Chapter 22
Drained. That was the best word for it. Completely and utterly drained.
It wasn't the longest Hook had ever gone without food. Not by a long shot. The same was true for water. Running out of both was one of the many hazards of long sea voyages; one with which he was unfortunately well-acquainted. But in combination with all that Tiger Lily had put him through the past three days, it left him empty in a way he'd never before experienced.
He felt as if he could pass straight through the rock behind him; like he was slowly losing his physical presence in the world, and would soon gain the ability to commune with spirits.
Perhaps he'd run into his brother.
Or Milah.
He could still hold a conversation with the living. He followed Tiger Lily's instructions easily, without complaint; submitted to her ministrations, docile. Understanding her explanation for the tourniquet above his wrist which triggered sharp, unpleasant memories. Why he had to be shirtless, shivering in the cave's cool air. Vaguely aware of his muted interactions with his first mate - how his responses lacked the usual barbs and command - and realizing it wasn't important. Smee cared about him; truly wanted the best for him. Somehow clung to a one-way friendship that Hook had always used to his full advantage. And probably would still, once all pieces of his soul were reunited.
If that happened.
Three days to contemplate his mortality. His approaching demise. Well, two days plus one of unfettered delusions of what would come, or what possibly had come, in his worst moments. It didn't make it any less terrifying.
At least he could admit it, now. On the brink. Because he was hardly Captain Hook anymore, the brash pirate, fearless and vengeful. That man who threw himself headlong into danger, whatever the consequences. He had been purged away in the three days past. And Killian Jones was vulnerable. Unsure. Afraid.
"Is that the point of all of this?"
Smee cocked his head, uncomprehending. But Tiger Lily knew. As if she could peer into his mind. And she said only this:
"You're ready."
The poison dart - the murder weapon - loomed twice as large without his courage to contain its size.
He had no tears left; if he had, would they be shed?
Tiger Lily seemed satisfied with the answer. All her potions, tinctures, solutions: ready. But they wouldn't be enough. He knew it; she knew it; even Smee seemed to know it.
He could put a stop to it. A word, and be headed back to his ship… home. He didn't want to die. A white sheet came to mind, with weights and stitching; the water claiming him; the darkness below. And whatever came after.
Tiger Lily waited. Respecting his choice.
"Please, Tiger," he whispered. His hand came off his lap; without hesitation, Smee grasped it; put his other hand on his captain's shoulder. "Please."
And the fiery sting in his neck quickly invaded his chest, seizing his heart with gripping pressure, before the tidal wave of darkness.