Peter awoke in his father's arms, disoriented but not surprised. He opened his eyes and groaned at the familiar, dull ache in his temples. "Father?" he called softly, seeing the man staring down at him. When his father didn't respond and continued to stare at him, Peter frowned. "Dad," he called louder.
Hook blinked, then helped the boy sit up. "Good morning," he said lowly as he went to his desk and pulled out the bottle of whiskey.
"Good morning," Peter answered, glancing at the window. The sky was lightening, dawn would break soon. What's the whiskey for? I'd be waking soon anyway, so I don't need it to go back to sleep… He gaped in shock as his father tossed back a double shot of the whiskey, then poured another. "Father, what's wrong?"
"Bad dream," Hook muttered as he stared at the amber liquid, trying to decide if he needed the second drink. Better not, I'm too upset to lose any self-control. I need to think clearly. He poured the whiskey back into the bottle and put it away.
Peter nodded in understanding and began to get dressed. "What was it about?" he asked, trying to dispel the uncomfortable quiet. I wish he'd quit staring at me like that.
Hook watched Peter for a little while longer, seeing the child he once was in the body of the young man. "The past. You as you were on the island. Your mother." I might as well. I've decided to tell him the truth. I just wish I knew the best way to say it. I always say the wrong things in the worst way.
Peter froze and slowly turned to face his father. He's never mentioned her before. "My mother?" Peter asked carefully, wondering if he'd heard wrong.
"She died on that island, died saving your life." Maybe I need that extra shot. I can't believe I'm saying this to him! "You saw her die… that was the nightmare you had last night." He walked up to the boy, feeling a flash of sympathy for the boy's confusion and sadness. He took one of Peter's hands and turned the wrist up, exposing the scars there. "It was too much for you to bear. The first time you tried to kill yourself was because you wanted to join her."
"The first time?" Peter whispered, staring at the scars. He'd wondered about a lot of his scars, including these, since he remembered obtaining few of the ones he had. He'd known very little about suicide until he'd met a girl in Port Royal two years ago. She'd asked him about these scars in particular and had explained how someone could kill themselves this way. He'd known better than to ask his father, and Billy had turned an odd shade of grey when he brought it up.
"Peter, you and I are going to have a talk. Last night I dreamed something so terrifying, it made me change my mind about everything. I'm going to answer all of your questions about who you were, and how you lost your memories. I'm not going to be vague, and I'm not going to give you my side of the story. But I also want you to be prepared. I'm going to tell you a lot of things that I don't want to say and you don't want to hear: like hearing about those scars." Hook returned to getting dressed. "Go get our breakfast and tell Little to hold command for now. Tell Smee to get someone to fill in for you."
"Ay, sir," Peter answered, dazed. Fear and dread clawed through his gut, remembering the terrible things his father had told him before. He paused at the door and looked at his father. "I – I've changed my mind, father. I don't want to know anymore. You've only mentioned bits, but it sounds horrible. I want to stay happy with you."
Hook chuckled at the irony. For years Peter had resented the secrets Hook kept. Now he was poised to receive the information he'd wanted for so long, and now he didn't want it. "It doesn't matter what either of us want anymore. You're life and the life of a young child depends on this. I'm freeing both of you and I need you to keep your backbone and stay strong for the boy. I didn't raise you to be a coward."
Peter drew up at the near insult. "Coward?" he fumed, but then he registered what else the man had said. "A young child? A boy?"
"Go, Peter. I can't answer your questions at random, everything is hopelessly complicated. I'll have things in order for you when you come back." He returned the nod Peter gave and added, "Do not tell anyone we're talking about this. Not even Billy. I don't want anyone interfering with their own opinions and versions of the story, not until you know everything I have to tell you."
"Ay, sir," Peter repeated and went to go get breakfast. He was both excited and afraid, and he wondered if he'd be able to stop shaking long enough to carry the tray.
Hook waited half a minute, then called aloud, "Pixie? Dria or whatever your name is, come out. I know you're here."
Here I go, Dria thought nervously and flew from her nest to the windowsill. "Heh…" she cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how rusty her voice had become from lack of use. "Hello, Captain Hook."
Hook sighed, a bit relieved actually at seeing her. He'd had just gotten a nasty idea that it all really had just been a dream, and he was going to drive his son away for no purpose. "Come in, we should speak." He sat at his desk and watched her fly in. She alighted on the far end of the desk, out of his immediate reach. He dismissed the sudden urge to squash her and took a moment to study the tiny girl. "You remind me of Tinker Bell," he said at last.
"She's my sister. We both were born from Peter's first laugh," she said softly.
"Does that make him your father?" Hook mused, trying not to smile.
"We don't think of it like that. We have a special bond to him, we can feel him better than any other fey. Most of my brothers and sisters left Neverland when we felt him die. It hurt too much and a lot of joy went out of our lives."
Hook nodded. "I'm surprised Tinker Bell herself isn't here."
"She got too upset when she found out that Peter was alive. They don't trust her to not come here and kill you, so they made her stay in Neverland. She blamed herself for Peter's death, she felt she'd neglected him. But she has to care for Nibs, to ward him while the fey use magic so that he doesn't hurt so much."
Hook grimaced and looked away. "I need my journals back."
Dria went to her nest and retrieved the trunk. She set it on the desk and stepped back out of reach. "There you go."
"It seems to be a lot smaller than I remember," Hook said wryly. He watched in interest as Dria removed the shrink spell. When the chest sprang back to full size, several books and maps were knocked off the table. "Thank you."
Dria smiled a bit, then looked at the door. "Peter shouldn't see me yet. He feels me, I see him looking over his shoulder from time to time when I'm watching him. But he doesn't know what to look for so he never sees me. I'll go back to my nest now."
"Where is it?" he asked, curious.
"It's in an eave above your window, so I could listen to you talk to Peter."
Hook opened the chest, then glared at the fairy. "I'd tell you to move, except I don't know when I may need your help. Still, I don't like creatures spying on me, especially when I'm having private moments with my son."
"Until this morning, Captain, you were considered on of the most heinous criminals Neverland had ever seen. I haven't considered it spying; I was gathering evidence and preparing the way for a rescue."
Hook began sorting the journals, putting them in their proper order. "Why did your kind allow us to escape with Peter? I expected retribution for his murder."
Dria hung her head a bit. "Stupidity. We didn't realize you could escape Neverland's hold. We thought we had more time to find Peter, we weren't convinced yet that he was truly dead. Once you left the isle's borders and entered the open sea, we couldn't find you. That convinced us he was dead; we thought he could never be removed from the island's influence against his will. We didn't consider that you'd used magic." Dria hovered for a moment. "Good luck, Captain," she said softly, then returned to her nest.
Peter eyed the stack of journals as he ate. He'd tried engaging his father in some conversation, but the man merely grunted and remained quiet. So they ate breakfast in silence, studying their bowls intently.
Hook sighed when he finished eating, disappointed that there was no food left. Quit hiding, coward, and face him, he told himself sternly. He looked at his son and tried to smile. He was terrified.
"You've always wondered why you don't resemble me in the slightest," Hook began.
Peter stared, stricken. No, no, no, shut up! He'd always wondered about that, even asked once, but the look his father had given him had kept him from ever asking again. He'd always told himself it didn't matter to him… but it did, and he didn't want his suspicions confirmed. "Aye, Father."
"You are a mirror of your mother. Your build, your hair, eyes, mouth, nose… you could be her twin." Hook wanted to pace, to look away, to do something to break the intensity of Peter's panicked stare. "You are my son. You will always be my son. But I never knew your mother."
Peter fought to catch his breath. It doesn't matter, I love him and he loves me. People are adopted every day, this changes nothing! "How… how did I become your son?" he asked weakly.
Hook took a deep breath and considered his next words. He could be brutally blunt and say 'I kidnapped you,' but that would make things so much worse. He could dance a bit and say 'You were my cabin-boy and I adopted you when you forgot everything.' Too many questions that way. Start at the beginning and go through to the end. Let him get the details from the books.
"I'd not had the Jolly Roger long, and my only crew were Smee, Mason, Mullins, Starkey, Cookson, and Jukes. There was a storm and we found ourselves near an island. I had us moor there to make repairs. That's when we met the Lost Boys."
"Lost Boys?" Peter repeated quietly. There was a brief tickle, then it was gone. "Who lost them?"
"Their parents, I imagine. I captured two of them and pressed them into service. You came looking for them." Hook thought a moment and continued, "You lived there, on that island. These Lost Boys were your friends and you were their leader. You fended for yourselves, with no parents or caretakers. When I told you of this earlier, I wanted to dissuade you from ever wanting to remember. I told you my version of the truth, which is vastly different from how you would have seen it. And I embellished a bit," Hook added, turning a bit red. "You were a little hellion, and you gave me grief… but you weren't evil and you weren't possessed. There were no evil spirits, those creatures were fairies. That whole island was soaked in magic."
"I don't understand," Peter interrupted. He lied about it? Stretched the truth is all, just a stretch of the truth. He was used to listening to Mullins and his superstitions, so spirits and ghosts were something he'd believed in readily until quite recently. He'd accepted that there had been spirits on the island, but fairies were a bit more far-fetched than he was willing to go.
"Let me finish. When you came to my ship that day to rescue your friends, we fought. I ordered them killed, tossed to a crocodile. They escaped but you and I didn't realize that. You were grief-stricken, and I laughed at your weakness in loving your friends. My amusement at your loss enraged you and we fought again. I underestimated you, I thought you a mere child, a castaway. You cut off my hand in retribution for the deaths of your friends, and you tossed it to the beast you thought had consumed them. Afterwards, you found they lived and all of you escaped." Hook stared at his hook thoughtfully, the memory of that day still as sharp and painful as ever. "I nearly bled to death. Smee nursed me back to health, with the help of a native healer that lived on the island. When I was recovered, I swore vengeance."
Hook stared at Peter and leaned in close to the boy. He saw Pan for an instant and felt again the anger and pain. "I vowed to kill you, Peter. You and I became mortal enemies, and I swore I'd never leave until I saw you dead."
Peter recoiled at the malice he felt in those words and stood quickly, knocking over his chair. This couldn't be true! His father loved him! But he felt the naked truth of Hook's words and he sensed the negative emotions: anger, hate, fear… all directed at him. Peter's hand went to the scar on his breast. "No, you'd never want to kill me," he whispered, "I'd never kill you…" He couldn't breathe, tangles of emotions overwhelming him, his father's and his own swirled together and clashing. But the hate was bright and clear. "How can you hate me? I thought you loved me!" he wailed, falling to his knees.
Hook rushed to his son in alarm. Stupid IDIOT! he chastised himself, You let your old feelings get in the way! This is your SON! "Peter," he called, pulling the boy into his arms, concentrating on his love for the boy. "I do love you. I love you more than anything! This is just the beginning of the story, and in the end you're my son."
"I feel it," Peter said softly, suddenly wary of being in the man's embrace. "I feel your hate."
"It's not for you, it's for Peter Pan," Hook said softly.
"Who?" But Peter felt a stirring. He felt a flash of a young boy, felt the despair and grief… and hate. Hate for Hook.
"Your name was Peter Pan when I met you. The island was called Neverland. I did hate Peter Pan, and I'll never rid myself completely of it. You'll understand why when you read my logs. One day I caught you and I was going to kill you. You never ever feared me. You were always cocky and willful, and that enraged me more than anything else. So I was about to kill you, and you stood defiant before me, awaiting your death. And I changed my mind. I decided I could hurt you worse. I allied with an elf to get my vengeance. I kidnapped you, and I made everyone that loved you believe I'd killed you."
"Kidnapped?" Peter repeated numbly. Too much shock so far was making it hard to be surprised at this. "You stole me?"
"I'm a pirate," Hook smiled a bit, "I steal things I want. I wanted you, and as far as I was concerned there was nothing wrong with taking you. I had to use magic and I botched it royally. You nearly died so many times on this ship, and I mistreated you. But as time went on, I grew fond of you and you came to trust me some. But the magic I used caused problems. I tried to do something one day I shouldn't have, and the result was that you lost all of your memories."
That got through to Peter. He drew back and pulled himself out of his father's embrace. Anger swiftly built within him, and he let it clear away his confusion and fear. "You – you did this to me? You took my life from me? HOW COULD YOU?"
"I didn't know…" Hook tried to explain.
"You LIED to ME!" Peter screamed. "You told me I was your son! You told me you loved me! The very first words you spoke to me were LIES!"
"It was a chance to start over," Hook tried to calm the boy.
"NO!" Peter yelled, lashing out with his anger and feelings of betrayal. He breathed deeply and stood, backing away from the man. "No. My life is a lie. You are a lie. I'm tired of lies. My God, this entire ship is a lie."
Hook stood also and tired to steady himself. He didn't understand at first why Peter was reacting this badly, but he quickly saw it. Peter had built his entire world, his very identity, on his trust in his father. I've destroyed his trust in me. I've just taken away everything he believed in. "I'm sorry, Peter."
Peter shook his head. "Don't! Don't speak to me, Captain. For six years I've listened to you and believed in you. I can't trust anything you say now, so don't talk to me." He turned to leave, needing air, needing room to think.
"Boy!" Hook snapped, becoming angry himself at Peter's unwillingness to listen. "I haven't dismissed you!"
Peter glared at the man. Very deliberately, he opened the door and walked out, slamming it behind him.
Hook sat in his chair, the strength leaving him completely. He suddenly felt very, very old and tired. Peter's anger burned hot, and no matter how much he pulled back, he still felt it.
"Captain Hook?" Dria called, standing uncertainly on the windowsill.
"He hates me," Hook sighed.
"Give him time. Peter never stays mad long," Dria said, seeing how upset Hook was.
"You don't realize how much he's changed. Peter Pan never stayed angry. Peter Hook can hold a grudge as well as I can. When we bonded, we shared some of our qualities. He gave me tolerance and a conscience that I can't ignore. I gave him a cruel streak when he's angry and an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. He won't let go, not for awhile, unless I can give him something else to turn his attention to."
"The journals?" Dria suggested. "They'll help him understand why you lied. They helped me understand, and his mother too."
Hook felt a sudden liking for the pixie. She's actually trying to make me feel better. Why? "Can you keep an eye on him? Without anyone seeing you?"
"I'll try. I've gotten better at sneaking around."
"Thank you," he nodded, and she flew off.
Peter stood outside the cabin, half-expecting the Captain to follow him. He glared at the men on deck, not caring if anyone saw his anger or his tears. He was itching for a fight, a way to relieve the volatile emotions pent up inside him. His relief found him a minute later.
"Peter!" Billy called. Everyone on deck had heard the shouts coming from the cabin, and Billy was concerned for his friend. He approached Peter, slowing a bit at the look on the teen's face. "What's wrong, cully?"
Peter glared, his anger finding a target. You traitor! You were supposed to be my friend! You were someone I could count on for anything and you betrayed me! "Go away, Mr. Jukes," he growled, clinging to his self-control and trying to warn the boy away.
Billy stood still, watching Peter warily. He'd seen this look before, the rare times Peter had been out to hurt someone in a fight. Mr. Jukes? He never calls me that. "Let's go below and talk, Peter." He put his hand on his friend's shoulder, realizing his mistake an instant too late. He felt a searing explosion of pain in his cheek as Peter's fist connected solidly, and then blackness engulfed his senses.
Peter stared at the unconscious young gunner lying face up on the deck. A lot of his wrath drained away when he saw how Billy's face was already swelling, trickles of blood running from his mouth and nose. He went to the rigging and began climbing. The anger was less, but there was still so much of it left. He needed to get away before he did anything worse… he could kill someone right now and be glad about it. Air. I need air. It stinks down here. Men scurried out of his way, relieved when his gaze didn't lock on them. Finally, he reached the top and glared at the man there. "Get out of my nest or I will throw you out," he growled coldly.
The stunned man took one look at Peter Hook and scurried down the lines, nearly falling in the process. Peter climbed into the lookout and sat down. He closed his eyes tightly and began to cry.
It was mid-afternoon before Peter came down again. Hook had resumed command of his ship and the entire crew was skittish. The Captain's cold, distant manner was unsettling, and they were wary of his mood. It was obvious the man and his son had fought, and it was apparently a bitter argument. And after seeing how Peter had treated his best friend, they knew no one on board was safe.
But Mullins was extremely pissed, and he wanted answers. As soon as Peter's feet were on the deck, he confronted the youth. "Boy, I don' know nor care what disagreement you and th' Cap'n had. There weren't no reason to take it out on Billy!"
Peter stared at him coldly. "He's a liar. Captain Hook is a liar. All of you are liars. I don't like being lied to."
Mullins narrowed his eyes, not quite sure what Peter was getting at. What did Hook tell 'im? He didn't deny they'd lied to the boy. That wasn't the point. "Just thought ya should know, since you and Billy are best friends and all, ya've hurt 'im pretty bad. He ain't woke up yet."
Peter blinked, his cold façade cracking. Concern filled him, muting the anger for now. "What?"
"Think ya might'a cracked 'is cheekbone. He definitely cracked th' back'a 'is head when he hit th' deck. He didn't see it comin', ya caught him flat." Mullins took some satisfaction at the worry and guilt filling the brat's face, and his own vindictiveness took over. "But you didn't know that. Ya didn't ever care enough ta check on 'im." Mullins pointed his finger an inch from Peter's nose and backed him against the mast. "Ya've been up there sulkin' for th' last eight or so hours! Nice ta see yer still the self-absorbed, selfish little demon ya always were!"
"Mullins!" Hook yelled from the wheel. "Enough!" He'd let the man carry on thus far because Peter had been out of line, but if he wasn't calmed down this could easily get out of hand.
But Mullins was wound up too much. He rounded on Hook in fury. "How many times ya gonna let the demon-boy try ta' kill my Billy!?" he screamed.
"Take that man to the brig before I cut out his wagging tongue!" Hook roared, beginning to advance on the two. Mason and Little grabbed Mullins and escorted him below. Mullins had the good sense left to not resist.
Hook stood facing Peter, who was now an alarming shade of green. He'd hoped Peter would come down calmer so that they could continue their talk. Instead of merely chastising the boy, Mullins had seriously upset him. "Peter," he called softly.
"What did he mean? I tried to kill Billy before?" Peter asked softly. "Don't lie to me."
Hook sighed and looked around. All the men were staring, waiting to hear what would be said. Hook felt a flush of annoyance at them, feeling exposed and weak. He was supposed to be the Captain out here, not Peter's father. Deck was duty, their cabin was for familiarity. But now it was everyone's affair, and to take Peter aside would be playing favorites. "When I first brought you aboard, you and Billy hated each other. You pulled malicious pranks to get each other in trouble. You sabotaged Long Tom one day, and it blew back on him. Hurt him pretty bad, and at first glance we thought he was dead. I beat you within an inch or your life for it. That second set of scars on your wrists is where you climbed into the crow's nest and tried to go that last inch on your own. I nearly lost you both that day, and that's why I don't like you being up there for very long."
Peter stared at his wrists. For some reason even he didn't understand he began giggling. I think I'm going insane, he mused. Maybe I'll feel better if I throw up. He sank to his knees weakly.
"You could have just told him it was an accident, Captain," Starkey said quietly. "It was an accident; you didn't have to add the part about his suicide attempt."
"The game's up," Hook growled, watching Peter in concern. "Neverland's found Peter. They won't take him from us, but they've made me aware that I have to restore Peter Pan. If I don't, my son will die."
"You know what, Captain?" Peter chuckled, wiping away his tears. "I'd rather have died tomorrow believing I could trust you, knowing I was your son, than live for eternity betrayed by my father."
Hook winced, but he stuck to his resolve. "And I'd rather lose you as my son than watch you die when I could have prevented it. I'm your Captain, so we take my course in this matter." He knelt before the boy, keeping his gaze locked with the other's. "You'll understand more when you've learned the details. There's so much that happed during that time that I just can't explain all at once."
Peter shook his head. "Not right now. I can't take any more right now." He looked at his hand, which was swollen and bruising. "I need to see Billy."
Hook nodded and backed off. He looked at Starkey. "Give Mullins a bit more time to cool off, then go check on him. If he's calm, let him out. If not, give him more time. He's worried about Billy, but I don't want him to lash out at Peter again."
"I deserve it," Peter said softly, getting to his feet. "I'm a demon, remember?" He smiled, the grin twisted by his inner pain so that it resembled a snarl. "I don't belong here, I'm just your little pet. I'm an enemy you captured and crushed into a younger you, to satisfy your vengeance." He began to shake, the anger welling inside him again. "Has it been worth your time? Kidnap a child you hated and make him into me? Is this another way to get your revenge – make me love you and trust you, then rip it all away again?"
Shame flooded through Hook at the accusation, it was too close to his original plan. Quickly the shame turned to rage. How can he think that? I've done everything for him! Furious, he lashed out without thinking and backhanded Peter as hard as he could. He watched in horror as the boy crumpled to the deck. "God DAMN me for a fool!" he roared, bending to check on Peter. The youth was out cold. He picked his son up and carried him to the brig, calling for Starkey to follow.
Mullins paled a bit when he saw Peter lying limply in Hook's arms. Cap'n's gonna hang me if I jogged 'im. He stepped back when Starkey unlocked the cell.
"Get out, Mullins," Hook growled, "Go tend Billy."
Mullins scrambled out the door and watched as Hook laid the boy on the cot. The Captain then pulled a crate into the cell and sat on it. "Give me the key, Starkey. Have Smee bring me the stack of books on my desk."
The men left quickly and Hook was able to relax a bit.
"Why did you bring him down here?" Dria asked from a corner, her glow hidden by a crate.
"He assaulted a crewman," Hook growled. "That's my official reason. I don't want him doing something else idiotic, and he wasn't being rational up there. I've just turned his world upside down. Down here he can't get in a fight, avoid me, or harm himself. He needs space away from everyone else, and he needs to read my journals."
"Why are you waiting here?"
Hook looked up at her, "After what happened to Billy, I want to make sure I haven't hurt him too much. I'll leave when he wakes up."
"I'll wait with you," Dria said. Together they sat in silence and watched Peter sleep.
Peter opened his eyes, grunting softly at the dizziness and the burning throb in the side of his face. He hit me, again. His father had hit him lots of times (not frequently, but over the years it added up). He'd always justified it to himself: he deserved it; his father knew best; he was teaching him; he shouldn't push the man's buttons. But right now, Peter refused to justify any of it. Did I deserve his hate all those years ago? Did I deserve to be taken away? Is there someone out there that misses me, that's sad because they think I'm dead? Do they deserve to be hurt?
"Peter," Hook called, relieved to see the boy was awake. He leaned forward, concerned, when Peter didn't respond or look at him. "Peter," he said more firmly.
Peter's eyes flicked to the side, seeing Hook. He saw the worry in the man's face, he could feel the love and concern Hook had for him… but now that he was aware of it, he could easily pick out the traces of animosity and anger Hook held for him and it tainted the love. Peter turned away and pulled back, blocking the link he shared with his father. He didn't want to sense the man, he was having a hard enough time with his own feelings. He faced the wall and remained silent, deciding it was safer to not open his mouth. I'll just piss him off again and he'll hit me… again.
Hook sat back when Peter withdrew, feeling his sense of the boy diminish to a whisper. "You're angry and hurt," he said. "I understand. I had every reason to keep the truth from you. We were enemies and I kept hurting you. I didn't want to hurt you anymore, but…" he sighed in frustration. "Peter, you were mentally unbalanced. I broke your mind with the magic I used. It became an intolerable situation for us both, and when I tried to… fix it, it backfired and erased your mind. I wanted you to have peace, I wanted to stop us from always fighting each other. So I called you my son, and it was the best decision I ever made. I love you Peter. These years I've had you have been the best years of my life."
Peter closed his eyes, pain welling in his heart at the tone of the man's voice. He wanted so much to throw his arms around his father and forgive him, to go back to how things were yesterday. But he couldn't, not quite yet. How can I trust him? He's an expert with lies. And I won't lie to him and pretend it doesn't matter.
Hook stood and frowned at the way Peter flinched at his sudden movement. He's lost all trust in me. That realization wounded him deeply. "Read the journals while you're down here. I'll come back in the morning. I'm confining you here for your malicious assault on Mr. Jukes. I can't treat you differently than I would any other crewman that did what you did."
"Is Billy awake yet?" Peter asked softly.
"No. It's bad, Peter," Hook put his hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to make him feel at least a little better. "He's had worse knocks, son. He'll be fine. I'll let you know when he wakes up." Cursing himself for an insensitive fool, Hook left his son alone and returned to the deck.
Peter couldn't remember ever feeling so alone. His father wasn't his father - he was some man that had taken his life away for spite. He'd attacked and seriously injured his best friend and the rest of the crew were angry at him for it.
Peter lay awake for awhile, staring at the stack of journals. His "father" had beaten him on the suspicion that he'd read these, and now he'd left them here with orders to read them. He actually resented that, a lot. That was the incident that had prompted Hook to tell him he'd rescued Peter from that island, even though Peter had maliciously cut off his hand for fun. Today that had all changed. Now the story was that he'd stolen him from people that loved him on that island, in retribution for cutting his hand off in a fight Hook himself had provoked.
What kind of man vows to murder a ten-year-old? That thought scared him, and if it were true then he really didn't know his father at all. He knew Hook was harsh and he knew he could be cruel. Hell, he lived on a ship manned by cut-throats! They fought and robbed for a living. But whenever they attacked a civilian ship, boys serving on board the captive ship were given quarter and usually left at the next port. Any women were given separate rooms above the Captain's cabin and left at a respectable port or somewhere they had relations to go to. Rape of the women or the boys was punished swiftly, the offender usually begging for death. Hook would only grant that plea if the rape victim agreed, and it was surprising how few times that happened. Hook didn't have patience for any child but his own, but he'd never tolerated one being harmed by his men. And yet he admitted we fought because he ordered two boys fed to a crocodile. He wanted me dead once.
He looked away from the journals. I can't read those. Give me time, father, and I can forgive this. I don't want to find something in there that makes me hate you.
