Hello again, and long time-ish no see, heheh. Again, I apologize for the delay. It seems that an apology is always in order, sorry. sigh Anyway, here is the next chapter, just read, review and enjoy -- you know the drill . Thanks. :) -- M. K.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Hook

He did not know that his chest could constrict so much tighter, that it could crush what was left of his battered heart so much more, but that was exactly the case. Strangely enough, he was aware that it held so much more in it: now all the corners of his heart were perversely invaded by the darkest hatred.

Oh, how he hated that boy. His very existence was an affront to the Captain, in how he flitted about with the fairies in the air, making fun of the Captain and his boys with almost a determined air – but no, you can never be quite sure, because he did it so easily, seemingly without effort. He was the light when the Captain had become comfortable in his darkness, an unwelcome intrusion which made the Captain more aware of how deeply rooted he had become in his despair. Yes, he despaired, everyday, in fact, and every breath he took rattled with it, the coldness from within. And here Peter danced, mocking him every which way, making him feel like a traveller lost in the wintry night, looking into a window that was barred from him whilst the light of the fire jumped in the boy's eyes inside the warm house.

Oh, how he hated the boy.

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For the next few days, the Jolly Roger was in a state of panic. The pirates could not even be sure if they were thankful that their cranky Captain was bedridden the whole time, that he was not able to terrify them with his unpredictable temper, or if they should be fearful that they were floating around in the ocean without their Captain's decisive commands. And so the other inhabitants of the Never Land were granted a blissful respite from the terrorizing acts of the pirates, though they kept a watchful eye on the black sail waving in the air with its forbidding image of the skull and the crossbones. (And how determinedly it waved, as if to say that though the master had fallen, he would be back up quite soon, and beware!) All of them were grateful to Pan, seeing him as a savior of sorts, though his triumph was not truly complete. If they only knew Peter's true motives at that time, they would have thought twice about giving their gratitude so easily.

But as it was, that little fact was lost into the hazy background, driven away by Peter's light. No one was to remember, not even Peter, though Tinker Bell sometimes felt that something was not quite right, when the memory manages to almost pierce her mind. In these times she would look at Peter as if for the first time, and wonder a little uneasily, but then her heart would reassure her and even make her feel a little bit foolish for thinking such thoughts of Peter. And though she laughed with Peter when they came by the Jolly Roger to mock the pirates, she was aware that it was somewhat a forced one at times. But Peter never noticed.

Smee tsk-tsked away as he listened to the boy laugh at them, and thought it rather irreverent of him to do so while the Captain was incapacitated and had no chance of fighting back – though, when you think of it, it seems rather funny to imagine the Captain flinging back insults in the same way Peter was handing them. No, the Captain did not fight like that. He fought with stealth, and with cunning, and neither Smee nor the other pirates would ever have thought it "irreverent" for their Captain to do it that way, when their enemies were caught unawares. So he and the other pirates fired away half-heartedly with their pistols and with Long Tom at Pan, knowing they actually had only a small chance of success, especially now that their leader was not his usual self.

He worried about the Captain, for the younger man had not left his cabin since that fateful day, and forbade them to intrude on his brooding, save for the times when Smee changed the bandages in his ruined hand. It was in those times that Smee noticed the tell-tale tracks of wetness in the Captain's rough cheeks, and, ever the obliging servant, Smee wiped them away with his own hanky and wrung the wettened cloth delicately over a small phial until the drops fell one at a time. Through it all no word came from the Captain's grim mouth; in fact, he did not even acknowledge the presence of the old man, but lay there, cold as a stone, and for all it was worth, as dead as one.

In some of Smee's rarer moments, he manages somehow to make good use of his mind, especially when it was abetted by his good heart – distorted though in its loyalties as it was. He thought of how to make the Captain the man he was before the tragic accident. Realizing that the boy's existence was the largest thorn in the Captain's side, he was almost disheartened in his attempt to cheer up the Captain, for how could he accomplish bringing down Pan without the Captain's leadership? Thinking about how to bring back the Captain by bringing down Pan without the Captain's aid was making Smee's head ache, so he veered his thoughts into another direction.

The other most pertinent reason, Smee reckoned, for the Captain's retreat into himself was the loss of his hand. How, indeed, would the Captain be able to conquer his worst enemy without the use of that good hand? Smee thought about the monster that took it, but the very idea of chasing it through the ocean's vastness was simply ridiculous, and he figured it would only cause the Captain more distress if they ever managed to catch the beast and slice him open only to find the hand in a state of decomposition. And even if it were fully functional still, Smee doubted that his skills in sewing – for he was the most skilled in that area amongst the pirates -- would be sufficient to put it back together. No, Smee acknowledged with a sigh, that was not the solution.

Perhaps they could find something to replace it? Yes, that possibility held more promise. So in the light of day, in the company of a few of the other pirates, Smee took himself off into the islands of Never Land, searching for something with which to replace the lost appendage. And it was in one of their craftier circles – for they had many such connections – that they managed to locate a smith with a curious assortment of metal devices and whatnots, oddly shaped contraptions whose purposes were unidentifiable, and they had him make the Captain his new appendage, but before they made a decision debated – though debated would probably be too mild a term -- on what it would be, and in the process almost destroyed the entire shop.

"Why don't we just get a new hand and have it affixed on the Captain's wrist?" suggested Noodler.

"Oho, why not, indeed?" scoffed Bill Jukes. "And I suppose you'd be happier with the Cap'n's hands as rightly and handsomely looking as yours, eh?"

The other pirates snickered at this, though noodle-brained Noodler did not take offense, thinking rather it was a compliment from the tattooed one to call his hands handsome. He held his backward hands up in the air and eyed them admiringly, and smiled a little.

"A scimitar, perhaps," interrupted the gigantic black man in a pronounced accent as he unsheathed his own and brandished it about, managing to slice off a few leather thongs holding up some of the contraptions against the ceiling and causing them to fall with bangs and clangs on the ground, "so the Captain needn't trouble himself with pulling out a weapon when he needs it most?"

"Idiot," crackled Alf Mason, "A right-good scimitar'd be too troublesome unsheathed all the time, and the Cap'n'd prob'ly slice off his own foot unthinkingly, and then where would we be?" He pulled out two pistols from the waist of his dirty trousers and gave two shots, just to demonstrate. "A pistol'd prob'ly work better, and it's far more handier," he said, and then fired two more shots into the ceiling for effect, hitting one of the other contraptions there and damaging it beyond repair. The smith was, by this time, glaring at them in irritation.

The other pirates gave their own suggestions, pulling out their own choice of weapons to emphasize their points and ruining more and more of the shop's wares as time passed. The slightly built shopkeeper was at his wit's end now, but he feared rebuking them, lest it was his own neck they practiced their weapons on next.

Finally, Gentleman Starkey, who had been quiet for the entire time, looking around the shop with a careful eye in hopes of inspiration, spoke. "Boys, what we need is something not too cumbersome, something small, yet forbidding all the same... perhaps something like... that one?" And with that, he raised his pointed hand to the wall.

And there it was, and the pirates fell silent, their gesticulating hands stopping in mid-air as they looked at it and recognized the wisdom of Starkey's words. Yes, it was perfect, and they wondered how they could have missed it. The gleaming metal, with its curve perfectly formed, ending in a sharp point which winked at them in the distance.

They gave a little cheer – and the smith did so, too, in quiet relief – and the hook was brought down from the wall and passed admiringly from hand to hand, held up in the light every which way as the pirates examined every perfect inch of it. Finally, they commissioned the smith to make the contraption which would hold it against the Captain's wrist, as well as more hooks, and paid him a handsome sum in return. Oh, what a rare day it was when the pirates' plundering ways were subdued in their hopeful anticipation, and the smith was a lucky one to see this side of them.

They were happily nervous as they rowed back to the Jolly Roger, hoping that the Captain would like their gift, and hoping even more that it would break his dark brooding and be the one they looked up on once more for direction. Smee was rewarded by the smallest half-smile curving up the Captain's mouth as the gift was presented, and the pirates waiting outside hoorayed as the Captain appeared on his cabin door, fully dressed in his rakish attire, raising the gleaming hook in the air and declaring, "Get up on your legs, you mangy cur; we've a Never Land to conquer!"