Chapter 16

"Are you sure about this, Captain?"

Sitting stiffly in a chair, fist on his table, Hook nodded darkly, his jaw clenching with pent-up rage. Beside him, a weary-looking Starkey stood clutching a wet rag and a ladle over a bucket of water, which rested on a second chair at Hook's knee. Shivering slightly in anticipation, Smee continued to hesitate.

"It just seems like a really bad idea. The chances of-"

"Those men are dead because of me. Because of my helplessness. So damn the odds; just get on with it. That's an order."

Smee swallowed. "Yes, sir."

The captain glanced over at Starkey, who indicated his readiness; Hook then rested the side of his forearm on the edge of the bucket so that his fist and the cuff hung over the water. The bosun bent and wrapped the rag around Hook's hand, tucking its edges beneath the gold to form a thin barrier over the skin. With the excess cloth, Starkey pinched the cuff's edges between forefinger and thumb, holding it steady against the inside of Hook's wrist. The captain, meanwhile, flexed the joint to pull his hand as far from the metal as possible. Then both men turned their gazes upon Smee.

Steeling himself, Smee gripped the handle of his dagger and removed it from the fire. Just the same as that ghastly afternoon less than a fortnight ago, Johnny Corkscrew's blade glowed a dark red as it radiated heat. The first mate strode quickly over to the table, checking once more the resolve in his captain's eyes before pressing the dagger carefully against the protruding cuff.

Hook felt the heat immediately despite their precautions. Starkey slowly drizzled water from the ladle onto the thumbward edge of the cuff and along the inside of his wrist, where the bosun still gripped the metal. He did his best not to spill any on the dagger or where it contacted the gold; cooling that area would defeat the purpose. Smee grimly held the steel in place, his other hand wrapping around Hook's forearm of its own accord. He could feel the muscles there trembling as Hook struggled to remain still.

Hook tried to focus on his breathing and keeping his heart rate down as the heat escalated from uncomfortable to painful. He could feel the skin on the back of his hand and arm beginning to burn, the rag not offering much insulation against the blistering temperature of the steel. Beneath the cuff, he was more protected, but the gold was slowly heating as well; he hoped desperately that it would soon be enough to start melting away.

Starkey tipped the last of the ladle's contents over his captain's wrist, and in the seconds it took to refill, Hook's pain surged exponentially. His arm twitched in the instinctive attempt to escape as he let out a growl. Nervously, Smee jerked backward; Johnny Corkscrew glowed menacingly in the low light of the cabin. With a grimace, Starkey poured soothing water over the blazing skin before dipping the ladle once again.

"Continue," hissed Hook. The prickles in his fingers intensified with the quickening of his pulse. Smee reluctantly resumed his grip and brought the dagger back to its former position; the film of water that had gathered on the cuff sizzled quietly as it evaporated away. Hook's hand and arm seared with continued fire. Through his labored panting, he started to smell melting fabric… singed hair… roasting flesh. It quickly became too much to bear, and he wrenched out of the others' grasping hands. Even as he grunted in pain, Hook managed to find the hook where it lay on his lap, thrusting it desperately between cuff and flesh and yanking on the warmed metal.

The cuff wouldn't budge. His mutilated shoulder screamed at the attempt to pull with his hook, and he thrashed wildly in frustrated agony. Starkey gently caught his hand, then his brace, and deftly separated the two.

"Yer only 'urting yerself, Cap'n," he explained over Hook's pained gasps. Scorning reason, Hook shoved his now-bleeding arm back at Smee.

"Again," he snarled. The first mate gulped, looking nauseated. At his hesitation, Hook lashed out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer with a menacing glower. Smee sagged in surrender, and, grimacing, Hook slammed his wrist back over the edge of the bucket. Starkey resumed his position and adjusted the rag, his face donning an expression of sorrow. Hook's fist trembled with fatigue and pain.

Flinching, Smee once again touched the now-cooling steel to the hated cuff. For several heartbeats, Hook bore the pain in silence. Then, with astonishing control, he mumbled through clenched teeth,

"Any difference?"

Smee cautiously pressed the dagger's tip against the gold, searching for any sign of pliability. Regretfully, he admitted,

"I… don't think so, sir. Not enough to free you, at any rate."

Hook swore colorfully, offering no resistance when Starkey guided his hand into the bucket and dunked it under the water. The cuff gave off a hiss of steam as it contacted the cool liquid. Smee straightened, relieved that Hook appeared to be giving up on the idea, but also empathizing with his frustration. The captain took the safety and well-being of his crew very seriously, and to lose so many, all at once, while he was powerless to help…

Hook relaxed his hand, swirling it gently through the bucket, seeking what miniscule amount of soothing the water could bring. Sweat trickled down his temples as his wincing breaths finally started to slow. Starkey shifted a lantern closer and gingerly began to unwrap the rag from his captain's hand, grimacing sympathetically at a low grunt from Hook when he neared the cuff. All along both edges, where hand met wrist and again farther up his arm, angry blisters had bubbled up… with the fabric fused right into the scorched skin. The bosun grasped Hook's hand and raised it from the water to allow a better examination; without the cooling water, the anguish from the burns was magnified, and Hook bit back a cry.

"Bloody 'ell, sir; seems a lot of trouble for body art. Inventive, though."

"Fetching, don't you think?" groaned Hook, wishing the banter were a bit more effective at dulling his pain.

Smee had dropped Johnny Corkscrew into a separate bucket of water and now stepped closer to investigate. He bit his lip at the gruesome sight.

"Sorry, Captain; I wish you hadn't insisted on continuing."

"What do we do?" Starkey asked bluntly, allowing Hook to return his hand to the water while they discussed their next move.

"Well we can't leave it like that," replied Smee, resigned. "I'll have to cut it away, I suppose." Avoiding his captain's gaze, Smee mumbled, "I'll make a poultice for when it's done."

He scurried away, and Starkey settled himself on the tabletop, scrubbing both hands over his face in exhaustion. He took a swig of rum and then offered his flask to Hook, who hesitated momentarily before trading the comfort of the water for the numbing influence of alcohol. The saturated rag dangled down his arm, spilling water everywhere. As Hook took a drink, Starkey sighed.

"Yer not to blame, sir. Had you both 'ands, or eight like some damn kraken, you couldn't'a changed fate. If anything, I should be 'eld accountable, as leader of the bloody 'scursion. Shoulda 'ad my guard up the moment we 'eard those blasted Lost Boys."

Staring sullenly at the drink in his hand, Hook wouldn't concede the point. He took another long pull of rum and returned the flask to his bosun before gingerly submerging his blazing wrist. Starkey secured the lid and slipped it into his pocket, then both men sat in silence for several moments, lost in dark thoughts. When Smee reentered the cabin, it was to find captain and bosun far from the present moment, and it took awhile for them to remember the task at hand.

Starkey shook himself and got to his feet. "Table?"

Smee blinked before working out his train of thought. "Oh. Yes, that would probably be easiest."

Hook understood, too, and reluctantly lifted his arm to rest on the tabletop, his palm flat. Starkey dragged the bucket-laden chair a few feet out of the way and positioned himself at Hook's right side. The captain flashed him an appraising look.

"Again, mate? This is starting to become a habit of yours; one might suspect ulterior motives."

With a wink, Starkey took hold of Hook's elbow and forearm. "I can't speak for Smee, Cap'n, but I relish the privilege anytime I'm allowed to 'old yer 'and."

Hook's answering smirk was laden with tension; his sharp gaze following Smee's every move. The first mate turned to the others, mumbling,

"I… think… I mean, anytime you don't, you know, kill me for what I have to… er, 'privilege?' More like, 'honor,' you mean, right Starkey? Heh."

Starkey rolled his eyes and met Hook's glance; then, with a groan, he sneered at Smee. "Quit while yer ahead, matey. Leave the repartee to the quick-witted."

Smee grimaced, grasping his dagger and nodding in resignation. He edged between Starkey and the table, adjusted the lantern to his liking, and gently gathered the free end of the rag until it just barely pulled at Hook's tender skin. The captain closed his eyes and turned his face away, leaning back in the chair.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, trying to brace himself for the upcoming agony.

Smee worked quickly, slicing into the blisters; working the blade beneath the melted fabric as Hook's fingers clawed at the table top. Inch by agonizing inch, the first mate cut the rag away, while the captain panted and groaned and squirmed.

And then he had to repeat the process above the cuff.

Tense moments later, Smee could finally slide the cloth free, exposing a mess of raw, oozing burns and slowly bleeding scrapes from the hook's tip. The poultice he hastened to apply was cool and soothing, and soon after, Hook was able to relax and open his eyes.

"Lift?" Smee requested; Starkey helped to elevate the arm so that Smee could begin winding a bandage around the wrist and under the cuff. Hook shifted in his chair, swallowed, and hoarsely growled,

"Gods, Smee; I questioned whether I'd have a hand left at all the way you were going at it."

"Sorry, Captain; how's it feel now?"

"Improved," Hook admitted as Smee looped the bandage around his thumb. He eyed the cuff; only a small warp in its curve gave any indication of the attempts to melt it off. He hissed a curse at its durability.

Smee tied the bandage neatly, and Starkey released his grip with a quick slap to Hook's shoulder. The captain nodded his thanks at the bosun.

"Go get some rest, mate. We need you at full strength."

"Aye-aye, sir. And if I may be so bold… you could do with the same." Starkey waved vaguely at Hook's arm, which was now resting gingerly on the table. "Sorry this didn't work as planned. Pity, that."

"Aye," Hook agreed stiffly, and Starkey took his leave.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" wondered Smee. Hook gave one silent shake of his head. "How about your boots? Want them off?"

Irritably, Hook sighed, knowing it was beyond his capability at present. "Oh, go on, then."

Smee complied quickly. "You know, sir… it may be part of the enchantment. That we can't get it off, I mean. Maybe the magic makes that impossible, at least by normal means."

Eyes closed, Hook grimaced. "Is that supposed to appease me in some way? Because if it is, it's not working."

Tucking both boots neatly under the table, Smee stood. "No, sorry. I was just thinking… hoping, I guess… that it would stop these dangerous schemes of yours. What's next; a hammer and anvil?"

"Smee, you don't have to convince me to protect this hand. I'm not bloody daft."

The first mate sighed in relief. "Good. That's good."

"It may simply require magical means, as you suggested."

"Oh. R-right. Magic."

Hook opened his eyes and smirked at his first mate. "Remind me, next time we're sent to the Enchanted Forest, to seek out a wizard of some sort. They're always quite eager to provide gratuitous assistance."

Nervously, Smee chewed the inside of his lip. "O-of course, sir. Wizards."

"Or a witch. We must keep our options open."

"Yes, Captain," Smee agreed with an anxious titter.

Because magic had always been so beneficial to the crew of the Jolly Roger... and their captain.