Chapter 13 - Answers
The crew watched the two fighters surreptitiously. They were supposed to concentrate on their duties, but it was truly breathtaking to watch the man and boy spar. It reminded the old crew of times in Neverland, but now it wasn’t for keeps. The new crew was just spellbound. Davis, chained at the other side of the ship, looked up from his swabbing and scowled, hating both the combatants, especially the boy.
The day after Pan’s and Davis’s fight, Hook had passed judgment on the man. Everyone had expected something drastic – a keel-hauling or a hanging – but Davis had gotten off light in their estimation. He got two dozen lashes, the duties that had been Peter’s extras, and confinement for the duration of his sentence, which was three weeks. Hook made it clear that Peter had spoken for the man, and had thereby spared him a violent death. This tidbit seemed to make Davis even angrier.
Hook had dedicated a week to Peter’s training. Mornings and evenings still contained reading and math lessons, but a good portion of the day was devoted to Peter’s combat training, with light duty (lookout, manning the wheel, dish duty, etc) for the remainder. Peter was in poor health, and Hook didn’t want the boy tiring himself too much.
Hook had discovered in their first combat session how far back the boy had been set. He was weaker and slower than he once was, due to his failing health. And everyone who looked at the child could see he was waning … wilting, as Starkey remarked at one point. But the relaxation of his schedule and the extra time in the sun seemed to have revitalized him somewhat, and Hook felt heartened by the boy’s progress. Peter was woefully out of practice, and was now playing catch-up: regaining his strength and flexibility by practicing with Hook and Starkey.
Peter loved sword fighting, and now a week into it, he seemed to be back to his old abilities. He was having a difficult time compensating for his inability to fly, but was quickly learning new ways to dodge and avoid direct hits. He and Hook could now trade blow for blow, where the first day he was on his back as soon as they started. Peter’s assets were his speed and agility, and being a small target helped. Hook had his strength, experience, and his willingness to fight dirty. Today, Peter was actually doing better than holding his own. A few times he had pressed an attack on Hook, but he didn’t have the stamina to hold the offensive position long.
“Ha-HA!” Peter cried, and for the first time in months he laughed his old triumphant laugh. He had managed to counter a strike and twisted his wooden sword in such a way that he actually knocked Hook’s wooden sword from his grasp. In another swipe and twist, he parried Hook’s claw swipe (the point of the hook had a cork on it, to prevent an accident), and came up against the man with his fake dagger pressed to Hook’s gut.
“Gotcha Codfish!” he cried, smiling happily.
Hook smirked and twisted his hook, wrenching Peter’s sword painfully from his grasp. At the same time, he kicked the boy square in the stomach and knocked him to the ground. He knelt by Peter’s side and held his claw to the boy’s throat. “Don’t get cocky with me, boy,” he growled.
“You… cheated,” Peter gasped, holding his stomach. The kick hadn’t hurt much, but it had winded him.
“You keep forgetting about feet. You are earthbound now, and you have to be aware of ALL your opponent’s appendages. Pirates fight dirty, and if one wants to kill you, he will stop at nothing to get you down. If you want to survive in a battle, you have to watch out, and you cannot hesitate to do what it takes to win.” He noted the boy’s gasps and his face softened. “Are you okay?”
Peter nodded and sat up. He was angry with Hook for cheating, regardless of his excuse. But he was angrier at himself for losing again. “I used to always win. Now I can’t do anything right. I’m useless,” he spat bitterly.
Hook hauled the boy up and gave him back his sword. “Don’t feel sorry for yourself. You’ve come a long way, and your improvement is remarkable. There isn’t a man on this ship that could survive what you have and recover this fast.”
Peter’s eyes flashed and his face hardened. “We aren’t recovering, Codfish, and we certainly haven’t survived. We’re merely dying more slowly.”
Hook frowned in confusion and suddenly Pan attacked. The attack was blurring, wild and reckless… and it was brilliant. Hook found himself completely on the defensive, barely parrying or dodging the blows. He couldn’t even wonder what was going on, he was too busy protecting himself. After awhile, the strikes slowed, falling into a saner rhythm as Pan tired, and Hook realized the boy was mocking him.
“Codfish, what’s wrong? Can’t defeat a sick, hurt, dying orphan? Kick him now, you bully! Good thing we fight with splinters, else I’d have your guts for garters right now!” Pan laughed haughtily, the old cocky look in his eyes and a tight, angry smile on his lips.
Hook flushed and felt hot anger well up within him. “You insolent brat! Do you want me to kill you? How many times must I put you in your place before you learn to stay?”
The boy stopped and stood on guard, glaring with hate filled eyes. “And what place would you put him in your heart? The only place Peter is going right now is the grave. If you don’t solve his riddle soon, I’ll end your game. We hurt, and you let it continue. I won’t allow us to suffer and grow up as your slave.”
“You won’t allow… Pan,” Hook growled as he realized which aspect was speaking to him.
Pan laughed again. “You’re not stupid, evidently. I guess that means you’re not even trying to find the answer. If you don’t care enough to even try, I’ll kill us right now.”
“Find what answer?”
“Peter’s song, the one he sang when we decided, while you lay paralyzed. Answer the riddle and I’ll tell you how to save our life.”
“What game are you playing? Why won’t you let him be?”
“Our slow death has nothing to do with me. What happens to a wild bird when you cage it? I merely know what treatment we need, to revitalize us while we endure your prison so that we do not fade away and die; which will be soon if a miracle doesn’t occur. Tick-tock, Codfish, you’re running out of time!” While he spoke, the boy’s nose again began to bleed freely. Peter blinked and shook his head. He groaned at the intense headache as he came back to himself and fell to his knees.
“Peter?” Hook asked hopefully.
Peter was overwhelmed with dizziness and nausea and threw up. “Captain,” he wailed as the dry heaves wracked him, “help me.”
Hook ran to him and picked him up. He carried Peter to the galley as the crew watched in concern. They had heard Pan’s speech too, and were baffled. Jukes and Mullins exchanged quick glances, and the man nodded. Billy nodded back and dashed down below, following the Captain and his friend.
Hook sat Peter on the table and pressed a handkerchief to his nose. Peter was staring at him, eyes unfocused and muttering. “Peter? What’s wrong?” Hook asked.
“Head hurts. Dizzy. Did you hit me?” he moaned and lay back onto the table. He curled up on his side and nursed his nose.
“I didn’t hit you. Pan took over again, and you got a nose-bleed when he did,” Hook answered gently.
“Cap’n? Is Peter all right?” Jukes asked tentatively. He was holding a bowl of hot water and a towel. Cookson stood next to him with a bowl of soup and a mug of rum.
“I don’t know,” Hook answered truthfully, “set those there.”
“If boy needs medicine, I cook some up for him,” Cookson offered. “He eat good, but he look like he starvink.” The cook left them alone, muttering about boys being too thin.
Jukes stood staring, feeling awkward, until Hook motioned for him to sit. Billy took a seat so that Peter was facing him, and put his hand on the boy’s arm. He had recognized the reference to Pan as a separate entity. He and Peter talked to each other, and Peter had told him about everything he remembered from the day they discovered the split. But for the past week, Peter had not heard a peep from his other half, and had believed that when Shimi touched his memory spell the other part of him had gone away. Peter often told him things he never told anyone else, and Jukes the same to Peter, and they kept each other sworn to secrecy. But if Peter was seriously ill, Billy wasn’t going to keep quiet.
“We brought some soup, since he threw up again. He needs to hold down something today,” Billy explained.
“BILLY!” Peter hissed, but Hook silenced him.
“What do you mean, ‘he threw up again’?” Hook demanded.
“I wasn’t supposed to say, but Peter promised to tell you. I caught him being sick twice, once yesterday after lunch, and again today after breakfast.”
“Peter? How often have you been vomiting?” Hook growled, angry the boy had been quiet about this.
Peter sighed and removed the bloody handkerchief. “Two days. I got sick after breakfast and lunch, but I only ate a little dinner and was fine. And now twice today. I’m hungry, but I keep getting dizzy after I eat and I throw up.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Hook asked, livid.
“I didn’t want to upset you…” Peter began.
“I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THIS SHIP!” Hook exploded. “I have to know when my men are injured or ill. If my crew’s strength is compromised, I have to know! If you are ill, I can make allowances for you, but not if I don’t know! I TOLD you to let me know when something was WRONG!”
Peter yelped and curled up tighter, hands clutching his ears and eyes squeezed shut as Hook’s bellows sent shards of pain through his head. Hook didn’t notice the child’s distress, and continued swearing and yelling. He was beyond angry and disappointed that Peter would keep secrets from him.
“Cap’n!” Billy called, seeing that Hook was hurting Peter.
“AND YOU!” Hook rounded on him, “You kept it from me too! I…”
It was too much, and Peter screamed. Hook stopped suddenly, realizing what he was doing. “Peter? God, I’m sorry,” he whispered as he went to see to the boy.
Billy was already there, and he waved Hook away. He himself was angry now, and gave no consideration to his own danger as he confronted the captain. “Why can’t you stop being selfish for once and think about Peter? You’re so wrapped up in being the dreaded Captain Hook, master of ship and crew, you can’t see what’s right in front of your face. And what’s worse is it’s killing Peter. Peter needs you, not a Captain, and if you can’t figure out the rest, you don’t deserve him!”
Hook’s first impulse was to strike the insolent boy down for daring to speak to him like that. He fought it away, and his ire faded as Billy’s words sunk in. He had fooled himself into thinking Peter was recovering. Peter had tried hard to keep up the pretense by covering up his nausea and pushing himself in training. The boy hadn’t had a nightmare in over a week. Hook had thought it was a positive sign, but now he wondered if Peter was too exhausted to dream at all. Once again, he felt he needed to do or say something here, and he floundered, lost.
“He needs rest,” he said weakly.
“He needs more than that. That thing is going to either kill him or let him waste away if you don’t answer whatever riddle he spoke of. Why don’t you go figure it out and I’ll take care of Peter. He’ll recover faster if you’re not here.”
I don’t want to go, I want to make sure he’s alright. But through action or inaction, I keep harming him. Finally, Hook nodded, “For once, Jukes, you are correct. If it weren’t for the fact that you care about Peter, I would beat you senseless for speaking to me like that. I’ll check on Peter later.” He went above to go to his cabin and think.
Billy sighed, realizing how that could have gone, if the old Captain Hook had been standing there. He wet the towel in the warm water and carefully cleaned Peter’s face. He smiled when his friend opened his eyes. “Hey,” he whispered.
“Hi,” Peter whispered back. “I’m hungry.”
“Well, I have some of Corzone’s broth. It should sit on your stomach if you take it slow.” He helped Peter up and into a seat. Peter ate the soup and didn’t get sick afterwards. While he ate, they talked about other things, happy things – pretending that, for the moment, nothing was wrong.
Peter awoke groggily, tired beyond belief. He saw Hook bending over him, and heard his name being called. He felt an odd detachment, and was slightly bemused by the feeling. “Cap’n… waz wong?”
“Peter, you smell like rum. Have you been drinking?” Hook growled softly.
“Yep,” the boy said with a slight smile. “Is bedder’n wiskey, tase bedder. Head don hurt now.”
Hook sighed, frustrated. I’m going to beat Jukes. Peter lay in one of the hammocks in the common room, Jukes was in the one above him. Hook had gone to his cabin and done some serious thinking, writing down every piece of relevant information he could think of, some clue as to what he was supposed to do. But he needed one important piece of information: Peter’s song. He only remembered snatches of it and the tune, but if it was a riddle, he needed it in its entirety. He had given Peter some space for several hours, but he felt that time was running out and couldn’t wait any longer for the boy to return.
He stood and looked at Jukes, who was fast asleep. He rudely shook the gunner until the boy woke up. Fortunately for him, Billy had not been drinking, and once he was awake, he looked at Hook with alert eyes.
“Yes, Cap’n?” he asked fearfully, wondering if he was about to get a delayed punishment for standing up to the Captain.
“You got Peter drunk?” Hook growled.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize it would hit him so hard or so fast. I don’t drink myself, and the other men drink a lot more than that, sir. I just thought a bit would relax him and help his headache. It was only half of the mug, and it was mixed in with some water.”
“I see. Go to sleep, I’m taking Peter back to his bed. I need to sober him up and talk to him.”
“Ay, sir. Cookson has a good remedy, but it tastes something awful. ‘Course with Peter’s stomach it might not be worth the risk.”
“I’ll let time cure him, Jukes, but I’ll keep Cookson’s remedy in mind.” Hook plucked Peter from the hammock – He’s always been light, but dear God he weighs nothing right now – and carried him to their room.
Peter had dozed off again, so Hook sat him in a chair and prodded him awake. When he got the boy’s attention and saw some kind of awareness in his eyes, he spoke.
“Peter, I need you to tell me something. When I was paralyzed, you sang a song to me. I don’t remember much of it. I want you to sing it for me again.”
“A song?” Peter said blearily, “I don ‘member.”
“You have to,” Hook prodded. He hummed the tune to the boy, singing the phrases that he remembered.
Peter listened, and by the end of the tune was singing along softly, filling in some of the missing verses. Hook began humming the tune again, and Peter started from the beginning, singing the song in its entirety. Frantically, Hook wrote the song down while he had it in his mind and sang it back to the boy. Peter laughed, delighted that Hook was actually singing, and made mild corrections to the lyrics.
“I don’t understand. What does it mean?” Hook mused.
“You haf ta give it back,” Peter muttered, drifting off to sleep again.
“Give what back!” Hook grabbed Peter and shook him roughly to re-awaken him.
“Stop,” Peter moaned, “hurtin’ me.”
Hook let go. “I’m sorry, Peter. But this is important. I don’t want to lose you. What do I have to give back?”
“I don’ know… Pan knows…he don’ talk ta me no-more… too tired” Peter said as he fell back into slumber.
Give it back? Give Neverland back? He stared at the words on the paper, but that answer didn’t seem to fit. “I love and I hate you” stood out somehow, and he looked at Peter thoughtfully. I expect him to hate me. I know he’s grown more comfortable around me, more … Hook considered the correct word, affectionate? Yes. How did I not see that. Could he actually love me? That’s not possible. No children love me. No one at all loves me. Only Mother did, and she’s dead. I had believed Cecilia did, but she left me.
The thought that Peter Pan loved him frightened more than anything else ever had. Love was something he had always denied himself, pushed it away as a weakness. Love of gold, love of music, love of material things was permitted; it gave you focus and drive. But people would always betray you or leave you, and then your love became bitter ashes.
No, he doesn’t love me. I’ve become soft to even consider it. It’s laughable. There is another answer here, but regardless, I may end up giving him back to Neverland… consequences be damned.
He sat up for awhile longer, but found himself more and more often staring at the boy. Finally, he realized he was tired and made ready for bed. As he was about to turn in, Peter began to cry in a nightmare.
Damn it! Hook thought, but went to pick up the boy. But Peter resisted, flailing and fighting him whenever he reached out.
“Codfish!... liar… hurt me… please… can’t breathe… let me go… kill me!” Peter cried out. Other words passed his lips, but they were a garbled mix of human and fey languages, and Hook couldn’t make them out.
Hook sat by helplessly and watched the boy thrash about as the dream intensified. It hurt him to see the pain etched on Peter’s sleeping face, and he longed to wipe it away. I care about him so much. I’m more than fond of him. I haven’t felt love for so long I don’t remember what it was like, but I think that I do love him. Hook was afraid at this realization - afraid of what it meant, and afraid of what it would do to him if Peter never returned his love. He remembered Cecilia, and how it had torn him apart when he realized he had lost her forever… all because she had not loved him enough to accept him for who he was.
Peter gasped and awoke with a start. He looked squarely at Hook and stated, “I would give my life to get off of this ship. This ship is killing me.” Before Hook could respond, his eyes slid shut and he was out again, this time in a dreamless sleep. After ensuring that the boy was resting well, Hook wearily climbed into bed and got what sleep he could.
When Peter awoke the next morning, he was more than a little alarmed to see that Hook was already up and on deck. He got up and dressed quickly, ignoring the mild dizziness. He just knew he was going to be in trouble for oversleeping, and probably for drinking rum the night before. He did take the time to be thankful that he didn’t have what the men called a hangover (he’d had enough of hanging his head over a bucket or the railing lately as it was). He opened the door and stepped into the blinding sunlight.
It must be nearly noon! Why didn’t Hook wake me? Peter wondered as his eyes adjusted to the glare.
“Peter, lad, good ta see ya up!” Smee called cheerfully from the wheel.
Hook heard his bosun, and turned to see Peter standing on deck. “Boy! Go back to the cabin and get back in the bed.”
“Captain?” Peter called back, confused by the strange order.
“You are not well. I do not want you wasting what energy you have. Go inside and rest, I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”
Peter pressed his lips together to keep from arguing with the Captain. He’d learned the hard way that he got best results when he voiced his objections in private. Then Hook could change his mind and agree with the boy without seeming to back down. I don’t want to stay cooped up in there. I feel better when I’m outside.
“Ay, Captain,” Peter replied, “but I would like to speak with you, sir, as soon as you have a moment.” When Hook nodded, Peter turned around and went back in their room. He did not, however, get back in bed. He sat at the desk and picked up the book that he had begun reading a few days ago, intent on at least keeping to his lessons today.
He had struggled through about a dozen pages when Hook entered, bearing a tray with lunch and some water on it. He scowled when he saw that Peter was up, but said nothing. He set the tray down and stood with his arms crossed. He knows I told him to get in bed, and he deliberately flaunted my order. Now he can explain himself.
Peter closed the book and turned to look at the Captain. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You’re sick, Peter. You need rest to get well.”
Peter chuckled and shook his head. “No, Captain, I’m dying. Rest isn’t going to help me.”
“You’re not…” Hook began.
“I am,” Peter said softly. “I can feel it. But I will NOT just lie down and wait for it to happen!” He stood up and stared at Hook defiantly, legs spread and fists on his hips. “I am Peter Pan, and I do not simply give up. I feel better when I am outside, I feel best when I am in the lookout. Being inside, especially below deck, is what makes it worse. This ship stinks. It is dark and dank, and reeks of sweat, salt and blood. If you force me to stay in bed, I’ll die that much quicker.” He felt a whisper in his mind and voiced the thought, “Or are you tired of torturing me and ready for me to hurry up and fade away?”
Hook stared at Peter wordlessly, deep in thought. The boy’s words stung him, and his bitter tone at the end cut deep. “I am not trying to torture you, Peter, and I most certainly do not want you to die. I truly did want you to grow up on this ship, and I am sorry this has gone so badly. By all means, if you feel better on deck doing duty, then you are welcome to it. I merely wanted to help you recover, and did not mean to smother you.”
The conciliatory tone in Hook’s voice surprised Peter. He had expected the man to argue with him, or to tell him “that’s an order!” and force him into bed rest. He felt a flush of shame as he realized Hook really was trying to help him. “I’m sorry Captain. I don’t mean to be rude or ungrateful. I just…” he sighed and rubbed his forehead, “I feel like I don’t have much time. I hate being tired and I hate being weak. I don’t want to give in; I intend to fight this until there’s no strength in me to fight with. And I know that if I lie down in defeat, I’ll never get back up again. If I’m to die, I’d like to spend my days being useful, and spending time with Billy and the crew. I want to accomplish something; I want to finish our book. I don’t want to die before I find out what happens in the end.”
Hook smiled at the determination in Peter’s eyes. You still have your spirit. After everything I’ve put you through, you still have your spirit and your pride. I WILL find the answer, even if I do not sleep for a week. I won’t let your potential go to waste.
“Ay, Peter. Very well, eat your lunch but take it slow. I won’t have you wasting food. You will report to Mr. Jukes when you are done, you will assist him with his lighter duties.” Hook raised his hook when he saw Peter about to protest. “You may wish to continue to be an asset, but I will not allow you to be so foolish as to take on tasks you are not fit for. I won’t have you exhausting yourself, and I don’t trust your strength to lift something heavy. I also won’t have you dropping things or causing accidents because you overestimated yourself. Is that clear?”
“Ay, Captain,” Peter replied, and began to eat.
“Now, I want to talk to you about yesterday. Pan said I had to solve your riddle.”
Peter looked up in confusion, “Riddle? I never asked you a riddle.”
Hook pulled out the paper he had written the song on and showed it to Peter. Peter read it slowly, thankful that the words were easy. As he read, he felt the tune in his mind and knew that the song was his.
“I don’t remember this,” he said finally and gave the paper back to Hook.
Hook nodded. “Pan said that if I solved this, he would tell me how to save you. I had hoped that since you were the one that sang this to me when I was paralyzed, you would know the answer.”
“Shimi took away everything I remembered. I know I remembered some things for a little while afterwards, but they faded away too. Maybe when I gave you the riddle, I knew the answer then.”
“You said last night I had to give it back. You didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but you said that Pan knew. Can you make Pan tell?” Hook suggested hopefully.
The boy shook his head. “No. I thought Pan had gone away until he took over yesterday,” Peter said as he took a bite of soup. He frowned, “I got angry at you, and that’s when it happened. But he’s quiet again now, just whispers. I think when he takes over, I get sicker faster.”
“Why would Pan keep the answer a secret,” Hook wondered aloud. “If you die, both of you die. Why not tell me so that you can get better.”
“I think he’d rather die than stay here. He hates you that much,” Peter said quietly. “When I first came here, and I tried to escape, I knew that if I jumped ship I would drown. But I didn’t care. I preferred death over remaining a prisoner on this ship. That changed after you broke me.” He finished his soup in silence, and Hook watched him worriedly.
“Come on then, let’s go outside and get to work,” Hook said as he stood. Peter got up and followed the man onto the deck.
Over the course of the next several days, Peter continued to work alongside his shipmates. He refused to submit to his illness, but he did make many necessary concessions. He learned that if he ate his meals on deck, he was less likely to be sick afterwards. He found that he had a hard time keeping his footing in the rigging, but once he made it to the lookout and sat in it for awhile, his vertigo would disappear for hours afterwards. He also was forced to take naps to recoup his energy, and often would simply curl up in a coil of rope or on a pile of nets for a few minutes to sleep. Only Davis ever really complained, but everyone knew he had a grudge and ignored him. Even the densest pirate on board knew that Peter needed the naps, and most admired him the more for keeping to his duties as well as he did.
Hook mandated (without Peter’s knowledge) that the cabin-boy was not to ever be left alone. He was kept at all times within eye and earshot of someone. Hook feared that Pan would take over again and do something to harm the Captain or himself. He also wanted another chance to speak with Pan, to find out the answer or maybe find a way to make the boy tell him what he needed to know. But Pan never during that time came forward. Hook also did not forget his warning, and a battle waged in his mind over what to do. Every night when Peter slept, he dreamed badly. He dreamed of Captain Hook, and cried out against the man and the pain he was going though. Hook could not hold him when he was like this, Peter would not suffer his touch, and he could only sit by and watch until the boy’s dream exhausted itself.
Peter was slowly swabbing the poop-deck. He was going slowly because he was fighting the nausea once again. This time it was worse than it had been for days, and Peter knew he wasn’t going to win the battle. But still he fought, and repeated his mantra: I will not throw up, I will not throw up… A tidal wave of dizziness overtook him and he sat down in a puddle of mop-water, unable to stand any longer.
“Boy? What’s wrong?”
Peter looked up and saw Hook standing over him. “Nothing, sir,” he began, and then quickly crawled to the railing. He barely got his head over it before he vomited. It was worse than earlier, and when his dry heaves subsided, he slid to the deck shaky and weak. He finally became aware that Hook was kneeling beside him, one arm around his shoulders to steady him.
“You shouldn’t be so obvious when you lie to me, Pan.”
He’s angry at me, he called me Pan. “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t want to upset you.”
“You should know by now you upset me more when you lie to me. I’m worried about you. It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
Peter tried to nod, but it hurt his head and when he stopped, the world continued to bounce up and down. He whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut.
That was answer enough for Hook. He picked Peter up and carried him to his bed. When the boy was lying flat on his back, most of the vertigo subsided and he felt safe enough to open his eyes again. Hook was staring at him intently, and it made Peter feel uncomfortable. He returned the stare, but began to fidget after awhile.
“Captain?” he said finally.
Hook blinked and seemed to shake himself. “Lie here until you feel better. If you want to chance it, go get something else to eat and get back to work. Do you think you can finish swabbing or do you need to try something less physical?”
“I can finish, sir. I was nearly done when you found me,” Peter reassured him, somehow finding strength to put behind his words.
The captain nodded and left the boy alone.
Hook released Peter from duty by noon. Peter had not lost his breakfast again, but he was tired, and soon became completely listless as he tried to complete his chore. After watching the boy lean on his mop for a full five minutes before taking another swipe at the deck, Hook decided that enough was enough.
“Go to bed, son,” he told the boy.
“Huh?” Peter looked at him blearily, not understanding.
Hook pried the mop from Peter’s fingers and helped him stumble to his cot. The child was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Hook paused long enough to remove Peter’s boots and put a blanket over him. He felt Peter’s face to reassure himself the boy had no fever. When he awakens, I’ll give him some spiked tea to make him sleep properly. The dreams are interfering with his rest. Maybe I’ll just make him drink the whiskey straight.
Peter dreamed he was drowning. When he could break the surface, the waves kept rolling over him, pushing him back under. He saw a boat above him, but when he tried to grab a hold, a dark man with claws would hit his fingers and push him away. Even under the water he could hear the man’s laugh. Beside him, another boy floated. It was himself as he had been in Neverland, but he did not fight to regain the surface. Pan smiled at Peter and held out his hand. Peter shook his head and looked away. He struggled for the surface, trying to breathe… trying to escape the dark thing gliding up from the depths to drag them both down.
Hook sat in his chair and watched the boy sleep. Peter had been comatose for two days, and now the man kept constant vigil by his bed. It was coming soon, he knew that it was. Peter no longer had his nightmares, had not made a single sound. His breathing was shallow, as if his lungs were too tired to keep going, and his skin was deadly pale.
Hook took another sip of his brandy and nodded his head. It was time to finish this. He had foolishly let it go on for too long, and it was time to end the boy’s suffering once and for all. I don’t want to lose him, but it hurts us both too much to make him go though this. He set his cup on the nightstand and took up the pair of metal shears that lay there. Jukes had given him these, and in one small cut this would be over.
He turned Peter’s face away from him, and used his hook to bend the boy’s right ear away from his head. He positioned the shears around the stud of the earring and steadied himself to cut through the metal.
Suddenly, Peter jerked his head away and glared at Hook with eyes as hard as diamond. “What are you doing, Codfish?” Pan demanded coldly. All signs of his former lethargy were gone.
“I’m taking off that damned spell, Pan. Both of you are going back to Neverland,” Hook replied.
“Now why would you do a thing like that? After all, you put so much time and effort into acquiring your trophy. What of your vengeance?” he asked mockingly.
“Vengeance be damned, and so am I! Peter is not a trophy. He is a child, a special boy that I have cruelly wronged. He doesn’t belong to me, no matter how much I want him. He’s not meant to be caged. I’m setting him free, so he can go back to the people that he loves and be the carefree child he used to be.”
“And why do you care? Why the sudden change of heart, if you can claim to have one?”
Hook stared at Peter, looking past the hateful eyes, remembering the smiling, happy boy that he once was. “Because I love him,” he said quietly.
Pan rolled his eyes and swore in fey. “Fine! You won. You answered the riddle, and I promised Peter I’d answer your questions if you did.”
“What?” Hook asked in confusion.
Pan giggled, “Peter’s song was about how he only stayed because he needed you to love him. You just said that you did, so I lost the bet.”
Hook was overwhelmed with questions and he didn’t know where to start. “Stayed? What do you mean stayed? And what’s this about a bet? This isn’t a game! Your life is at stake here!”
Pan stared at him with eyes that didn’t seem to be quite human. “Everything is a game, Codfish. Even our clashes in Neverland were games. The game makes life worth living. I am everything that Peter no longer wants to be. I keep our magic in trust, I control the memory spell, and I hold all the answers that Peter has forgotten. I hate you, and I don’t for a second believe you are capable of love. But that isn’t the point; you claim to love Peter, so I’ll give you the chance to prove it. What do you want to know?”
“Tell me why you are sick, and how to help you,” Hook answered. He was tired of differentiating between Peter and Pan.
Pan nodded, “I am ill for one simple reason: I am not completely human.”
“What?” Hook asked weakly. He suddenly felt as if the floor had dropped out from beneath him.
“This is a secret only I and two other fey know, and I was once made to forget it. On my life, no other fey must discover this. My true father was half-elven, a mixing of human and fey blood that is forbidden. I have my power because it is my right as an elf, not some side-effect of my mother’s empowerment as the fey believe. An elf draws his life and his strength from nature: from fresh, clean water and air; solid, fertile earth; and most importantly, from being close to living things – wild animals and plants, especially trees. I am dying because I lack these things on this ship, and my magic is fading away. I must be taken ashore soon, and allowed to rest where the things I need abound. Their life-force will replenish my magic, and therefore my life. My magic is as much a part of me as my blood and my breath. Without it I will die.”
“We have been at sea for over three months, and not found an isle in that time,” Hook moaned as he felt his hope die once again.
“You have not found one because I have not let you find one. Peter is powerful, though he does not know how to use our magic. I do. I personally would prefer death over this life, but Peter wanted to live so we stayed. There is an isle just out of sight, and at dawn your lookout will spot it. We will most likely last until you reach it. We’ll last longer now that I am no longer expending our strength in keeping us from the isle.”
“Most likely? And if we do not? I won’t let you die! I won’t gamble that we ‘most likely’ will make it there in time!” Hook snarled, angry that Peter could have been well, if Pan had not interfered. He reached for the earring, intent on removing it anyway, but Pan knocked his arm away with a blow that belied the boy’s weakened state.
“You cannot remove the spell. I won’t allow it. Shimi temporarily healed the rift in our mind, and we were Peter Pan again. She showed me all of my forgotten memories, and let me know the consequences of any decision I made. I knew that if I removed the earring I would break the spell. But to do that would kill Nibs, and you too by the way. We decided not to break the spell, so then we had to decide between life on this ship, or death. Peter wanted to stay with you, wanted you to care about him. He misses having someone that loves him, and foolishly hopes you’ll fill that role. I know better. I wanted us to die, to keep you from hurting us more. It’s a bonus that if I die, so do you. But Peter was insistent, and as Peter Pan our more human side won out, and we decided to stay here and see what you would do.”
“You could have gone back and you stayed… you could have been the eternal child again,” Hook stammered in disbelief.
“For Nibs we did not return. For you we lived,” Pan repeated. “If you love Peter, then why have you never told him?”
Hook looked away, “I don’t know. I don’t understand love, but I understand that I would rather give him up than see him like this for another minute. Even knowing that I would die, I would still free him.”
Pan frowned and shook his head. “Perhaps you do love him then. If you were any other person, I would give up and let Peter live happily with you. But I can’t forgive you for what you’ve done to us. I’ve answered your questions. Do you have any more? I don’t have much time left, I hurt Peter when I take over… he fights me too much.”
“I… I don’t know,” Hook thought, trying to remember what else he might need to know. But the information that Pan had slammed him with left him uncertain and flustered, and he couldn’t concentrate.
Pan grinned unpleasantly and him, then gasped as the ever-present pain in his head intensified. He felt his nose begin to bleed and knew that Peter was waking. “Sorry, Codfish, we’re out of time,” he groaned. “Maybe next time, I’ll be strong enough to kill you.” He let go, and felt himself return to the background, keeping silent vigil, as Peter awoke.
Hook watched Pan fall asleep, and felt fear that he had not asked something important. But there is hope. If all he needs is shore leave, and an island will be visible in the morning, then there is hope that he will live. Hook wept silently, his emotions becoming too strong to hold within any longer. He felt hope and fear, relief and anxiety, and surrounding all of those, he felt and understood his love for this child. He took Peter’s small hand in his own and held it tight.
“Codfish,” he heard a small voice say, “Why are you crying?”
Hook looked up to see Peter’s blue eyes staring at him… they were Peter’s eyes, not Pan’s. “Because you give me so much grief, Peter,” he answered, but did not bother to wipe away the tears.
“I’m sorry. I tried to make you happy and make you proud. I just couldn’t hold on anymore.”
“No, Peter. You have made me proud and happy. But don’t worry; I know how to help you now. Just stay with me until tomorrow and you will feel better.”
“I don’t know if I can. I’ll try,” Peter said, and his face creased with worry.
“If you can’t hold on, tell me. I will remove the spell and send you back to Neverland,” Hook promised.
Peter looked stricken as he remembered the choice he made. Suddenly he remembered what he had been shown, and why he had made his decision. His hand crept to the earring and closed around it protectively. “No, you can’t take it. You gave it to me.”
“Peter, if I can find a way to take you back to Neverland, so that Nibs doesn’t die, I will. I promise,” Hook said softly.
“No…,” Peter whispered as he felt sleep overtaking him again. “Stay….”
Hook gently cleaned Peter’s face, wondering why the child could possibly want to stay if he could go back without killing his friend. Pan said Peter loves me… wants me to be like a father to him. Can I trust Pan? Can I trust myself not to hurt Peter again? God, everything I’ve done to him, and he wants to stay. I don’t understand love, it makes no sense. Hook listened as the watch rang the bells, and thought for a second. “Six hours, Peter. Six hours until dawn. Pan promised that land would be in sight; then a few hours after that to reach shore. Hold on, son, and I’ll have you ashore by noon. Please hold on.” Knowing he needed rest, but too fearful to let Peter out of his sight, he carried the boy to his own bed. He crawled beneath the blanket, nestling the child beside him, and finally allowed himself some sleep.