Chapter 6
Hook awoke again to the familiar throbbing headache and nausea known as a hangover. It was pre-dawn, and the sky was only faintly touched with color to the east. It relieved the man to see that this time he hadn't overslept. Carefully he sat up and began getting ready for the day, impatient for Smee to arrive with his coffee. When he was done dressing, though, he turned and saw that his bed was unexpectedly occupied.
Peter lay in the bed, the blankets pulled up high. He lay as if asleep and he looked feverish, exactly as he had in Hook's dream. "Pan," Hook sighed, "Please go away."
Peter's eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling. "You forgot," he said, his voice so lost and empty. "I thought you were being hateful, but you really did forget."
"For a ghost, boy," Hook snapped, "you are dreadfully talkative sometimes."
Peter kept staring upwards, as if he didn't hear the man. "You remembered so much of the time after I took your hand, things I didn't think you'd remember. I thought for sure you remembered that, you were awake for it!"
"Remembered what?" Hook growled.
"It was right after Billy first showed you your hook, when you were still sick and the wound too raw to put it on," Peter answered.
Hook frowned. The first time Billy had shown him the hook was when he'd recovered from his illness and could once again walk the deck… wasn't it? Something else tickled his memory, and he concentrated, trying to remember.
"You promised me you'd kill me," Peter said as his eyes slipped shut. "And Smee chased me out of your room with a broom."
Hook's eyes widened as he suddenly remembered. Pan had come to his room again and played his pipes for him. He'd been in the grips of his illness, and had thought the boy was merely a fever dream. He remembered railing at the child, swearing to kill him, even trying to get out of bed to attack the boy. He'd fallen, and Smee had come to his aid, chasing the boy out of the window with the brush end of the broom. It really was comical in retrospect, but Hook was too busy trying to remember to appreciate the humor.
There's something else… what else did Pan do? He closed his eyes and thought. I was lying on the floor… I couldn't get up at first, my arm hurt from falling on it and I was too weak. Pan… he came to me… he said something… Hook jerked suddenly and he stared at the ghost. He remembered, like a bolt from the blue he remembered, and he was amazed that he could have so completely forgotten. He remembered the boy bent over him, asking if he could help. He remembered Peter getting his first close look at the stump, and the way the boy had begun to cry.
"You asked me to forgive you," Hook whispered. "You told me it was an accident. You asked me to forgive you for the wound and for throwing the hand overboard." And then I slapped you, and Smee ran in with the broom.
"You swore to kill me," Peter answered, "and thus my fate was sealed."
Hook stared at the boy for a moment, an odd whirl of emotions filling him. He apologized… in the beginning he apologized! He remembered his dream, remembered that in the end, Peter had apologized again. Both times I spurned him. Dear god, no wonder he won't forgive me! My last words to him were of scorn and hate, when all he wanted was for me to forgive him!
"Peter, why are you still here?" he asked the boy, and awful suspicion rising in his mind.
"Let me go," the boy asked, as he'd asked so many times before.
"How am I holding you here? Give me the key so that I can free you!"
"You hated me for what I did to you, and your hate helped you live," Peter whispered as he once more began to cry, the sounds of anguish and desolation. "Your hate killed me, and now it binds me here. You'll never stop hating me! I just want to go home!"
Hook knelt next to the bed and reached out for the boy. He'd never touched the spirit before, and he was astonished when, instead of passing through, his hand settled on the child's chest. "I don't hate you, Peter," he tried to console the boy, and he was surprised to find when he said the words that they were true. He didn't hate Peter anymore. He hated himself too much to hate anyone else.
Peter's tears subsided and he opened his eyes again. "I hated you for hating me. I hated you for not forgiving me. I hated your men for helping you," Peter sighed and looked at Hook. "It costs so much to hate. I'm tired of hating and being hated. I want to go home, where there's love and light. So I let them go, when they asked me to: Billy, then Mullins, and then the rest. I tried to let you go, too, but I can't… you won't let me."
"But I don't hate…" Hook began, but Peter interrupted.
"Wendy told me once," he said bitterly, "'Judge not, and ye shall not be judged; condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned. Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.' What a monumental lie that was!" His eyes slipped closed, squeezing a few stray tears out.
"Gall and brimstone, brat!" Hook growled. "I forgave you, Peter, why can't you forgive me?"
Peter's eyes snapped open and he looked at the man in wonder. "What?"
Hook bowed his head, his suspicions confirmed. "I was wrong," the man whispered. "You weren't here because you hadn't forgiven me, and it wasn't the remnants of your hand that bound you here either. You couldn't leave because I never forgave you." He looked back at the boy, meeting and holding the child's gaze… something he hadn't been able to do in a long time. "I forgive you for the harm you caused me, Peter. I don't hate you for it anymore. I didn't remember that you tried to make peace in the beginning, but even if I had I doubt I would have forgiven you then. I should have forgiven you when you lay dying, but I was still too spiteful to even give you that small comfort." Hesitantly, he pushed a stray lock of hair away from Peter's face and it was like brushing away cobwebs. "I forgive you, Peter, and I pray that you find release."
Peter smiled at Hook, and the man felt a weight lift from his soul. "Thank you, Captain," the boy whispered. "I forgive you too." He reached up and took Hook's hand in his own. The Captain saw with joy that it was a ghostly right hand, and not a stump.
"You're whole again," Hook smiled.
"Yes, I'm free of your punishment," Peter answered. "But now I'm so tired, Captain."
"Sleep, Peter," Hook urged the boy, "Goodnight, sweet prince, and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."
Peter chuckled, and it was a sound of amusement. "Only one angel," he corrected, "and she isn't here yet. But I'm free, Captain, and she can take me home soon." He yawned and began to fade away once more. "So tired…"
Hook watched until the child had completely disappeared before he rose and finished getting dressed. Soon Smee brought his breakfast, and the old bosun was shocked to see his beloved Captain was smiling.
"I've found peace," Hook offered as explanation, "as has Master Pan. The poor child is resting at last."
"Well, now," Smee answered, grinning, "It's a relief ta know the wee ghostie won't be haunting us no more."
Hook nodded, but his good mood was diminished as he lifted the pouch from his desk. He couldn't wear this anymore, but he was loath to give up his last connection to Peter. Like cobweb kisses, he felt something stir against his cheek. I'm not gone yet, Captain… Hook smiled once more and he put the pouch back on the desk. For the first time since he buried Peter, he stepped out on the deck without the terrible burden. He never wore it again.