Hook's only hand was trembling.

He'd lost his other hand when someone had slit his hand to make it bleed then shoved him off the ship he'd been sailing on. The person had wanted to see if sharks really were attracted by the scent of blood.

A shark had come and ripped his hand right off before another man had harpooned it. He'd been reeled to safety. The doctor on the ship had seen the hook lying lifeless and thought it'd be amusing to sew it as a replacement hand. Hook had fainted. When he came to, he was quite surprised at how heavy his wrist felt.

He could hardly claim he was outraged. Humans liked to do things to him without asking him first. When he used to try to calmly tell them their antics weren't okay, they'd mock and laugh at him. He'd given up and begun letting life happen to him. Not actively trying to succeed but letting what may weather him forward.

Which was how he ended up with this job. Captain Blackbeard had come to the tables he was waiting. Captain Blackbeard had liked how servile Hook was and had insisted he work on his ship for him. Hook had been green at the gills over the thought, but he'd agreed.

He'd just had his first taste of rum on the Captain's orders. Something wasn't right. He felt…very very vague. Like he wasn't there anymore.

Colors started to swirl and shift. He was about to pass out.

He dropped his glass with his shaking wrist. The liquid slid across the upper deck and shards of glass splintered the wood.

No one was barefoot, but Captain Blackbeard yelled, "You stupid oaf! Someone might cut their foot on that. And you're making work for the deckhand." He folded his arms in front of his chest as one of the deckhands came with a mop and began ridding the deck of the mess.

The second mate wordlessly went for the doctor. He could tell Hook was in danger of either being on bedrest for seven weeks or exiting their world. If he died, the second mate would have to toss him overboard, and he did not want to do that. Touching Hook gave him the creeps, never mind carrying his lifeless body to the edge of the ship and tossing him. One of the bodies he'd heaved had slipped as he tried to fling. The dead lips had brushed his neck. He could still feel it, three years later, like a scar.

The doctor was a grey-haired man with baldness at the top of his head. He carried a medical bag at his side and his rib-length hair in a ponytail.

The doctor checked Hook over briefly before declaring, "He's deathly allergic to something he's had recently. What have you given him?"

"What does it matter?" Captain Blackbeard grunted crossly. "Antidote him, man!"

Shaking his head slowly, the doctor declared, "I need to guess right for which medicine to give him, or he might die faster."

"Run."

"Excuse me?"

Captain Blackbeard unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth and enunciated, "Try an antidote for rum. That's all he had recently."

The doctor wet his lips with his tongue. "Um…"

Captain Blackbeard broke off, "Can you be allergic to rum?"

"Why, certainly!" the doctor replied. "But it's rare…alright, fine." He could see if he didn't work swiftly, Hook would die in a couple of minutes. He reached in the bag he always carried with him and pulled out a shot. He winced nervously, dreading killing Hook because of wrongful information given. "Poor chap," he muttered as he stuck the needle in Hook's bicep and squirted the fluid in his bloodstream. "He worked at a restaurant, you said? You'd have thought he'd tried every alcoholic beverage known to man at such an age. He can't be any younger than thirty-five!"

Hook opened his eyes. "What happened?" He shook his head slowly, feeling odd but less vague. He tried to rise to his feet but the grey-haired man in a ponytail smiled kindly at him as the ocean's wind blew all the loose strands of hair into the man's blue eyes.

"Don't move yet. Give it a few minutes."

Hook's eyes made the wide arc to Captain Blackbeard. He did not move his head, so his eyes looked mostly white as he scrutinized Captain Blackbeard's face for signs this was alright.

Captain Blackbeard did not flinch. Hook relaxed then asked, "What happened?"

The doctor explained tentatively, "As rare as it is, you, sir, are deathly allergic to rum."

"Oh. Good thing I fill my flask with water."

"Yes. I would not advise you to drink any more rum. You might die the next time it touches your lips." The doctor patted his shoulder then left to talk with his best friend on the ship.

Hook became lost in thought. It wasn't the worst thing to be allergic to rum. After all, his life was for others, not himself. He was a tire on a tractor, not a human being. When hedied, he'd be replaced by another tractor. It was that simple.

Besides, he wasn't interested in drinking. He was interested in getting his job done efficiently.

It was all the pride he had in this life. Because he certainly had no other reason to be proud of himself.

No one believed in him. His heart twanged as he wondered if he'd ever find a woman who believed he could change her world for the better. A woman who could see who he really was beneath the person everyone wanted him to be. A woman who could love him as is…

Alas, it was a pipe dream. He was a kicked puppy. Any woman who wanted him wanted in truth to see how hard she could kick him before his nose bled.

He wasn't a person who inspired love in people but cruelty.