Edward and Valerie looked at each other and Edward snorted with disgust; Valerie walked off laughing to herself. "Well!?" Fang demanded.

"Go play in the traffic, why don't you?" Edward sighed and finished pushing the mail over to his sorter.

He quickly forgot about the incident and plunged back into his work. He wasn't sure how much time passed before it happened. He was busily loading letters onto the feeder belt again when a blur of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Suddenly, someone grabbed his left arm; a burning, stabbing pain followed immediately. For a moment Edward was stunned, unable to move. Then he yanked his arm away and glared at the woman that had been taunting him several minutes earlier.

"You stupid bitch!" he snarled, "What the fuck did you do that for!?" Fang had bitten him hard just below the elbow, and blood was running down his forearm.

"You told me to," Fang sneered back.

"You idiot," Edward yelled. He slapped the emergency stop to silence the machine. "That's a figure of speech and you know it. Fuck, you broke the skin -idiot crazy ass bitch!" All he could think of was hepatitis, HIV, and all the bacteria in the human mouth.

The other supervisors had heard the fracas and came running.

"Well," Fang teased, "Maybe now you'll be more careful what you say to folks."

A Great-Horned Owl lit in the Maple tree next to the porch and hooted. Edward took a sip of tea and shook his head. He knew he shouldn't have balled up his fist and hit Fang as hard as he could. He knew he shouldn't have, but damn it felt good. For her part, Fang had been sent sprawling across the wide aisle way and over the safety railing, about twenty-five feet or so, with a nice fat lip and a bloody nose. And with that he'd been thrown out of the building and was officially fired the next day. Fang had sued, but he had counter-sued and as he had witnesses and a damn good lawyer, he prevailed.

"Fat lot of good that did," Edward mumbled. He hocked up a phlegm ball and spat it into the yard. Though Fang got no money from him, she somehow managed to keep her job.

He was not reinstated though. Instead, the post office forced him into a "medical" retirement due to his mental status; bipolar-type 1 with violent tendencies and occasional hallucinations. His monthly retirement allotment was about one-quarter his regular monthly pay - which had caused Edward to lose his house, his car, his truck, and his boat and he'd had to declare bankruptcy.

He supposed he had his mother to thank for the house; his father surely didn't come up with that one himself. As usual, he blamed Edward for the whole Fang debacle; he always blamed Edward for everything. In his current predicament though, Edward had been in no position to argue and it was better than public housing by far. And he could have his animals - his horse and his barn cat; maybe, he thought, he would get another dog.

He hadn't had one since Daddy had put Snickers to sleep one day while he was at school. He could do with a nice big watchdog and decided he would make a trip to the animal shelter next week. Maybe he wouldn't feel so unsettled in the house with a dog around, Edward thought. He had taken over his parents' bedroom downstairs as the upstairs gave him the same spooked feeling as his old deer stand did. The only time he'd try to go into his old bedroom, he'd ended up having a full-blown panic attack, so he avoided the upstairs like the plague.

A strange whooping sound wrenched Edward from his sullen thoughts. "What the…", he mumbled; he left his chair and strode along the porch that encompassed the old brick farmhouse and stared out across the horse pasture towards the woods. A thin wisp of mist lay just a few feet above the ground, creating a ghostly scene. Edward listened intently, cocking his head first to one side, then the other. Nothing but silence. He shook his head, a bit bewildered, and turned to go back to the front of the house. He froze in mid-turn - there it was again. More of a low chanting, interspersed with wild whoops and laughter.

"Damn it!" he swore loudly, "bloody kids again." Probably those high school students partying after their Friday night football game, he thought. Unfortunately, they wanted to party in a fallow field at the back of Edward's 150 acres; he had already run them off a couple of weekends ago.

He supposed he wouldn't have minded so much if they asked, in the first place, and if they wouldn't drink, in the second. But they hadn't asked, and last time he had found where they'd built a bonfire and smashed beer bottles in it and left cans and bottles and other garbage strewn about the field, not to mention they had torn up the ground with their four-wheel drive trucks and ruined the food plot he had planted for the deer and turkeys.

The one thing Edward had appreciated about being way out in the sticks was that there was no one around to bother him and trigger one of his infamous rages. Why did people have to fuck with him, he wondered. Everyone was always pushing him around and trying to take advantage of him when all he wanted was to be left alone to lick his wounds; he was damned sick and tired of it. He stomped into the house for his guns. This, he determined, was to be the end of it.

He grabbed his Ruger SR-9mm pistol and shoulder holster from its shelf in the gun safe and slipped it on quickly. He also took his 16-gauge pump shotgun and several boxes of slugs. The slugs were deposited into his camouflage day-pack along with two extra boxes of 9mm rounds. He put on his dark green chore coat and then slung the pack on. Edward started out the door, then went back and stuffed three boxes of buckshot and four extra clips for the pistol into his coat pockets. He locked the door behind himself and stood on the back deck, now little more than a stoop, listening to cacophony of sounds which rolled from deep in the woods.

At one time the deck had been huge, but his father had torn it down after Edward had left for college; he never understood why either. It would be a nice spot for barbeques and cookouts and… Edward snorted. As is he had any friends to invite over. He sighed and started out across the horse pasture towards the woods. His horse followed him to the back gate, nickering softly and bumping his shoulder with its forehead.

"No Man, no treats this time." He rubbed the big red Walking Horse's nose for a moment after closing the gate. "Those crazy damn fools might try to run you over, and what would I without my Manny, eh?" The horse and his guns were about the only thing Edward had left from his independent life. He heard Man snort as he started down the narrow trail through the woods and paused; maybe he should have brought a flashlight with him? But his eyes soon adjusted to the dappled moonlight under the canopy of brilliant autumn leaves, and he continued towards the old meadow. With every step the whoops grew louder, and the low chanting sounded more like a strange sort of song, but he couldn't make out the words.

Edward picked his way quickly but carefully along the shadowy path. To his left, a loud nasally snort followed by the sounds of something crashing through the woods told Edward he had spooked a deer. "Well there goes my hunting for tomorrow," he grumbled. Maybe not, he hoped, for he could surely use the free meat to stock his freezer.

As he neared a small opening in the forest the noises stopped as suddenly as if someone had switched off a radio. The woods were eerily quiet, except for the sleepy chirps of a few crickets and the far-off hoot of an owl. Edward stood at the edge of the glade perplexed. Had they heard him coming? Had someone seen him? He listened for the sound of vehicles leaving but heard none, only the rustling of leaves in the light breeze that moved through the trees.

"Hmmph," he snorted. His breath rolled out before him like smoke from a chimney in the frosty night air. He began to walk again, very slowly and deliberately, stopping again in the middle of the small glade. There before him, completely surrounding a section of the path was a perfect circle of orangey-brownish mushrooms, covered in frost and shimmering in the light of the full moon. He squatted down and examined the ring, smiling to himself; Momma had shown him these when he was a child. Faerie rings, that was what she called them. She had said that if you stood inside the circle and made a wish, the faeries might just grant it. He shook his head sadly and snorted again; none of his wishes had ever come true.

"That, my dear boy," Edward said to himself as he stood up, "is because there's no such thing as fricking faeries," and he started down the path again. His left foot came down inside the circle; as he lifted his right foot for the next step there was a blinding flash of blue-white light and a deafening crack of thunder. Edward could feel himself begin to fall through the air; then everything went black.

Captain Hook jerked awake and was on his feet before he was quite fully alert. "What the devil?!" he cried out. He was sure it was cannon fire that had awakened him; he fumbled with his harness as he headed for the door, grabbing his sword and presenting himself on deck clad only in the trousers he had hurriedly wrestled on.

"Where is he!?" Hook demanded of the crewman he found on watch.

"Who, Cap'n?"

"Pan, Mr. Hopkins. Who else?" Hook snarled, shaking his iron claw at the man.

Hopkins, a tall, lanky pirate with stringy blonde hair scratched his head. "I haven't seen him, Cap'n" the bewildered man answered, shivering in the cold.

"Then what in blazes were you shooting at, you fool!" Hook snapped.

"Oh, that," Hopkins stammered nervously. "That wasn't me shootin' Cap'n. Just a great bloody clap o' thunder."

"Thunder?!" Hook retorted, incredulous. He searched the starry sky for signs of an approaching storm. "From a clear sky, Mr. Hopkins? Do you take me for a complete idiot?"

"Aye, sir," Hopkins stumbled over his word. "I mean no sir, but it was thunder sir. I swear I do believe it shook the whole damned island. Never 'eared one so loud in my life before, sir."

Hook snorted. "Thunder, eh? Well you keep a sharp look out or I'll have your guts for garters, understand!"

"Aye, sir," Hopkins replied nervously. "Of course, sir." Despite the chilly temperatures he could feel nervous sweat rolling down his back.

Hook walked to ship's railing and glared towards Neverland. He was sure this was another one of Pan's blasted tricks. Next to trying to kill him, there was nothing Peter seemed to enjoy more than interrupting Hook's sleep and decent sleep was hard enough for him to come by. When and if he could sleep, his nights were usually haunted by disturbing dreams and nightmares - dreams of strange people and foreign places and little boys crying. Deep, tranquil sleep was a true rarity for the Captain.

Hook scanned the beach, but there was no sign of Peter or any other living thing stirring on the island. After several minutes he felt himself shivering in the cold night air and decided that Hopkins' story, however unlikely, must have been correct. Great clouds of his breath rolled out before him on the damp night air and he could feel his balls shrinking closer to his body; it was not an entirely pleasant sensation either. The soles of his bare feet ached from standing on the frost covered deck. He became aware that Hopkins was watching him shiver and might mistake it for fear rather than a natural reaction to the cold.

"It's freezing out here, Hopkins." he remarked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Tell cook I said to give you an extra ration of rum."

"Aye Sir!" Hopkins answered, a bit surprised by his captain's uncharacteristic but quite welcome generosity. "Good night sir."

"Bloody fool," Hook muttered under his breath as he slammed his cabin door. He wrestled his way out of his harness again and flung it towards his desk; it hit the leather covered top with a resounding thud. His stump was aching again and he went to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a good draught of rum to drive the chill and the pain away from his body.

"Thunder," he muttered between swallows. "And from a crystal-clear sky." It still did not seem quite right. He stood bathed in the light of the full moon, staring out the cabin windows along the back of the ship. He guessed it to be around four in the morning; it would be daylight in a few hours. Another long, arduous day in this hellish prison that was Neverland.

After retaking his ship from Peter, he had tried to sail away from the detestable place. He had hoped that maybe the powers that held him here hadn't realized that he was not being digested in the crocodile's stomach. But his efforts, as usual, were in vain. He was as trapped now as he had been before. It now dawned on Hook that Smee had not come to check on him; surely his sleep had also been disrupted also. "Smee," he half-whispered the name and sighed heavily; he shook off the mournful feeling that tried to creep over him.

"Bah!" he spat, downing the last of his rum. Smee was probably passed out drunk in his own bed. And anyway, Hook no longer considered him dependable; loyal maybe, but not dependable. He massaged his temples to ease his still aching head; he was still cold from his trip on deck. Groggy with sleep and alcohol, he crawled back into bed and burrowed into the warm covers. Again, sleep came quickly and blessedly dreamless this time.

The chirping of birds was the first really distinguishable sound that let Edward know he was still alive. He gradually became aware that he was lying face-down on the cold, damp ground. Every muscle in his body ached when he tried to move, and he had a headache that could stop a charging bull elephant dead in its tracks. He groaned and rolled slowly onto his right side. "Oh bugger," he muttered, blinking sleepily in the bright morning sunlight.

How odd, he thought to himself. If he didn't know it was impossible, he would swear he could smell the brackish, saltiness of the ocean. It smelled just like Myrtle Beach had on his vacation last year. Probably just some kind of funky leaf mold or something, he told himself.

Slowly and carefully, Edward pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his bleary eyes. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd worn deer-hunting the afternoon before; camouflage trousers in a tiger-stripe pattern tucked into his brown leather boots and under the dark green Carhardt coat he wore a grey plaid flannel shirt. His camouflage hoodie jacket was tucked inside the daypack that was still on his aching back. Edward reached for his left side and felt the pistol still in its shoulder holster. He looked around the patch of woods for his shotgun and found it lying about six feet away next to his hat; an old brown cowboy hat with the left side of the brim turned up Aussie style and held in place with a pin - a replica of the pirate flag flown by Bartholomew Roberts. An owl's feather was tucked into the right side of the hat's band. He scratched the whisker stubble on his neck and rose to his feet cautiously, stumbling a bit. The ground kept trying to jump up at him, then drop away from beneath his feet. He staggered over to retrieve his possessions.

Edward took a good look around himself now and realized he was thoroughly lost, or so it seemed. Nothing looked familiar, not the trees, the rocks, the ferns - nothing. He wondered if someone had snuck up behind him last night, knocked him out and dumped him far away from his home. Feeling woozy, he sat down on a fallen log and rested his head in his hands, trying to remember the exact events of the previous evening. Unfortunately, his memory was a blur of images, none of which made any sense and now the pounding in his head was making him feel like puking.

"Oh God," he groaned. The last time he'd felt this ill he'd had a hangover, and that was back during his freshman year at college. A rustling in the bushes behind him had Edward on his feet in an instant, which made his head pound harder and he half-expected to hear the loud pop of it bursting. He turned around slowly to find half a dozen or so young boys, anywhere from six or seven to maybe eleven, clad in an odd assortment of animal skins and rags and carrying poorly made bows and arrows or other shoddy weaponry. They were all staring at him as if he had snakes growing out of his head.

"What?" Edward asked grumpily.

"Pirate or Indian?" asked one of the boys, his brown hair styled in a mohawk.

"What?" Edward replied, confused and annoyed. He would kill for a cup of hot tea right about now, and a couple of sausage biscuits too.

"Simple enough question, ain't it?" answered the little upstart. "Are you a pirate or an Indian?"

Edward rubbed his forehead. Why did some children have to be such little smartasses? "Neither." he huffed. "And I am in no mood for any stupid games. Now where the hell am I?"

"I think he's an indian," giggled the littlest boy.

"Naw, he's a pirate." a boy with violently red hair insisted.

"I agree, Carrots," said a curly haired blonde boy, about ten. "Definitely a pirate."

"Definitely Nip." agreed his obvious twin brother.

"Now hang on just a damn minute!" Edward roared; his head quickly chastised him for it. "What the hell is all this indian and pirate crap?"

"For sure," squealed a rather rotund boy with an almost girlish voice. "He sounds just like a pirate!"

"Would you shut up already with the pirate shit!" God, how he hated dealing with kids. Edward reminded himself to watch his language around the boys. He tried to get a better handle on his temper. "Let's try this again now," he said through his teeth, "I realize I may be on your property, but I think someone whacked me on the head and dumped me here last night. So if you could just tell me where I am, I'll leave and go back home."

"Go get Peter," the one with the mohawk whispered to the boy called Carrots.

"Peter?" Edward echoed. "Is that your uncle or a cousin or what?"

The boy with the mohawk stared at Edward as if he was crazy. "My what?" he asked incredulously.

"Look fellas," Edward said, "I'm tired, I hurt all over. I'm obviously lost, and I have a killer of a headache. So let's make this easy on all of us. Where's your father?"

"Who?" asked one of the twins.

"Or your mother… or some responsible adult?" Edward waited for an answer, greeted instead with dumb-founded stares. "Fine," he snapped. "Then where's the nearest highway?"

"Highway?" the fat boy asked.

Edward sighed, exasperated. "See now, you guys are a prime example of why I would never want to have any children, and frankly, I think you all need a good butt-whippin'. But since you ain't mine…."

"I knew it!" the rotund boy pronounced triumphantly. "He is a pirate!"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Edward swore, "Can't anyone just give me a straight answer? Where in the name of God am I?"

The skinny boy with the mohawk stood as tall as he could and cleared his throat. "Ahem," he started, "You are in Neverland and you must wait here until.."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Edward roared. "I don't have time for this! I ain't playing your stupid little game so how about you just tell me where the fuck I am before I have to start kicking some ass." He really wanted to find these brats' parents and see what sort of hippiefied morons raised such disrespectful children. They could have used a few lessons in discipline from his ex-marine father.

"As I was saying," the mohawk boy continued, in his stuffy British accent, "You have to get Peter's permission to…"

"And just who in the hell is this Peter anyway?" Edward asked, half-afraid of the answer he would get.

"Peter Pan, of course," the boy answered, as if Edward were an idiot. "Peter must give you permission to…"

"That's it!" Edward snapped. "I'm outta here." If he didn't put a considerable distance between himself and the boys quickly, he would give them all the best ass whippings they'd ever had - and then their hippie parents would probably want to sue, and he'd have to kill them, and then he'd end up in jail; that just wouldn't do. His eyes darted around and he spied a path winding through the woods. He slung the shotgun across his shoulders and stomped off towards the trail, which seemed to run north and south. He chose north, deciding eventually he should run into Lake Erie if nothing else. Again, he swore he caught the smell of the ocean.

"Hang on," called Mohawk, "You just can't go wandering off!"

"Watch me!" Edward yelled back, not bothering to turn around. To punctuate his feelings on the matter, he raised his fist, middle finger up. "Little mother fuckers." he mumbled under his breath. He thought he heard them following him and broke into a fast jog to widen the distance between them.

"Stupid little bastards," Edward grumbled. He paused and looked over his shoulder; good, they were gone. Maybe they had decided to ruin someone else's morning. But when he rounded a curve in the path, there they all were again and then some, standing across the path which ended at a broad, very muddy river. "Bugger!" he swore. A new boy, slightly older than the rest, stepped forward.

"And just where do you think you are going?" the boy demanded.

"Nucking Futs?" Edward muttered. He made a quick mental head count of the boys; they now numbered about thirteen, plus their leader.

"What did you say?" asked the boy, a bit irritated.

Edward gave the boy a cursory look over. He was probably twelve or thirteen, with sandy blonde hair and haughty green eyes that seemed to stare straight through Edward. He wore tattered rags and leaves for clothing, and he had the most arrogant manner about him as if he were looking down his nose at everyone, considering them somehow inferior to him. Edward felt his hackles rising just looking at his cocky demeanor.

"Not that it's going to do me any good to ask you, asshole," he growled, "But I am trying to find out where I am and how to get back home. And all your little imp-shit friends have done is give me the run around." He was definitely feeling the effects of not having his med's. His temper was growing shorter by the moment. "Who the hell are you anyway?! Their big brother or something?"

The boy stiffened as if offended, then bowed from the waist. "Peter Pan, ruler of Neverland… And you are…"

"Getting pissed," Edward broke in. He shook his head in disgust. "Wherever in the hell I am, when I get home, I'm never coming near this place again." And with that he shoved Peter aside and plowed through the crowd of boys, pushing them left and right as he went, now heading downstream; if this was the Ohio River, he would come upon a town sooner or later. But moments later, the arrogant boy appeared before him again, this time high on the limb of huge fir.

"How did you…" His voice trailed off. It was about this time that Edward noticed a peculiar thing. It was, or it had been, mid-October; most of the leaves on the maples and oaks and hickories had turned to brilliant reds and yellows and oranges. But the leaves on all the deciduous trees here were green, and it was rather warm for October too. He glared up at the boy. "What?!" he asked, very agitated now. "Are you my own personal demon from hell sent to piss me off or what?" He could feel an anxiety attack brewing. The boy just smiled down at him, seeming to enjoy the aggravation he was causing.

"Aaarrghhh!" Edward roared with frustration. "Would some just tell me where I am… please?!"

"You are in Neverland," the boy answered from his perch. Peter was sure this fellow was a pirate. He acted just like a grown-up, even if he wasn't much taller than Peter.

"Fricking twilight zone," Edward muttered through gritted teeth. He now reminded himself how wrong it was to want to kill people because they pissed you off; people tended to want to put you in jail for such things. He cleared his throat and glared up at the imp in the tree. "And you would be…?"

"Peter Pan," the boy answered proudly, "At your service."

"Fine," Edward sighed. "In that case why don't you fly down here so I can kick your ass."

"Why should I?" Peter queried.

"Why not?" Edward fired back. "Satisfy a life-long dream of mine, why don't you?" That would put a stop to all this nonsense, he hoped.

He felt his heart stop for several beats when the boy stepped off the branch, hovered quite effortlessly, and flew around among the treetops for a few moments before landing lightly a few feet in front of Edward. "Holy shi…" his voice drifted off. Now he was quite sure he would hear the Twilight Zone music any moment. "It's finally happened," Edward grumbled. "I've lost my fucking mind."

"Really?" Peter sneered, his eyes flashing daggers at Edward. "And what makes you think that?"

"Because," Edward answered. "Either I am having one vivid hallucination, or… I'm dreaming. In either case, I'm going home now and crawl into the Valium bottle." He started to walk off, only to find a sword pointed at his chest. He raised an eyebrow and squelched the panic that tried to rear its head.

"Put that pig-sticker away boy, before you hurt yourself."

"You are a pirate," declared Peter, "and we kill any pirate we catch."

"No doubt." Edward answered. "Help, help." he added mockingly. "Now get that thing out of my face before I have to take it away from you." He was going to call Dr. Britt as soon as he got home.

Peter shoved the sword point hard against the chest pocket of Edward's coat. "Defend yourself or beg for mercy," he ordered.

Edward looked down at the sword for a moment and snorted. "Son," he said softly, "I've been more than patient with the lot of you, and I've put up with a giant mound of your bullshit, but if you don't get that thing out of my face now, I'm gonna kick your ass all the way to Christmas and back." He cast his eyes toward the heavens. Here he was, Edward thought, talking to Peter Pan, who didn't even exist. "That's just great, isn't it. I'm arguing with something that probably isn't even there."

Peter leveled the blade at Edward's throat. "What is your name, pirate?" he demanded. "I like to know who I'm about to kill."

"Would you give the pirate thing a rest?" Edward groaned; he pushed the blade away with his hand. "And furthermore, I am no pirate. I'm far more dangerous than that!" He flashed a wicked grin at Pan.

Pan looked a bit bewildered. What could be worse than a pirate, after all. "Well," he asked, mildly annoyed, "What are you?"

Edward's eyes flashed with anger; he showed his teeth, like a wolf menacing its prey. "For your information," he growled in a very low, dangerous voice. "I am a disgruntled postal worker… with guns!"

Peter wrinkled his nose and frowned. "What's so awful about that?"

Edward rubbed his aching forehead, thoroughly disgusted. So much for his thunder. "You know what?" he said "this conversation is over. I'm going home." With that, he started to push Peter aside. Arguing with figments of your imagination, he told himself, was a useless waste of time; furthermore, it tended to make one look a bit crazy. "Pirate my ass," he snorted.

As he reached for the boy Edward saw the blade flash before him and felt a sharp burning across the knuckles of his left hand. "Ow!" he cried, snatching his hand away. He tucked it close to his chest; the cut sliced clean down to the bone and blood was oozing down between his fingers and down the back of his hand. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he roared at Peter. "You stupid little bastard! I'm gonna need stitches for this!" Panic started to race through his system. This was the first time one of his hallucinations had attacked him. He'd never had a dream so real before in his life. But this couldn't be real, he reminded himself. It was just a story… wasn't it? Of course, don't be ridiculous, he chided himself. He tried to turn to leave.

Pan shook his head. "I don't think so." he menaced, once more holding the blade to Edward's throat. "I think I'll just take the whole hand off! I've done that before, you know." The obstinate fellow acted as ill-tempered as Hook and certainly swore like Hook; he may as well look like him also, he thought.

"I've heard something like that before," Edward managed between gritted teeth. He was trying very hard not to start hyperventilating. It had to be a hallucination, he kept telling himself. It had to be. It couldn't really be happening. He felt in one of his coat pockets for a handkerchief and wrapped it around the open wound; the stinging sensation made him question the validity of his hallucination again. "Though I dare say the offended party in that case would disagree on the fairness of those circumstances, especially if they were anything like this."

Peter's expression grew dark. "Hook is a fiend. A lying, cheating pirate! Everything he says is a lie!" He almost spat the words at Edward.

"So you say," Edward was now trying to inch backwards away from the sharp sword tip that danced in front of his eyes, but Peter countered every move he made, advancing on Edward's every retreat. He could feel every muscle in his body tensing, preparing for the fight or the flight that was sure to come, and his scalp felt like it was going to crush his skull. A thousand invisible tiny pins began to stab him from head to toe and Edward's fists clenched with rage.

"And you," he hissed at Pan, "are a blood-thirsty, murderous little bastard! And furthermore…" Edward hesitated. He knew he shouldn't go there, but he did anyway, damn the torpedoes, fire away. "Furthermore, if you are Pan, Wendy was smart to leave you and go home to grow up. You're nothing but a useless, sniveling coward - what the hell would she want with you? Hell, even your own mother didn't want you back."

Peter cried out in anger and raised his sword to strike. Edward's reaction was now more from instinct than rational thought. He swung the shotgun off his shoulder and stepped backwards, pumping a round into the breech as he brought the barrel level with Peter's chest. He fired in Pan's direction, but Peter vanished into the treetops, unscathed.

Something smacked him hard against his left sideburn drawing blood and Edward glared in the same direction to see the twin boys, about twenty feet away, readying their sling shots to fire again. He was well past the point of reason now; a blood-red fury had seized control of him and this time he aimed more carefully. "Mother fu…" his words were lost in the shotgun blasts. The others seemed truly horrified as the two boys hit the ground, either dead or so close it hardly mattered. Peter flew down beside the lifeless bodies.

"Nip! Tuck!" he called, shaking each boy hard to rouse them. "Nip?! Nip, wake up!" he begged. "Tuck! Tuck!" It was useless, Peter quickly realized; blood oozed from both boys, soaking the ground beneath them.

It all sounded so far away to Edward. What he heard mostly was the pounding of his own heart and the roaring of the blood through his own veins. Now he'd done it; he'd gotten his ass in real trouble for sure, he thought. He'd gone and finally killed someone. "Oh fuck," Edward breathed. The brassy taste of fear filled his mouth and cold chills coursed through his body.

Peter whirled around in a rage, angry tears streaming down his cheeks. "You killed them! How could you?!" But there was no one there. His pirate had vanished into the thick tangle of trees. "After him!" he roared at the boys. With their best war cries, the pack set out after Edward with swords and daggers drawn. "Kill him!" Pan goaded. "Scour the jungle for him and we'll cut off both hands, and then we'll kill him."

Captain Hook leaned back in his ornately carved chair and propped his feet up on the railing of the quarterdeck, enjoying his after-breakfast cigar. The late morning sun was pleasantly warm, and a light breeze played in his hair. He stared towards the island, not looking at anything in particular. Neverland seemed to be unusually quiet today. No animals roaring, no tom-toms beating in the Indian camp. The wind and the waves and a few gulls screeching overhead were all that broke the silence; that and the ambient sounds of his crew tending to their morning chores.

He sighed, bored, and cast a sideways glance to the main deck. There was nothing to do but wait; wait on Pan to put in an appearance, wait for a glimpse of the redskins, paddling towards his ship for an attack, wait for the day when he would finally kill the irritating boy and free himself from this cursed place. On the other hand, maybe he should launch a scouting trip for Peter's new hide-out. He made a quick mental tally of his men; twenty-three counting Mr. Smee - if Smee could be counted on, his inner voice remarked.

His constant battles with Pan and attacks by the redskins had thinned his crew considerably and though there had been a few less when he had recaptured the Jolly Roger from Pan, he would need more exiles from the Lost Boys before he could plan an all-out war on Peter. Since his previous lot of brats had returned to London with Wendy and her brothers, Pan had needed to rebuild his forces too; he was taking a damnably long time about it, though. Hook guessed that there were ten to fourteen lost boys, not including Pan, and as they were largely fresh recruits it would most likely be a while before any of them tried to join his crew. Piracy was about the only option available to boys that Pan decided to "thin out"; that was, if Peter or the savages didn't kill them first.

He took another long drag on his cigar and let the smoke escape through his nostrils. Though it was hardly fair, Peter, he knew, would enlist the aid of the redskins and they outnumbered his crew three to one, not counting the squaws or children too young to fight. Now, if there were only Pan and the boys to contend with, well now, that was much easier. But for that to happen he would have to discover Pan's hide-out and ambush him; that was the only quick solution he could see.

Hook was jolted from his musings by gunshots coming from the island. He sat up and scanned the beach. "Mr. Smee!" he roared.

Smee came bustling up the quarterdeck stairs on the double. "Aye Cap'n?" he asked nervously. The bosun was never quite sure what sort of mood he would find his captain in, especially these days.

"Who's on the island?" Hook demanded, now on his feet. "I'll have him keel-hauled for disobeying my orders!" No one, but no one, was to set foot on the island without Hook's knowledge. He would gut the scurvy dog that had.

Smee cast a quick glance and the crew. "No one Cap'n." he replied. "All on board and accounted for, they are."

Hook glared at Smee. "Then tell me, Mr. Smee," he asked scathingly, "how did the redskins manage to acquire firearms?"

"Cap'n?" Smee asked, befuddled.

"I distinctly heard gun fire, Mr. Smee," Hook insisted, "and if none of the crew are ashore, then it must be the…" he stop in mid-sentence as two more shots rang out. "There!" he said triumphantly, slapping the back of the chair with his left hand. "Now explain to me how those cursed savages got their hands on any firearms."

Smee stroked his beard nervously. "I dunno Cap'n. Maybe when Pan had the ship, he took…."

"Aye," Hook interrupted and turned away from Smee. "Maybe he did." His words were clipped. The constant reminders of that particular night gnawed at his ego almost as bad as the children's incessant chanting had. Every memory jabbed at him, a tiny sword of defeat in his ribs; another dose of humiliation heaped upon his pride. He wondered if it would every go away so long as he failed in gaining retribution.

Hook watched the island for a moment, then turned back to Smee. "But if that is the case, Smee, it presents a set of circumstances whose consequences I do not care to discover. I've grown rather fond of my scalp. How about you?"

"Aye, sir," Smee nodded, jamming his hat down tighter on his head. "Me too." Another shot split the air. It seemed to originate quite a distance from the last series, Smee thought. The two men gave each other grave looks.

Edward charged through the thick tangle of underbrush at break-neck speed. He had no idea which direction he was traveling in or where he was going. His only thought was to put as much distance between himself and the Lord of the Flies rejects as he could without running up on some bloody big snake. He'd never encountered one in the wild, but he had seen them at the Columbus Zoo and also when a reptile expert had done a demonstration at his high school. All it took was one look at the rattlesnakes and copperheads and moccasins for Edward to know he hated snakes. Hated them? He was absolutely terrified of them. Every stick and twisted vine looked like one, ready to plunge its fangs into his calf or shoulder. The only thing that drove Edward deeper into the swampy brush were the howls and angry cries of Peter and the boys behind him.

Edward felt sick to his stomach; the stark realization that he had actually killed someone had set in and there was no really good justification for it - at least, not according to the law. He was going to jail for sure now. He paused to fire a shot behind him, blindly aiming into the dense mat of briars and saplings he'd just plowed through. May as well kill three or four as two, he reasoned. After the first death penalty, any extras really didn't matter, did they? Besides, there was some doubt in Edward's mind as to whether or not he would live to even be arrested, let alone make it to court.

Edward hustled down a steep bank to a cool, shady creek bottom and clambered over the huge stones that lined the stream, crossing at a shallow point. He collapsed behind one of the larger boulders and tried to catch his breath. "Fuck!" he swore. He had finally gone and done it - gone and killed someone. It wasn't like he hadn't tried before. He had, in the past, made several attempts to throttle his cousin John, but then John had teased him mercilessly and deserved it. And then there had been the Ohio State freshman who'd gotten him kicked out of Kent State, and Fang… Edward wiped the blood away from his ear; in his book the two boys deserved what they had gotten also. Why couldn't people just leave him alone?

"Shit." Edward muttered. "Shit, shit and bull shit." Sweat poured from his body. He was dressed for thirty and forty degree weather and it had to be at least seventy and very humid. He wished now that he'd had time to get out of the long underwear he had on; not that there had been any real opportunity. He'd been hounded since he opened his eyes this morning.

Edward slipped off his backpack and coat and rolled the coat up, lashing it to the underside of the pack. He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt and fanned himself with his hat. He was soaked to the skin with sweat and in this cool creek bottom he could see the heat rising from his body as steam. He looked down at his aching left hand and flexed his stiffening fingers.

Pain had a way of stripping away any illusions. Ever since he woke up this morning, he had tried to convince himself that he was indeed still dreaming or trapped in the worst set of hallucinations he'd ever had. The burning ache from his slashed knuckles and the gash over his left ear argued otherwise. Still panting, he strained to focus on the last things he could remember from the previous night. The cold, the whoops, the laughter, the brilliant full moon… the last thing he could remember was stepping into the faerie ring.

"Faeries," Edward snorted. "What rot." And yet, he had caught glimpses of small things darting through the air as he plowed through the forest; of course, he'd been running too fast to get a good look at them - it could have been moths, dragonflies, giant mosquitoes, anything. And then there was the problem with the boy… the one that had flown. He was aware of the story of Peter Pan. As a boy his mother had read it to him. Not that he'd ever felt any good will towards Pan. As far as he'd been concerned. Peter was a rotten spoiled little brat who was in desperate need of a few good whippings; nothing that had happened today would convince Edward otherwise either. He still preferred….

Edward grimaced as a wave of nausea swept over him. The muscles in his legs began to burn and he wanted to scream though he did not know why exactly. It was probably just heat exhaustion, he thought; he'd certainly sweated enough. But that wouldn't explain the new sense of panic he felt. He was already scared for his life, but now something new - or rather something very old, seemed to be menacing him. Something he had forgotten; something he had made himself forget…

"Bullshit," Edward grumbled. He reloaded the shotgun and the pistol clip and decided to head downstream to see where the creek ended. Maybe he could find his way home, and so what if he ran back into the boys. Hell, he thought, he had a loaded shotgun; why had he even run from them in the first place? "Dumb ass," he muttered to himself. "What sort of idiot runs from rock-throwers when he's got a loaded gun, eh?"

Somewhat rested though still very confused, he heaved the daypack onto his back again. Something whizzed past his right ear when he stepped out from behind the rock.

"What the..." Edward frantically scanned the surrounding forest for the brat pack. Again, something flew past his head, this time striking a nearby tree. Upon closer examination he saw a cedar arrow shaft stuck in the trunk, still quivering. He looked back upstream, almost in disbelief. About a dozen or so men were headed his way, all clad in deerskins and carrying either bows or hatchets; they reminded Edward of the Ojibwa and Iroquois tribes of the Northeastern states, or maybe the Huron.

"Indians?" he asked aloud. "No way." They looked none too pleased to see him either, and he distinctly heard Peter's voice in the background yelling something about pirates. "No freaking way," Edward said again. But as the men scrambled down the steep bank of the creek, he could find no other explanation - they were, indeed redskins, Native Americans, indians. "Whatever," he mumbled. One thing was certain, they were pissed, and he was about to become a burnt offering.

Edward found himself running again, reminding himself that imagined things did not, or at least, should not, shoot at one. Back up out of the gulley he charged, pulling himself up the almost vertical bank one sapling at a time. He clawed his way to the top and into the thickest growth of trees he could see. He needed cover, a defensible position, or better yet, to wake up and find that he'd been having one vividly realistic nightmare. His legs ached and his lungs burned; he felt as though he were shaking all over. He was quite sure he would have a heat stroke or a heart attack at any moment.

Again, he caught that smell of salt marsh and the ocean. Up ahead the trees were thinning out; this was not to Edward's advantage. He made too good a target in open woods, but he had no desire to go back towards his pursuers. He darted in and out among the huge, moss-laden trees that seemed as though they belonged in the Pacific Northwest instead of Ohio - that is, if he was still in Ohio. He was beginning to seriously doubt that now.

The forest abruptly opened onto a wide field of tall, green, waving grasses. Edward charged across as fast as he could, stumbling every so often as the grass snagged around his ankles. He hoped it was grass. In fact, he almost fell trying to look down and make sure a dozen or so snakes weren't hiding in the grass, waiting to bite him. A warrior screaming behind him quickly refocused Edward's primary concerns back to running and he forgot all about snakes. He wanted to turn around and fight but feared his pursuers were too close for him to even try.

At the far edge of the field rose a tall bank of loose, white sand. He scrambled up to the top, too afraid to look behind himself and see how closely he was being followed. An arrow thumped into the sand next to his right hand; question answered - too damned close. He clawed his way over the top and slid down the other side, thunderstruck; he could not move for a brief moment. Before him lay a huge body of water, waves crashing onto the shore and he could taste the salt on the air. To his right, steep craggy cliffs rose from the sea, topped by snowy peaks; there was no way he was climbing those. To the left, however, the white sandy beach seemed to curve back in towards the island and stretch forever.

"Son," Edward muttered. "You ain't in Ohio anymore, or Kansas for that matter." A shadow on the sand caught his attention and Edward spun around in time to see that one of the warriors had crested the dune and was drawing his bow. A blast from his shotgun sent the man pitching backwards over the dune, hopefully dead. Edward did not wait around to see. He headed down the beach at a dead run, half-expecting to be shot himself at any moment.

Captain Hook had settled back down in his chair, still suspecting that Pan was somehow behind the strange goings-on ashore. Smee had brought him the spyglass and now Hook peered into the almost impenetrable greenness of the forest. He sighed, exasperated, for he could see nothing but leaves, vines and tree trunks. The gunshot from further up the beach caught his attention. It was much closer than any of the others. He focused his glass on the shore, searching for the shot's origin.

At first, he wasn't sure if he actually had seen someone or not. But on closer examination he could see a boy… no, not a boy - a man, running as though for his life. But who was he? Smee was now busy on the main deck, hanging out laundry.

"Mr. Smee," Hook yelled, "Come here at once!"

Smee hustled up the stairs as quickly as he could. "Aye Cap'n" he said, out of breath. Hook handed the spyglass to him.

"Who is that?" Hook gestured towards the beach with his claw.

Smee peered through the lens for several moments. "I…" he started. "I don't know Cap'n. One of Pan's new boys?"

Hook shook his head and looked through the glass again. "No, not one of Pan's." He spied Peter and the Indians hot on the trail of this stranger and bringing up the rear were Pan's urchins. "Definitely not one of Pan's," he affirmed. As the runner drew nearer Hook could see he was dressed in the oddest attire he'd ever seen. In his right hand he carried what looked like a musket; clenched in his left was a hat of some sorts. He also appeared to have something on his back.

"Mr. Smee," Hook said thoughtfully, then paused. He checked on his runner again. Regrettably, the gap between him and the savages had narrowed considerably.

"Aye, sir?"

"Have the men ready the cannons."

Immediately the deck was alive with men scurrying to load and aim the port-side guns. "Target, sir?" Smee asked.

"The beach," Hook half-murmured. He began to wonder if the stranger would make it in range for a shot. Any one so disliked by the rest of Neverland's inhabitants, however, was definitely a person of interest to Hook, and therefore worth saving. For the time being, at least.

"Blow 'im off the beach when he's in range." Smee called down to the gunners.

"Not him, you imbecile!" Hook growled, "Those bloody redskins! Aim for the middle of the pack!" He shoved the spyglass back towards Smee. They were close enough now to observe with the naked eye. Hook drew his sword and paced along the railing. "Mr Mullins," he barked, "as soon as those savages are in range, fire all cannons into their midst. Do I make myself clear!?"

"Aye,sir" Mullins replied. He moved along the battery of cannons emphasizing Hook's instructions to each gunnery crew. "Standing by sir!"

"On my orders!" Hook raised his sword in anticipation. "Come on now, my good man" he murmured. "Just a little farther."

Edward could feel himself starting to slow down. The harder he tried to run, the less energy he had. At first, he'd been able to run on wet sand packed by breakers, but the stretch of beach he was running on now was thick, deep, soft sand and Edward couldn't get as much traction as before. Even when he ran nearer the water, his feet sank down into the sand like wet concrete. He had run until his shin-splints had shin-splints and his leg bones felt like rubber. Edward was quite sure he had things figured out though, finally. He must be dead already and this was Hell.

His attention had been so focused on escaping his pursuers that he hadn't noticed the Spanish Galleon at anchor in the bay. He stumbled and almost fell when he finally did see it. He was staggering forward, trying his best to stay on his feet when the first cannon roared. Instinctively he hit the dirt and curled up in a ball. This was it, he told himself; if the indians didn't get him first he was sure to blasted to bits by a cannon ball. The air was heavy with the sharp smell of gun powder and burning metal as another cannon thundered, then another and another. Edward lost count while he cringed and waited on his impending death.

In the fog of his over-stressed mind, Edward realized that the cannon fire had ceased and, oddly enough, he was not being scalped and butchered by either wild Indian braves or Peter and his hoard of little monsters. He heard a distant voice barking orders to reload and uncurled himself to look back up the beach. Several of the redskins lay dead on the sand where they'd been struck by rounds from the ship. The rest had scattered to who knew where. Not that Edward really cared. As long as they left him alone they could be in Michigan as far as he was concerned. Slowly he rose to his feet and dusted the sand from himself. He stared out towards the ship in disbelief, and a bolt of pain shot through his system as though he'd been struck by lightning. Edward crumpled to his knees, wondering who had shot him. But when he checked himself for injuries, he found none.

Hook called for the spyglass again and watched the man standing on the shore. He appeared to still be gasping for air, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Suddenly he looked straight towards Hook, as if he could sense he was being watched, straightened himself as best he could and snapped a proper military salute to Hook.

Hook turned to Smee. "Mr. Smee, fetch me the bull horn. You there," he pointed to Hopkins and Bainbridge. "Ready the long boat." Smee came scurrying back with the bull horn, but when Hook turned back towards the shore the man was gone.

"Where did he go?" Hook asked blankly.

"Back into the brush, sir," Mullins called up.

"What?" Hook said, incredulous. "Ahoy!" he called out through the bull horn.

"There he is!" cried out a younger member of Hook's crew, pointing further down the beach. "Just at the edge of the cove!"

Hook spied the figure, hustling along the beach, just inside the tree line. "Good job, Mike," he praised his newest crew member. Bloody Mike was the last of the lost boys to join Hook's crew and obviously still intent on making a good impression. Hook raised the bull horn again.

"Ahoy there!" he roared as loudly as he could, "You there, on the beach!" But it was no use. The fellow was either too far away to hear or too scared to stay still for very long.

"Ship's company," he barked, "prepare to go ashore, full armament!"

"You won't get away with this, you old codfish!"

Hook whirled to find himself under a furious surprise assault from Peter. He ducked and rolled up against the port bulkhead to escape Peter's diving attack, then sprang to his feet. "You have a way of picking the most inopportune moments, boy!" he snarled. "I have better things to do right now than amuse you."

"What could possibly be more important than me?" Peter jeered.

"Modesty is not your strong suit Peter," Hook snapped, slashing at the boy with his claw.

"Why should I be?" Peter laughed. "I'm the best there's ever been or will be." He jumped over the Captain's next three lunges, as though he was skipping rope, then taunted the man from above. "I think you're losing your touch there James," he snorted.

"That's Captain or sir, if you please," Hook snarled. "I will not have you disrespect me so."

"Hah!" Peter crowed. "You'll never have anything but my disrespect." He grinned at the pirate. "James. Or do you prefer Codfish?"

Hook snatched a pistol from his belt and fired at Peter. Peter, as always, was able to evade the bullet and Hook squashed the urge to just throw the pistol at the impish brat; he did wonder if he wouldn't have a better chance of hitting the boy that way. "And pray tell, why are you gracing me with your presence?" Hook grumbled. "I should think you'd want to be with your red-skinned associates in their hour of suffering."

"I just wanted you to know that I'll get your new man," Peter sneered. "And when I do, he'll pay for what he did to Nip and Tuck… and so will you, Codfish."

"New man?" Hook echoed. "If by that you mean the fellow you were so doggedly pursuing, he's not one of my crew - yet." He signaled for Smee to toss a musket to him but when he shouldered the firearm Pan just as suddenly broke off the attack and flew back to the island, crowing like some half-witted rooster.

Damnation!" he swore angrily. He glared down at his crew; all preparations for going ashore had ground to a halt once Pan appeared, and they were still frozen in place, as if they were clueless about their duty. "Well?!" he roared, "Get those long boats in the water… NOW!" He felt Smee hesitantly tap his shoulder. "What?!" he snapped, whirling around to settle his hot glare on the bosun.

"I don't think you want to be doing that just now Cap'n," Smee said apologetically.

"Of course I do!" Hook spat. "Why not!?"

Smee pointed Hook's attention to the huge bank of ferocious looking thunder clouds that were racing towards the island. Dreadful bolts of lightning flashed, and deep, booming thunder split the air. The ship was suddenly hit with almost gale force winds and the waves churned and crashed over the railings. Why in the name of all that was foul and detestable, he wondered, did the weather have to be so empathetic with Pan's ever-changing moods?

"Hell-fire and damnation!" Hook swore. "Batten down the hatches and get below." He barely made it into his cabin before the squall line hit, a torrential downpour full of hail. He slammed his fist and his hook hard against the wall and, to add to his frustrations, found he had fight to yank the hook from deep in the timbers. Furious, he flung himself down on his fainting couch and fought the urge to scream in anger. His first real prospect for a new recruit, gone. He only hoped he would find this stranger before those blood-thirsty, scalping savages did. His mind was racing. Where was this fellow headed? Where had he come from? Surely Peter had not brought a fully-grown man to the island, at least not on purpose. And what had the misfortunate chap done to so piss-off the entire island?

Hook sprang to his feet and paced the floor impatiently. "Come on," he growled at the storm under his breath. "Be done with it." But the clouds did not relent. Indeed, the storm seemed to increase in ferocity just to spite him. He paced for what seemed like hours, pausing now and again to glare out at the rain streaming down the window panes. Eventually he tired of his vigil and settled himself back down on the couch with a bottle of whiskey. The thunder and pelting rain lulled him to sleep, with a little help from the alcohol, and when he finally awoke it was very nearly midnight. The clouds were gone and the moon shone brightly but the island was shrouded in a robe of fog and mist. There was nothing for him to do but wait until morning… and patience, Hook knew, was not always one of his strongest qualities.

Edward hurriedly picked his way through the underbrush at the edge of the tree line. Progress was nerve-wracking as he didn't know when or what direction the next attack might come from. Worse yet, he had wrenched his left ankle properly somehow. His whole body felt like it was on fire on the inside, and a new sense of dread surrounded Edward. From the dark shadows, he spied a rider and horse traveling up the beach towards him at a good clip. As they drew nearer, he realized the rider was a young native girl, maybe eleven or twelve. A scheme flashed through his exhausted brain, and, as the horse slowed to a trot to navigate around some huge chunks of driftwood, he charged from the trees and grabbed the girl, throwing her to the ground. In a flash he was up on the appaloosa horse's back, wheeling it around from whence it came.

The girl yelled something in a tongue he did not understand, and the small horse proceeded to try and buck him off. A futile attempt, as Edward had been on the back of a horse since before he could walk and bare-backed or not, he kept his seat and dug his heels into the horse's ribs. Finally, the beast obeyed, and he was racing back down the beach and past a pile of oversized sun-bleached bones.

There was something freeing about being up on the back of a horse, it gave Edward a new sense of confidence. Finally, he thought, something familiar in this nightmare of weirdness - the wind in his face, the powerful muscles rippling between his knees, the earthy sweet smell of horse. He had oft day-dreamed of riding along the seashore, drifted off to sleep to thoughts of hooves splashing through the waves and carrying him far from his troubles - though those dreams had usually involved his trusty Man and not some half-wild Indian pony. But at this point any fresh set of legs was better than his own exhausted two.

As they rounded the southern tip of the island Edward caught sight of the bank of heavy storm clouds behind him on the ocean's horizon. He muttered several obscenities to himself and wondered where he might take refuge. He might try going back to the bay where the ship was; maybe they would take him in? But he quickly decided it was too risky; anyway, that would have him riding towards the storm instead of away.

He pulled the horse up for a few seconds, scanning ahead for a likely spot to wait out the approaching rain. About half a mile away, on the eastern shore, Edward could see a huge, imposing stone fortress rising from the sea. Steep rocks and hills protected the shore sides of castle-like structure, and the roiling ocean secured the front. "Ah," he told the horse, "My defensible position." Again, he bumped the horse with his heels until it once more galloped at top speed, reaching the fortress in mere minutes. As the tide was out, a sandy causeway ran out almost all the way to the castle wall. The horse splashed through the knee-deep water until Edward was at the foot of some crumbling stone steps that led up into one of the towers. He slid off the animal's back onto the steps and gave the horse's forehead a rub.

"That's a good freckle-butted fella," Edward said softly and let the reins slip from his hands. "Back to your little miss." He gave the horse a light swat on its rump and it trotted back to shore and into the forest.

He had arrived none too soon. Huge drops of rain and marble sized hail pelted him as he hustled up into the shelter of the tower. He followed the stairs almost to the top to where a maze of bridges and walkways traversed the interior of a sea cave. Wind-driven rain blew in from any opening in the thick, black stone walls, and water poured through any holes in the ceiling in great torrents.

"Frog strangler," Edward mused. The cave stank of rotting seaweed and dead fish and the walls and floor were slick with slimy algae. Edward cautiously picked his way along the treacherous walkways, checking the shadows and crannies for snakes - he hated snakes. This looked like a water moccasin motel, he thought.

Finally, he reached a long, dark hallway that seemed to lead deeper into the castle, quite pleased that he'd encountered no slithering vipers - then again, it seemed to Edward that he'd read somewhere that snakes didn't care for brackish water. "Good," he muttered to himself and stared into the ominous blackness of the passageway.

Peter peered out of the wigwam's door flap at the storm that raged across the island. White-hot bolts of jagged lightning streaked across the sky and occasionally crashed into one of the tall trees. He closed the flap and turned his attention back inside. Around the fire sat the family of Strong as Oak, whose body had been recovered from the sand dunes. The chief, Great Big Little Panther and Laughing Flower, his wife, sat stunned, their arms around their rain drenched daughter Tiger Lily. Painted Bird and some of the other village women prepared the body for burial. Strong as Oak's wife, Sun in her Hair, wept softly.

Peter peeked outside again, checking the weather. The lost boys, he knew, were safe inside their own wigwam, having made it to the encampment after disposing of Nip and Tuck's bodies just ahead of the storm. Fortunately, they were the only two of his 'men' he had lost; none of the others had been struck by Hook's cannons. And once the storm passed and night fell, he knew the braves would return to the beach to retrieve the bodies of their fallen warriors: War Eagle, Screaming Panther and Little Two Hawks. All would be buried tomorrow; then he would have his revenge.

"Flying Eagle," the chief said solemnly. "Who do these things, wicked pirate captain?"

Peter shook his head. He could understand the Indian's language perfectly and speak it perfectly as well. "No, Great Big Little Panther, not Hook."

"Then who?!" the chief demanded.

"A new one," Peter answered, his attention once more focused outside, for he had heard a strange noise which he could not place at first. Moments later, Tiger Lily's horse, Runs Like the Wind, galloped into camp slinging great clumps of mud as he ran. Six Toes ran from his shelter to catch the horse and tie it to a picket line. A tiny ball of light darted into the wigwam as Peter let the flap fall across the opening once more.

"Yes, who is he Peter?" Tiger Lily asked between her chattering teeth. "He steal my horse - I will kill him."

"No," her mother insisted. "You will stay in camp. I already lose my son. I will not lose daughter also."

"He's not a pirate and I don't know where he came from, but I will kill him," Peter declared menacingly, "for Nip and Tuck, and for Strong as Oak."

Great Big Little Panther nodded. "Yes, and we will hunt pirates also. Take many scalps. Captain Hook will pay with his scalp also. It will hang from my lodge pole."

"No!" Peter challenged the chief. "Hook is mine!"

"Maybe so, but he shoot cannons, kill many braves. He must pay."

"Oh, he'll pay!" Peter assured the chief. A frightening gleam danced in his eyes. "I have a plan, Great Big Little Panther."

"What is it?" Tiger Lily prodded.

"What does Hook fear, even more than the crocodile?"

The Indians looked at each other and muttered amongst themselves for several minutes. Finally, the chief spoke. "What is it, Flying Eagle. Crocodile was only thing keep Hook in line. Now dead. What does he fear greater?"

"The wounding of his pride!" Peter announced proudly. "If you kill him, you will make him feel ever so important just before he dies. Do you want that?" The Indians all agreed that was the last thing they wanted.

"But," Peter continued, very excited, "If you shame him in front of his entire crew, he must live with the humiliation every day of his life. Every time he leaves his cabin his men will laugh at him, if only with their eyes. So, which is better?"

"Shame him!" the group cried.

But how?" asked Tiger Lily.

"Well, Peter mused thoughtfully, "Chief, you said you wanted his scalp. How about if you take everything but the codfish's scalp?" The Indians all looked a bit perplexed, so Peter elaborated for them. "Don't you see, we ambush the pirates the next time they come ashore. I'll draw Hook out and then…."

Peter relayed the rest of his plan in hushed tones, but they were most agreeable to tribe. It was going to be a grand adventure. They huddled together and began plotting the ambush, nodding solemnly. Peter took out his sword and began sharpening it on a stone. He would make that old codfish pay, he told himself. He'd already given him a taste of it this afternoon. He would finish it soon. How dare Hook escape from the croc anyway. It wasn't fair, Peter thought, it just wasn't fair.

Tinkerbell had finished drying her wings by the fire and flew up to Peter's shoulder. She jangled something softly to him.

"What does she say?" asked Tiger Lily.

"She couldn't find him," Peter sighed. "That's ok Tink, maybe tomorrow." He snuggled himself down on a thick, warm bearskin and watched the fire flicker and dance for hours before he fell asleep.

Edward felt his way along the pitch-black corridor, his fingers trailing lightly against the cold stone wall. A ghost of a flickering flame danced on the walls; he had only a disposable lighter for illumination, one he kept in his pack for emergencies when he was out hunting or hiking; this definitely qualified as an emergency as far as Edward was concerned, though the flame kept licking back inconveniently and burning his thumb. The passageway curved and ended at a large wood and iron door. There was a sconce on the wall adjacent to the door and when he took the torch to light it, a huge key clanked to the floor.

"Well now," Edward said, "that's not very imaginative, is it now?" It was not the best place to hide a key, but it was probably the only thing nearby, and Edward figured there were probably not many trespassers to the fortress. The torch flickered and sputtered for a moment until the flames took hold, then burned brightly. "Much better," he said and picked up the key. Logic dictated that it should fit the door's lock, which it did. The hinges made a creak fit for a moldy old horror flick and did nothing to set Edward's nerves at ease. He took a few tentative steps past the door and decided to bolt it behind himself; at least that way nothing could sneak up behind him.

Torch in one hand and his pistol in the other, Edward made his way another fifty or so feet along the passage until he came to another door. This one was not locked; actually, it was slightly ajar. He pushed it open with his foot and light from his torch streamed in, revealing a huge room, like a banquet hall or something. There were more sconces lining the hall and Edward lit a few. Huge windows faced the ocean and though they were shuttered he could still see flashes of lightning between cracks in the boards and hear the wind howling and buffeting the castle walls. A great stone fireplace stood centered on the far wall with an ample supply of firewood and kindling stacked on one side. Again, he put the lighter to good use and started a small fire on the hearth to take the chill off the room and himself.

He pulled a bench from one of the tables over to the hearth and sat down wearily. The place seemed deserted, and he hoped that it truly was. Edward figured he'd had quite enough surprises for one day; probably enough for the next ten years. He chuckled at the thought. He unlaced his wet boots, mostly with his right hand, which was a bit awkward, but the left was throbbing with pain from the wrist to his fingertips. He kicked the boots off and propped them close to the hearth, upside down, to dry out. He pulled his drenched socks off also and rubbed his bruised left ankle, hoping it was not sprained too badly.

He decided to go through his pack and see what he had in there besides extra rounds for his guns. There were a few useful items. He had a small first aid kit, which he set aside to redress his knuckles with later, extra bootlaces, an extra pair of socks, a small pair of binoculars, hand warmer packs, his light-weight fleece jacket, and a disposable plastic rain poncho. As far as food, he found an apple left over from his last hunting trip, a small bag of beef jerky, and about three fourths of a bottle of water. Again, Edward chuckled.

"Well, at this rate I may starve to death before anyone can kill me." He took a sip of the water and wished it was Gatorade instead, as much as he had sweated today. "Like a whore in church." he mumbled. He bit off a piece of the jerky and decide to have a better look around. He left the shotgun propped against the bench but took the 9mm with him. Torch in hand, he padded barefoot across the stone floor and gave himself a quick tour. He found there was a kitchen with a huge wood-burning stove and, thankfully, a full barrel of drinking water. Adjacent to the kitchen he found a large pantry, stocked with flour, sugar, barrels of rum, salted meat… and wheels of cheese. Edward felt his inner rat do a little happy dance and he cut himself a nice wedge of the well-aged cheddar.

Two wings stretched off the great hall. One wing led to another huge room filled with bunks and hammocks and Edward assumed it to be some sort of barracks. The other led up past a large room used as an armory and to a curving flight of stairs. At the top, he found a sumptuous suite with its own fireplace, sitting room and library, and a most comfortable-looking bed… and a shiny, copper bathtub. "Whoo-hoo-hoo," he remarked aloud, "talk about shi-shi." He closed the door and headed back down to his fire to warm his bare feet; stone floors, he was discovering, were very cold.

While warming his toes, it dawned on Edward that the foul odor he'd been smelling for the past few hours was, in fact, himself. Not surprising when he considered how hot and sweaty he had been. He scratched the whisker stubble that was coming on his chin and had an idea. After retrieving a block of what looked like lye soap from the pantry, he headed back towards the sea cave. Yes, he'd thought it would work. Water was gushing in through a hole in the ceiling, making a perfect shower. He carefully set his pistol out of splash range and began removing his muddy, sweat-soaked clothing one piece at a time. He scrubbed each garment as best he could with his injured left hand, and when he had at last washed out his boxers, he stepped into the torrent of rain water.

For a second he couldn't breathe, the water was so cold. It made his bones and his sinuses ache, and talk about shrinkage, Edward thought. He washed and rinsed himself off quickly but thoroughly and, gathering up his wet garments, the pistol and torch, he hobbled naked back towards the hall, again locking the door behind him and praying to heaven that he really was as all alone as it seemed.

He spread his wet clothes on the bench before the fire to dry and threw more wood on to warm the room further. He now wished he had thought to look for a towel of sorts before doing his drowned rat imitation. No matter, he sighed to himself. He wouldn't melt, and he would dry… eventually, if he didn't catch his death of cold first. With that he padded down to the bunk room and 'borrowed' a couple of blankets. Exhaustion was setting in and, using his day pack for a pillow, Edward settled his exhausted body down on the blankets in front of the fire, the pistol tucked under his pillow. The warmer he got the heavier his eyelids became and he was soon asleep, locked safely in the fortress as the storm raged outside.

Day 2

Edward propped against the turret wall of the highest watch tower and looked out across the island. Stars still twinkled in the inky black pre-dawn sky and the moon hung low near the tree tops. He was not sure exactly what time it was; the old Casio watch he carried in his hunting pack had ceased to function, though it had been working perfectly only forty-eight hours or so earlier. A wolf howling in the distance caught his attention and Edward found himself softly humming Werewolves of London. Werewolves indeed, he thought, though it would be about the only damned thing he hadn't run into… so far. Nothing was off the table anymore.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been awake or even how long he had slept; a good while he supposed. The storm was long since passed and the moon was riding high in the scattering clouds when he had awakened. The first order of business had been to get back into his sort-of-clean and thankfully dry clothes. Retying his boots had made his left hand throb again and as it would not be ignored, his second job that morning had been to clean and dress the wound. While he had some gauze pads and surgical tape in his first aid kit, the little alcohol pads hadn't been useful for much except making the cut sting.

It was really a shame to waste such nice whiskey that way, and it had been very nice; Edward had taken a healthy swallow to steel himself for the task at hand. He had poured about half a pint into the open would - they probably heard him screaming all the way to Australia. Fortunately the cut looked very clean with no signs of infection, and a damned good thing it was. Edward wasn't sure he and his knuckles could survive another round with the whiskey.

He sighed and unconsciously scratched at the whisker stubble on his neck. He was still confused and he was scared. Edward had hoped to find himself back home in bed when he cracked his eyelids this morning, but it was not to be. He seemed to be trapped in a nightmare he could not escape; a living nightmare which filled his every waking moment. He had try denying it, he had run from it, attacked it; now there was nothing left to do but try and accept the obvious fact, however implausible, that he was indeed in…

"Neverland." he barely breathed the word. Saying it didn't make him feel any better, either. In fact, it made him feel quite sick to his stomach, and his legs felt as though all the muscles wanted to cramp all at once.

What had happened, he wondered? And how? Just how in the hell did it happen? The faerie ring? What had he wished for when he was in that ring, he wondered. He couldn't remember for the life of him.

"There's no such thing as faeries!" he roared out to the darkness. And if there were, they had a damned sadistic way of proving their point, he told himself. On the other hand, what if he had completely lost it? What if he'd just gone stark raving mad and was now trapped in some hideous fantasy in his head. He shuddered and gingerly rubbed the back of his bandaged knuckles and looked at the hand.

"Explain that, then." he demanded accusingly. That was a tough one. It bled, it definitely hurt; it must be real. And certainly the stiffness and soreness in his legs was real; he was sure he hadn't run that much since his days in high school.

Then there was the matter of his shooting and killing two young boys who were armed only with sling-shots; and furthermore, he really thought he should feel much worse about it even if they had asked for it. That was real also, otherwise he would not have been hounded so by… by…

"Peter Pan?" he muttered. No, absolutely not, his reasonable brain told him. But his eyes and knuckles said otherwise. That boy had actually flown, levitated, defied gravity - whatever he labeled it. "Damn," he breathed

Edward headed back down to his sanctuary after a few more minutes of arguing with himself that only served to make him feel even more crazy and more upset. He sat before the remains of the fire with his arms wrapped around drawn-up knees, rocking slowly. He could feel the anxiety and the panic consuming him; his heart was pounding in his ears and he broke out in a cold sweat. He felt a thousand invisible insects biting him all over, stinging, burning and all the muscles in his back and shoulders tensed until they ached. He wanted to puke but could not. He wanted to scream but did not; he angrily wiped away tears that kept trickling down his face. What if it was all real?

He glared at the glowing red embers winking at him from the gray, powdery ashes. Who would miss him anyway? He had spent the last few months or so isolating himself from most people so there would be few to notice his disappearance. His parents… Edward bit his lip hard; suddenly he could not remember if his parents were still alive or not, nor could he remember if there were brothers or sisters. It was as if something had erased an entire portion of his memory.

He found himself worrying about his animals; Man, his Tennessee Walking Horse, and Henry, the barn cat. Henry was a good ratter and could fend for himself if necessary, but Man could not survive alone in the pasture. He needed feed and hay and shelter from the inevitable snows, and his water would run out after a few days. "Such a good Man, too," he whispered.

Slowly, the sullen expression on Edward's face faded and he could feel an overpowering restless taking hold of him; the crazies, as he referred to these spells, were back. He began pacing briskly around the hall, a blur of thoughts whirring through his mind.

"So what if it is real?" he hypothesized. "Just supposing I'm not out of my mind or hallucinating, huh? What then?" He stepped up on one of the benches at a table and began walking back and forth along its length, then stepped from table-top to table-top. He couldn't keep himself sequestered in this fortress forever. Eventually he would have to venture back onto the island if for no other reason than to hunt. And sooner or later, whoever the fortress belonged to was going to return; otherwise they would not have left the place so well stocked. Edward assumed, from the armory contents, those owners would be the men on the ship - pirates.

"Hook?" he queried aloud. He realized that, according to the story Captain Hook fell victim to the crocodile. Of course, at five years old, Edward decided that Hook actually got away, just no one else seemed to realize it. It wouldn't have been right for him to die; after all, Peter had cheated. Edward rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The oddest feeling crept over him, as if he could almost remember something about the man - almost, but not quite - and he felt both excited and terrified at the same time. He could rationalize the excitement; he had once idolized Hook. The fear was another matter, and it seemed to be accompanied by a memory of excruciating pain, searing through his entire body.

He realized his heart was pounding again, as when someone jumps out behind you and startles you, and he could feel himself shaking. His eyes darted wildly around the dark, empty hall, searching for some thing or someone, but Edward did not have the first inkling who or what that might be. He wondered if the Indians had crept up on him, or maybe it was Peter and his demons from hell. How was he supposed to survive in a place where everyone seemed to want him dead, he thought. Well, he reminded himself, not everyone. Whoever was on that ship had not tried to kill him; they had probably saved him from ending up on the redskin's ceremonial pyre, and God knows what would have happened to him before that. And if he was indeed in Neverland, that could only leave one candidate to command that ship. "Hook," he said softly, and felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.

"Well?" he asked aloud, "Why not?" Why not indeed. He retrieved a sword from the armory, not too fancy and more like a saber than a rapier and tied the scabbard onto his backpack. He also took two boarding axes and tucked them into his belt. He tried the pack on to make sure he had easy access to his new weapon; yes, and the blade felt good in his hands. He checked his pistol and clips to make sure they were fully loaded, just in case, and buttoned his coat up against the chill night air. With the shotgun slung across his back also, Edward marched down the long corridor and out to the edge of the castle walls.

He surveyed his options. One, he could cut across the island and come out somewhere near the cove where the ship lay at anchor. Two, he could go back around by following the beach. He liked that option better, but the trip was twice as long, plus he was much more exposed and had less options to escape. He growled under his breath and studied the landscape before him; it appeared that a valley ran between two rather steep mountains. If he followed that route it should, he hoped, put him close to the ship. He looked at the precarious path down from the castle. It would be slow going down and probably twice as hard if he had to come back up in a hurry. "Oh well," he said, adjusting his hat. Slowly and carefully, he began his descent.

The first of three long boats slid onto the sandy beach as the first gray fingers of dawn tugged at the veil of night. Its occupants scurried from the craft and helped to beach the remaining boats. Captain Hook stepped from the second boat followed by Mr. Smee and Bloody Mike, and the remainder of the landing party clamored from the third. Hook drew his black cloak around him for warmth; the chill of night still clung to the island.

"Quietly now!" he hissed menacingly between his teeth, "Do you want to bring those savages down us!?" He checked the two flintlock pistols he carried in his belt. "Right," he said softly, which somehow made him seem all the more dangerous, "Fan out twenty yards apart, hand signals only. The man who alerts the redskins as to our presence had best hope they get to him before I do." He turned to Smee and gestured for his musket. "Smee, with me. Mike, guard the boats."

"Aye sir." Mike snapped a salute, disappointed that he was not going on the excursion; he would have liked it if he was called 'Bloody Mike' for his ferocity - but sadly his name had come from the crew's curses of 'that bloody Mike' because of his frequent mistakes. On the other hand, he really had no desire to meet up with Peter or his former mates and making sure no one set the longboats adrift was a rather important task, after all. They would be sorely missed if captain and crew returned to make a hasty retreat only to find themselves stranded. He watched the crew follow Hook down the beach a short distance and then spread out as ordered, following Hook into the tangle of trees.

Captain Hook paused at the edge of the tree line. "You see, Mr. Smee," he pointed out the rain-marred tracks and hoof prints in the sand, "It appears our fellow has commandeered one of the redskins' horses."

"Aye sir," Smee agreed, "It looks as though he headed south on the beach."

Hook looked down the shore for a moment, then shook his head. "Possibly, but my sense of it is that he would seek cover soon enough." He could sense the entire crew's apprehension about entering the forest; it was common knowledge they were out-numbered overwhelmingly by the Indians, but he was not about to let their fear sway his decision and he was doubly determined to find the newcomer today - and before those savages or Pan did. "Follow me," he ordered gruffly and set out twenty or so yards ahead of the line of searchers, following the valley that cut right through the middle of Neverland.

The morning dragged on with little to show for their efforts. Bull Jennings found tracks but Hook determined them to be made prior to those found on the beach. Bill Jukes found a handful of small brass cylinders which smelled faintly of gunpowder and which Hook deduced were some manner of shell casing. The air was warming, and Hook now casually flung his heavy cape to Smee. As usual, the older man was not quite paying attention and the black cloth flying towards him prompted a surprised cry from Smee; the noise brought a look of consternation from Hook, who sternly shushed his bosun.

Hook pushed further into the valley, followed by his less than intrepid crew. The search was producing clues if not the desired result. However, by late morning Captain Hook began to secretly doubt his quarry had sought refuge in the thick tangle of forest after all. Not one of his crew had turned up any fresh hoof prints regardless of their diligence. In fact, they were all so intent on searching the forest floor not one of them, not even Hook himself, bothered to check in the trees above them. If they had, one of them may have spotted one of a host of faeries marking their every move and relaying their location to Peter and the Indians.

Hook held his hand up to signal a halt; something did not feel right. He felt a twitching from his hook and the skin at the back of his neck began to tingle and crawl. Up ahead, the trees opened onto a narrow glade, though it stretched quite a distance. He beckoned to Smee for the spyglass and began scouring the brush for signs of an ambush.

Edward crept through the underbrush with the stealth of a seasoned military sniper; his deer-stalking skills were serving him well. Step and look, a few more steps and crouch and look around again, moving as slowly as the minute hand on a clock. He fairly oozed through the forest. After leaving the castle, he had ventured into the forest and climbed the backside of a steep hill, working his way over the top and onto the valley side. Now he skirted along a ridge about half-way down the hill, where he was able to keep an eye on the mouth of the valley and not lose his bearings.

Thankfully he had not encountered any of the island's two-legged inhabitants in the pale gray of dawn. He had seen wildlife a plenty; deer, a bear, wild hogs, a panther, and rabbits to name but a few - but no more Indians or urchins, yet. He wished for his crossbow to take some of the smaller game as his belly growled loudly and threatened to gnaw on his backbone from hunger. Maybe, he thought, he should have taken a moment to cut himself some more of that cheddar he'd enjoyed last night. Granted, getting across the island before most of its inhabitants were up and about was, indeed, vital. But he could also remember someone telling that breakfast was the most important meal of the day. Whoever that had been, Edward wished he'd taken that advice to heart as he tried to ignore visions of bacon and biscuits and sausage gravy.

The uneven, treacherous terrain and the denseness of the forest heeded Edward's progress, and it must have been getting close to noon when he paused on an outcropping of large granite stones overlooking the valley below to tighten his bootlaces. He was a little over half-way across the island, and from this vantage point he could see most of the valley stretching the remaining distance to the ocean and the ship that lay at anchor in the bay. He took his small pair of binoculars and glassed the ship; not that he could see much better - if only he'd brought his spotting scope with him - but things did look rather quiet in that direction which he counted as good fortune. He glassed the valley below, checking for signs of either the tribe or Peter and his hoard. These he did not find, but his adrenaline pumps went into overdrive when his view fell onto the men nearing a glade.

They were as motley a bunch of rejects as Edward had ever laid eyes on, even giving the homeless junkies and winos he'd seen in Cleveland a run for their money. He guessed from their garb they had to be pirates from the ship, as they certainly didn't look the type to associate with Pan and his ankle-biters. He was busily counting heads and wondering if he should change course and intercept these men or just keep heading for the ship when he spied the man. A tingle ran up Edward's spine clear to his scalp and his heart rate increased exponentially. There, quite plain for all to see, dressed in black and midnight blue, was none other than his 'hero' - Captain Hook.

Without realizing it, Edward began to chuckle with giddy excitement. The exuberance of his youth seethed through his veins as though he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning, overpowering the fear and nausea that tried to rear their heads at the site of the nefarious pirate. He could hardly wait to see the man again - it had been so long… For a moment Edward wondered where that thought had come from, but he quickly brushed it away. He could care less actually. His one overriding thought now was to get to Hook before he lost track of the man. Trying to calm himself as he went, Edward scrambled down from his perch and set off on an intercept course at a fast jog.

A shrieking war cry halted his rapid descent; Edward froze, one foot in mid-air for a moment. He glassed the woods ahead of him, searching frantically for the source. The air filled with the roars of pirates and the terrible whoops of the attacking redskins. Musket fire thundered again and again, interspersed with the clashing of steel. Finally he caught movement in the glade. He shoved the binoculars back into the side pocket of his trousers and un-shouldered his shotgun. Now he raced down the steep hill, bounding over rocks and fallen logs; branches and leaves stung as they slapped his face. Vines and briars heeded his progress, tearing at his shins and wrapping around his ankles.

This couldn't be happening, he thought. He had come too far, he was too close; someone would die before he let them keep him from getting to the Captain. A verse from the Bible wandered through his mind as he raced through the tangle of woods - And behold I saw a pale horse, and its rider was Death - Who needs a damned horse," Edward growled. "Kill 'em all, let God sort them out." Kill - the word pounded in his brain like some giant metronome. Kill, kill, kill…

Captain Hook fired his flintlock pistol at the attacking redskin; the man fell, sprawling backwards as though a great invisible fist had swatted him. Hook took a few steps backwards, waiting for the thick white smoke to clear before drawing and firing his second pistol, mortally wounding his next target. Unfortunately, his firepower was thoroughly depleted now though there was certainly no lack of murderous savages. He drew his sword and hacked at his attackers, and warriors fell like wheat to the scythe.

"Hold your ranks, you mewling spawn!" he roared at his crew. "Hold them!" It was damnable trickery, as far as Hook was concerned, the manner in which the Indians had carried out their ambush. They had come sneaking up from behind and come down on the pirates like a pack of rabid wolves. Now they seemed to be coming from practically every direction. Hook plunged his claw into the belly of an attacking warrior, spilling the man's entrails onto the forest floor.

"Mr. Smee! Hook roared; they had become separated at the onset of the attack and his boson was nowhere to be seen. His pistols and musket needed reloading and he could not spare a moment to lay down his sword and tend to the matter himself. Retreat and surrender were not maneuvers Hook generally considered, especially now that they were effectively cut off from any feasible escape route, but a brief respite would have been genuinely welcomed.

A young warrior charged from the thick underbrush to his left and Hook fairly decapitated the brave with his sword. He scanned the woods for Smee; had he run off to the boats, or worse, had he been cut down in the initial hail of spears and arrows? Smee wasn't the brightest of men nor was he all that dependable, but at least he was loyal. Suddenly he forgot all about Smee and the bloody redskins; Peter was jeering at him from the safety of a spruce limb. Of course, he thought, it made perfect sense that Pan would have a hand in this mess.

"I've come for your other hand, codfish!" Peter menaced, "You see, I've found another hungry crocodile!"

"I'll have your heart on a pike first!" Hook snarled. And with that, he found himself locked in yet another furious duel with Pan. In typical fashion, Peter spent a great deal more time flying around Hook just out of reach of the enraged pirate captain, rather than actually fighting him. It frustrated the Captain to no end; how was he supposed to fight something that refused to stay down on his level and fight? If only he could make himself ignore Peter, Hook told himself, it would drive the imp insane. But that was a strategy much easier said than employed and, as had happened on too many occasions before, Hook was letting his frustration and rage get the better of him and inadvertently allowed himself to be drawn away from the safety of his crew and out onto the open meadow.

It was entirely too late when he realized his predicament, for he was quite surrounded by half a dozen of Great Big Little Panther's largest, strongest, and most fierce braves. Peter came down from his aerobatics, his eyes flashed with fire and his teeth gnashed.

"You're mine now, Hook!" he badgered.

And before Captain Hook quite knew what was happening, he found himself being over-powered by the savages, though he did manage to gut Walks with Bears and run Stalking Wolf through with his sword in the process. If they expected him to beg for help or mercy though, they were going to be sorely disappointed, he swore to himself. He wrestled with them every step as he found himself being dragged towards a boulder near the far edge of the glade.

"Unhand me, you barbarians!" he menaced between his clenched teeth. "Unhand me lest I be forced to rip the lot of you to shreds!" He truly intended to do so, as he had never before found himself so well restrained; it was quite maddening too. He became keenly aware that most of the fighting had ceased and the combatants' attention was now focused entirely on him. Well, he remarked to himself, they'd not have their amusement at his expense. "Kill the bloody bastards!" he roared to his crew, "I didn't give you leave to stop fighting."

Hook's crew looked at each other; they were severely out-numbered and they knew it. If there was a chance of escaping with their lives and their scalps they would take it, especially if this was the end of their surly captain.

"Right here!" Pan cried, leaping on the flat top of the stone, brandishing not only his own sword but Hook's as well. "Bend him over."

"Do what?" Hook could not hide his shock. Surely they didn't mean to… "Don't even think of it!" he hissed, and threw all his might into resisting his captors' efforts to force him down. He managed to stave off their attempts quite well too, until Black Owl drove his knee up into Hook's crotch. Hook groaned, his knees buckled instantly, and he felt himself slammed hard against the rough surface of the rock. His shoulders were pinned down by one brave each; one stood in front of him and had his left arm pinned out from his side. The other brave, at his right side, twisted Hook's right arm behind him and pinned it to his back. A third warrior kneeled straddling his back, forcing Hook's face down against the stone with his hands and the fourth stood at his left side, his knife drawn and ready. Hook felt the sleeve on his right arm being forced up past his elbow. "What is the meaning of this!?" he demanded; his head was still reeling from the blow he'd received between his legs.

From his perch atop the Captain's back, Six Toes grabbed a handful of Hook's hair and yanked the pirate's face up from the rock. "We plan to take your scalp today," he threatened in broken English," but Peter convince us to shave head, take hair only."

"I'll have your souls for this!' Hook snarled as menacing as he could under the weight of the men that held him.

"Oh I don't think so, codfish," Peter taunted. He ran his thumb lightly along the blade of Hook's sword and feigned injury to illustrate its sharpness. "After I take your left hand, and with your own sword at that, you won't be doing much of anything anymore."

"Over my dead body!" Hook grunted; he struggled against the weight and hands that held him down. They would not take the last shreds of his dignity from him without a fight. He felt a sudden and unpleasant tug on the leather harness which held his hook to his arm. "What in blazes.." he began.

"We take hook and hair," Black Owl replied, pausing while he prepared to cut one of the harness' straps. "Peter take hand. Then you leave. Never come back, or we take scalp next time."

"Leave?" Hook groaned under the suffocating weight on him. "Don't you think I would have if I could?" He felt another tug as the strap was severed; only one more and they would have his claw and he would be totally defenseless. And though he struggled not to, Hook could feel himself beginning to shake. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Pan beginning to choose a point of aim on his out-stretched left arm, the Captain's own sword in his hands. He tapped along the man's arm lightly with the sharp edge of the blade, leaving little blood-oozing nicks along the Captain's forearm from his elbow to the man's wrist; the bitter taste of fear filled Hook's mouth. "No!" he groaned loudly. Then despite his best efforts to the contrary, he heard himself screaming for Smee.

Charging down the hillside, Edward's next leap sent him bursting through a wall of green vegetation onto the field. He froze up in mid-stride at the sight of Hook's predicament and the sheer number of redskins he saw; he felt himself go ice cold, as if a blast from a meat-locker had found him. He wasn't sure if it was the pitch of Hook's screams or the terror they conveyed, maybe it was the unjustness and complete unfairness of one man against so many, but whatever it was, it ignited Edward's fury like a spark to a blow torch.

"And all hell followed with him," Edward quoted between his teeth. Through a haze of red rage, he pumped the shotgun once and charged towards the boulder.

The Indian cutting the harness straps must have heard him coming; Black Owl turned just in time to catch a load of double 'O' buckshot in the face from about ten paces. The top of his head exploded quite literally, bits of his scalp, skull and brain littering the field as Black Owl's body lurched backwards and slumped lifelessly across Hook's shoulders. Some of the pellets struck Lazy Bird, who fell forward, collapsing across the Captain's left arm, pinning it firmly, even in death.

The closeness and ear-splitting volume of the blast so stunned and horrified the rest of the Captain's captors that they seemed frozen in a stupefied trance; even Peter, who momentarily halted his imminent mutilation of Hook's left arm. Edward took advantage of Peter's hesitance and immediately chambered another round, turning his aim on the brave atop Hook's back who looked to be preparing to scalp the pirate. Again, the Indian's face morphed into a bloody pulp from the point-blank shot, his brain and skull fragments showering down on his accomplices, and he too slumped forward onto Hook.

Now Edward's attention zeroed in on Pan. Peter, free from his state of shock, was in mid-swing, driving the blade down to sever Hook's left hand when Edward shoved the barrel of his shotgun on top of the man's exposed forearm. A fraction of a second later Pan's blade clanged noisily, bouncing harmlessly off the steel barrel. Edward could feel the muscles in Hook's arm flinch at the noise and it fueled his rage further. In an instant, he swung the butt of the shotgun up under Peter's chin, leaving a nasty gash and sending the boy reeling and quite dazed. He reached to his left side for the Ruger and took aim at the remaining brave menacing the Captain. Three quick shots from the semi-automatic pistol dispatched Bear Who Walks Like Man and left him crumpled at Hook's knees. Edward fired a fourth round in the back of Lazy Bird's head, just to be safe.

Hook tried to heave the dead bodies from himself before they indeed suffocated him. It was extremely difficult to do with his right arm still pinned behind his back and to make matters worse, when he tried to free it, he discovered the sharp point of his iron claw was tangled fast in his vest; pulling harder only made the point dig at his rib cage. He was trying to raise his head up to thank Smee for saving him yet again when he heard the four rapidly fired shots. None of his men had anything that shot like that. He swore bitterly under his breath as he struggled to free himself from the bloody pile. This was not how he wanted any prospective recruit, nor anyone else for that matter, to see him.

He managed to pull his left arm to safety underneath himself and raise himself ever so slightly to gulp a deep breath of much needed air. All he could see at the moment was the back of a warrior's head matted with blood and brain. He could even see tiny white chips of the bone from the skull, and he marveled at the double-fisted size hole that gaped where the back of the man's head had been. He could tell from the sounds of battle that his crew had finally rejoined the battle, evidently spurred on by the turn of events. But why hadn't Smee or someone come to set him free, he wondered.

Hook tried again to shake the crushing weight from his back, unsuccessfully; there must be a combined weight of three or four hundred pounds, he guessed. At least with his left arm underneath him now, he had a little more room to breathe, though not as much as he would have liked. He jerked his right arm and felt the point of his claw dig into his ribcage hard enough that he decided further attempts were exceedingly unwise.

"Damn it all to hell," he swore. He hated being helpless, it was one of his chief grievances about his missing right hand. The hook was useful, but he was still helpless when it came to things like buttons and belts and tying laces, and other simple tasks he could no longer perform by himself.

While he grunted and shoved and strained against the bodies that held him a prisoner on the boulder, Hook heard a voice, not entirely unfamiliar but definitely not Mr. Smee's either, cursing and swearing the most terrible and delightful oaths, intermingled with the unmistakable thwack of fists pounding flesh and cries for quarter from Peter.

Edward unleashed the fire of his rage on the still dazed Pan. The memory of Hook's screams were still echoing in his ears; such cruel torture required retribution which he was only too happy to dish out. Peter was just stumbling to his feet from his encounter with the shotgun's butt when Edward latched onto his hair.

"You rotten little son-of-a-bitch!" Edward growled. Before Peter quite knew who or what had hold of him, Edward began throwing a punishing barrage of roundhouse punches to alternating sides of Peter's head. "Mother - fucking - bastard!" he swore as he swung at his human punching-bag. His left hand throbbed, though Edward barely noticed the pain at that moment.

A particularly brutal right cross sent Peter sprawling backwards, spinning one-hundred-eighty degrees as he fell. Now though, he at least knew who was attacking him - it was that blasted interfering postal man. He'd suspected he was a pirate from the beginning; now he was positive. Why else would the man come to Hook's aid? "You!" he snapped accusingly as he tried to crawl back on his feet.

Edward raised an eyebrow, almost amused. He could not believe he was being offered such an easy shot, and as he was not one to be overly concerned with equine dentistry, he kicked Peter hard in the ribs, rather like he was kicking a field goal. "I told you not to fuck with a disgruntled postal worker, didn't I?!" Edward booted Peter in the ribs again,

Peter tried to roll with the blow to lessen the impact and to hopefully give him room to escape his attacker's grasp, but Edward leapt at him, tackling him line-backer fashion and slammed him into the hard, rocky ground.

"It ain't nice to chase my happy little ass all over this hell-hole of an island!" Edward growled between his teeth. "Especially when you have all your friends help you." He balled his fists together and pounded on Peter's chest. He would have pummeled the boy to death that very instant had he not been interrupted.

A trio young braves had noticed the mêlée' occurring at the far end of the glade and were charging to Peter's rescue - or so they thought. Edward gave Peter one more good bash to his forehead and sprang back to his feet. His first instinct was to draw his pistol but first he reached over his right shoulder for the saber he'd strapped to his pack. Edward shot the middle warrior, meeting the leader with an up-cutting slash that slit the man open from his testicles to his throat, and the young man stared at Edward in disbelief, almost as if asking "Why did you do that?" Edward's second swing sent the young brave's head wobbling across the grass like a cast-off watermelon.

The last brave was a bit older and, Edward discovered, the more experienced fighter. He met Edward with a tomahawk in one hand and a war club in the other. Edward blocked the swipe from the tomahawk quite handily with his saber and tried to duck away from the war club. He was almost successful, almost. The club only grazed the right side of his nose, but as far as Edward was concerned, a kick from a horse would've hurt less. He shoved the barrel of the Ruger into the warrior's diaphragm and fired twice, grinning at the dying warrior through the blood that flowed over his top lip.

There was a healthy flow of red dribbling off his chin and down the front of his shirt; noses and head wounds tended to bleed a lot, Edward commented to himself. Leaving huge splatters of his own blood in his wake, Edward returned to his interrupted flogging of Pan. Peter was in a most precarious position at that moment. Having been knocked practically unconscious, he was trying to find which way was up and was currently on his knees in a half-hearted downward facing dog. Edward grinned, wiping the blood from his top lip; he could not pass up such a target. He drove the toe of his boot squarely into Peter's crotch with all his might, eliciting an almost girlish scream from the boy. Peter curled up in a ball and writhed in pain, but Edward continued his onslaught and grabbed Pan by his hair, dragging the retching boy back onto his knees. "Miss me?" he snarled at Peter.

"I swear," Peter retched and gagged. "I'll kill you for this."

"Shaking in my boots I am," Edward huffed. He dragged Peter to his feet and, still hanging onto the boy's hair, drove his free fist into Peter's stomach and kidneys.

Peter struggled to free himself, kicking at Edward's shins and swinging wildly with his fists in hopes of making contact, but almost every move of Peter's was countered with either a fist or a kick from his tormentor. Every part of him ached. It even hurt to breathe, when he could manage to suck a breath in his lungs. "Uncle!" he cried out in desperation.

"Uncle?" Edward echoed. "Uncle my ass! When have you ever shown anyone mercy when they've asked for it?"

Before Peter could answer Edward slammed him back against the gnarly bark of a pine and smacked his palm against Pan's nose; blood flowed freely from both of the boy's nostrils.

"And you get this fixed in that tiny wee brain of yours, smart-ass," Edward snarled, spewing blood and foam like a rabid dog. "If you ever - and I mean ever, try to do anything so stinking, under-handed, and despicable again to that gentleman, I will personally stomp the living dog shit out of you, and then I'm gonna cut your balls off and shove them down your throat so far that you choke to death on them! Do I make myself clear?!" He rapped Peter's forehead with the butt of his pistol.

"Gentleman?!" Pan spat back at Edward. "What gentleman!? Hook?!" He said the name as if it brought a foul taste to his lips.

Edward loomed over Peter, still foaming at the mouth and looking more like a crazed werewolf than a man. "Precisely!" he snarled, driving Peter's head back against the tree trunk.

"Bah!" Pan spewed breathlessly. He winced at the pain yelling brought to his head and tried stomping on one of Edward's feet in hopes of escaping, but Peter was bare-footed; Edward wore heavy leather boots and paid little attention if he felt anything. "Hook is no gentleman!" Peter seethed.

"As if you would know!" Edward slammed his knee up into Peter's crotch again, then dragged him to his feet and back-handed Peter across the face, this time splitting Peter's top lip.

"Hook is an evil fiend!" Peter choked, desperately trying to escape Edward's grasp and not puke at the same time. "He kills my lost boys and he even tried to kill Wendy."

"Her?" Edward grunted as he wrestled Peter's arm up behind his back, holding it firmly with his good right hand. He grabbed a handful of Peter's hair with his left and shoved the boy back against the pine. "That little air-headed twit?"

Pan's glared back at Edward and his eyes flashed daggers. "Don't you dare insult a lady!"

"Lady my ass!" Edward growled. "She's nothing but a stupid little girl, though she was smart enough to get the hell away from you."

"You go too far!" Peter snapped. "I will not have you sully the lady's honor so, or mine!"

"Humph!" Edward snorted. "You wouldn't know honor if it bit you dead on your scrawny ass." He smacked Peter's forehead against the pine and threw the stunned boy to the ground, pinning him down with one knee on his back.

"Wendy is a lady," Peter groaned insistently.

"Maybe, maybe not," Edward said, literally breathing down Peter's neck. "But you're sure as hell no gentleman, nor are you qualified to judge who is and isn't one." He ground Peter's face into the dirt. "Now, you leave that man alone," Edward cut his eyes back towards Hook's boulder, "And you better remember this, you little prick. If you ever cross me again, I'll rip your lungs out with my bare hands. Understand?" He gave Peter's hair a sound snatch.

"I don't have to listen to you," Peter sniveled. "Why do you care what happens to that old codfish anyway?" He flinched, expecting Edward to inflict some new pain on him.

" 'Cause I hate your guts!" Edward seethed between his teeth. "I always have!" He scrambled to his feet, dragging Peter up with him, and shoved the barrel of his pistol against the bridge of Peter's bloody nose.

"Why?" Peter stammered, his eyes fixed on the shiny black barrel. He also noticed the blood seeping through the bandages on Edward's left hand - if he could just make contact with that wound….

"You are a narcissistic, tyrannical little sociopath," Edward rapped the frame of the pistol hard against Peter's skull. "You're a murderous little bastard. You delight in torturing and tormenting people that have done you no wrong…"

"What?" Peter spewed; hot tears of anger were rolling down his face and stung every cut and scratch they touched, and every inch of his body seemed to burn with pain. "Hook tried - tries to kill me every chance he gets!"

"What did I do to you, huh?" Edward broke in, waving his bandaged knuckles under Peter's nose. "And I don't blame the Captain one bit. I know what you did to him. I know you for what you really are." He seized Peter's throat with his hands and began to choke the boy, slowly, watching the color changes on Pan's face. First his cheeks flushed scarlet, then gradually the color began to drain away and the boy's lips began turning blue.

Peter clawed at Edward's forearms and tried to pry the fingers from his windpipe, but he too weak and too disoriented to stop his glowering tormentor. He could feel the life ebbing away from him and his hands fell to his sides.

Edward did not want to stop, he did not to let go, he just wanted to keep throttling Pan until he stilled the boy's heart permanently, though, Edward thought, that would require Peter to have a heart in the first place. He watched as Peter's green eyes began to roll back into his head, then flung the boy away from him and sent Peter sprawling back onto the ground, choking and gasping for air. "And if you every try that shit again," Edward threatened in a low, menacing tone that sent chills through Peter, "I'll take my chances and kill you myself." He kicked dirt at Peter and turned to go check on Hook.

Peter crawled to his knees. "This isn't over…" he began hoarsely.

Edward whirled around and charged at Peter. Peter scuffled backwards, desperately trying to put some distance between them. Edward slid to a sudden halt; a groan from the deceased pile of humanity behind him quickly redirected his attention. "Hook." The word slipped from his lips, barely audible.

"That's right, you little coward," Edward huffed. "You better haul ass away from here before I take my belt off and give you a first-class thrashing, which I might add, you are long overdue for." He spat in Peter's direction before hustling over to the boulder to help Hook, as it occurred to Edward the man might actually be suffocating under the weight of the dead warriors. He collected his saber and shotgun as well as what he assumed to be Hook's sword on the way.

Peter crawled to his feet, wiping a mixture of blood and tears from his face with his hands. Thrash him indeed, Peter thought, vowing to kill the postal man at the first occasion that presented itself. He had embarrassed and humiliated Peter and he would pay dearly for it. Peter wiped more tears away, then decided that it must be sweat as he never cried. He watched for a moment as Edward began heaving the dead Indians away from Hook, then took advantage of the opportunity to put as much distance between himself and Edward as possible, limping off into the trees towards the Indian camp. He now had a deeper understanding of disgruntled postal workers, with or without guns. He would be better prepared the next time they met, he told himself, and he would have his revenge.

Beneath the pile of bodies, Hook could feel the weight being removed from his back and sucked in as much air as he could. "Smee?" he asked weakly.

"No sir," Edward answered, rather matter-of-factly, "Guess again." He rolled Six Toes off of Hook and the body hit the ground with a wet, sticky thud. A lone warrior came charging from the trees towards them brandishing a wickedly tipped spear; Edward took only a moment to dispatch the young man with a slug from the shotgun before continuing his efforts to free the Captain, shoving and tugging dead bodies left and right until Hook was free. "Those redskins are worse than damned mosquitoes, aren't they?" he commented to Hook.

Hook staggered to his feet struggling furiously to free his right arm, but Edward pressed a hand to his left shoulder to halt his flailing. Hook swung around angrily, still a bit dazed himself, and found himself glaring into a familiar pair of steady hazel eyes. "You?" he asked; he had the oddest feeling he had looked into those eyes before, though where or when he could not remember at this moment.

"Yes sir," Edward answered quietly, mesmerized by the formidable presence of the infamous pirate. The man was taller than him, but then most men were; Edward gauged Hook to be about six-two or six-three. The pirate's long, dark hair hung in ringlets to his shoulders and a little past and framed his face, seeming to draw extra attention to Hook's extraordinary blue eyes. His mustache and Van Dyke beard emphasized the man's aristocratic looks, which only made him seem all the more imposing and for a moment Edward felt as though he was standing before a god.

"Just hang on a second, sir" Edward said evenly, "You're kind of caught on yourself." Very carefully, he worked the vicious looking claw loose from where it had become entangled in Hook's brocaded vest, then guided limb and claw safely around Hook's back until there was no chance of the man injuring himself accidentally. "And thank you again for saving my bacon yesterday. I owe you." He stood as straight as his exhausted body would allow and snapped his sharpest salute for Hook.

Hook now saw Smee, finally staggering from bushes and towards his captain; he appeared to have a large gash across his forehead and Hook assumed this was the reason for his disappearance earlier. He glanced around at the dead redskins and stared at his left hand, working the fingers as if to reassure himself that it was still there. "No," he replied, still stunned by what had transpired, "I believe you have already repaid that debt, doubly so."

Hook glared at his right arm, thoroughly repulsed; his hook hung uselessly at the end and he tried to tuck it inside his vest. "By what name are you known?"

"Edward. Edward…" he paused, wiping the blood away that still trickled from his nose. "Umm… well damn."

"Yes?" Hook queried.

"That's odd," Edward mused, "I can't remember my own last name. Go figure?"

"Ah yes," Hook nodded, "that will happen with more frequency the longer you are here. Neverland does that to one."

Edward scratched the beard stubble on his chin broodingly and watch Smee approaching on his unsteady legs. The battle in the glade had receded back into the woods and it sounded as though the savages were now in a full retreat themselves. "Oh well," he sighed, "Anyway, my friends just call me Eddie." He studied Hook a moment. The man looked dreadfully self-conscious, though Edward was far too smart to mention it. He glanced up at Hook, who was a good head taller than he was.

"If you like, sir, "he began cautiously, "that is, if it wouldn't offend you…"

"What?" Hook asked rather roughly, then immediately wished he hadn't. He had seen

the fellow flinch, and he seemed a very polite and respectful man, after all. "I'm…," Hook paused, "Please continue," he said in a more moderate tone, "What is it you want?"

Edward swallowed nervously and fidgeted with the bandage around his knuckles. "Well, I was thinking I could help you with that, if it wouldn't offend you, sir."

"With what?" Hook asked dubiously, eyeing the blood-stained wrappings on Edward's knuckles. Edward pointed towards the arm Hook had tucked in his coat. "How?" he asked, leery of re-exposing the mutilation.

Edward sloughed off the daypack and fished his right hand inside in search of his extra bootlaces. "Ah, there you are," he said, unwinding the neatly coiled laces. As he stood up, Smee finally reached the boulder.

"Thank heaven your alive Cap'n" the old man puffed, thoroughly winded. He dabbed at his head wound with a faded blue handkerchief and thumbed towards Edward. "Is this him then?"

"Aye, Mr. Smee," Hook replied, watching Edward fiddle about with the laces. "This is the elusive fellow we were so diligently seeking." He noticed the gash on Smee's forehead. "Redskins?" he asked.

"Aye sir, "Smee answered, applying his handkerchief to the wound. "One of 'em smacked me with a war club - knocked me out cold, it did." As Edward reached towards Hook's arm, Smee swatted his hand away soundly, the blow landing directly across his wounded hand.

"Here now, you" Smee reprimanded. "Don't ye be pawing at the Cap'n so."

Edward clutched his left hand close to his chest and staggered, doubling over with dry heaves. "What the fuck?" he managed between retches.

"Mr. Smee!" Hook rebuked him sternly. He caught Edward by the shoulder and steered him over to the rock, motioning for him to sit. "What happened to your hand?"

"Oh, that little piss-ant," Edward grumbled through his clench jaw.

"Peter?" Hook queried, though he could think of no one else that fit the description so well. He took Edward's hand, examining the bandages.

"No doubt," Edward replied, "He took a swipe at me yesterday," he paused. "At least I think it was yesterday. The blade bounced off my knuckles - it keeps oozing. It really needs stitches." He glared at Smee from under his thick, dark eyebrows. "And what the hell is your major malfunction, dumb-ass?"

"Here now," Hook interjected harshly, "Enough of that." He made a mental note of Edward's immediate reaction, from bristling anger to complete submission. Well now, he mused, that was a nice change of pace; someone who obeyed without question. He looked over his shoulder at Smee. "Your judgment needs some serious evaluation, Mr. Smee."

"Cap'n?" Smee asked, befuddled. "I was only looking out for.."

Hook shook his head in disgust and cut him off short. "In the future, Mr. Smee, you might want to assess the situation thoroughly before you take any punitive action." Smee stared back at him blankly, obviously lost. "If you had taken a moment to inquire about Edward's intentions…"

"Eddie," Edward corrected him.

"I prefer Edward" Hook replied firmly. "At least until we have an appropriate moniker for you."

"Yes sir," Edward nodded and continued nursing the throbbing knuckles; if that was what Captain Hook wanted to call him, then by God it was fine with him. Hook could call him just about anything and he would answer to it; just so long as he called.

Hook turned his attention back to Smee. "As I was saying," he continued, "Edward was offering his assistance on a rather delicate matter." With that, he cautiously withdrew his right arm part of the way so Smee could see the damaged harness. "Those savages were quite intent of robbing me of any dignity I might still have."

Smee was horrified at the sight of the claw dangling from its remaining strap. "Cap'n" he said, almost sorrowfully; it irritated Hook.

"Mr. Smee," he hissed, "I do not desire nor will I tolerate your pity."

Edward quickly recovered from feeling sorry for himself, for the time being, and remembered why he'd been swatted in the first place. He scanned the grass for the laces and hastily retrieved them. Gingerly, he reached for Hook's forearm. He cleared his throat softly to regain Hook's attention. "If I might, sir?"

Hook studied him warily, wondering how much to trust this young man. He could not fathom how the fellow planned to remedy things with two little pieces of cord, but he was loathe to see or feel the useless appendage at the end of his arm for one second longer than absolutely necessary. "Yes," He sighed heavily and offered his arm to whatever assistance Edward might be able to offer, "I will not have the men see me like this... Or anyone else for that matter."

Smee cast a dubious eye to Edward; he was not entirely sure he trusted the newcomer. After all, he'd been looking after Captain Hook for more years than he could remember. And just who was this sawed-off, bloodied fellow anyway? Where had he come from and what reason could a total stranger have to help this most irascible captain of his? Still, not wanting to further irritate or possibly embarrass his Captain, Smee decided it would be much healthier for him if he pretended to be busy inspecting the dead redskins.

Edward could feel his palms getting sweaty and his heart was beginning to pound in his chest. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend Captain Hook after managing to get in his good graces and he was terrified of letting Hook see his distress regarding the Captain's embarrassing predicament; he did not want the same rebuke that Smee had drawn. He glanced up at Hook for a quick moment, then carefully began to turn back the long black shirtsleeve until he came to the severed strap's ends. He took one of the laces and wrapped it around the upper part of the harness strap, making a hangman's knot to keep it from slipping. Then, ever so gently, he fitted the heavy wooden base and leather cuff back over Hook's stump. He heard the man swallow very hard and it made Edward's hackles rise. He stole another quick glance at Hook to reaffirm that he had not committed any offense.

Hook, apparently unable to bring himself to look further upon the mangled harness, was staring off into the distance. Edward could feel his rage towards Peter and the redskins mounting again. If a hoard of fire ants had taken to biting him from head to toe, he could not have felt more agitated. All the muscles in his shoulders and neck tightened up at once and his scalp felt as though it might crush his skull. All Edward could see or think or feel was fury.

The nerve, he thought to himself, the unmitigated gall. They did not have the decency to outright try and kill Hook, oh no. Their intentions, despicable as he found them, were to humiliate and shame Hook to the point where Edward considered it torture; he doubted Hook would disagree with his assessment. In that instant Edward wanted to hunt down the lot of them and kill them as slowly and painfully as he could, preferably with an axe. The anger got the better of him and Edward realized his hands were shaking with rage.

Hook felt the boy's hands shake and quickly turned his attention back to his arm. Though Edward's head was down, seemingly absorbed in his task, he noticed how red the fellow's ears had become. "What is it?" he asked quietly, not wanting to draw attention from Smee.

Edward finished joining the strap together, also tying the base end with a hangman's knot before he looked up at Hook. "Nothing," he said, trying to regain control of his hands and temper, "It still smarts a bit," he gestured towards his left hand. He began to work on reinforcing his repair, lashing a second layer of laces to the harness strap, but could feel Hook's piercing blue eyes boring into the top of his head. He looked back up at Hook, then over at Smee, and back to Hook. "It's just…" he went back to securing the second lace to the harness. "What they done was wrong and I just want to kill the bloody sons-of -bitches, that's all."

"And so you have," Hook answered in a subdued voice. He turned his gaze toward Smee until he felt Edward finish his task and begin rolling his shirtsleeve back down. Hook held his arm up, gazing upon the claw and tested it to see how well it worked. To the uninformed onlooker, all seemed normal and he sighed again, but with relief this time. "Good show, lad," he said and clapped his hand on Edward's right shoulder. "Good show indeed."

"My pleasure, sir," Edward said, ducking his head shyly.

"Mr. Smee," Hook called to his seemingly pre-occupied bosun, "Be so good as to re-assemble the men."

With a quick salute, Smee scurried off, blowing his boson's whistle to call the crew. Hook maintained his grip on Edward's shoulder as Black Owl's kick had made things a bit tender and his knees still felt a somewhat shaky. "Pan," he finally remembered his arch-enemy, "Where did he go?"

Edward could not help but snicker to himself. "Oh him," he replied, "I guess he went out of here with his tail between his legs." Hook raised a curious eyebrow and Edward tried not to sound too conceited, which was rather difficult. "I kind of messed him up a wee bit."

"Really?" Hook remarked. "It sounded like more than 'a wee bit."

Edward could no longer suppress his satisfaction. "Well, actually," he answered quite smugly, "I wanted to strangle the little imp shit, but all I did was kick his ass in proper fashion. And I enjoyed every second of it, too, even if it did get these fingers to screaming bloody murder again." He wiggled the fingers on his left hand stiffly.

Hook smiled slightly with amusement. "Good for you," he congratulated, "But why didn't you finish him off?"

Edward felt his stomach knotting up and panic trying to rear its ugly head. "I thought you wanted to do that yourself, sir," he stammered, "I mean, if I thought you wouldn't mind… I… Well, I probably should have but…"

Hook squeezed the boy's shoulder. "It's alright lad," he broke in, "You were quite correct in your assumption. I would have been very displeased to find that boy dead by any other hand than my own."

Edward breathed a sigh of relief. "That's what I thought," he said, "I just wanted to make sure, you know?" He could see the bedraggled group of men gathering around Mr. Smee.

"Anyway, he'll remember that little meeting for a good long while," he said, watching the pirates trickle out of the surrounding forest in two's and threes.

"Aye," Hook nodded. "That he will, though whether he's the wiser for it remains to be seen. Peter has rather a thick hide."

Edward looked up at the man. Just being close to Hook seemed like it made his very skin tingle and some pent up, wild side of himself wanted to break loose and run free. "I guess you'll be going back to your ship." he said wistfully.

"Aye," Hook answered, "I've had enough fun on this island to last me quite a while."

"Can I…" Edward began. "I mean, would it be ok if I…" He felt Hook's hand between his shoulder blades pushing forward ever so slightly. "I can come?" Edward asked.

"Well of course," Hook replied, trying to sound gruff so as to hide his amusement. "We searched half the island for you and it nearly cost me my left hand as well. Besides," he paused while Edward snatched his daypack up and slung it on his back, "You really don't believe I'd leave you here to the tender mercies of those brutes, do you?"

Edward shook his head. "No sir." he answered heartily, heaving the shotgun over his left shoulder. "I don't want to seem like I'm trying to weasel in where I'm not welcome, that's all."

Hook glanced down at his right arm. "All things considered," he said, "I'm rather glad you 'weaseled' in, as you put it. Had you not, things may have turned out rather badly."

"Thank you sir," Edward said quietly.

"Come along now." Hook grabbed the fellow's shoulder again to steady himself as he walked. His head was still pounding and he wished he could go somewhere private and vomit. He gave the dead braves a last glance. "Maybe I should have gutted Black Owl instead of the other one."

"Why is that, sir?" Edward asked, unaware of Black Owl's misdeeds.

"Because, Edward," Hook said, grimacing every few steps, "He kicks harder than the rest, I fear."

Edward frowned, trying to figure out the meaning of Hook's statement. He glanced back at the dead redskins. "Not anymore, he doesn't." he said dryly.

Hook chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder again. "How true, lad. Good form."

Edward eyed the surly group of men waiting on the other side of the glade for their captain to join them. From the looks he was getting, Edward figured he was not exactly the crew's most favorite person at the moment. He got the distinct impression they'd all like to wring his neck if they could. That's getting off on the right foot, he thought sarcastically. He was very glad that Hook kept his hand on his right shoulder. It made Edward feel a bit safer, and he surreptitiously eased a little closer to Hook's side.

"All right you dogs," Hook roared. "Quit licking your wounds and march your sorry hides back to boats, double time." He noticed the baleful glares directed at his rescuer. "This gentleman will be joining us, for a few days at least. I expect you to make him feel welcome. Now move - all of you!"

He cut his eyes towards Edward and grasped the collar of the boy's shirt, " 'Tis just for appearances," he said under his breath to Edward. "Their bark is worse than their bite - they're really nothing but a bunch of cowardly curs, and they wouldn't dare cross me. You've nothing to fear so long as you're under my protection."

"Yes sir," Edward nodded. "I've got your back too," he said, trying not to look as smug as he felt. With his chest puffed out and chin daring all on-lookers, he was probably doing a poor job of it, he thought, but at the moment he really didn't care. That awful, sick panic in the pit of his stomach had vanished; he was with his idol and at the moment he felt bulletproof.

The Indian Camp

Peter groaned as he woke up. It hurt to swallow, it hurt to breathe. Everything hurt when he tried to move, even his eyelids. He felt hands on him, holding him down.

"Lie still," an elderly woman's voice said, "very bad."

She gave Peter something to drink and he blanched at the bitter taste; the split in his top lip burned when the liquid touched it.. Peter tried to open his eyes, but he could only force the lids open a crack; they were both badly swollen from the blows he'd received this morning. Fortunately he recognized the voice of Tiger Lily's grandmother, Shy Doe. His whole face ached and his ribs hurt so it was difficult to get a good breath.

"Drink all," the old woman admonished, "make better." Peter complied, though he was sure the foul tasting brew was more poison than medicine. At least the awful taste woke him up enough so he knew he was safe in Tiger Lily's wigwam. The old woman left and a moment later the door flap was lifted and Mohawk and the other Lost Boys came in and crouched around the fire.

"How do you feel, Peter?" the littlest boy, Chuckles, asked.

"Like a tree fell on me," Peter groaned.

"Sure looks like one did," Mohawk added dryly.

"Who did it?" asked Carrots. "Was it Captain Hook?"

"No," Peter shook his head slightly but only for a moment; the motion made his head pound and he felt queasier than he had drinking the medicine. "It was the new one, the postal worker."

"The what?" Mohawk queried.

"The one who killed Nip and Tuck," Peter replied, "Remember, he said he was a dis… dis… a something-or-other postal worker."

"Oh yeah," said a boy named Skeeter, for the whiny way he talked; rather like a mosquito buzzing around when someone is trying to go sleep. "He did all that?" he pointed to Pan.

"Yes," Peter answered weakly, "He doesn't fight fair at all. He kicks you and stomps you when he has you down." This statement was met with a chorus of 'bad form' from the other boys. "He was right" Peter continued, "he said he was worse than a pirate and he is."

"I 'ear he killed a lot o' braves," Knuckles said. "I 'ear it was eight or nine."

"I don't think it was that many," Peter said, "I only saw him shoot five, but I left before the battle was over, so he may have killed more."

"You mean you ran away?" asked a very shy boy named Wrong Way.

"No!" Peter squeaked hoarsely, "But he wouldn't pick up a sword and fight me." He realized that was because the postal man had been too busy beating him half to death to bother with a sword, but it sounded better the way he had told it.

"Why not?" asked Carrots.

"He was too busy trying to help Captain Hook, that's why," Peter scowled. "So I left."

"The chief is hopping mad," Mohawk said. "He says that new one saved Hook and made them lose."

"He's right," Peter's voice was getting weaker.

Grandmother Shy Doe came back into the wigwam and reprimanded the boys. "Shoo," she said brusquely, "Out. Peter need rest. No more talk tonight. Go." And with that she grabbed up a broom and chased the Lost Boys out of the wigwam and sent them over to their own for the night.

Peter lay back on the warm, soft bearskins, feeling very sleepy. It must be the medicine working, he thought. Outside he could hear Great Big Little Panther talking to his remaining braves. They were planning an assault on Hook's ship but couldn't agree on when to attack. Peter hoped he would be well enough to take part.

On Board the Jolly Roger

Smee helped Captain Hook out of his damaged harness and then hurried below decks to have it repaired. He could hear a commotion in the crew's quarters as soon as he started below and as Smee neared the foot of the narrow staircase his ears were assaulted by an eruption of obscenities and loud angry voices. The next moment the old man was nearly trampled over as Edward bolted from the room and up the stairs, swearing with every step.

"Here now," Smee objected, but Edward was already up the stairs and gone. He wondered why Edward hadn't changed into the fresh clothing he had found for him. "Crazy bugger," Smee snorted, and headed down to hand the harness off to the little Oriental leather worker, Loki Chin Pham, to be repaired. He was on his way back up to the Captain when he overheard several of the men talking in the galley.

"Meddlin' little bastard," Jim Flythe said and spat on the floor.

"Aye," agreed Bull Jennings, "We could be sailing away from this God-forsaken island right now if he hadn't poked his nose in where it had no business."

"Did you seen how pale he went," laughed Abdullah, "Damn that was funny."

"Well, he deserved it," Samuels smirked. "Shouldn't be showin' off his body like that and tempting us poor sailors."

"Aye," Abdullah chuckled, "And us not seen fresh meat for years."

"Just wait till tonight," Flythe sneered. "He's got to go to sleep sooner or later."

Smee blanched. No wonder Edward had been so furious. He crept into the empty crew's quarters and found Edward's belongings, then scurried back up to tell Hook what was going on. Something had to be done and quickly, before somebody got killed.

Edward was sitting on the top step of the quarterdeck stairway, checking the semi-automatic pistol. It needed a good cleaning and he would take care of that as soon as he could get Mr. Smee to bring his pack up to him from below decks. He was definitely not going down there again. He'd sleep up here before he'd go anywhere near those perverts.

The young pirate that had rowed Hook's longboat back to the ship, Bloody Mike, nodded at him as he went about his business; Edward nodded back. The fellow had seemed nice enough on the trip from the island. So had the blonde named Hopkins, and Robert Mullins had been quite friendly too… in a good way. The rest, by and large, had been a pack of assholes and he wondered who he should shoot first. He felt his muscles tense when the lot of them poured out from below deck, laughing loudly and pointing in his direction.

"Come on down, boy" Jennings jeered, "don't be so unfriendly." Edward glared from under the brim of his hat and slapped a full clip into the pistol.

"You can't shoot all of us," Del Toro sneered.

"Is that so," Edward said icily. "You want to be first?"

"Oh deary me," Bill Jukes taunted in a falsetto voice, "Please don't hurt me mister."

"Leave me alone," Edward growled, very low and menacing.

"Aw now," Jennings mocked, "Don't be so unfriendly. Give us a little cuddle" He started as though he might come up the stairs towards Edward.

"Fuck off!" Edward snarled and chambered a round into the Ruger pistol. His skin stung and burned all over and he was sure his brain would mush out of his ears any moment now if his scalp didn't relent and let go. That damned droning beat was back in his ears too - kill, kill, kill, kill…

"I'd rather to fuck you," Jennings leered.

"That will be enough out of that cesspool you call a mouth."

Edward knew that voice and he tried not to appear so obviously relieved. Now they would have to deal with Hook.

"Aw Cap'n," Jennings whined, "we was just having a bit of fun with him. Sort of breaking him in, as it were."

Hook walked slowly over until he was practically nose to nose with Jennings. His hand rested on a pistol stuck in his belt and his coat hung around his shoulders, cape fashion. Jennings swallowed hard and began to sweat.

"Now see here, Mr. Jennings," Hook said quietly, which made him seem all the more menacing. "From henceforth, you will leave Edward alone - the lot of you." He glanced over his shoulder casually at the group of vile dogs. "If any harm should come to him, I will hold every last one of you responsible. Do I make myself clear?"

"Aye sir," Jennings stammered, "Crystal, sir." The rest of the mangy pack nodded, mumbling their consents and praying that they might not be gutted any moment now.

Hook looked up at Edward; it was obvious the young man was quite frightened, regardless of the brave display he was trying to put on. "Edward," he said calmly.

"Yes sir," Edward was on his feet in an instant, waiting for instructions.

"Come with me," Hook said coolly, "I need to discuss some matters with you."

Edward lowered the pistol's hammer and holstered the gun, hurrying down the stairs to stay as close to the Captain as he possibly could. It was no problem, as his tormentors gave Hook a wide berth as he returned to his cabin. The door to Hook's cabin could not close fast enough and Edward leaned back against it in relief now that he was safely inside. Now if he could just get his neck and scalp to relax.

Smee was waiting for them and took the Captain's coat from his shoulders; only then did Edward realize that Hook had been without his signature claw. The man had a set of brass balls, he noted, with or without the steel hook.

Hook tossed the pistol onto his writing desk and flopped himself down in his plush wingback chair, his right leg crooked lazily over the chair's arm. "Well now, he remarked as he lit a cigar, "that was a learning experience, was it not?"

Edward took his hat off and hung it on an empty peg near the door, taking a few cautious steps into the room. "Yes sir," he agreed, "I guess it was." He wondered if he had done something to piss the Captain off and waited for the lecture to begin while Hook poured himself a brandy.

Hook gave him a sideways glance and tried not to laugh; the fellow was standing at attention like a soldier on parade and was as pale as a ghost. "For God's sake lad," he chuckled, "Breathe before you pass out." He motioned to the bottle. "Brandy?"

Edward felt a huge weight vanish from his shoulders; it would seem he was not about to be chewed out after all. "Yes sir, if you don't mind," he said, trying to disguise the huge sigh of relief that wanted to come rushing from his lungs.

Hook took a sip from his snifter and indicated for Edward to sit down across the desk from him. "By all means," Hook said, pushing the brandy decanter across the desk towards Edward, "Help yourself." He watched, quite amused, as Edward downed the first drink quickly and poured himself a second. "Better?" he asked, a smug smile crept across his face.

"Yes sir," Edward said hoarsely; it was damn fine brandy, though it nearly took his breath away. Mr. Smee brought an ornately carved mahogany box over to the desk and opened the top.

"Cigar?" he offered.

Edward shook his head. "Thanks but no," he paused to take a much smaller sip of his brandy, "I don't smoke."

"Well at least he drinks," Hook said around the cigar in his mouth, "Otherwise I fear he would not make a good pirate at all, eh Smee?"

"Right you are, Cap'n," Smee agreed, chuckling at the obviously shaken fellow. "You're all right lad," he said brightly, giving Edward a healthy slap on his shoulder blades, "The Captain won't let no harm come to ye."

His skin still stinging, Edward's shoulders hunched, his eyes narrowed and he cast a surly, side-ways glare in the bosun's direction, squelching the rage that wanted to erupt and flatten Smee into a little grease spot on the floor. He did not like being smacked on the back; he didn't like being slapped at all and the burning between his shoulder blades made his blood boil. If the old man ever did that again, Edward thought, it would be the last damned thing he ever did. He was a grown man and was not about to tolerate…

Edward's hazel eyes suddenly locked on Hook's blue ones as it occurred to him he'd neglected to show his appreciation for being shepherded away from the filthy groups of degenerates. "Thank you, sir," he said sincerely. "I thought for sure I was going to have to kill somebody out there. They wouldn't leave me alone."

Hook sighed. "Sadly, I doubt that would have convinced them," he said, staring back into the eyes that watched him so intently; they seemed strangely familiar. Were they green or brown, he wondered; their shade seemed to change as frequently as the fellow's mood did. "They are as detestable a lot of mangy curs as I have ever had the misfortune to command, and which, you will soon discover, accurately describes the majority of pirates you will meet." He watched Edward for a few moments to gauge his reaction to this revelation.

Edward raised an eye brow. "Well," he began thoughtfully, "I didn't really think I'd be around a bunch of choir boys but I'm not just going to let some filthy…."

"Indeed not," Hook interrupted. "Do not misunderstand me. I am not trying to dissuade you from your course of service with me." He paused for a long drag on his cigar and then blew smoke rings for a short while. "Rather, you need to understand which men to associate with and which to avoid, so that you remain alive, for more than a day."

Edward frowned. "Avoiding them is going to be more than a little difficult." he said, a bit wary. "I guess I'll have to learn to sleep with one eye open or something."

"Nope," Mr. Smee piped up. "I've brung your things up here." he motioned towards a sofa, where Edward now noticed his shotgun, coat and daypack. "You'll be staying in here with the Cap'n."

"I will?" Edward asked a rather weakly. What the hell would he do if the man made similar overtures towards him, he wondered. After all, he'd been studying pirates and their behavior since he was just a boy, and seamen were not known for being terribly picky when seeking companionship. But did he dare refuse Hook if the man did? Edward hoped no such situation arose, as he didn't fancy being thrown back to the crew. At least the Captain would be a gentleman about things if it came to that, Edward hoped, and he prayed it wouldn't.

"Aye," Hook said, "I'd rather not have to come below decks in the wee hours of the morning to break up a fight…" he paused and glanced at Edward, "Or gut half my crew for that matter. That is, unless you want to sleep with the crew."

"Hell no!" Edward blurted out. "I mean, no sir. I 'd rather not sleep with them, in any capacity."

"That's a smart lad," Hook smirked. "You will be sleeping there until I decide where to put you," he said, glancing towards his fainting couch. "Mr. Smee, at what hour will you be serving dinner?"

"Seven o'clock, as usual, sir," Smee answered.

"Then remember that Edward will be dining in my quarters as well."

"Aye sir," Smee replied.

"Now," Hook paused to dust the ash from his cigar, "Edward, be a good fellow and give Mr. Smee your clothes so they can be washed."

Again Edward frowned, though not as pronounced as before, and a little twinge of apprehension scuttled down his spine. He had not been thrilled with the clean garments Smee had offered earlier; he preferred his own clothes. Still, if that was Hook said to do… He unbuttoned the flannel shirt and handed it over to Smee; it was much more blood-stained than he had realized.

"That one also," Hook motioned to his undershirt. "Its as soiled as the other one."

Edward gritted his teeth but did not argue and pulled the t-shirt over his head, reluctantly resigning it to Smee's care. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Now," Hook continued, gesturing to a large copper bathtub on the far side of the room, "Mr. Smee has been so good as to have a hot bath drawn for you." Hook leaned forward over the desk and studied Edward's equally mud and blood-stained trousers. "Those too."

Edward blanched. He looked over at the tub and back to Hook. "Don't you have a screen or something?" he asked nervously. While he would never have considered himself as bashful, this was a bit more revealing than he cared for.

Hook grinned around his cigar. "Lad, there is little privacy on board a pirate ship." He again motioned towards the tub with his head. "Go ahead, now. Shame to waste hot water, you know."

Edward clenched his jaw, wanting to argue but somehow knowing it would do no good. As he was going to be taking orders from this man, he might as well get used to it now. Surely he would be asked to do far more difficult and abhorrent things than strip for a bath. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the ordeal and bent over to unlace his boots and emptied his pockets on the desk . He went over to the plush upholstered couch and set the boots underneath it. Next he stripped his belt from its loops and finally, very reluctantly, removed his camouflage trousers. He handed them over to Smee with as much decorum as he could muster. Smee looked down at his boxers and raised his eyebrows. Edward grumbled in his throat and sloughed off the last bit of his modesty, tossing the drawers to Smee with his foot.

"And what am I supposed to wear after I bathe?" he muttered to Smee.

The old man smiled, quite amused at Edward's shyness; the boy's face and neck had gone quite scarlet. "There's a towel and a change of clothes on that table there," he chuckled. "I think you'll find these a bit more to your liking. Closer to what you're wearing."

"Or were wearing," Hook mused. "That will be all Smee."

Edward watched Smee hustle from the cabin with most of his worldly possessions; he hoped Smee would get them back to him soon. With a sigh he started towards the tub.

"Just a moment," Hook declared, crooking a finger for Edward to stand in front of him.

"You have got to be joking!" Edward could feel his face flushing even more and his heart began to pound. He wondered if this was some sort of hazing ritual every new crew member had to go through.

"Now," Hook ordered, his tone more stern. "Let me have a look at you."

Again, there was little Edward could do but obey, though he practically had to force himself over to the desk, his hands covering his most private parts.

Hook chuckled softly. This was proving to be most entertaining and enlightening. "Stand at attention, lad," he ordered, less harshly than before.

Edward frowned and cleared his throat. "But I am, sir." He forgot to breathe for a moment when he realized Hook's meaning. Exasperated, he dropped his hands back to his side and watched the Captain give him the once over.

Hook crushed out his cigar and stood up. He circled Edward once, examining his new found recruit as though he were appraising a fine horse. The fellow was slightly less than average height, maybe five-eight, but stocky and as solid-looking as an ox. He caught hold of Edward's right bicep and nodded favorably, then ran his hand over Edward's shoulders. Hook ran his finger-tips over Edward's shoulder blades looking for something, though he was not quite sure what. He pressed one ear to the boy's back and listened to each lung and the strong beating of his heart. "Good," Hook remarked. He then stood in front of Edward and thumped soundly the boy's chest and gave an approving smile. His gaze now fell on Edward's lower portions and raised an amused eyebrow. He noted the mass of fresh scratches on Edward's shins, obviously received that morning. Finally, his gaze settled on the scar on Edward's left forearm. "What happened there?"

"I was bitten." Edward replied dryly.

"By what?"

"A crazy woman."

"A what?" Hook could not help his laughter.

"It's a very long story, sir." Edward replied, trying to maintain his dignity, "and one I'd rather relate in a less exposed state… please."

All right," Hook waved his dismissal, still laughing hard. It was a long time since he'd seen any one so eager for the refuge of a bathtub. The boy, he decided, was amusingly modest, but he would obviously follow whatever order he was given, and without question as a rule. "And Edward," he added, "I like a fellow with a good sense of humor."

"Yes sir," Edward answered, laughing softly to himself. Hook had a twisted sense of humor rather like his own, a fact which he could appreciate.

Edward took in his accommodations while he soaked his aching muscles in the almost too warm water. Hook's stateroom was very lavish; almost extravagant. In the port corner, built into the wall, was a large bed covered by a plush crimson spread with exquisite gold embroidery, and mounds of very soft looking pillows. Nearby was a harpsichord, ornately decorated with gold leaf, and the red crushed velvet fainting couch with its gold-leafed scallop shell headboard. A cherry dining table, the chairs also upholstered with crushed red velvet ,stood ready for the Captain's sumptuous meals. The starboard wall, behind the tub, was lined with bookshelves, a built-in secretary, drawers and storage compartments, and statuary, paintings and other pieces of art adorned the room to the point of gaudiness. On either side of the door stood huge armoires; one, he'd seen, contained Hook's garments and the other Hook's personal weaponry. Thick, elegant rugs were strategically strewn about the floor. Edward decided this was indeed a much more comfortable setting than the crew's quarters.

Hook had been silent for several minutes, watching his new pirate evaluate his surroundings. He decided to investigate the pack which Edward took nearly everywhere with him. So while Edward was busy washing the sweat and blood from his dark brown hair and shaving, Hook emptied the contents onto his desk, eyeing the sword tied on one side; it looked rather familiar. The pack's contents were unremarkable on the whole: socks, ammunition, bandages, a tin that claimed to contain a gun cleaning kit, a jacket of sorts, a pair of field glasses and two smallish books; a collection of Fitzgerald's translations of The Rubiyat and a book of William Blake's poetry. "A civilized fellow, at that," Hook muttered to himself, taking his seat. He flipped through the pages of The Rubiyat.

"You can read it if you like."

Hook looked over the book towards Edward. "Thank you."

"It's good," Edward remarked, gingerly peeling the old bandage from his knuckles. "I've been through it a dozen times or so."

"Oh."

"Yes sir. I read sometimes when I'm hunting and things are kind of slow."

"A huntsman too," Hook remarked. "A man of many talents." He turned his attention back to the pages, noting the underlined sections and penciled-in comments in the margins.

"Is that a harpsichord or a piano forte' ?" Edward inquired, picking embedded thorns from his shins. The fronts of his legs looked rather like they'd had a scrap with a wild-cat and come out on the losing end of things.

"Harpsichord," Hook replied, "Do you play?"

"A little. Mom had me take music lessons when I was about ten or so."

"Well then," Hook folded the book closed and adopted his previous lounging position in the chair, "You shall have to play for me once your hand is mended. What pieces do you know?"

"Umm, some Beethoven, Grieg, a little Tchaikovsky, Rossini."

"Impressive."

"Just some of their stuff, you know. Not all of it. Some I just know bits of; it depends." Edward checked himself thoroughly for ticks and examined his bruised left ankle, sprained the day before. It was still swollen and the greeny-blackish bruise ran down to his toes. It hadn't really bothered him that much until he'd taken his boots off, but now the ankle was making its displeasure known loud and clear. Edward flexed and rotated his foot in the warm water, trying to loosen the stiffening joint back up. Running downhill this morning had probably jarred it, he told himself, and was not the best thing for his ankle, though he had to admit, it was a small trade-off in the end.

He finally decided he was as clean as ever would be and though he enjoyed soaking in the warm water, he knew sooner or later he was going to have to get out and expose himself again. An unpleasant task should be done quickly, he told himself, and put a hand on either side of the tub to push himself up.

Hook noted the look of apprehension on Edward's face as he prepared to get up. He had obviously embarrassed the fellow very badly, and, after considering the efforts Edward had taken to preserve his dignity on the glade, Hook was not at all pleased with himself now; it smacked of bad form. "Are you ready to get out?" he asked.

"Yes sir."

"Just a moment," Hook said. He got up and walked over to the windows at the back of the cabin, making sure he was turned with his back towards Edward. "All right then."

Edward looked back over his shoulder for a minute, momentarily stunned. It would seem he had passed whatever tests Hook had for him. He stood up and began to dry off. "Thank you, sir." he said quietly.

"Of course."

Once dry, he shook out the trousers Smee had left for him this time. They were much more to his liking. Made out of a khaki canvas, they reminded him of the Carhardt clothing he'd seen in the hardware store. They had a button fly and two front pockets but no belt loops, and they were a tad long in the legs, but at least they were straight-legged pants and not knee britches. He pulled the faded blue shirt over his head; it had no front or cuff buttons and the v-neck laced up, but thankfully no frills or ruffles either. Again he turned to Hook. "Thank you again sir."

Hook waved the remark off. "Not at all. My apologies for my behavior earlier. It was meant only to test your willingness to obey orders - It was ungallant of me to purposely embarrass you."

Edward looked at his pack contents spread out on Hook's desk. "No offense," he said lightly. "I've been through worse and survived."

Hook retook his seat at the desk and again gestured for Edward to sit with him. Edward busied himself with re-packing his things into the daypack, except for the first aid kit. He looked at the brandy bottle sideways. "Would you mind if I used a little of your brandy?" he asked Hook. He turned the back of his left hand so Hook could see the laceration.

Hook handed the bottle over. "Do you need help with that?" he asked, eyeing the painful-looking gash on the back of the boy's left hand. The cut seemed to have tried to close, then been popped back open when Edward had used Pan for a punching bag. However, the wound was not so deep that Hook deemed stitches necessary, so long as the boy refrained from pummeling anyone with it for a while.

Edward bit his bottom lip and nodded. "Probably. I don't really think I can make myself clean it again."

"Again?"

Edward looked up at Hook, hesitant. "Umm… I sort of used half a bottle of your whiskey, at least, I guess it was yours." Hook frowned, puzzled. "The other night, I hid in that fortress on the other side of the island."

"Ah," Hook nodded, "The Black Castle. And a better refuge you could not have chosen."

"It was cozy enough," Edward agreed, "and I could lock myself in away from them." He thumbed over his shoulder in the general direction of the island. "Anyway, I hated wasting the whiskey but I really needed to sterilize the cut."

Hook removed the stopper from the brandy decanter, then took hold of Edward's left hand, examining the gash further. "You seem to have done a thorough job," he mused. "I see no infection." He ran his thumb lightly around the edge of the wound. "In fact, you appear to be healing quite nicely. I would suggest you refrain from engaging in anymore fisticuffs for a while though." He noticed the sick expression on the boy's face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Edward swallowed hard. "I mean yes sir. I'm not looking forward to this though." With his right hand he pinned his left forearm to the desktop and set his jaw.

Hook looked hard at the young man; his dread was quite evident. Hook could understand the fear himself. He'd suffered far too many agonizing bandage changes and wound cleanings following the loss of his right hand, and though he had planned on calling Smee back to do the actual doctoring he felt that would only serve to embarrass Edward further. No man likes to have his weaknesses exposed, especially in front of a group; Hook knew that all too well himself.

"If you're ready then," he said. Edward nodded and Hook tried to give him a reassuring smile "I'll make this as quick as possible," he consoled, "but it will burn."

"No doubt," Edward nodded. "Just do it." An instant later his whole hand was on fire and he could hear himself scream, despite his best efforts not to. Then slowly, the burning faded away and he became aware that Hook was carefully patting the area dry with his handkerchief. He forced his eyes open and peered out at Hook.

"Am I dead yet?" he asked weakly.

"No," Hook chuckled softly, "Not yet."

Edward tore several lengths of surgical tape from its roll and stuck one end of each on the inside of his left forearm. He unscrewed the cap from a small tube of antiseptic ointment and squeezed a bit on the gash, covering it with a gauze pad. He glanced back up at Hook.

"Would you mind holding that," he asked, nodded towards the bandage.

"Not at all," Hook replied, laying his fingertips lightly on the pad. He watched as Edward secured the bandage with the strips he had affixed to his inner arm. He glanced up at the boy, noting his clenched jaw and pale appearance. "I do understand the level of pain you must be in," he consoled softly.

"I'm sure," Edward said. He tried not to stare at the empty shirtsleeve on Hook's right arm. "Thank you for the help." He clutched his throbbing left hand to his chest and closed his eyes, trying to force the pain away. When he finally opened them again, he found himself held in the gaze of those piercing blue eyes again. "Sir?" Edward finally broke the silence, "Is everything alright?"

Hook looked deeply into Edward's eyes, and was again impressed that his gaze was met and held, not avoided as Smee and so many others did. Hook pondered this; the man was a most unusual fellow. He seemed more afraid of disappointing or offending the Captain, showing no evidence of fearing the nefarious pirate himself. He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "How is it you came to be in Neverland? I am sure Peter did not bring you."

"No sir, he did not," Edward said firmly. He looked at the Captain for a moment. "Actually," he admitted, feeling embarrassed in hindsight, "I stepped in a bloody faerie ring."

"Oh dear."

"Yeah," Edward said, "And to make it worse, I did it under a full moon."

Hook raised an amused eyebrow. "Living rather dangerously, weren't you?"

Edward laughed silently to himself. "And to think of all the times I used to find them in the woods as a child and stand inside on purpose. And not once was one of my wishes granted, not once."

"What did you wish for?" Hook inquired.

"The other night? Damned if I can remember. I don't even remember thinking about wishing for something. I was headed to send some trespassers on their way."

"And when you were a boy?"

Edward felt himself blush slightly. "Well," he began, feeling a bit silly, "I used to wish Pan would come and bring me here, so I could join your crew. But of course, he never did."

"Of course not," Hook chuckled.

"I guess that would be kind of self- defeating if he had, eh?"

A puzzled expression appeared on Hook's face. "Did you just say you wanted to come so you could join my crew?"

"Yes sir," Edward replied, rather matter-of-factly.

Hook sat back in his chair and studied the boy for a moment. "But no one ever comes here with the sole intention of joining with me."

"Surprise," Edward grinned. He realized Hook was staring at him in disbelief. "What?" he asked, "Is that so hard to believe… that I wanted to come here to meet you and not Pan?"

"Considering no one ever has before," Hook said glumly.

"No one?" Edward interrupted.

"No, not one," Hook continued, "But then, all children love Peter, not Hook."

Edward had been in a fairly pleasant mood, even with the stripping-for-a-bath debacle; his mood swung suddenly to the opposite end of the spectrum. "Bull shit!" he blurted out, quite offended. "That's a damnable lie if I ever heard one."

"Oh?" Hook queried. "I hope you intend to clarify that statement. I don't like being contradicted." No little children, nor anyone else, loved him. It had always been so, for as long as he could remember.

"What about me," Edward asked. "I can't be the only one, and if I am, one is still more than none." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared at his feet. The last thing he wanted to do was to argue with the man. "Um, I didn't mean to be insubordinate sir," he mumbled.

Hook watched the boy's nervous behavior. He carefully dissected Edward's previous assertion; could it be, he wondered? Was it possible?

"Why did you help me this morning?" he asked cautiously.

Edward frowned slightly. "Sir?"

"It's a simple enough question." Hook answered.

"Well," Edward began slowly, "You looked like you needed a little help." He could tell from Hook's sour expression a more detailed answer was required. "What they were doing to you, or trying to do… it was wrong. None of them has any right to treat you like that."

"You think not?" Hook pressed for more information.

"No!" Edward protested hoarsely. "Taking your right hand the way Pan did was bad enough, but damn, trying to take your left also is criminal and inhuman. It smacks of torture. And there that stupid girl has spread the notion that he's such a sweet, innocent little boy - Bah!" Edward spat. "He's nothing but a vicious, murderous little brute, and what he did to you was wrong."

Hook watched the muscles in Edward's jaw twitching. He was amazed at how annoyed the subject seemed to make the fellow; why, the boy was on the verge of being incensed. "I won't argue that point," he finally said, "but why should it vex you so?"

"Because it's not right!" Edward insisted. "Look, if Pan wants to fight you, he ought to come by himself and keep his ass on the ground like anyone else. And he ought not to have a bunch of outside interference to distract you if he gets his ass in a jam, like he

always does." He looked away from Hook, great huffs of air rushed angrily through his nostrils.

Hook sat back, half-stunned. This was the first time he'd heard anyone, aside from himself and Smee, promote such an opinion of Pan. But why? Hook was almost afraid to ask, lest the spark of hope that had wormed its way into his spirit be doused.

"Edward," he began, but hesitated when the young man got to his feet and began to pace in front of the desk, very agitated.

"When I was a little boy... Oh, I think I was four, maybe five, my Mom read the book to me, you know, for a bed-time story. But…" Edward hesitated, he could feel himself getting flustered, "…unlike the majority of children, I took a dislike to Peter from the first. I can remember telling Mom that I didn't think he was a very nice boy. She insisted that he was the hero of the story, but I never changed my opinion of him."

"Really?' Hook queried, "I'm not aware of anyone ever espousing such notions. At least, not before now."

"Well maybe that's because history, for all intents and purposes here, has been written by the supposed victors." Hook grunted an acknowledgement and Edward paused for a second to see if he had more to say. "Anyway," he continued, "I got really pissed when I found out about Pan cutting off your hand. I really hated his guts then, and I even remember asking my Dad if I could borrow his shotgun to shoot both Peter and the crocodile."

"I hope you have not been too disappointed to find out that prehistoric pariah has long since met its maker," Hook remarked smugly.

"Not really," Edward answered, grinning. "Though I was really hoping to skin it out and make boots from its hide."

"You were quite the naughty boy, weren't you?" Hook teased, waiting for an answer, and again marked an abrupt change in Edward's mood. The pacing ceased, his brow furrowed deeper and he suddenly adopted an almost haunted manner about his whole person.

"I made you the hero of all my games and daydreams," Eddie said, a somber tone to his voice. "I dreamed about you. Sometimes it seemed like…"

"What?" Hook queried.

"Nothing," Edward shook his head sadly. "When my friends played at Peter Pan I always tried to change things so you would win, and they made fun of me. I told them all the reasons that Pan was wicked, not you. I told them you got away from the crocodile but they didn't listen. Never did me any good, but I tried. I idolized you…" There was a painfully long pause before he continued. "I loved you." his voice drifted off and there was a damnable lump in his throat he could not seem to talk past. "I still do," he managed, barely whispering.

Hook's chin practically landed in his lap and the Captain found himself caught in a moment of déjà vu. Surely his ears were deceiving him. "You what?" he stammered.

"I…" Edward hesitated. He was not quite sure if he'd said something wrong and furthermore he felt like something, some demon was looming over him, waiting to devour him if he said it again. "I said I still do - love you, sir." His intestines twisted themselves into so many pretzels and Edward was sure he would puke all over the floor any moment now.

An image flashed through Edward's mind for a millisecond - a long hallway, glaring lights - then it was gone. He wanted to run and hide, though from who or what he didn't know. A great black tidal wave of grief welled up in his chest like acid reflux, only it crushed and ripped instead of burned. He could feel his eyes stinging and turned his face from Hook to hide the fact that he was crying.

Hook's mind raced; he wanted to say something but could not seem to form a concise thought. Edward had floored him completely. Damn but the boy had nerve, he thought, to actually say that to him. It was not possible… was it? He was doomed to be totally alone - rejected, despised and unloved; the story teller had seen to that. Yet here stood the exception to her curse before Hook, obviously overcome by his passion.

Again Hook tried to speak and again, what he thought of to say seemed trite and deficient. This shocked the Captain further; he was never one to be at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say to the first person who showed any hint of concern or affection whatsoever for him, he wondered, let alone verbally admit to such? What was worse, Hook could see his own left hand trembling and he hid it in his lap so Edward did not. He looked up at Edward, standing just off the right corner of the desk, his head down and turned away and his fists clenched, and again Hook felt as though he knew the fellow from somewhere else.

Hook had no desire to be anyone's hero; he despised Pan's flaunting of his own status. The last thing Hook himself would ever have wished for would be to have small boys clamoring to be at his side - he detested children on general principal. Why, if Edward had come to him as a boy surely he would have turned the child away, wouldn't he? A child, though, would not possess such stones, nor would a child have possessed the strength and courage it took to defuse his recent dire predicament in the matter of a few seconds; not even Pan, who according to all accounts had received a dreadful thrashing at Edward's hands. And furthermore, Hook wondered, what had driven this total stranger to carry out such a bloody attack in the first place with no regard for his own safety? Surely Edward knew what would happen to him had he been taken captive by the redskins. Hook heard the answer echo in his mind; the boy's own words.

"I loved you…. I still do."

"Edward," Hook finally said quietly, struggling to keep his emotions in check; the boy did not answer nor did he move, but Hook noticed his shoulder blades jerking. He rose slowly and reached for Edward's right shoulder, silently marking his amazement that unlike practically everyone else, Smee included, he neither flinched nor recoiled at Hook's touch. He turned the boy to face him and coaxed his head up with his bad arm. "Good form, lad," he smiled genuinely and offered his handkerchief so Edward could dry his face. "Never did I think this day would come. I am honored to welcome you into my crew."

Hook was further thunderstruck when he suddenly found himself in Edward's powerful embrace. Such disregard for the Captain's person generally brought swift and lethal retribution. After all, he was Captain Hook, the most feared and dangerous pirate on the high seas. Even Flint and Barbeque had feared him, but not this fellow. Hook could feel the boy weeping, virtually silent, his face buried against the Captain's shoulder; it reminded him of something but he could not quite remember what. He forced himself to return the embrace and was thoroughly surprised by how natural and familiar it felt, not to mention the sense of ease he felt. He closed his eyes and stood quietly, not knowing what to say or do, and let himself become engulfed in the first moments of peace he could remember since finding himself trapped in this detestable world.

"You know, when I was on that rock," he said quietly, his voice shaking, "and I realized that someone had finally come to my aid, I was sure at first it must be Smee." He paused when he realized he was stroking the boy's head to calm him; he must have taken leave of his senses, Hook thought. He wondered if this was how fathers felt towards their children. He, himself, had never met his father and had only heard rumors and gossip about who the man might be, so he had nothing to compare his own feelings to.

"But I was still terrified, you see," Hook continued, " for I was sure Peter would take my hand before Smee could set me free…. You will never know how relieved I was to feel the barrel of your shotgun on my arm instead of Peter's blade. If they had taken my hand from me, I…" Hook's voice cracked and he coughed to clear his throat. "I am eternally grateful."

Edward clenched his jaw, his forehead resting against Hook's shoulder. He was thoroughly mortified at what he had just done, yet he had no real desire to disengage himself from the Captain. That tsunami of fear he'd been drowning in seemed to have evaporated the moment he clenched Hook and Edward briefly wondered why, then just as quickly decided he didn't care why, only that it was gone. "I'm sorry," he choked, hoarse.

"There now," Hook soothed, "I understand… I think." God Almighty, what was happening to him, Hook wondered. What if Smee walked in and saw him like this?

"It's just," Edward paused to swallow that damned knot again, "I'd been saving that for… for…" He mind was playing tricks on him again. He should know how long it had been since, since - since what, his brain screamed. But he couldn't remember now; the answer had been there for a split second but it was gone again. "What I mean is…" Edward lifted his head cautiously and glanced up at Hook. "I didn't do anything wrong," he asked timidly, "Did I?"

"Wrong?" Hook echoed.

"I mean, I hope I didn't offend you or…"

"Offend me?" Hook shook his head slightly in disbelief. Again his mind raced for appropriate words. "Why would you think I would be offended? On the contrary, my dear lad, I am flattered beyond comprehension. No one - before you, has loved me." He felt Edward's entire person relax at his words. "Stunned, yes. Offended, never."

Edward leaned his head back against the Captain's chest. "Would it be o.k. if I stayed like this for just a few more seconds?"

Hook felt rather than saw Edward wince as if the boy expected to be forcibly rebuffed for his request, and for a moment he wondered if this timid, meek young man was indeed the same fellow that had just save his life. His long dormant protective instincts stirred and Hook let his chin drop to rest atop Edward's head. "Of course," he murmured.

Hook glanced down at Edward after what seemed an eternity of silence. The boy 'felt' much calmer now; in fact, Hook began to wonder if the boy had dropped off to sleep standing up. He nudged Edward with his right shoulder. "You're not sleeping are you?" he asked.

Edward felt his face flush with embarrassment, afraid that he had over-stayed his welcome; it probably had been quite a bit more than the few seconds he requested. He wiped his face on his sleeves. "No sir," he said quietly. "Sorry about that."

"Come on now," Hook managed to coax Edward back over to his chair and helped him sit. "You've nothing to apologize for."

After returning to his own seat, Hook poured the both of them a healthy shot of brandy. He certainly needed a drink and he was quite certain Edward would appreciate one also. He downed his in one swallow but noticed that his guest had not moved. He still sat with his head down and his hands between his knees. "What is it?" he inquired.

Edward wiped his face with both hands again and let a great sigh rush from his lungs. His own behavior made him exponentially more ashamed than standing around naked in front of the Captain had. "I feel so stupid," his voice was quite hoarse and Hook slid the snifter closer to him. He took a sip and finally worked up the courage to look across the desk. "Damned grown man, crying like a baby."

Hook looked back into the hazel eyes. He knew those eyes, he thought, but from where? "It's all right, lad," he said sympathetically. "I myself have, on occasion, succumbed to my own emotions."

"Anyway," Edward sighed, "That's my skeleton, out of the closet and down the road." He took another sip of the brandy, thankful for the calming effect it seemed to have on his nerves. "Don't you believe that crap about no one loving you. Stupid ass little girl, what the hell does she know anyway. I'm someone, sort of, even if I'm not quite right in the head." He stared back down at his feet. "Anyway, I'd still lay down my life for you in a heartbeat."

Hook nodded. "You already proved that this morning," he thought for a moment, "Though I hardly consider your actions those of an insane man. On the contrary, you made quite a favorable impression, most memorable I assure you."

Edward straightened himself in the chair. "Well, I'm not exactly crazy… I just have these… moments."

"Moments?"

"I have mood swings. I can't control them."

"I have noticed," Hook remarked.

"I figured you might," Edward answered, glad that Hook seemed so unconcerned. "I get furious or depressed for no good reason. Then some days I get all keyed up and don't know why and I can hardly make myself sit still for more than a minute. Can't sleep sometimes and sometimes I have like… anxiety attacks, panic attacks."

Hook sat stroking his beard. "Not unlike a great many men I have met over the course of my life," he said indifferently.

Edward he thought he probably should elaborate. "So if I act… scared, or upset, or kind of jumpy for no apparent reason… you know why now."

Hook sat swirling the brandy in his snifter. "Do you mean to tell me that his storyteller has written a book about Peter?"

"Sort of," Edward answered. "Her husband did. She must've told him what happened," he frowned, "her version of what happened and he ended up writing a book. I saw an interview with her a long time ago and she said they were the bed-time stories she made up for her brothers. Sort of making out like the whole affair never happened."

"Well split my infinitives and keel-haul me for shark bait," Hook snorted. "The nerve of the little upstart, making a fortune at my expense while denying my existence, eh?"

"You could say that," Edward agreed. "Most people just suck it up and don't ever question…" he hesitated as he caught himself staring at the Captain's empty right sleeve. "They don't ever wonder why Pan found it necessary to, you know." He fidgeted with the bandaging around his knuckles.

"No," Hook sighed. "They don't." He turned his head away and stared out a window facing the island.

Edward watched the Captain for several minutes, wondering if he should make himself scarce while Hook was lost in his brooding. He studied the lines on the man's face, his proud chin, the aristocratic cheek-bones - this was a man of breeding and intelligence; he could tell it by the look in his eyes.

Those eyes, Edward thought. They entranced him, captivated his thoughts and attention. He had yet to see the red spots he'd read about, but then thankfully the Captain had not turned his wrath towards Edward, and he hoped the man never did. He wondered just what those eyes had been witness to, what tales they could tell - a great many unpleasant ones Edward was sure, and much sadness.

Without contemplating the ramifications of his action, Edward reached across and caught the Captain's right forearm in an act of sympathy and compassion, instantly finding himself the object of those piercing eyes. He swallowed hard and ducked his head submissively. "I'm sorry, sir," he said timidly. "I shouldn't have brought that up."

Hook stared deep into the boy's eyes, waiting both on him to turn away and also to remove his hand from the Captain's person; no one dared to touch his right arm ever, most especially not when he was without his namesake. He saw Edward's hand ease carefully back across the desk, but Edward's gaze never faltered - it impressed and amazed Hook. Not even Smee would look him in the eye for long. "It's alright lad," Hook said. "It just seems so damnably unjust that she should…." his voice trailed off.

"Never mind her," Edward snorted. "She wouldn't know the truth if his bit her dead on her ass."

"Ah, good form Edward," Hook nodded. "Quite so." He quaffed the rest of his brandy. The boy, he decided, seemed to have quite an affinity for discerning what was versus what appeared to be.

The cabin was growing dim as the sun began its downward arc and Hook rose to light some candles. "Hmm," he mused, "Depending upon the sobriety of the cook, you may well have good cause to have one of those anxiety… things. Smee should be bringing dinner in a very few minutes." He noticed Edward wiping his face with the front of his shirt. "It's all right," he reassured the boy, "No one can tell."

Mr. Smee rapped softly on the door to Hook's cabin and waited a moment before entering. He found the Captain lounging in his chair at the dining table, engrossed in his after-dinner cigar. Edward, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Ah Mr. Smee," Hook greeted him, "You shall have to give our regards to Cook - he has outdone himself tonight."

"Our regards, sir?"

"Edward was equally impressed with the meal," Hook answered. " Of course, he must have been half-starved. He claims it's the first meal he's had in two days."

"Oh," Smee remarked absently, clearing the leftovers from the table. "I reckon so. How's your harness fit sir?"

"As though it had never been damaged," the Captain replied, watching the candle flame reflect in his gleaming claw. "Give Loki my compliments on his seamless joinery." Hook amused himself by blowing smoke rings and then biting them in two while Smee finished clearing the table. He noticed his bosun was not in his usual good humor. "Are you ill, Smee?"

"No sir," Smee replied, a bit bewildered. "Whatever for, Cap'n?"

"You seem…. distracted."

"Oh that," Smee answered. "Just a lot on my mind sir."

"Do tell," Hook purred.

"It's nothing really, sir," Smee replied. "Don't trouble yourself…" he paused, realizing that his Captain was growing impatient with him. "Well, Cap'n, it's just… may I speak freely, sir?"

"By all means." Hook responded.

"Well Cap'n," Smee began cautiously, "It's about Edward, sir."

"What about him?"

"Are you sure you can trust him, sir?" Smee fidgeted nervously with his apron strings while Hook took a long drag on the cigar.

"Completely." Hook answered, blowing smoke from his nostrils which made him look rather like a dragon.

"But how much do you really know about him…."

"More than you might think." Hook interrupted. He crushed out his half-smoked cigar and drained the last of the wine in his glass. "Why?" he demanded.

"Well sir," Smee sighed, "some of the crew…."

"Bugger the crew!" Hook snapped. "Do you think for one instant that I give a rat's ass what any one of those mutinous, disloyal curs thinks regarding any subject!?"

"No… sir." Smee answered apologetically. "I just overheard some of the men talking below and…" He stopped short. He was quite sure he'd seen a spark of red flickering in Hook's pupils.

"Mr. Smee," Hook spoke calmly but his voice was like ice. "I am still in possession of my remaining hand due to the efforts of that young man. Do you have any idea what my existence would be like had those savages and dear Peter succeeded this morning?"

Smee swallowed hard. "I can only imagine sir," he answered, "But I dare say it would be a miserable one."

"Miserable does not even begin to convey the hellish life that would be mine." Hook heard his voice trying to break, the very thought was so distressing. He sat quietly for a moment and gathered his wits about him again. "The crew indeed," he spat acerbically. "This is, you realize, the same crew who have abandoned me for dead not once, but three times. The very same pack of scurrilous cowards who froze in their tracks, and would not lift a finger to stop Peter or those redskins - who would gladly have watched them lop off my hand and rob me of my dignity." Hook stood with such force that his chair slid clear to his bed. His hand shook with rage as he gripped the edge of the table and waited for the anger to pass.

"Have you noticed that I have been in a most rare and particularly fine mood this evening, Mr. Smee? At least, prior to this discussion?"

Smee thought for a moment. "Aye, sir. That you have."

"Well then, Smee, because I am in such an agreeable temper, I am not going to go below decks this instant and eviscerate a half-dozen of the crew. If I were in a less pleasant frame of mind, I assure you, I would not hesitate to do so."

"Yes sir," Smee gulped.

"And Smee," Hook looked at his trembling bosun. "While I do not blame you as you were duly incapacitated for the majority of the battle this morning, you would have arrived too late to stop them." A muffled scuffing noise on the quarterdeck overhead caught his attention.

"He's up there right now," Hook gestured towards the ceiling, "Cleaning the very weapons he used to prevent harm from coming to me… do you understand that, Smee - to help me. Tell me Smee, when is the last time someone threw themselves in harm's way to protect me, or treated me with such respect?"

Smee started to answer but hesitated. He shook his head solemnly. "I can't remember, Cap'n." he replied softly; he knew it had never happened as long as he had served Hook.

"Neither can I." Hook heaved a heavy sigh. "That is why I do not believe for one instant that Edward bears me any malice." He held his hand up before Smee's face. "That is why I trust him enough to allow him the safety of my cabin. I would not subject a man of honor such as Edward to the atrocities those buggering bastards below had in store for him."

"They say…" Smee bit his lip, wishing he hadn't started.

"What, Mr. Smee?" Hook asked wearily.

"That you…. want him all to yourself."

Hook snorted at the notion. "Nonsense. And if I did, would it be anyone's business aside from my own?"

"No sir," Smee answered sheepishly.

Hook rubbed his forehead, exasperated with himself for even discussing the matter further with Smee. Of all the obnoxious ideas, he thought, he had no such desires for Edward, and if he had he doubted the boy would assent. Taking him by force was unthinkable, for Hook prided himself on not being a slave to his baser needs, and his ability to charm the pants off of any one he truly wanted. "I think that will be all for tonight, Mr. Smee. I shall see you in the morning."

"But…"

"I said goodnight," Hook snapped. He watched Smee scurry out of his cabin rather like a frightened mouse, then headed out to check on Edward.

Edward sat at a small table beside the ship's wheel, busily reassembling his shotgun while he softly whistled Sweet Little Sixteen to himself. He held the barrel up to one eye and peered at the setting sun through it; the orange light reflected inside the gleaming walls of the barrel. "Lovely," he mumbled to himself. He fitted the barrel back into the receiver, seating it with a sound click. He was about to slide the walnut forearm back over the magazine tube when he noticed Captain Hook ascending the quarterdeck stairs.

"Ah, there you are," Hook remarked casually.

"Yes sir," Edward stood up out of respect and saluted his captain, noting the astounded stares he received from those crewmembers on deck. Obviously they extended no such courtesies to their leader, and that was their problem Edward thought. He intended to give Hook every ounce of respect the man was due on principle if nothing else. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Hook shook his head and gestured for the fellow to sit back down. "I thought I might watch you and discover how these amazing firearms of yours operate. I've never encountered anything like them before."

"No doubt," Edward grinned. "But then, I guess you've figured out that I'm not from the same time that you know… or knew - or Wendy's either."

Hook leaned back against the railing that ran along the front of the quarterdeck, his arms folded across his chest. "I gathered as much," he replied. "What was the year when you left?"

"Umm... 1997." He glanced up at Hook, not surprised by the shocked expression that he found. "No fooling."

"Well," Hook tried not to sound too flabbergasted, "I certainly hope you plan on sharing your knowledge on more of these advances with me."

"Sure," Edward answered. "It'll take a while though."

"Time is one commodity I do not fear running out of, not here." Hook sighed and stared out to sea for several moments, wishing he could away anchor and leave this very moment. "So exactly what manner of musket is that?" he inquired, turning his attention back to Edward.

"This, sir," Edward replied, sounding proud as a father showing off his first baby, "is a Mossberg sixteen-gauge pump-action shotgun; it fires slugs and shot shells." He pointed towards the magazine tube. "The shells are stored in here, up to four, and there's a spring to keep tension on the shells. Then you can have an addition shell in the chamber. You just slide the forearm back," he demonstrated the action for Hook, "a round drops into the breech, slide it forward again, firmly mind you, and it chambers the round. Then you just shoulder the gun, aim and squeeze. That's all there is to this one." Edward un-chambered the round and handed the unloaded shotgun to Hook.

Hook brought the firearm to his left shoulder and sighted down the barrel, which rested in his claw. "Split my infinitives," he murmured. "Remarkable, and what nice balance it has."

"I'm glad you approve," Edward replied.

"And this is what you used to kill Six Toes and Black Owl?"

Edward's brow furrowed, just a bit. "I guess so. I didn't ask them their names - I just blew their faces off. Is that who the first two were?"

"Yes," Hook replied grimly. "Black Owl was the one mangling my harness…"

"And the other one was up with his knees in your back." Edward finished. "I remember the son-of-a-bitch." As he recalled, Six Toes was the one about to scalp the besieged Captain, or so it had seemed. "Humph," he snorted, "So that's who they were."

"Were, indeed," Hook chortled. He handed the shotgun back to Edward, who leaned it back against the ship's wheel before picking up the gleaming black pistol.

"Now this one I used to finish off the other two," Edward said, ejecting the clip from the pistol's handle, "Its a Ruger nine millimeter semi-automatic pistol. Holds nine in the clip and one in the chamber, potentially ten dead little Indians, eh?"

Hook grinned wickedly and nodded. "Or Lost Boys. But how does it fire so rapidly?" he asked.

"Oh boy," Edward answered, "You should have been up here when I cleaned it - I had it broke down good. Though it's almost as simple as the shotgun. The only difference is, instead of having to pump the empty casing out and a new round in yourself, the action of the pistol performs the operation for you, and a whole lot faster than a man could do manually."

"How so?"

"See," Edward pointed to the pistol's breech, "The clip slides into the grip so the rounds seat just beneath the bolt. When you fire a round, the recoil drives the bolt back and ejects the spent casing. And when the bolt slams forward again, it picks up a round from the clip and seats it in the chamber. The spring in the clip forces a new cartridge up and it'll do that every time you squeeze the trigger until you run out of rounds." Again he handed the empty firearm for Hook to examine.

Hook tested the pistol's balance and started to hand the weapon back to Edward. "Incredible," he remarked.

Edward left his seat and stepped around the table to Hook. "Let me show you the really cool part."

"Cool?"

"I mean, umm, special. That's it," Edward said, "The special feature." He snapped a clip in and handed the pistol back to Hook. "Now," he instructed the Captain, "Pick a spot to aim on and reach for the trigger."

Hook followed Edward's directions and aimed for a knot on the aft section of the ship. He practically jumped when the small red light appeared on the knot. "What the deuce?"

"Laser sights," Edward almost giggled, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. "Isn't that the greatest thing? Put that red dot where you want the bullet to go and…" he smacked his palms together, "that's all she wrote."

"Amazing" Hook declared and handed the firearm back to Edward, "Absolutely amazing."

Edward started to holster the pistol, then paused. "Would you like to try it?" he offered.

Hook considered the offer quite seriously before declining. "Seeing as how you have just finished cleaning both weapons, no. But perhaps another time?"

"Anytime," Edward answered, "just say the word." He gathered the components of the cleaning kit together and neatly tucked everything back into the palm-sized tin that housed the kit. He could feel Hook's eyes on him, watching his every move. "I really appreciate you letting me stay."

"Think nothing of it," Hook assured him. "I would be the greatest of fools had I not." He strode across the quarterdeck and stood looking out towards Neverland. "It's a rare occurrence indeed that someone aside from Smee offers to assist me. It is rarer still for that person to have saved my life."

"I guess so," Edward agreed.

"You would be the first."

"What about Mr. Smee?"

"Smee is a member of the crew," Hook said, "not a complete stranger. There is some considerable difference in weighing the significance of each action."

Edward wanted to say something else, but his mind drew a blank and rather than stick his foot in his mouth, he opted for silence and considered his somewhat enviable position. He propped against the wheel and looked out towards the bow of the ship. It was quite a magnificent vessel. He wondered how it would feel to be under full sail on the open ocean; he wondered if Hook would take him along once Pan was dead and the Captain left Neverland. He was lost deep in thought when he finally realized the Captain was speaking to him. "Sir?" he replied.

"Edward?" Hook eyed the boy closely.

"Sorry sir," he apologized, "I was off in my little fog for a moment."

"I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say," Hook continued. "I am ordering you, under no condition are you to go below decks until further notice, is that clear?"

"Yes sir." That would be an easy order to follow, Edward thought. He'd rather not get caught in a 'squeal-like-a-pig' moment with the crew.

"Further," Hook instructed, "You are not to leave this ship without my knowledge. I have lost enough of my crew to those redskins, and most of them were not particularly loyal to me. I cannot afford to lose a faithful man."

"Yes sir," Edward reassured him, "You don't have to worry about me."

"That is precisely the problem. I do have to worry about you," Hook insisted. "Understand that as grateful as I am for your assistance this morning, you have made a great many enemies among the crew. I'm quite sure the worthless lot of them were already plotting their escape from this hell-hole before you interceded on my behalf."

"I kind of gathered that earlier," Edward said.

"It is no small accident that you are residing in my cabin." Hook said. "I do not, as a general rule, share my quarters with anyone, and I have sent more new hands into that den of perversion than I care to recall. However," Hook paused, looking gravely at Edward, "I could not bear the thought of what they would do to you. And, as I say, you would not be the first to suffer such a fate."

"Thank you sir," Edward spoke solemnly, "I appreciate your generosity, sincerely."

"In any case," Hook continued, "Stay close to me and you shall remain unmolested and unharmed."

"Yes sir," Edward answered. "Have you decided what my job will be?"

"For the present, it is to keep me company. This place is tedious and dreadfully boring, and I have found myself more than a little lonely on occasion. And while Smee is… dependable, in most situations, his conversational skills are less than thought-provoking. It will be refreshing to have an educated gentleman to discuss matters with."

Edward grimaced in jest, then grinned. "I'll do my best."

"Tomorrow you will also begin your edification in piracy. I have seen you have a good command of knots, and you handle yourself well in a fight. However, you must also acquire a good working knowledge of the ship. Can you handle a sword?"

"I took fencing classes in college," Edward replied, "but that was a while ago."

"No matter," Hook said, "I shall see to your instruction in the art of swordplay personally. Eventually you will expend your ammunition and you must be able to defend yourself."

Edward looked at the Captain, almost floored himself. "You mean… you're going to teach me… yourself?"

"Of course," Hook huffed. "Why not?"

"Don't get me wrong. I'm honored." Edward could feel the excited giddiness trying to take control of him; he forced it to heel for the time being. "I just hope I won't disappoint you. I got in trouble because of it - fencing, I mean. And you're one of the best, you know?"

"Flattery will not earn you any lenience from me," Hook assured him, concealing his amusement at Edward's adulations. "I will expect excellence from you, and will accept nothing less. Your life will eventually depend on your skill with a sword."

"Yes sir," Edward said. A yawn tried to sneak out and he stifled it as quickly as he could. He supposed it had been a rather long day, and as stressful as it had been exciting.

Hook noticed the yawn, despite Edward's efforts to hide it, and the dark circles under the boy's eyes. In retrospect, Hook realized the fellow had every reason to be thoroughly exhausted and he probably should have postponed his lecture until the morrow, but it was done now, for the most part.

"Come one," he said catching Edward by the shoulder. "We have both had entirely too much excitement for one day and you have a long day of schooling ahead of you tomorrow."

"So soon?" Edward questioned. The sun had only just set and there was still quite a good bit of reflected light, and besides, he thought, he was much too excited still to even think about sleeping.

" 'Tis not as early in the evening as you think and you will need your strength tomorrow," Hook said, "Trust me. I am not a lenient task-master"

"Yes sir," Edward nodded. "I trust you." He heard Hook stifle a laugh and realized what he'd implicated. "No, no," Edward back-peddled. "I wasn't saying that you're unreasonable or anything… I meant I trust you."

Hook draped his right arm around the boy's shoulders, chuckling as he shepherded him into the cabin. "I know what you meant, lad" Hook said. "For God's sake relax a little or you'll run yourself into an early grave." He began to remove his sword for the evening and found Edward waiting to help.

"I can take care of that if you'd like," Edward offered. "Since I've got to put the shotgun up anyway."

Hook hesitated for a brief moment, feeling his pride bristle. He was not helpless and would not be treated as such, but since the boy was going that way already, he told himself, there was no need to take offense at his offer. "Thank you," he said, handing over the sword and baldric.

"No problem," Edward grinned.

Hook watched as Edward carefully secured his sword and the shotgun in the weapons case before settling down at his desk with his cigar and brandy while Edward sat on the couch unlacing his boots. Whether it was the boy's custom or modesty that drove him to sleep fully clothed Hook did not know, though somehow he doubted this strange young man slept au natural regardless of his accommodations.

Edward settled himself on the fainting couch so he faced the door, slipping his pistol down into one of his boots so it was handy should the need for it arise. He glanced towards the man seated at the desk and tried to take in every detail he could, just in case he was dreaming after all. There were a half-hundred questions he still wanted to ask the Captain and even more that he wanted to say to the man, but he supposed he should save them for the morning and hope he woke up exactly where he was right now. "Good night sir," he said softly.

Hook felt himself smile despite his efforts to the contrary. "Good night Edward," he replied around his cigar. How strange it felt to say those words, Hook thought, almost as strange as it was to hear them again. If only he could remember where he had heard them before or from who. He had never shared his cabin with anyone before, at least not for more than a night, and then there were certain expectations to be met by the other party, and he had fully expected to feel uneasy with a roommate. However, Hook seemed to find the boy's presence a pleasant experience; he felt rather less lonely than usual just knowing there was another soul existing peacefully near him.

He lounged at his desk for hours in the dim candle light, pondering the stunning events of the day, Edward's declarations, and the nagging feeling of familiarity he felt towards the young man. In the end, he decided there was only one thing wrong with Edward - the boy snored; not terribly loudly, but Hook was used to the peace and quiet of his cabin.

Exhaustion finally won the Captain over. He snuffed out the candle and turned for his bed, then hesitated. Hook crossed the room silently and stood beside the couch where Edward lay and watched the boy sleep for several minutes, completely relaxed and at ease. He wondered how many men would have been able to sleep so soundly in such close proximity to the feared pirate captain; not many, he was sure. Being held in such affection and high esteem - God, Hook thought to himself, it was still so hard for him to acknowledge the fact - being loved was such foreign territory he wasn't quite sure how to react.

"Good form, lad," Hook whispered, "Good form." With that, he retired to his bed, shedding his garments as usual before he crawled beneath the warm covers, where he let himself be lulled into a sound, dreamless sleep by Edward's low, steady snoring.

London

It had been several days since Peter had received the beating at the hands of the postal worker. The swelling had gone down enough so he could finally see well out of both eyes again. And though his ribs were still tender, he felt well enough to fly - so he had decided to visit Wendy. He had not visited since she returned home so she should be thrilled to see him, he thought.

Tinkerbell flew in lazy circles around him, gently mocking his capabilities. "I am not old and slow!" he chided her. "I'm still sore in places, that's all." He heard her laugh and make some disparaging remark, but he couldn't quite make out what she said. "I'll feed you to a fish if you're not careful," he teased.

Finally, Peter saw Wendy's house; it was just as he'd remembered it. He landed on the nursery window ledge and peered in. To his surprise, Wendy was not there, nor was John. He did see Michael, sleeping in his bed, and Nibs and the Twins were also asleep. He flew over to another window and peeked around the edge of the frame. He snatched his head back - Wendy's parents were asleep in that room. Tinkerbell jangled something to him.

"No, she can't be," Peter said in a forceful whisper. He flew up to the rooftop and sat down on the ridge. "Please help me find her, she can't be with her Aunt Millicent. I don't know which house that is!"

Tinkerbell darted in front of his face, trying to be sympathetic, then shot off around the house to find Wendy. She returned a few seconds later, jingling with excitement.

"You found her?" Peter could hardly believe his luck. "You're the best, Tink!" He followed the tiny bolt of light as it zipped to the rear of the house, and to a window which overlooked the backyard garden. Peter landed on the ledge and took a cautious peek inside. There Wendy was, fast asleep in her bed, looking just like she had the first night he'd seen her. He tested the window and found it unlocked, just as he knew it would be.

Silently, Peter entered Wendy's bedroom, landing lightly at the foot of her bed. He watched her sleeping, listening to her soft, even breaths. Finally, he could restrain himself no longer and he gently shook her shoulder. "Wendy," he whispered, "It's me, wake up."

Wendy tried burrowing under the covers at first; her subconscious mind somehow knew it was not yet time to get up for school. But Peter persisted and finally Wendy roused from her slumber, blinking her eyes as she tried to focus in the dark. When she realized who was in her room, she almost screamed but managed to stifle herself lest she wake her parents.

"Peter!" Wendy whispered loudly. "How lovely to see you again!" She noticed the tiny light darting about her room. "And you also, Tinkerbell." She crawled out from under her covers and stood in front of Peter. He took a horrified step backwards. "What's wrong?" Wendy asked, puzzled.

"What happened to you?" Peter asked, accusingly. "You've grown up."

"No I haven't," Wendy insisted as loudly as she dared, "Well, not all the way. I'm only sixteen."

"Sixteen!?" Peter cried, only to be shushed by both Wendy and Tinkerbell. "Sixteen?" he repeated in a whisper. "But how?"

"Well," Wendy began," It's been a long time since you saw me last."

"Not so long," Peter argued.

"It's been three and a half years, Peter," Wendy tried not to sound as hurt as she felt that Peter had not missed her for so long.

"It didn't seem like it," he answered sadly. "And I needed your help."

"What for?" Wendy asked, intrigued.

"There's a new… thing in Neverland, a man."

"Is he a pirate, like Captain Hook was?" Wendy asked.

"No," Peter replied, "And that's another problem. Hook didn't die."

"What?!" Wendy was thoroughly horrified. "But I saw him get eaten by the crocodile." she whispered insistently.

"He escaped," Peter explained, "He clawed his way out and killed the croc."

"Oh dear. And this new man? Did Hook bring him to Neverland?"

"No," Peter shook his head. "He's not a pirate. He's something called a postal worker."

"A what?"

"A postal worker," Peter repeated. He moved into a patch of moonlight so Wendy could see him better. "He did this to me."

"Oh Peter," Wendy gasped. She rushed to his side to examine the bruises and cuts he bore. "But… a postal worker? That sounds like he's a mailman." She could tell Peter had no more idea what a mailman was that he would be able to work geometry. "It's a person who delivers letters to your house, or they work in an office and you can mail letters there."

"Well this one has guns," Peter informed her glumly, "and he killed two of my new lost boys and a bunch of Tiger Lily's braves. And what's worse…" he hesitated, trying to steel himself. The very idea of it made Peter's stomach churn.

"Yes?" Wendy asked.

"Wendy, no little children love Captain Hook, do they?"

Wendy frowned. "Well, no, I don't think so. How could they?"

"Are you sure?" Peter implored.

"Well I've certainly never heard of any. Though I suppose it is possible; especially if it were Captain Hook's child."

"What if it wasn't?" Peter asked.

"Well I don't know Peter," Wendy replied, a bit exasperated. "I guess that yes, maybe somewhere, one day, there might be one odd child that might take a fancy to Captain Hook…"

"There is," Peter interrupted, "And it's more than a fancy."

Wendy looked dumbfounded. "Whatever do you mean Peter?"

"This man," Peter explained, "This postal worker. When he was beating me up, he told me how he's always hated me."

"But," Wendy was confused, "You say he's a man now. How did a grown man get to Neverland?"

"I don't know," Peter practically wailed. "But he loves Captain Hook and he hates me! He's messing everything up!"

"How do you know he loves Hook?"

Peter gave Wendy a grim look. "Tink heard him tell Hook. He went back to Hook's ship after he beat me up and Tink snuck out there to see what was going on. She heard him telling Hook. She said he claimed he loved Hook since he was a little boy and still does. She said he even hugged Hook." Peter face contorted with disgust at that and he shuddered.

"Oh dear," Wendy fretted. "But what can I do?"

"I need you to come back with me and help me," Peter said, "If we hurry, we can be back before morning." He grabbed Wendy's hand and started towards the window.

"Stop," Wendy tried to choke the sob back. "Peter, I can't go."

"Why not?" he asked. "Oh, that's right, you need fairy dust. Tink?"

"No Peter," Wendy sniffed, "That's not it."

"Then… what?" he asked, exasperated. He didn't understand why Wendy was having such a problem with seeing how important this was.

"Peter," Wendy said sadly, "I'm sixteen. I have school in the morning. I can't be gone for weeks at a time - I'd fail my classes. And my poor parents. I worried them so last time."

"You did grow up," Peter accused sorrowfully, "You did it just for spite."

"No I did not," Wendy could feel her cheeks getting hot. "Growing, aging is a normal part of life. Soon I shall be going away to a college for young ladies. John is already at Eton."

"Normal?" Peter spewed, venomously, "Not for me. I will never grow old."

"That's your choice, Peter," Wendy said coolly, "But not mine. I know you think it would only be for a few days, but a few days in Neverland can be months here. And what would I tell my friends? Alice? And Martha?"

"I thought I was your friend," Peter snapped.

"You are," Wendy said wearily, "You always will be, but you're not my only friend."

"But what am I supposed to do?" Peter hissed under his breath.

"I don't know," Wendy replied. "Maybe you should just leave Hook alone?"

"What!?" Peter was flabbergasted. "I knew it! I knew I never should have come back to see you! I knew this would happen. Now you've taken Hook's side too." He flew out of the window in a rage.

Tinkerbell jingled at Wendy. "You understand, don't you Tinkerbell?' Wendy asked. "You know I didn't grow up on purpose."

Tinkerbell jingled her response and Wendy smiled. "Thank you Tink. Please watch over him." Wendy watched the tiny spot of light hesitate for a last look, then it darted after Peter. Wendy stood by the window for a few minutes and shook her head sadly. She closed the window and then for the first time in her life, she locked it and drew the curtains; she crawled back into her bed and cried herself to sleep.

On Board the Jolly Roger

Edward jerked awake and found himself sitting bolt upright in his couch-bed, gasping for air. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at his shaking hands. He was sure he'd been having a nightmare though he couldn't remember any of the details clearly, only that it had left him feeling extremely disturbed - something about a long hallway, fluorescent lights, pain… he shuddered the thoughts away.

His eye's darted about the moonlit cabin to see if something else had startled him awake but everything seemed as it should be. The only sounds he could hear were waves lapping at the sides of the ship and the frequent creaks of wood rubbing on wood. Edward rubbed his eyes and eased from his bed and stretched. The floor was almost completely covered with plush, ornately embroidered rugs but the cold, bare planks his feet did encounter sent their soles cringing upwards.

Edward tip-toed over to the windows at the back of the cabin, pausing to glance at Captain Hook, sleeping soundly in his bed, his back towards the room. He felt the corners of his mouth flick upwards in a fleeting but satisfied smile. If this was a dream, he hoped he might never wake up from it.

Edward stared out at the glassy sea and to the island beyond. The moon was full and so bright he could see almost as well as if it were mid-day instead of the wee hours of the morning. He mentally noted that he was going to have to learn how to tell time by the position of the sun and the moon, as Hook had an acute aversion to clocks. "Naturally," he mused under his breath.

The slight chill on the air made his bare arms break out in goose bumps and Edward was thankful to be wearing his long-johns. He yawned and reached under his t-shirt to scratch his chest and belly and contemplated going back to bed. He was busily scratching a stubborn itch that cropped up behind his balls when he noticed something in the distance gliding over the smooth surface of the water - several somethings actually. Whatever they were, they were quite a ways off so Edward quickly retrieved his daypack from under the couch and fished out his binoculars. He slipped on his socks to keep his feet from freezing and padded back to the window, focusing the glasses on the slowly approaching objects.

"Holy shit," he breathed. He counted at least a dozen canoes on the water heading towards the Jolly Roger, and each canoe carried two to four warriors. He cut his eyes towards the sleeping pirate.

"Sir!" Edward called; the Captain didn't stir at all, so Edward grabbed at Hook's right shoulder and shook the man. "Sir!" he called again. Hook's eyes snapped open and he seized Edward by the throat with his left hand before he was full awake.

Edward froze in place. "Sir," he wheezed. "Come quick, danger!"

Hook quickly released his guest. "Don't ever do that again!" he snapped. "I could have killed you had I been wearing…" It suddenly dawned on him what Edward had said. "Danger?" he echoed. "What sort of…"

"Canoes," Edward said, a little hoarse. "Lots of 'em. Loaded down with warriors."

Hook sprang from his bed, almost knocking Edward down in the process, and bolted to the windows. "Where?!" he demanded.

"Coming past those rocks, way back." Edward handed him the binoculars and pointed in the general direction. It was about then that he noticed that Hook was stark naked; obviously the man slept in the raw. He quickly focused his attention back on the windows, watching Hook's facial expressions go from doubt to grave concern.

"Bloody hell!" Hook swore under his breath. He looked over at Edward. "Listen to me carefully, lad, and do exactly as I say."

"Yes sir," Edward nodded.

"Go find the watchman on deck. I believe it's Mike. But mind you don't make a sound," Hook instructed. "Tell him to go below and rouse Mr. Smee and the crew but maintain as much silence as possible. We don't want those redskins to know we're on to them. Then you come back here."

"Yes sir," Edward scurried towards the door.

"And Edward," Hook said, "Be sure he tells them the man who gives us away is mine."

"Yes sir," Edward snapped the Captain his best salute. "Will do." He hurried out to find Bloody Mike, cursing under his breath that he hadn't slept in his clothes. He returned to the cabin moments later to find Hook already in his trousers and struggling with his harness.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, pulling on his camouflage trousers.

Hook glared at him for a moment. "I am not helpless, lad."

Edward felt himself cringe and chastised himself mentally for it. "I know," he said sheepishly. "I just thought with those indians heading this way…" he finished fastening the buttons on his own trousers and pulled his boots on.

Hook bit his lip and nodded. "You're right." Edward scurried over to help, and Hook reached his left arm behind his back searching for the harness's sleeve. "I don't mean to be so severe lad," Hook grunted as he ratcheted the harness tightly onto his right arm," but I will not tolerate pity."

"I understand," Edward said, holding Hook's shirt at the ready. "I'm a bit jumpy anyway."

"Oh?" Hook buttoned the shirt quite skillfully with only one hand while Edward fetched his boots.

"Yes sir," Edward squatted down to tie his own boots, then went to help Hook buckle his. "Bad dream woke me up - it happens sometimes. I told you about that the other day."

Hook looked down at Edward, efficiently fastening each one of the buckles that generally flustered the Captain into a rage. The boy had a benevolence about him that totally disarmed Hook's usual brusque responses and the Captain found himself accepting Edward's help where he would have normally driven anyone else away from him. It was an odd sort of closeness he felt to the boy, one he couldn't quite pin down. The boy seemed to arouse almost paternal feelings in him, and considering he had no personal experience with fatherhood, Hook found this most peculiar. His hand had just come to rest gently atop Edward's head when someone tapped lightly on the cabin door and roused him from his musings.

"Enter," Hook hissed impatiently.

"Here I am, sir," mee bustled in. "Let's get you…" He stopped in mid-sentence, for the Captain was already dressed and Edward was down on one knee, fastening the last of the buckles on Hook's boots. "Oh, well," he stammered. "Let me get your coat, sir."

"Never mind the bloody coat," Hook snapped. "Have Mullins ready the starboard guns below, and no lights. I'll gut the man who gives our advantage away. Those not manning the guns should wait at the foot of the stairs for my orders." He cut his eyes towards Edward. "We will ambush their ambush, lad."

"Aye sir," Smee saluted and hurried from the cabin, glaring back at Edward for a moment. Just who did he think he was, anyway, Smee wondered. He had been the Captain's valet for more years than he could remember and no brown-nosing fellow was going to take that job away.

Edward slipped his shoulder holster on and checked the pistol's clip. He loaded a round into the breech and set the safety before shoving the pistol back into the holster and made sure his extra clips were full. He handed Hook's two pistols to the man after the Captain had slung on his sword and Edward reached for his shotgun.

"Not that," Hook said, catching hold of Edward's wrist. "I think you'll find the sword more useful."

"Yes sir," Edward answered, a bit dubious. "I'm not that good with one yet, you know. You just started working with me a few days ago."

"True," Hook replied. "But those savages don't know that, nor have they any skill with a sword whatsoever. Besides," Hook winked, "You're better than you think, and you will find it much handier in close quarters than the long gun."

"Yes sir," Edward hung his sword from his belt. "If you say so."

Hook held a finger to his lips and crept from the cabin with Edward close behind. Adrenaline was already beginning to surge through his body like a bad case of buck-fever. He tried to talk himself back down, chiding himself mentally for getting so excited - or was it scared? Charging out onto a field and taking down half a dozen enemy by surprise was one thing; Edward wasn't entirely sure this hand-to-hand combat thing was his style. He started to follow Hook across the shadowy deck.

"I want you up on the quarterdeck," Hook whispered, catching Edward by one shoulder a few steps from his cabin door. "Keep an eye on them and signal me when they get close."

"Yes sir," Edward nodded and raced up the quarterdeck stairs. Once he reached the top, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no part of the attack was coming from the island. Edward hunkered down and snuck over to the starboard bulkhead, peering out towards the north point of Pirate's Cove. The canoes were well past the point and now angling out to sea so their occupants could come in from the west without being silhouetted by the moon. He heard a soft rap on the railing next to him and looked down at Hook.

"Two-hundred and fifty yards, I'd guess," Edward said in as low a voice as possible. "Headed out to sea at the moment."

"Aye," Hook breathed. "They want black sky behind them. Trust a savage to plot a perfect ambush."

Edward watched the procession of small boats for a few more minutes, surprised at the speed the warriors were able to maintain. He leaned back towards the railing. "They've turned back to us," Edward said softly. "Damn they can cover some ground in those things, can't they?" He looked at the Captain. Hook had one eyebrow raised in query. "Ground, water," Edward grinned. "Whatever."

Hook stifled a chuckle and shook his head. Of all the times for the fellow to be making jokes, he thought. "How far now?" he asked.

"One hundred, may one twenty-five," Edward mumbled. "Hard to tell from this angle."

"All right," Hook said. "I'll be with you in a moment." He motioned towards the slightly ajar door, then eased up the stairs to the quarterdeck and crouched down beside Edward. "You stay with me."

"Yes sir," Edward nodded. "I've got your back."

Hook glanced at his protégé for a moment. The fellow used some very strange expressions, though he guessed it was only natural considering the fantastical tales Edward had related regarding his world. He lay his hand lightly on Edward's left shoulder. "Steady now, lad. Wait for my signal."

Edward nodded, his eyes glued on the approaching canoes. He heard the scrape of steel on steel as Hook eased his sword from its scabbard and reached for the hilt of his own blade. He checked over his shoulder to the port side of the ship just to be sure no one was coming over that side and felt the Captain's hand on his head, turning his attention back to starboard.

The Indians crept up the side of the Jolly Roger silently and with astonishing ease. Only one squad used the steps that ran from the water-line up to the deck. The rest came skulking up the side and over the bulkheads with the ease of wharf rats. Hook waited until three quarters of them were aboard before he ordered his counter-attack. Then pirates poured from below deck, firing muskets into their midst, and at least half of the warriors were cut down in a hail of bullets.

Hook met one warrior, Red Eagle, armed with his tomahawk and spear, at the top of the quarterdeck stairwell. The spear was easily neutralized with one swipe from his sword. Red Eagle managed several dangerously close blows towards Hook with the tomahawk before the Captain easily ran him through.

Edward, true to his word, guarded Hook's back and flanks, following the Captain down to the deck and into the fray. Hook's zeal for killing both startled and impressed Edward; in fact, he found the blood lust quite contagious. He let out a war-cry that would have frightened the Devil himself and began slashing at any brave who came near the Captain's vulnerable side, his sword in his left hand and a battle axe in his right. And while he didn't always make fatal contact with his opponents, the warriors soon left a wide berth around who they would later call 'the mad-dog that protects Hook.'

Their numbers dwindling rapidly, Chief Great Big Little Panther called for his remaining warriors to retreat. They vanished back over the starboard bulkhead almost as quickly as they had appeared, paddling hard for the island. When the canoes were about one hundred feet away, Hook ordered a barrage of canon fire that decimated the war party. Canoes exploded into splinters, killing off all but a handful of the chief's bravest and fastest warriors.

Edward ran back up onto the quarterdeck and began systematically picking off any survivors in pistol range. He emptied one clip and quickly smacked a full one into the Ruger. An icy tingle shot down his back and Edward spun around, ending in a stance that would have put James Bond himself to shame. He blinked, perplexed, and seeing no danger he looked down to the main deck to give Hook the all-clear. From the corner of his vision Edward caught a glimpse of a single archer, his hair cropped uncharacteristically close, standing on the port bulkhead and concealed in shadows. In an instant he lined up the brave's intended target and felt his heart sinking into his stomach….

Hook stood watching the sharks enjoy their early breakfast as they fed on dead and dying warriors. He was relishing the screams of the not-yet dead when something hit him hard and sent him crashing to the deck. He rolled to slash at whatever had attacked him in time to see Edward roll to his knees and fire twice at Heart of Two Lions.

The warrior dropped to the deck, wounded but not dead. The two shots had struck him in both knees and he was as good as crippled. Heart of Two Lions looked up to see Edward crossing the deck towards him at a slow lope, with what appeared to be a wooden club in his hands.

"Did you think you would get off so light as to be shot dead?" Edward snarled between his teeth. He smacked the axe handle he had found on the deck in his palm twice as he paced in front of the hapless brave. "I don't think so, son-of-a-bitch." He broke the indian's right collar bone with his first swing, and the man's jaw with the next. He unleashed a series of brutal, punitive blows to the brave's body breaking as many bones as possible, but careful not to kill the man too quickly, lest he not suffer enough for his attempt on Hook's life. "You hateful son-of-a-bitch!" Edward growled. "You rotten, sorry-ass mother fucker! I'm sick of your shit! Never again," he smacked Heart of Two Lions on the side of his head. "Never!" he roared. "Never!"

Smee was at his Captain's side instantly, checking him over for injuries. "Are ye wounded sir," Smee stammered.

"No," Hook huffed. "And quit pawing me so." He rose to his feet slowly, transfixed on the spectacle occurring at the port bulkhead. Edward was steadily beating what was left of Heart of Two Lions into a bloody pulp and sounding more like a bear than a man. "What..." he began. He noticed that his crew had all retreated to the starboard side of the deck, their mouths hanging agape as they watched the vicious attack, and he signaled for them to keep back.

"Damned savage tried to shoot you, sir," Hopkins, who was nearest Hook, explained. "Got Jameson there instead. Your fellow there saved your life, sir.""

Hook glanced over to the dead pirate; he vaguely remembered the man entering his line of sight fractions of a second before he was dragged down. He looked back over to Edward, then back to Jameson and the arrow shaft that protruded from the man's neck. He tried to hide his shock as the series of events came together and revealed his close call, but he was still stunned nonetheless. "Mr. Smee," he said slowly, not taking his eyes off the spectacle. "Draw me a hot bath and have the crew clear the deck."

"Aye sir," Smee nodded. "Will you be wanting anything for…" his voice trailed off and he watched his Captain walking very deliberately towards his apprentice. "Humph," he snorted. "You heard the Cap'n. Clear these mangy dogs away and mop this blood up."

Hook halted his advance a few steps from Edward. The boy was still pounding away at Heart of Two Lions, growling obscenities with every blow. The man was already dead, but the boy seemed locked into his frenzy of rage, saliva spewing from his mouth like a rabid beast. Sweat rolled down Edward's face and drops hung from matted locks of his hair; it had even soaked through the back of his heavy coat and the boy was splattered with blood and bits from head to toe.

"Easy lad," Hook murmured; the boy appeared to be in some sort of shock. He reached for Edward's shoulder, ready to evade the swing that might come. "Edward, lad," He said a bit louder.

Edward drew back to deliver another blow to the infernal, murderous redskin. He froze when he felt the Captain's hand on his left shoulder and finally heard the man's voice. The bloody axe handle slipped from his hands and clunked noisily to the deck, and he rubbed his eyes trying to clear the sweat from them. He stared at heap of flesh at his feet, for it no longer even vaguely resembled a person. Blood oozed from every part of it and Edward suddenly realized exactly what he had done and the state of his appearance. A forgotten fear began to creep over him and he timidly looked back over his shoulder to Hook. "I…." he began, almost apologetically. He looked down at his blood-spattered clothes and the steam rising from his own agitated body. "What happened? What did I do?" he asked Hook; he heard his own voice shaking and it embarrassed him.

"It's all right," Hook said quietly. "Calm down." The boy reminded him of a cornered, spooked thoroughbred, every fiber tensed, ready to bolt and stomp whatever got in its way to death, and Hook handled him as such; no sudden movements, no loud noises, and patient, soothing tones. He carefully eased his right arm around Edward's shoulders. "You're going to make a first-class pirate, lad. Good show."

Edward stared back at bloody heap; icy waves of dread raced from his scalp to the soles of his feet, and Edward could feel himself shaking. "I don't know what happened. I don't remember…"

"Never mind. You just come with me," Hook said softly. "Let's get you cleaned up." He carefully steered Edward back towards his cabin. He glanced at Smee as he passed the old man. "Fetch me some brandy, Smee," he ordered before disappearing inside his cabin with the boy.

Smee looked towards the cabin for a moment. "Well," he muttered to himself, "And I thought I had seen it all." He was beginning to wonder who this imposter was that had replaced his formerly surly, unapproachable Captain, for had he not know better, he would swear Hook was actually concerned for this Edward fellow. He snorted with contempt and headed below to fetch the Captain's brandy.

Edward peered over his shoulder towards the desk where Captain Hook sat reading and enjoying his customary evening cigar and drink. He felt himself smile and nestled himself down again. He had re-evaluated his situation in the past few days and decided that if he -had indeed died, he most definitely was not in Hell.

Here he was, living out every left-over childhood fantasy of his in the shadow of his childhood idol, a man whose footsteps he still practically worshipped - the wicked, loathsome pirate he still loved as fervently as he had as a five-year old. Actually, Hook wasn't such a bad fellow after all, but then Edward had held this opinion of Hook all along. Of course, it was comforting to know he'd been right. In reality, the man treated him better than his own father ever had.

James Hook paused from his reading and took several healthy puffs on his cigar. He watched the smoke as it flowed from his nostrils, curling lazily towards the ceiling. A gust of wind howled around the ship, driving snow against the cabin's windows. Hook glanced over to the fainting couch where Edward slept and was glad he'd insisted on moving it to the foot of his own bed. The boy should sleep much better now, as he would certainly be warmer away from the door. He assumed the cold was what had awakened Edward so early this morning, though he was exceedingly glad that it had. Otherwise the redskins would surely have slaughtered the ship's entire company.

The corners of his mouth flicked upwards for a brief moment; the boy was proving to be a far more valuable addition to his crew than even Hook himself had dreamed. He was, Hook decided, quite a paradox; a fully-grown man, yet his behavior belied his age to the point where Hook sometimes found it difficult to consider Edward an adult. He fought like a berserk Viking one moment, then heeled at the Captain's mildest request, rather like an obedient puppy. One thing the Captain was quite sure of though, was that Edward had quashed any salacious designs certain members of the crew may have had on him. It was doubtful any of them would try and molest the boy now, having seen the brutality he was capable of.

Hook crushed out his cigar and quaffed the remaining brandy in his snifter, returning to his reading. Very shortly though, he became acutely aware that he was being watched and cut his eyes towards the fainting couch once more.

"I thought you would be asleep by now," Hook noted, not looking up from his book.

"I was," Edward answered sleepily, "At least, I dozed off for a little while."

"Does the light disturb you?" Hook asked.

"No sir," Edward propped himself up on one elbow. "I was just doing some thinking."

"Ah. I thought I smelled something burning," Hook commented dryly. He winked at the boy.

"That's because my brain won't slow down," Edward smirked. "So, it runs hot, you know." A wry smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"You could always move your bed back over by the door."

"No thank you," Edward chuckled. "I prefer my toes in an un-frozen state, if it's all the same to you." He flopped back down on the couch and burrowed back under his covers. "Good night, sir."

Hook chuckled under his breath. "Good night." The boy made for pleasant company at the very least, though that was hardly the extent of his value. Then again, Hook mused, it was a rare treat indeed to enjoy the company of a true friend; it had been so terribly long since he'd actually had a friend, and the realization brought a twinge of pain with it.

Edward though, Hook felt, was something much more than a mere friend. The boy had only been in his company for five days, and had thrice saved the Captain's life, at great personal risk to himself on two occasions. Hook flexed his left shoulder and found it rather stiff from where it had been driven into the deck. He was not quite sure how Edward had accomplished such a grand leap. Hook had gone back several times this afternoon and calculated the considerable distance from the quarterdeck to where he'd been standing and the angle of descent - he shook his head. No matter, the important thing was that the arrow missed him and Edward had dispatched Heart of Two Lions, to put it mildly.

It had not been a conventional assault. Anyone in possession of such a weapon as Edward's pistol could have easily killed the savage with one well-placed shot; the boy had done so several days earlier. No, Hook thought, Heart of Two Lions had unearthed some hidden rage in the boy and had paid dearly for his mistake. And Edward had become incensed past all reason and had practically made himself ill from over-exertion. It had taken Hook the better part of an hour to finally bring the boy back down to a reasonable frame of mind.

Hook suddenly wondered had he thanked the boy. He had talked with Edward at length about anything and everything to refocus his mind. He had congratulated him on his bravery and swordsmanship. He'd even had to reassure the boy that he had, in actuality, done nothing terribly wrong by killing Heart of Two Lions as he was defending the Captain; that no one was angry with him nor would there be any repercussions. But for whatever reason, Hook was almost positive he had failed to express his gratitude. He swung his chair around so he faced Edward's 'bed'.

"Edward," Hook said softly. If the boy was asleep there was no reason to wake him.

"Yes sir," Edward raised his head from his pillow.

"Lad," Hook began, "If I have already mentioned this to you, then forgive me for disturbing you." He noted Edward's quizzical expression. "I'll get to the point. On the chance I failed to mention it earlier - thank you."

"For…." Edward looked at the man blankly.

"I am told you saved me from Heart of Two Lion's arrow," Hook paused and looked into the boy's eyes. "I appreciate your generosity and valor."

Edward held Hook's gaze for several moments, trying not to grin too broadly. "No problem," he said. "I told you I had your back."

"So you did," Hook nodded. "You're a good lad, Edward."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far but…" Edward began. He halted in mid-spate, for Hook's expression had suddenly grown dark. "Sir?" he said timidly.

Hook looked at Edward quite sternly for far longer than he probably should have, for he could see the boy growing more nervous with every passing second. "Lad," he said quietly. "Who gave thee this dreadfully low opinion of yourself?"

Edward looked away and stared at the floor. "I didn't mean to argue with you," he stammered. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Hook asked. "You've done nothing wrong. To the contrary, you have done everything perfectly. I couldn't be more pleased with your performance had I searched the ends of the earth for you."

"Thank you," Edward said shyly.

"You're most welcome," Hook replied. "But you haven't answered my question. Who has brow-beaten you so?"

"Some asshole," Edward muttered. "You don't know him."

" 'Tis a good thing, too," Hook said. "For I would find him and tear his heart out this instant." He got up and stood at the foot of the fainting couch. "You're a good lad. You're a fine, brave man, and you are - you're my friend. And I will not have anyone disparaging your reputation, including yourself." He smiled at Edward. "Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Edward answered solemnly.

"Very well," Hook said. "Now, I think we both are due for some well-deserved rest. What say you, lad?"

"Yes sir," Edward nodded. "Good night sir." He laid back down, wanting to say something more but not quite having the nerve.

Hook began to undress, wrestling out of the uncomfortable harness which bore his claw. He cast it onto his desk and snuffed out the remaining candle, leaving the room lit only by what starlight reflected off the heavy layer of snow that had fallen. He stripped, leaving his garments in a heap beside his bed; the chill in his room convinced him to wear a nightshirt to bed this evening instead of sleeping as God had made him, as was his custom. Finally nestled under the warm covers of his bed, Hook mused that there must be a better way of warming his quarters than with the cast iron stove that sat near the bathtub. And while he bore no fondness whatsoever for Peter, he wished the imp would hurry back so as to thaw out the artic wasteland Neverland had become.

Hook shivered under his covers, still turning the day's events over in his mind. For certain, the Captain was not quite sure how he felt about the whole experience. Having seen the boy's worth in battle, Hook wished there was some way he could have been witness to Edward's charge on the glade; it would have been interesting to compare to Heart of Two Lion's slaying. Different members of the crew - Mullins, Bainbridge, Guinness - had related their versions to him, all similar tales of a sudden violent, brutal attack and an equally vicious flogging of Pan. Yet the person who freed him from the avalanche of dead bodies had been as attentive and respectful a gentleman as Hook could remember meeting.

Hook sighed. Coming to grips with the fact that another living soul would defend him so staunchly and of their own free will, left him in something of a quandary. He was still trying to adjust to being the object of Edward's ardent admiration. This being loved thing was an entirely new experience itself, and it poked and pried at parts of himself he'd rather keep locked away in the deepest recesses of his memory. He mulled his own feelings over in his mind. He had to admit that he did feel something for Edward, though it had been so long since he'd felt anything for another living soul besides hate and rage, Hook was not quite sure what to label it. Respect maybe. Or gratitude, or maybe a certain sense of familiarity - or was there something more to it?

The Captain found himself oft times wondering if it was possible that Edward might be a distant relative; surely the pirate had been with enough women in his day to have spawned a legion of fatherless sons. Perhaps one of his own unknown bastards had given rise to this most unusual young man. It would certainly help explain the strange bond he had begun to feel with Edward; it was almost as if he had known the boy before, but another place and another time. The very notion tweaked at some raw spot on his soul and Hook shuddered the thought away; it made him feel most uncomfortable and disturbed to consider the possibility.

Hook was not quite sure how long he had lay in bed before sleep had overtaken him, nor how long he had been asleep. What he was aware of, and most keenly, was that some-thing had wrenched him from the warmth of his slumbering, and that something was a long, terrified, wailing scream - a scream that seemed to reach across from some long-forgotten time and jab at his memory as well as his consciousness. Hook flung his covers back and sprang to his feet, and had he not been fully awake before, the cold floor jarred him to his senses. Instantly he found himself by the fainting couch.

"Edward!?" Hook shook the boy's shoulders to rouse him. He had to shake much harder to actually wrench Edward from the grip of whatever was tormenting his sleep, and when the boy finally woke, an angry hive of hornets could not have exploded from their nest with any more violence than Edward did from his covers. "Edward!" Hook shouted again, grabbing him hard by his right shoulder. Finally, the screaming stopped and Edward, wild-eyed, bathed in sweat and gasping for breath, stared at the Captain. "Calm down lad," Hook soothed. "It was just a dream."

Edward half-rubbed, half-clawed at his eyes, trying to wipe the horrible images away. Embarrassed, he found it difficult to maintain eye contact with Hook. What was worse, he heard Smee coming up from below decks, which meant Smee and probably most of the crew had heard him, and now he realized he was still shaking and could not stop. Smee rapped softly on the door to Hook's cabin and Edward gave the Captain a panicked look. Hook seemed to understand, for he went to door but did not open it.

"The situation has been handled, Mr. Smee," He spoke through the door to Smee.

"Are you alright?" Smee queried, sounding quite concerned. "I heard ye all the way from my bed."

"That was not me," Hook hissed through his teeth, as quietly as he could, "Now goodnight, Smee."

"Oh," came Smee's somewhat baffled reply. "Oh, I see," he continued, having finally gotten the gist of things. "Well, goodnight Cap'n."

Edward sank down onto the couch with his face buried in his hands, trying to fight back the humiliating tears. He felt Hook sit down beside him and could feel the piercing blue eyes gazing at him. "I am so sorry," Edward whispered hoarsely.

"Now then," Hook rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Nightmares are an unavoidable part of sleeping. I've had more than my fair share."

"But it won't go away," Edward groaned, pounding one knee with his fist. "I don't want to go back there! I won't!"

"And you don't have to," Hook placated. "I certainly have no intentions of sending you away." He put his right arm around Edward's shoulders and sat quietly until the boy appeared to calm; another moment of déjà vu flashed through his system. "Are you all right now?"

Edward fought to subdue the panic that was seething just beneath his skin. He felt more like crawling under the settee and hiding than going back to bed. But this was not the side of himself he wanted the Captain to see so he nodded and reluctantly settled back under the blankets. "Thanks," he said weakly.

"You are most welcome," Hook replied softly, "Good night." He returned to his own bed and scrambled back under the warm covers, still feeling a bit shaken. Edward had not been forthcoming about the details of his nightmare, though Hook deduced from his statement that the boy must have dreamed himself back in his own time; obviously the notion of not being in the Captain's company was most distressing. He felt his ego smirk smugly at this idea. And wouldn't it just irk Pan too, to witness the defeat of his curse - to be alone and unloved.

At some point during his slumbers the Captain rolled from his left side onto his back and then onto his right side so that his left forearm hung off the edge of the bed. His fingers kept brushing up against some foreign object that most certainly should not be that close to his bed and Hook's well-honed self-preservation instincts roused him from his own disturbing dreams. His eyes snapped open and quickly focused in the dimly illuminated room, trying to remember what had awakened him, for all was as still as an abandoned cathedral.

Cautiously, Hook propped himself up on his right elbow and peered towards the foot of his bed, thinking maybe his new recruit was suffering another round of nightmares. To his surprise, he discovered the couch was minus its occupant. "Not again," he groaned under his breath.

He began to flip his covers back to swing his feet from the bed when his eyesight fell on an odd lump beside his bed. A second look quickly explained what had awakened him; the boy was hunkered down on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest and his face buried in his arms, jammed up in the corner where the side of Hook's bed met the nightstand.

"What the deuce?" Hook stared blankly at Edward for several moments, trying to puzzle out the boy's strange behavior. He was, Hook surmised, still quite distressed, for though Edward made not a sound, he could plainly see the boy shaking and his shoulders heaving in the darkness.

Hook shook his head. What ghastly manner of nightmares was this fellow afflicted with, he wondered. The Captain's recently awakened paternal instincts slipped into gear and without any consideration to his reputation, or his pride, Hook let his hand drop gently atop Edward's bowed head.

"Lad," he said softly, "Whatever is the matter?" He felt Edward jerk at his initial touch, then lean his head into the pirate's palm. Only then did the boy allow the merest of sounds to escape from his throat; the muffled hitching of his breath.

Hook sat up on the edge of the bed and tried to coax Edward from his cringe. He was somewhat successful, though not quite what he'd been aiming for. Edward un-balled himself and slumped against the Captain's right leg, burying his face against Hook's knee. Hook sat rigid and motionless, unaccustomed to anyone being so careless about coming into physical contact with him; this was the second time Edward had disregarded the Captain's personal space. Ordinarily, such recklessness incurred swift, sudden punishment, usually death.

He gazed down at Edward, still clinging to his leg and trying to stifle his sobs. At the moment, Hook thought he looked rather less like a grown man and more like a frightened child. Just who was this Edward anyway, and where had he met the boy before. He must have, Hook thought. There was no other sound explanation for his failure to immediately gut the boy, nor for the constant, nagging, almost painful familial twinges he felt towards Edward.

Hook was sailing on uncharted waters here; on the one hand, he knew he was reputed to be the most fearsome, wicked, cruel pirate captain that history ever knew and rightly so. He had his reputation and his dignity to think about. He couldn't just go about coddling every sniveling member of the crew; why, he thought, they would almost surely lose all respect for him and mutiny at once. He should just kick the boy aside and gruffly order him back to bed after threatening to flog him over this nonsense.

The problem was that, much as he rationalized what he should do, it was not what James Hook really wanted to do, despite all his soundly based reasoning. And so it was that his right arm found its way around Edward's shoulders and his left hand took to stroking the boy's head. A crushing wave of grief welled up in his chest, though from whence it came Hook knew not; he could have done quite nicely, however, without the knot that was trying to crawl up the back of his throat.

"Come on," Hook said hoarsely, patting the mattress beside him. "Up off that cold floor before you catch your death of cold." He felt Edward shake his head against him. "Come on now," Hook said, reaching for the boy's right bicep to pull him up, but Edward only clung tighter to his leg.

"I'm sorry," Edward wheezed. "I don't want to go back there, please don't make me go."

"Do you take me for a liar, boy?" Hook asked, mildly annoyed. "I told you that you can stay and for all that I am wicked, I am not one to go back on my word." He could have been talking to thin air for all the reaction his words elicited.

"I don't want to go, please," Edward begged. "I won't do it again, I'm sorry. Don't make me go back there."

Hook sighed, exasperated; it was as if the boy hadn't heard a word he'd spoken. Was it possible, he wondered, for Edward to be locked that deep in another nightmare - or was it perhaps something related to the boy's admitted mental problems? He had mentioned medication which he obviously had not brought with him. Was this behavior reflective of the lack of those drugs? Hook shook Edward's shoulder hard to rouse him from whatever state he was in. "Edward!" he said loudly.

Edward jerked as if he'd been jabbed with a red-hot branding iron. He could hear the Captain's voice, but whatever words the man spoke were muffled by the roaring of blood in Edward's own ears. He blinked, trying to focus in the darkness and realized where he was and what he was doing. His mind raced trying to remember how he'd ended up in such a precarious position - nothing; he drew a blank. All he could remember was going back to sleep and… Fragments of his latest nightmare flooded back suddenly, and he buried his face against Hook's knee once more, only this time he wept openly, grief-stricken.

Hook swallowed the tightness in his throat away and heaved a sigh, letting his fingers stroke gently through the boy's hair. "What is it?" Hook asked softly. "Another bad dream?" He felt Edward nod in agreement. "There now," he soothed. "It was just a dream. It's all over now."

"I know," Edward choked, trying to smother his humiliating sobs. What must the man think of him, he wondered. "But it won't go away. I keep seeing it over and over again. It won't stop."

Hook caught Edward under one armpit and pulled the boy to his knees. "For heaven's sake, get up off that cold floor before you make yourself ill, lad." This time Edward followed his instruction and sat on the edge of the Captain's bed, leaning heavily against the man. Hook wrapped his right arm around the boy's shoulders, not at all surprised now when Edward slumped against him and buried his face against Hook's chest. His usual urge to cut and rip barely fluttered at the edge of his thoughts before slinking away into oblivion.

"All right now," Hook murmured. "I've got you. You're safe." To his horror, Hook realized he had taken to rocking Edward side to side slightly. Damn it all to hell, he -thought. Why did this fellow have such an effect on him? Where did he know the boy from? But the harder Hook searched his memory for some recollection of Edward, the sicker to his stomach he felt, and an alien sense of panic began to creep into his consciousness. Hook shook his head to clear his thoughts and drive the sensation away.

"I'm sorry," Edward half-whispered.

"For what?" Hook asked.

"Waking you up again," Edward said. "I don't know what happened. I don't remember leaving the couch at all."

"Pshaw," Hook snorted. "I've done as much to old Smee myself with bad dreams." He stared down at the top of Edward's head, still nestled against him. "Do you have any idea what it was?" he asked quietly. He felt Edward heave a great sigh, then nod. "Sometimes," he started, "it does help to talk about it, if you can." He sat quietly, slowly freezing in the dark, chilly room, waiting to see if Edward would divulge any of his nightmare. He had almost concluded not when he heard Edward clear his throat.

"I was," Edward hesitated; he could hear his own voice faltering already. He cleared his throat again in an attempt to regain control. "I was back on the glade, just like the other day. Everything was the same except…" he stopped again, he could feel himself losing it.

"Yes?" Hook felt Edward's shoulder blades lurch several times.

"I couldn't move," Edward almost choked on his words. "My feet, they were like, made of lead and I couldn't move. And when I tried to use the shotgun and the Ruger - well, I couldn't get them to fire."

"But that isn't what happened," Hook tried to reassure Edward. "Not really. You performed most valiantly."

"But that's not what I keep seeing!" Edward protested, "Over and over and over again. I couldn't stop him - Pan. He cut off your hand and danced around the rock with it like some sick trophy… and I could hear you calling for help, and I couldn't move! And then…" He ground his head against Hook, trying to shake the images from his eyes. "I'm sorry," Edward croaked, "I don't mean to, but they -" He hesitated again. "They killed you and ..." The sadness over-whelmed him again and he wept silently against the Captain.

Hook hugged the heaving shoulders. An awful, crushing ache seized his chest; he had suffered far too many mind-numbing nightmares himself and knew how cruel they could be. Even after he woke the images remained vivid in his mind, torturing him again and again. And while Hook's pride swelled at being the object of such affection, it was entirely too painful to see the boy so obviously grief-stricken. "Edward," he said gently.

"I'm so scared," Edward whispered.

"It was just a dream," Hook said, trying to be reassuring. "I'm quite alive still and very well, thanks to you."

"There was more," Edward said. "Something else besides that dream, I can't remember but…."

"Yes?' Hook asked.

"I don't know, but I'm scared now," Edward choked on a sob that tried to escape. "I'm so damned scared I don't know what to do, and I don't know why. I'm just scared, and I hate it."

There was little doubt in Hook's mind that Edward spoke the truth; the lad was about to shake himself to bits, and quite different from the Captain's own shivering from the cold. He momentarily wondered how it was that Edward was not chilled to the bone as he was, and the boy wore only an undershirt and long johns while he wore his heaviest flannel nightshirt. An idea tip-toed cautiously through Hook's mind and he raised one eyebrow thoughtfully. He glanced over his right shoulder at the bed - after all, he thought, he was the captain. Who would dare to question him, if they ever found out - and they wouldn't. And he had to do something, he felt, lest Edward lose what was left of his sanity. Besides, Hook reasoned, it would be much warmer than sitting here in the dark growing icicles on his mustache and toes, and other assorted body parts.

Hook stood up and turned the covers back. "Get in," he said quietly.

Edward stared up at him, mortified. "Sir?" he squeaked timidly.

Even in the faint light Hook could see the boy go pale and knew what he was thinking. "Don't be ridiculous Edward," he chided gently, "I could no more molest you than I could my own son, if I had one." And if he did, he thought, he would pray the child turned out like Edward. "Now, come on," he insisted. "In you go."

Edward swallowed hard and tried to squelch his fears but forced himself to obey the Captain. He slid over to the far side of the bed and watched Hook follow him under the covers, fighting the panicky sense of being trapped that seethed through his system. Edward could feel himself shaking again. He was still scared out of his mind and had no clue why, but he was sure it wasn't the Captain that he was afraid of, though somehow the current situation wasn't really helping either; he just wanted it to end.

Hook turned onto his left side and motioned for Edward to follow suit. "Yes sir," Edward whispered. Against his every instinct Edward tried to make himself settle next to the Captain. His intentions had been to put his back towards Hook, as per his instructions, but found himself seized by yet another wave of grief and instead ended up with his face buried against the comfort of Hook's chest. "I'm so scared…" was all he could manage to get out before anxiety and anguish consumed him totally.

Hook was taken aback for a brief moment only and found himself tucking Edward's head beneath his chin. "My poor friend," he mumbled softly. Again, he realized he had taken to stroking Edward's head in an attempt to calm him, though it seemed futile and he decided it was probably best to just let the boy get whatever was troubling him out of his system. He closed his eyes and held Edward close, mumbling any soothing platitudes he could think of.

"I love you, sir," Edward wheezed.

"There now," Hook murmured. "You're a good lad." Love. It still sounded so foreign to his ears, yet he had no doubt of Edward's sincerity. He would swear he could literally feel the boy's affection seeping into him. And then there was that marvelous sense of trust he felt from Edward - absolute trust at that. Nothing he asked of the boy was questioned, Edward simply obeyed, over-riding any reservations he might have simply because the Captain asked - because he trusted the man. No one had trusted him, Hook reminded himself, in, in… in a very long time.

He felt Edward trying to force himself closer. The boy had his face pressed so hard against his chest that Hook marveled how he was still able to breathe. Good God, he wondered, what must it take to so terrify someone who fought with such ferocity? He crooked his right knee around Edward's legs and hugged the boy tighter.

"Would that you were my son," Hook bemoaned. "For you are the one individual that has made me believe it is possible that I truly might be loved." He had harbored doubts about Edward, secretly, for somewhere in the back of his mind Hook had been convinced that this whole thing was a ruse, an elaborate plot of Pan's to circumvent his usual wariness. Those fears were gone now, melted away, and in that moment, Hook was convinced that he finally possessed a way to defeat Pan, the only way he could defeat Pan. For once Peter was made to see that Edward's declarations were not mere words but living, breathing, fact surely he would lose his 'happy' thoughts and then Hook would kill the little brute once and for all.

He was not sure how long Edward wept, only that he wondered if the boy would ever stop and when he finally did cease, he plunged into an exhausted, fitful sleep. Hook maintained his hold on Edward; even in his sleep the boy still shook. Leave him behind, indeed, he scoffed. He intended to keep Edward as close to him as was necessary and possible, for both their sakes. Hook resolved that very instant that in the morning he would adopt Edward as his son, assuming the boy had no objections, and would make such an announcement to the crew. After that, it would not take long for word to reach Peter and that would spell the beginning of Pan's end. He rested his cheek against the top of Edward's head, occasionally murmuring a word of comfort to his new-found son. Finally he felt the boy relax somewhat and only then did Hook allow himself to drift off into a light sleep.

Something kept tickling the top of his head; something like a breath of wind playing in his unruly locks. It came and it went, very evenly, almost rhythmically. Edward tried to ignore it and sink back into deep sleep; he was enveloped in the most warm and secure sensation he could remember having in years - when he used to have bad dreams and crawl into bed with… with… Oh hell, he thought, did it matter with who? He just wanted to stay asleep and enjoy the peace.

Slowly, he became aware of a familiar scent, a fragrance, a rather sweet, spicy smell like an aftershave. Where had he smelled that before, he wondered. It wasn't his father's; he'd worn Skin Bracer. But this scent he recognized from somewhere in his childhood, belonging to some distant, long forgotten friend. He inhaled the scent deeply and tried to focus on a memory, hanging just out of his grasp. His mind had been moving slower than a check in the mail, but it recoiled with lightning reflexes when it got too close to the truth and Edward tried to burrow deeper into the warm safety of…. Hmm, he wondered. Now that he thought about it, just where was he?

Begrudgingly, he tried to focus in the dark and blinked sleepily. He stared at what appeared to be collar of sorts and buttons, then at the neck and chest that inhabited it. At first Edward was confused and wondered if he was still dreaming, but soon the events of the evening flooded back and he jerked when he realized he was in Hook's bed and still firmly within the Captain's embrace; he woke Hook when he did so.

"Edward?" Hook half whispered. He waited for a response. "Son?"

"Sir?" he replied weakly.

"Is everything all right?" Hook eased his hold on Edward so the boy could roll onto his back.

"I'm not sure," Edward answered. He rubbed his bleary eyes and pushed himself up onto the pillows. His head could not have ached more if he'd been out on a drinking binge, and he felt as though he'd been hit in the chest with a two-by-four. "Nightmare," he muttered under his breath.

"And a terrifying one at that," Hook added, propping himself up on his left elbow. "How do you feel?"

"Like I fell off one of those cliffs by the castle," Edward yawned. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Hook said, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard. "You were frightened… I know what that feels like."

Edward's mind was still moving a bit sluggishly, rather like cold molasses. He glanced sideways at Hook. "Umm… what, why am I…." he hesitated.

"Certainly not for what you're thinking," Hook chuckled. "I would not take advantage of anyone in such a state as you were and besides, my feelings towards you do not run in that direction."

"Oh," Edward said. "Of course not," he fumbled for something clever to say but came up empty handed. "I mean, I know you wouldn't - I trust you." He pushed himself up further so he sat beside Hook at the headboard.

"Thank you, lad," Hook smiled slightly. "I daresay I appreciate your trust more than you shall ever know."

"No problem," Edward said, rubbing his aching head. "But, how did I end up here?"

"Do you remember any of your dream?" Hook asked.

"Yes sir," Edward answered. "Bits and pieces, that is." He shuddered as a few grisly images flashed through his mind and felt Hook's hand on his right shoulder immediately.

"Steady now," Hook soothed. He waited a few moments before prying further into Edward's dreams. "Do you have any idea what it was that left you so frightened?"

Edward scratched at the sideburns he'd been cultivating. "I…" he began. An image flashed through his mind for a split second and was gone; he shuddered again. "No sir, I'm sorry but I don't have a clue."

"Not to worry," Hook reassured. He inhaled a deep breath to steel his nerves, hoping he would not send Edward of into another fit of panic. "Whatever it was, though," he said, "It terrified you past the point of all reasoning. I have seen your anger and your rage, I've seen your fearlessness, but I have never seen you that afraid. I shudder to think what must visit your dreams to frighten you so."

"I don't know," Edward murmured, staring at the wall next to his left shoulder. "I don't remember."

"I know you don't," Hook continued. "I thought if I took you into my bed, got you warm - that it might calm you down. And it did, eventually."

Edward leaned his head against the wall with a small thump, ashamed of his behavior. "I'm sorry about screwing up your sleep, sir," he sighed. "I really don't mean to be such a pain in the ass but…"

"Nonsense," Hook snorted. "If you were a bother, I assure you, you would be well aware of the fact."

"Yes sir," Edward said quietly. "But why didn't you just run me back to the couch? I could've…"

"Because, quite frankly, it was entirely too difficult to see you so distraught and do nothing." Hook studied Edward's puzzled expression for a moment. "I'm sure you're aware of my reputation, my deeds here in Neverland."

"Yes sir," Edward answered, a bit perplexed.

"I doubt though, you are aware of my actions before I became trapped here."

"No sir," Edward said. "But then if memory serves me correctly, 'Hook' is not your real last name."

"Quite correct, Edward," Hook said. "I also, cannot remember my surname. I assure you though, I do recall having committed practically every mortal sin known to man, multiple times each."

"No doubt," Edward smirked.

"I have ransacked entire towns, looted, pillaged - I have ravished women in front of their husbands and families. I have raided and sunk more ships than I can remember and cared little for what happened to their crews. I have tortured and killed men in the presence of their wives and children merely for the pleasure of hearing them plead and weep over their loved one. I have caused untold anguish and pain, and I relished every moment of it." Hook paused and looked over at his rapt listener. "But I have never, before tonight, seen or heard such sorrow, such grief on my account."

"I reckon not." Edward drew his knees up and rested his forearms on them. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I didn't mean to, it just kind of…"

"I don't think you understand," Hook interrupted, "I am beginning to grasp the veracity and depth of your… affection for me." He noted Edward's fleeting shy smile and the slight tilt of his head. "And mine for you."

Edward raised a bemused eyebrow. "Pardon, sir?" He found himself once more caught in Hook's intense gaze, his blue eyes seemingly boring down into him and wondered if maybe he should return to his own 'bed.' No, he decided quickly. If the Captain ever had any designs on him surely, he would have had his way with him earlier. The man had said as much and leaving for the couch would convey mistrust - and he would not hurt Hook's feelings for anything.

"I have always believed," Hook explained, "or at least, I have been told with no reason to believe otherwise, that no children love me."

Edward suddenly grew quite sullen. "That's not true."

"No," Hook continued, resting his hand on Edward's right shoulder. "But until your arrival I had experienced nothing that would contradict that belief. It has been an integral part of the curse Pan uses to keep me here. All children hate me, killing him would only make them hate me more. As though I give a fig whether I am adored or despised by decades - nay, centuries of mewling brats." He snorted with disgust. "However," Hook hesitated, searching for the appropriate words. "It would have been less painful to be ripped asunder by my own hook than it was to see you, to hear you weeping so and realize that I was at the root of such angst."

Edward swallowed hard. He was not sure now if he done something wrong or not. "Sir?" he said; he bit his bottom lip nervously.

Hook sat quietly for a few minutes before answering. "I'm sure that during my career I have doubtless fathered many a bastard son or daughter. Alas, I shall never know and until recently cared not. You," he hesitated and gazed down at Edward, "You I regard as though you were my own flesh and blood. I feel I have known you since your birth. I feel pride at your successes- sorrow for your pain. I actually feel something towards you besides my customary hate." He was not at all surprised by the stunned countenance looking back at him.

"Umm… What…" He felt his back slipping down the headboard and his braced knees buckled.

Hook did not give Edward a chance to question him. He needed to say it now, while his nerve was with him. "I don't understand it myself, but I find that I care for you, a great deal - and I would have you as my son, if that is agreeable to you."

Edward was quite glad he was in at least a somewhat horizontal position, for had he been otherwise he would surely be in one now. All the cogs in his mind seemed to slip out of gear at once and he could swear he heard his brain sputtering, rather like an engine that has just run out of fuel. Slowly, he pushed himself back up so he sat up next to the Captain and reminded himself of the importance of breathing. "Captain, sir," Edward managed finally, "I, I don't know what to say. I'm such a bloody flake."

"Flake?" Hook queried.

"It means I'm a fuck-up, I'm all the time screwing something up one way or the other. Hell, I can't even remember most of my own damned name."

"You are not a 'fuck-up' as you put it," Hook huffed. "Where did you ever get such a notion from. If I searched the ends of the Earth I could not find a more loyal, deserving individual. Now," he caught Edward's chin and forced the boy's head up so he might look Edward in the eyes. "I would like very much to adopt you as my son, if you have no objections."

"None sir," Edward said hoarsely. He felt as though his heart would burst from his chest at the moment. "I love you more than life, and I'd be thrilled - but are you really sure you want me?"

Hook looked into the dark eyes and saw they glistened with tears. He swallowed past the lump that had formed in his own throat. "Yes, Edward," he said softly. "Nightmares, rages and all." He could not help but smile and welcomed Edward's inevitable embrace with open arms.

Edward rested his head back against Hook's shoulder. "They're called night terrors."

"Hmmm?" Hook queried.

"The nightmares," Edward explained. They're called night terrors. I used to get them all the time when I was growing up. I hadn't had too many though since I started taking this new medicine."

"What medicine?"

"Damned if I can remember the name of it now," Edward shook his head. "But it must've been working o.k. until I quit a few days ago, when I ended up here." He let himself relax against the Captain's side, closing his eyes with sheer bliss when he felt Hook's hand, gently stroking his head once more. He liked being close to the man; it made him feel safe, safer than safe even. He lay his head against Hook's chest and let his arms find their way around Hook's ribcage.

Hook looked down at Edward and enfolded his soon-to-be son in his arms. An almost smug smirk played on his lips when he felt the boy heave a huge sigh and sink closer to him. He let his head droop so than his chin rested atop Edward's head and let himself be engulfed in the warmth and peace of being loved- the most intoxicating feeling Hook could remember experiencing.

As far as Hook knew, he had enjoyed every sexual pleasure known to man, he had smoked or snorted or somehow imbibed every hallucinogenic, mind-altering substance he could lay his hands on, he had drunk a ship's hold of whiskey and rum, but none of them had every made him feel like this. None of them gave him this kind of satisfaction or serenity. The simple act of embracing the boy, allowing the boy to love him and himself to love the boy, gave him the fulfillment that none of his vices every had - not to mention he could avoid the unpleasant hangovers the drugs and drink had always left him with.

"You know," Edward mused in a half-whisper, "Pan is going to have a shit-fit when he finds out."

"I daresay he will," Hook smirked.

"In fact," Edward mumbled sleepily, "It'll run him crazy as an outhouse rat. It could even be his undoing."

"I had considered something along those lines," Hook agreed, "Though 'tis but a fringe benefit of your adoption."

"I want to be there when you kill the little prick," Edward said. "I know I can't kill him, but I want to watch."

"Of course," Hook murmured.

Hook's warm breath washed down through Edward's hair and over his scalp, and Edward stifled a groan of contentment. He could go back to sleep right where he was, he thought, and sleep like the dead. "Sir," he asked softly. "I am going to get to come with you when you leave, won't I?"

"As if I would leave you behind," Hook snorted, hugging Edward tightly. Indeed, he thought, and what would become of the boy if he did abandon him? Torture and a slow death at the hands of what redskins remained? Or perhaps he would be seized by a permanent fit of insanity, or merely grieve himself to death? No, he was not about to leave his son behind; he almost felt sorry for the world once they were free.

Half-asleep, Edward felt, rather than heard, the Captain yawn. It dawned on him that he was being terribly inconsiderate. "I should go back to my own bed," he mumbled, trying to sit up. He felt Hook's grip on his shoulders tighten a bit.

"You don't have to," Hook said. "Weren't you rather cold?"

"Well, sort of," Edward admitted slowly. "But it's not right for me to keep you awake like this."

"You are not keeping me awake," Hook said, afraid his heavy eyelids were betraying him anyway. "But it is rather chilly. Lay back down before we both end up with pneumonia."

Edward looked up into the Captain's eyes; he could still see their extraordinary blueness piercing into his very soul. Any misgivings he might have had about sleeping next to the man seemed to melt away like his breath did on the chilly air. "Yes sir," he said quietly.

Hook watched Edward settle himself down under the covers and eased himself down onto his left side beside the boy. He lifted his right arm and gestured for Edward to snug himself back against him.

Edward hesitated for a moment. He quickly chastised himself mentally for mistrusting the Captain's intentions for even one second and scooched himself closer to his future adopted parent. His head rested in the crook of Hook's left arm and his maimed right arm settled around Edward's ribs. Edward pulled the covers up so only their respective heads remained exposed. Cautiously, he burrowed down and nestled his head back so it was tucked under the man's chin.

"Good lad," Hook murmured sleepily, allowing a smug smile to play on his lips. "Thank you, son."

"No problem," Edward mumbled. He lay in the dark, listening to the wind as it whined and moaned through the ship's rigging. He could feel the Captain's chest press against his back as the man inhaled and exhaled, his warm breath washing down through Edward's hair worked better than any tranquilizer Edward had ever taken. His mind began to wander, and he wondered if anyone would miss him, after all. Surely by now his mailman had checked on him as he wasn't there to collect his mail from the box, which meant along with the police and the family he could not remember, animal rescue should have been contacted about his horse. He would be just another person who vanished from the face of the earth - without a trace

He tried very hard to go back to sleep; his eyelids felt as though they had iron weights on them. Yet every time he closed his eyes and tried to relax, Edward found himself once again feeling apprehensive and afraid, not of some nameless, faceless terror but of waking up to find he'd been snatched away from the Captain and miserably back home again - alone. He carefully wrapped his arms over Hook's and clung to the man's forearms.

"Are you still awake?" Hook drawled lazily.

"Yeah," Edward replied, then remembered his manners. "I mean, yes sir."

"For heaven's sake, why?" Hook yawned. He waited for what seemed ages before he got an answer. "Edward?"

"It just," Edward sighed, exasperated with himself. "I'm… I'm afraid to go back to sleep."

Hook opened one eye and peered out at Edward. "Whatever for?" he asked. "Surely you don't believe I would..."

"No sir!" Edward answered, quite emphatically. "Of course not. I wouldn't have laid down in the first place if I did."

Hook again waited on an explanation for seemingly endless minutes. "Are you worried you'll have another nightmare?"

"Sort of," Edward muttered, "Well, no not really. You're gonna think I'm stupid." He looked back over his shoulder at the Captain and into his piercing eyes. "I'm afraid I won't be here when I wake up, ok?" He flopped his head back down on his pillow.

"What do you mean?"

Edward sighed again. "I'm afraid that when I wake up, I'll be back in my own house, or in my own woods, or somewhere other than here."

"But why should you?" Hook asked, mildly perplexed.

"I haven't got a clue how I got here in the first place. One minute I'm walking through my property, the next, poof - here I am."

Hook felt himself smile slightly. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. I am quite sure there are no faerie rings in my cabin nor on this ship."

Edward snorted. "Maybe not, but I'm just lucky like that, you know?" He felt Hook laughing before he heard him.

"Now then," Hook said reassuringly. "You don't have to worry about that. I've got you." He hugged the boy tightly and crooked his right knee across Edward's legs once more. He felt Edward sink back against him almost immediately as if it were something he'd done a thousand times before. Indeed, it all seemed strangely familiar to Hook and he smiled, quite satisfied with himself. He felt even more so when he heard Edward's low, steady snoring a short time later. It had become as familiar a sound as that of the waves that lapped at the sides of his ship and it had a calming, comforting effect on Hook that, along with the warmth from Edward's body, lulled the drowsy Captain into a peaceful and undisturbed sleep.

Mr. Smee tapped lightly on the Captain's door before entering. He crept in and stoked up the fire in the iron stove before peering over to check on Hook. Funny, he thought, something didn't appear quite right. He took a few more steps towards the bed before he froze suddenly in his tracks. Smee's jaw dropped and he forgot to breathe for a moment. "Well I'll be damned," he murmured, barely audibly, staring at his Captain, spooned behind and with his arms around Edward. Suddenly Hook's eyes snapped open and glared at Smee.

"Mr. Smee," he said through clenched teeth, "Get out… now."

"Aye sir," Smee stammered, backing away slowly. He was fully expecting to be ripped to shreds any second. "I won't say nothing Cap'n."

"Of course, you won't," Hook hissed, "as you do not thoroughly understand the context of what you see… Come back in half an hour. Now get out." Smee practically slammed the door behind himself and Hook glanced down quickly to be sure that Edward had not been roused; he had not, to Hook's relief. The boy had enough problems as it was without heaping such humiliation on his shoulders. Not to mention Hook needed no such rumors floating around the ship, he'd heard enough scuttlebutt as it was to make him want to gut several of his crew strictly for good measure. He eased himself from the bed, careful not to wake Edward, and after donning his dressing robe, Hook lounged at his desk waiting for Smee to return with his morning tea.

Smee, punctual as ever, returned almost exactly thirty minutes later bearing a tray with tea and scones. He knocked, and this time waited for permission to enter the Captain's cabin. Both the Captain and Edward were awaiting their breakfasts, though Smee thought Edward looked rather hung-over and probably could have used several more hours to sleep it off.

"Morning sir," Smee greeted as brightly as ever. He had grown quite good at treating Hook's misdeeds as if they had never occurred in the first place, and this was no different.

"Yes, quite," Hook remarked. "Has the ice melted yet?"

"No sir," Smee replied, pouring the tea. He tried not to grin too broadly when Edward latched onto his cup as though his hands needed thawing. "That rum has a kick, don't it now."

Edward, hunched over his tea, peered up from under one eyebrow. "Rum?" he asked sleepily.

"Aye," Smee chuckled, "Best cure for that head is the hair of the dog that bit ye."

Edward straightened himself in his chair. "I am not drunk… hung over, or whatever," he grumped stiffly.

"Actually," Hook said, sipping his tea as only a proper English gentleman can, "Edward was taken quite ill last night and did not sleep very well at all."

"That so?" Smee tried to act surprised. "Well, I hope it weren't caused by your dinner. I can speak to Cook about it." He waited for Edward to respond.

Edward leveled an icy stare at Smee. "You know bloody well what the hell was wrong with me last night. You heard me… Fuck, half the damn ship must've heard me."

"Edward," Hook chided, "I'm sure Mr. Smee was merely trying to avoid embarrassing you, weren't you Smee?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Smee agreed quickly. "No offense, Edward?"

"Sorry," Edward said, "I don't think I'd feel this rotten if I did have a hang-over."

Hook wiped his mustache. "Mr. Smee, be so good as to assemble the men at noon. I have an announcement to make."

"Aye sir," Smee nodded.

"And now, Mr. Smee," Hook paused to drain the last of his tea from the cup, "I am ready to dress. If you will be so good as to assist me."

"Of course, sir," Smee hurried to lay out fresh clothes for the Captain.

Hook stood and stretched, pausing to give Edward a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Feeling better?" he queried.

"A little," Edward answered, "Thanks."

Hook waved the remark off and left Edward to finish his breakfast. He joined Smee by his bed where the bosun waited patiently to begin the Captain's morning routine.

"Captain Hook, sir," Edward inquired, "I was thinking I might go out and get some fresh air, see if it doesn't help with this headache. If that's alright you."

"Of course," Hook acceded. "Just mind yourself around the crew."

"Yes sir," Edward answered, slipping into his heavy coat.

Smee waited for the cabin door to close before he commenced to giving the Captain his customary sponge bath. Hook stood stoicly while he did so.

"Cap'n" Smee asked a bit hesitantly, "Might I inquire as to why you're assembling the crew sir? Are we going after Pan?"

"No Smee," Hook sighed, a bit annoyed. "Pan is obviously not back or I would not be freezing to death at this moment."

"Aye sir," Smee agreed.

"Though you may as well know. 'Tis no dreadful secret." Hook glanced upwards at the sound of Edward's muffled footsteps on the quarterdeck and a brief smile graced his lips. "My life here is so empty, so lonely. I have no one to turn to for counsel or solace, nor have I anyone to carry on my legacy. I'm sure I have left children bearing my genes to the ends of the earth, but alas, I doubt I shall ever know any of them. And if I did, 'tis doubtful they would have any desire to associate with me."

"I don't follow," Smee said, rather crest fallen and befuddled. Why, he'd always fancied himself as the Captain's closest friend and confidant, maybe something a bit more, with luck.

"I'm not surprised," Hook grunted. "Careful with the goods, you heavy-handed ape," he scolded Smee. "Don't you see." Hook continued on his original line of thought. "I could waste a lifetime searching for one of my own progeny with no guarantee of their affection. But why should I, when a suitable heir has practically fallen into my lap; a better candidate I could not have hand-picked myself. So rather than leave matters to the whims of chance and biology, I have opted to skip the annoying child-rearing phase and, after a great deal of thought and much soul searching, I have decided to adopt Edward as my son." He waited for Smee's jaw to drop and was not disappointed.

"Oh, well," Smee stammered, "Uh, aye Cap'n." He lowered his voice, as though someone other than the Captain might hear him. "Do you think that's wise sir?"

Hook stared at Smee. He realized he should not be too surprised by the bosun's somewhat slow intellect; still, every now and again he amazed Hook. "Of course I do." he huffed. "Why else would I make such a decision?"

"I don't know sir."

"You have not been witness to the things I have," Hook said quietly. "The lad has professed on multiple occasions his great affection for me and has demonstrated as much repeatedly."

"He what?" Smee blurted.

"Yes," Hook agreed, "That was my initial reaction also. But his actions would seem to bear it out."

"But I thought, " Smee started, "Um, that is, or I always heard, no children love you, do they sir?"

"That is what I have always heard and found to be true," Hook replied. "At least, that is what Pan and his story teller would have me believe. However, Edward has professed that he has indeed loved me, since he was but a child himself, some twenty-four years or so. I can see no other reason for him to have thrown himself into the fray on the glade, or for his actions yesterday for that matter."

"I guess so sir," Smee mused, helping the Captain into his drawers and trousers.

"Smee," Hook queried, "Has anyone, stranger or not, ever before, put themselves at such great personal risk or exposed themselves to such danger strictly on my account? Ever?"

Well, no sir," Smee had to agree.

"No indeed," Hook continued, "This fact was the root of much curiosity as I was not sure how far to trust Edward. I, at first, thought, perhaps he might be a saboteur sent by Pan to ruin me. But as I told you before, he has shown no malice whatsoever towards me, though I tested him thoroughly, and rather harshly"

"If you want to adopt him sir, it's no concern of mine," Smee sighed. He assisted Hook with his harness. "I just hope you're right about him… you know, loving you and all."

"I am quite convinced," Hook checked himself in the full-length mirror to make sure he was as impeccably dressed as ever. "He shows no fear of me personally, though I am positive he dreads my disapproval. And rarely have I been subject to such respect from my own crew." He turned back and stared at Smee for several moments. "I have seen it in his eyes, Mr. Smee… and I have heard it in his screams."

"Yes sir," Smee nodded. "Was that what his nightmare was about then?"

"Something like that," Hook hesitated, questioning whether or not to discuss the details with Smee. "It concerned him witnessing my mutilation and death, among other things. He was quite inconsolable. That is why I took him into my bed. 'Twas the only way to calm him. I thought for sure he might lose his mind otherwise."

"I see now," Smee said, "So you're announcing it to the crew."

"I think not!" Hook snapped.

"No Cap'n," Smee clarified quickly, "I meant the bit about making him your son."

"Oh," Hook snorted, "Yes, precisely. And hopefully word will spread throughout Neverland like a wildfire." Smee stared at his Captain, baffled, and Hook could see he would once again take his bosun through every detail, step by step. "Don't you see, Smee," he explained, rather less than patiently, "This is the undoing of Pan's blasted curse. No children love me, but Edward has for most of his life. Once Pan is forced to acknowledge that fact, I dare say his happy thoughts will fly from him like a frightened deer."

Smee grinned, an almost wicked grin, and clapped a hand to Hook's right shoulder. "Aye sir, I'm with ye now, I am. That boy is our ticket out of here."

"Aye Smee," Hook laughed heartily. "And once we are free and Edward is my second in command no ship will be safe from me!"

Smee's merriment was interrupted. "You're taking him with us?"

"Well of course," Hook regarded his bosun with an incredulous eye. "I'm adopting him as my son. Why the devil would I abandon him here?"

"But I thought…" Smee started.

"I doubt that," Hook interrupted. "Obviously you doubt my paternal feelings towards Edward." What a dunder-headed fool Smee was, indeed, the Captain mused to himself. Why couldn't he fathom the idea that Hook might wish to be a father and pass on his name if not his genetics? "What would you have me do with him, Smee? Send him back from whence he came?"

"Uh, no sir," Smee answered nervously, "Of course not sir. I don't know what I was thinking of, Cap'n." Though as far as Smee knew, his Captain had never had any feelings other than malevolent ones towards Pan, nor paternal ones - whatever they were.

"Nor I, Mr. Smee" Hook snorted at the notion. He stood before one of his many jewelry cases and began examining the contents for a suitable gift for his soon-to-be adopted son; something that would mark him as Hook's own. His hand passed over necklaces and medallions as they did not seem to fit the temperament of the boy. He examined several earrings, but somehow he felt that also was not Edward's style. Finally, his eye settled on a heavy gold ring engraved with fighting stags and set with a deep blue sapphire. Hook himself had worn the ring at one time, though when and why he could no longer recall. Satisfied with his choice, he slipped the ring into his coat pocket.

He turned to Smee. "I trust you have had Edward's clothes cleaned and pressed?"

"Aye sir," Smee nodded. "Well, they're clean and I had to sew up the right sleeve a bit. It was separating at the shoulder. I'll get them ironed up straight away I will."

"See that you do," Hook remarked gruffly. "He'll feel much more confidant in his own garments and I want this ceremony to be a most memorable one for him." He looked at the ring once more in the sunlight, confirming his choice as the right one and also decided he would make an official presentation of the saber Edward had 'borrowed' from the Castle's armory. There again, he felt it fit the boy's personality much better that a cutlass or even one of his own rapiers would.

Having grown quite weary of Smee's company, Hook dismissed his bosun. "I believe I shall seek some fresh air myself, before I too develop a headache. It is a bit stuffy in here. Open a window before you leave to air the place out." He strode from the cabin with spyglass in hand to join Edward on deck leaving Smee, quite dumb-founded by Hook's revelations, to tidy up the Captain's quarters.

It was very late in the evening when Peter Pan finally arrived back in Neverland. The sun was sinking low into the West, bathing the entire island in its warm, fiery glow. He was rather disappointed not to be greeted by Tiger Lily and her braves; he was eager to hear of their battle with the pirates. How many had they slaughtered, he wondered. Not that he really cared, so long as they had left Hook and the postal worker for him to finish off. Not until Peter finally came to land in the encampment did he realize something had gone dreadfully wrong. There were few braves to be seen and those that were there were limping or carried some sort of injury. Tiger Lily and her father, Chief Great Big Little Panther, emerged from their wigwam; the chief looked at Peter very sternly.

"Why Flying Eagle no go in to battle with us?" he demanded. "Why you and Lost Boys not fight with us?"

"I thought you might wait for me," Peter explained. "I told you had to go and get Wendy."

"Where is she then?" Tiger Lily asked angrily.

"She wouldn't come," Peter moaned. "She has grown up. She promised not to, but she did anyway."

"Then you waste trip?" the chief seethed. "While you gone, we attack pirate ship, before dawn. But they know we come. Slaughter many braves. Shoot cannons, kill many more. Now I have only a dozen warriors left, but many widows. Lost Boys nowhere to be found."

"Where are they?" Peter asked, perplexed. He couldn't understand why his 'men' would desert him or the Indians.

"I know not," Tiger Lily answered. "But they vanish about time you leave." She noticed the bag slung over his shoulder. "What is that?"

"Oh this," Peter grinned, "Michael gave me his clock to use, so I can frighten Hook."

"You see Michael?" Tiger Lily was suddenly much more interested in Peter's trip. "You see John also?"

"No," Peter shook his head. "He grew up too. Wendy said he was away at a school." He started for her wigwam. The chief's heavy hand halted his progress.

"Where you think you go?" he demanded of Peter.

"Inside," Peter stammered, "I'm hungry and a little tired too."

"Then go back to own hideout." the chief ordered.

Peter's jaw dropped. For once in his life he did not have a quick barb to fire back. "But… why?"

"You not friend anymore," Great Big Little Panther declared. "You want Hook, you must get by self. Cost me too many friends. I want no more quarrel with pirates. They your enemies, not ours."

"What?!" Peter could feel his cheeks flush with anger. "How dare you! I saved your daughter! Hook has ambushed Indians as many times as he has the Lost Boys. How can you say he's not your enemy? He's everyone's enemy!"

"Not anymore!" the chief insisted. He motioned for Tiger Lily to return to the wigwam, and after giving Peter a most disappointed look, she left. "Now, you go. Find Lost Boys and stay away from us."

"But…"

"Go!" the chief roared. Instantly, three of the remaining warriors came to the chief's side, spears and tomahawks ready.

Peter stamped his feet in a rage. He shot from the encampment like a missile from its silo, heading deep into the woods near the swamp.

Edward scratched at his mutton-chop sideburns thoughtfully and stared down at his cards. Playing Gin with the Captain had its obstacles to be overcome, like when Hook wanted to discard or shuffle, but an agreeable solution had been met for each problem. Hook merely indicated which cards he wanted to toss or rearrange in his hand, and Edward took care of the cards; he also did all the shuffling and most of the dealing, which suited both men just fine. They were playing for amusement and to pass the time, rather than money. Not having participated in the taking of a ship or treasure, Edward lacked any gold or silver to bet - which was a good thing; he had a crappy hand. Two sevens, two kings, two queens, a three and the ace of diamonds, which he had just drawn. If only he'd kept that jack a draw or so ago.

"Damn," he muttered and tossed the ace on the discard pile.

"Tsk, tsk," Hook chided. "Shameful how you throw such valuable items away. Would you mind?" He tapped the card with the tip of his claw.

Edward frowned and looked up from under his eyebrows. "Not again." He filed the card into Hook's hand and tossed the one Hook indicated with his thumb. The Captain tapped on the desktop with his claw.

"I believe that is 'Gin," he purred, smirking.

Edward stared at the cards; a straight, in diamonds no less. "Hmph," Edward snorted, "That brings us just about even again." He was tallying the Captain's points on a scrap of paper when he felt the ship lurch violently. It almost knocked him from his chair.

"What the…?"

"Aha!" Hook exclaimed, "The ice has broken, which can only mean that Pan has returned."

Mr. Smee could be heard hurrying up from below decks. "Cap'n!" he called, rapping loudly on the cabin door.

"Yes, Mr. Smee," Hook acknowledged, raising an eyebrow when Smee burst into the room.

"He's back Cap'n," Smee wiped his brow, winded. "Pan, that is sir."

"I assumed as much," Hook puffed on his cigar while Edward shuffled the cards.

"Shall I have the men ready the boats, sir?" Smee inquired.

"Not tonight Smee," Hook talked around his cigar and watched Edward deal out another hand. "It will pitch black soon and, at the moment I am not concerned with dear Peter."

"Cap'n?" Smee blinked, dumb-founded. His hearing must be failing him, Smee thought. Captain Hook not concerned with Pan?

Hook set his cigar in the ashtray and checked his hand. He peered over the cards at Edward. "Are you sure you're not stacking the deck, son."

"No sir," Edward chuckled, fiddling with his own cards. "If I was, I would've dealt myself a better hand than this."

"Hmm," Hook mused. He glanced over at Smee. "We will go ashore tomorrow Smee. At the moment I am trying to best Edward at Gin, which is a trifle more difficult than you might think."

Smee gave Edward a cool stare. Again, the fellow seemed to be muscling in on his territory. He had always been the Captain's playing partner, mostly because no other member of the crew dared to take on Hook at cards or anything else, for that matter. Of course, Smee considered himself much smarter than Edward, because he made sure he always lost to the Captain.

"Right sir," Smee said, "Will you be wanting anything else tonight sir?"

"No thank you, Smee," Hook answered, somewhat distracted. "You may turn in for the night if you like."

"Yes sir," Smee turned on his heel and sauntered from the room. He was quite convinced that Edward would rue besting the Captain at cards, chess, or whatever. "That'll teach the little bugger," he muttered to himself as he headed back down to his quarters.

Edward waited until Smee's footsteps faded. He looked up from his cards and over to Hook for a moment. "Is he pissed about something?"

"Smee?" Hook querried. "A bit miffed, perhaps. I believe Mr. Smee may be suffering from a twinge of jealousy."

"Jealousy?"

"Quite." Hook tapped a card to be thrown out. "Until recently he had been my sparring partner at cards. I'm quite sure he does not appreciate you taking his place."

Edward scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You want to switch out?"

"Do what?" Hook stared at Edward, incredulous.

"I can go get him, if you like."

"Nonsense," Hook snorted. He poured himself another glass of brandy and enjoyed a healthy sip. "I prefer your company to his, and your skill. Smee puts no effort into the game at all. He doesn't even try to win… makes the whole affair quite boring."

"Ah," Edward drew a card from the deck and tried to mask his smirk. "A 'yes' man."

"Precisely," Hook nodded. "And I enjoy a challenge. It makes the winning more sweet." He took the card Edward handed him and grinned broady, tapping the desktop with his hook.

"What?!" Edward stared in disbelief.

"Gin," Hook smirked, "Full house."

"Damn," Edward swore, albeit good-naturedly. "And you complained about me stacking the deck." He began to total up the Captain's hand and noticed Hook gathering the cards into a stack. "Oh, I see," he teased, "Quit while you're ahead, eh?"

"Exactly," Hook grinned. He took a few more puffs from his cigar before crushing it out. "Don't worry about Smee, he's harmless. He still doesn't quite trust you, that's all."

"Why not?"

"I think he feels that you will desert us - or me, to be more precise," Hook explained.

"Hardly," Edward snorted disdainfully. "Why in the world would I do that anyway?"

Hook sighed and drained his snifter. "I have no doubt of your steadfastness in the heat of battle, but Smee believes that once you are out of ammunition for your firearms, which removes any advantage you may have and have to rely on your sword, you will lose your will to fight. I disagree."

"That's nerve for you," Edward grumped. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black." He propped his feet up on a nearby stool and snorted. "You may as well know I don't trust him either."

"I had noticed. Might I inquire as to why not?"

Edward poured himself a brandy while he considered his answer. "Let's just say that Mr. Smee is not the man I would want following me down a dark alley. I wouldn't trust him in an outhouse with a muzzle on."

Hook shook his head, "No, of all my crew, Smee is the only man I would not believe treacherous."

"I agree," Edward swirled the brandy in his snifter. "That would require a backbone." He stared back into Hook's piercing gaze. "He is, in my opinion, a coward, sir, and I hope that doesn't offend you."

"No," Hook answered, "I appreciate your candor. As you say, Smee is a yes man, but he has always been loyal to me." He looked away from Edward for a moment. "He saved my life after Peter cut off my hand."

"Granted," Edward agreed. "But when someone tells me they have my back, I expect them to be there when the shit hits the fan. And he hasn't been, for you that is."

"You think not?"

"I know so," Eddie leaned forward a bit so his elbows rested on the desk. "When Pan had that girl, Wendy, and her brothers here and you had the two boys at the castle," he paused to make sure Hook was with him.

"Yes?" Hook querried.

"You had Pan down, and you were gonna kill him but that bloody crocodile came along, right?"

"Yes," Hook made a sour face at this remembrance. "But how would you know about that?"

"It's in the story, you know," Edward explained, "Now, as I recall, Smee and a couple of your crew were standing beside a loaded cannon, with torch in hand. And when you ordered them to shoot old 'boots' they…"

"They abandoned their post," Hook finished Edward's sentence.

"They cut and ran and left you in a rather dicey predicament." Edward finished his drink. "And then when you were going to make Wendy and those rotten little buggers walk the plank…"

"Yes," Hook broke in again. "Pan caused me no end of mischief."

"Yes sir," Edward continued. "He didn't have a lot of opposition either, did he now because they all left you, again. And who was leading the way?"

"Smee," Hook sighed, sounding quite dejected. "Old, alone…"

"No!" Edward banged his fist on the desktop. His action was completely unexpected for Hook jumped as though he'd been jabbed with a sharp pin.

"What the…" He began, half-startled, half-furious.

"You are not alone!" Edward insisted fervently. "I'm here, and I won't run off and leave you in the middle of some fight because things get ugly."

Hook sank back into his chair, hemming his anger up. "Well of course you wouldn't," he acknowledged. "You have proven your loyalty beyond reproach. I have no doubts about you whatsoever. Have I not adopted you as my own?"

"Yes sir," Edward smoothed his thumb over the gold and sapphire ring he now wore on the middle finger of his right hand. It had belonged to some long-forgotten member of Hook's family and the Captain had presented it to him after announcing his new status to the crew. "I'm sorry for yelling. It's, well… I take my honor seriously, sir."

"As well you should," Hook agreed.

"It's funny, the things I can remember and the things I can't." Edward mused. "I know I've never been married, but I have no idea whether I have siblings or not. I can remember things my parents did and said, just not whether they're alive or dead or even where they live."

"I know," Hook said softly, "It's quite maddening on occasion."

"I remember my Dad had been in the Marine Corps. I wanted to join myself but," Edward hesitated and tapped his skull, "I was too mentally unstable to kill people and blow things up." Hook raised an eye brow. "Yeah," Edward continued, "Imagine that, eh? I don't suppose you're aware of the Marine Corps motto, are you?"

"Not really," Hook replied, "I have always tried to avoid Marines myself."

Edward chuckled for a moment. "Yes sir, I suppose you have."

"They are not known for their tolerance of pirates," Hook smirked. "But what is it? The motto."

"You must understand, sir, that this value has been drilled into me from an early age. It has actually gotten me in trouble on several occasions, probably due to my interpretation of it."

"Yes?"

"Semper Fidelus."

"Always faithful," Hook translated.

"I have been in no end of trouble because I would not turn my back on my friends… though I've had a few too many abandon me." Edward heaved a sigh. "I have no tolerance for cowardice. To save my own hide at the expense of a friend is a disgrace and a dishonor on my name."

"I know," Hook studied Edward's expressions for several moments. "You exhibit very good form. You're a good lad." He watched the boy duck his head slightly, in his usual shy manner.

"Thank you, sir."

"And while I consider Mr. Smee a loyal member of the crew," Hook hesitated and waited for Edward to re-establish eye contact. "He is most decidedly not my advisor, on any matters."

"Yes sir," Edward smiled. "Thank you, sir." A loud banging on Hook's cabin door interrupted their conversation.

"Cap'n sir!" Robert Mullins yelled from the other side. "Captain Hook sir, come quickly!"

Hook lept to his feet, striding towards the door with Edwards close on his heels. "What in blazes!?" he flung the door open and glared at Mullins.

"Boat, sir," Mullins reported, "Canoe rather, off the port bow."

"Well blow it out of the water, Mr. Mullins." Hook ordered.

"They're flying a flag o' truce sir."

"A what?" Hook sounded incredulous.

"Aye sir," Mullins continued, "They be carrying torches to show themselves, and a white flag."

Hook marched towards the port-side railing and glowered out across the dark ocean surface. Sure enough, the canoe was lit by torches fore and aft, and the passenger in the middle carried a very large section of white sheet tied to a spear for a flag pole. He glanced towards Edward, at his right side as usual. "Well son, what would you advise?"

"Me?" Edward was taken aback slightly. "Well, I guess I'd see what they want and if they try any of their smart-ass tricks, we can always blow a hole in them." He patted the stock of his shotgun, which he'd grabbed on the way out of the cabin. "Oh, and we need watchmen to prevent ambush."

"Smart lad," Hook purred, "Hopkins take the bow, Flythe starboard, and Bainbridge the stern. Keep a sharp lookout." Men scuttled to take their positions and Hook focused his attention on the approaching canoe; Mr. Smee came bustling up from below decks.

"I say, Edward," Hook pointed out, "I do believe that is none other than Tiger Lily, the chief's daughter, bearing the flag."

"Is that who she is?" Edward mused. "Huh, so that's who's horse I stole... er, borrowed, the other day."

"You do like to live dangerously," Hook smirked.

"Hey, I was dog-tired of running. Besides," Edward huffed, "I didn't hurt her. Well, maybe tweaked her pride a bit but that was all."

"What's going on?" Smee asked

"It would seem that the savages want a parlay," Hook explained, not taking his eyes off the approaching craft. "That's far enough," he bellowed as the canoe came within fifty feet of the ship. "State your business or prepare to be fired upon."

Tiger Lily lay the flag across her lap. "My father send us with message for you, Captain Hook."

Hook cast a sideways glance in Smee's direction, noting the old man appeared a bit more disheveled than usual. "You could have stayed in bed, Smee," he muttered. "Edward and I have the matter under control"

Smee shot a hot glare in Edward's direction, careful the Captain did not notice it. "It's no trouble, sir."

Hook directed his focus back to Tiger Lily. "Well, spit it out, my dear." He smoothed his beard, not trusting the redskins one iota.

"Chief Great Big Little Panther wants to make treaty with pirates You come to beach below castle, noon tomorrow. We make peace with Captain Hook and pirates."

"Now why on earth should I believe that?" Hook spat. "Really, Princess, do you take me for a fool.?"

"No trick," Tiger Lily insisted. "Lose many warriors. My father want no more widows in camp." She paused a moment. "My father friends no more with Peter Pan."

"Surely you jest!?" Hook guffawed. He glanced back at Smee. "Have you ever heard of such?"

"No, sir," Smee agreed quickly.

"No, my father blame Peter for death of many braves," the girl continued. "He make bad plans and trick us into fight with you. No more. You come?" Tiger Lily inclined her head, waiting for an answer.

Hook looked over at Edward; he didn't appear to be very impressed with Tiger Lily's tale either. "Well, what do you think on the matter, Edward?"

"Not on your life," Smee commented. He immediately drew a icy stare from Hook.

"Did I address you, Mr. Smee?"

"No sir," Smee stammered, "I was just…"

"Then shut up." Hook cut him off short. He turned back to Edward. "Edward, should we attend or not?"

"Uh-uh," Edward murmured, still mulling things over in his head. "Not unless you pick the place and time. That's way too easy a spot to be ambushed in again, and there ain't no quick, easy way into the castle."

"I know," Hook grinned. "I designed it that way specifically. Deters trespassers and ne'er-do-wells, you know. But where would you pick?"

Edward fiddled with his sideburns for a moment. "This side of the island, definitely. Maybe where the croc bones are. The beach is fairly clear both ways and it backs onto a pretty good-sized clearing. Not many hiding places there."

"Hmm," Hook pondered. "Excellent location. Good job; you're learning quickly." He turned back towards the canoe. "Princess," he shouted, "I will meet with your father at noon tomorrow, along with a company of my men, but you will meet us at Dead Crocodile Beach, or not at all."

"I tell my father," Tiger Lily agreed. "If no good he will send me back."

"Well you had best return in the daylight, my dear, if you must. I won't take kindly to being disturbed again this evening." Hook watched the Indian girl nod stoically, then order her companions to return to camp.

"That's different," Edward mused.

"Very," Hook nodded. "So, Pan is no longer in the good graces of our dear chief, eh? This makes things very interesting indeed."

"Am I going to get to come with you," Edward asked, "When you meet with the chief tomorrow, that is?"

"Of course," Hook answered, his right arm resting across the back of Edward's shoulders. "It will be good experience for you to see how to negotiate an enemy's surrender." He paused a moment, eyeing his stunned bosun. "Mr. Smee, you may return to your quarters."

"Aye sir," Smee answered a bit absently. He turned to go back to his room, pausing to take one more look at his Captain. Hook was still deeply engaged in conversation with Edward, obviously grooming him for his new position. "It ain't right," Smee muttered to himself. "It ain't right and it ain't fair."

Just who was this young upstart to suddenly be taking up all of Hook's attention anyway, he thought. Why, if it wasn't for him, there wouldn't have been a Captain Hook for Edward to come charging in and rescue in the first place. Maybe, he told himself, he should have a talk with Edward and set him straight. "Maybe you want your guts tore out, eh?" he remarked to himself. He figured Hook would take none too kindly to him dressing down his hand-picked successor.

Smee trudged down the narrow stairs and past the galley. Bill Jukes was inside, talking with his mates in hushed tones. Smee cast a wary eye toward them and decided a noggin of rum might help to ease his mind. "What devilment are you up to Jukes?" he asked, fetching himself a drink from the rum cask.

"Who? Me?" Jukes asked innocently. "Why, we was just havin' ourselves a little good-natured conversation, Mr. Smee." Samuels chortled under his breath and Jukes threw him a baleful glare.

"Right," Smee snorted. "Innocent as babes, ye are."

"Well at least we ain't bloody fools," Black Joseph smirked. "We don't aim to be rotting away in this hulk while his nibs has his way with his son."

"Is that what you think the Cap'n is up to?" Smee raised a leery eyebrow.

"I'll stake my life on it," Flythe mumbled. "Or didn't you see the way he couldn't keep his hands…" the man chuckled at his gaff. "I mean his hand off the fellow."

"Aye," Jukes chimed in. "I'll warrant he's tapping that well nightly, mates. We all heard him just last night. Woke up half the crew he did."

"Cap'n Hook said the boy had a nightmare," Smee said, "And I ain't one to argue with the Cap'n. I likes my guts inside me, I do."

"Nightmare my ass!" Jennings snapped. "You go on playing the blind fool if you like. I say he's been buggering what's-his-name since day one. Wouldn't let us have a go though, would he lads?"

"Ye got that right," Samuels agreed. "Bloody son my hairy arse."

"If I were you," Smee said softly, "I'd watch my mouth. Let the Cap'n hear you say that and…"

"And what?" Jukes snorted. "Now he's got his bed warmer he's forgot all about Pan. He ain't so much as cast an eye to the sky since that boy came aboard. So, he buggers Mr. Edward until he's tired of him, and then it's back to Pan. Meanwhile we can all just waste the rest of our lives here until Pan or the savages kill Hook… or until he kills Pan, if you believe in fairy tales. And I don't aims to be here that long, not if I can help it."

"I didn't hear you say that Jukes," Smee hissed. "You know what'll happen if you take arms against the Cap'n."

"You doddering old fool," Jennings laughed. "Do you really think he'll ever take you into his bed… as long as he's got that strapping young man to amuse himself with?"

"Now see here…" Smee began.

"The truth hurts, don't it mate," Flythe put his arm around Smee's shoulders. "You wait on that devil hand and foot - I'll bet you even wipe his arse for him. And does he even take a sideways glance at poor old Smee?"

"Not him," Samuels sighed. "And poor Smee just takes it day after day after day after…"

"Oh shut up!" Smee snapped. "For your information…"

"Don't bother," Jukes said slyly. "We all knows how you feel about the Captain. It's a damn shame he can't appreciate a good man like you, but that's his loss. We just hate to see him make a fool out of ye in front of the crew, that's all Smee."

"I'd rather be a fool and alive than a smart-ass and be ripped to shreds," Smee grinned.

"Keep telling yourself that, matey," Samuels laughed. "If that's what it takes to get ye through the night, just keep telling yourself that."

Smee gulped the last his rum down and belched loudly in Bill Jukes face. "I'm going to bed now, and if ye knew what was good for your sorry hides, so would ye all."

"Whatever, mate," Jukes sighed. "Pleasant dreams, if you can sleep with all o' that bumping and thumping above ye." He laughed heartily as Smee stalked from the galley towards his cabin. "Ye know where to find us if ye change your mind." he called out just before Smee slammed his door shut.

Smee bolted his door and flung himself back onto his bed. Presently he heard footsteps overhead, and as his quarters were almost directly below the Captain's, he knew they were Hook's and Edward's. He could hear the sounds of their voices and their laughter. "Humph," he snorted. The Captain had never been that friendly with him, even though he bent over backwards daily to accommodate Hook's every whim.

In the cabin above, a great deal of scuffling and bumping and banging into furniture erupted, grunts and groans, and then muffled laughter. Of course, there was no way Smee could know what he'd heard was the Captain and Edward in pursuit of a rat that had crept into Hook's cabin. Several minutes later he was quite sure he heard Hook telling Edward good night. The tone of his Captain's voice made him burn with jealousy.

"After all I done for ye," Smee muttered. Why in the hell did the Captain prefer this boot- licking pup to him, he wondered. The Captain could swear there was nothing going on between them all he wanted to, but Smee had never known him to share his bed with anyone, man nor woman, except for one purpose. "That's what it is," he said to himself, "He's besotted with the hairy little bugger." Oh sure, Edward was much younger than Smee was… and better-looking, he supposed… and he had done Hook quite a favor, but that was nothing compared to his years of loyal service, Smee thought. Hell, the Captain never, but never let Smee lay a hand on him without seeking permission first, and he certainly never bothered to touch Smee if he could help it. But there he'd been, arm around the boy's shoulders like he was a long-lost brother; it gnawed at Smee. If anyone deserved the Captain's attention, it was him, not Edward.

Damn Bill Jukes but he was right, Smee thought. They were all right; he was the only one who hadn't been able to see it. And now he did, it galled Smee. "Well, we'll just see about that," Smee muttered angrily. He threw back his covers and headed back towards the galley where he found Jukes was still holding court. "Don't ye dare or I'll break your jaw, Bill," he snapped. He looked around the room and cast his eyes towards the ceiling for a moment... "All right mates, I'm in."

Peter poked at the embers glowing in the small fire he'd made near the back of his secret cave hide-away. A tiny wisp of smoke curled from the flames up towards a small hole in the ceiling. The chimney was concealed on the outside by a pile of rocks, which also kept any rain from coming inside and dousing the coals. Fortunately, it was not raining this evening, but it was turning quite chilly which was usual for Neverland. The small fire created a friendly glow inside the cave, but it did nothing to warm Peter's mood. He was still furious with the chief for kicking him out of camp. He was also quite miffed at the Lost Boys for hiding from him. Surely they realized he was back by now. He stared down at Tinkerbell, who was warming herself by the fire.

"At least I still have you, Tink," he sighed sadly. She jingled something at him.

"I don't know where the others are." Again, Tinkerbell chimed questioningly. "Maybe," Peter replied. "They might still be afraid of the chief… or the pirates. Maybe you could ask the faeries to find them for me?" Tinkerbell nodded and clapped her tiny hands.

"Thanks Tink," Peter grinned. He threw a few more sticks on the fire. "I'll go talk to the mermaids and see if they have any news of the boys. I'll meet you back here before the moon is overhead." Tinkerbell shot out of the cave in a streak of light with Peter following soon after. He headed towards the rocky lagoon just north of where Hook's ship lay at anchor.

The mermaids came oozing through the black water at the sound of Pan's pipes, clicking and squeaking at him in their strange tongue.

"Well of course I'm back," Peter snorted, squatting close to the water's edge. "I'm here, aren't I?" One of the mermaids flicked water at him for being so sassy.

"Have you seen the Lost Boys?" he asked. The mermaids all shook their heads.

"They haven't been taken prisoner by Hook, have they?" Again they indicated no, but clicked and purred an answer he had not been expecting.

"He did what!?" Peter lost his balance and sat down hard on a rather sharp stone. "Ow!" He sprang to his feet, rubbing his backside. "This is no time for games," he reprimanded.

The mermaids scowled at him and repeated their message, more firmly.

"But he can't have a son!" Peter insisted. "It's not right! Why would he do that?" His eyes opened wide in disbelief at the mermaids' answer. "No!" he shouted. "No one loves Hook and Hook only knows how to hate. You lie!" Again, Peter received a face full of sea water from an indignant mermaid.

"Maybe I will go see for myself." He stuck his tongue out at the strange sea creatures, careful to leap out of splash range before they could retaliate. The mermaids vanished beneath the murky surface of the ocean; Peter snorted to himself, then flew off in the direction of the Jolly Roger. He was careful to come in from the starboard side, flying close to the water so he could not be seen.

Peter flew up to the bank of windows across the stern of the ship. He peeked in cautiously as there was still candlelight glowing from the cabin. From there, he could see Captain Hook at his desk, immersed in a rather thick book. Smoke curled from the cigar between his teeth and Peter watched Hook occasionally blow smoke rings to amuse himself. The Captain was without his namesake; it and his harness lay on the desk in front of him. Peter eyed the stump where Hook's right hand should have been; it was plainly visible as Hook appeared to be wearing only his trousers, and a smirk of satisfaction graced Peter's lips.

He looked around the room for signs of the postal man. At first Peter saw no signs of him and was about ready to go back and set those stupid mermaids straight. Then he noticed that Hook's fainting couch had been moved from its rightful place and now rested at the foot of the Captain's bed. Peter moved further along the windows for a better view, not that what he saw pleased him in the least. Curled up on the couch with his back against the bed's footboard was the one the mermaids had called Edward, sleeping soundly. He looked so comfortable and satisfied in his sleep it positively irked Peter.

Suddenly the room went dark and Peter ducked out of sight. He peered back around the corner of the window frame and realized that Hook had snuffed the candle out, leaving the room illuminated by only moonlight, and was heading for bed himself. Peter felt his insides tie themselves in knots as he watched the Captain's silhouette pause by the couch and bend over to lay his hand lightly on top of Edward's head. He could hear Hook mumble something to the fellow, though he could not make out the exact words. Hook's tone frightened him though. It was not the icy, menacing voice that Peter knew so well, but an almost gentle… dare he even think it - fatherly tone.

Peter watched as Hook shed himself of the last of his garments and eased himself down into bed. His eyes opened wide at the sight of the pirate, naked as the day he was born; his muscles looked all bumpy and he had tattoos on both arms. When Peter noticed Hook's private parts he was horrified; they were very hairy and looked nothing at all like his or any of the Lost Boys… and they were much bigger. All that hair must be awfully itchy, Peter decided, wrinkling his nose as the Captain had a good long scratch.

"Eeew!" Peter clapped his hand over his mouth, afraid Hook may have heard him, but the Captain turned onto his left side and appeared to settle in for the night. How disgusting, Peter thought, to sleep with no clothes on. He wondered if that was how all grown-ups slept, or maybe it was only pirates as they were such rogues to begin with. Peter was quite sure he would vomit any moment know; he felt as though he'd been poisoned.

He noticed the moon had started to ride high over the mountain tops and remembered his promise to meet Tinkerbell. Maybe she had found the Lost Boys; maybe she had some sort of good news. Peter shuddered once more at the thought of a naked Captain Hook, then took off towards the island like a bullet, speeding towards his cave.

Tinkerbell dragged a few tiny twigs towards what was left of Peter's fire and tossed them on the embers to keep the fire from going out completely. She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. Where was that boy, she wondered. The moon was definitely up and shining its silvery light on Neverland from high over the mountain tops. And he had said he would be back before high moon. But then, she reminded herself, Peter was not terribly good at remembering things from one moment to the next. Why, he had completely forgotten about Wendy for over three years; she certainly hoped he didn't expect her to wait that long on him.

Peter flew into the cave moments later. "Hi Tink!" he greeted," Did you find them?"

"Well of course I did, you silly ass," Tinkerbell jingled.

"Great! Where are they?" Peter added some larger sticks to his fire and warmed his hands over the flames.

"Guess," Tinkerbell teased.

"Guess?" Peter exclaimed. "I don't feel like playing games right now, Tink. Just tell me."

"Spoil-sport," she jingled, sticking her tongue out.

"If you'd seen what I just saw, you wouldn't want to play games either," Peter said glumly.

Tinkerbell's curiosity was piqued. She wondered just what the mermaids had said to Peter. "Tell me!" she insisted.

"I don't know if I can," Peter made an awful expression. "It was so disgusting."

"Do tell!" the pixie jangled excitedly and flitted all around Peter's head.

"All right," he sighed, "But remember, you asked me to."

"Yes, yes," she tinkled. "What?"

"I saw…" Peter shuddered, "I saw Captain Hook… naked."

"You what?" Tinkerbell's eyes shot open wide.

"Yes," Peter continued. "I went to see the mermaids, like I said I was, and I thought they had told me a lie." He paused to poke another handful of sticks on the fire. "They told me Hook had... Oh what was that word… I think they said Hook had dotted Edward as his son."

"Edward?" Tink jingled.

"Yes, the mermaids said the postman's name is Edward and that Hook dotted him."

"Dotted?" Tinkerbell scratched her head for a moment. Peter was not very good remembering big words sometimes. "Oh!" she jingled, "You mean adopted, not dotted." Her face grew quite serious. Tinkerbell was much wiser by far about the ways of the world outside of Neverland than Peter was. She had heard of adoption. Wendy's Aunt Millicent had adopted one of the Lost Boys. And she knew that some of the faeries helped lost children find parents to adopt them. Furthermore, she knew that the reason grown-ups adopted children was because they loved them, very much. So that would mean… she felt herself shudder… was it really possible for the pirate captain to feel love? And if he did, what would that mean for Peter?

"Peter," she jingled cautiously, "If Captain Hook adopted Edward, do you know what that means?"

"Of course I do," Peter huffed, staring into the flames. "He's pretending that the postman is his son. So what?"

Oh dear, she thought, he had no idea what was really happening. She started to tell him but decided Peter would be better off not knowing. Anyway, Tinkerbell was quite sure Hook would take great pleasure in telling Peter all the details himself and so be it. She had no intentions of being the one to ruin Peter's happy thoughts. Her mind turned back to the Captain. "You say you saw Captain Hook naked?"

"Yes," Peter again wrinkled his nose and frowned.

"Tell me what he looked like," Tink jingled most insistently.

"He has a tattoo on each arm, here," Peter touched the top of his arm. "And his muscles are all lumpy, they sticky out funny. And he's so hairy, especially…" he hesitated, "But that is not the sort of thing to tell a lady such as yourself, Tink."

Tinkerbell stamped her tiny foot. "I am no lady," she insisted. "Tell me."

"No, it is not proper for me to…"

"Oh shut up!" she jangled exasperated. "If you will not tell me I will go and see for myself."

"Tink!" Peter could not breathe for a moment he was so shocked.

"I will if I chose to!"

"Oh all right," Peter relented. "If you must know."

"I must, I must," Tink jingled, rubbing her hands together.

"He has…" Peter hesitated, a bit embarrassed. "Hook has things between his legs… sort of like mine, only bigger and…"

"How much bigger?" Tinkerbell interrupted.

"Well it's…" Peter held his hands up trying to give her some idea. "Oh I don't know, just bigger, ok? And he's so hairy there and it must itch because he scratched himself for quite a long time."

"What happened then?" She queried coyly.

"He got into bed," Peter answered, rather matter-of-factly. He suddenly remembered why he had gone to the mermaids in the first place. "Hey!" he almost shouted. "Where are the Lost Boys? You said you found them."

"That's right," she jingled. "They went back to the tree house."

"The tree?" Peter asked, perplexed. "But why did they go there? Captain Hook knows where it is, and how to get in."

"I didn't ask them why," Tink jingled. "I only went looking for them, and that's where they are."

"Well go and get them," Peter demanded.

"Go get them yourself," she huffed, picking a warm spot near the fire to make herself comfortable. "I'm tired and cold. Besides, they smell."

Peter glared into the dancing flames for a while before answering. "I'll get them in the morning. I'm too tired to kill anyone tonight." He plumped up the bed of leaves he had made for himself earlier and curled up with his back to the fire.

Edward's head felt strange; not really a headache, just a sick, woozy feeling like he'd had too much to drink maybe - and his throat hurt when he tried to swallow. Not on the inside though, like when he'd had strep throat several years ago - it hurt on the outside. He tried to open his eyes and wake up but couldn't seem to at first. It felt weird - rather like being held under water and struggling to surface without being able to. He swallowed again; the pain at his throat was intense. That was it, he told himself; the pain would wake him up. He forced himself to swallow again. That was difficult enough as his mouth felt as parched as old, dry leaves. Again he swallowed and the pain seemed to screech through his neck clear to his brain. His eyes flickered, and he struggled to rise from the mattress, his hands tearing at thin air as he broke the surface of his sleep.

The bright sunlight streaming in through the cabin windows stung his eyes and he jammed them shut again, and the pounding in his head forced him back down onto the bed. "What the hell?" he croaked hoarsely.

"Hey now," a familiar voice said. "You're awake!"

Edward recognized the Welsh accent of Bloody Mike. He blinked several times, trying to focus on the young pirate. "What happened?" his own voice was barely audible and it scared him.

"Don't ye try to talk now," Mike said, pushing Edward back down onto the bed as he tried to sit up again. "And don't you go tryin' to get up either. Ye ain't been well."

Slowly Edward's mind began to clear and he reached to his aching throat; his fingers touched bandages and his hand froze. A glimpse of a memory flashed through his mind; an arm, a flash of silver, a pistol firing, Smee screaming. Edward eased himself up higher on the pillows and leaned back against the headboard, staring at Mike. Another flash - he remembered Hook standing over him, brandishing the Ruger.

"Could I have some water," Edward whispered. His tongue felt like it was going to adhere permanently to the roof of his mouth. Edward now realized his left hand was aching also, though it was nothing compared to his neck. He looked down at it and found the palm and wrist bandaged.

Mike went to the dining table and returned with a glass of water. "Drink it slowly," he instructed, "and not too much at a time."

They were not difficult instructions to follow; Edward's throat stung too bad when he swallowed, but at least his tongue was re-hydrated. "How's Smee?" he asked hoarsely.

"What?" Mike asked blankly; did the fellow remember nothing?

"I shot him, didn't I?" Edward stared at the young man waiting on an answer.

"Let me go and get the Captain," Mike started to rise from his chair. "He'll be glad to know you're awake.

"What about Smee?" Edward growled; he was immediately sorry as the muscles in his neck seemed to knot up and spasm.

"I told ye not to talk," Mike admonished. He bit his bottom lip trying to make up his mind what to say. He sighed heavily. "Smee is dead." He saw Edward go paler than he already was.

"Oh God," Edward breathed. "I killed him?"

Mike grabbed Edward by both shoulders. "Look, you stay put and I'll go and fetch the Captain for ye." He started for the door. "Don't move," he ordered again as he left.

Edward barely heard him. Everything was flooding back now. He had gone with Hook to meet the Indians on the beach and arrange the truce as the chief had desired. That had gone quite well, by his estimations. The Indians agreed not to interfere with Hook's pursuit of Pan nor would they attack any of the pirates sent ashore to hunt or gather supplies. They would supply anything necessary to facilitate the pirates' departure and turn over all of Hook's treasure, which Pan had stolen, should they find any. So long as they kept their end of the bargain, Hook agreed not to attack the camp or kill any more of the redskins.

Hook had been expecting Pan to show up and cause trouble, but he had not. Edward wasn't sure whether the Captain had been disappointed about that or not. In any case, the whole meeting went rather quickly and was, in fact, over within the matter of about ten minutes. They had watched the Indians leave and started to return to the boats and go back to the ship. That was when Edward had noticed some of the landing party had drawn their weapons.

He remembered Hook cursing at them and calling them mutinous dogs, and he'd un-shouldered his shotgun. Then Edward had seen the arm, Smee's arm come over his head, knife in hand, and felt the sharp burning at his throat. He could remember dropping the shotgun and reaching for his pistol with his right hand while trying to force the knife away with his left, and rather than trying to escape Smee's grasp, he had angled the holster behind him and pulled the trigger. Smee dropped his knife and screamed… and everything got very fuzzy after that.

Captain Hook burst into the room, wrenching Edward from his fog. He cringed at the headboard, waiting to be slaughtered; he had killed Smee - surely Hook must hate his guts now. "I'm sorry," he choked on the words. "I didn't mean to kill him, I'm sorry…"

"Thank God you're alive," Hook gushed. He sank onto the bed beside Edward and pulled the boy from his cringe, hugging him tightly. "Thank God. I thought for sure you would never wake again."

Edward buried his face against the Captain's shoulder, his right hand clung to the left lapel of Hook's plush crimson coat. "I'm sorry, don't make me leave," he begged. He felt Hook's hand clutching the back of his head.

"Never," Hook whispered shakily. "Calm down now, we can't have you tearing your stitches out." He felt Edward gradually relax against him.

"You're not angry?" Edward wheezed.

"Absolutely not," Hook soothed. "Why would I be angry with you?"

"But I killed him," Edward started. "I shot Smee and…"

"You did not kill Mr. Smee," Hook insisted. "I did."

Edward wiped his face on the back of his right hand and stared at Hook. "You? But I shot him."

"And 'tis a good thing you did, or he would have succeeded in slitting your throat completely." Hook tucked Edward's head back against his chest and under his chin, though he was not sure whether he did it more to calm the boy or himself. He closed his eyes at the memory of blood oozing down Edward's neck and onto his shirt and kissed the boy on top of his head.

"What happened?" Edward croaked. He felt Hook swallow hard and heave a huge sigh.

"It would seem that certain members of the crew planned a mutiny. Regrettably, Smee was one of them." Hook paused to steady his voice. "Cutting your throat was supposed to provide the distraction that would allow them to kill me and take the ship. And Smee was only to eager, it would seem, to slit your throat."

"But… why?"

"I believe he was quite mad with jealousy," Hook continued. "There was Jukes and Black Joseph, Jennings, Flythe and Abdullah, and a few others also. Had you not wounded Mr. Smee so quickly they might have succeeded." Again, Hook hesitated to force the lump from his throat. "I was trying to staunch the bleeding when they came at me. I took your pistol… 'Tis truly a marvelous piece of weaponry. I took them down with nine shots. Then I finished off Smee."

Edward felt Hook's arms tighten around him again and he heard the man inhale sharply. How dreadful the Captain must feel, he thought, having to kill his friend… though with friends like that…. "I'm sorry, about Smee," he said quietly.

"Don't be," Hook said between clenched teeth. "He tried to kill my son; he got what he deserved." Hook eased his grip on Edward so the boy could make himself more comfortable if he wanted to; he was not disappointed in the least when Edward made no attempt to leave his embrace and indeed burrowed closer to the man.

Edward leaned against the Captain, glad for the extra warmth; if he could have crawled into Hook's coat with him, he would have, for though he was sure it was quite warm outside Edward felt chilled to his core. It would make sense, he thought, if he had lost a lot of blood. That would also explain why all his bones felt as rubbery as cooked noodles. "How bad…" he hesitated, not sure if he wanted to know.

"From under your left ear to the jugular. Had you not fought Smee, you would be dead." Hook felt the boy shudder. "You took the brunt of it in your palm," he explained. "He cut clean to the bones and almost severed the veins in your wrist, but that was what kept him from slicing too deeply across you throat."

"Can I see?"

Hook looked hard at Edward. "I don't think you want to just yet. Why not wait until your dressings are changed."

Edward nodded his head against Hook. He felt sick and wanted to go out and heave his guts up into the sea, though he doubted it would make him feel any better nor did he think he could make the short walk outside. "Who…" The stabbing pain in his throat cut his voice off short. He felt the bandages, then made a sewing motion with his fingers.

Hook frowned for a moment. "Ah, who stitched you up?" Edward nodded and leaned back against the headboard once more.

"It was a joint effort," Hook explained. "It seems the redskins heard the gunshots and returned to see what was going on. The old woman that was at the meeting, Tiger Lily's grandmother, is a medicine man… er, woman. She had a concoction made of yarrow and some other plant I am not familiar with. The leaves are chewed and mixed with the yarrow and made into a paste which she put on your wounds." He felt Edward shiver again. "Yes it does sound rather disgusting, doesn't it? But it worked well enough where we could move you back to the ship. The stitches are courtesy of Mr. Pham."

"Pham?" Edward tried to clear his throat and realized quickly it was a mistake. "The Chinese fellow?" he whispered.

"Aye," Hook answered. "He pulls double duty as ship's surgeon when necessary. He's really quite good." He studied Edward's face for a moment. He was still looked very weak and rather pale, though it was to be expected. "I think you should get some rest now."

"But I just woke up," Edward protested.

Hook walked over to his desk and returned with the shirts Edward had been wearing. He handed them to Edward and watched the boy hold them up and examine each one.

Edward stared at his t-shirt. It was stained dark red at least half-way down the front. "Damn," he murmured, looking up at Hook.

"You left that much again on the sand." Hook took the shirts back. "If you don't want to go to sleep, then don't. But you need to lay back and rest." He felt Edward reach out and catch his coat pocket as he turned to dispose of the soiled shirts.

"Don't leave," Edward croaked. "Stay with me, please?"

"Of course," Hook gave the boy's hand a reassuring squeeze. Edward was frightened and that was only natural. Having been through a similar experience himself, Hook knew how unnerving it could be.

"Thanks." Edward heaved a sigh of relief and resigned himself to obey the Captain's wishes and rest.

Hook tossed his coat onto the foot of the bed and sat lounging in his chair which had been moved nearer to his bed. "Mike will be bringing something for you to eat," he said. "The redskins sent a deer out last evening as a token of good will and Mike said he was going to have Cook fix you some venison broth."

"O.k.," Edward nodded slightly; it made his neck hurt to move very much. "He seems like a nice guy… Mike, that is."

"Yes," Hook replied thoughtfully. "He has taken over as bosun so if you need anything…" his voice trailed off. It still hadn't quite sunk in. He knew Smee was dead; he had gutted the man himself. Shooting Smee would have been entirely too quick a death, considering his offense. Yet somehow Hook kept expecting him to come bustling in with his tea or asking some ridiculous question.

"Any sign of Pan?" Edward asked, very hoarse.

"Not a glimpse," Hook replied. "Can't say I'm one bit sorry either. I have been in no mood for any of his nonsense." It was rather odd, he thought, that Peter had kept himself so conspicuously absent of late. Surely he was planning some annoying plot to make a nuisance of himself. He certainly hoped the redskins would relay the events to Pan correctly. It would be interesting to see if the old woman was right.

He had been crouching beside Edward trying to stem the flow of blood with his handkerchief. Tiger Lily's grandmother had been about to apply the greenish-yellowy slimy yarrow paste to Edward's neck when she had paused and looked up at the Captain. "You love this man?" she had asked.

"He's my son," Hook had snapped, "What do you think!"

"Not of your blood," Grandmother Shy Doe shook her head.

"I adopted him," Hook had roared. "He's still my son. Do something!"

"Answer question," the old lady insisted. "You love him?"

Hook had looked down at the blood-soaked handkerchief he was holding against Edward's carotid artery, as it was bleeding much worse than anywhere else. Blood was oozing up between his fingers, and the boy's eyelids fluttered as he was losing consciousness. "Yes, damn it. I love him. Now help him, please."

It had been nothing short of miraculous the way the indian medicine had first slowed, then completely stopped the hemorrhaging. The elderly woman continued to slap the ghastly looking paste all along the gash in Edward's neck, then in the heel of his slashed left palm.

"He love you, always," she had said. It was more of a statement than a question. "Now Peter have no power over you. You free to go when you wish. Take this one with you."

"I intend to," Hook had replied. "But what do you mean, I can leave now? I am trapped until Pan is dead by my hand."

"Peter not know everything about Neverland," Grandmother Shy Doe had explained as she gathered her herbs back into their pouch. "No child loves wicked pirate, but he does," she pointed at Edward. "You love. Peter no understand, cannot make you stay anymore." She handed Hook a small bag of dark powder. "Make tea with this. Make him drink. Will make him better. If he live, I come tomorrow evening, bring root to draw poison." She had turned to leave, then paused. "If he die, shoot cannon." Again she turned to leave and again she hesitated. "If he die, I grieve with you."

Hook shuddered at the memory and looked back at Edward; the boy had turned on his right side and lay sleepily watching the Captain. "Would you like me to read to you? Or I could play something?" he gestured towards the harpsichord.

"Music, please," Edward whispered. His throat felt very tired and sore and he was scared; scared of his wounds, scared of how weak he felt, scared that if he went back to sleep, he might not wake back up.

"All right," Hook went to his desk and retrieved the bag of powder. "Just one moment," he remarked as he went to the door. He called to Mullins and had him take the powder to Mike with the old woman's instructions, then returned to the harpsichord with some sheets of music from a shelf. He began to play softly.

"Tchaikovsky," Edward murmured. "Symphony number three."

"Correct," Hook smiled to himself. "Now rest." He continued playing until he distinctly heard Edward's steady snores, then returned to his chair by the bed, checking the sundial by the window before he sat; almost one. It would probably be half an hour or so before Mike returned with the Indian woman's concoction but until then Edward could sleep.

Hook reached over and smoothed Edward's hair; he let the backs of his fingers brush against his sleeping son's face, then ran his thumb lightly along the boy's jaw. Edward was much weaker than he realized. Hook had noticed it from the moment he embraced the boy; just sitting up had made him shake. He wished he'd had more time to deal with Smee. He was sure he had killed him too quickly, but Edward had been bleeding to death and that had required Hook's full and immediate attention.

He was not sorry he had withheld certain information from Edward. It was bad enough the boy had been blaming himself for Smee's demise - there was no need to heap humiliation on him as well. If he didn't remember some of the details about his ordeal, that was all to the better. Hook could remember everything quite clearly, even though he had rather not.

Edward had floated in and out of consciousness on the way back to the ship. It would have been better, Hook thought, if he had remained unconscious for the duration. His wounds had to be sterilized and Mr. Pham had used an entire bottle of whiskey for the task - which had, unfortunately, revived Edward. Hook practically had to lay on Edward to keep him still while Pham had begun to sew up the gaping neck wound - it had taken seventeen stitches and Edward had screamed until he mercifully passed out again. If he never recalled any of that, Hook decided it would be a blessing in disguise.

Hook's thoughts turned to Pan. It was so tempting to believe he could just up anchor and sail away; it was what he had always wanted. The question yet to be answered was whether Peter could, or would, still pursue him and hound him to the end of his days. While he had yearned so long for the brat's death, the idea of Peter coming to the cove and not finding the Jolly Roger… well, now, Hook thought, that would indeed be rich.

Pan was so vain, Hook knew nothing would piss him off more than to be totally ignored. It was, however, much easier said than done. The little bastard had a way of getting on the Captain's last nerve. Though maybe… Edward groaned in his sleep and it snapped Hook from his ruminations.

"It's all right son," he soothed quietly. "I'm right here." Hook lay his hand on Edward's left arm and watched him closely for a moment to make certain he was not suffering with another nightmare, even if it was the middle of the afternoon. He decided the real problem was that Edward appeared to be shivering so he pulled more covers over the boy's bare shoulders; he remembered how cold he had been after losing his right hand and so much blood himself. He felt Edward's forehead to make certain he had no fever, which he did not. Hopefully there would be no infection in any of the wounds to complicate matters.

Finally Hook heard a knock at his door.

"It's me sir," Mike said. "May I enter?"

"Come in," Hook met him halfway across the cabin. He looked at the tray Mike carried.

"Set it on the table," he instructed. "Have you finished clearing out Smee's cabin?"

Mike set the bowl of broth on the dining table. "Aye sir."

"Very well," Hook said. "Move your things in as soon as possible."

"Sir?" Mike questioned cautiously.

"That is the bosun's cabin and you are my bosun now. And Mike," Hook dropped his voice low. "Be sure that there is nothing of Mr. Smee's left aboard this ship. Not so much as a button from his coat, do you understand?"

"Aye sir," Mike answered solemnly. He handed the mug containing the indian medicine to Hook. "It smells awful, sir," he said, frowning. "I hope it don't taste that bad or he'll heave his stitches loose."

"Let's hope not," Hook took a whiff of the liquid; it smelled rather like soured milk.

Mike glanced towards the Captain's bed. "How is he, sir?"

"Very weak," Hook replied. "Though that is to be expected. At least he's alive."

"Aye sir," Mike nodded. "Will that be all sir?"

"No," Hook set the mug on his nightstand. "I may need your assistance." He shook Edward's shoulder gently to wake him.

Edward blinked, bleary-eyed. "Sorry about that," he croaked. "Didn't mean to nod off on you like that." Hook offered his hand to help Edward sit; he accepted the help gladly, and catching the Captain by his forearm, he gingerly sat up on the side of the bed. "If you hear a loud pop it's my head," he joked. A chill ran down his spine and he could feel his skin breaking out in goose-bumps; he'd been left wearing only his long johns evidently. He now wished he'd kept an extra t-shirt in his pack as well as socks.

Hook sat down in front of Edward and handed him the mug. "You need to drink this - all of it." He paused when Edward took a sniff and gagged. "I know, it's perfectly dreadful, but Tiger Lily's grandmother insisted that you drink it, and as she was the one that stopped you from bleeding…." his voice trailed off as he watched the boy lift the mug to his lips.

Edward swallowed a mouthful of the foul greenish-brown liquid on the theory that if he drank it quickly it wouldn't taste so bad; he was sorely disappointed. "Oh God," he choked, sputtering and gagging. "What is this? Sewer water?" He handed the mug back to Hook.

"You need to drink all of it, lad," Hook insisted gently.

"Water first," Edward coughed. "Please. Then I'll finish it." Hook nodded and handed him the water glass; he rinsed the bitter taste from his mouth and took the mug again. Just looking at the stuff made his stomach roll and he could taste bile at the back of his throat. "Oh well," he muttered. He chugged the last of the noxious drink in two gulps and shoved the empty mug back to Hook, shuddering and trying not to retch the mess back up again. All the muscles in his neck seemed to seize up and Edward clenched his jaw to keep from screaming; he was quite sure that would only make things hurt worse... if that was possible.

Hook sat beside Edward on the bed and rubbed the back of his neck; he looked over to Mike and motioned for him to leave.

"I'll come back for the tray later, sir," Mike said, quietly excusing himself from the room.

Hook put his arm around Edward's shoulders and let the boy lean against him until he had recovered somewhat from the nausea. He could feel Edward shivering. "Are you cold, son?"

"Freezing," Edward said, very hoarse. "I've never been so cold in my life."

"Aye," Hook consoled. "I remember. I know what you're going through, lad." He started across the room. "I think I have just the thing." Hook retrieved a length of heavy wool tartan cloth, Hunting Stewart, and draped it around Edward's shoulders for a shawl. "How's that?"

Edward wrapped the material around himself and burrowed against the Captain who was again seated beside him. "Much better," he murmured. His head was pounding again and he buried his face against Hook's chest, his eyes jammed shut while he waited for the throbbing in his skull to ease. He felt for the Captain's hand and pulled it to his aching head. Hook seemed to understand for he held his hand firmly against Edward's head and Edward let himself collapse completely against the man.

"If you can manage it," Hook said presently, "Mike left the venison broth. It might make you feel a bit stronger if you can eat something." He felt Edward nod. "Can you walk as far as the table or shall you take it here?"

"Table, if I can," Edward grunted, trying to stand. He had to wait on Hook to help him up; his legs still felt like cooked spaghetti and it seemed like everything was twice as far as he remembered it being.

The broth was warm and eased the aching in Edward's throat, not to mention it helped to rid his mouth of the dreadful aftertaste from the medicine. "What day is it?" he asked, suddenly confused.

"Day?" Hook replied. He had no more idea what day of the week it was than he did where Pan was hiding. No one in Neverland kept up with days of the week; it wasn't necessary. "Oh," he said, "I see now. You were out for almost twenty-four hours."

"Oh," Edward was pleased his voice sounded a bit more like it should. Probably the warm broth, as hot tea always seemed to ease his throat also. He caught a glimpse of his chest and wished for another bath. It was streaked with blood stains and much of his chest hair was matted together with dried blood. He picked at a few of the clumps and flicked them away before he realized Hook was watching him.

"Sorry, but it itches," Edward remarked. "And it kind of smells bad too."

"I'll have Mike bring you some hot water to wash off with later." Hook looked at Edward's left hand, propped palm up on the table; he hadn't seen the boy try and use it so far. "How's the hand?" he inquired.

"Stiff," Edward tried to flex his fingers; they moved a little. His thumb, however, remained motionless. He looked up at the Captain, obviously worried. "It won't move."

Hook tried to mask his concern, though he figured he did a poor job of it. He took Edward's hand in his and carefully cut the bandage at his wrist with the tip of his hook. He could feel the boy shaking ever so slightly. "Don't be afraid," he soothed.

Hook propped Edward's wrist across his right forearm just behind his claw and gently unwrapped the bandaging with his hand. He lifted the gauze pad from Edward's palm and let a small sigh of relief escape; while his palm was badly bruised and seemed a bit swollen, the wound appeared free of infection.

"God Almighty," Edward choked on his words. A line of thick black stitches ran from mid-way between his thumb and forefinger across the heel of his palm and half his wrist. He counted ten in all. His hand looked like he'd shoved it under a cranked lawn mower. "He's cut nerves," Edward groaned, shaking his head miserably. "It ain't gonna work right again."

"You don't know that for sure," the Captain consoled. "Once the swelling goes down, it may improve. I'm going to wrap it back up for now," he explained, "Otherwise those stitches will catch on your blankets and everything else."

Edward winced as Hook gently placed the gauze back in his palm. "Is that what my throat looks like?"

Hook looked into the boy's frightened eyes and forced a smile. "Well," he began cautiously, "Yes, I hope so. There was no sign of infection in this wound and with luck there won't be any in your neck."

"That's not what I meant," Edward muttered glumly. He helped Hook tie off the bandage at his wrist and pushed the soup bowl away; his appetite had left him, but he'd eaten over half of it anyway.

"You 're going to be left with a nasty scar," Hook conceded, "But at least you're alive."

"I'm not so sure about that," Edward said sourly, then he winked at Hook. "I don't feel so alive," he grinned.

A great weight seemed to lift from the Captain's shoulders at the boy's jest; he had not lost his sense of humor and if he felt well enough to make jokes, maybe he would recover after all. He looked dreadfully tired to Hook though, and his head seemed to be wobbling slightly, probably from weakness. Bringing him to the table had probably not been the wisest decision. "If you're finished eating you should be back in bed," Hook said gently. He went to help Edward from his chair.

"Hang on," Edward grabbed at Hook's forearm, feeling like the floor had just dropped out from beneath him. "I need to go outside first."

"I don't think so," the Captain shook his head. "You're in no condition…"

"Hey, you're the one that made me drink that nasty crap," Edward chuckled slightly. "I need to go out and uh, how shall I put it… empty my bladder?"

"Oh," Hook smirked. "You have a point. Just go slowly and carefully and hang on to me." He steered Edward towards the cabin door, smiling to himself. The boy was right; there were certain things that would not be put off, no matter how ill one was.

Peter heard the Lost Boys coming long before they burst into his cave. He stood waiting for them, arms folded across his chest and looking as stern as he could muster.

"Peter! Peter, come quick!" They practically tumbled over each other in their haste to be the first to relay what they had found.

"At-ten-tion!" Peter barked. All seven boys fell into a line and saluted.

"I'm very disappointed in you," Peter lectured. "I come back and find you all hiding from me, and what's worse you hide where the pirates can find you."

"We weren't hiding from you," Mohawk explained. "We were afraid of the chief. You should've seen him."

"I did," Peter snapped. "He's angry with us, all of us. Even me. And why didn't you go with them to attack Hook's ship?"

" 'Cause he was mad at us even before then," Carrots chimed in.

"Why?" Peter demanded. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," the boys all insisted.

"Nothing?" Peter echoed. "I don't believe it."

"Honest," Mohawk said firmly. "They was all actin' real strange the night before they attacked the ship and we got scared." He looked around the cave. "Where's Wendy?"

"She didn't come," Peter spat. "She grew up."

"Ugh," Skeeter held his nose, disgusted at the notion.

"But Peter," Chuckles interrupted, "You just got to come and see."

"See what?" Peter asked.

"On the beach," Mohawk explained. "Dead pirates everywhere and you'll never guess who one of them is."

Now Peter could not refuse a guessing game; it was one of his weaknesses, if he were to admit to having any. "The postman?" he asked gleefully.

"Nope, guess again."

"Robert Mullins?"

"Uh-uh," Mohawk shook his head.

"Not Hook," Peter asked hesitantly.

"Nope," Carrots replied. "Give up?'

"Never!" Peter twisted his mouth. "Give me a hint."

Carrots nudged Mohawk, who reached into his tattered coat pocket and produced a pair of spectacles. Peter's jaw sagged.

"Smee?" he stammered.

"Yep," Skeeter broke in, "Him and five others. Come see!"

Boys poured from the cave like a swarm of bees, charging for the beach. Peter followed, somewhat bewildered but nonetheless intrigued. Dead pirates were always a source of fascination for he and the boys, and a handy provider of new and interesting weapons. And what could have happened to Mr. Smee, he wondered. Peter was sure the postman had something to do with it - if only Wendy had come back with him, she would know what to do about him. Maybe, Peter thought, if Edward had killed Smee, Hook would take him back to the ship to torture him for killing poor old Smee. Peter liked that notion and rubbed his hands together.

The carnage on the beach would horrifying to look at for most people; it didn't seemed to bother the Lost Boys very much at all though. The dead men were merely curiosities to be poked at and plundered for treasures. Peter examined each on the pirates, naming them off as he went and pointing out the bullet holes. He was sure this was the work of the postman; most of the pirates had been shot between the eyes, a few of them twice. Then he came to tangle of intestines that had been Mr. Smee. For the first time in his life Peter felt as though he might vomit because of a dead body. Smee, or what there was left that could be recognized as Smee, had been literally torn to shreds. Peter staggered backwards.

"The postman did it, right?" Mohawk asked.

"He may have shot the others," Peter gagged at the stench, "But only one man kills like this." He pointed towards Smee's carcass. "Hook." What on earth had Smee done, Peter wondered, to incur such wrath from the Captain. It must have been something dreadful to make Hook attack his faithful boson in such a manner.

"Look here," Knuckles called out. "I found me a knife." He held up a very sharp, shiny blade with dried blood on the edge.

"Let's go," Peter said, still stunned.

"But we ain't finished," Carrots complained. "They got lots of good stuff with 'em."

"Leave it," Peter ordered. He covered his mouth and nose. "You men go back to the cave. I'm going to talk to the mermaids about this."

The boys muttered and complained amongst themselves but obeyed, grabbing whatever weapons and personal effects they could quickly. They all wondered what sort of new adventure Peter was planning for them; it involved the clock he'd brought back for sure. They marched back towards Peter's secret cave, carting their ill-gotten gains with them and leaving the bloated corpses on the beach for the flies and vultures.

Peter perched on a tall rock near the lagoon's edge and began to play on his pipes. As expected, the mermaids came oozing through the dark water, drawn to the music like Hamlin's rats. They clicked and purred their greetings to Peter, rolling and squirming in the water rather like a pack of she-cats in heat.

Peter flew down and lit at the water's edge. "Hi girls," he greeted and played a few more notes of music.

"Where has the master of Neverland been?" asked a dark-haired mermaid. "he has missed much."

"I went to see Wendy," Peter replied.

"Wendy?" The women looked at each other querying as to who this person was. "Oh, she who saved you from Hook," the red-haired mermaid remembered.

"Humph," Peter snorted, 'It was I who saved her." he was not, of course, considering Wendy's kiss, which had restored his happy thoughts and his pride. He only thought of rescuing Wendy moments before she plunged into the ocean below the Jolly Roger.

"Pride goeth before a fall," the blonde creature purred.

"Whatever," Peter sighed. "Tell me, what happened to the pirates on the beach?"

"Dead men tell no tales, but we will," they said in unison. "Two armies meet to end a war, but the victor is attacked from within. To protect that which is not his, he slays those who are but who betray. Again he wins and blindly defeats the king."

"Do what?" Peter blurted out. "What are you talking about."

"It is as plain as day," the dark mermaid sighed. "Stay away from Hook if you wish to have fun and play."

"Stay away from Hook?!" Peter growled, exasperated. "What has this got to do with Mr. Smee being dead?"

"Alas poor Smee," the blonde mermaid began. "He was consumed by the green monster…"

"And when he had to choose, he chose down." the red-head concluded.

"Why won't you just tell me what happened, instead of all these stupid riddles?" Peter shouted. "Why won't you help me?"

"Did you go to Hook's ship when last we spoke?" the mermaids asked.

"Yes, I did. And I saw Edward there like you said." Peter grumped. "So what?"

"Don't you have anything you want to tell us?" They waited to see if Peter would apologize for calling them liars.

Peter scratched his head. "No. You already knew about him and Hook."

"Then find the answers in our words, for we have told you all." The mermaids slipped below the ocean's surface with barely a ripple.

"Wait!" Peter called. "Come back! I don't understand!" A tail broke the surface and flicked water in Peter's face, then disappeared. Peter stamped his feet angrily and threw himself down on the beach, rolling and kicking and screaming with rage - but the mermaids did not come back. Eventually Peter grew tired and his throat felt scratchy from yelling and screaming. He dusted the sand from himself and started back towards his cave.

Tinkerbell hovered over Bill Jukes for a moment and watched the flies crawling on his dead, empty eyes. She flew up and sat on a tree limb surveying the ghastly scene below. She could not bring herself to look fully at Smee; it disturbed her too much. But then so had the Lost Boys attitudes. This new lot Peter had assembled were perfectly beastly on occasion. She supposed she should have waited for Peter to return from his talk with the mermaids, but she could not stand to be cooped up with the boys one moment longer; she actually found herself missing Nibs and Tootles and Slightly. They had been perfect gentlemen compared to these ruffians.

A movement on the water caught Tinkerbell's attention. A canoe was gliding through the glassy ocean, carrying Tiger Lily and her grandmother plus two braves to paddle the craft; they appeared to be heading out towards the Jolly Roger. Tinkerbell flew up the beach a bit further to keep the canoe in view. Sure enough, the braves turned from paralleling the coast out towards the ship that lay at anchor in Pirates' Cove. She wondered why on earth, or out of it, would Tiger Lily be going out to Captain Hook's ship. Well, she decided, there was one way to find out, and she headed out towards the Jolly Roger herself.

Tinkerbell concealed herself behind a barrel near Hook's cabin and waited for the redskins to reach the ship. She ducked when she heard the door to Hook's cabin open and the Captain came striding past her heading for the railing.

"Ah Princess," Hook greeted the party. "Good evening to you and Madame Shy Doe. Please, come aboard." He reached his hand out to aid both women as they climbed up onto the deck.

"How is your son?" Tiger Lily asked.

"Still alive, thanks to your grandmother's efforts," Hook tipped his hat to the elderly woman. "But he is very weak."

"Loose much blood," Grandmother Shy Doe nodded. "Sick for long time. You give medicine?"

"Yes, Madame," Hook replied. "I believe it has eased his pain somewhat."

"Good," she said. "I bring poultice to draw infection, more medicine for him to drink."

"Yes of course," the Captain gestured towards his cabin door. "This way, ladies."

Tinkerbell wondered if he heard her jaw as it fell to the deck. What would Peter think of the Indians assisting Captain Hook, she wondered. She realized that they weren't there for Hook himself but for his son, but still, this was unheard of. She quickly shot through the door before it closed and hid atop one of Hook's ornately carved armoires. It made the perfect vantage point for her; she could see and hear all and be well concealed from view.

She watched Hook go over to his bed and shake the postman to wake him. She was taken aback at his manner; if Tinkerbell hadn't known better, she would have sworn that the fellow was actually Hook's real son.

"Edward," Hook shook the boy's shoulder gently. "Wake up son."

Tinkerbell heard Edward groan and saw him try to go back to sleep. When he did wake up she watched him almost automatically smile up at the Captain. Hook caught him under his right arm and helped the boy up, all the while explaining the Indians' presence. Edward latched onto the Captain's forearms for support and Tinkerbell now noticed the bandage around his neck and his pale appearance. He was also very weak, for he put his left arm over Hook's right shoulder, and the Captain wrapped his arm around the boy's back. Edward half-staggered a few steps towards the table before Tiger Lily grabbed him by the right arm to keep him from losing his balance.

At the table, Tiger Lily's grandmother had begun to lay out her wares on the table. "Take off bandage." she instructed.

Tinkerbell peered through another hole at the side of the armoire's molding. She observed how gingerly Edward untied the bandage at his wrist and began unwrapping his palm. Shy Doe examined the cut, feeling all around the stitches. She gave Edward a disapproving look when he flinched and tried to draw his hand back.

"Hmm," she muttered. "Clean. Very Good. Where is clean bandage?" she asked, turning to Hook.

"My bosun should be bringing them any moment now," he answered. Shy Doe looked at Hook, incredulous. "My new bosun," Hook clarified.

New bosun? Had the Captain already replaced Mr. Smee, Tinkerbell wondered, and with who? She got her answer when Bloody Mike came to the door with a pot of steaming, boiled bandages. Slowly, Tinkerbell began to piece things together. Edward had been attacked by the men on the beach, and hard as it was for her to believe, Smee must have been part of it, thereby incurring his Captain's fury.

She watched how attentive Hook was while Grandmother Shy Doe checked and redressed Edward's wounds with poultices she made using the hot, wet bandages. She also noticed how Shy Doe drew his wrath when she snatched the old dressing from Edward's neck, eliciting a roar of pain and a string of obscenities from the young man. Again, Tinkerbell found herself trying to reconcile the Hook she knew, who killed without conscience and regularly tried to slay her beloved Peter, with the man she now saw trying to calm and comfort his enraged, frightened son.

Tiger Lily twisted her mouth disapprovingly and looked at her grandmother. The old woman said something to her in their native tongue. Whatever she said, it sounded disparaging enough that Edward buried his face against Hook's side, humiliated. Tinkerbell could not quite make up her mind if she noticed Edward's shoulders heave or not but Hook suddenly grew angrier.

"You may say what you like, Madame," Hook seethed. "I've had dressings ripped off of my own wounds, and there are better ways."

Tinkerbell was horrified at the line of hideous black stitches she saw along Edward's neck and she understood now why he was so weak. She knew that the redskins hardly, if ever, showed pain and had little tolerance for those who did. Furthermore, they did not see the need to cater to a wound's sensitivity and felt a general contempt for 'weak white men.' But Tinkerbell didn't necessarily disagree with Captain Hook either.

Grandmother Shy Doe prepared her poultices, instructing Tiger Lily as she worked. Once she finished redressing Edward's wounds, Tinkerbell saw her give Hook a small pouch. "Make drink this tomorrow. Same as before." Then she gathered her herbs back into her bag and gave Hook a small clay bowl. "I leave salve. If bandage clean in morning, put on wound. If draw poison, fire cannon. I come back."

Once their task was completed, Tiger Lily and her grandmother were escorted from the cabin, leaving Edward at the table with his head in his hands. Tinkerbell studied him for a moment. He looked nothing like the person that had beaten Peter black and blue; it was hard to believe he was the same man - his whole demeanor had changed. He didn't even behave like a grown man anymore, and he really didn't look like one either. If she didn't know better, she would swear someone had switched the postman with a younger twin, if that was possible. She snuck back out through the open cabin door and concealed herself at the back of the indians' canoe. Once Shy Doe and Tiger Lily were securely seated, the braves began to paddle back towards the island.

"I see what you mean," Tiger Lily said to her grandmother. "He does love the one called Edward."

"I told you," Shy Doe replied. "I saw it in his eyes on the beach."

"But how long before he leaves?" Tiger Lily queried.

"Not before his son is well. He is too weak to travel now."

"Will everything go back to normal," Tiger Lily wondered.

"I don't know, child," her grandmother replied. "Maybe for us."

"What about Peter Pan?"

"I would not like to say for sure," Shy Doe answered, guarded. "I think he will not like it. But there is nothing he can do about it now."

Tinkerbell bit her bottom lip with worry. What were they talking about? Who was leaving? It sounded as though they had been talking about Captain Hook, but even Tinkerbell knew he could not leave unless he managed to kill Peter…. Could he? As the canoe began to parallel the beach again, Tinkerbell flew back into the forest and headed towards Peter's cave.

Captain Hook let the door to his cabin close behind him quietly. He stood watching Edward and wondered if it had been a wise decision to adopt the boy after all. Hook himself did not regret the decision, but Edward had been catching hell ever since. His paternal role had brought more facets with it than he had expected; it had been so long since Hook had loved anyone or anything, he had forgotten the pitfalls that accompanied the joys. He had not missed the worrying, the fretting, the distress, the pain. But, he supposed, one did not come without the other and as hard as it had been to verbally admit, he did indeed love the boy.

Hook crossed the room as quietly as possible and stood beside Edward. Boy? he asked himself. He appeared to be an adult; he claimed to be twenty-eight, though he rarely behaved as such any longer. He seemed to have regressed at least ten years. Perhaps it was the mood swings and attacks Edward had spoken of, or maybe the lack of the medicine left behind in his other world. No matter, Hook thought. Better a boyish man as his son than no son to love him at all.

"Edward," he said softly.

Edward sat up, a bit startled. He had not noticed when Hook had re-entered the room; had he dozed off? "Sorry about that," he mumbled. "I was just off in one of my fogs again." He fidgeted with the bandage at his wrist.

Hook sat down and chuckled to himself. "Do you think you can stay awake long enough for some tea? I heard Mike preparing the tray."

"I could definitely go for a nice hot cup of tea. My throat is so damned tired and stiff again." Edward looked up and found himself caught in the Captain's piercing gaze again. He smiled and ducked his head slightly.

That was it, Hook realized. That was what made Pan and Neverland so unimportant now in the grand scheme of things. The fact that Edward had rescued him from a fate worse than death was not what had made him love the boy entirely; he genuinely appreciated it and Hook was sure the boy's actions had compromised his wall of hate severely. And of course, there was no denying that Edward loved him, quite fiercely. But it had been the boy's honest, gentle smile and his trusting manner that had finally smashed down the walls Hook had spent years building around himself. He felt himself smile back into the steady eyes that watched him fearlessly and accepted him utterly, the first things he noticed when Edward had rolled the last dead redskin away and freed him on the glade.

"I'm sorry about all that," Edward muttered. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Embarrass me?" Hook blurted, incredulous. "You did nothing of the sort. Don't be ridiculous. The old crone had no business treating you so roughly in the first place. Bloody savages."

"Felt like she was trying to kill me for a moment," Edward gingerly felt the new bandages at his throat. Initially they had been so hot they felt as though they would burn his skin, and whatever was in the poultice had made his wound sting. Now, though, the heat from the poultice seemed to have eased the aching, stiff muscles in his neck.

"I suppose she meant well," Hook conceded.

"Yeah, and there's a freeway through Hell built by good intentions," Edward chuckled.

"Freeway?"

"Oh," Edward realized the Captain was not familiar with modern highway systems. "A freeway is a very wide, paved road which is supposed to make travel quicker and easier. Let me stress that supposed to again."

The knocking at the door announced Mike's arrival. "It's me sir," he called. "I've brung your tea."

Hook opened the door for him and ushered him in. "On the table if you will." he gestured in the general direction.

"I see Master Edward is up," Mike busied himself pouring the tea. "I hope you're feeling better, sir."

"That's debatable," Edward answered. "I was until that old woman yanked half the skin off my neck."

"Oof," Mike winced. "That must've smarted quite a bit."

"No doubt." Edward took a long drink of his hot tea. The warm liquid running down his throat further eased the stiff surrounding muscles.

"Will the redskins be coming back, sir?" Mike asked, trying to make small talk while served his Captain.

"Doubtful," Hook mused after a sip of his tea. "Edward's wounds appear to be healing quite nicely." He glanced across the table and noticed Edward's heavy eye lids. "That will be all, Mike. You can come back later for the tray."

Hook nodded to Mike's salute as his boson exited the cabin. He set his cup back in its saucer, barely making a clink with the fine bone china, and waited for the boy to finish his drink. "If you're that tired you should be back in bed," he said to Edward.

Edward nodded, though only slightly; the motion made his stitches sting. "Yes sir," he admitted. "My head sure is pounding again." Hook assisted him in standing and gestured for him to put his arm over the Captain's left shoulder. Edward, though, reached for his right shoulder again.

Hook marked this choice and slid his right arm around the boy's shoulder blades, purposely pressing the flat side of his claw against Edward's bare skin. He waited for a

flinch but none appeared. He started to turn Edward towards the bed. "Might I ask you something?"

Edward looked sideways into the blue eyes. "Anything you like," he smiled.

"Why do you favor my right side so?" He let Edward grab his forearms to steady himself as he sat down on the bed.

"Does it bother you, sir?" he asked tentatively.

"No," Hook admitted. "Not really. However, most people tend to shy away from my…." his voice trailed off and he sat in his chair beside the bed.

"It doesn't bother me none," Edward snorted. "And I ain't most people." He rearranged his pillows to cradle his neck and left hand better and settled himself under the covers. When he thought about it, the Captain was right; he did tend to go to Hook's claw side rather than avoid it. "I never really thought it about it, you know?" He stared at Hook's knee for several minutes, pondering his reasons.

Edward propped himself back up on one elbow. "It's just a part of you, you know? I don't find it repulsive or disgusting or whatever. It's you. That's all." He held Hook's piercing gaze and watched the man swallow hard several times. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Hook cleared his throat. "Again, I am in awe of you."

"Me?"

"Yes," Hook leaned forward. "How is it you can accept that which repulses everyone else. Why do you not fear me as all other men and children have?"

"Why would I be afraid of my best friend?" Edward asked softly. "I know you so well. You forget, I played with you practically every day of my childhood. If only you knew the fun we had… and I never forgot you." He felt a lump trying to form in his throat and he thought for sure the pain would finish him off. "I told you, I love you. I will not abandon you… ever."

"You almost died," Hook whispered hoarsely. "Did you realize that?"

"Yeah, I kind of figured that one out myself."

"After we brought you back here, I watched you most of the night to see if you would wake," Hook hesitated, steadying his nerves. "I was afraid you might not and my chance would be gone."

"Chance?" Edward echoed.

"Yes," Hook continued. "On the beach, when the redskins came back and Shy Doe assisted you, she made me admit… that I loved you, before she would help you - I don't know why. But you were unconscious already and you didn't hear me. I was afraid you might die without knowing."

"Oh, I heard you," Edward smiled. "It was all kind of weird and surreal, and I didn't know everything that was going on, but I heard you. 'Course I already knew…"

Hook raised one eyebrow. "How?"

"I'm not as dumb as I look," Edward chuckled. He sank back down onto the pillows, feeling as exhausted as he had when he'd run all over the island days before. "I hate feeling this tired all the time," he muttered sleepily.

"It comes from the loss of blood," Hook explained. "Again, I know what you're going through. I remember." He watched Edward's eyelids flutter as sleep overtook his son. As soon as Edward was well enough, Hook decided, he would take the old woman at her word and sail away, or at least try to.

His own eyes were heavy with sleep, as he had not slept since the failed mutiny. Quietly, Hook went to bolt his cabin door, then eased himself onto the bed beside Edward. He curled himself around the boy protectively, his head resting against Edward's. He felt Edward nestle closer to him and smiled. Now, Hook thought, maybe the boy would be warm enough and feel safe enough to get some healing rest; maybe he could get some rest as well.

Tinkerbell flew into the cave and into a cacophony of shouting boys. She jingled excitedly in Peter's ear.

"Everyone shut up!" Peter yelled. "Tink is trying to tell me something. What is it, Tink?"

She quickly relayed what she had seen to Peter. That the Indians were helping Hook, that Smee had tried to kill Edward and that was what cost him his life, and that she was very afraid that Captain Hook just might love Edward.

"I can't believe it," Peter sat down, stunned. "You saw Tiger Lily and her grandmother?"

"Yes," Tinkerbell explained. "They were there to put medicine on Edward's wounds." She hesitated a moment, not sure how much to tell Peter. "Mr. Smee tried to cut his throat."

"And it didn't kill him?" Peter asked, flabbergasted.

"No, but he's very weak," Tink continued. "He can't walk very well without help."

"And you think that's why Hook killed Mr. Smee?" Peter asked.

"Positive," Tink jingled insistently. "Hook has a new bosun too."

"Who?" Mohawk asked.

"Snickers," Tink answered. "Only now they call him Bloody Mike."

"Bloody traitor is more like it," Carrots scowled.

"Enough!" Peter demanded. "Good work Tink. Are you up for a riddle?"

"A riddle?" she jingled.

"Yeah," Peter explained. "When I went to the mermaids they wouldn't give me a straight answer. They only told me a stupid riddle and none of the boys can figure it out."

"What is it?" the pixie inquired.

Peter thought hard for a moment to make sure he remembered correctly. "Two armies meet to end a war… but the winner, no… the victor is attacked from within." He scratched his head a moment. "Um… To protect what is not his, he slays those who are but who betray… Again he wins and blindly defeats the king. Yeah, that's it."

Tinkerbell felt herself go cold. Smee had helped in a mutiny against Hook - from within. And Hook had killed his own men to protect Edward; that much she could figure out. She did not want to be the one to tell Peter of the treaty the Indians had made with Hook, so she shook her head and shrugged. "You know how mermaids are," she jingled. "They probably are playing a prank on you."

"I don't think so," Peter replied. "You don't have any idea what it's about?"

Tink shook her head. "Not the foggiest," she replied; she crossed her fingers behind her back. "Maybe you should ask Tiger Lily. Maybe she'll know."

"Good idea," Peter sprang to his feet. "Then she can explain why she was out on the Jolly Roger. Lost Boys, you stay here." He flew out and headed for the Indian encampment.

Peter arrived at the Indian camp about the same time Tiger Lily and her grandmother returned in the canoe. The chief gave him a stern look of unwelcome.

"I just want to talk to Tiger Lily," Peter explained. "If that's o.k. with you."

"Hmm," Great Big Little Panther sighed. "Talk short time only."

Peter went into the wigwam after Tiger Lily and Shy Doe. He saw the elderly woman hang up her medicine bag. "Hi Tiger Lily," he greeted, nodding towards Shy Doe. "You want to go for a walk?"

Tiger Lily looked at her grandmother for approval and the old woman nodded. "Back by sunset," she instructed.

Tiger Lily led Peter out of the wigwam and across the camp to where the horses were picketed. "How is Chief Flying Eagle?" she asked.

"I'm o.k.," Peter answered. He patted one of the horses for a moment. "How are you at solving riddles, Tiger Lily?" He did not want to let on that he knew about the trip out to the Jolly Roger just yet.

"Not so bad," the girl smiled. "You have riddle?"

"A real stinker," Peter sighed. "I tried to get information from the mermaids about the dead pirates on the beach, but all they told me was this stupid riddle."

"Yes," Tiger Lily replied seriously. "Mr. Smee is dead."

"I know," Peter shook his head. "I can't believe Hook would kill old Smee like that - ripped him to pieces."

"Yes," the young girl said. "But tell me your riddle and I will try to help."

Peter repeated the curious words for Tiger Lily and was disturbed by the grim expression she took on. "What? You know what it means?"

"I cannot say."

"You don't know?"

"I know," Tiger Lily answered. "I cannot say. Come, you talk with grandmother. She explain."

Befuddled, Peter followed the girl back to her wigwam, where Tiger Lily related the riddle for her grandmother. Shy Doe crossed her arms and stared at Peter very hard.

"You sure you want to know?" she asked. "May not like answer."

"Tell me," Peter begged. "Please. I don't care, I've just got to know what it means."

The elderly woman nodded her head slowly. "The two armies are the pirates and this tribe. Yesterday Chief Great Big Little Panther make treaty with Captain Hook. War ended."

"He did what?" Peter sputtered.

"Quiet," Shy Doe insisted. "You ask, now you listen. Listen well." She sat down by the fire and gestured for Peter to sit also. "The victor is Captain Hook. His men attack him and son. They attack from within. Hook kill many men to protect son. Not blood son, but still son."

"But the postman isn't really his son," Peter insisted.

"No matter," Shy Doe held up her hand to silence him. "Captain Hook love like son."

"Hook can't love anyone," Peter said firmly. "He isn't capable of love."

"You wrong," the old woman answered.

Peter snorted with disdain. "What about the last line?" he asked. "Again he wins and blindly defeats the king. What does it mean?"

Tiger Lily looked at her grandmother, wondering what she would say to Peter. Finally the old woman spoke.

"It mean Captain Hook stop men who want to kill him and son. He wins."

"Well, what about the king? What king does he defeat?"

"I not know," the old woman said, "You must figure out for self."

"But how?" Peter asked blankly.

"Use head, use eyes, not mouth," Shy Doe instructed.

"Huh?" Peter was thoroughly confused now. Why, he wondered, would the mermaids tell him what he already knew - that Hook had killed some of his own crew - in the form of a silly riddle. It didn't make sense. "Why were you out at the ship today?" he probed.

"To help Hook's son," Tiger Lily began to explain. "It is part of our agreement with…"

"Hush!" Grandmother Shy Doe reprimanded her. She turned back to Peter. "It dark now. You must leave."

"But…" Peter started. "Oh whatever. Thanks anyway." He exited the wigwam and started back towards his cave, no wiser for his time. At least Tinkerbell had brought him some useful information. Edward was injured and weak, and Hook was distracted by him. That might just provide him with the opportunity for a little fun.

In the wigwam, Tiger Lily pondered her grandmother's behavior. "Why you not tell Peter meaning of riddle?"

"Is best he finds out for himself," Shy Doe replied. "If we tell, he may try to harm Hook or son. Start new war maybe. It is his own doing. He should not have kept pirates here so long. He should have let Captain Hook leave long ago, after escape crocodile. But Peter keep here for amusement. Very cruel. He not tell Hook about children who care for him. This also very cruel. As I say, Peter bring on self."

"But," Tiger Lily was confused now. "Is Captain Hook not wicked pirate?"

"Yes."

"So why is it wrong for Peter to fight him?"

Grandmother Shy Doe smiled at her granddaughter. "Child, even wicked pirate feel. Very bad man, but still man. Very lonely. Very angry. Hurt much, many ways. Is not right for Peter to hurt more. Hook wait long time for this man to come. He need, he loves, will stop hurt."

"But…" Tiger Lily began.

"No but," Shy Doe interrupted. "Let Captain Hook leave with son. Is better for him, is better for us."

Edward opened his eyes and wondered how long he'd been asleep. It was very dark in the cabin and he assumed the Captain had turned in for the night also. This was his fourth night since his throat had been slashed and he had finally returned to sleeping on the fainting couch. Not that Hook had seemed to mind in the least sharing his bed for a few nights, but Edward felt he should return to the couch as soon as he could; he was sure he must have kept Hook awake groaning half the night.

He wondered what had awakened him; the ship was dead quiet tonight. Hook had even given the night watch the evening off as all the crew were exhausted from loading supplies all day. It wasn't as if they needed to fear an attack from the redskins any more, and Pan had been curiously absent for almost a week. Edward cocked his head; for a moment he thought he heard a strange unfamiliar sound, a tiny noise he couldn't quite place. No, he decided, it was probably just the ship creaking as the waves gently undulated around it.

He was feeling a good deal better now and had actually spent some time this afternoon sitting out on deck watching the Captain direct the loading and storing of supplies into the hold; it was rather like watching a conductor with an orchestra. It was nice to be able to walk again without the fear of passing out, though he tired much quicker than he would have believed. He still spent more time sleeping than he cared to, but as the Captain pointed out, that was when his body did most of its healing.

Hook had related Shy Doe's extraordinary claim to Edward the previous day and though dubious, both men felt there was nothing to lose in trying to leave. So, the past two days had been spent ferrying all the goods and ammunition stored in the Black Castle back onto the ship. In the next few days, the redskins were supposed to supply the ship with dried meat and vegetables, plus they had been keeping watch over the pirates in case Peter or the Lost Boys tried to interfere.

Edward started to settle back down. Again, his ears pricked up and he swore he heard the same odd sound again; a very rhythmical dripping maybe, but it wasn't raining. He sat up slowly on the side of the couch and looked back over his shoulder to see if Hook had heard it also. To his surprise, the Captain's bed was empty. The covers had been turned back and the bed slept in, but something had roused him evidently.

"Sir?" Edward called out softly. No answer. Again he tried. "Sir!?"

Edward reached for his camouflage trousers and buttoned them up as fast as he could in the dark. Again he heard the noise, but now he recognized it and he felt his hackles rise in anger. It was ticking; he was sure of it. He grabbed the pistol from under his pillow and shoved it in the back of his belt and padded barefoot across the cool floorboards. He found the cabin door slightly ajar and he now heard Pan's voice, jeering at Hook.

"Listen Captain, its coming for you!"

"I killed that bloody crocodile myself. I saw its body washed up on the beach," Hook snarled. He sounded stressed though, almost panicked.

Edward eased the door open and peered around the frame. His blood began to boil. Pan had the Captain baled up against wall between the quarterdeck stairs and the port bulkhead. Hook's sword hung impotently in his hand as his eyes frantically searched for the origin of the dreaded ticking; he seemed almost paralyzed with fear. Pan tickled under the Captain's chin with his sword point.

"It's the crocodile's spirit which haunts you. It's come back for you and there's no escape now, codfish." Peter reared back his head to laugh, but what came out was a groaning gasp as the wind from knocked from his lungs and some unseen force dragged him to the deck. To his horror, Peter realized that Edward was kneeling on his chest in a deadly rage.

"You little son-of-a-bitch!" Edward drew back his right fist and smashed it against Pan's jaw. "You just don't learn, do you asshole?!" He tried to hang onto the imp with his left hand but it was still too sore and weak. Pan tried to get to his feet and Edward tackled him, slamming him to the deck again.

"Where is it!?" he demanded, grabbing a handful of Pan's hair to hold the boy.

"What?" Peter whined, trying to wring himself free from Edward's grasp.

"So help me God I'll snatch you bald if you don't start talking!" Edward gave Pan's hair a sound yank to drive his point home. "Where's the fucking clock!?"

Peter flailed desperately and drove his left elbow around, soundly thumping Edward's neck over the incision. The roar of pain that followed was music to his ears and he quickly leapt out reach. "Clock? What clock? I don't see any clock," Peter sneered. "It's the croc, back from the dead for another taste of codfish!"

Edward clutched at his neck, trying not to vomit; it gave a new meaning to mind-numbing pain. "You better pray I don't get my hands on you again!" he wheezed. He staggered backwards and threw himself between the Captain and Pan. Hook caught his left arm and pulled Edward back snug against his own body.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Hook panted. "Get back inside this instant!"

Edward could feel the man trembling with fear against him. "No sir!" he howled. "I will not leave you to this… this cowardly bastard!" He closed his eyes, trying to focus his deer-hunter ears on the direction from whence the ticking emanated. His eyes snapped open moments later and he searched the rigging; the sound was coming from above. He tried to pull Hook's arm from around his chest.

"I see it!" he whispered back to Hook. "Let me go and I'll make it stop." He felt Hook's grasp relax and bolted to the right about four steps. Up in the rigging, hanging from a yard arm was what appeared to be a metal bucket. As Edward aimed the red dot of his pistol on the bucket something hit his left shoulder hard, sending him staggering to the starboard rail.

"Come on, postman," Peter taunted. "I'm ready for your now. I'll finish of that left hand for you if you like." Pan swooped by him again like an over-sized mocking bird dive-bombing a cat, laughing hysterically.

"No doubt," Edward snarled. "But I'll kill you first." He dropped to the deck and tried to aim on the bucket again.

Mike came bustling up from below decks. "What's going on!?" he roared. Other men could be heard below decks now also.

"Keep them below deck," Edward thundered. He was not about to let the crew see Hook in such a predicament.

Mike nodded and yelled to the others to stay put. He drew his sword and ran at Peter to keep him away from Edward. That gave Edward the few seconds he needed. He put the red dot on the bucket handle and squeezed the trigger; a split second later the bucket plummeted to the deck with a dreadful clatter. The clock bounced out and skidded across the deck towards Hook, still ticking as loudly as ever. Edward leapt at the object to stomp it to bits, but realized he was bare-footed. He aimed his pistol and silenced the ticking with one shot; the clock flew into pieces, the largest of which Edward hurled at Peter, narrowly missing his head. Mike ducked back inside quickly to spare his Captain further humiliation.

Peter readied his sword for Edward's next attack, but it did not come. Instead he saw the man shove the pistol back into his belt and turn to Hook, flinging his arms around the Captain. More horrifying to Peter was the fact that Hook hugged Edward back with the same fervor, if not more so. Peter stepped down from his perch on the railing, utterly stunned.

"What the…" Peter began. Edward whirled to face Pan, still blocking any access to the Captain with his own body. Pan stared at him; he was shaking with rage or weakness or both, and tears streamed down his face.

"You stay away from him!" Edward growled. "Do you hear!? You stay away from him or so help me I'll rip your arms off and beat you to death with them! You hear me!?"

"Well, well," Peter snickered. "Are you crying? A big grown-up man like you?" He chuckled louder.

Edward lunged at Peter but found himself once again restrained by Hook. It was a good thing, he decided, because he felt his knees almost buckle on him and the whole deck seemed to swing to the left violently.

"All right now," Hook, who had finally regained his wits, tried to be a soothing as he could while hanging on to an enraged Edward. "Calm down now before you make yourself ill."

"What's the matter?" Peter jeered. "Can't fight with your throat slit?"

Edward struggled to wrench himself free and tackle Peter again. "By God, I'll bash your brains all over this ship when I get my hands on you, you little prick!" Again though, he found himself too well restrained by the Captain. "You're a dead man walking, do you hear me!?"

"Calm down, son" Hook implored. "He's not worth your life, Edward. He's just not worth it." He felt Edward reluctantly surrender and lean back against him for support.

"And what do you mean by that?" Peter demanded, very insulted. He was amazed by the sudden change in Edward's behavior. His eyebrows un-furrowed, the toothy snarl vanished from his lips, and he seemed to sink back into the Captain's supportive arms.

"Huh?" Peter stammered.

"I'm sorry, sir," Edward whispered hoarsely to Hook. He turned with his face against the Captain's chest. "I didn't mean to fight you so hard. He just makes me so angry…"

Hook stroked the back of Edward's head and neck and glared at Pan. "I know," he soothed. "But you can't let him goad you like that, my fierce, brave lad. You've exhausted yourself so now you can barely stand."

Peter blinked in disbelief. "What are you doing?" he asked Hook.

Hook rested his chin atop Edward's head, still glaring protectively. "Caring for my son, not that it's any of your business."

"Your what?" Peter spewed venomously. "You have no son!"

"You are mistaken," Hook smirked. "Edward is my son."

"He is not!" Peter insisted angrily.

"Ah, but you see" Hook purred, "I love Edward as though he were my own flesh and blood, so he is my son."

"Not really!"

Hook hugged Edward tightly to emphasize his feelings and chuckled under his breath at Peter's mortified expression. "You must understand Peter, kinship is as much about feelings as it is biology, perhaps more so." He paused and offered Peter a weak smile. "But I forget, you have no feelings… do you." Hook eased his right arm around Edward's shoulders to steer the boy back inside. He glanced towards Peter for a moment. "Get off my ship," he said curtly.

"What?" Peter spat. "You're giving up?"

Hook paused at the doorway to his cabin and looked back at Pan. "I don't have time for this nonsense, Peter. Just go away."

Peter staggered back a few steps as though he'd been tackled again. What was going on, he wondered. It just wasn't like Hook to walk away from a fight, especially after Peter had gone to so much trouble baiting him into one. Yet he watched the cabin door close behind the Captain and heard it being bolted. And he could still hear the unfamiliar soothing tone to Hook's voice though he could not make out what was being said.

"Be on with you now," Mike cocked the hammer of his musket, pleased that he'd been able to sneak up on his former leader.

"You?" Peter stammered.

"Aye, me," Mike winked. "Now get your arse off this ship before I have to shoot ye. I don't want to, but I will if ye push me."

Peter shook his head in disbelief. "Well, the Lost Boys aren't going to believe this."

"I don't care," Mike snapped. "Get, or I shoot."

Peter shrugged and re-sheathed his sword. He took one last look towards Hook's cabin before flying back towards Neverland. Mike lowered the musket's hammer carefully and went to Hook's cabin, knocking softly on the door. "Will you be needing anything, sir?"

"A pot of tea, thank you." Hook called back. Mike scurried below decks to start the kettle heating, very satisfied with himself indeed.

Wendy sat bolt upright in her bed; she was still shaking from the dream. What did it mean? It was still dark outside and when she checked her bedside clock it was 1:47 in the morning. She sat on the edge of her bed rubbing her temples. She had purposely tried to keep every thought of Peter Pan from her head since his disturbing visit several nights ago; this was not helping. The curious thing was, she had not dreamed of Peter. Wendy had dreamed of a strange young man with dark hair and hazel eyes that dared her to look away. He hadn't tried to harm her; he had barely spoken two words to her in the dream. Wendy shuddered as the details flooded back.

She had dreamed herself in a long dark passageway with dim light at both ends. When she turned around, she had found the man, though he was not much taller than she, standing behind her as though he'd been waiting on her arrival. Wendy had opened her mouth to scream - he was dressed so strangely and he bore a dreadful scar on his neck - but he had smiled at her so friendly she somehow knew he meant her no harm. He walked past her, then paused and beckoned her to follow. When she had hesitated, he had spoken to her.

"Come see," he had said, in his smooth baritone voice.

And Wendy had been unable to resist. Even though he laid not a finger on her, some how she felt he compelled her to follow; she did so begrudgingly. As they traveled along the passageway, she could see images being played out on the walls. The stranger stopped and pointed to one series in particular. Wendy crept closer and watched the strange goings-on. Before her she saw a small boy of about six or seven. He was playing on what appeared to be a large uncovered porch, one end of which had been fashioned to resemble the deck of ship, complete with ship's wheel, cannons - though she was sure they were not real - and a mast from which flew an all too familiar flag to Wendy; a black flag with a skull and crossed swords.

"What a wonderful place to play," she commented to her guide. He nodded agreeably and pointed back to the wall.

At first Wendy saw only the boy playing, slashing at thin air with his sword and shooting down towards the 'sea' with his guns. He had quite the imagination, she decided, and she rather fancied him playing at 'Peter Pan.' Then something very odd began to happen, for now Wendy could see the shadow of a person cavorting across the deck with the little boy, and the longer she watched the clearer the image became. To her great consternation Wendy realized the person who so enchanted the boy was not her beloved Peter, nor was the little boy pretending to be Peter; he was playing gleefully with Captain Hook. And he was not attacking the pirate either. Quite the opposite; he was defending Captain Hook, and Wendy found she could hear as well as see the scenes that played out for her.

She watched as the fierce pirate of her nightmares charmed and delighted the child. They 'fired' the cannons at Indians, lost boys, and even the crocodile which the little boy insisted he killed and pretended to skin so he could make boots for the both of them. When the Captain claimed to spy Peter in the sky, the boy drew his cap pistols and shot in whichever Hook directed. Wendy shook her head in disbelief. There was no mistaking the look the boy's eyes - pure adoration… for Hook. It was what Peter had feared the night he came to visit her; the child that loved Hook.

She looked at the man standing next to her, then back to the boy. "It's you, isn't it?" she asked. The man said nothing; he didn't have to. His shy smile and slight duck of his head said all. "But what about Peter?" she asked. The man's pleasant expression suddenly grew dark. "You're the one," Wendy said, "You're the man Peter told me about, aren't you?"

Again, he smiled shyly. Wendy looked back at the flickering images on the wall. The boy was older now, about ten. His 'ship' had been dismantled and he played in the woods behind his house, but his playmate remained the same and they hunted for indians and lost boys in the forest. She saw the boy again, older still, in his late-teens, carrying what appeared to be a strange sort of bow and arrows through autumn woods. He climbed an oak tree and sat on a huge limb - but he was not alone. Hook sat next to him as though they were waiting to ambush Peter instead of the deer that came walking by. He talked to the Captain as though he were an older brother or a favorite uncle, telling Hook all his problems while Hook acknowledged how unfairly they'd both been treated.

Wendy turned to the man, perplexed. "But… How can you love him? Why? Don't you know who he is. What he has done?"

The man reached a hand to her shoulder and turned her back to the wall and the strange images. This time she saw the child with a different man, a man she assumed to be his father, in a barn. He was lecturing the boy about something, shaking his fist in the child's face while the boy cringed. She saw the man reach for a whip and she glanced up at her escort; he was staring at his feet and she would swear she could see him trembling ever so slightly.

Wendy looked back to the pictures again and this time she saw the teenager arguing with his father, threatening him, yet backing away all the time. She saw him cowering on his bed as the angry man lunged for him - then she saw the villain of her stories, the same man who had once tried to feed her to a crocodile and threatened to kill her brothers, slashing at the man, driving him away from the boy. She watched in disbelief as Hook consoled the boy, comforted him and kept watch over his sleep.

"Ask me again," Wendy's guide said angrily. "Ask me how and I will ask you what else I could do?" He looked at Wendy, and she saw where tears had run down his face. "As a matter of fact, I do know what he has done, things you haven't a clue about. And you dare to ask me how I can love him."

"I'm sorry," Wendy apologized in a whisper. "I didn't know, I didn't think he could…" her voice trailed off. "I was wrong, I'm sorry."

"Before you judge another, walk a mile in his boots; look from his side of the fence." The man started to turn away, but hesitated. "How?" he said to Wendy. "Why? How could I do anything but love him? It is what it is." He nodded his head politely to her and walked off down the corridor, vanishing into the mist.

That was when Wendy had awakened, and she felt every bit as disturbed now she had thought things over as she had then. What did it all mean, she wondered? Had she been visited by some apparition or was the dream induced by her conversation with Peter weighing heavily on her mind. She went to the window and stared out at the moon riding low in the clouds to the west. How many nights she had stood at the nursery window, waiting and hoping for Peter to return and whisk her off for another adventure. Now he had finally returned, she wished he hadn't.

Wendy pulled the curtains again and crawled back into her bed. She tried to forget the man with the friendly smile and the serious eyes and all his strange visions. She had an algebra test in the morning and if she was to get high marks, she would need a good night's sleep. Captain Hook had neglected to mention those amongst the perils of growing up. The pimples he spoke of had come, and the feelings as well as a few more barbaric inconveniences he'd not listed.

Sometimes Wendy wondered if she had made the right choice when Hook had offered her a chance at piracy. At the tender age of twelve she had been thinking with her heart, not her mind. If she had realized then how right the Captain had been, she might be sailing on the high seas, right now, as Red-Handed Jill, free from the cares of Algebra, Latin and physiology. The reality of the situation, though, was that she had chosen her then gallant Peter and all things right and proper; what a fool she had been.

Captain Hook raised his head from its rest and looked around his cabin sleepily. He sat in his bed with his back against the headboard and his right knee drawn up. Edward lay cradled against him, his head rested on Hook's breastbone and his left arm hung across the Captain's right knee. The candle left burning on his desk was almost melted away and would die out soon. He glanced down at the boy, hoping the candle was the only thing to expire this night. Hook could feel the warmth of Edward's shallow breaths seeping through his shirt onto his skin. The fingers of his hand traced along the line of stitches on the boy's neck, settling on the jugular vein where he felt the weak, thready pulse.

This was what he had feared when Edward, like his personal guardian angel, rushed to attack Peter on deck. He knew the boy was not strong enough to fight so - it had only been a bare four days since Smee had slit his throat. Hook had been absolutely furious with Edward for being so careless with his health - for all of about ten seconds. It was difficult to stay angry for very long at someone so fiercely and loyally defending your honor. Still, Hook had been planning on admonishing his son for ignoring his orders to return to the cabin; he'd been planning on threatening the lad with a flogging if he ever behaved so recklessly again. He'd forgotten all about that when, once they were both safely inside the cabin, Edward suddenly grew faint and began heaving up the contents of his stomach until he brought up only thick, green bile.

Hook looked down at his unconscious son; he was much too pale for the Captain's liking. He had needed Bloody Mike's assistance to move Edward from the desk to his bed; at almost dead weight it was not difficult to recognize the boy for the man he was.

Thank God for Mike, Hook thought. He was an excellent choice for boson. Mike had brought both cold compresses for Edward's head and warm towels to ease the spasmodic muscles in the boy's neck. He'd even warmed the wool tartan for the Captain to cover Edward with.

That had been hours ago, or so it seemed to Hook. Ever since then, he'd been sitting with Edward, holding the boy against him to keep him warm and hopefully make it easier for him to breath. Once he passed out from exhaustion, Edward had barely twitched a finger. Hook rested his chin against the top of Edward's head once more and resumed his vigil.

Strange thoughts began to creep from the recesses of Hook's mind; locked away memories that had been buried for ages and visited Hook only in his dreams, it seemed, and then he could not quite remember them upon waking. Even then, they had always left him feeling disturbed and lonely... He smiled slightly and remarked to himself what a fine young man the boy had grown into.

"What the deuce?" Hook muttered under his breath. He'd only known Edward a little less than two weeks, so where had that thought sprung from, he wondered. And still more and more memories made their way back from oblivion, pouring out as though a great river had burst from a dam; memories Hook had driven away to stave off the pain they had brought. Memories of himself, the most feared pirate captain on the high seas - heaven forbid it - entertaining a small dark-haired boy with steady eyes. A cold shiver shot down Hook's spine and he looked down at the man he claimed as his son. The resemblance was striking - even uncanny.

Could it be, Hook wondered. Were they one and the same, Edward and this forgotten small boy? And why could he not remember this before? He would have given anything for those memories that awful night when Peter sent him spinning away from the ship and left him sinking towards the hungry jaws of the crocodile. He would dearly loved to have shouted them to the world just to see Peter's face. Except now that he thought about it, that was when he'd first become keenly aware of the boy; inside the crocodile's belly - he had heard the child crying for him, grieving for him, and it had made him want to live.

Hook hugged Edward close to him again. "Stay with me," he whispered. "Don't leave, not now." Somehow this felt very familiar to him and he vaguely remembered comforting the boy like this many years before, though the circumstances were very different.

He wished now he had let Edward kill Peter this evening. All it would have taken was one word from him and the boy would have dropped Pan with a single shot as easily as he had brought down the bucket containing that infernal ticking clock - and he would have done it gladly. Never before had Hook felt such a whirlwind of emotions as he had in those brief few minutes. Terror and humiliation for himself, pure hatred for his tormentor, worry and dread for Edward's well-being, and gratitude beyond belief when the ticking was finally silenced and the ghost from his past was exorcized for good. Smee could never - would never have come to his aid so quickly and efficiently as Edward had, repeatedly.

Hook found himself snapped from his musings; he had seen Edward's legs move. Not much, but it was an improvement. He felt the boy heave a great, almost long-suffering sigh, then nestle himself more comfortably against the Captain. Hook's heart leapt; he felt again for the pulse at Edward's throat and found it much stronger, to his great joy. Even in the faint, flickering candle light Hook could see the boy's color had improved as well. He let his own worry-ridden sigh gush from his lungs and let his head tilt back against the bed's headboard, sending up a prayer of thanks.

"Saints be praised," Hook murmured. Still he swore to himself that he would give Edward a stern lecture… once the boy was completely well again.

Edward cracked his eyelids and peered out at the shadowy room. He fought his body's attempt to wake up; he was warm and incredibly comfortable, and he just wanted to stay like this forever. He eventually felt the weight of Hook's chin against his head and opened his eyes fully. He was more than a bit surprised to find himself reclining against the Captain in such a manner; he lay mostly on his right side with one of Hook's legs on either side of him and his torso leaning up against Hook. His right arm was tucked across his own chest while his left draped lazily over Hook's crooked right knee. The right side of his face rested snugly over Hook's heart and he could hear the steady beating of it, and he felt the Captain's fingers woven through the hair at the back of his head.

Edward tried to remember exactly how he'd ended up in this position. He could recall Pan's intrusion to torment the Captain and remembered with great relish the sound trouncing he'd dished out even if he hadn't been able to use his left hand very well. And he remembered shooting down the bucket and smashing that damned clock, then he and Hook had come inside the cabin… that was where things got a bit fuzzy. He let a sigh of contentment escape from his lungs and settled himself deeper into Hook's embrace.

"Are you awake?" the Captain asked softly. He had felt Edward move.

"Uh-huh," Edward grunted sleepily.

"Thank God," Hook sighed. "I thought surely you were done for."

Edward lifted his head from Hook's chest for a moment and looked into the engaging blue eyes. "It's funny you should say that."

"Why?" Hook asked.

"I was having the strangest dream," Edward answered. "I was walking down a dark tunnel towards some lights… and there was a woman, maybe she was only a girl, in a white gown and ..."

"Don't say such things," Hook cut him off. "Not even in jest."

"O.k.," Edward said sheepishly. He lay his head back against the Captain's chest. His whole neck felt strangely weak, like his head would snap off if he wasn't careful. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

"You made yourself ill going after Pan as you did, that's what," Hook said. "You damn near killed yourself." He felt the boy shudder against him.

"That ain't funny, neither," Edward said. It made his bizarre dream all the more disturbing.

"Certainly not," Hook agreed. "And if you ever do anything so fool-hardy again I swear I'll flog you myself."

Edward sighed, a bit crest-fallen. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "But when I woke up and realized what he was doing to you…. and I saw you, I just couldn't stand to think of it going on for one second longer. That's all. I wasn't thinking about me - I wanted to stop him from torturing you. Rotten little son-of-a-bitch."

"Torturing me?" Hook echoed.

"Well what would you call it?" Edward asked. "I mean, it's not like I don't know how that crocodile used to…. I know you killed him but…." He stopped short of accusing the Captain of being scared of dead crocodile, though he knew it was the truth.

"You are quite right," Hook said softly. "I do still find that sound very - disturbing."

Hook sat quietly for a few moments, stroking the back of Edward's neck. He wished Smee had possessed half of Edward's concern for his dignity. Smee had always run from the croc as though he was its intended meal, leaving Hook to deal with the beast himself; the Captain's safety and honor were only after-thoughts it had seemed. And it had indeed terrified him, and Pan knew it - and so did everyone else, which had only made the shame more burdensome.

"I suppose I shouldn't tell you this," Hook said. "I don't want you taking any more chances like that, but I am ever so grateful that you made it stop. The ticking, that is."

"No doubt," Edward mumbled. "You're welcome."

"It does still frighten me," Hook admitted. "I killed the damnable thing myself, but the ticking will always chill me to my core, I fear."

"I know," Edward answered in a hushed voice. "I'm sorry."

"So am I. You were only trying to help." Hook tucked the boy's head back under his chin. "Are you still having difficulty breathing?"

"No sir," Edward said. "But I sure am sore all over. I feel like someone threw me down a flight of stairs."

"No wonder," Hook answered. "You vomited until I expected to see your stomach itself come up."

"Oh," Edward said. "Well, I guess that would explain things."

"Yes, and I am ordering you, do you hear me," Hook said firmly. "I am ordering you to rest until you have recovered fully. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Edward answered. "Do you want me to go back to the couch so you can get some sleep?" He hoped not, for he was as comfortable as he could ever remember being.

"No," Hook answered. "You're fine where you are. Just get some rest." He was quite content to keep his son close. It felt good to have physical contact with another human being other than one he was about to gut, and he took pleasure in the feeling of trust and acceptance he could sense from Edward, but then the boy had always accepted and loved him as he was, hadn't he. "You're a good lad." Hook said softly. "A damn fine lad to be sure."

"You're not so bad yourself," Edward said, burrowing closer to him. The Captain's words tickled at some squelched part of his memory; something very similar had been said to him before, but very long ago.

The candle on Hook's desk finally drowned in its own pool of liquid wax, leaving the room with only the faint glow of the moon for light. Hook could feel the boy shiver now and again and drew part of his covers across his son. "What's the matter?" he asked in a low voice.

"Chills," Edward answered. He felt Hook draw his legs around his own and hug him closer. Hook bent his head to Edward's shoulder and let his warm breath wash down inside the collar of Edward's shirt. "Thanks," Edward murmured.

"Of course," Hook said softly, "I think, that is… I am sure I remember you."

"I would hope so," Edward chuckled.

"If I could finish," Hook said, amused by the boy's sense of humor. "What I meant was that I have begun to have memories… of you as a boy."

"Huh?"

"Yes, I found it quite disturbing at first, as I was unsure who the child was. But now I am sure it was you." Hook leaned back against the headboard again.

"I'm not sure I understand," Edward said.

"When you were a child," Hook asked. "Did you play out on a… well, a deck I suppose, with one end as a ship?" He felt Edward's shoulders lurch after a moment.

"Yes," Edward croaked.

"And there was an oak tree in the most beautiful forest I've ever seen. The colors of the leaves were extraordinary."

"My deer stand," Edward answered in a whisper. "In Ohio." He turned his face into Hook's chest and wept softly.

"Whatever is the matter?" Hook asked, stroking his son's head. Again, he felt a painful twinge of remembrance.

"I knew it." Edward wheezed. "I knew you were there. I knew it wasn't just some damn hallucination. I knew it."

"Some part of me, at least, must have been," Hook agreed. "I couldn't remember anything clearly though, before tonight. Then it all started trickling back, flooding back actually." No wonder he had felt such a closeness to Edward from the first; Hook truly had known the boy most of his life. He had played with the child, watched him grow, had known all his triumphs, and all his sorrows - and they had been many.

He had been Edward's confidant and protector, listening as the boy had unburdened his mind and his soul in that tree - in spirit if not entirely in body. Some part of him had indeed been drawn out of Neverland and to the boy almost daily, watching over him to the best of his ability. "How?" Hook asked, his own voice unsteady. "How did you do it?"

"I loved you." Edward gave in and let himself weep freely; fighting it had done no good anyway. He felt the Captain's head on his own shoulder now, weeping along with him. "I'm sorry," he croaked. "I'm always screwing everything up."

"You do not!" Hook tried to regain his composure. "And whoever told you that to begin with was a stupid bastard. I should like very much to gut that individual."

Edward found himself almost laughing. "You're gonna be a very busy man, 'cause there were a lot of 'em."

"What bloody fools," Hook snorted. "There nothing wrong with you. You're a brave and honorable lad." The words seemed very familiar to Hook and he felt he had said them to Edward before, many times over. He felt Edward's arms slip around his waist and he kissed the boy on top of his head. He remembered other things now, less pleasant memories: The boy, inconsolable after his father had his dog put down; Edward, in trouble for fighting after being teased about his 'imaginary friend', embarrassed and ashamed for being whipped by his father; in trouble at school for his 'over-active' imagination.

Hook could feel Edward shaking. The boy was clinging to him as though he feared someone might run in and rip them apart once more. He remembered something about medicine and how ill it had made the boy; Edward would take it, then run for the woods and force himself to vomit the pills up; he remembered kneeling beside the boy trying to comfort him. He recalled the rage he'd felt towards those who had mistreated his friend so. But what Hook remembered most was Edward's constant, unswerving devotion and love for… him. "Semper Fidelus," he whispered, stroking his son's head.

Prior to his arrival in Neverland, the last time he'd seen Edward, the boy was in his teens; that had been years ago, when their visits had been so abruptly halted. Hook was sure someone had done something unspeakable to him. From those long-ago conversations, he deduced that Edward's parents had probably shipped they boy off to some hospital for the mentally disturbed; Edward had confided his fear of such to Hook on many an occasion. "Bastards," he muttered. Sure, the boy was moody and passionate, but that was hardly a reason to lock him away. He wondered what sorts of barbaric treatment had been forced upon the boy and was glad he did not know. And yet, it seemed to Hook, some part of Edward must have clung to the Captain with his fierce bull-dogged tenacity and loved him still.

"So," he murmured to Edward, "My son and comrade has come home to me at last, and their loss is my profound gain. How I have missed you, Eddie the Butcher." Hook sat in the dark with his arms wrapped protectively around Edward, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. He was not going to allow Peter to harm the boy further, and he most definitely intended to do everything within his power to keep Edward from ending up back in that horrible world of his. He had lost him once, he was not about to lose his son again.

Peter leaned against a gnarled cedar tree and glared out across the cove to the Jolly Roger. It was as peaceful now as it had been before he'd had a little fun with the old codfish. He'd rather been enjoying himself too, until that rotten so-called son of Hook's saw fit to come out and break up the game. Tinkerbell lit on his shoulder and jingled at him questioningly.

"Huh?" Peter said. "Oh, well of course Edward did it. Who else?" He rubbed his left cheekbone; his eye was already starting to swell shut and his right wrist hurt from being tackled and slammed to the deck.

"And Captain Hook?" Tinkerbell queried. "What did he do?"

"Oh you should've seen him, Tink," Peter chuckled. "His eyes were as big as saucers and he was shaking like a leaf. It was hilarious," he laughed.

"I suppose that's why Edward hit you?" she asked, though she was quite sure she was correct.

"Yeah," Peter sighed. "And he busted Michael's clock. He nearly hit me in the head with a piece of it. He doesn't want me to have any fun."

"At least, not at Hook's expense?" Tinkerbell remarked.

Peter grinned. "It was funny, Tink. He got so mad he was crying like a baby."

"Who?" she jingled.

"Edward," Peter said, "Who else? He was furious. It was almost as good as watching Hook shake."

Tinkerbell glanced out towards the ship and noticed the light in the Captain's windows had died away. She would have liked to have slipped out and had herself a peek inside to see what was going on, though she dared not with Peter around. He would follow her, most likely, and start some more trouble, and in the condition Edward must be in… no, she told herself. That would not do.

"Tink," Peter said. "Hook, he… he hugged Edward, right in front of me. And he said he cared for him. That isn't possible, is it Tink?"

"I'm not sure," the pixie replied.

"Well, he wouldn't fight me anymore when Edward came out," Peter complained. "He said he had more important things to do. Can you believe that?"

Tinkerbell shook her head, though it did not really surprise her. She had seen how concerned the Captain had been for his son when Tiger Lily and her grandmother had visited the ship.

"Where are the Lost Boys?' Peter asked.

"Asleep," Tinkerbell answered.

"What?" he exclaimed. "Well, go wake them up. I'm bored. They can help me plan our next adventure."

"I'll try," Tinkerbell jingled. "But you know it's like waking the dead."

"Tell them to meet me at the Crooked Finger Tree." Peter ignored her. Tink could get the boys up if she tried, and they did not want him to have to come looking for them again. He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at the ship. It was about time they attacked the pirates again and stole some more of Hook's treasure. That always made for a good game, and it made Hook furious too. There must be an awful lot of treasure on board, too, as many trips as the pirates had been making to the Black Castle. In an instant Peter's sour mood vanished and he was as merry as ever, plotting his next move. This would indeed be a grand adventure for all the boys, he told himself, as he headed for Crooked Finger Tree.

Captain Hook's eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. He felt next to him for Edward but found the bed empty; he tried to focus in the darkness. "Edward?" he called softly - no answer. He sat up and looked on the fainting couch at the end of his bed; it too was empty. He'd been sitting for hours with Edward cradled against him before the boy finally felt well enough to lie down, and he'd been spooned up behind Edward to keep him warm when they both fell asleep; now where the devil was the boy?

Hook started towards the door but halted when he heard a sound coming from the dark shadows in the far corner of the room. A slight scuffing, or was it more of a stifled wheeze?

"Edward?" he said again. "Is that you?" He picked his way carefully around furniture until he reached the corner. There he found Edward, cringing like a cowering pup. His arms were tight around his drawn-up knees; his jaw was clenched tight, trying to stifle the sound of his sobs. Hook knelt beside him slowly and reached for the boy's shoulder.

"Don't send me back," Edward wheezed hoarsely. "I don't want to go back there. I'll be good, I promise."

"Of course not," Hook soothed. "Why would I send you away?"

"I won't go back!" Edward sobbed, and sank deeper into the corner. "I don't like them. I hate them! You don't know what they did. Please don't make me go there again, please!"

Hook eased his right arm around his son's heaving shoulders and tried to draw him closer. The boy was clearly terrified, and all the Captain could assume was that he must have had another one of his night terrors. "You're all right," Hook soothed. "You're safe here with me now. It was just a dream." He felt Edward shaking his head.

"No," Edward croaked insistently. "They made me go there. I didn't want to go, they made me go."

"Who made you go where?" Hook asked.

"My parents," the boy sobbed. "My - my other father. He made me go to this… this place. They locked me in a room. They wanted me to forget you. They wanted me to say I made it all up."

"But you're not there," Hook reassured him. "You're here with me." He finally managed to get Edward to break from his balled-up cringe and felt the boy's arms go around him.

"I'm sorry," Edward choked. "They made me go. They tricked me - they hid in the barn."

"I know they did," Hook agreed. "But you're safe now."

"They put me in a straight-jacket," Edward said. "They gave me drugs that made me forget. I tried to fight them, but I couldn't. And they came in at night and…." his voice collapsed into sobs again.

Hook clung tightly to his son. He buried his face in Edward's hair and rocked gently, trying to calm the boy. "It was just a dream," he repeated. "It was all just a dream."

"No, it wasn't," Edward sobbed. "They came in at night and they shocked me. They weren't supposed to. They lied to my parents and said I was making it all up, and Daddy believed them. They wouldn't listen to me."

"Shocked you?" Hook echoed.

"Yes," Edward choked. "At night, one of the fucking doctors brought a defibrillator into my room. The attendant strapped me to my bed and they put these… things, on the insides of my legs. Then they asked me about you, and they shocked me if I gave the wrong answer."

Hook was thoroughly confused. "What's a…

"A defibrillator is a machine that's supposed to be used when someone's heart stops beating," Edward explained. "It gives the person an electric shock and it can start their heart beating again, usually."

"Electric shock?"

"It's like lightning," Edward answered. "It burns. It hurts. They kept turning it up higher and higher…" He grabbed the insides of his thighs. "It hurts! I don't want to go back, please!"

"You don't have to," Hook soothed. "Never." He wiped away his own bitter tears on his shirtsleeve, thoroughly enraged. He wanted badly to track down these barbarians and tear them into bloody shreds. "No wonder you stopped coming," he half-whispered.

"I'm sorry," Edward sobbed. "I said I'd never abandon you, but I already did. I left you all alone, just like all everyone else did. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Hook exclaimed. "For what? You did not abandon me. They took you from me. They tortured you. I missed you dreadfully, but you did not abandon me." Only God knew how badly he had missed the boy. Those brief few hours each day had been a blessed escape from Neverland and had made the detestable place more bearable. The sudden absence of those visits had grieved Hook as he would never have believed possible. Losing the boy had been so painful that he'd blocked all memory of him.

He had to try several times before he could get Edward to his feet and over to the bed. Outside he could see gray dawn was beginning to break, but inside Hook's cabin it seemed as black as a starless sky. He eased himself in beside Edward and let the boy bury his face against his chest.

"You're safe with me now," Hook soothed. "Calm down." He wrapped his arms securely around Edward's shoulders and held him as close as he could manage. He could feel the boy clinging to him and shaking, trying to shove himself even closer, so he crooked his left leg tightly over Edward's knees and once again buried his face in the boy's hair. "It's alright now," he whispered hoarsely. He tried to force the knot in his own throat away, unsuccessfully. "I've got you. No one is ever going to treat you like that again. Never!"

"I still love you," Edward wheezed. "I don't care what they did. I still love you."

"I know," Hook groaned. "You always have - it was what drew me to you. It's why I wanted you as my son; why I love you as my own… You saved me from the crocodile. When I was trapped inside the beast and ready to give up, I heard you. You saved me. You defeated the Story-teller's curse."

Edward choked back his sobs; he was dreadfully embarrassed and still very frightened. "Me?' he asked, his voice raspy. He gazed up at the blue eyes, brimming with tears.

"Yes, lad," Hook whispered. "You."

Edward lay his head back against the Captain's chest. His throat burned and his own chest ached from crying. He still wanted to kill Peter for tormenting Hook. He wanted to go and kill Wendy for perpetuating lies about his dearest friend. He wanted to find his parents and bash their skulls for what they had done under the guise of 'helping' him. Most of all, he just wanted to forget everything. He clung to the safety and security of Hook's grasp and fought to force himself even closer to the Captain; closer was safer. He just wanted it to all go away and to lose himself in that wonderful safe feeling.

"That's it," Hook soothed. "Calm down now." The first fingers of sunlight were creeping through the windows of the Captain's cabin and he finally felt Edward begin to relax. He stroked the boy's neck and head and continued murmuring words of comfort to his exhausted, shattered son. When Mike came tapping at the door he sent him away with instructions to give the crew the day off to rest - they would resume their work tomorrow. Hook was, himself, exhausted - physically as well as mentally - and once he was sure Edward was sound asleep, he finally let himself relax a little.

He tried to sleep but found it elusive. His thoughts kept returning to the barbarous treatment his son had suffered and he felt his hackles rise every time. How dare they accuse the boy of hallucinations merely because they were too blind or too thick-headed to see. Obviously, people had only become more beastly as opposed to civilized in Edward's strange time. He remembered the boy's father now; a brute of a man he would like to have killed, who had thrashed the child mercilessly over his 'obsession.'- and still Edward had remained fiercely devoted the Captain.

What harm had his visits with Edward ever done, Hook wondered. No wonder the boy had seemingly vanished into thin air. Any real memory of him and their visits had been forcefully, painfully banished to the darkest recesses of Edward's mind. A shudder ran down Hook's spine as a new set of images flashed through his mind. He could see Edward, restrained in what must have been the straight-jacket the boy had spoken of, fighting with three grown men to stay out of a strange vehicle. He would swear he could also see himself, struggling to free the boy, albeit unsuccessfully.

"You poor little devil," he murmured, now remembering fully the reason for Edward's nightmares, his rages, the moodiness, the nervousness; the boy's tormentors had done their job well. "Bloody bastards," he swore under his breath.

He looked down at Edward's head, nestled against his heart. How was it, Hook wondered, that Edward was able to still love him? After all, he was the cause of the boy's misery, wasn't he? He had not initiated contact with Edward, but he had certainly welcomed the brief escapes to be with the boy.

Again he wondered if there might not be some distant blood relationship between them and he wished he knew Edward's surname. He ran his fingers through Edward's short hair and studied the boy's face. It was no longer racked with anguish; instead he wore a look of complete contentment and Hook felt himself smile. He eased his head down on the pillows and closed his eyes, marveling at Edward's courage and steadfastness. "Thank God for faerie rings," he mumbled sleepily.

Captain Hook blinked sleepily and wondered what had awakened him. His head ached dully, but that was the price one paid for being up half the night. He stretched and reached for Edward, but his side of the bed was empty. Hook sat up and glanced around the room quickly, then spied the boy face down on the fainting couch. He eased from his bed and went to check on his son; the boy was still sleeping soundly so Hook covered him with the wool tartan, then opened his cabin door to let in some fresh air.

Mike noticed the open door and brought up the Captain's morning tea and scones. He chose not to mention that it was, actually, almost mid-day for both the Captain and his son had endured a rough night, and Mike considered himself far more tactful that Mr. Smee had ever been.

"How is he, sir," Mike asked, setting the Captain's breakfast before him.

Hook glanced over his shoulder towards the foot of his bed. "Exhausted, but none the worse on the whole."

"Well, that's good," Mike said softly, so as not to wake the sleeping boy. "He was one sick pup last night, he was."

"Aye," Hook agreed. He enjoyed his first sip of hot tea and decided he just might live after all. "Thank you for assistance, Mike. You were invaluable last night."

"Just doing my job, sir," Mike replied. "Will there be anything else sir?"

Hook shook his head. "No, thank you." He gestured towards Edward with his head. "I'll let you know if he needs anything when he wakes up."

"Aye sir," Mike saluted and excused himself from the room, leaving the Captain to his breakfast.

Hook turned his chair so he sat watching Edward. It still amazed him how all those buried memories came flooding back so quickly last night. Until that moment, he had no real recollection of his prior relationship with Edward whatsoever. He felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards into a smile. At the moment, Edward looked very much like the little boy he once was, but then so many men did when they were asleep and free from the cares of the world.

He wondered why the boy had seen fit to leave his bed and return to the couch. Hook didn't mind the company in bed, and he knew for certain that Edward felt safer when he was near him. He shrugged his concern off, deciding that the boy probably feared disturbing him; a ridiculous worry, but then Edward had always been exceedingly considerate of the Captain's feelings and comfort.

Hook set his tea cup down and sat stroking his beard, trying to make sense of what had happened to Edward. He could remember quite vividly the afternoon Edward's father had him taken away, how he had struggled to free the boy, and the crushing pain as he watched the boy vanish around some trees, whisked away in that strange white machine. Just thinking about it made the pain come boiling back up in his heart, rather like bile after a bad meal. And when he tried to conceive of the torture Edward had described, Hook felt cold chills creep up his spine to the back of his neck.

It was a wonder the boy had any memory of him left at all. Hook considered it an even greater miracle that Edward did not despise the sight of him, but he did not. On the contrary, for when Hook believed the boy should shrink from him in terror and hate, he clung fiercely to the Captain as though he feared someone might try to rip them asunder once more.

Hook knelt beside the fainting couch and gently shook Edward's shoulder to rouse the boy. "Edward," he said softly. "Wake up son."

Edward groaned and burrowed further under his cover at first. But he could feel Hook's hand resting on his shoulder and occasionally stroking his head, and his drowsy mind latched onto the rumble of the man's voice and followed it to the surface of his consciousness. He looked back over his shoulder at Hook and felt himself smile. "Morning," he mumbled sleepily.

"Barely," Hook chuckled. "Come have some breakfast before your tea gets cold, hmm?"

Edward stretched and yawned and rolled to a sitting position. He rubbed his bleary eyes and eased to his feet, not quite sure how steady his legs would be this morning. He felt Hook's arm go around his shoulders to guide him over to the desk. "Thanks," Edward said, squashing a yawn. He downed his first cup of tea quickly to chase the sleepiness from his brain.

"How do you feel?" Hook asked, offering the plate of scones to Edward.

"Better," Edward answered. He eyed the scones and hoped those were raisins and not dates inside; he didn't really care for dates. He glanced sheepishly across the desk to Hook. "Sorry about last night." he muttered. "I wasn't thinking."

"Not to worry," Hook said. "But if you ever do anything like that again I swear… You almost killed yourself."

"I'm sorry," Edward apologized. "I just wanted him to stop. Hateful little prick."

"I understand that," Hook sighed. "And as I said, I'm grateful for what you did. I despise that damned ticking. But did you even consider how I would feel if you had died?"

Edward stared at his feet and felt very ashamed of himself. The Captain was right; he hadn't even thought about that possibility. He'd been so wrapped up in finding the clock and beating the shit out of Pan - "I'm sorry, sir." He said quietly. "I just wasn't thinking clearly. I'll do better."

Hook reached across the desk for Edward's forearm. "Lad, I'm not angry with thee. Truly I'm not, but you gave me such a fright last night." He squeezed the boy's arm reassuringly. "I have just found my son again. I couldn't bear it if I lost you so quickly. That's all."

"O.k.," Edward said, locking eyes with Hook. "I'll be good. I promise."

"Good?" Hook echoed. He could hear similar words spoken by the boy long ago. "Child," Hook said gently. "You have never been anything but good where I was concerned." He looked into the boy's panicky eyes. "Have you not told me that you will never abandon me?'

"Yes sir," Edward said resolutely. "I mean, no sir. I mean - I wouldn't, I won't, not ever."

Hook tried not to chuckle as Edward stumbled over his words; the lad did get dreadfully flustered sometimes, he noted. "I know what you mean," Hook said. "I want you to listen carefully to me now, Edward."

"Yes sir."

"I will not send you away," Hook said firmly. "I know what happened to you, I know what your - father, such as he was, did to you. But I will not let anything like that happen ever again. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Edward answered solemnly. He felt his hands trembling a little and hid them in his lap. For an instant he could clearly see Hook, panic-stricken, standing in the gravel driveway of his childhood home, growing smaller and smaller through the rear window of the van. "I missed you so much," he whispered.

"There now," Hook soothed. "That's all over now. You're here with me and he can't hurt you anymore."

"I know," Edward said, almost apologetically. "It's just, sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up and find myself back there, in that place. I get scared like I did when they used to…" His voice faded, and he looked deeply into the intense blue eyes he'd seen in his dreams so often. "I love you," he said quietly.

"As I do you," Hook smiled reassuringly. "You were such a good boy."

"I dare say he would disagree with you," Edward muttered.

"Humph," Hook snorted. "I will never understand thy father, the bloody fool, or your mother for that matter. But, as I said, their loss is my good fortune." He shook his head. "They just didn't know how to handle thee. You never gave me a moment of trouble - worry maybe, but never trouble." He noticed Edward seemed to be lost somewhere beyond the wall he was staring at, and he reached for the boy's right hand. "You never were afraid of me, not even as a child. Not even on the day I met you - you were as bold and feisty as ever." He caught Edward's gaze and smiled at the boy. "I always admired you for that."

"Me?" Edward asked weakly.

"Of course," Hook said, pouring Edward another cup of tea. "And why not? You were far braver than most grown men I met. Come to think of it, you still are."

Edward ducked his head shyly and tried not to grin. "Thank you, sir," he said softly. He polished off the last of his scone and sat sipping the tea slowly.

Hook drained his own cup of the last of his tea. "Just remember," he said, "I'm here, and I won't let anyone take you away again. All right?"

"Yes sir," Edward nodded.

"Do you feel well enough to go outside?" Hook asked brightly.

"Yes sir."

Hook stood and stretched, driving the kinks away from his still-tired body. "I thought I'd inspect the ship and get some fresh air on deck. Come with me?'

"Yes sir," Edward answered, practically beaming with pride. He followed the Captain below to the gun room and then to the hold while Hook explained the importance of balancing the load in the ship. On deck, he walked beside and a half-step behind the Captain to show his respect for the man to the crew.

Edward wondered if he would ever get his strength back. He was sure he'd barely had twenty minutes of exercise but he was already feeling tired again. Reluctantly, Edward headed back into the Captain's cabin and lay down on the fainting couch to rest.

Hook stayed on deck for some time, over-seeing repairs to the rigging and maintenance on the cargo hoist, and it was mid-afternoon when he finally returned to his cabin to check on his son. He found Edward on the fainting couch, snoring softly and settled himself at his desk, enjoying a cigar while studying his sea charts.

The heavy, earthy smell of Hook's cigar seeped into Edward's subconscious mind and drew him back towards the surface of his sleep. He lay watching Hook for quite a while before he chose to speak. Edward propped himself up on one elbow and looked over at the Captain. "Sir," he said warily. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Hook answered, not bothering to look up from the chart he was studying.

Edward swallowed hard and tried to steel himself. "I was wondering, actually, I've wondered for a long time…" his voice faded. He wasn't sure if he should ask such a personal thing of man.

Hook glanced up from his papers and looked towards Edward. The boy's mind seemed to have wandered again. "Yes?" he asked, waiting for the rest of Edward's question.

"Forget it," Edward mumbled. "It's really none of my business after all."

"What?" Hook asked again. He noticed Edward fidgeting nervously with the corner of his blankets. "Out with it, lad," he insisted. "What's troubling thee?"

"Nothing," Edward said. "I just... Really, I'm probably sticking my nose where it's got no business."

Hook got up from the desk and walked over to the fainting couch. He gave Edward's legs a nudge over and sat down on the edge of the couch. "Ask," he said quietly, though he was beginning to have an inkling of an idea where they were headed - at least he hoped he did. "Come on," he nudged the boy again. "I promise not to get annoyed with you."

Edward glanced up from under his eyebrows. "Well, if it is none of my business, just say so and I'll drop it."

"Very well," Hook agreed. He watched the boy working his nerve up.

"Well," Edward began. "You know, it said in the story - that is, when Mom read me the story…"

"Yes?"

"I always wondered," Edward hesitated and gave the Captain an anxious look.

"Go on," Hook insisted gently.

"Why - how did he, Pan that is," Edward coughed to steady his voice. "How did he, you know, do it?" His voice faded away to a bare whisper. "Your hand." He could feel his eyes burning and he looked away from the Captain quickly and wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have…"

"It's all right," Hook said softly. That was not quite the question he'd been expecting. He drew in a great breath to steel himself and let it slip slowly through his nostrils. "You've contemplated this for a long time, haven't you son?"

"Yes sir," Edward replied. He stared down at his covers, ashamed of himself now he had finally broached the subject.

"I remember how you used to try and puzzle it out yourself," Hook said. "All those times you sat with me and ran your hands over my arm, and the harness. I could see you trying to reconcile things on your own." He reached for Edward's chin and tilted the boy's face up to receive his warm smile. "You have always been a paradox to me. You were the most marvelously dreadful, naughty little boy, always ready to engage in skullduggery and mischief, whether you or I concocted it. Pirating was in your blood from birth, my boy."

Edward smiled and ducked his head. "Yes sir," he said. "Thank you."

"No lad," Hook said. "Thank you. Thank God for you, I don't know how else I would have retained any sanity. For while you were a wonderfully roguish child, you could be so - so thoughtful, so respectful, so uncritical. You have no idea how demoralized I was after Peter fed me to that beast. Once more I'd been humiliated in front of my men. They were losing their respect, or at least, their fear of me. I felt like a failure, unable to defeat a mere child, and they saw me as such. You treated me as if there were nothing wrong with me at all."

"Well there isn't," Edward snorted indignantly. "Besides, he cheats. Pan, that is."

Hook smiled at him again. "Thank you, lad." He sighed thoughtfully. "I do not, as a rule, discuss that event with anyone," he held his hand up to keep Edward silent. "But then you aren't just anyone, are you. And I suppose if anyone ever had a right to at least ask such of me, it would be you."

"If you don't want to…" Edward began.

"No," Hook broke in. "I think you should know. Dear Peter has spread the notion I lost my hand in a fair fight, and his story-teller has been his willing accomplice." He snorted. "The fight may have started fair, but considering that I was dueling Peter… But I should start at the beginning."

"You see, when I first came to this island, Neverland was not enchanted as it is now. It was as normal as any other spit of land I ever set my boots upon. Aside from the redskins and the animals, there were no other inhabitants. And it was so well hidden that I found it a safe harbor when I needed to, oh, make myself scarce for a time. I can't recall the number of times I took refuge here from his majesty's navy." He grinned at Edward and winked. "The Black Castle already existed, but it was in a deplorable state, so I restored and fortified it for my purposes, and used it as a store house for my treasure. After all, I had no fear of the savages stealing it. Treasure is of little use to them."

"So when did butt-head show up?" Edward asked. He scooched up on the settee so he sat with his knees drawn up, his crossed forearms resting on them.

"Peter arrived just before my last departure from this place, and with him the blasted faeries, the mermaids and the island's enchantment." Hook explained. "He was delighted to find pirates on the island and I'm sure he was disappointed when we sailed away, for of course then he had no one to provide him with adventures. Regrettably, we returned much sooner than I had originally planned as we ran into a wicked storm and had to turn back. I, naturally, planned on leaving again once our repairs were completed." He laughed bitterly.

"During my brief absence Peter had managed to persuade the redskins to ally with him against me. He also enlisted the mermaids, the faeries, even the bloody beasts were his willing accomplices. I returned to find myself an outcast in my own sanctuary." Hook paused and bit his bottom lip.

"Upon my return, I discovered the changes that had befallen my lovely refuge. At first, the redskins were reluctant to attack us, unprovoked, as we had never found cause to fire upon any of their tribe, and I thought Peter would be only a minor annoyance." Hook exchanged wry smiles with Edward, whose rapt attention he held captive. "I had gone to the castle with Smee and a handful of men with the intention of collecting the materials necessary to effect repairs to the ship, and to check on our supplies. Upon our arrival, however, I discovered not only dear Peter but his army of unwashed urchins plundering our stores and the treasure. The impudent boy actually had the gall to question what right I had to be in the castle. My castle, mind you."

"Little bastard," Edward snorted.

"Aye," Hook agreed. "Naturally, I took umbrage at his attitude and threatened to thrash his hide for him. It was then that Peter challenged me to a duel. Can you imagine my shock? This unruly imp, a mere child, and he challenges me? Captain James Hook, in my own castle?"

"I'd have shot him," Edward said flatly.

"I wish I had," Hook sighed. "I had the chance, but it would have been bad form so…" He shook his head. "And for reasons known only to God, I accepted Peter's challenge, right there on the east tower. He was a terrible swordsman," Hook scoffed. "His skill has improved vastly thanks to his battles with me. Now there's some irony for you, eh?" He snorted with contempt. "I would have run him through instantly, except that, being Peter and therefore a coward, he flew out of harm's way, to my great consternation. Of course, he was so cocky, he engaged me repeatedly and I suppose he fought fairly in his own mind."

Hook grew quiet for some time and Edward watched him; the muscles in his jaw twitched several times and Edward saw him swallow hard. "If you don't want to go on," he said. "I understand."

"No," Hook sighed heavily. "It's all right." He cleared his throat. "It had been raining for days, as I said we ran into a dreadful storm. The stones under foot were quite slippery in places and as luck would have it my feet slid out from under me when I lunged at Peter. Out of instinct, I grabbed at the turret wall to keep myself from falling face first - I caught hold of the brick with my right hand. It made a perfect chopping block for Peter." He felt himself shudder at the memory.

"Being a mere boy," Hook continued, "Peter lacked the brute strength necessary to strike a clean, severing blow. Part of his blade somehow became wedged between two stone blocks, having only partially cleaved my hand from my body." He cut his eyes towards Edward. The boy had his chin resting on his knees, his eyes were glued on the Captain and there was a faint trail of moisture down his right cheek. Hook reached for the boy's left hand and clasped it tightly in his own.

"As Peter could not free the blade at first, he became frustrated and took to jumping on the hilt to drive blade through my arm. It took him three attempts…" he felt Edward cover their hands with his right and squeeze tightly. "Blood was everywhere - on the wall, the floor, on Peter. Some even spattered back on my own face. I vaguely remember screaming - and vomiting, in front of my men. I'm not sure which was worse, the pain or the humiliation."

He heard Edward's breath hitch and looked at him; the boy had his head down and turned away, but he could clearly see Edward's face had flushed red to his ears. "It's all right lad, it was a long time ago."

"No, it ain't alright," Edward objected. "It wasn't right at all. It was a rotten-ass, hateful thing to do, and there's no good reason for it at all." He sat up on the side of the couch beside Hook, wiping his face on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, I had no right to ask..."

"Nonsense," Hook huffed. "You had every right to ask." He rested his hand on the boy's right shoulder. "Of course, you know the rest. Peter took my hand and flung into the swamp as a snack for his favorite crocodile. Smee, curse his soul, tied off the ragged end of my arm so I did not bleed to death and had me taken back to the ship where he nursed me back to health. I thought surely I would die, I wanted to die; I prayed for death. And like so many of my prayers, that one too, went unanswered."

"Sir?" Edward asked.

"I know," Hook groaned. "I should be grateful that Smee saved my life, but by doing so he trapped me here for all eternity. A living hell, quite literally."

"Peter, I am sure, thought I was beaten and done for and most likely had planned to finish me off at our next meeting. He did not realize that I am – was, ambidextrous. I always preferred my right hand, but I am quite capable of defending myself with the left. But he left me trapped in this detestably imperfect body, maimed for life. And not only did Peter take my hand, he robbed me of my dignity and most of my memory. Even now, I can no more remember my true name than I could grow a new hand. For years, all I could remember was pain and misery, and hatred. And then, after all that, the little bastard fed me to that same damned crocodile."

He felt Edward's shoulders jerk. "Now then," he soothed. "It wasn't all that terrible, not really. And had he not, I would never have met you." He cupped his palm under Edward's chin and turned the boy's face back to him. "And that would be a tragedy now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes sir," Edward wheezed. He buried his face against the Captain and hugged the man.

"That's my good lad," Hook murmured. "And now you know."

"I'm sorry," Edward groaned. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't fret, lad," Hook said. "Peter has defeated himself by his own actions. He no longer has any hold over me, because of you. And I have you, because of him."

"So," Edward cleared his throat. "Basically, he screwed himself royally?"

"Aye, Edward," Hook smirked. "That he did."

Edward grinned wickedly. "He didn't even get a kiss, did he?" He winked a naughty wink at Hook.

"Not from me," Hook chuckled. He tousled the boy's hair. "I like a fellow with a good sense of humor, you know. Have I mentioned that before?"

"I think so," Edward nodded. "That's me. I've got your back."

"Good lad," Hook patted Edward's shoulder. "Now, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Sure," Edward said. "Anything."

"You once offered me the chance to fire your shotgun. I was wondering…"

"Yes sir," Edward smiled and hugged the man. "Just let me get my boots back on. You're gonna love it." He shoved his feet back into his boots and dug in his daypack for a box of buck-shot before practically pushing an amused Hook out the door to test fire 'sweet little sixteen'.

Edward closed his eyes and inhaled as much of the fresh air as his lungs could hold; the morning sun felt warm on his bare forearms. God, it felt good to be off the ship for a while, he thought. He'd been cooped up for over six days now and he'd been going stir-crazy. There was only so much sitting around and taking it easy he could handle.

He sat in the bow of Hook's longboat looking back towards the Captain, who sat at the rear as was his custom; Mike and Hopkins rowed the boat as usual. They were headed to the Black Castle to collect some of the last of the Captain's possessions he wished to take with him and the last of the dry goods from the pantry. Edward had been allowed to come along on the condition he was to do no work nor anything else that might overtax his system. He was feeling much better, though he still tired easily, and his stitches itched like crazy. He now wore the bandage at his neck specifically to keep himself from clawing at the annoying black sutures. They could not come out too soon, as far as he was concerned. He noticed Hook watching him and smiled back at the Captain.

"Enjoying yourself, I see," Hook remarked.

"Yes sir," Edward answered. "Very much. I appreciate your letting me come along."

"Well, see that you don't overdo it," Hook said. He noticed a pair of warriors near a tree, their canoe pulled up on the beach. "I see the redskins are keeping their part of the bargain well."

Edward watched them as the boat rowed passed; out of habit, he lay his right hand on the grip of his Ruger pistol, tucked in its shoulder holster under his left arm...

"Steady now, lad," Hook said. "They're no threat to us anymore."

"Yes sir," Edward answered. He did not remove his hand from the pistol though; he was still waiting for one of them to lob an arrow their direction. But it did not come and he soon relaxed. The salty, brackish smell of the sea filled his nostrils. It was a pleasant aroma, reminding him of vacations to…. to…. Oh hell, he thought, why did he have to forget the pleasant things, but the unpleasant memories seemed to hang on?

"How long before we go?" he asked, turning back towards Hook.

"Several more days at least," the Captain replied. "I want your stitches out first."

"Me too," Edward grinned, mock-scratching at his neck. He noticed the corners of Hook's mouth flick upwards a brief moment; so what if he was forgetting most, if not all, of his former life - who needed it anyway.

Hook regarded his son; he seemed quite at home on the water. He had needed to remind Edward of the dangers of letting one's limbs hang out over the water -his crocodile was dead but there were plenty others about, and sharks, and then there were always the mermaids to worry about. Hook was sure they'd like nothing better than to drown his son and leave him trapped here with Pan for all eternity.

The boy was doing much better, Hook noted. His color was improving, and his strength was returning gradually. Edward had actually survived two nights without any night-mares, for which the Captain was thankful. Seeing his son so distraught and knowing the cause of his misery only served to infuriate Hook. But that cat was out of the bag now, and maybe the boy would not be so haunted by his past, he hoped.

The Black Castle came into view as the procession of boats rounded a curve in the coastline. Edward felt himself shudder at the sight of the imposing fortress; the night he'd spent there had not been the most pleasant one. He smiled slightly; not quite three weeks since he had been here and what changes he'd been through. The first time he'd seen the castle he'd been convinced he was caught deep in a hallucination. Now he realized that the only trick his mind had ever played on him was to hide reality deep in his sub-conscious and have it relabeled as fantasy. He looked up at the immense iron gate, raised high over the mouth of the sea cave as the boat passed beneath it. Once all three boats were inside a crewman lowered the gate again and a huge chain was padlocked over the gears to keep anyone from setting the longboats adrift.

Edward stepped out first, tying the boat soundly to its moorings, then held the boat steady while Hook and the others disembarked. Hook scanned the cave, shaking off the unpleasant memories associated with the place. He cast an especially baleful glare towards the gargoyle's hand, in which he'd once taken refuge from his ticking tormentor.

"What?" Edward asked. "You see something?" He reached for the pistol butt again.

"Only a ghost from the past," Hook murmured. He turned to the crew. "Look alive, you dogs. We haven't got all day." He led the procession up the long dark hallway with Edward close behind. Mike carried a torch to light the way and the rest of the crew followed, with the exception of Hopkins, left behind to watch the boats.

The dining hall looked much different to Edward in the daylight than it had illuminated by torchlight; it was fairly bright and airy and not in the least spooky. Hook set the crew to gathering anything that might be of use to them, or that could be pilfered by Pan and his irksome hoard. Certain excess items - flour, beans, blankets - were set aside to be given to the redskins as a last gesture of goodwill for their help with Edward's wounds and the protection of the crew. Once this work was well under way, the Captain headed for his upstairs suite, again with Edward at his heels.

"Do you feel strong enough to help me with a few light items, son?" Hook asked as they climbed the stairs.

"I don't see why not," Edward answered. The stairs seemed to have multiplied though, since his last visit and he began to feel out of breath. "Hang on a minute, sir." He reached for Hook's shoulder to steady himself.

"What's the matter?" Hook asked; he noted the boy's obvious fatigue. "Maybe you should go back and wait in the boat."

"Uh-uh," Edward shook his head. "I want to stay with you. I just need to catch my breath."

Hook waited until Edward no longer sounded like a panting hound, then proceed more slowly up the last dozen or so steps. Torchlight flooded the room and the flames made dancing specters appear on the walls. Hook went over to his bookcase and set three leather-bound volumes aside along with a large book of sheet music. These he deposited into a leather satchel to be slung over his shoulder. "Edward, come here," he said softly.

Edward left the window he'd been staring out and crossed to where Hook waited. "Sir?" he asked.

Hook gestured towards a dust covered violin on the mantle of the room's large fireplace. "Have you ever played before?"

"Ages ago," Edward chuckled. "I was in band at school a couple of years. I'm sure I'm a bit rusty."

"It's mine," Hook explained, almost ruefully. "I haven't been able to play it since…" He held up his claw. "But it's yours if you'd like."

"Yes sir," Edward answered in a low whisper. "Thank you sir."

"On the condition that you play for me," Hook said, "Once your hand is mended thoroughly, of course."

Eddie grinned broadly and waggled his left thumb; the full range of motion had not come back yet, but at least it was moving now. "Sure thing," he said. He carefully place the instrument into its case. "What else?" he asked.

Hook looked around the room. There were several pieces of furniture he'd like to take along, but there really wasn't room for them on the ship. "I believe that's everything," he sighed. He slung the bag containing his books over his left shoulder and headed back downstairs, his right arm across Edward's shoulders. Most of the cargo to be loaded on the ship had already been moved to the boats, and Hook walked around the hall as if telling the castle goodbye.

"This fortress had provided me with refuge on many an occasion," he said to Edward. "I can't say I have fond memories of the place, though they were not entirely unpleasant times either." He sighed and rejoined Edward, locking the doors behind them.

They emerged from the corridor and started towards the boat. Edward felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle and froze in his tracks, scanning the cave for any signs of intruders.

"What is it?" Hook asked quietly.

"Something's not right," Eddie answered. "The air has an odd feel to it."

"Pardon?" Hook queried.

"It's the same sort of feeling I get sometimes when I'm deer hunting… like something is watching me, only not in a friendly way this time."

The words had barely passed Edward's lips when Peter and the Lost Boys sprang into their attack, appearing from behind every rock and shadowy crevice. Edward instinctively started forward, reaching for his pistol. He barely made a half-step when he felt Hook's hand clamp down on his right shoulder.

"Edward!" the Captain said sternly. He felt Edward halt in mid-lunge and fall back to stand beside him. "Good lad." Hook said.

"Well hello, Captain Codfish," Peter jeered from high atop the gargoyle. "I've come to collect what's mine."

"And what would that be?" Hook drew his sword.

"Why your left hand, of course," Peter taunted. "I need it for my collection. A matched set."

"I think not!" Edward roared. "You little prick!" He drew the Ruger and chambered a round.

"Oh don't worry," Peter sneered. "I intend to finish what Mr. Smee started." He drew his thumb across his own throat.

Hook shoved Edward behind him before the boy had a chance to answer. "Over my dead body, you cowardly dog!" he hissed.

"That, I can arrange," Peter grinned. He dove down towards Hook locking swords with the Captain and their duel began, proceeding quickly out onto the ramparts.

Meanwhile, the Lost Boys sprang into battle with the remaining pirates. Edward had the wind knocked out of him, the Captain had shoved him with such force, and it took a moment for him to join the fray. A skinny boy with curly black hair, Skeeter, charged at him brandishing a sword. Edward drew down on the boy and set the laser sight between his eyes. Skeeter's head snapped back violently upon impact; the rest of his body followed like a sack of horse feed.

"Obviously you never saw Raiders of the Lost Ark, did you now?" Edward chuckled. He scanned the cave for Hook before realizing the man had chased Pan outside. The pirates were handling the other boys quite nicely. Robert Mullins fell Chuckles, and Guinness took out Stinkweed. Wrong Way and Knuckles fell victim to Bainbridge and Hopkins, respectively. The last two, Carrots and Mohawk, scurried out through a hole in the wall like the rats they were, dodging a hail of bullets as they went. The empty clip dropped into Edward's waiting hand and he shoved it into his trouser pocket, retrieving a full clip from the holster. He bounded towards the stairs that led outside.

"You be careful there," Mike called up, motioning to the others to follow him. "You know what the Captain told ye."

Edward whirled and put his hand out to halt Mike's progress. "I am being careful, all right? I'm not gonna overdo it, trust me."

Mike raised a dubious eyebrow. "You won't help him if ye make yourself sick again."

Edward sighed, exasperated. "You wait here, don't let anyone else out. We don't want those two to come back and swamp the boats, you know." He trotted more slowly up the stairs towards the fortress's crumbling watchtower and eased out past the iron gate to watch the duel transpiring before him in the mid-day sun.

The Captain was by far the better swordsman; he had a deceptively wicked riposte, which Edward had yet to counter effectively during his lessons. Coupled with his lightning-quick lunge and superior foot work and technique, Hook would have killed any other opponent on their first meeting. But Pan was no normal opponent; Edward could see that more clearly than ever. When any other man would have been run through or, at the least, disarmed, Peter would take to the air and soar out of harm's way, returning to take a less than sporting swipe at the Captain.

Edward felt an old familiar sense of fear and dread wash over him as he watched; his stomach rolled, and chills shot down his spine. Peter seemed to be trying to lure Hook out onto the less stable portions of the watchtower's floor. At some time, whole sections had fallen away into the pounding surf below; the weight of a full-grown man could easily bring down another section, sending him plunging to his death in the rocky ocean below. To interfere in the Captain's fight, even on his behalf, would surely bring his wrath upon Edward, but he would rather take a flogging from Hook than lose him to Peter. Pan was a devious little cheat in Edward's mind, and there were no other observers to possibly tarnish Hook's self-image. He slapped the fresh clip into the pistol and chambered a round; the noise caught the duelers' attention.

"You'll get your turn!" Peter menaced.

Edward settled the red dot at the base of Pan's throat and started easing sideways towards Hook. "Just try it," he growled in a low voice.

"Get back inside at once!" Hook insisted. "That's an order."

"Please sir, Edward said, "Let me explain." He drew himself close to Hook's left side and looked straight into the piercing blue eyes. "Can't we just go home?" he asked.

"Do what?" Hook queried, shocked.

"Yes sir," Edward continued. "Let's just go. He's trying to lure you out to the edge so you'll fall. I watched him try it several times in just the past few minutes. Let's just go back to the ship and leave the cheating little bastard to his own devices."

"Excuse me?" Peter interrupted. "Are you accusing me of foul play?"

Edward cut his eyes towards Pan. "Duh? Real genius, aren't you?"

"How dare you!"

"Would you shut up?" Edward snapped. "I wasn't even talking to you. But since I am now, yes, you're a filthy little cheat. You couldn't fight fair with your feet nailed to the ground. Hell, you couldn't fight your way out of a paper bag without someone else's help."

"What rot!" Peter seethed. "How dare you insult my honor!"

"Honor?" Edward echoed. "Bah! You don't know its meaning. You wouldn't know true honor if it jumped up and bit you on the ass. It offends me to hear you even utter the word."

"Edward!" Hook chided.

"No sir," Edward turned his attention back to the Captain. "He has never fought fair - not once! He didn't when he maimed you. He didn't when you fought here before, and he certainly didn't when he sent you to…." he hesitated. Even thinking about it made him so mad he wanted to scream. "He's always had someone to help, someone or some- thing to distract you so he can escape. It's not right and it never has been. And on top of everything else, I'm just waiting for whoever or whatever to pop out any moment." He swung around and glared at Peter. "And when they do, I'm emptying the magazine in them." Edward waggled the pistol at Peter to emphasize his point.

"Calm down son," Hook said.

"He is not!" Peter yelled. "Stop calling him that! And I have never cheated in my life - never!"

Edward bluff-lunged at Peter, smirking as the imp leapt backwards. "Oh really? Let me refresh that convenient memory of yours. I suppose you call deliberately hacking off the hand of an opponent fair; I don't, especially when there was no cause for it aside from your rotten hatefulness. I guess you'd also say those clever escapes of yours were fair also, eh"

"What escapes?" Peter snorted. "I get away because I'm young and clever, and Hook is old and slow."

"Oh what a load of USDA bullshit," Edward countered. "You're telling me when the Captain had you down, in this very place and was about to slit you open, that overgrown pair of boots-on-the-hoof interfering wasn't cheating?"

"Of course not," Peter answered. "I'm not responsible for what the crocodile does - did."

"Whoa there," Edward sputtered. "Don't go pissing down my back and call it rain." He shook his head with disgust. "So I suppose the fact that the only reason you're still alive today is due to the interfering ways of that fickle little twit…"

"Don't you dare talk about Wendy like that!" Peter menaced, pointing his sword towards Edward.

Oh please," Edward snorted. "She wasn't nothing but a naïve little girl with a terminal case of puppy love. In any case, you have lost at least two and maybe three fights to…" Edward paused and looked over his shoulder to Hook. Hook proudly claimed him as his son, yet he had neglected to do the same. He had no reasons; the feelings were definitely there, and he most certainly was not ashamed of the man. Far from it; he would gladly have traded his own father for Hook in a heartbeat. He would have given anything to be spirited away by the Captain all those years ago. He smiled at Hook "…to my father and you should be dead already, except that someone always seems to come along and get you out of the actual execution phase."

"That's a lie!" Peter roared. "And he is not your father! He's nothing but a …" Peter stopped mid-sentence; that red dot was back at the base of his throat again.

"I'd shut up if I was you," Edward said in a dangerously quiet voice. "I don't take too kindly to you casting aspersions on my father. I still have plans to castrate your sorry ass, you know."

Hook felt his heart swelling with pride. Father; what a wonderful feeling of approbation hearing the title brought. Finally, Edward had said it; said it with such respect and affection there could be no doubt of the boy's sincerity - and Pan had heard it, and he could do nothing to take this victory away. Hook reached for Edward's shoulder and felt the boy shaking with rage. "Let me handle this, son," he said softly. "You need to calm down."

Edward looked into the Captain's blue eyes very hard. "Sir," he pleaded softly. "Please. When I was five, I thought you died and it broke my heart. I found you again, but when I was sixteen, they took you away from me and built a wall between us. It took me twelve years to find you again… twelve years." He tried hard to hold Hook's gaze, but he could feel his ears starting to burn and his throat tightening. Edward ducked his head so Hook would not see the tears brimming on his eyelids. "I don't think I can survive losing you again," he whispered. "I don't think I want to."

Hook reached for Edward's chin with his claw, gently tilting the boy's face up so he might look into those steady eyes, except they were scared; he could see the panic seething inside the boy. He'd seen it before, when Edward had looked back at him so desperately from inside that peculiar carriage - the one that had whisked the boy away and out of the Captain's life for so long.

Hook bit his lower lip; Edward looked positively ill again. He'd gone quite pale and was still shaking slightly. "I can take him, son," he whispered to Edward. "Trust me."

"I know you can," Edward choked. "But I still don't trust him. I wouldn't trust that little popcorn fart anywhere near an outhouse, muzzled or not. You said it yourself. He's not worth it. If anything was to happen to you… Please. Can't we just go?"

Hook stole a quick glance towards Pan. The brat was growing impatient and was visibly irked at the thought of being ignored; it was a capital idea. "Perhaps you are correct, son," Hook said it just to piss Peter off; he was not disappointed with the result either.

"You have no son!" Peter roared angrily. "Now raise your sword and finish this!"

Edward raised the pistol and the red dot settled on the bridge of Peter's nose. His finger twitched on the trigger… but he did not fire. "You shut the fuck up and bugger off, do you hear me?" he snarled. "And don't you ever, ever come near my father again. Ever!"

Peter roared with rage and raised his sword to strike at Edward; something hissed passed his right ear and set it on fire. He dropped his blade and howled in pain. "You shot me!" Blood dripped from Peter's right earlobe onto his shoulder. "Bad form" Peter spewed.

"I didn't shoot you," Edward said. "Just sort of bobbed your ear. Bad form, good form – who cares. It was a damned good shot." He felt Hook's hand on his right forearm.

"That's enough," Hook said firmly. "Let's go." He pushed the boy's arm down from its threatening position, maintaining his grip until he heard Edward lower the pistol's hammer.

"Yes sir," Edward said meekly, allowing the man to steer him away from Pan, towards the doorway and back inside. "Besides," he remarked, glancing over at Peter on last time, "You'd be dead if that's what I wanted." Edward made his way down the slick steps gingerly, the Captain's hand remaining on his shoulder to steady the both of them, and also to keep him under control, he figured. Only when they were at the boats did Edward re-holster the Ruger.

"Good lad," Hook said as he stepped down to the longboat. "And good shot also."

"Thanks," Edward grinned, setting the satchel and violin case in the boat. He started to re-take his seat at the bow, but Hook gestured for Edward to come sit beside him. His butt had barely hit the seat when Peter appeared next to boat with his foot on the mooring rope, sword in hand.

"Where do you think you're going!" he demanded. "I'm not through with you yet!"

Hook opened his mouth to answer but instead erupted in howls of laughter. Peter, it seems, had not noticed he was standing straddle of one of the oar's handles… and Mike had stomped on the blade end, sending the handle hurtling up into Peter's crotch. The sword hit the rocks with a clank, followed moments later by a groaning Pan in a fetal position. Edward leaned against Hook, laughing hysterically.

"That's the funniest damned thing I've seen in ages," Edward said, gasping for air. "Good on you, Mike."

"Agreed," Hook chuckled heartily. "Good show indeed."

Mike grinned as he rowed the craft from the cave and out into the open ocean. "It was too good a chance to pass up, sir."

Peter lay on the cold, damp stones trying not to puke, quite sure he would die any moment now. He heard Hook and Edward, still howling with laughter, and vowed revenge. Not only had they ruined his fun, they had killed most of his troops, and he wondered if he would ever walk again; he was sure Mike had broken something.

Hook leaned against the stern of the boat and glanced at Edward, who was still laughing under his breath at Pan's comeuppance. He could not help but smile; he still had no idea what had set Edward so on edge and driven him to stop the duel, but his assertion of the Captain as his father far outweighed any potential embarrassment Hook might have felt. He slid his left arm around Edward's shoulders and felt the boy lean against him slightly.

Edward heaved a great sigh and Hook gave the boy's shoulders a squeeze of reassurance.

Hook could hardly bear the wait until they left Neverland. It would only be a few more days, yet to Hook is seemed like months. It would be a rare pleasure indeed to have his son beside him on the rolling deck of the ship at full sail, and he ached to look from the ship and see nothing but the wide expanse of open ocean instead of the cursed island. Oh, to feel the rush of battle, to see the fear in his enemy's eyes just before he ran them through, to feel the thrill of the kill - and to have Edward at his side. Hook looked at Edward again and his heart swelled with pride once more. Smee may have doubted the boy's sincerity, but then Smee never had been the brightest of sixpences. Hook had no doubts that Edward would indeed follow him straight into Hell if necessary, without a moment's hesitation, roaring his war-cry and slashing demons with every step; pity the poor Devil, Hook thought.

Edward followed the Captain into his cabin, setting the satchel of books and the violin case on Hook's desk. The ride back from the Black Castle had been a fairly quiet one, after the laughter ceased, that was. Hook had been so silent that Edward now began to worry if he might have offended the man by stopping his duel with Pan. On the other hand, the Captain had kept his left arm around his shoulders all the way back to the ship and had appeared to be quite contented with the day's events. Edward noticed Hook shrugging his coat off and went to help.

"I'll get that for you," Edward said, reaching for the Captain's crimson coat.

"Thank you." Hook handed it to him and watched the boy carefully replace the garment on its hanger in the armoire, then secure his sword and pistol belt in the weapons case. He was quite sure Peter was back at his hideout telling what was left of the Lost Boys about yet another victory over the Captain; Peter was good at twisting the facts to suit his childish wants.

He wondered if Edward would try and intercede every time he crossed swords with an opponent once they were free; that would not do. He was quite capable of defending himself against any enemy. Still, he couldn't argue with Edward's reasoning; Peter did seem to have assistance of one sort or another in every instance in which they met, and it always affected the outcome of the duel in Pan's favor - maybe the boy was right. Anyway, Peter's expression had been worth any potential embarrassment; Hook had been quite sure the brat would explode any moment when Edward proudly referred to him as his father.

"Edward," he said softly, "Come here."

Edward turned from the weapons case. He felt his guts knot up and he waited to be hauled over the coals. "Sir?" He forced himself to go to the man, fighting the old familiar sense of dread he felt coursing through his system; he was waiting for the thrashing to begin. He knew it wasn't going to. He knew Hook had never raised his hand in anger against him and probably never would. He knew this, but the reaction was as instinctive as snatching his hand away from a snarling animal. Edward could feel himself tensing and he sensed a slight tremor in his hands; he hoped Hook would not see. "Yes sir," he half-whispered and stood in front of the Captain, trying not to cringe visibly.

Hook opened his arms invitingly and felt the boy sink heavily into his embrace. So, he thought, this was what Pan had been denying him all these years; the comfort of acceptance and belonging, and the gloriously all-encompassing warmth of being loved unconditionally. "Thank you," he murmured, his head bowed close to Edward's.

"For what?" Edward asked, trying to hide his relief.

"For what you said to Peter," Hook answered. "I have ached to hear that word on your lips so often…." his voice trailed off for a moment. "Would you say it again, please."

Edward hugged the man as tightly as he could. "Father," he said hoarsely. "You're my father and I love you." He clung to Hook; God, how he loved the man - he loved him so much he felt as though he would explode. What he wouldn't have done, Edward thought, to have left with the Captain so many years ago and escape the hellish past that had been his. He caught Hook by the forearm. "Would you let me do something, for you?" he asked, gesturing towards the door.

"Edward?" Hook queried.

"Please," Edward said. "I should have done it days ago… please?"

Hook looked in the boy's eyes again; the steady gaze was back. Whatever it was, it

seemed very important to Edward so he nodded. "All right, son." he followed the boy out onto the main deck.

"Excuse me," Edward said loudly. The men on deck ceased their work and looked toward the pair. "I need to say something," Edward glanced at Hook for a brief moment and grinned. "I should not have waited so long to say this, and I am ashamed of myself for having done so. This man," he gestured towards the Captain, "is my father. I am very proud he has chosen me as his son, though I think I am the luckier one in this deal. I have loved him for more than twenty years; I still do. So in case anyone wasn't clear on that point, now you know."

There, Edward thought, that's better. But somehow it still didn't seem like quite enough. It still felt as though he was over-looking some important detail. He trotted up onto the quarterdeck and looked towards the island. He cupped his hands to his mouth. "All of you," he thundered. "Listen to me. James Hook is my father, do you hear me? He is my father and I love him. I always have. So deal with it!" He threw the island his favorite one-fingered salute and trotted back down to be close to Hook.

The crew all watched Edward, silently glancing at each other as if befuddled by his behavior. They had learned years ago not to question any of their Captain's decrees, no matter how preposterous it seemed. Why this fellow found it necessary to make another announcement about the matter was a mystery to them, but he was Hook's son now, and second in command, so they waited and pretended to hang on his every word.

"Back to work!" Hook barked, hoping they would not notice the hoarseness of his voice. He gestured for Edward to follow him back into the cabin. "Good form, son," he said. "Thank you."

"I should have done that the other day," Edward answered. He sat down on the fainting couch and untied his boots. "I don't know why I didn't."

"It doesn't matter," Hook replied mildly. "I was so proud when you told Peter I was your father, I thought my very heart would burst on the spot." He lounged in his chair at the desk watching Edward remove his boots; the boy looked a bit pale. "Are you feeling all right?" he asked.

"Just tired," Edward grunted as he kicked off the boots, then set them under the settee. "I thought I'd lie down for a while, if that's o.k. with you."

"Of course," Hook said. He lit a cigar and sat watching the smoke curl lazily towards the ceiling. "I think we'll see if you can get those stitches out in the morning. You seem to have healed quite well."

"I have to wait until the morning?" Edward groaned. "I guess I'll survive that long."

"I certainly hope so," Hook chuckled. "It would be a shame to waste all of Mr. Pham's hard work."

"No doubt," Edward grinned. He lay back on the couch and shaded his eyes with his hat, watching Hook from under the brim. Whatever had dammed up his memory was gone now and he could clearly remember all the happy days spent playing with the Captain, and all the less pleasant days he'd spent in the comfort of Hook's consoling embrace. The Captain had been a blessing; he'd had no one else to talk to and no one else ever seemed to understand quite so well as Hook had. Now he knew what had happened to his friend; why every attempt to think of the man had brought him mind-numbing pain for so many years. But that was over now; he was free and soon the Captain would be also.

He watched Hook flipping through a book of charts he'd removed from the satchel. "Sir," Edward said softly.

"Yes?" Hook looked up from the pages.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you to badly back there." Edward thumbed towards the island.

"Me? Embarrassed?" Hook snorted at the notion. "Of course not. Why would I be?"

"I was afraid, that's all," Edward explained. "I know I shouldn't have interfered in your business like that but…"

"What utter nonsense," Hook huffed. "If I had truly desired to finish the duel I would have. And you had a perfectly reasonable, valid point. Who knows what the little devil may have tried had you not interceded. Besides," he paused for a long drag on the cigar and let the smoke escape through his nostrils. "Dear Peter suffered a rather crushing defeat today; his expression was one I shall relish for years to come."

Edward laughed softly. "Yeah, I bet he does feel like they got crushed."

"You are quite the naughty lad, aren't you?" Hook smirked.

"Ah, but it's good to be bad," Edward answered. He stretched and yawned and settled himself more comfortably on the couch. "When they put me in that place…" he said quietly, "…and they tried to make me forget you…"

"That wasn't your fault," Hook assured him.

"No sir," Edward agreed. "I just wanted you to know…. I didn't really forget you."

"Well of course you didn't," Hook said.

"I couldn't forget you," Edward said quietly. "I wouldn't, so I hid you where they couldn't find you." He tapped his chest with his left hand. "It's just… every time I tried to find you, it hurt - like they were shocking me again."

"I wish I could have brought you back with me," Hook said sadly. "I should have asked the faeries how to do it sooner, but I was afraid if they found out about our visits, if Peter found out, he would put a stop to it. It would appear now that your parents were more of a threat to us than Peter ever was. I am so sorry I couldn't find you again. I did try."

"I know," Edward said. "I did too. That's why they did the defibrillator thing. I kept trying but…." his voice faded.

Hook sat silently for several minutes. "I sometimes wonder if I had told you how I felt back then, how you had become like my own child to me, perhaps we could have both been freed from our respective prisons much earlier."

"Maybe," Edward said thoughtfully.

"I grieved so for you," Hook said sadly. "I had to make myself forget to keep my sanity, or what was left of it. I don't believe I really knew what it was to be alone until they took you from me; it was unbearable."

"I won't leave you," Edward said quietly, but firmly. "You are neither alone nor unloved, and I will not abandon you. I'm not like the others."

"Most definitely not," Hook agreed. "You are a most unusual lad; a rare gem indeed."

Edward stretched back out on the fainting couch and again shaded his eyes with his hat. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "You were a better father to me than mine ever was. Still are, for that matter."

"I doubt that," Hook said.

"Uh-uh", Edward shook his head. "You looked out for me."

"I tried," Hook said, a bit ruefully.

"You did," Edward continued. "You watched out for me, you protected me. You defended me when you could and stood beside me when you couldn't. That's what my parents were supposed to do, but they didn't. I want you to know I'll always do the same for you. I will not leave you alone or unloved, never."

Hook crushed out his cigar and forced a lump back down his throat. "You're a good lad, Edward," he said hoarsely. "I don't deserve such a fine son, but God help anyone who ever tries to take you away from me again." He could feel the boy's gaze upon him; it was not an unsettling feeling though. It was more of a warm, comforting sensation, like being wrapped in blankets after coming in from a storm. "Now," Hook said softly, "You get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up." He turned his chair towards the couch and adopted his favorite lounging position once more, with one leg draped over the arm of the chair. He kept watch over Edward until Mike came to bring dinner.

The gut-wrenching nausea finally faded somewhat and Peter slowly pushed himself up off the cold damp stones and tried to get to his feet. His head felt like it was going to explode; he was quite sure he was still going to die, just not as soon as he'd like to. He looked around the empty sea cave to see how many of the Lost Boys had been killed - he counted five, though Mohawk and Carrots were nowhere to be seen.

He decided to head back to his cave hideout and see if his two remaining boys were there. He took a leap forward, expecting to be propelled up through a hole in the ceiling and into the sky - he plunged into the cold sea water instead, quite surprised. Peter scrambled back up onto the rocks, coughing and sputtering as he had swallowed a good gulp of the bitter salt water.

"Huh?" he asked aloud, dumb-founded. Peter shook the water from his ears and decided to try again. This time he stepped from atop a fair-sized boulder only to find himself smacking soundly onto the hard stone floor. A tiny spark of panic began to flicker in his brain. He tried again and again, but always found himself suddenly marshaled by the laws of gravity. He ran out onto the watchtower and stared wildly towards the island.

"Tinkerbell!" Peter yelled. His eyes searched the sky for the ball of light. "Tink!" he screamed. But she did not come. Peter decided she was probably too far away to hear him. He considered trying to launch himself from the watchtower before deciding that climbing down would be safer at this point. What had Snickers, or Mike, or whatever he was calling himself these days, done to him, he wondered. One good smack in the crotch had robbed him of his ability to fly? What nonsense, Peter thought. It was probably just the dreadful ache that had temporarily affected his happy thoughts. Once he felt better, Peter was sure he would fly again - if they ever quit hurting, that was.

Slowly, painfully, Peter made his way down the steep footpath that led to the base of the Black Castle. He trudged gingerly back to his cave, hoping to find Mohawk or Carrots or better yet, Tinkerbell. But he arrived home to find the cave empty and dark, so he wrapped himself up in a bear skin, trying to nap while he waited on someone to return. He tried to sleep but found himself too fixated on Hook, or more precisely, his son.

"He is not Hook's son," Peter growled aloud. Now even he was saying it. He felt quite offended that Hook had opted to break off the duel in favor of returning to the ship with Edward. How dare he? And how dare Edward stick his nose into Peter's business and spoil all of his fun. He'd been messing everything up since the day he'd arrived in Never-land and Peter would be none to sorry when he finally killed the postman. That would surely infuriate Hook beyond all reason and then maybe he would have a chance at the Captain's other hand.

"Humph," he snorted. As if Hook was capable of loving anyone, or anything for that matter. Edward did seem awfully fond of the old codfish, but Hook was merely pretending to love Edward, just to get Peter's goat; he was sure of it. He gingerly felt the tip of his right earlobe; it stung, and he could feel the dry crusted blood where the bullet had nicked his ear. If only Wendy had come back with him, he wished. She would have known how to defeat Edward and everything would still be as it should be. The Indians would still be his friends, the mermaids wouldn't be speaking to him in stupid riddles, all his lost boys would still be alive, and Hook would be miserable; it would still be perfect, if only she had come. Maybe, Peter thought, if he went back and asked her again, more politely this time, maybe she would come. It wouldn't hurt to try, would it? So he decided he would visit Wendy one last time, once he felt a little better.

Tinkerbell concealed herself in a large coil of rope on the quarterdeck, watching Edward clean his guns. She was quite fascinated at how quickly he could remove a few screws and pins and instead of a gun, he had a heap of metal parts on the table. He cleaned the gun with wire brushes and oily-smelling cloths, then coated the parts with a thin sheen of oil from a small tube before re-assembling them back into the wicked pistol he carried with him everywhere. The setting sun behind Edward bathed the deck in a warm orange glow and glinted off the shiny blue steel of the gun. He wore such a mild, relaxed expression that Tinkerbell almost found it hard to believe he had just helped kill five of the Lost Boys, as Carrots and Mohawk claimed. Yet here he was, cleaning that gun, and she knew what it could do; she remembered the pirates on the beach and the dead warriors on the glade.

She ducked for a moment when she heard Hook's cabin door open until she realized he had gone below deck. She saw how Edward looked up and waited to see if the Captain was coming up or not. She could tell the instant he laid eyes on the man, for the corners of his mouth instinctively turned up in a smile; the same one she had seen when she hid atop the armoire and watched Hook wake the boy. She wondered why Wendy had told the lie in the first place. Hook was loved, any fool could see that, and Tinkerbell knew she was no one's fool.

Edward wiped the pistol once more with an oiled cloth before reloading the clip and seating it in the gun with a sound smack. He tried to tally up the number of kills he had made since his arrival but found he could not come up with an exact number; he kept getting confused about who he had killed and when. He supposed the Swiss-cheesing of his memory had something to do with the place itself. Neverland made people forget all sorts of things; the longer one was there, the more they forgot, or so the Captain had told him. He wondered if he would remember all that had happened to him here, once the ship sailed away to where ever, and whenever they were bound for.

Edward rubbed gingerly at the annoying stitches in his neck. Surely he would remember how he came by that scar. He heard Hook's voice below deck, noting how it grew louder every moment; the Captain was coming back up topside, issuing orders for the next day's work. He rose to join Hook on deck but hesitated when he realized the Captain was coming up to the quarterdeck. He reached for Hook's two pistols, which he had cleaned as well while he was tending to his own.

"I thought I'd clean these for you while I was at it," Edward said, presenting the pistols one at a time for Hook's inspection.

"Thank you," Hook replied. He peered down the bore of each barrel, mostly to please his son. He was sure Edward had done a thorough job, as usual. "Excellent," he remarked. Hook set the pistols back on the table and scrutinized the boy's countenance; he seemed to have been refreshed by the afternoon nap he'd taken.

"We will be sailing the day after tomorrow," Hook announced. "That is, assuming the weather is fine, and it generally is."

"Great," Edward said. "I won't be too sorry to see the last of this place."

"I share your sentiments, one-hundred fold," Hook remarked. "To be free," he sighed, "To live again, to really live and not merely exist…"

"Yes sir," Edward said quietly.

"Is something troubling you son?" Hook asked, puzzled by Edward's lack of enthusiasm.

"No sir," Edward answered. "Not really. Just a little nervous I guess."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Hook asked hesitantly.

"Good God no!" Edward replied emphatically. "No sir, not at all. I don't want to go back there. I want to stay with you."

"Of course, you're staying with me," Hook reached for Edward's shoulder to reassure him. "I wouldn't leave you behind. Calm down."

"I'm just not sure what to expect, you know?" Edward explained. "I mean, I don't know how I'm going to do, once we're away from here."

Hook frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What if I'm a crappy pirate? I don't want to embarrass you. And what if…"

"Rubbish," Hook snorted. "There are but three rules to piracy, my boy. One - you want it. Two - you take it. Three - it'' yours. It's really quite simple. And besides, I'd feel safer with you at my side than a dozen of my own men. You fight like a demon." He marked Edward's reaction to this; the usual slight drop of his head and the shy grin. "And what makes you think I would be embarrassed by you?"

"I don't know," Edward mumbled. "I guess I was still worrying about this morning."

"I think highly enough of you that I took you as my son. Do you doubt my judgment?" Hook asked. He leaned back against the quarterdeck railing waiting for Edward's reply.

"No sir," Edward shook his head.

"Then stop fretting about such nonsense," Hook said. He stroked his beard for a moment. "Of course, you do understand," he explained gently, "You cannot halt every duel I may find myself engaged in. I am quite skilled with a sword, if I may say so myself, and I am entirely capable of defeating any normal opponent. And there is my standing among the men to consider as well."

"Yes sir," Edward answered quietly. "I didn't think about that." He stared down at his feet, ashamed of his earlier behavior.

"I understand your trepidation regarding Peter and I am not angry about what you did," Hook continued. "On the contrary, I am still so full of pride it is shameful. But you cannot let that reaction become standard practice once we are away from here."

Edward nodded. "I understand, sir."

"That is," Hook added, "unless you notice anyone about to mutiny. Or if Pan were to show up again, heaven forbid it." He winked at Edward.

"No doubt," Edward grinned back. He noticed Mr. Pham had come on deck and was heading towards the stairwell. "You've got company," he said to Hook, gesturing towards the man ascending the stairs.

"We've got company," Hook replied. "Mr. Pham, have a look at the boy's wounds and see what you think."

Edward stared at the Captain blankly for a moment. "Sir?" he queried. "I thought I had to wait until tomorrow, or maybe even the next day to get them out."

"If you'd rather wait…" Hook began coyly.

"No sir!" Edward said emphatically. "Today is just fine by me." He turned his head so the little Oriental man could inspect the stitches in his neck first, then held out his left hand so the palm could be examined.

"This one not ready," Pham held Edward's palm out for Hook to see. Edward flinched as the man poked at the wound to illustrate his diagnosis for the Captain.

"Careful there Pham," Hook admonished. "I suppose that will take a bit longer to heal. It's a difficult wound. But what about his throat?" He winked at Edward again.

"Neck o.k.," Pham replied. "You want stitches out?"

"By all means," Hook purred. "Edward…" He motioned for the boy to retake his seat, which Edward did without hesitation. Hook knew the stitches had been driving the boy crazy for the past two days and he was glad to end the aggravation for his son a day or so early. He tilted the boy's chin up and slightly to the right with his fingertips to keep him from flinching and held Edward's gaze while Pham snipped each one of the sutures with a keen pair of scissors, then plucked each one out.

"Thank you," Edward said, reaching to shake the Oriental man's leathery hand. The man bowed to Edward.

"Take care of hand now, better soon," Pham said. He bowed to Hook and scurried back below deck to tend to his usual work.

Edward closed his eyes and ran his fingers along the scar. It was still a bit tender but now he could get some peace with those blasted stitches out. He felt Hook's hand on his shoulder and looked up into the blue eyes. "Thank you, sir," he whispered hoarsely. He leaned his forehead against Hook's side for a moment. "Thank you so much." He resisted the urge to catch Hook in yet another great hug. Had they been inside the Captain's cabin he would not have hesitated to, but Edward was keenly aware of the need for Hook to maintain his ferocious reputation among the crew. Any sign of weakness or vulnerability could precipitate another mutiny attempt. He'd almost gotten the Captain killed once; he would not do it again.

"You are quite welcome," Hook said softly. He rested his hand atop Edward's head for a moment and closed his eyes, running his fingers slowly through the short dark locks. "I saw no need to leave them in any longer than necessary, and I know how they have irritated you…" He hesitated as he felt Edward's hand cover his own and squeeze it tightly. He would swear he heard the boy's breath hitch. "I know," Hook murmured. "And you know I love you also." He marveled at how he could feel the wonderful warmth of the boy's love, as if it was seeping from Edward's person and soaking into his own affection starved soul.

He hated to admit it, but he craved the boy's affection - he always had. The boy's absence had made him feel so empty and dead, far more than Hook would have believed possible at one time, and far worse than anything Pan had ever done to him. "All right, son," Hook said softly. "Steady now." He cast a glance towards the deck and eyed the crew; they all appeared to be absorbed in their chores.

"Yes sir," Edward coughed, clearing the tightness from his throat. He gathered Hook's pistols together with his own. "I guess I should put these away for you," he paused to glance up at the Captain. "Shall I reload them for you?"

"If you don't mind," Hook answered. "An unloaded pistol is of little use in a battle." He watched Edward descend the stairs and head into his cabin and let a sigh of contentment rush from his lungs. It was as if no time had been lost between himself and Edward. There was no awkwardness or unease in their relationship. It was as sound as it had been when he had visited Edward the child; the extraordinary child who saw not only the wicked and loathsome man Hook was, and loved him for it anyway, but had also seen the man Hook had been once, before everything dear and precious had been so cruelly stripped away from him. He wondered, considering all the vile and despicable acts he had committed since, could he ever be that man again?

From the corner of his vision the Captain spied a movement to his left and swung around to confront the danger… but there was nothing there. Hook frowned. He was sure he had seen something. He walked slowly towards the port-side bulkhead and spied the tiny light concealed within the coils of rope.

"And to what do I owe the honor of your presence, Miss Bell?" Hook asked syrupily, looming over the pixie.

"I wanted to ask you something," Tinkerbell jingled hesitantly.

"By all means," Hook said. "Ask away."

"I think you already answered it," Tinkerbell replied.

"Is that so?" Hook remarked. "Then, pray tell me, what knowledge is it that I have imparted to thee?"

Tinkerbell flew up and settled on the curve of Hook's claw. She studied the man's face hard for several moments. "I wanted to know your true feelings for Edward," she said.

"Why?" Hook queried.

"Something is happening to Peter," Tinkerbell jingled. "Everyone seems to be turning against him…"

"Everyone?" Hook asked.

"The Indians, the mermaids, even the Lost Boys are… were distancing themselves from him." Tinkerbell looked deep into the entrancing blue eyes. "I thought it had something to do with your son."

"Edward?" Hook huffed. "Edward has done nothing to Peter which the brat did not richly deserve and would have done far worse had I not prevented him from doing so."

"That's not what I meant," Tinkerbell insisted. "But ever since he came here…" her tiny voice trailed off. "No, it's not his fault," she said. "I don't suppose it's anyone's fault really."

"You speak in riddles, my dear," Hook said, mildly annoyed.

"And so do the mermaids," Tinkerbell replied.

"As they always have," Hook pointed out. "Have they presented you with one you do not understand?"

"No," she shook her small head. "The problem is that I think I do understand it, and it frightens me."

"Tell me," Hook said.

"Two armies meet to end a war. The victor is attacked from within. To protect that which is not his, he slays those who are but who betray…" she hesitated and watched Hook's eyes grow wide with realization.

"I understand it perfectly, my dear," Hook purred. "Shall I translate?"

"Only this last line," Tinkerbell said. "Again he wins and blindly defeats the king."

Hook smirked broadly. "Why, Miss Bell, who is the self-proclaimed ruler of Neverland - the King, as it were?"

"Peter," she whispered.

"You see," Hook explained, "Many years ago, when dear Peter sent me to the crocodile, he did not achieve my death, only my utter humiliation. But unbeknownst to either one of us, with that defeat he set in motion the very events that have led to my freedom. For whilst I was in the belly of that beast, I heard a child grieving my loss and knew that I was loved. That child found a way to draw me to him, and secretly, unknown to Peter or Neverland, I escaped nightly to visit that child, that boy." He noticed Tinkerbell's puzzled expression.

"No little children love Hook," he continued, "I have been told this for as long as I can remember; for as long as I have been in Neverland. But one did, with such tenacious fervor that not even Neverland could keep us apart. No, that tragedy was perpetrated in his world, yet he found his way to me regardless."

"Edward." Tinkerbell said.

"Yes, Edward." Hook nodded. "The child I should have claimed as my own years ago when first we met. Once here, the boy wasted no time confessing his love for me… 'Twas Shy Doe that made me acknowledge my love for him, and thereby broke the curse which bound me here. So, you see, my dear, without even trying, by that act I defeated Peter Pan. I am loved and am again able to love. And now he has been made to face the reality of the situation."

"He doesn't believe you really love Edward," Tinkerbell said.

"Then he is a greater fool than I ever thought he was, and that is saying something indeed." Hook shook his head with disgust. "And what of you, do you doubt my feelings for the boy as well.?"

"No," Tinkerbell said sadly. "I heard you when you thought you were alone with him. I could be happy for you, if only I were not so frightened for Peter."

"You will forgive me if I do not share your concern," Hook snapped. "You perch upon but one point of contention between myself and that little bastard. I will not miss his annoyances for one moment."

"But I shall be heartbroken without him," Tinkerbell wept.

Hook raised one eyebrow. He had never seen a faerie weep before. "My dear Miss Bell, dry your eyes. I do not intend to kill your beloved Peter."

"You don't?" she sniffed.

"I have been reunited with my Edward, the child who loved me enough to save me from certain death and loves me still. I couldn't care less what happens to Peter. So long as he does not appear on this ship or try to harm my son before I have a chance to leave, I shall leave him to you, and to his own amusement." Hook said. "But should he come near Edward…"

"No," Tinkerbell interrupted. "I can keep him away. He wants to visit Wendy again. I will convince him to go..."

"Very well then," Hook smiled politely. "Keep him occupied for a day and a half and I shall sail away, and heaven forbid I should ever return." He watched the pixie as she nodded, then sped back towards the island. He hoped she would do nothing so foolish as to divulge his plans to Peter. If that imp showed his face anywhere near the Jolly Roger, he would kill Peter himself… or let Edward shoot him, whichever was easiest and safest for the both of them. His ears picked up the sound of Edward in the cabin below, tuning the violin and he felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. He cast one last baleful glare towards the island, then started down the quarterdeck stairs.

Peter rested on a cloud with Tinkerbell, surveying the streets of London below him. He had arrived a bit earlier than he had expected and the sun was still up, though it was on its downward swing. Fortunately, there was an abundance of fluffy white clouds in the sky as well, and Peter could rest on any of them as long as he chose. And he chose to until he spied Wendy on the street below, making her way home from school with Michael and her adopted brothers in tow.

Peter perched in the huge leafy oak outside Wendy's bedroom window and waited for her to make her way upstairs. But when she appeared in the room, she did so for only a moment to put her school books down and then hurried away again. Peter sighed, exasperated. Tinkerbell jingled softly to him.

"Huh?" he said, still distracted by thoughts of Wendy. "How should I know what she's doing?" he grumped. He sat angrily snatching leaves from the tree one-by-one and shredded them into tiny bits to pass the time. Tinkerbell amused herself by inspecting the flowers in Mrs. Darling's garden, smelling all the fragrant roses and dabbling her toes in the birdbath. Out on the street, Peter could hear the din of people and carriages heading home for the evening. Every now and again he saw strange machines with wheels that sputtered and purred down the streets, occasionally honking loudly like a startled goose. The light began to fade and Mr. Darling came bustling home, greeted by the throng of Peter's former lost boys.

Wonderful and delicious aromas wafted from the house and mingled with the smell of smoke from the chimney. Peter crept near the house and peered cautiously in a window; the family was seated around the dining table enjoying their evening meal, and he could see Wendy seated next to her mother. Across the table from her sat a strange young man Peter did not know, and he seemed to be hogging all of Wendy's attention. He could not make out what was being said, but Wendy seemed quite entranced by the gentleman and Peter heard Hook's words echoing through his mind.

"What's this I see?… There is another in your place…. He is called husband…"

"No!" Peter cried out. He ducked and clamped his hands over his mouth. "Shhhh!" he hissed at Tinkerbell, who threw him a fiery glare.

"I didn't make a sound," she insisted. "You silly ass."

Peter grinned and peeked back in. He hoped the stranger would leave soon so Wendy would head for her own room, but instead the family gathered in the parlor after dinner. Wendy played the piano and together the family sang and laughed and shared stories with their guest. None of them noticed the dull green glow of jealousy in the bushes outside the parlor window, nor the tiny ball of light that darted from pane to pane and window to window.

After what seemed an eternity to Peter, the Darling's guest retrieved his hat and coat and a thick notebook of papers, and following a host of good-byes, strolled down the street and off into the night.

"Well, it's about time," Peter sighed.

Tinkerbell flitted around his head and taunted him with chants of "Wendy has a boyfriend, Wendy has a beau."

"She does not!" Peter insisted. "That was just someone from where her father works. Didn't you see all the papers?"

"None so blind…" Tink began.

"I swear I'll feed you to an owl if you don't stop it this instant," Peter teased back. He flew to the back of the house and sat in the oak tree, watching Wendy as she set out her books to study. He lit on the window sill and tapped gently on the glass.

Wendy glanced over her shoulder at the noise, shocked to see Peter once again at her window, and so early in the evening at that. She opened the window but held a finger up to her lips. "You must be quiet Peter," she whispered, ushering him in. "And you too, Tinkerbell."

Peter nodded and crept into the room. "Who was that?" he inquired, mildly annoyed.

"Who?" Wendy asked.

"You know very well who?" Peter whispered back. "That man you were talking to all through supper, that's who."

"You were spying on me?" Wendy blanched a bit first, then blushed. "Why Peter, are you jealous?"

"Of course not," he answered, poking at the lacy pillows on her bed. "Why should I care?"

"Indeed," Wendy replied quietly. "So you shouldn't care who he is, should you?"

"But I want to know!" Peter whispered loudly, only to be shushed by Wendy. He wasn't entirely sure he liked being reprimanded by a girl, or anyone else, even if it was Wendy. "Please," he asked more politely. "Who is he?"

"His name is James Bar…"

"James!" Peter said curtly.

"Captain Hook is not the only man to bear that Christian name." Wendy reminded him.

"Oh," Peter snorted, "Of course not."

"As I was saying," Wendy continued. "James wants to publish my stories, so I am helping him transcribe them."

"What stories?"

"Why, my stories of you and Neverland," Wendy replied, excited. "Soon, everyone will be able to read all about my visit to Neverland, our thrilling adventures and your exciting battles."

"Oh," Peter sighed. "That's nice, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Wendy said, crest-fallen. "I thought you'd be delighted that lots of children will learn about you and your heroic deeds."

"Oh I am," Peter replied. "It's just… I was hoping I could persuade you to please, please come back to Neverland with me, just for one night."

"I already told you I can't" Wendy said. "I can't miss school, and my parents would worry so, and now I'm busy with James and the book and…"

"Please," Peter implored. "You don't understand. The indians have made a treaty with Hook and…"

"What!?" Wendy was shocked. "Why?"

"I don't know. I think it has something to do with Edward."

"Edward?"

"The postman, remember?"

"Oh," Wendy said. "So that's his name. But what has he got to with it?"

"He helped Captain Hook and the pirates kill so many of Chief Great Big Little Panther's warriors that the chief made a treaty with the pirates. Now I'm not welcome in their camp, nor are the lost boys - what's left of them."

"What happened to your men?" Wendy asked.

"We tried to ambush the pirates at the Black Castle, but Edward was with Hook and he messed everything up again."

"How?"

"He has some sort of gun that shoots many more times than just once before he needs to reload it." Peter explained. "That's how he's been able to kill so many braves and lost boys."

"How dreadful," Wendy said.

"That's not the worst of it. He loves Captain Hook."

"Yes," Wendy replied. "You told me before."

"No, I mean he really loves Hook. And Hook says he loves Edward. He… he…. Ugh, I can't remember the word. But he made Edward his son."

"Adopted?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded, "That's it. It made the other pirates so mad, some of them tried to mutiny. You should've seen what Hook did when Smee cut Edward's throat."

"Oh my God," Wendy breathed. "He cut the man's throat? Smee? When?"

"Since the last time I saw you," Peter answered. "I don't keep count of the days. But it's been long enough for Edward to get better."

"Wait a minute," Wendy rubbed her temples. "I thought you said Mr. Smee cut Edward's throat."

"He did."

"And Edward is still alive?" Wendy blinked. "How is that possible?"

"I don't think Smee got to finish," Peter explained. "I think Tiger Lily said he shot Smee before his whole throat was cut. And then Captain Hook…" Peter shuddered. "What he did to poor old Smee, eew."

"Smee wasn't dead already?"

"No," Peter shook his head. "I think Edward only wounded him, but Hook tore him to pieces. He took Edward's gun and killed all the pirates that had tried to mutiny."

"How dreadful," Wendy said sadly. She had always had a soft spot for Mr. Smee. He seemed so harmless and inoffensive; but then, he was a pirate, after all, so she supposed Smee was just as capable of violence as Hook was. "But that doesn't explain how Edward is still alive after having his throat slashed."

"Tiger Lily's grandmother put some Indian medicine on the cuts and stopped the bleeding, and Tink said someone on the ship had sewed his neck up." Peter hesitated and gave Wendy a frightened look. "She said Hook was acting like… like a father would with a sick child."

"Well," Wendy pondered his words. "You said Captain Hook adopted Edward?"

"Yes."

"Then that would make him Edward's father, so I suppose it makes sense… sort of."

"But don't fathers love their children?" Peter asked.

"Well of course they do," Wendy replied. "My father loves me, and he loves all the boys too - Michael, Nibs, Tootles, all of them."

"But how can Captain Hook love any one?" Peter demanded in a loud whisper. "He's evil and wicked. He only knows how to hate, how to destroy. He can't love Edward. It's not possible."

"That's not true!" Tinkerbell blurted out before she realized what she was doing.

"What?" Peter was horrified. "How would you know?"

Tinkerbell looked apologetically at Peter, then to Wendy. "I went out to his ship before we came here, to spy on him and Edward. I wanted to see what they were up to."

"What did you find out?" Wendy asked.

"I was hiding, so neither of them knew I was there. No one else was close enough to hear them talking, except me and they didn't see me," she explained.

"I understand," Wendy said.

"Well I don't," Peter grumped. "You shouldn't go out to Hook's ship alone. It's too dangerous."

Tinkerbell stuck her tongue out at him. "I can take care of myself."

"What did you hear, Tink?" Wendy asked, trying to get to the root of things.

"Captain Hook and Edward were talking. Hook put his hand on Edward's head... Like this…" she demonstrated, "and he told Edward he loved him."

"That's not possible," Peter insisted loudly, only to be shushed by Wendy and Tinkerbell.

"It must be," Tink argued. "There was no reason for him to say it otherwise. They didn't know I was there at all."

"Um, actually Peter," Wendy began hesitantly, "However unlikely it might be, or what you think Hook is or isn't capable of, it is possible that he might indeed feel affection for this man. Otherwise he would not have adopted him. What Tinkerbell says makes sense, whether you agree with it or not. If Captain Hook had only made such a statement in front of you, I might believe it was done solely to vex you, Peter. But as he seems to have had no notion that he was being observed by Tink, I can only believe that, for whatever reasons, he must indeed… love Edward."

"You see why I need you to come back with me," Peter implored to Wendy. "Hook has someone to love, someone that loves him. I've got to stop it before… before…"

"Before what?" Wendy asked.

"I don't know exactly," Peter moaned. "But it's awful whatever it is."

"I'm sorry Peter, truly I am," Wendy sighed. "But I just cannot go. I have responsibilities here - school, housework, my book - I just can't vanish into thin air again for who knows how long."

"Please!" Peter begged. "I have no one else left to help me." He did not notice Tinkerbell's crest-fallen expression.

"Don't be ridiculous," Wendy said. "You have the lost boys, and you will always have Tinkerbell. You know she loves you." She smiled at the pixie.

"But you…" Peter began.

"Cannot come with you this time." Wendy finished his sentence. "I'm sorry Peter, there's just no way. Maybe if you could wait for several weeks - I will have summer holidays soon. I could come then, for a few days."

"But I need you now," Peter implored, pleading with his eyes.

Wendy sighed heavily. She did so want to help him, though what he thought she could do to combat such a dangerous man as Captain Hook, or Edward for that matter, she did not know. "Peter, I will make a bargain with you."

"What is that, Wendy?"

"I must go to school tomorrow; there is simply no way out of it. But tomorrow is Friday and I shall have the weekend free. Come back tomorrow evening and I shall come with you then, but only for one day. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Tomorrow?" Peter grumbled. But if that was the best he could get from Wendy, it would have to do. "All right," he grinned. "I shall come for you at dusk tomorrow. And I promise to have you back by Sunday afternoon."

"Saturday evening would be better, but we'll see," Wendy agreed. "Now, you must leave, Peter. I really must get on with my studying."

"All right," he winked. "See you tomorrow."

Peter vanished out through the window like a ghost, leaving Wendy alone with Tinkerbell. She smiled at the pixie. "I'll do what I can for him, Tink," she said, "but I doubt it will accomplish whatever it is he's hoping for."

"It won't," Tinkerbell jingled softly. "By the time you arrive, Captain Hook will be gone."

"What?" Wendy gave her a puzzled look. "How? He would have to kill Peter to escape from Neverland, and Peter is very much alive."

"That's not entirely correct," Tinkerbell explained.

"Whatever do you mean?"

Tinkerbell sighed. "My brethren explained it to me last night, after I went to spy on Captain Hook. It seems that soon after you left Neverland, Captain Hook began to visit Edward, when he was only a child. I don't know how exactly. It has something to do with Edward loving Hook and wanting to be with him. My brethren said he would pull Hook into his world for a little while, almost every day."

"He did what?" Wendy asked.

"Somehow Edward drew Captain Hook out of Neverland and into his time. They have some sort of connection, I think. And while Hook was with Edward, he grew to love him also. Everyone in Neverland knew that Edward loved Hook, he made no secret of that. But when Hook admitted that he loved Edward, in front of the Indians and his crew, somehow that released him. He can come and go as he pleases. But once Hook leaves, I doubt he will ever return."

"Does Peter know this?"

"No," Tinkerbell admitted, almost ashamed. "I haven't told him yet."

"Why not?" Wendy asked, annoyed with the pixie.

"I'm afraid he'll try to do something to Captain Hook or Edward. One of them will kill him if he goes out to the Jolly Roger." Tinkerbell said. "I'd do anything to keep that from happening. Peter saved my life; I'm trying to save his."

Wendy snorted. "Captain Hook has tried to kill Peter many times before. What makes you think he would succeed this time when he has failed so many times before?"

"Because now he has Edward," Tink replied. "Before, he was only living to kill Peter - now he wants to live to be with his son."

"Maybe," Wendy said, "But why should that…"

"Because Edward won't let anything happen to Captain Hook this time," Tink broke in. "If Peter tries to fight a duel with Hook and anyone tries to help Peter, like you did before, Edward will kill them. He'll kill Peter if he thinks he isn't fighting fair. He might even shoot Peter just for coming out to the ship."

"He wouldn't!"

"Oh yes he would," Tinkerbell replied firmly. "Edward will do anything Captain Hook asks him to do and he'll do anything to protect Hook. I've seen the way Edward looks at Hook - I've seen them together, you haven't. I don't know how, but that boy is Hook's child and he will kill for his father, and I don't want that happening to Peter."

Wendy sighed and shook her head. "I understand, I think. I only wish I'd known before Peter left." She paced to the window and looked up at the moon. "Well, he'll be back tomorrow and together we can keep him from doing anything too foolish."

"I hope so," Tinkerbell agreed. "I really hope so."

"You'd better hurry," Wendy said. She blew a kiss to the faerie. "Peter will wonder what's wrong if you lag too far behind." Tinkerbell waved good-bye to her and shot out of the window after Peter. Wendy closed the window and drew the curtains and tried very hard to keep her mind on her books so she could finish her homework. Tomorrow evening would come soon enough, and then she could settle this mess for Peter.

The hour was quite late; he was sure of it. Edward sleepily cracked his eyelids and watched the Captain at his desk, an open bottle rum in front of him. He sat clutching his stump close to his chest in his left hand, rocking ever so slightly. His eyes were jammed shut and his lips stretched tightly across his mouth. Edward could see the muscles in his jaw twitch and jump, and he felt his own throat tighten as he realized how much pain Hook was actually in. For some reason he had assumed such an old injury would no longer trouble the man, except for a little arthritis maybe. At this thought, he recalled words spoken to him by a teacher many years ago - "Never assume anything. When you do, you make an ass of -'you' and me."

Edward suddenly became very angry with himself; how childish and selfish to not think of the continual discomfort such a wound would bring. He had deliberately avoided staring at it when he had helped Hook on the glade, so as not to embarrass the man further, but in those few brief seconds the grisly image was emblazoned upon his mind. Hook's hand had not been cleaved from his body cleanly; though skin had grown over the bones, it was quite evident that more than one blow had been required. The jagged ends of the radius and ulna were surely irritated further by being jammed into the base of Hook's namesake daily. The skin had appeared red and raw to Edward and he wondered why no one had ever thought to put some sort of padding inside the wooden cup; he would see to that personally before the next sun set.

He watched Hook for a few more moments as the man gingerly rubbed his stump. Cautiously, Edward dropped a hand down beside the settee and felt underneath it for his daypack, all the while keeping his eyes on Hook. He felt inside one of the small front compartments and his fingers seized hold of a package of hand-warmer. He tucked it under the covers for several minutes, heating up his own palms, then slowly eased from his bed as quietly as he could. The cool night air brought goose-bumps to his bare arms and legs. Had he thought for one minute he would be up before sunrise he would have worn more to bed than his boxers and he eyed his trousers in a heap beside the settee where he had shucked them off earlier. But Edward was not concerned with his own comfort and proceeded to tip-toe towards the Captain.

Hook did not notice him until the boy was nearly at his side. "What are you doing up?" he mumbled, turning his body away to shield his deficiency from view. "Are you all right?"

"Yes sir," Edward answered softly. He pulled one of the chairs from the dining table around and sat very close beside the Captain. "Let me, please," he reached for Hook's right arm.

Hook leaned away, again trying to shield his arm from Edward's view. He stared groggily at the boy. "I'd rather you didn't," he grumbled, wincing at yet another stab of pain. Before he could open his eyes again Hook felt Edward's hands on his mangled arm, gently pulling it from his left hand. He opened his mouth to reprimand the boy; he said nothing. A soothing warmth encompassed the ache and began to do what half a bottle of rum had been unable to - it eased the throbbing pain away to a dull memory of an ache. Hook stared down at his stump, clasped between Edward's warm hands. The boy had his head down and turned to one side; his eyes were closed, Hook realized, to protect the man's dignity, and for a moment Hook thought he saw his lips mumble a silent prayer. His initial anger at being disobeyed and embarrassed faded and he found himself humbled by the level of respect Edward freely offered him.

"You're a good lad," Hook said softly. "Thank you." He lay his hand atop Edward's bowed head and eased it over onto his right shoulder. After a moment he let his hand drop to Edward's shoulder and bent his forehead to rest in the boy's hair. The heat continued to radiate from Edward's hands and Hook finally heaved a great sigh of relief. If only his crew showed half as much respect towards him - but they did not respect their captain and Hook knew it. They obeyed him because they feared him; all men feared the name Hook. Inspiring fear, though, and gaining respect were not the same thing, and one did not necessarily guarantee the other. Edward did not fear him, and that fact no longer troubled Hook in the least. The boy willingly offered him what he had never been able to loot, pillage, or plunder from the rest of the world - respect, acceptance, loyalty, trust, and above all else, love.

Another memory tickled at Hook's brain. He could see Edward as a small boy of six or seven again, sitting on his knee and chatting while they rested from some ferocious battle the child had concocted. The boy's small hands had felt the leather straps of the harness under Hook's shirt and pushed his collar aside to examine it. Hook had watched his face screw into a disapproving frown as his fingers traced along the strap, noting how it cut into his skin. The boy's hands moved to his right bicep and followed those straps under his shirtsleeve down to the wooden base which bore his claw. He pushed the Captain's cuff back before Hook had a chance to object and ran his fingertips over Hook's forearm where it vanished into base. Hook had swallowed hard and braced himself, half-expecting the child to be repulsed and bolt.

"Does it still hurt?" the boy had asked, looking up into the Captain's eyes.

The question had caught Hook a bit off guard. "Well," he began, not sure whether to lie to the boy or not. "Yes, sometimes," he admitted slowly; he could not lie to those eyes. He watched Edward turning things over in his young mind; the child bent forward unexpectedly and kissed Hook's scarred forearm, puzzling the man. "Why did you that?" he asked.

"To make it better," Edward had answered, rather matter-of-factly. "That's what Mama does when I get hurt." He looked expectantly back up into Hook's eyes. "Did it help?"

Hook had hugged the boy tightly to him. No one had ever treated him with such kindness or compassion; no one he could remember, at least. He felt something stir inside himself he had not felt in ages, something he thought had died and shriveled away completely - God help him, Hook realized, he loved the child. "More than you will ever know, child," he had whispered. "More than you would believe."

Edward thought he felt something wet on the back of his wrist. He opened one eye and looked at the Captain's arm, cradled between his own hands. Again, he felt the moisture strike his hand, and saw it as well this time; he was sure it had come from Hook and wondered if his attempts to ease the man's pain had gone awry. "Sir?" he asked, almost whispering. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Never," Hook mumbled. 'Tis only my gratitude at your benevolence." He straightened himself in his chair and found he was the object of the boy's steady gaze once more. "How in the world did you do that?" He eyed his forearm.

Edward raised his right hand up so Hook could see his palm and the foil pack he held. "It's a hand-warmer," he explained. "I used to use them when I was hunting, early in the mornings and sometimes in the late evenings when my fingers got cold. I thought it might help."

Hook lifted his right forearm before his face and stared at the mangled stump. "Indeed, it did." He noted how Edward turned his eyes away. "Does it disturb you so much to see it?"

"No sir," Edward replied firmly. "It's not that. I just don't want to stare... you know, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You are a true gentleman," Hook said. "But then, you have always understood how it distresses me, since you were but a child." He hesitated for a moment. "Would you like to examine it?"

Edward looked up into the blue eyes. "Only if it won't offend you, sir." He felt a shiver of panic tip-toe down his spine. As far as he knew, Hook had never allowed anyone to scrutinize the amputation site once the initial wound had healed. He did not particularly want to inspect the man's arm, but he would not refuse and possibly offend or hurt his father.

Hook extended his right arm back towards Edwards again. He watched the strong hands of his son cradle his deformity as carefully as if they'd been holding a newborn baby. He felt the same gentle tracing of the boy's fingertips over the ragged end of his arm that he had felt long ago from the hands of the child. Rarely was the pirate treated with such awe and reverence. A solemn countenance graced the boy's face and Hook half-expected him to again kiss the limb. Instead, Edward drew Hook's arm to his own chest and hugged it close to him, and Hook felt the boy's chest heaving before the first tears fell onto his arm. He drew Edward close to him, hugging the boy tightly with his left arm. "I do love thee, child," he whispered hoarsely.

Edward slumped forward against the Captain. His mind kept running different scenarios of when Peter had cut off, no - hacked off Hook's hand - each one more detailed and grisly than the former. Each one grieved him further as he contemplated the horror and pain Pan had inflicted on… his father. The harder he tried to shake the visions off, the more obstinately they burned in his mind. His hands instinctively stroked the man's maimed forearm, pressed close to his own heart. The suffering the man had endured, he thought, and for what? All for Peter's detestable desire for an adventure? "Why?" he wheezed. "Why would anyone do such a thing - for no damn good reason at all, why?"

Hook hated his deformity. He hated Pan for cutting his hand off, he hated the almost constant pain he bore, he hated the way his arm looked, ending so abruptly and imperfectly. But more than anything else, he hated pity. He rejected it utterly, regardless of who or where it came from. Only the helpless and the weak were to be pitied, and he was neither. He was James Hook, the only man Barbeque ever feared and Flint himself had feared Barbeque; he did not need nor would he tolerate pity. Had he for one second thought the tears he felt on his breast were shed in pity, he would not have hesitated to throw the boy across the room and given him a tongue-lashing to remember.

Somehow, though, he understood what vexed Edward so; 'twas not pity the boy felt, Hook knew, but sorrow for the senseless and barbarous maiming and the torment that followed. The sorrow was not born of pity either, but from the boy's great empathy for him. His compassion and consideration where Hook was concerned seemed to know no boundaries, and the Captain found himself trying to free his right arm so he could hold the boy closer. "I don't know, child," Hook murmured. "I truly do not know, but it happened such a long time ago. Don't let it grieve you so."

"Child?" Edward echoed, almost amused. He sat up and wiped his face on his forearms. "I suppose I do act a little childish sometimes."

Hook smiled slightly. "That's not what I meant," he said gently. "But I still see so much of the small boy you were in you that I quite often think of you as such. I dare say I always will. You are far from childish, but you have not lost those qualities - your benevolence, your gentleness, your compassion - which first endeared you to me."

"I didn't think," Edward bemoaned. "I should have done something to help you… before, when you used to come…"

"But you did," Hook insisted. "You don't remember?" He took Edward's right hand and moved the fingertips along the rough, raw scar across his chest, rubbed there by his harness. He felt the boy take over and watched the fingers follow the familiar path across his chest and down his right arm; he saw the recognition in Edward's eyes and moments later the boy blushed.

"Oh my God," Edward said sheepishly. "Did I really do that?"

"Yes, child. You did."

"But… what good did that do?" Edward asked, frustrated with himself. "I mean, what the hell good did a kiss do for you? It didn't make your arm feel any better, did it"

Hook tilted Edward's face up so the boy's eyes met his. "It made me feel better," he said softly. "You made me feel better, and that was, and is, priceless." Edward ducked his head and smiled, and Hook knew he had set the boy's mind at ease once more. He relished the taste of such sweet satisfaction, even more than the squashing of Pan's ego earlier this morning. He ran his fingers through Edward's bangs and looked into the sleepy eyes of his son. "You really should be back in bed. You've not fully recovered from your wounds yet."

"Yes sir," Edward nodded. "I just wanted to help."

"And you did," Hook answered. "The arm feels much better now." He offered a hand up to Edward and hugged the boy once more. "Now get some rest."

"Yes sir," Edward returned the hug, then settled himself back onto his couch. Hook snuffed out the candle on the desk and Edward heard him undress and crawl into his own bed. "Good night… father." he murmured.

"Good night Edward," Hook replied. He was surprised at the lump that tried to crawl up his throat. He wondered if he would ever tire of hearing that word on the boy's lips; at present it still melted his heart. He lay waiting for sleep to come and thinking about the many different acts of kindness Edward had done as a child. Hook had often contemplated how he might whisk the boy back to Neverland with him, even before Edward had been so mistreated by those who should have been his supreme protectors. He was sure the faeries would have known how he could do it. But somehow Hook felt that was the sort of thing Pan would do, kidnap the boy the same way he had spirited the Darling children away. And Hook would do nothing to equate himself with that little bastard. In hindsight, however, he knew it would have been better for Edward in the long run, not to mention himself.

Hook raised himself up on one elbow and looked towards the foot of his bed. He could hear the boy breathing steadily; it was a comforting sound and he was sure soon he would hear the low snoring. He was somewhat surprised when Edward suddenly peered over the foot of the bed towards him, rather like a puppy that, while it remained on the rug where it belonged, would prefer your bed to its own.

"Is the door bolted?" Hook asked.

"Yes sir," Edward answered softly. "I did it myself."

"Come on, child," Hook patted the bed with his stump. "I grew so accustom to your presence when you were first attacked, I think I sleep more soundly when…" He did not need to finish his sentence; Edward bolted at his invitation. Hook turned back the covers for Edward, leaving the sheet between them as he slept naked, as usual.

Edward nestled himself next to Hook's right side with his head resting on the man's chest and one arm slung across his stomach. Hook's right arm crooked around his shoulders and Edward heaved a contented sigh. He didn't care if it was childish; he felt safer next to Hook than he would have surrounded by a company of Marines. No nightmares dared disturb his sleep while he was under the care of this guardian angel, and his mind would not wander off and ruminate on things best left in deepest recesses of his memory. Now there was room for only one thought - his father. He closed his eyes and listened to the man's breathing until he fell asleep.

Hook lay quietly, relishing the peace that enveloped him, happily drunk on the pure affection he felt from the boy. He welcomed the comforting warmth of Edward's devotion - the boy was obviously as starved for attention and affection as he himself was. He was still a bit amused at the quickness with which Edward had accepted his invitation. He could not allow Mike or anyone else to ever see the boy like this; they would not understand. Fortunately, the door had been bolted, hence their honor was well preserved. Again, Hook wished he had kidnapped the boy many years before, thinking of all the time that had been lost. But that was done and there was no going back and changing the past, so it was best to savor every moment he had with his son and hopefully, soon, they would both forget all about Neverland and Peter Pan.

Peter lay on a cloud, staring down at Neverland in the distance shimmering in the light of the almost full moon. Tinkerbell had fallen behind somehow, and he was waiting on her to catch up to him before he finished his journey home. He would rather have had Wendy beside him at this moment, but if tomorrow evening was as soon as she could come, that would have to do. He rolled onto his back and gazed up at the stars twinkling in the black night above him. He wondered what his old gang of lost boys were up to at this moment. Most likely, he decided, they were having to slave over their homework just like Wendy, or worse, take a bath in preparation for school the next day.

Peter was a bit miffed at them for changing their names; after all, he'd gone to a great deal of trouble to pick them out to begin with. He wouldn't have known except that he had stopped by the nursery window as he left Wendy's house and peeked in to check on the boys. Mr. Darling had been in the room with them, tutoring them in their studies study and calling them all by different names. Tootles was now called Henry and Nibs' new name was Andrew. The Twins were now called David and Daniel, and Michael had told him Slightly's new name was Charles.

The name changing, however, was not really what had disturbed Peter the most about the scene in the nursery. Why the boys had seen fit to abandon the interesting titles he had picked out for them in favor of such boring, ordinary names was a mystery to Peter, but he had warned them about growing up, after all. No, what had bothered Peter the most had been the tone of voice Mr. Darling used when he spoke to the boys… it had sounded ever so like the way he had heard Captain Hook talking to Edward, how Tinkerbell had said Hook spoke to Edward; the same concerned, caring manner, the same protective, affectionate gestures. It frightened Peter to consider it even now, so he put the thought out of his mind as he always did when a notion didn't agree with him or what he wanted. Neverland was his, and he had the final word on all matters.

Something tugged at Peter's hair and he rolled over quickly, startled, to find Tinkerbell rolling and kicking her heels up in laughter.

"Scared you," she laughed, sticking her tongue out.

"You did not," Peter insisted. "I knew it was you."

"Did not, did not," she teased.

"Oh yes I did," Peter snorted. "And what took you so long? I was getting worried about you."

"Really?"

"Yes, of course," Peter answered rather indignantly. "You know you're the most important person, um… pixie in my life."

Tinkerbell blushed and smiled as modestly as she could manage, which wasn't all that modest really; it was rather more like a grin. "I was looking at myself in Wendy's mirror and lost track of time," she jingled.

"Oh," Peter grinned. "Did you crack it?" Tinkerbell flew at him in a rage, scolding him in her ancient faerie tongue. Peter was not sure exactly what she said, but it didn't sound very nice or very lady-like either. But then, Tinkerbell was not always a lady. "Oh come on," he laughed. "I guess you're pretty enough."

"Enough?" Tink echoed. "Why you little…" She tweaked Peter's nose and shot of towards the island like a bolt of lightning, with Peter in hot pursuit.

The Jolly Roger lay snugly at anchor in Pirate's Cove, wrapped in a thin shroud of mist. Barely a wave dared disturb the glassy surface of the ocean and the ship itself was dark, save for a lantern at either end of the deck. Something about the galleon caught Peter's eye and he veered away from his pursuit of Tinkerbell to investigate. He came in high and circled around to the starboard side so he would not be silhouetted by the bright moon. He flew through the rigging and spied the night watchman dozing on the fore deck. Peter chuckled and entertained the idea of startling the man awake but decided that might interfere with his plans at the moment.

He landed on the main deck and tip-toed towards Hook's cabin, listening at the door for signs of life. All he heard, however, were waves lapping gently at the sides of the ship and Peter guessed Hook to be asleep. Wouldn't it be a lark, he thought, to sneak in and jerk the old codfish awake. He could be out and gone before Hook knew what happened. A smirk spread across Peter's lips and he reached for the doorknob and turned it as quietly as he could manage, pushing gingerly to open the door a crack; it would not budge. Annoyed, Peter tried the knob again and pushed a bit harder, but the door stood fast. He growled softly under his breath, frustrated and flew around to the rear of the ship to have a look inside.

From his perch on the window ledge Peter could see inside Hook's stateroom quite well. The moonlight streaming in illuminated the room almost as well as candles would. Peter could even see the reason his attempt at entry had failed; the door was bolted securely.

"Nuts," he muttered. He spied the lump in Hook's bed and assumed it was the Captain; he wondered where Edward was and moved a bit farther to starboard so he could see the couch at the foot of Hook's bed; it was empty, to his surprise. "Huh?" Peter asked aloud. Had something happened to that thorn in his side while he was away visiting Wendy? Peter hoped he might be so lucky, though he really had wanted to dispatch the fellow himself. Maybe, he thought, Edward had done something to offend Hook and gotten himself kicked off the ship - that would explain the locked cabin door.

Peter was about to leave and go ask the mermaids when Hook rolled in his sleep; the movement caught Peter's eye, but what he saw did not please him in the least. Edward was far from banished from the ship. Hardly, he was sleeping with his head resting in the crook of Hook's right arm and the Captain curled up behind him. He looked so smug in his sleep that Peter instantly wanted to break in and cut the boy's throat from ear to ear. What was worse, Peter thought, was the look of peace and contentment on the Captain's face and the protective way his left arm draped around Edward. The man actually looked happy… this could not be.

Peter suddenly felt an odd sensation course through his body and realized that for some reason that he was starting to sink ever-so-slowly towards the ocean's surface. In full alarm, he shot back towards the island, reaching the shore with only inches to spare between himself and the ground before he crash-landed on the sandy beach. He glared wildly back at the ship. "What the…" he stammered. "This is all Hook's fault!" he snarled and tried to fly back to his hideout. To his horror though, Peter only managed to fly about twenty-five feet before he slammed into the ground again. His further attempts ended with similar results, except the distances he was able to fly seemed to be growing shorter. Finally, in a dead panic Peter ran blindly through the forest, screaming in rage like a banshee, until he failed to notice a gnarled, low-hanging branch which was almost completely camouflaged in the shadows. The last thing he would remember upon his eventual waking was a loud crack and intense pain.

Tiger Lily sat beside her grandmother in the canoe, looking as regal and stoic as ever. She listened to the rhythmical whooshing of the paddles as two of her father's warriors rowed them out towards the Jolly Roger one last time. The late morning sun danced on the waves and cast the ship in such a light that had she not known better she would never have suspected its dark and infamous reputation. She could see Captain Hook up on the quarterdeck with Edward, and he appeared to be giving his son another lesson in sword-play. That ceased at the cry of "boat ahoy" from a crewman.

Edward wiped the sweat from his brow, glad for a respite from his instruction. Not that the Captain was being too harsh on him, but he still tended to get winded much too easily in his opinion. "What's up?" he asked Hook, trying not to appear too short of breath.

"I'm not sure," Hook answered suspiciously. "Perhaps Shy Doe has some more medicine for you."

"Ugh!" Edward shuddered. "I hope not."

Hook laughed softly while he mopped the sweat from his own forehead. "It did smell quite dreadful."

"It tasted much worse," Edward faked a gag and grinned, helping the Captain back into his waistcoat and hat. After all, he couldn't have his father appearing less than regal in front of the Indians and most certainly not the crew. He followed Hook down to the main deck, retrieving his own hat from the ship's wheel where he had hung it.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" Hook queried as the canoe drew near the Jolly Roger.

"My grandmother brings more medicine for your son's wounds," Tiger Lily replied. "Also have ceremony of good luck for your journey."

Hook glanced at Edward and raised an eyebrow. "By all means, do come aboard..." He offered his hand to help the old woman and Tiger Lily aboard. Edward nodded and tipped his hat to both women and watched Hook for cues on how he should behave.

"I see you feel much better," Tiger Lily said to Edward. "Captain Hook teach you to fight with sword?"

"He's doing his best," Edward smiled bashfully. "I'm not the best student in the world, I'm afraid."

"Nonsense," Hook snorted. "He's quite good actually. He just needs a bit more confidence, that's all. And that will come with experience." He clapped his hand to Edward's right shoulder. "Aye, you'll get all the experience you can handle once we've left this God-forsaken island."

"Yes sir," Edward grinned and ducked his head. He froze when Shy Doe unexpectedly caught him by his chin and tilted his head to one side to examine the scar on his throat.

"Hmmm," the old woman nodded her approval. "Mend good."

"Yes," Captain Hook agreed. He casually guided her hand away from his son and reached for Edward's left wrist to display his palm. "This one still has the stitches in, but I believe it is mending well also, wouldn't you agree, Madame?"

"Yes," Shy Doe said. "Come here child," she said to Tiger Lily. "See how well it heals?"

"Yes, Grandmother," the Indian girl replied. She looked at Edward. "May I examine your hand?"

"Sure," Edward answered hesitantly. He'd rather not have the wound jabbed at anymore, but they were his father's guests and he supposed they did, indeed, have his best interest in mind. He watched Tiger Lily feel around the incision; she was much more careful than her ham-handed grandmother and Edward let himself relax just a bit.

"It will take time for this one to heal," Tiger Lily declared, checking with Shy Doe for her approval. The old woman nodded. "Much muscle cut, and tendons, but they will all heal in time." Tiger Lily released Edward's hand and nodded to him.

Edward took a half-step sideways closer to Hook. Treaty or not, they still made him nervous and he felt safer next to his father. "Thank you," he said. "Look, I'm real sorry about taking your horse the way I did. I hope I didn't hurt you - I was just really scared and wanted to get away, you know?"

"Nevermind," Shy Doe said. "You no mean to harm Tiger Lily. All forgiven with treaty." She handed a small clay jar to Edward. "More salve," she instructed. "Put on hand until well. Keep covered and cool. Will last you long time."

"Your generosity is duly noted, Madame," Hook said. "I shall never forget your kindness and help regarding my son. He is alive today only because of your efforts, I'm sure."

"Humph," Grandmother Shy Doe snorted. "Strong boy. You take good care of while sick." She motioned to Tiger Lily. "Come child, we make good luck for long and safe journey for Captain Hook."

Edward sidled a step closer to Hook and watched as the two Indians began making their way around the perimeter of the deck. Each had a fan of feathers with small bells in their hands, though Edward was not sure if they were hawk or owl feathers. In addition, the girl shook some sort of noise maker that sounded entirely too much like a rattlesnake for his liking. Shy Doe mumbled a chant and Tiger Lily joined in, both speaking their native tongue which neither Hook nor Edward, nor any of the crew understood.

Hook watched politely, though he didn't put much stock in the superstitious ways of savages. Still, their medicine had kept Edward from hemorrhaging to death on the beach, so he would tolerate their mumblings for whatever they were worth. He felt Edward ease a bit closer to him. "Steady lad," he murmured. "They're not here for any mischief."

"Yes sir," Edward said quietly.

"And besides," Hook continued in a low voice, "You mustn't let your enemy see your fear. 'Tis dangerous to give such an advantage to an opponent. Once they know how to frighten you, they can control you."

"Yes sir," Edward nodded. "I understand, sir." Understanding how to behave and making himself act accordingly, Edward thought, was much easier to say than do. Still, he did his best to fake bravado and eased himself a half-step away from Hook, adopting his most imposing 'bad-ass' stance - arms crossed over his chest, chin up and feet at shoulders width apart. For once he did not have his pistol with him, but he supposed he looked imposing enough with his saber hanging from his left hip.

Tiger Lily and Grandmother Shy Doe completed their turn around the deck, then the old woman reached in her medicine bag for some small pouches and began mixing the herbs in a smallish wooden bowl. Tiger Lily helped to set the mixture to smoldering and Shy Doe mumbled an incantation, again in her own language before sprinkling the ashes at what she obviously considered strategic points around the deck. She dusted her palms and stored her wares back into the deerskin bag.

"Make much good fortune for you and your son," Shy Doe said to Hook.

"Thank you," Hook bowed graciously to the old woman and Tiger Lily.

"When will you sail?" Tiger Lily asked.

"At dawn, on the morning tide," Hook replied.

"And will you ever come back?" She asked.

"Never," Hook replied firmly. "If I never see this cursed island again, I shall be content beyond your wildest imagination, Princess."

"Come child," Shy Doe said in her usual gruff manner. "Time to go."

"My thanks to you again, Madame," Hook said. "For everything you have done."

"Mine too," Edward tipped his hat and bowed slightly to the woman. "I appreciate all you've done for me… and my father."

Tiger Lily raised an eyebrow at Edward's comment, but nodded graciously, then followed her grandmother back down to the canoe.

Hook watched the warriors paddle the boat back towards the island for a moment. "Back to work!" he barked at the crew. "And keep a sharp lookout for Pan. I've twenty gold doubloons for the man who brings him down."

"I haven't seen him lately," Edward mused. "Not since the other morning, actually. Have you?"

"No," Hook replied. "And I'd like to keep it that way. I'd like nothing better than for Pan to come looking for us only to discover we've slipped our cable."

"I'd pay good money to see his face," Edward chuckled. He followed Hook back into the cabin, storing both swords in the weapons case.

Hook shrugged off his waistcoat, only mildly surprised to find Edward standing at the ready to return the garment to its hanger. "Thank you, he said, "You really don't have to wait on me hand and foot, though. You're my son, not my servant."

"I know," Edward replied, hanging the coat in the armoire. "I just like doing things for you. It's no bother."

Hook lounged at his desk and lit a cigar, studying Edward. He seemed so eager to please, so desperate for Hook's approval that the Captain found it rather unsettling at times. On the other hand - Hook smirked at that thought - Edward had a calming effect on him and the most benevolent of ways; he made Mr. Smee look like the Marquis de Sade.

He cast a glance at his claw. Whatever Edward had put in there had certainly eased the discomfort Hook was so accustomed to from his appliance. It was still mildly irritating at times, but the constant ache of wood jammed against his arm bones was gone and he silently blessed the boy again. He watched as Edward stretched out on the fainting couch.

"Are you tired?" Hook asked, dusting the ash from his cigar.

"Yes sir," Edward sighed. "How's your arm?"

"Much better," Hook answered. 'Tis a shame you ruined your jacket though."

"Pfff," Edward waved the notion off. "It was only the hood and I never did like anything over my ears; it messes up my hearing." He had torn the hood from the soft, light-weight fleece jacket he'd had in his daypack and folded it softest side out to pad the wooden cup that so irritated Hook's stump. It still stunned him that Smee had never thought to do anything similar.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you last night," he said cautiously.

"Embarrassed?" Hook snorted. "Don't be ridiculous." How anyone could be so conscientious of his dignity constantly amazed him. "You're a good lad. Get some rest and we'll continue your fencing lesson later this afternoon."

"Yes sir," Edward said. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes to shade them and watched Hook blow smoke rings.

Hook listened to Edward's breathing, smiling to himself when he heard the low snores that soon purred from under the hat. He sometimes wished that Edward was not so unsure of himself, but he supposed the boy's confidence had been severely compromised by his stay in that barbarous institution. But when the time came, an enemy would not grant the boy any lenience in a duel and hesitance on Edward's part could lead to a quick and certain death; Hook shuddered at the thought.

Edward was entirely too dependent on him, Hook thought, though he could not find it in himself to push the boy away at all. Piracy, however, was a dangerous profession and while he was supremely confident of his own abilities and planned on continuing his infamously sordid career, eventually - inevitably, every man ran out of luck, and so would he - one day. Then what would happen to Edward, he wondered? Would the lad carry on and continue the Captain's endeavors, or would he simply grieve himself to death?

Hook crushed out his cigar and shook his head. The truth was, much as he hated to admit it, neither one of them would do well for very long without the other. Their long separation had scarred him as equally as it had Edward. James Hook, the only man Barbeque feared, a man despised by any and all who knew him, whose very name made brave sailors quake in their boots - James Hook now needed his son as badly as the boy needed him. How had the mighty fallen, he thought.

Peter cracked his eyelids. The dim light stung his eyes and his head throbbed to the beating of his own heart. He started to sit up, confused about where he was and what had happened. A sharp stab of pain through his temples put him flat on his back again.

"Lie still," a voice said.

Peter recognized it instantly. It was Shy Doe, Tiger Lily's grandmother. "What happened?" he croaked, realizing he was inside the chief's wigwam. "How did I get here?"

"Head very bad," Shy Doe said. "Lie still."

It wasn't a difficult command for Peter to follow. Everytime he moved he was quite sure his head would explode, so staying still was easy. "But… what happened to me?" he asked again. All he could remember was running through the forest at night and a loud bang. "Did Edward shoot me?"

"Shoot you?" the old woman laughed. "No, Hook's son no shoot."

"Stop calling him that!" Peter growled. He was instantly sorry; his brain felt as though it would burst out of his ears.

"Quiet!" Shy Doe snapped firmly. "You rest. You hit head on tree branch. Make bad wound on head."

"I hit my head on what?"

"On a tree branch," Tinkerbell repeated. She lit on his chest and grinned. "Edward and Hook already want to bash your brains out, you silly ass. You don't need to help them."

"It was an accident," Peter mumbled. "It was dark and I couldn't see."

"Well what were you running from?" Tinkerbell asked.

"I… I can't remember," Peter said slowly.

"Why you no fly?" Tiger Lily asked, pressing a cold compress to Peter's forehead.

"I don't know," Peter grumbled. "Maybe I was, maybe I flew into the branch. I don't remember."

"You rest," Tiger Lily insisted, sounding very much like her grandmother. "You must let head get better."

"How long before…" Peter began.

"Don't know," Shy Doe replied. "Two, maybe three days. Very bad."

"Two days!" Peter started to shake his head but stopped, remembering the pain. "But I'm supposed to bring Wendy tonight!"

"Not good idea," Tiger Lily said. "Head very bad. Might get sick, get trapped in her world."

"Humph," Peter snorted.

"Eeew!" Tinkerbell wrinkled her nose. "Then you'd have to grow up."

"Never!"

"Quiet!" Grandmother Shy Doe said firmly.

Peter shrank down in the bearskin covers sheepishly. He didn't appreciate the old woman speaking to him in that tone one bit. After all, who did she think she was to be bossing him around. No one, not even Wendy… "Wendy," he said quietly. "Tink, you must go and bring Wendy here tonight."

"By myself?"

"Well I can't go, so you must."

Tinkerbell growled under her breath. Boys could be so exasperating, especially this one. "She will just have to come another time," Tink said as firmly as she could for her size.

"No," Peter whined under his breath. "I need her now, and besides, she's expecting me tonight."

"What difference will a few days make," Tinkerbell asked, knowing fully the difference; Hook and his pirates would be long gone by this time tomorrow, and her Peter would be safe.

His head pounding again, Peter began to think that maybe Tinkerbell was right, though he would never admit as much to her; she would be even more vain than ever if he did. "Oh all right," he sighed. "Maybe a day or two won't make that much difference. I'm sure she'll understand."

He did not see the knowing looks Tiger Lily and her grandmother gave each other, for they knew the truth also. With his head about to explode, Peter closed his eyes and tried to lay very still as Shy Doe had instructed and hoped to fall back to sleep where at least he wouldn't know how bad he felt.

It was very late at night when he awoke again; the fire in the middle of the wigwam had almost died out and he could see Tiger Lily and most of her family asleep on their own beds. He was glad they had found him and brought him back to the camp. His head was feeling some better now, probably due to whatever medicine Shy Doe had given him. Maybe whatever they were angry with him about had been forgiven or forgotten, or both. Maybe, he hoped, the chief had changed his mind about his treaty with the pirates.

Presently, Peter heard voices outside the wigwam, speaking in hushed tones. He recognized one of them as Tiger Lily's father and instantly strained to make out what was being said.

"Once Captain Hook gone, all will return to as it was," Chief Great Big Little Panther said. "Then our tribe will grow, and we will be strong again."

"Yes," Howling Wolf agreed. "The signs say it will be."

Hook keep bargain well," Many Knives said. "Pirates bring many blankets, much food. It will be good to have when snow returns."

"When does he leave?" Howling Wolf asked.

"Shy Doe says he will sail at dawn," the chief replied. "He take son and leave. Never come back. All will be well again then."

It was lucky for Peter he was lying flat on his back. Had he not been already, he most certainly would be now. He was so horrified he almost forgot to breathe. How dare they, he thought. How dare the Indians keep this information from him. They were actually trying to help Hook escape. Of course, Peter knew Hook was trapped here until he managed to kill Peter, and he was never going to be able to do that because he was old and slow. Peter was young and smart, and he would always get away from Hook unharmed.

"So," he said to himself in a whisper. "That's why I mustn't get up for two days, is it? Well I'll just show them." He listened and waited until he no longer heard the men talking outside the wigwam, then crept from his bed as quietly and carefully as he could. He peeked outside to make sure the coast was clear, then flew towards the forest… or at least he tried to fly. He found once more that he could only glide a few feet before gravity took over and dragged him down. Frustrated and flustered, and with his head still aching dully, Peter decided that his injury was affecting his ability to fly, so he made his way through the forest on foot, much more slowly and carefully than before.

It took ever so much longer to walk across half the island than it would have to fly across it. On top of that, Peter found he tired easily and again blamed it on his injury and the nagging ache in his head. But he intended to put a stop to this nonsense of the old Codfish trying to sneak away, even if it meant he would have to swim out to the Jolly Roger. Then he would fly and get Wendy and finish of Edward.

He was thankful that morning was on its way, for the forest was terribly dark at night. He looked over his shoulder, shocked to find grey dawn creeping across the eastern edges of sky. He could hear the waves crashing to shore in the distance, and he walked more quickly to reach the beach before daylight.

Edward paced back and forth across the quarterdeck nervously. Stars twinkled in the inky pre-dawn sky but there was a distinct pinking on the eastern horizon - it was almost time to go. An icy breeze seemed to cut right through his coat clean to the bone and Edward watched his breath roll out on the air like smoke from a dragon's nostrils. The crew were busily unfurling the sails. Everything that could slide or roll once the ship was under way had been tied down and the Captain had gone below deck to have a few words with the cook. Edward hoped he would be back topside soon; he was still waiting to be suddenly and rudely snatched away and dropped back on his farm in Ohio. For once in his life, that was the last place on earth he wanted to be. He wanted to stay with Hook, wherever and whatever that would lead to.

Finally he heard his father's voice, growing steadily louder as he barked commands to the men below. Edward watched with admiration as the Captain strode across the deck with Mike, the boson, at his heels. There was such a majestic air about Hook that there could be no doubt of his station. He wore his crimson suit again, and the gold embroidery twinkled in the lantern light giving him an almost supernatural appearance. There was a liveliness to the Captain's step such as Edward had never noticed before, not even when he had visited Edward long ago.

No wonder the very sight of the man struck terror into the hearts of sailors everywhere, Edward thought. He was sure Hook had looked every bit as regal and impressive the first time he had laid eyes on the pirate in his own back yard, but all he had ever felt was his immense pride at being so favored by the man, and his unfathomable love for Hook.

Hook came up the quarterdeck stairs at a trot almost, leaving Mike at the foot of the stairs to relay orders to the crew. He clapped a hand to Edward's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

"Well lad," Hook said, "Our adventure begins. Are you with me?"

"Always," Edward answered firmly. His chest swelled with pride and a tingle of anticipation scuttled down his spine.

Hook looked down towards Mike. "Boson, is the tide with us?"

"Aye sir!"

"Then man the capstan and hoist that anchor, double time!" Hook glanced towards his son. "Edward, take the wheel."

"Sir?" Edward caught his jaw on its way to the floor.

"You heard me," Hook said. "You're one of the keys to our freedom, so it's only fitting you should steer us away from this prison. I'll give you our bearings presently."

"Yes sir," Edward answered dubiously. At least he would have something to hang onto, he thought. It was a good thing too, as he felt as though his knees would buckle at any moment and his heart was pounding in his chest. Just what he needed, Edward grumbled to himself, a bloody panic attack. He grasped the wheel tightly until his knuckles turned white and his hands felt numb.

On deck, four burly pirates took their positions at the capstan. On Mike's order they grunted and strained, hoisting the heavy anchor from the ocean floor where it had buried itself centuries ago. The anchor chain clanked rhythmically as the links slowly wound around the capstan until the anchor banged against the side of the ship.

Hook drew in a great breath as the anchor seated and was secured for the voyage. The sun was beginning to peek over the island now, and its golden rays lit up the sails so they glowed, reminding him of the night Pan had absconded with his ship - that dreadful night when… But it was not a dreadful night, Hook realized. It had truly seemed so at the time, and he had actually hoped to die to spare himself the humiliation of losing to that impudent brat. But it was on that night he had first sensed Edward reaching out to him; on that night he found his son, or rather, he had been found by the boy and now they both would have their freedom. "South by Southwest, Edward," he said softly, moving so he stood directly behind the boy.

"Yes sir," Edward answered, trying to remember to turn the wheel exactly opposite to the direction he wanted to go. The deck felt odd beneath his feet and he realized it was the motion of the waves he was feeling for the first time. He had always gotten sick on roller-coasters, and he hoped the voyage would be a smooth one; he could just envision himself spending most of it hung over the bulkhead puking his guts out. "Oh well," Edward muttered under his breath, "A short life and a merry one."

"That's the spirit," Hook murmured. He rested his hand on Edward's left shoulder and felt the boy trembling. "What's wrong, son."

"I'm scared." Edward could barely whisper the words.

"Of what?"

"Of being snatched back to where I came from. I don't want to go back…" his voice drifted off as he felt Hook's right arm slip under his arms and across his chest and Edward quickly eyed the crew to see who might be watching.

"That's not going to happen," Hook said. "I've got you and nothing can take you away from me now."

"I hope I don't puke," Edward said nervously. "I've never been out on the ocean before."

"Just calm down," Hook soothed, keeping an eye on his crew. They were all busily absorbed in their tasks and eagerly watching the line where ocean met sky, and the ship's massive wheel afforded him privacy from most prying eyes. "Steady as she goes now," he instructed as the ship lazily rode the ebbing tide towards the mouth of Pirate's Cove. "Ease up on your grip a bit there, son - the wheel is very responsive. You don't have to strangle the thing."

"Yes sir," Edward chuckled at the mental image of himself throttling the galleon's steering mechanism. He had been accused of similar behavior when he was first learning to drive a car.

A faint cry from shore snapped him from his musings. As expected, it was Pan. Edward supposed it had been too much to hope they would escape without one last irritating appearance by the little pain in the ass. "Well hell," he grumbled.

"Blast!" Hook swore and drew his sword... "Mr. Mullins, man the guns and blow that little shit out of the sky!"

"Aye sir!" Mullins cried out, ordering men to the cannons.

On shore, Peter charged towards the surf, his sword held high above his head. He sprang towards the ship in the cove, expecting to be carried into the air by happy thoughts; he swallowed a mouthful of the bitter salt water as he crashed into the waves. Choking and retching, Peter staggered to his feet in the knee-deep water and wiped stinging eyes. "Where do you think you're going!" he roared. "You can't leave! I forbid it!"

Again he tried to fly and managed to glide about ten feet further out before splashing down into the cold ocean. The water was considerably deeper and it took a moment before Peter could get his footing again in the chest-high waves; the panic caused him to suck more seawater down and it made him feel nauseous. "You're wasting your time!" he jeered. "You'll never escape, do you hear me Captain Codfish? Never!"

Hook waited at the port-side bulkhead for Peter's attack, but it did not come. Instead, Pan floundered and ranted in the waves near the shore. "What trickery is the little imp up to now?" he muttered. He reached for his spyglass and peered at the curious spectacle on the beach.

"Shall I get the shotgun?" Edward asked. "I'll blow a hole in him you can stick your head through." He joined Hook at the bulkhead. "Come on, fart blossom!" he roared. "I've got another can of whup-ass to open up, and it's got your name all over it!"

Hook felt his mouth curling into a broad grin. "I don't think we'll need to do that," he said, handing the spyglass to Edward. "I don't know what's happened, but I don't think the little bastard can fly any longer."

"What?" Edward peered through the glass and shook his head. "Well I'll be damned," he cackled and threw Peter his one fingered salute. "Kiss my ass, you little…" He felt Hook turned him back towards the ship's wheel.

"That's enough," Hook admonished gently. "Don't give him the satisfaction. Anyway, you have a ship to guide - two hands on that wheel now." He could hardly blame the boy though; in his heart he shared the same sentiment but resisted the urge to pat Edward's back as he would not encourage any undignified behavior in his son. He could not stop smiling though, as Peter ranted and screamed from the beach. The imp was throwing a proper temper tantrum; it was the most beautiful sight Hook had seen in ages and he watched as both Pan and the island continue to gradually shrink in size and importance.

"Look at that," Edward said, sounding rather stunned. A myriad of colors danced in a thin fog where sky met sea. The further away they sailed from Neverland, the brighter and more distinct the colors became, being dominated by greens and golds with splashes of red and purple.

Hook turned his full attention back to his son. He walked back to the wheel and slipped both his arms under Edward's as if instructing the boy on how to handle the wheel. "I'm here," he said softly. "Don't worry."

"What is it?" Edward asked. "The aurora borealis?"

"No Edward," Hook breathed. "That is the way home."

"Brace yourselves lads," Hook bellowed to the crew. "The crossing may be a rough one." His heart skipped a few beats in anticipation of the words he had longed to say for years. "Now lads, bring me that horizon!"

"Yes sir!" Edward thundered enthusiastically. The wind had picked up as they were no longer in the lee of the island and the sails billowed, steadily pushing the galleon farther and farther out of the cove that had been its harbor, and into the open ocean.

Hook glanced back over his shoulder for a brief moment; he could barely discern Neverland where it rose from the ocean, it had grown so tiny. He'd never gotten this far away before; all his prior attempts to flee Neverland had ended with the cursed island re-appearing on the horizon regardless of which direction he sailed. He had half- expected Peter to conjure up another gale, as was the case whenever he was angry, but the sky was clear and the wind was perfect. Shy Doe must have been right, he told himself. For whatever reasons, Peter had lost control of him and, it would also seem, Neverland; how ironically fitting, he thought.

He squeezed Edward's shoulder and found the boy still trembling, maybe a bit harder now. What if the boy was right, he wondered. What if the forces that had brought them together tried to snatch him away when they crossed over? What if he lost his 'happy thought'? God forbid he should and end up back in Neverland again. Hook eased himself closer to Edward and pulled the boy tightly against him with his right arm. "Don't be scarred," he murmured. "I won't let go." He did it to reassure himself as much as his for his son.

The bow sprit of the Jolly Roger pierced the first fingers fog as it slipped into the bands of shimmering colors. Sparks of electricity seemed to dance on the ocean's surface and Edward felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up and his skin tingled. His heart roared in his ears and he felt as though he was going to faint or puke or both. He kept waiting on a lightning bolt to strike him dead, or for something grab him or Hook and separate them. He tried to make himself hang on to the wheel; it was his job, his duty. He couldn't let his father nor the crew down by leaving their course up to chance. But if he got snatched away from Hook, what was the point in surviving? His mind blurred with racing thoughts and he tried to concentrate on the safety of Hook's grasp.

He twisted around suddenly, leaving the wheel to the Captain, and flung both arms around the man clinging to him as though for his life. Edward felt Hook's arm tighten around his back and he buried his face in the man's coat. "I love you," he choked. Even with his eyes shut, Edward could see the brilliant flash of the blue-white light and he felt, more than heard, the shattering thunder clap… and everything went deadly quiet and black again….

"No!" Peter roared. Tears of fury streamed down his face and he shook with rage. It could not be happening. It just couldn't. He was in charge; he was the ruler of Neverland. No one came or left without his express permission. And he had most definitely not given Captain Hook permission to leave, just as he had not said Edward could come or stay. But Edward had come… and stayed… and Hook was gone.

"Well I'll just fix him," Peter seethed. "I'll find him and…" Peter froze in his tracks and sat down on the sand with a thud. The only way to find Hook was to fly - and he hadn't been able to. Why, he wondered. What had happened to all his happy thoughts that had formerly lifted him to wherever he wanted to go? He tried to think of one.

"Cutting off Hook's other hand," he said gleefully. "Killing Edward in front of Hook. Letting the Indians burn Hook at the stake and making Edward watch…" He sensed a presence and spun around to find two teen-aged boys glaring at him. "What do you want?" he spat.

"You better watch your mouth, punk," the older of the two said. "I'll kick your scrawny little ass if you ain't careful."

"Yeah, don't you be trying to boss us around no more, you hear?" the second boy said. He wore his hair in a Mohawk, and if it hadn't been for his age and pimples, Peter would have sworn he was one the two remaining lost boys.

"I'll have you know I'm in charge here," Peter snorted disdainfully. "I give the orders and you'd better obey them, whoever you are."

"Whoever?" the oldest boy said; he had very red hair. "You tryin' to make out like you don't know us?"

"Of course I don't," Peter said. "And besides, you're really much too big to stay. You're almost grown-ups."

"Oh, is that so," Mohawk replied. He motioned to Carrots who grabbed Peter from behind and twisted his arms behind his back. "Well here's news for you, Peter. We're bigger and stronger than you, so you don't even think about bossing us no more, you hear?"

"You tell him Mohawk," Carrots laughed. "We pick the games now." He leaned his face close to Peter's. "And you may not enjoy them near as much as we will," he leered. Mohawk winked back, and the pair of them dragged Peter of into the forest while he protested loudly with every step, begging the island to let him fly again. He did not understand that since his happy thoughts were now rooted in mischief and wickedness and causing misery, they would serve only to bring him down and keep his feet firmly on the ground. He could not see that he had robbed himself of his famous ability to fly, and as he never admitted his mistakes and short-comings, it is doubtful he would ever fly again.

It seemed like forever before Edward could hear or sense anything other than the frantic pounding of his own heart; he thought for sure it would beat itself right out of his ribcage. But soon enough he heard the wind rushing past his ears and the creaking of wood rubbing against itself. He could feel a warm breeze on the backs of his hands and slowly, very slowly, he became aware of an almost crushing pressure around his ribs, and a sweet, spicy, smoky smell he'd come to associate with….

"Father?" he whispered hoarsely. He lifted his head from its sanctuary and tentatively peered out from between his eyelids. He found himself staring at Hook's throat and beard, and as he looked up he saw the man's face; his expression was one of pure rapture, his lips parted as if caught just before laughing with joy.

Father?" Edward said a bit louder. "Sir, are you alright?"

Hook blinked, almost in disbelief. Before him lay an endless expanse of dark blue ocean. Puffy white clouds dotted the sky and the warm golden glow of sunrise bathed the ship in its light. "I'm free," he murmured, finally relaxing his iron grip on Edward's back. "We're free. We're all free!" He clapped his hand to Edward's shoulder, smiling as he had not in centuries. A great, burdensome weight had been lifted from his soul and he felt more alive than he could ever remember before. A thunderous roar of jubilation erupted from the crew on deck.

"Hot damn!" Edward laughed. "We did it! - We did it!" As far as he could see in any direction there was nothing but sun and sky and sea… and not one inkling of a notion of Neverland or Peter Pan or any of it. His head felt a bit swimmy and he hoped it was due to the experience and not from sea-sickness. But at the moment Edward cared little if he were to vomit up his toe nails. He had managed to remain with the Captain and cross over to…. to…. "Sir?" he asked. "Where, I mean when - what year is it?"

Hook stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Well I'm not quite sure, now that you mention it." He glanced down at the crew celebrating on deck. "Though I doubt it matters a great deal. I'm sure we can easily find out once we reach port - or take a ship, whichever comes first." He flashed a grin at Edward and winked.

Edward felt himself smile back. He supposed it really didn't matter too much after all, just as long as he was with his father. He re-took the wheel from Hook. "What heading sir?"

Hook checked the position of the sun. Though they had started out sailing south- westerly, the ship now appeared to be pointed north; he put this down to the odd nature of Neverland and possibly to the passing between worlds. "Due north for now, Edward," he said. "I'll have to consult my charts and see where we are before I set a final course. But first things first. Mike!" he called down to the boson. "Fetch some rum. We drink a toast to our new-found freedom!"

A cheer went up from the crew and Mike quickly returned with a cask of rum, pouring a shot for each crew member. Hook stood atop the quarterdeck stairwell with Edward by his right side and raised his glass.

"To Peter Pan… May he rot in that hell which is Neverland and never fly again, and may we sail a thousand years and never see its shores again!"

Cries of 'hurrah' filled the air and glasses and mugs clinked and thunked together. Hook downed his rum one gulp, his head tilted back so he gazed skyward. Something above him caught his attention, moving slowly across the heavens with a trail of white smoke flowing behind it.

"Split my infinitives," he gasped and grabbed Edward's shoulder. "What in damnation is that?"

Edward stared up, his jaw hung agape in disbelief. He blinked and shook his head as if that would correct his vision… but it did not.

"Well!?" Hook waited for the boy's gaze to meet his.

"Um…" Edward stammered. "I believe it's a 747, but it's too high to be sure…."

"A what?"

"A jet," Edward said; he staggered over to the wheel and grabbed at it to support his wobbly knees. The brassy taste of fear filled his mouth and he looked out at the crew for a moment. They were still blissfully unaware of their predicament. "I think something fu-barred, sir." he said timidly.

"What?" Hook stared at the boy; the look of horror on Edward's face made him feel quite ill as though he might heave in front of the crew, and he squelched the urge. His knees felt strangely weak and there was an alarm in Edward's eyes such as he'd never been before. "What's happened son?" he asked hoarsely.

"I thought we would go back to whatever time you came from, or close to it. I just assumed I'd go along with you," Edward choked, trying to squash the panic building inside of him.

"Aye," Hook said, puzzled. "And that is not what happened?"

"No sir," Edward groaned. "I think you got snatched forward with me, all of you - and it's 1997 or thereabouts." He could tell Hook still did not grasp the dire nature of their situation. "Sir, in 1997 there are no more pirates, at least nothing you would recognize as such. And they certainly don't sail in ships like this one…"

"1997?" Hook asked, incredulous. "But that's almost three hundred years? How…"

"It's my fault," Edward wheezed, trying not to hyperventilate. "I hung on too tight. I didn't want to be taken away from you again - God almighty, how are we going to explain being here. No one is going to believe us… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Hook pulled the boy close to him and hugged him tightly. "It's all right," he murmured, trying to calm Edward so he would not alarm the entire crew. "We'll figure something out."

"How?" Edward groaned. "I've screwed everything up."

"Stop it!" Hook said firmly. "You've done nothing wrong. Besides, how do you know it's all your doing? Could it not be 'twas I who clung to you and caused this?"

"Well I… I guess so."

Hook eased his grip on Edward and rested his hand on the boy's right shoulder. "Is there no way we can… assimilate, into this world of yours?" he asked.

"Do what?" Edward rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "Well, I guess it's possible. But…"

"But what?" Hook interrupted. "You're a bright lad. You're well-schooled in the ways of this era. Wait for me in the cabin and let's see what we can work out, all right?"

"Yes sir," Edward said softly. He wished his father did not put quite so much faith in him; it was going to be difficult, at best, to live up to those expectations.

Hook's mind began to race. They were definitely no longer in Neverland, but this unexpected destination was surely fraught with many a pit-fall. Still, he had adapted to the island, though there had not been nearly so much to adapt to; he remembered well the evenings spent listening to Edward describe the curious and unbelievable new machines of his time and the many changes the world and societies had undergone. Surely there must be as many opportunities for an enterprising man such as himself if not more so, Hook thought, than he would have had if they'd returned to his own time. He watched the boy start towards the stairs. "And Edward," he said softly. "Don't let on to the crew."

"Yes sir," Edward nodded. "I understand." He pulled the brim of his hat down so it shaded his eyes from view, and taking the Captain's glass along with his own, he headed down towards the cabin. As he closed the door behind himself, he could utter only word.

"Bugger!"

THE END

EPILOGUE

Wendy watched for Peter all that Friday evening until the wee hours of Saturday morning, but he did not come. She fretted over him and waited for him most of that weekend. What could possibly have happened to Peter, she wondered. She was very annoyed with Tinkerbell for keeping secrets from Peter in the first place.

Her deepest fear was that Peter had had a run-in with Captain Hook and Tinkerbell's prediction had come true - either Hook or his son, Edward, had killed Peter. Suppose Peter had overheard Tinkerbell and her talking the other evening and decided to stop Captain Hook from leaving Neverland? It sounded just like something Peter would do. And yet, Wendy believed that if Peter had been killed, surely she would feel it in her soul - and she did not, so he must still be alive.

By late Sunday afternoon, however, Wendy's angst was turning to irritation. If something had indeed happened to Peter, Tink would have let her know something by now. When Wendy considered Peter's nature, though, she was not terribly surprised he had neglected to return for her, even after making such a big production about how vital her presence was. Peter was, after all, dreadfully forgetful and inconsiderate - he had forgotten all about her for three years, hadn't he?

More than likely, Wendy thought, some new adventure had presented itself, either in Neverland or on the way between worlds, and as she knew Peter well, that was all the distraction required for him to forget about her and Hook and Edward; at least, for the time being.

"Well," she muttered to herself as she dressed for bed Sunday evening, "He'd best not show up in a few days begging me to come with him, because he's got another thing coming." Then again, she knew it could be months or even years before she saw Peter again, if she ever saw him again.

Fortunately for Peter, Grandmother Shy Doe had awakened and discovered his empty bed, and though she really thought he would deserve whatever might happen to him, she roused her grown sons and sent them and Tiger Lily along with Tinkerbell to find the thick-headed boy. Aside from a bloody nose and the serious wounding of his pride, Peter would escape the clutches of his former lost boys relatively unscathed. Carrots and Mohawk, however, would not fair so well. Aging as they had, the two boys were unrecognizable to the Indians, who thought them strangers. Mohawk and Carrots would perish in the tribe's sacrificial bonfire before sundown.

By the time Peter recovered fully from his head wound, his less-than-exemplary memory had forgotten all about Captain Hook's escape from Neverland. Since none of the redskins spoke of the matter in his presence, after a short time Peter would swear that no such persons as Hook or Edward nor any pirates ever trod upon Neverland's shores. He did not think of Wendy again either for quite a long time. When he finally did return to her window, Peter found the room occupied by two of his former boys who did not remember him, and Wendy was gone.

Wendy, now a full-grown woman, had moved on with her life. She had married the nice young man named James who had been transcribing her stories into a book. She was, in fact, awaiting the birth of their first child. If anyone were to ever ask her about Peter Pan and Neverland, she would have explained that they were merely fancies of her childhood play, which had become the bedtime stories she told her brothers and eventually, for millions of other little girls and boys… including one she knew nothing of.

As for Captain Hook and Edward, after Hook managed to talk his son through several panic attacks, Edward came up with a plan. Enough gold was converted to cash in the Cayman Islands to bribe the necessary officials - as everyone has their price - and the pirates were provided with new birth certificates and records and furnished them with new identities. Edward's new papers listed his last name the same as his father's, as Hook was not the Captain's real name, and once free from the influences of Neverland the vast majority of Hook's memory returned.

A small estate on a private island off of Grand Cayman was leased and Edward spent the next six months educating the crew in what he referred to as "Modern Living 101." The Jolly Roger was stripped of its valuables and, through a discreet broker, sold to the Walt Disney Company for twenty-six million dollars. Disney anchored the ship at one of its private resort islands and also used it as a prop in several movies. The rest of the treasure was sold through the same broker and each member of the crew received a generous sum. Most went on their way pursuing further careers in piracy or shipping, some went to drug-running, and some abandoned the sea all together. Bloody Mike, or Mike Blood as he was now known, and Mr. Pham were the only two members of the crew to remain with their captain.

Edward set up accounts for Captain Hook, who kept the lion's share of the profits, in a bank in the Caymans. After much discussion about what the future held, Hook bought a 112-foot yacht and he and Edward spent much of their time traveling from one exotic destination to the next. Whenever questioned as to their profession, the Captain would always reply they were investors specializing in commodities speculation, and his son handled all his business dealings and accounts. Edward also introduced his father to the marvels of modern prosthetics, freeing Hook from the need to wear his uncomfortable harness ever again. It was, all in all, a rather comfortable if obscure life - with two notable exceptions.

The first of these exceptions occurred in the fall of 1998 in Charleston, South Carolina. Hook and Edward were attending an outdoor chamber music recital and the evening was quite pleasant, until their paths crossed those of Edward's biological parents. Edward was completely horrified, especially when they recognized him. True to form, Captain Hook came to his son's rescue, informing the stunned couple that they were mistaken; Edward was his son, his only child, and while he might bear an uncanny resemblance to their missing son even to his name, Edward was most definitely his son, not theirs. Then he shepherded Edward away to a taxi and back to their boat, leaving the stunned couple behind in a daze.

The second occurrence happened in late summer of 1999 in Bar Harbor, Maine, and was far more unsettling for Hook than for Edward. While enjoying their evening meal on the patio of a dockside restaurant, they were accosted by an elderly woman in her late eighty's. She called the Captain by name; it was Wendy, all grown up and grown old, and shocked to see the villain of her bedtime stories alive and well and free from Neverland.

Naturally she accused Hook of murdering her darling Peter and Edward loyally sprang to his father's defense in his somewhat confrontational way. Hook stopped him though, and invited Wendy to join them, which she did; she had always been captivated by the pirate's blue eyes and they were every bit as blue and entrancing as she remembered. Over tea, Hook explained that he had left Peter rather miffed but very much alive and well. He had not the first inkling what might have happened to the impertinent imp, nor did he have any desire to ever lay eyes on Pan or Neverland again.

Wendy hoped he was telling the truth; he seemed so sincere, but the Captain could be quite deceptive as she knew well. After all, this was the same man who almost charmed her into a life of piracy herself. She regarded the man Hook claimed was his son. The face seemed oddly familiar to her; he wore his beard and mustache in the same style as Hook, though his hair was short and while his eyes were not blue, they were none-the-less equally as engaging as the Captain's. Where had she seen them before?

After what was entirely too long a chat for Edward's liking, Wendy was satisfied and went on her way. Captain Hook and Edward continued to wander from port to port, relishing their freedom and each other's company. Neither would ever marry, though Hook did indulge himself in many a sweet and pretty young thing, which lead to Edward's embarrassing lecture to his father on safe sex in the 90's; it was, at the very least, an amusing conversation.

Edward's indulgences lead more to sport fishing and hunting when he was not monitoring his father's business affairs. He spent a great deal of time on deck playing the violin which Hook had given him, or just staring off to sea, lost in some deep ruminations. And when he did go ashore, no matter the destination, Edward was extremely careful never to go near anything that looked remotely like a faerie ring ever again.

Many years hence it is certain that time will catch up with Captain James Hook, but he will not mind. Surely he will have lived a most extraordinary and interesting life and when he goes on to wherever old pirates go, he will not be alone in his final hours and he will go knowing that he was loved very much by his always faithful son. And in the end, that is all that will really matter… that at least one child did love Hook.