Chapter 13

"Captain? Starkey's putting together a foraging party and he wants… can I come in?"

Hook's answering "Aye" was laced with frustration, and Smee hesitated. A low growl sounded from the cabin's interior. Timidly, Smee pushed the door open.

The captain had somehow wedged a knife into the side of his table so that the point protruded above the tabletop. Hook leaned next to it, face thunderous, drawing the cuff on his wrist carefully along the knife's tip. Smee stepped inside, the blade shifted slightly, and Hook tossed invectives at it. Biting back the instinctive admonishment for caution - which would only antagonize him further - Smee cautiously asked,

"Is it working?"

Hook turned a baleful eye on his first mate before resuming his struggle. His hook lay on the table behind him, a small amount of blood evident on its tip. On the floor next to his bed, the sling he refused to wear was crumbled into a scorned pile. Smee sighed.

"Why are you doing this?"

Between grunts of exertion, Hook snarled,

"I'm tired of these… bloody pins and needles… it's worse than the damn… phantoms…"

Irritation getting the best of him, he pushed too hard against the knife. The cuff slipped off the tip, and, not for the first time that afternoon, the back of his hand grazed the blade. This time, the weapon came completely free of the wood and clattered to the floor. Expecting an outburst, Smee shrank back. But Hook merely wilted with a long, shuddering sigh, his chin dropping to his chest. In the silence that followed, Smee bent to fetch the knife, setting it gently on the tabletop next to the hook.

The first mate took hold of the cuff and noted the faint scratch marks along its surface. "Looks like it's doing something."

"Not enough," Hook spat bitterly. "I realize we've the benefit of time here in Neverland, but I need my damn hand. I can't wait years to scratch grooves deep enough to remove it."

"Want me to give it a try? It might be easier-"

"With two hands instead of none?"

"I was going to say without the influence of rum, but yeah, what you said."

Hook cocked his head at his first mate. "You're quite bold this afternoon."

"I… sorry, sir." Smee shut his mouth and slid a finger beneath the cuff to steady it. Ignoring several bleeding nicks in Hook's skin - for now - he gripped the knife's handle and carefully worked the point along a shallow furrow in the gold. As he repeated the motion, never taking his eyes off what he was doing, he stated,

"What I was saying when I came in was that Starkey wanted to run the plan by you before they go. Who's going, what they're focusing on, that kind of thing."

"He can take who he likes," Hook replied. "I should think we've got the routine down by now. Bloody hell."

Smee winced at the new cut he'd inflicted on Hook's hand. "Sorry."

"Not as easy as it looks."

"I guess not." Smee could already empathize with Hook's frustration... and he had the benefit of two hands. He inspected his work and shook his head. "You're right; this would take forever. I'm not sure it's worth the risk of stabbing yourself."

Hook glared at the cuff as if his gaze alone could saw through the metal. "Tired of playing nursemaid?"

"Never, Captain."

Hook raised an eyebrow, smirking in obvious mockery. Smee ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. He knew it was only a defense mechanism of Hook's; the captain didn't really believe Smee was of that persuasion. And even if he did, pirates were fairly open-minded about those sort of things: there may be extra teasing involved, but generally nothing physically harmful. To break the awkward silence, Smee set the knife on the table next to the hook and changed the subject.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts like hell."

Hook reached for the knife, scowled at his first mate's sound of protest, and began to work the blade back into the table edge.

He was so stubborn.

With a dramatic sigh, Smee went to pick up the sling from the floor. "Maybe if you used this to keep it still it wouldn't hurt as much."

The captain scoffed disdainfully and resumed his attempts to scratch the cuff. His first mate folded the sling neatly, placed it on the edge of the table just in case, and then headed toward the cabin door.

"I'll go talk to Starkey. Come and get me if you, you know, lose a finger or something."