Disclaimer: I do not own.
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Hook took a step back, his eyes on the enormous crocodile, the gleaming eyes, the glistening teeth that protruded between the scaly lips, the claws that gripped the wet rock beneath its trunk-like legs.
Hook knew he should be frightened, panic-stricken by the beast that had eaten his hand, that had terrorized him so long, driven him half-mad by the incessant ticking. But Hook curled the fingers of his new hand into a fist; he was not running this time. This time, he would fight.
The crocodile rushed forward, opening its huge jaw to reveal rows of jagged teeth, and Hook moved. Stooping down to grab his contraption, Hook dove behind the fountain. His new hand felt strong but unused to moving, and he struggled to twist his hook free of the contraption. The moment the iron hook came loose, he grabbed the straight end of it and jumped out to face the lumbering beast.
He wished he had brought a gun or a dragger – how stupid to arm himself with only a hook. The crocodile was huge, at least eight feet long and probably twice Hook's weight. He swiped the hook through the air, giving a vicious cry to show the beast that he was armed and deadly.
The crocodile snapped at Hook's leg, lunching forward and closing his teeth. Hook yanked back his leg, but the brute's teeth caught on his trousers, yanking the fabric back and toppling Hook to the hard ground below. Hook jerked his scratched leg free but the animal was already on him, its teeth tearing at his shirt, worrying towards his throat.
With his new hand, Hook tried to shove the croc's snout up as his other hand tried to turn the hook to hack at the animal. It felt like he was pushing against a rock, an unmovable rock that would rip him to pieces, but Hook shoved hard and then he brought the hook down, right into the center the great snout.
The hook sank down several inches, and Hook yanked it up, tearing off a huge chuck of crocodile flesh.
The beast gave a terrible roar and lunged for him again.
Hook rolled over on the ground and slashed with the hook, this time tearing the side of the animal.
For the next few awful moments, they battled against each other, man and beast, locked in some sort of terrible primitive struggle. Hook had his sharp weapon, but the crocodile had rows of teeth – Hook could stand on two legs and move faster, but the croc had move weight and strength. The whole time they fought, the ticking clock counted down the minutes, the seconds towards the end for one of them.
Hook knew that only one of them was leaving the cave of fountains, and the other would die in bloody heap on the stone floor.
He got another swipe at the side of the croc, almost the soft underbelly, but he was not fast enough to pull back, and the beast bit into his arm. Hook swore at the pain as he stumbled back, clutching his wounded arm in its bloodied rags to his chest.
The croc's eyes gleamed and it came for his legs, but Hook leapt up in the air, twisted, and plunged the hook into the beast's head, right behind its eyes.
The animal thrashed, but Hook kept hacking. In blind rage, screaming at the top of his lungs, Hook jumped on the back of the crocodile and began tearing it to pieces. His right hand used the hook while he ripped strips of flesh away with his left.
Blood spurted everywhere, covering his hands, the writhing beast, Hook's clothes, the stone floor.
Hook knew his eyes had turned red, changed from their light blue to a deep crimson to mirror his rage and paint his world in shade of fire. He kept fighting the crocodile, refusing to die, refusing to give up. He was master here, he was the one who would live, he was lord and king and God of this damned island, and he would never fear the beast again.
Suddenly, he realized the crocodile had stopped moving. It lay completely still under him, a huge mount of broken flesh.
Hook blinked, and his world returned to its normal color. He was not sure exactly what he should do, but he slowly rose to his feet, moving off the dead animal.
The clock was still ticking, that infernal noise that went on and on and on. Tightening his grip around the hook, Hook began tearing into the beast, reaching for its stomach. The ticking grew louder, and Hook thrust his new hand into the animal and grappled for the clock. He finally felt it, cold metal inside a still warm beast.
Ripping it out, Hook flung the ticking clock on the stone floor. Raising the hook high, he brought it down on the clock, smashing the clock face. Again he struck it, and again, and again until the ticking died and the clock lay in pieces.
Rising shakily to his feet, Hook stumbled towards the main fountain. His body ached, blood oozing from the wounds on his arm and leg. He reached the fountain and sank his bleeding arm into the bubbling water. Immediately, he felt his arm heal, the pain disappear. He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on his injured leg. Once healed, he glanced around the cave, wondering how he would get out.
"Jamie."
He heard the words whisper through the cave, rustling with the water.
He whirled around, but saw no one.
"Jamie," the voice whispered again, and he knew it was her.
A bucket suddenly rolled to his feet, clattering over the rocky floor. Hook hesitated before picking it up, but it was a normal wooden bucket with a curved handle. He turned it around in his two hands, but he could nothing odd about it.
He glanced back to the spot where he had slaughtered the crocodile, but the beast had disappeared. Hook could see no sign of the broken clock or his hook or even his contraption. They had quietly disappeared.
Hook did only thing that made any sense to him at the moment. He dipped the bucket into the gushing water, filling it almost to the top.
A cracking noise filled the air, and Hook watch as part of the cave wall began to break in half. He held the bucket as still as he could as the wall continued to divide in half. Beyond the dark rock, Hook could see the shore spreading out beyond the cave.
Quickly, but careful not to spill a single drop of the precious water, Hook started for the beach. The moment he stepped past the cave onto the sand, he turned around to watch the cave close.
The stone closed together and then sunk into the ground, erasing all signs of the cave of fountains. Hook did not stop to think; he started towards the sea and immediately he saw his ship waiting for him.
The pirates were on board and when they saw him, they cheered, but a hush fell over the deck as they caught sight of his new hand.
"Blimey," one whispered, "he's made a deal with the devil to get it back."
"Cursed, cursed," another shook his head.
Hook glanced back to the shore – the fallen trees lay scattered about, a few still standing.
"Cap'n?" Smee hovered at his side, ready to take the bucket, but Hook would not let it go.
"The island is dying," Hook announced. He saw the horror, the terror on their face, but Hook promised, "I'm going to save us. I just killed the crocodile, cut him to pieces. There is nothing I can't do. I have Peter Pan as my captive, I have my hand back, and I'm now king of this island."
A moment of silent, and then all the pirate cheered, shouting out their loyalty to their captain. Hook grinned and then strode towards him cabin, shouting,
"Rum for every man! Drink until you can hold no more!"
Chaos broke out on the desk as all the pirates dashed for the galley. Hook went to his cabin, unlocking the door and going straight to his bedchamber.
Peter was still in bed, playing with the bunny. He was holding up Minty's silky ears and making them dance up and down when he saw Hook.
"You're back!" Peter leapt up, standing on the bed. "And you got your hand back. Two hands now, two whole hands. Hooray!"
Peter flung his own hands up and bounced on the bed in celebration.
"Sit down," Hook ordered, setting the bucket of water down in a corner.
"I want to see your hand," Peter jumped up off the bed and ran to Hook's side. He grabbed the man's left hand, turned it back and forth. "It's a real hand!"
"Of course, it is," Hook replied gruffly, trying to keep the smile off his face. "Stupid boy, not knowing a hand when you see one."
"What's in the bucket?" Peter glanced towards the corner. "Did you bring me a surprise?"
He took a step forward, but Hook grabbed him with both hands, picking the boy up in the air and dragging him back. It was so much easier without a hooked hand, and he had no trouble in swinging the boy over his right shoulder and landing a loud smack on the boy's bottom with his left hand.
"Ow!" Peter squirmed. "That new hand hurts."
"Yes, I now have two hands to spank you," Hook growled as he carried Peter back to the bed. Hook sat down on the edge and dropped Peter to stand between his knees so he could look the boy right in eye. "Listen to me. You do not touch that bucket. It you do, you will be in trouble. Very, very big trouble."
A stubborn frown pushed Peter's mouth down. "What if Minty touches the bucket?" he asked.
"Then I will drop the bunny in the sea and paddle you still."
Peter looked rebellious, but Hook kept his stern look, staring the boy down. Peter finally broke, unable to take the harsh look, and he whispered,
"All right. No touching the bucket."
"Good boy," Hook nodded.
Peter impulsively reached out and put his arms around Hook's neck, hugging the man as a little sob caught in his throat. Hook knew he had been harsh, and he allowed the boy to hug him, even patting Peter on the back twice, before drawing back and telling the boy to get dressed.
By evening the pirates were all sopping drunk, Peter was tired of staying in the cabin, and the bucket of water was thankfully untouched. After supper, Hook made movement to fix the crates for Peter's bed, and the boy protested,
"I want to sleep in the big bed with you."
"Not tonight," Hook announced as he made the bed on the crates. "Tonight – I need my own bed. You'll sleep here. But I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."
Peter huffed and complained, but when it became clear that Hook was not relenting, Peter crawled onto the crate with his bunny and let Hook cover him up. Having a captive audience, Peter refused to drift off right away. He jabbered about Minty for while and how special his bunny was before moving on to his fairy and his hideout and his adventures, all which were the best in the whole wide world.
Hook half-listened to him, nodding along in hopes that Peter would get tired and fall asleep. Hook could not look away from his bed, the flat space so soft and inviting. He wanted to lie there . . . with her.
"Did you hear that?" Peter protested. "I just told you what I did."
"Good boy," Hook said absentmindedly, reaching over to pat those golden curls once in approval.
"No," Peter shook his head, "I was bad. I called you a mean name when you were gone."
"Oh, then bad," Hook decided, not really caring. Then he remembered, "Oh I almost forgot." He pulled the covers back and gave Peter his regular four solid swats, but this time with his new hand.
"I thought we wouldn't have to do that tonight," Peter pouted once Hook covered him back up.
"Then why did you tell me you had been naughty?" Hook demanded, frustrated.
"I don't know," Peter yawned. "I just had to. Tell me a story."
"No," Hook snarled, "go to sleep."
"A story!" Peter demanded. "One story, just one."
"Fine," Hook frowned, wanting the child to go to sleep. "Once upon a time there was a horrid little boy who got kidnapped by the world's worst pirate and the little boy was miserable for the rest of his life. The end."
"That's not a story," Peter protested. "Tell a real story. The mother girls used to tell me stories."
"Do I look like a mother girl?" Hook put on his fiercest scowl. "I don't know any stories."
"Not one?" Peter's eyes widened. "Did your mother never tell you any stories?"
"No," Hook said hastily, though his mother had.
"So sad," Peter's mouth went down at the corners. "But don't cry – I'll tell you a story."
Hook made a low growling noise, but Peter ignored it.
"Once upon a time, there was a girl who had to work all day for her stepmother and evil sisters and she never got to play."
Peter went on, telling the story of Cinderella. He got some of the details mixed up, saying it was a silver shoe instead of a glass slipper and that a fairy dog-mother came to send the heroine to the ball. But Hook did not interrupt, hoping the story would finish quicker without any corrections.
Peter finally ended with "And they all lived happily ever after."
"Good, I was worried for a moment," Hook sneered. "Go to sleep."
Telling the story seemed to have worn Peter out and he yawned loudly as his eyes closed. Hook blew out half the candles and got ready for bed.
The fingers of his new hand became more and more nimble as he used them, and he barely had any difficulty in unbuttoning his shirt. In only his breeches, he lifted the bucket and went out to the moonlit deck. All the pirates were below deck, drinking – Hook could hear them cheering as they kept pouring the rum.
Moving slowly, Hook dipped one hand into the bucket and began sprinkling the water over the deck. When he had covered the whole deck, he took the empty bucket back to his bedchamber. Peter was fast asleep, but Alivia was waiting for him beside the crates.
Hook went right to her, but before he could kiss her, she put her hand up. "Are you going to keep him?" she asked.
"What?" Hook hesitated.
"After tonight, are you going to keep him?" Alivia asked calmly. "I need to know that he will be safe – no matter where you go, who you see, what you do, you must keep him safe."
"Why? Why is he so important to you?" Hook's voice was quiet, almost solemn.
"Because," Alivia looked down at the slumbering boy, "because he's mine."
Hook took a step towards her. Alivia looked up, her eyes shining with tears.
"He's my child, James. My boy, my baby, and he left me."
Hook said nothing, but somehow he knew, he had always known Alivia was Peter's mother.
"He disappeared," Alivia covered her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks. "My husband searched everywhere, but I – I nearly went mad. I kept the windows open, the windows to his nursery. I kept thinking I heard my baby, saw him fluttering at the window. But one night, I was so angry at him for leaving me, and I closed the nursery windows."
"And you never saw him again," Hook realized.
"Not until one night, when I heard him crying, crying out of the darkness. And then I came to you."
Hook crossed his arms, shifting slightly before he questioned, "On earth, are – are you dead?"
"Yes," Alivia nodded.
"And here?" Hook's voice was hoarse. "Here, are you alive?"
"For tonight I am," Alivia stepped towards him. "Tonight, Jamie, tonight I belong to you. For tonight, we live happily ever after."
Hook did not even stop to think – he went to her and kissed her, putting both hands through her long dark hair. She moaned into his mouth, and Hook picked her up, ravaging her mouth with his as he carried her to his bed. Her wings had disappeared entirely, and as soon as Hook laid her down, he began unfastening her dress with both hands.
Moments later, he was in the bed with her, their limbs tangled together in ecstasy.
Unbeknownst to Hook, the ship slowly lifted out of the water. The pirates celebrated below deck, Peter slept on the crate, and Hook finally made love to Alivia. The ship kept rising towards to moon, away from the dying island.