"I'll see your five and raise you ten!" Peter challenged.

Alf Mason kept his face impassive as he considered.  He had a full house and was fairly sure he had the better hand.  Peter was a good bluffer, though, and you could never tell with his luck.  Starkey, Mullins, Jukes and Roy had all folded, so all eyes were now on him.  There was a considerable number of coins on the table.

"Alright, I call," and he tossed in a ten-piece.

"Four eights, ten high," Peter said with a smug grin.

"Damn it!" Mason threw his cards down.  "If I didn't know better… "

"Are you trying to accuse me of something?" Peter challenged.  His tone was deadly but there was a playful light in his eyes.

"No," Mason backpedaled.  "I just don't know how you do it!"

"A little bird whispers in my ear and tells me what everyone has," Peter laughed.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it did," Mason retorted and everyone joined in the laughter.

I would help him, if I could do it unseen, thought Dria.  I do like to see Peter win.  But he doesn't need my help in this.  They had been at sea for nearly two weeks now.  Dria had been fairly seasick the first two days, but she recovered.  Since then, she had endeavored to unravel the mystery of what had happened to Peter Pan.

She had gathered that Peter thought Hook was his father, and that he had no memories of his life before.  She had gotten no further than that until a few days ago, when she had discovered that Hook was a meticulous journal keeper.  His entries spanned back for many years.  Those books that pertained to his time in Neverland and shortly afterwards were in a trunk beneath his bed.  The rest resided in a bookcase with his other books.  Whenever Hook was on deck during the day, she would slip beneath the bed and pull one of the volumes out.  She was slow to read the entries (written English was not a strong point for her and the dates were completely foreign).  She had just gotten the hang of it, and earlier today had made more progress than all the previous days put together.  Still, she had discovered nothing to clue her in as to what had happened.  She had read a few entries that discussed Peter's nightmares and his yearly illness.  She didn't know the cause of those maladies, but she was certain it had something to do with the twisted spell that bound him.

"Mr. Hook," came the Captain's voice, "would you be so kind as to join me in our cabin?"

Everyone froze.  Hook's voice was calm and polite, but cold.  He was pissed.  Peter's face blanched and he bore an expression of absolute dread.  "Ay, sir.  Coming, sir," he replied and jumped to his feet.  Billy scraped his friend's winnings to the side just in case he actually came back.

What's this all about? Dria thought as she made her way quietly to her nest, where she could listen in.

What's this all about? Was Peter's thought, too.  I haven't done anything.  No stunts, no jokes, no disrespect.  Did I forget to do something?  No, I don't think so.  He walked to their room, the Captain close behind him.

When they entered the room, Hook locked the door behind them.

Shit, I'm screwed, Peter thought as a sinking feeling left a hole in his stomach.  He stood still and stared straight ahead.  The captain stayed behind him.

"Peter, my dear boy, is there anything of mine of particular interest to you?  Something you want perhaps?"

Peter frowned, "If there was, sir, I would ask you for it."

"And if you knew the answer would be no?"

"I'd ask anyway, or I'd not consider it any longer, depending on how much I wanted it.  Has someone stolen something?"

Suddenly he was nose to nose with Hook and his feet were dangling about a foot from the floor.  His father's eyes blazed with fury and, Peter realized with shock, fear.

"Ay, boy.  Someone's been going through my things every day for the past three days.  Despite my best efforts, I have yet to discover the culprit.  You have unrestricted access to this room, and you are an accomplished thief.  Care to enlighten me on what you are up to?"

Peter was mystified, "I'd never steal from you, sir."

Hook roared in anger and threw him across the room.  Peter's side slammed into a bookshelf and he crumpled to the floor.

"Lie to me again!" Hook yelled.

"Sir," Peter gasped and tried to sit up.  "I wouldn't!  I've too much respect for you."  He stopped speaking when he saw the man was only getting angrier.

Hook picked him up again.  "Respect?" he growled.  "If you respect me, then confess.  I don't wish to go through this with you right now."

"Maybe it was one of the new men…"

Hook snarled again and slammed him into the wall.  Peter struck his head and saw stars.  All the wind was knocked from his lungs and he couldn't breathe.

"What was violated was not anything any of those dogs would give a damn about," Hook grated softly.  "Would you care to try one last time?"

Peter struggled to get his breath back.  When he could, he coughed and wheezed in pain.  "Father, no, I swear.  I don't know anything!"

"My journals, boy!  Someone has been into my journals, particularly the ones immediately before, during and after your point of memory loss."  Hook jerked Peter back up, causing jolts of pain in the boy's head.  "You, my dear son," he sneered, "are the only one aboard who could possibly want that information.  Mullins and the others were here at that time and know everything they care to about you.  The newer crewmen wouldn't care a whit, and I doubt they can even read.  That leaves only you.  Now," he pulled Peter closer, "what did you discover?  What do you remember?  How long have you been sneaking behind my back?"

Peter was shocked.  He had never considered that Hook would have written down the information about his amnesia.  Even if he had known, he never would have snuck in to read it.  He hated that his father and friends kept his past from him, but he trusted them.  If they thought that he shouldn't remember, then they were probably right.

"Sneaking," Peter repeated.  He began to grow angry himself.  His own father didn't trust him.  He glared at the Captain and tried to regain his composure.  "I'd expect a pirate captain to maintain suspicions of his crew.  But what have I, a devoted son, ever done to earn my father's distrust?"

Hook stared at Peter.  He wanted to believe him, and the outrage in the boy's face nearly convinced him that he was telling the truth.  Still… if not Peter then who?  "You deny you did it?"

"I deny I even knew they existed!  I deny I would ever betray you and read them if I knew they were there.  I trust you with my life father, but you don't trust me.  If you can't trust me, how can you call me your son?" Peter paused and felt feelings of betrayal well up within.  "If my own father doesn't trust, respect, or love me, then I'm an unworthy son.  If that's the case, I'll take my leave at the next port, Captain.  I'll not stay where I'm not wanted."

Hook saw the hurt in his son's face and felt his anger leave him.  When his own feelings were clear, he sensed that Peter was telling him the truth.  Carefully, he set the youth back on his feet.  "Don't be daft, boy," he snapped, then grinned wryly, "not like your old man.  I'm sorry.  I just fear that if you remember, you might become like before.  That Peter I cannot trust.  You I trust more that anyone in the world, and you're the only person I feel safe enough to love."

Peter nodded, but the anger and hurt were still plainly stamped on his face.  Hook reached out to place his hook on Peter's shoulder, and the youth flinched as if he expected to be struck again.  I've lost his trust now.  I have to give him something.  Hook sighed, feeling that perhaps it was time to give the boy some of the history he wanted.  Sometimes the best lies are half-truths, and perhaps if I spin it correctly, he'll never ask again.

Hook opened his mouth to speak, but fear seized his voice.  But what if it jogs him?  I could do the very thing I fear the most.  He imagined what Peter would say when he remembered, what he would do.  He'd leave me.  I'll grow old and die alone, because the only person in the world I love will hate me.  Tears came to his eyes, and he grabbed Peter and hugged him tight.

Peter let the man hold him.  He'd seen the tears, and felt his father's fear, and it scared him.  His father was a hard, cruel man.  Peter was the only one that ever saw his softer, loving side, and he'd never seen his father cry.  Tentatively, he returned the hug, and stifled a gasp of pain as the arms tightened around him.

"God, Peter, I just don't want to lose you," Hook managed to say as he fought back his fear.

"I love you, father," Peter replied.  "Nothing could ever change that."  I can hear his heartbeat.  Peter had been held by Hook numerous times, each time being when he was in the throes of a strong nightmare.  That was the only way to calm him.  But his very first memory was awakening to his father's heartbeat.  It had become a sound of security and sanity in his life and he took comfort from it.

Hook ended the embrace when he regained control of himself.  He patted Peter on the back, which brought a louder gasp from the boy.  "What is it?"

"Bookshelf, I think," Peter replied, grimacing.

"Take off your shirt and turn around."

Peter complied, wincing as he wiggled out of the shirt.  "My head hurts too."

I should hang myself and be done with it, Hook thought.  Peter's back was very red, with prominent areas that were definitely going to bruise.  There was also a gash across his right shoulder blade.  He prodded Peter's scalp and found a large goose egg on the back of his head.  "You're bleeding.  Sit down," Hook ordered while he went to his desk to get something to doctor it with.

"Am I?" Peter found the rip and blood on his shirt.  "Damn it!  This was a new shirt!"  He sat on a footstool.  Hook sat in the chair behind him and began to bandage Peter's shoulder.

"I'm going to tell you something," he began slowly, considering his words carefully.  "You've passed sixteen a month ago, so I think you're old enough now to hear a bit of what I've been keeping from you."  He felt Peter sit up a bit and smiled.  "I'm going to be vague; I don't want you to have too many details that might jog you.  But you're not a child anymore.  It's time you started taking more responsibility for yourself.  More than six years ago, you fell under the influence of evil spirits…"

"Spirits?" Peter interjected.

"Ay, spirits.  Don't interrupt.  I know it sounds strange, but the old crew will verify me.  While you were under the control of these spirits, you were a hateful, malevolent, disrespectful hellion.  We clashed many times in battle, and you wanted nothing more than to kill me.  Somehow, you thought it would be great fun."

Hook paused a moment to consider, then pressed on.  "You grievously injured me, and for awhile I thought I would have to kill you to protect myself and my crew.  We were moored off an island, which you had the run of, and you would often sneak onto my ship.  You played cruel tricks and mocked me, trying to goad me into a fight.  You succeeded many times, and it was all I could do to not kill you.  The men wanted me to leave you there, but I wouldn't abandon you to those creatures. 

"Finally, one day I found a spirit that was unlike the rest.  It wanted to help me, and showed me how to exorcise the evil ones from you.  I caught you and did what was necessary, though you suffered tremendously from it.  It was a slow process, and took a long time to complete.  When it was over, you remembered nothing at all, not even from the time before the spirits took you.  I don't know if the amnesia was a last act of cruelty from the spirits, if I did it in breaking you away, or if you did it to yourself for protection.  The anniversary of that act is marked every year by your illness."

Hook finished with the bandage and turned Peter around to face him.  "I swore the men to secrecy and kept it from you.  I don't want you to remember because I know those memories hold pain for you.  You remember in your nightmares.  I know this because you talk in your sleep.  You strike out at me too, but if I hang on, you come back after awhile.  I also don't want you to remember because those evil influences are still there, sleeping.  They sometimes awaken while you sleep and talk to me through you.  I don't know if I can cure you again if you were to revert to your former state of insanity.  You say the most horrible things in your sleep sometimes."

Peter stared at his father, a horrified expression on his face.  It didn't match the horror he felt inside.  It was more than impossible that he could ever want to harm his father or his shipmates – it was inconceivable.  Something tickled in the back of his mind, and he felt that what his father said was not quite right.  He said he would be vague, that's why it doesn't feel right… and because I don't want it to feel right.  He tried to speak, but at first the words wouldn't come out. 

Hook saw his son's difficulty and felt a flash of concern.  If this is how you feel about my version, you certainly don't want to know the real truth.  Please take what I say and never ask me again.  And please, I hope this keeps you from ever wanting to learn more.  "Peter?"

At last he found his voice.  "I – I don't know what to say, sir," he stammered and looked at his knees.  "I sorry for all the grief I've given you."

"Peter, no!" Hook said sternly.  He lifted the boy's chin with his hook and looked into his eyes.  "You have nothing to be sorry for.  You and I settled our differences long ago when I broke you away from the spirits, and I hold nothing from that time against you now."  Hook sighed and ruffled Peter's hair.  "Perhaps I should have told you this long ago, but you were still fresh from the ordeal.  You were too young to go through what you had endured, and I didn't want you to suffer through it again.  But now it's been six years.  It's been long enough for me to tell you more… but not everything.  I will never tell you everything."  His voice hitched and he stood up.  "Go back to your game.  You can tell the other men what I've told you, if you wish.  I'll tell them myself later what I've said, so they know what is safe to say.  I've got a mess to clean up right now."

"I'll help, sir," Peter said as he stood up.  He felt a wave of dizziness and shook his head to clear it.

Hook saw the boy sway and put a hand on his shoulder.  "No.  I've abused you enough for tonight.  Send Smee to me when you go down, he can help me."

"Ay, sir," Peter replied.  He felt strange and his mind was awhirl with too many thoughts to process.  He walked to the door, and a flash of something hit him.  It was quick, there and forgotten again in the blink of an eye.  But it left him feeling sick with dread and he remembered something Hook had just told him:  You grievously injured me….  He turned and looked at his father.  Don't ask… haven't you heard enough for tonight?  But I have to know. 

"Father, you said I injured you.  What did I do?"  Peter held his breath as he saw a strange, frightening look darken Hook's face.

Hook stared at him, torn between either sharing this last piece of information or closing the boy off again.  Should I tell him?  If I don't, he won't ask me again.  If I do, what will be his response?  It is a powerful memory for me… was it the same for Pan?  Could this crack the spell?  He saw the fear and the need on Peter's face, and he decided.  I owe him so much for what I've done to him.  I think I should give him this.  He won't like the answer, but it will drive home to him that I have a good reason to keep the truth from him.

Hook looked at the steel claw on his right arm, then back up at the boy.  "You cut off my hand, Peter," he said softly, "and you fed it to a crocodile."

Peter felt the room spin around him and bile rose in his throat.  He leaned against the door and fought down the nausea.  "No," he whispered, "I'm sorry.  How could I? I…"  He felt his father's hand on his shoulder, but all he could see was that awful hook on the other arm.  I mutilated my own father.  Somehow he got the door opened and wrenched himself out of the man's grasp.  He heard his father call to him - could feel the man's concern for him and knew there was no animosity there.  But he felt such loathing for himself at that moment he couldn't bear to be in his father's presence.  He ran down to the galley, barely touching the steps as he went down the hatch.  The men at the table looked up from their cards and stared at him in concern, but to Peter the eyes held accusations.  He didn't pause as he continued onward to the sleeping quarters.

"Woa, Peter, lad.  What's the rush, now?" Smee asked as Peter nearly knocked him over. 

They all knew what I was, what I did, and they accepted me.  But I can't face them right now.  "Cap'n wants you, bosun.  There's a mess in his quarters."  He went on to the hammock he used down here on the rare occasions Hook didn't want him in their room. 

Everyone looked at Billy expectantly.  He sighed, folded his hand and followed Peter to the bunks.  He saw his friend lying there with tears on his cheeks.  "What happened?" he asked softly and sat in a hammock beside the youth.

Peter didn't even bother to hide his tears.  He and Billy understood each other, and they had no silly qualms about appearing weak in the other's eyes.  "Too much," Peter paused for awhile, and Billy waited patiently for his friend to continue.  "Father thought I'd been into his logs, but we sorted that out… after he used me to redecorate our quarters."  Peter sighed, "I guess I deserve anything he does to me.  He told me a few things.  Some of what happened before my amnesia.  He told me that I was the one that cut off his hand."

"WHAT?" Billy was incredulous.  "Why did he tell you?  What else did he say?"

Peter related everything that had happened.  Billy sat quietly and listened, nodding his head.  He recognized how the man had generalized and opinionated the story to make it sound like Peter had been evil and Hook merely a concerned father trying to reclaim his son.  But he never actually said that Peter was his son in that story.  He never explained how Peter came to the island… and now Peter's so afraid of what else he might be guilty of, he'll never want to ask again.  Oh that man is truly the slickest liar I've ever known. 

"I'm sorry, cully," Billy said when Peter was done.  "I wish he'd never told you that."

Peter looked at his friend pleadingly.  "Please, tell me it isn't true.  Tell me that I'm not a monster that would mutilate his father."

"You're not a monster!" Billy admonished.  "What the Cap'n said is kinda right…" he faltered, unsure of how to proceed.  I can't call Hook a liar, the man will kill me the slowest way he knows how… not to mention it would kill Peter to know his dad's lying to him; 'course, it's killing him now to believe the line that his 'dad' just fed him.  For perhaps the millionth time, Jukes felt himself torn between his promise and duty to his captain, and his loyalty and love for his friend.  And for the millionth time, he betrayed his friend by taking the Captain's side.  "He stayed fairly vague, and from his standpoint and most of the crew's it's true.  You did torment us a lot, you and those 'spirits'.  And you did cut off Hook's hand.  You and he fought and he dropped his guard.  I was there, I watched it happen.  I'm the one that made the hook for him."

"And I fed it to a crocodile?" Peter whispered.

"Ay, Tock, the biggest critter on the island.  Hunted Hook the entire time we were there, wantin' the rest of him."

Peter closed his eyes and clenched his fists.  "I don't deserve to be his son."

Billy stood up.  "No.  Peter you're a good man.  You've changed the Captain, for the better.  Before you, we didn't take prisoners.  Well, he'd let the women live, but all the men and boys were killed.  Before you, Hook would beat a crewman senseless for looking at him the wrong way.  He's happier now, calmer, more understanding.  He's still fairly evil… yeah Peter, the man's a murderer for all you love him," Billy said sternly when he saw Peter about to protest.  "You've given him conscience and a better reason to live than to look for treasure.  It's Hook that don't deserve you."

Peter didn't respond, and Billy could see the boy was seriously depressed.  "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back."  He was gone only a few minutes, and when he returned, he carried a pitcher of ale and two pint mugs.  "Let's have a toast to friendships and buried hatchets, bucko.  You need a pick-me-up."

A few hours later, two very inebriated young pirates were passed out in their hammocks.  The rest of the men (not including the night-watch of course) turned in to sleep, first stopping to give Peter very sympathetic looks.  Hook himself had just finished briefing them on what he'd told Peter, and renewed his orders to everyone that it was not to be discussed, ever.  The men who had joined up post-Neverland looked at the unconscious boy with new-found respect.  Any ten-year-old that could best Hook in a duel and cut off his hand was no-one to mess with now that he was sixteen.  The men who had been with Hook in Neverland looked at Peter sadly.  They were all fond of the boy (loved him in their own ways), and they regretted that they had contributed to his pain.  They could imagine what Hook's story was putting Peter through, and not a one of them liked it.  But as with all matters between the Captain and his son, it was best to stay out of it and pretend that nothing was wrong.

That lying son of a TROLL! Dria fumed.  I've never heard such a smooth line of dung in my entire existence!  No wonder Peter's all mixed up.  The little fairy quivered with rage.  It had taken every scrap of self control she possessed to not interrupt and tell Peter that the pirate was lying.  Peter wouldn't have believed me, and then Hook would have squashed me.  Now he'll never believe me.  He'll think anything I say will be to subvert him.  She knew the only way to get him out of Hook's clutches was to make him remember.  Tink can make him remember.  She has to come here, or we have to get Peter to Neverland.

She was sitting in her nest.  Nighttime was the hardest time to stay hidden.  As a fairy, she glowed and was easy to spot.  As a wren she was harder to see, but a wren flying at night miles and miles from land was suspicious.  As she puzzled for the million and first time on what to do (she really wasn't cut out for this kind of work), she heard an odd noise.  Her bird-head peeked out to see what was going on. 

Captain Hook and another pirate were standing by the railing, and the crewman was carrying a trunk.  That's the trunk with the books I was reading!  She watched, alarmed, as the pirate threw the chest into the sea.  Hook nodded and went back to his quarters.  No! the pixie thought in alarm.  She had been planning to go back to the books after a few days.  She flew to the railing and looked down.  The trunk was floating, but the ship was quickly leaving it behind.

Flying quickly, Dria alighted on the trunk and changed back to her fairy form.  It only took her a second to decide what to do.  She began sprinkling dust on the trunk and chanting a spell.  There was a brief glow, and the chest rapidly shrank down to the size of a thimble.  The change was a lot more sudden than she was expecting, and she nearly toppled into the sea.  Idiot!  Go ahead and drown yourself.  You'd be just as useful as you have been so far.  She carefully fished the trunk out of the water when it reached the crest of a wave and flew back to her nest with in.  Now that Hook won't miss this, I can read it at my leisure.

Once she got settled back in the nest, she discovered a serious set-back.  The chest was locked.  If it had been human sized, she could have reached in the keyhole and picked it like she did before.  Since it was now fairy-sized, she couldn't pick it without some kind of tool.  I've never been good at lock-picking, but I guess I have time to practice.  She knew several spells for opening things, but she didn't dare try to put another spell on the chest.  Spells could be tricky if you put one on top of another, unless it was a counter-spell.  Anything could happen if she did a knock-knock spell over an itty-bitty spell.  The trunk could explode, or grow large again, or turn into a frog and leap away, or any number of impossible things.  Maybe I could break the lock… or find a nice place below where the men don't usually go and grow the chest big again.  Then I can unlock it and shrink it again.  But she was still frustrated so she decided to wait until later, then promptly rolled over and went to sleep.  Inspiration is born of dreams and she seriously needed some inspiration right now.