AN: Finally another chapter - grad school is killing me.

Disclaimer: Do not own or make nay money.

Warnings: This chapter contains spanking of a child and intense fear of drowning. Just os you all know.

Enjoy!

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It struck Hook as he sat with Peter eating breakfast, that the boy had been with him far too long, much longer than Hook had ever expected. He had managed to catch the boy before, but usually he kept the brat for an hour or two before he escaped. Part of this was due to the laziness of the pirates who would hunt the boy with fierce viciousness one moment and allow him to leave the next. Now that Peter had been tucked away in the captain's quarters for several days, the pirates weren't sure what to make of it.

Another reason he had never held onto the boy was simply the fact that he did not realize the child's pain could bring Alivia back. And thirdly, Hook had never thought he could return to earth. Peter could because he flew, but Hook never imagined the child had brought him to the island so easily, just on the whim of the moment.

"Eat all your porridge," Hook ordered, noting Peter's picking at the mush in his bowl.

"Don't like it," Peter replied sulkily.

"I did not ask if you liked it," Hook replied caustically. "I said to eat it. Children should not complain about food."

Peter's head perked up. "Can we complain about other things then?"

"No."

Peter pouted before reaching for his spoon.

"And take that sulkily look off your face," Hook ordered. "Or I'll give you something to pout about."

"I want to go out," Peter insisted as he shoveled up a spoonful of porridge. "I want to leave these rooms. Can I play on the deck?"

"No, you'll run away," Hook told him, drinking some tea.

"Won't!" Peter declared. "I'm the greatest Peter Pan in the whole universe and I never lie." He threw his hands out for emphasis, but his right hand caught his milk cup and knocked it to the floor.

There wasn't much milk left in it – maybe a spoonful or two, but Peter tensed, raising nervous eyes to Hook.

"That's one," Hook held up the forefinger of his one hand. "You get one warning. The next time it will be –" he lifted up his hook threateningly.

"Sorry," Peter muttered, giving Hook a mean, rebellious gaze before ducking his head to eat the rest of the porridge.

"And you have lessons this morning," Hook pointed out.

"Aw," Peter gave his usual reply, looking very sorry for himself.

"I'll sit with you for a while," Hook promised. "Then you're going to do your letters again while I oversee my crew."

Hook planned to send his pirates out to explore more of the island in hopes he could figure out what was happening, but he saw no reason to let the boy know. Peter would be clamoring for more information, and the next thing Hook knew, the imp would try to lead the pirates all over the island, pretending to be the leader of his own band. And Hook was not about to share his pirates.

"I expect you to work hard at those lessons," Hook ordered. "No more playing about for you – you'll stick your schedule."

"But I never get to play," Peter groused as he finished up the porridge. "All work and writing – I want to play with Minty. She's mine, and she likes me and not you."

"Bunnies don't like anyone," Hook replied. He was not sure if that were true or not, but his words made that the brat's forehead crease in stubborn lines. Hook tried not to smile – Peter kept thinking that his pouting would made Hook relent, would make him feel bad, would make uncomfortable enough that he would do anything to stop the boy from pouting. Poor Peter – he really was such a stupid child.

"Wash your hands and off to your lessons," Hook commanded. "And maybe you can stay out of trouble until naptime."

"Not taking a nap," Peter grumbled under his breath, but he went to the other table and scooted up into the chair. He began to open his copying book, still muttering, "Don't need a nap. Only babies take nap. Am I a baby? No, I'm the wonderful Peter Pan. The wonderful Peter Pan doesn't take naps. Not going to fall asleep. Lay down 'cause I don't want to be spanked, but no nap for real, just pretend."

Hook wanted to chuckle at the boy's train of thought, but instead he settled for smirking coldly.

Hook locked Peter inside despite the boy's protests that he wouldn't leave, and Hook went to check on his pirates. He found them huddled in a group, whispering among themselves.

"What is this?" Hook demanded, raising his voice. "Mutinying again? It will be the cat for all of you, mark my words."

"No, sir," one pirate spoke up. "Not mutiny. We're just a bit antsy 'bout the wind, sir. Blowing all odd and suspicious like, trying to hurry and go when there's no where to be a'going."

Hook glanced up at the sails. They were all tied up, but the edges of the rigging were moving, swaying back and forth. Yet the water was still, no waves to be seen.

"Right creepy," another pirate shook his head. "Like somethin' dead scurrying around, waiting to drop down and eat us."

"It's a omen."

"It's a curse."

The whispers grew, the pirates shaking their heads and fretting about ill-natured signs.

"Enough!" Hook bellowed, smashing his hook down on the wooden railing. "I won't have you standing around gossiping like a bunch of old hags. This is an enchanted island – we're been here long enough to see odd things occur. When we first came here, you were terrified to see the mermaids and the strange creatures. Now, you think nothing of it."

The pirates agreed reluctantly, nodding and shifting around.

"But just in case," Hook continued, "I want a party of six men to explore the island today and bring me back news of anything usual. Any volunteers?"

Not a pirate raised his hand.

Hook added dryly, "All six of the party will get another ration of rum tonight."

Every hand shot into the air, a few pirates sticking up both hands. Hook named off six of them, and the chosen men grinned as they ambled to their bunks to arm themselves while the unchosen growled and kicked their feet about the deck.

"Could be dangerous, Cap'n," Smee shook his head making the tassel on his cap dance up and down in the air. "The island's never changed like this."

For a moment, Hook had an eerie feeling of doom, and all he could see was the dark, beautiful woman beside his bed with her wings fluttering as she glowed with resplendent light. Could she be the reason for the changes?

Hook blinked, clearing the thought from his head. Alivia couldn't be the cause – she couldn't. And even if she were, Hook didn't care. He would trade them all from the little brat up to his faithful Smee for one more day, one more hour, one more second of Alivia.

"Keep watch," Hook advised, glancing warily at the gray sky. "And report to me the moment they return."

Inside the cabin, Hook found one sulk brat drawing pictures of fairies rather than copying his words. Hook's shoes creaked on the floor as he approached the table, but Peter was far too involved with drawing little shoes on his faries to notice. Hook waited, standing over him while Peter kept doodling.

"There," Peter smiled. "Now they are have shoes so their feet would get wet. Happy little fairies, flying around."

Hook reached out and clamped a hand on the back of the boy's neck.

"Oh," Peter sighed, realizing he was caught. "No more fun for me."

"No more fun indeed," Hook said sternly. "Is drawing fairies part of your studies?"

"No," Peter admitted looking more miserable by the second. "But I like them."

"Well, they don't like you," Hook let go of the boy and ripped out the doodle page from the copybook.

"They do so!" Peter crossed his arms as he glared up at Hook.

"Then why did your fairy leave you?"

The moment the words left Hook's lips, he knew they were the wrong words to say. He hadn't really meant them; just one of the cold things he said without thinking, with his usual caustic flippancy.

Peter's eyes grew huge until Hook could see the white all the way around the green. "You take that back!" Peter ordered.

Hook was ready to relent and admit he had been too harsh, but he didn't take orders very well, and certainly not from arrogant brats. "I will not," Hook replied. "This is my ship and I may say whatever I chose. Besides I don't even believe in fairies."

The last bit was absurd as Hook had seen dozens of fairies about the island, but Peter turned pale. Hook feared that the child might faint or have another panic attack, but instead Peter jumped out of the chair and launched himself at Hook. Hook barely had time to step back before him found a boy barely taller than his elbow on him, punching, scratching, kicking, and biting.

With one swipe, Hook knew he could knock the boy to the floor or rip his stomach open with his hook, but instead Hook latched onto the brat's ear and thrust Peter back.

"Ow!" Peter howled at the pressure on his ear, and he clasped both hands over Hook's and tried to loosen the man's grip.

"That's enough," Hook ordered. "You might feel angry and upset with your little fairy leaving, but you will not hit me."

"I'll bite you!" Peter snarled, still trying to free his ear.

"No biting," Hook told him. "You don't fight me. This is your second warning, and believe me, there will not be a third."

"I want my fairy!" Peter cried out, his eyes brimming with tears. "I want Tinkerbell. You said you had her – give her back to me."

Taken aback, Hook was about to protest that he never said he had anything of the sort. Then he remembered that he had claimed to have the fairy to lure Peter into the cabin in the first place. Blasted brat – couldn't remember that he had cut off Hook's hand, but Hook lying, now that Peter remembered in perfect detail.

"I don't have her," Hook insisted. "I haven't seen her since I shot the two of your down from that tree."

"You shot her!" Peter gasped.

"No, I shot the tree," Hook said, his patience wearing thin. "You fell out and you sent her away so you could talk to me."

"Yes," Peter nodded reluctantly.

Hook let go of his ear, and Peter rubbed it, pouting from the ache. But the boy didn't move away, and Hook prodded,

"Did she go home with you?"

"Yes," Peter nodded, frowning in concentration. "We went back to the tree where we live, the big one – oh, no!" His head shot up and he stared in fear at Hook.

With tremendous effort, Hook kept from rolling his eyes. "Yes, I know where you live. I went there years ago when you had all those children here with you. I tried to poison your drink, though it wouldn't have worked because I've tried it on myself several times. Poison just make you ill for a few days here on the island. But your fairy drank it, and you thought she was dying."

"You poisoned Tink!" Peter accused.

"Years ago," Hook ground out between clenched teeth. "But a few days ago, you went home with her and then what happened?"

"We played in the fountain," Peter recalled. "And then she was tired, but I didn't want to sleep. I didn't sleep at all – just stayed up all night. But when I woke in the morning, she was gone."

Hook suppressed the urge to point out that Peter had to have slept if he woke up in the morning. But instead Hook said, "And you haven't seen her yet."

"No," Peter said miserably. "Why would she leave?"

There could be any number of reasons for the fairy leaving, Hook thought. They could have had an argument that Peter didn't remember. Or they might have been fighting, and the stupid brat didn't realize it at all so the fairy left in a huff. Or maybe fairies didn't live forever like people did on the island. Hook toyed with mentioning the possibility of fairies' mortality to Peter, but decided against it. Hook did not want another tantrum.

"My men are out looking for her," Hook said before he even realized what he was saying. "If they find her, I'll tell you. Now, you sit back down and attend your lessons before I put you over my knee."

"All right," Peter got back into the chair. "Sorry about the pictures."

It was the first time Hook had ever heard the boy apologize voluntarily for anything, and Hook couldn't think of anything to do but nod along.

The rest of the morning, Hook read some of his favorite books and Peter worked quietly. Every so often, one of the pirates would walk by the door, and Peter would look up expectantly. But no one knocked and Smee did not come, so Hook said nothing, not even to tell Peter to keep his attention on his work.

Hook was about ready to call for some lunch when he heard a commotion on the deck. Peter looked up eagerly, but Hook ignored him as he walked out of the cabin onto the upper deck.

Below the pirates were yelling and gesturing wildly, the six scouting men talking the loudest.

"What's all this noise?" Hook demanded, resting his hand on the banister of the deck.

"There's no one, Cap'n," a scouting pirate shouted back. "No Indians, no children, no one on the ruddy island!"

"Even the mermaids are gone," another pirate confirmed. "Couldn't see nigh one of them, not even in the Lagoon."

"What about the fairies?" a voice piped up by Hook's arm. Hook realized with irritation that he had forgotten to lock the door.

"Peter," he turned to the brat, "go back inside."

Peter blinked up at him in the light, but he continued to stand on the deck. "Where are the fairies?" he asked the pirates.

"Dead," one pirate replied. By the disturbed look on his face and his uneasy eyes, Hook knew the pirate wasn't lying.

"Some of them," another man confirmed. "Saw them lying on the ground like wasted rats, all crumpled and broken."

"Everything's dying," the first pirate declared.

Hook put his hand up to stop his men, but Peter sucked in a frenzied breath.

"You killed them!" the boy shouted at all the pirates. "You did it! Murderers!"

And then Peter ran to the side of the ship. Without even looking back, the boy stepped up on the wooden railing and jumped off.

"Blimey," one the pirates breathed. "There he went."

Hook heard the splash before he realized he himself was running to the side of the ship. Fifteen feet below, Peter was thrashing in the water.

The pirate all dashed to the edge and peered down. "Can he swim?" one asked.

"Of course he can," Hook snapped. "He's been here for years. He has to know how to swim."

"Don't look so," the pirate shook his head.

Hook stared down in dread as he saw the brat fighting to stay above water. How could the boy not know how to swim? Was it because the fairy wasn't with him?

Hook suddenly remembered seeing the sea creatures swimming along with Peter long ago. "The mermaids will save him."

"But Cap'n," a pirate said quietly, "there aren't any."

Hook glanced around frantically, and then he began twisting his hook off as fast as his sweaty hand could manage. As soon as it came free, Hook jumped up on the edge and dove into the water. The sea felt cold, nearly icy, but as soon as his head cleared the water, he began stroking towards the boy.

The stupid brat didn't even have the sense to grab onto the boat that floated only a few feet away. Hook had heard horror stories about drowning victims, how they were choking and disoriented and sometimes tried to fight off their rescuer. He approached Peter carefully, blinking the salt water out of his eyes to keep a steady eye on the boy.

"Peter, I'm here," Hook yelled, reaching out get the boy with his hand.

Peter kept thrashing, his limbs beating against the water as his head kept sinking.

"Stop struggling and hold onto me," Hook ordered in his sternest pirate voice.

Utterly terrified, Peter wrapped his arms around Hook, nearly bringing them both down into the frothy water with the intensity of his hug. Hook could hear his rasping breathing, could feel the boy's heart racing and his whole body jerking spasmodically as he clung with dying hope to his kidnapper.

"Don't let me sink!" Peter begged. "Don't let me go down. I'm scared – help me, help me – I'm going to go and not come up."

"Calm down," Hook instructed as he began to tread water in the direction of the ship. "They're going to throw a rope down to us and pull us up. Loosen your grip a little."

"No, you'll drown me!" Peter wailed, still clinging to Hook like a wretched monkey.

"If I wanted to drown you, I'd have left you alone in the water," Hook snapped.

He had reached the wet wood of the ship, and he felt a surge of pride for his crew when they threw down a lasso rope with a slipknot. They didn't need him yelling every single second to get things done.

"Let go of me and hold onto the ship," Hook said, reaching for the rope. He felt Peter shake his head against his shoulder, refusing to let go. "Peter, you must let go so I can loop the rope under your arms."

"I'm scared," Peter said, still quaking.

"I know, but I won't let you drown," Hook promised. "You see the ledge on side of the ship? You can hold onto that while I tied you up. Otherwise, we'll have to stay in the water."

Peter looked over at the ledge and then he reached trembling fingers for it. As quickly as he could work with one arm, Hook looped the rope under Peter's arms and around his torso. When he was dragged up, the rope would run against Peter's ribs, but Hook made sure it wouldn't slide up to slip free of his arms and tighten around Peter's neck. Then Hook tugged on the rope, and it tightened as the pirate onboard began hauling the boy up in the air.

Hook waited for a second rope to drop down. Once it came, he wrapped it around his maimed arm and held on with his good arm to walk up the side of the ship as they pulled him up.

A few moments later, Hook stood on the main deck of his ship, soaking wet. The sun peered around the edges of the clouds, warming the deck. Peter was equally as wet, still shaking from his scare. Hook took one look at him and felt angrier than ever. The stupid boy jumped off the ship and did not know how to swim? He could have died while they all watched, sure that he could swim, as the dark waters closed over his head. Right this minute, they could have been dragging his limp, blue body out of the sea, too late to save the idiotic child.

Hook didn't realize how scared he himself had been until now, and that only served to increase his wrath. He reached out and caught Peter's wrist. And then Hook pulled him over to a low barrel and took a seat. To the surprise of the crew and to Peter's own shock, Hook flung the wet urchin over his soaked-trouser knees. And then Hook brought his hand down on the boy's bottom.

His hand made an impressive splat as it struck, and Peter sucked in a deep breath. The pirates grew very quiet as they drew near, ready to watch this new sequence of events.

Hook contented himself with spanking silently for a few seconds, the only sounds the wet smacks and Peter's growing distress.

"Ow!" the boy cried. "Ow! That hurts. I'm sorry – I didn't mean to get in the water. I thought I would fly! Oww!"

"You don't have the dust on you," Hook snapped, still holding the boy tight with his left arm and spanking with his right hand. "You can't fly. You don't get in the water if you can't swim – everyone knows that."

"I know!" Peter wailed, kicking his feet out as he squirmed helplessly.

Hook growled and pulled on the waistband of the boy's trousers. They were too big and slipping down to begin with, and now wet and heavy, they slid right down.

Peter gasped and flung his hand back to cover his bare bottom from the leering stares of the pirates, but Hook pushed his hands away.

"No one cares about your modesty here. You just keep thinking how you look right now, and how you'll behave in the future."

Hook brought his hand down a little harder, and the sound was louder as he smacked bare skin. Peter squalled, lifting his head to wail out his misery. The loudness of the spanking coupled with the fact it was on a bare, wet bottom probably scared him more than anything. Yet, Hook felt nothing but satisfied resolution, hoping the boy felt a little of the fear that had ran so deep through Hook's veins a few minutes ago. This would teach the boy not to put his own life in danger.

"You!"

Smack!

"Will!"

Smack!

"Not!"

Smack!

"Behave!"

Smack!

"So foolishly!"

Smack, smack!

"Again!"

Smack, smack, smack!

"I won't!" Peter cried. His finger clutched the barrel and the side of Hook's left leg as he clung on for dear life. "I won't do it again."

"You better not," Hook snarled. "Because if you do something like that again, I will spend a whole day spanking you every hour on the hour until you can't sit for a month." Smack, smack! "Am I understood?"

"Yes!" Peter hollered.

"Yes, sir," Hook corrected.

"Yes, sir," Peter amended hastily. "Yes, sir. I'll be good – I promise. I won't drown again."

"Naughty, disobedient, foolish little boy," Hook scolded fiercely, but he was feeling his temper receding. "You do what I tell you. Or else."

He gave the boy three more spanks, but they were half-hearted. Peter was crying openly, hot tears streaking down his cheeks as he lay limply over Hook's lap.

Hook realized he had a very attentive audience as all the pirates seemed to be holding their breath, afraid they might miss a single word of the scolding or smack of the spanking. Hook thought about ordering them to go below deck, but he didn't want to show the boy any favors, especially after the acrobatic feat Peter had done. Hook yanked up the boy's trousers over a very red bottom and pulled the boy off his lap.

He expected Peter pull away, maybe run away down the deck and have to be dragged back still crying. But the fear of drowning and sharp punishment had taken the fight right out of the boy, and he stood there sobbing and looking very pitifully. Peter looked around, seeing a circle of pirates inclosing him. Sneering, leering, cold faces gazed down at the boy, and Peter did not seem able to bear another second of it alone. To everyone's complete surprise, Peter turned back towards Hook and buried his face in the man's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Hook's neck. Peter kept crying, but he held tight against the man, longing for comfort, even from his tormentor.

Hook blinked, unsure of what to do. His first instinct was to thrust the boy backwards and order him to stop crying. But instead, Hook found himself drawing the boy in close. He held the shaking child with his maimed arm and stroked his damp curls with the other, saying softly, "All right, enough crying. You've been very naughty, but you needn't carry on like this. Now, this is really too much – the spanking's over and done with."

Peter's only response was to hug him tighter and cry out his fear and pain in Hook's arms.

The crew glanced at each other and then began to melt away. A little torture was fun to watch, and they loved to see the brat miserable, but all this mushy crying was too much for them.

"Back to your duties," Hook ordered.

He made to stand up, but Peter refused to let go, clinging to Hook as tightly as he had in the midst of the churning water.

"We're going into my cabin," Hook instructed. When Peter didn't budge, Hook held the boy against him and stood up, drawing Peter up with him. Peter reflectively held onto Hook's shoulder and wrapped his legs around Hook's body to keep from slipping down. As Hook carried him up the stairs to the cabin, he thought that boy was too old and almost too heavy for him to carry for very long. A boy that looked as old as Peter should have felt an embarrassed to be carried like toddler. Hook himself could remember not wanting to be carried by his nursemaid once he turned six, and he was glad when he got too heavy for her. But Peter seemed to have no such worries.

Hook got them into the bed cabin. By then he could feel Peter shivering violently from the cold and the shock, and he went to work stripping off the child's wet clothes after he pried Peter's hands from his shoulders.

"'M c'c'cold," Peter stammered as he clutched his thin arms to his torso.

"Of course, you're cold," Hook said as he reached for a clean rag and the boy's nightshirt. "You jumped into sea. Now hold still so I can dry you off and get you into bed to warm up."

Peter's teeth chattered as Hook dried him with the cloth and then slipped the soft nightshirt over his head. The boy's skin felt clammy, and though Hook felt certain no one could get dangerously ill on the island, he felt that a few hours in a dry bed would ward off any possibilities of a cold.

Peter made no protest when Hook drew back the covers; the boy crawled up on the crate bed and lay on the pillows, still trembling. Hook covered him up with the bedclothes and then added another blanket for further warmth.

A few last tears trickled down Peter's cheeks, but he looked absolutely exhausted. "Minty?" he whispered between quivering lips.

Hook growled softly under his breath, but he scooped the rabbit up from its new home (a hollow barrel filled with straw). He placed the soft animal beside Peter and waited for the boy to hold the bunny close before covering the two of them up again.

"Rest for a bit," Hook ordered. "When you wake up, you can have some food ad hot tea. And we're going to talk about what you may and may not do on my ship for the rest of your days here."

Peter made no protest. His eyes slid shut, and he began to breathe softly, Minty held tight in his stilled arms.