A.N: Here is another chapter. I don't own Peter Pan or make any money off it. Also, I don't own Clarissa by Samuel Johnson, but that was written back in the 1700's , so I think the copyright has long expired. I look forward to reviews, and I promise I'll update sooner because I've already started on the next chapter.

Thanks.

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After finishing breakfast, Hook went back to his ship, not feeling that he was in a bad mood exactly. But his usual taciturn disposition caused him to show a demeanor that at ordinary times was cross and rough and at bad times was cruel and ruthless. As he blew his brass whistle for all hands to line up for inspection, the pirates hurried to obey.

But he noticed Starkey wiping his mouth off hastily while Bill Jukes was swallowing something besides fear. So they had eaten, disobeying his orders. Hook felt anger surge through him, and he held out his hook menacingly. He would see blood that day, blood until it spilled all over his decks, mingled with sweat and tears.

But . . .

Well, he had already seen one display of abject fear that morning. The look in the brat's eyes and then the way he scrambled on those young legs to get away – that was enough to satisfy Hook for one day. Maybe blood would be spilt tomorrow. Yet his crew needed to see something, needed to know that he was still lord and master over them.

"I see by your slovenly appearance and fat cheeks," he said in a smooth voice, "that my crew no longer considers me captain. You want to follow your own orders, disregarding my rules, my orders."

He had lowered his voice to a hushed tone, almost a caress, his words silky as they slipped from his mouth. The effect was instantaneous – all the pirates began to tremble with terror. They liked Hook loud and brutal, shouting orders and threatening to flay them alive at the smallest sign of refusal. But Hook quiet was Hood deadly, and they all dreaded when he spoke in such a sweet, gentle tone as if he never raised his voice beyond a gentlemanly level.

"Now, Bones," he looked at one pirate, knowing his own blue eyes were clear and peaceful which made Bones quake with fear, "Bone, tell me. Do I enjoy your disobedience?"

"No, captain," Bones whispered, unable to look Hook in the eye.

"Do I like to see my orders ignored?"

"No," even lower.

"No?" Hook feigned surprise. "I don't? Tsk, tsk. I suppose I don't. Since I don't like it, what do you suppose I should do to such a disruptive crew?"

No one moved, no one dared breathed, except Smee who shuffled on the deck, muttering to himself.

"No suggestions? How very usual. I would have thought that such a rebellious crew of pirates would have plenty of ideas about how they wished to be punished. Very well then I will have to put my own mind to it. Let's see – how to punish this crew," Hook walked to the end of the quaking line and stopped, turning around. "Well, I suppose the best way to do it is – Ready The Plank!" he roared.

A wail rose from the pirates. "No, captain!"

"Please, captain, not that!"

"Anything else, captain! We beg you!"

"No, captain, please, sir!"

Hook smiled as he listened to their pleading, a few of them falling to their knees. "Silence! Bones, Jukes, ready the plank! Then you all queue up, one by one. Starkey, you first."

Whimpering and moaning, they all lined up as the two pirates got the plank out and strapped it down to the opening in the deck. It was a long plank, nearly fifteen feet long. Four feet lay over the deck, but the last eleven hung out of the water.

"Ready?" Hook smiled at their misery. "Smee, you get out of line. I need you to stay here. The rest of you, say yours prayers."

"But captain," Jukes begged pitifully, "what if the croc is down there?"

"That is why you're praying," Hook snapped back. "Starkey, show them how to do it."

With one last groan, Starkey stepped onto the plank and started walking. The other pirate's hushed as he got to the end of the plank and looked back. "Please, captain,"

Hook slammed one booted foot on the other end of the plank. Starkey wobbled and fell off, going down with a cry and splashing into the water.

"Next!" Hook ordered.

Bones started down the plank. He reached the end, Hook's boot came down again, and "Next!"

Four minutes later, all the pirates were in the water, treading, swimming, or holding onto the side of the ship.

"Captain, please!" one called up. "It's freezing down here. Let us up, please."

"Not yet," Hook yelled back. He turned to Smee. "Go fetching the soap bucket. Lower it down so they can use it. Once every man has scrubbed, toss the rope ladder over the side."

"Aye, aye, sir," Smee said.

"Once they come up, send them to their hammocks. They are to strip off their clothes and wrap up in blankets or tarp or anything else they can find. You are to clean their clothes and hang them out to dry. If you disobey me, I'll toss you in after them."

"Aye, aye, sir," Smee nodded woefully.

"Get to it," Hook snapped.

On the whole, it was a delightful afternoon. For a change, the ship was quiet and peaceful. Wrapped up in blankets, the crew was very subdued as a whole, laying in their hammocks or sitting in huddled bunches. Though the weather was quiet pleasant, Hook heard mutters of "Catch my death of cold," and "Not decent, to make a man all wet like that."

It took until suppertime for their clothes to dry, and then they all ate in silence and went to bed shortly after. It was almost comic to see such huge, hulking pirates cowering in their hammocks to ward off the cold. Smee rushed around with a large bottle of brandy and poured out doses in a large spoon. Though normally the pirates would have cheered to get brandy instead of rum or whiskey, they treated the doses as actual medicine, grimacing as they swallowed and moaning about getting sick.

Hook was not bothered in the least. It had been at least a month by his best calculations since the pirates had had a wash, and though they did not stink as fast on the island as they had on earth, it had been long overdue. Usually, Hook had Smee boil some water, and each pirate gave himself a sponge bath. But they tended to skimp on the soap and water, and in the long run, it was easier to force them to jump into the sea. They pretended to hate it, and Hook pretended to enjoy the sounds of their misery so everyone won, distracted from the madness of having nothing else to do, at least for a day.

Hook himself had a huge iron bathtub in a small room off his bed cabin, and he bathed every third day. But the pirates were not as attentive to cleanliness as he was, so sometimes sterner methods had to be employed to get them clean. And the walking the plank bit was just for fun.

By the lanterns-out time, the whole ship was quiet, the pirates all having fretted themselves to sleep. Hook stayed on deck for a while, watching the stars hold back the darkness high above his ship. Once he went to his cabin, Hook pulled out another bottle, one he had taken from the galley while Smee was busy dangling soap down to the wet, whining pirates.

Hook drank exactly half the bottle, ignoring the burn as the rum poured down his throat. Then he recorked the bottle. His hook and contraption were already off so he pulled his shirt and boots off and lied down on the bed on the same side he had laid the previous night.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then he opened them.

There was no else in the room.

Swallowing a curse, he forced himself to relax and closed his eyes again. This time he kept them closed for fifty seconds, silently counting the numbers in his head.

But the room was still empty when he opened his eyes.

Perhaps he had been asleep longer last night. He had drunk the rum slower, waiting for it to numb him. He would just have to wait and drift off to sleep, and then she would come.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but Hook made himself relax again and try to nod off.

And eventually he did go to sleep, drifting off to the land of slumber and dreams. But nowhere in his dreams could he find a raven-haired woman with white wings. He searched for her, but she never appeared.

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If he had been in a cross mood the morning after seeing Alivia, then the next morning after never finding her, Hook was furious.

As he stormed around his ship, snarling and barking orders, he could feel himself growing more and more angry, enraged to almost the point of insanity. His blue eyes were turning red around the pupil, and somewhere in their simple minds, the pirates understood that something very bad had happened to their captain. Though on most occasions, jumping in the sea would have been cause to play sick the next day and moan about their faux illnesses, not one pirate dared even fake a cough. They all hurried to their jobs, trying to get out of his way.

Smee brought him a cup of tea in a pale green cup, and Hook snatched up the cup and hurled it on the deck. It broke, and green-painted glass skittered across the deck.

"I don't want tea, you stupid tub of lard!" Hook roared. "If I had known what idiots I would be trapped with for a lifetime, I would have hung myself the moment we came to this damned place!"

The pirates edged back, giving Hook plenty of room. Smee knelt down on the deck, picking up the larger pieces of glass and murmured, "Don't matter none, no, it don't. Plenty more of where that came from, yes, there is. Just reappears, it does."

"Stop that mutter," Hook threatened, "or I'll make you walk barefoot over the glass. What are you all standing around for? Get to work, get to work! And ready my chair for a long trot around the island."

Even yelling at his crew for the next three hours as they toiled through the jungle of the island on a ten-mile hike did not appease Hook's temper. Smee kept trying to offer him a cup of tea that Hook knew was laced with laudanum, but he just shouted for the short pirate to get out of his way.

By the next day and still no sight of Alivia, Hook knew something was wrong. He could feel her slipping away, her face blurring in his memory, but he could not let her go.

He locked himself in his cabin for the afternoon. The whole crew had gone to hunt a boar for dinner, and though Hook knew Smee often served them meat when no one had hunted, he let them go anyway. They would trample through the woods for hours and maybe catch a rabbit, though usually it was a large rat, and they would bring it back to the ship and tell Smee to skin and cook it. They would have meat for supper those nights, but Hook knew from the taste of it that the meat served was pork, beef, or lamb, certainly not rabbit or rat. But he would said nothing, and the crew would congratulate themselves for hunting down such delicious game. Yet, he let them go for the afternoon, and Smee scurried off to the beach to build a sandcastle or some nonsense, and Hook had the ship to himself.

He selected a book from his small library, then sat in his captain's chair with his boots propped up on a low stool. The book, Clarissa, was one he had read at least fifteen times. The spine of the book was bent down the middle, and the pages fell open easily. He hated the story – after the girl had fought so hard and long to keep her virginity from the notorious Robert Lovelace, she had no business simply giving up and dying when Lovelace finally raped her. Even the fact that Lovelace bled to death did not make Hook feel any less angry. Beauty, smart Clarissa with her gentle love and sweet innocence – she should have stood up in the prison cell and cursed Lovelace with poisonous lips, not have simply withered and died.

Yet, Hook read it, devouring the words with each turning page. Part of him wondered what might have happened if he had acted as Lovelace did. Instead of leaving Alivia with her precious duke, what if he had taken her by force? Kidnapped her one evening and carried her to his ship over his shoulder – she might struggled, but he would have had her there anyway, brought by his strength. She might have hated him for it, but she would have had decades to get over her hatred, here on the island. And what woman would not be tempted with the idea of staying young and beautiful forever?

So Hook kept reading, knowing what was to happen to sweet Clarissa, knowing it, hating it, but needing to read it once again. Clarissa with no one to take care of her, Clarissa with her belief in the good of others, Clarissa who could not stand to see another in pain . . .

Hook drew in a sharp breath, and he looked up from his book as understanding dawned upon him. Pain – was that what had brought Alivia back. Not Hook's own pain, no, she would never be moved by something as trivial as her former sweetheart's agony over his loss. But she might have come for another's pain. Something had let her through – something had called to her. Had it been the brat's grief?

Hook felt torn between hope and insane rage. On one hand, Alivia had no right to care about some brat who flew around with fairies and cut off pirates' hands and threw them to crocodiles. She had no right to meddle in the ways of the island. But on the other hand, if she came once for the brat's pain, there was a chance she would come again.

Hook rose to his feet, pacing anxiously. He would have to find the brat. He would spank him again as he had threatened and if the boy were in tears again, miserable and contrite, she might come back. It made Hook's blood start to boil, thinking that he needed the brat to bring his love back, but he needed her. She was his, and nothing was going to stand his way. He wanted to kill the brat, right? Well, why kill him when Hook could simply keep him around for a beating ever now and then to bring his love to his dreams at night?

A little voice inside warned him that Alivia might not come back once she realized that he was torturing the brat to see her, but that was a chance Hook was willing to take.

He forced himself to sit again. He had no use for reading anymore, but he could not do anything while his crew was gone. They had trapped the brat once; they would know how to do it again. And what would be the best way to keep the brat on the ship? Build a cage and lock him in there? They could chain him to the deck to work and give him scraps to keep him alive. Maybe kill that annoying fairy of his and he wouldn't think he could fly away.

A cooing noise sounded outside one of the round windows.

Hook glared at the window. He was busying planning a nefarious plan. He had no time for birds. Growling, he went to the window to tell the bird to fly away or be shot. He pushed open the round window and leaned out.

There was no bird to be seen.

However, there was a boy on a large beam that jutted out from the ship, and oddly enough, it was just the boy Hook had been thinking of. He smiled sinisterly, but then schooled his face into a blank expression.

The brat was huddled against the ship, which was understandable considering the beam was not that wide. Yet, the boy was making a whining, pathetic little noise between crying and whimpering. His face was buried in his hands, and he was very dirty, his arms and legs smudged with mud.

"What's all this noise about?" Hook demanded, careful to keep his voice stern and annoyed.

The brat jerked his head up and looked at Hook. His face was even dirtier than his arms.

"What are you crying about?" Hook asked scornfully.

Peter lifted his chin. "I'm not crying."

And he wasn't, not yet at least.

Hook knew he had to be careful here – he could not reach the brat. Peter was beyond his arm length, and at the first sign of fear, Hook knew the boy would likely take to the skies in a flash. It was a very delicate situation, to be handled carefully.

"Why are you here?" Hook kept his voice between curiosity and a general annoyance. If he were too severe, the brat would fly away. Too kind, and the brat would know something was afoot. "Why are you on my ship?"

"It's my ship," Peter told him sulkily.

"No, it's mine," Hook said a little more quickly than he meant to.

"I brought it here," Peter argued. "I brought it here, so it's mine."

Hook's temper flared, and he had to choke back a very cruel retort. No, don't scare the brat away yet.

"You're right," Hook's voice was under tight control, his mouth barely moving. "You did bring me here. But you did not answer my question. Why are you sitting on my – on this ship?"

Peter gave a little shrug.

"Why don't you go to your home?" Hook pressed on. The longer he talked to the boy, the more likely he was to find a way to capture him.

Peter's bottom lip came out a little, and he shook his head in a sad way, making his dark blond curls bounce back and forth. "Everyone's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"All the boys," Peter sniffed, distressed. "They left me, but I don't care none. They can go away and not come back forever! I have Tink. We can fly and play games, but now she's gone too."

"Maybe she went to visit someone," Hook was sarcastic, but Peter didn't seem to notice.

"No, no, she wouldn't leave me. She's my fairy, all mine. She stays with me, but I can't find her now. Did I lose her? No, I couldn't lose her. Then why would she leave me?"

Hook wanted to close the window, to shut out the brat's internal conversation. But he needed the boy, blast it. Hook stared at Peter, weighing the consequences of what he might do.

Though the brat might not know it, everything hung in the balance for those eight silent seconds while Hook considered. Somehow, though he couldn't put it into words why, Hook felt that he was about begin something that would change his life forever. He considered it, he weighed everything in the balance . . .

Then he looked at Peter and smiled. "I know where your fairy is."

Peter looked at him surprised and scooted closer. "You do?"

"Well, I think I do," Hook continued in his softest voice. "I think I have her inside here."

"Really?" Peter looked up, his green eyes wide with hope.

He was close enough for Hook to grab him now. But Hook knew that though he might wrap his hand around the boy, there was no way he could pull him through the window. The window was big enough, but Hook knew that the brat would kick and struggle and push against the side of the ship, and Hook had no interest in straining his arm to yank the boy inside only to have Peter slip away.

"Well," Hook said in his most comforting tone, "if you would like to come in and take a look for yourself, you can tell if she's yours or not."

Peter jumped up and flew away.

For a moment, Hook thought he was gone for good. But then he heard the boy land lightly on the deck.

Hook could feel his pulse race. This was it – he was going to see Alivia again. She would return to him, return to his dreams in her dark, glimmering, haunting beauty. He wanted her . . . and he did not, would not care what he had to do to get her back.

He opened the door of the cabin and strode out into the sunlight.

Peter edged back as he approached. The boy suddenly seemed to remember what had happened last time he was on the pirate ship. He began shifting back and forth on his bare feet, wanting to go forward into the cabin, but looking at Hook doubtfully.

Hook knew he must seem even bigger to the boy standing on the deck rather than sitting in a chair or leaning out the window. So he stepped back, opening the door to invite the boy into the cabin.

"I don't know," Peter bit his lip doubtfully. "Are you sure it's her?"

"It might be," Hook said, his tone implying that it was indeed his fairy.

"But what about – you know? What you said?"

"What did I say?" Hook asked innocently.

"You said –" Peter paused as if unsure about what Hook had said exactly. "You told me – I don't know. Can't you bring her out here?"

"Well, I would," Hook pretended to consider it. "But one of my crew put her in the glass bookcase and refused to open it until we know if she's yours or not."

Peter seemed to believe him for he came closer. But two feet from the threshold of the door, he stopped again.

At such a close distance, Hook could have reached out and dragged him inside. But something made him wait. He wanted the boy to cross the threshold on his own account. Even though the boy was clueless at to the fate that awaited him, Hook felt that if he could just get the boy to cross over, then Peter would have as good as agreed to his fate. The boy would have made his own choice and would have to accept the consequences of that choice.

"Your choice," Hook shrugged carelessly. "Though I'm sure my crew will try to get rid of her. Bones likes to step on bug to crush them, and Jukes shoots his gun a anything that's bright and shiny –"

"All right," Peter rushed forward. "I want my fairy back. I'll come get her."

Hook stepped back even farther, watching Peter like a hawk.

Peter was one step away. He put one foot forward, and stepped over the smooth board of the threshold. Another step, and he was past the doorway. Another, and he was inside the cabin.

Then Peter saw the sun gleaming off a silver plate in the glass cabinets.

"Tink!" he ran forward to the cabinets.

Hook quickly shut the door, locking it tightly and slipping the key into his pocket.

Peter, realizing that his fairy was not in the cabinet, whirled around to face Hook. "Where is she?"

"She must have flown away," Hook said, but he could not help smiling as he walked across the cabin. The boy had made his choice, after all. He had no one to blame but himself.

Now knowing that he had been tricked, betrayal shone in Peter's eyes. "You lied to me. You didn't have her. You lied to me."

"I am a pirate," Hook reminded him. "Truthfulness isn't exactly a prized virtue for us."

"You big bully, let me out! Let me out!" Peter cried.

"You might as well save your strength," Hook growled. "You aren't going anywhere. You're mine now, boy. You're my prisoner, and no tinkling little fairy can save you."