Wendy’s legs tremble as I let her go and she slumps against the wall. Roc steps in, collecting her in his arms and carrying her to his bed. I go to the washroom and get a warm, wet cloth.
With my hook, I nudge her knees apart and her eyes open to slits, watching me as I clean her.
I wasn’t there when she was abandoned, and all through her pregnancy and while giving birth. I can’t imagine the pain and horror of doing all of it alone and I’m overcome with the need to take care of her now and forever.
Within minutes, she’s fast asleep, curled on her side, her arm tucked beneath the Crocodile’s pillow.
It wouldn’t surprise me if she rarely sleeps in this treacherous place.
Still naked and not at all bothered by it, the Crocodile pours us each a drink, then collapses into the chair. He lights a cigarette and as he inhales on it, the crocodile mouth tattooed along his neck moves.
I sit in the matching chair beside him.
The room is dark and quiet save for Wendy’s soft breaths and Roc’s exhale of smoke.
We watch her for several long minutes. She does not stir.
I wonder if he too thinks she’s an aberration. If we blink, if she will disappear again.
I nurse my brandy.
Roc downs his.
The tobacco crackles when he takes another hit.
“Can I confess something?” he finally says, his voice low so as not to disturb Wendy.
To have a secret belonging to the Crocodile must be akin to possessing a rare jewel. I’m suddenly eager for it.
“Go for it,” I tell him pretending that I don’t care when really my heart is beating so fast, I can feel it on the back of my tongue.
His head shifts against the velvet fabric of his chair. I hear the rasp of his thick hair against it, hear the intake of breath as he looks at me and says, “Taking your hand is my greatest regret.”
I frown at him.
I’m not sure what I expected him to say but it isn’t this. And certainly not in this way. His voice husky, his gaze heavy, like what he’s said actually matters to him.
The Crocodile is so rarely serious that it takes me by surprise.
“I want to believe you,” I say, “but lies so easily spill from your tongue.”
His mouth lifts in a half smile. “Perhaps I will tell you one more then.” He pauses. “I loathe you, Captain. Every fucking inch.”
Everything the Crocodile says is a puzzle, something to be turned over and scrutinized. But I think this might be the most honest things he’s ever told me.
Truth wrapped up in a lie so as to hide just how vulnerable it is.
The thought of the Crocodile, the Devourer of Men, desiring me, every fucking inch, makes me feel like a fucking king.
“Why did you take my hand then?” I lift my hook, gesturing at him. “I mean, I know she is your excuse.” I nod at the line of Wendy’s body tucked beneath the blanket. “But why, exactly? You had no claim to her. And you yourself have admitted you don’t feel love.”
He considers my question for a long time. I take another drink from my glass relishing the burn of the liquor, wishing it was rum instead.
“That’s another lie,” he admits. “I am capable of love. But everything I have ever loved has left me.”
His words are barely more than a breath, edged in heartbreak.
My eyes turn glassy, but I sniff back the tears. I don’t know if he wants my sympathy. I’m not even sure I’m ready to give it to him. “That can’t be true,” I say.
“Do not contradict my own confessions.”
I sit forward so I can see him better around the wings of the chairs. “You were afraid she would leave you for me.”
“Yes,” he admits. “And when I am afraid, I do not think. I act.”
“And instead, she left us both.”
He laughs. “She showed us, didn’t she?”
Our attention strays back to her. “I want to be angry at Peter Pan for abandoning her here, but if he hadn’t, she would have returned to the mortal realm and she would long be dead.”
“Yes.” Roc drains his glass and sets it aside. “But we can still hate him for it, that ungodly prick.”
I laugh too. “I suppose we can.”
He finishes his cigarette next and drops it into the empty glass where it sizzles in the dregs of his brandy.
“It begs the question though,” I go on, “why is she still alive? The Seven Isles are not the mortal realm, of course, but Everland has never been known to sustain aging quite like Neverland. She should also be dead here. She’s not immortal. And yet she hasn’t aged a day.”
“About that.”
I cut my gaze to him. “You know something?”
“Apparently, there are rumors swirling around the court that she’s a witch. That when she married the king, he too stopped aging.”
“When did you hear that?”
“Tonight, in the kitchen.”
I scoff. “You have to fuck that secret out of the staff too?”
“Do I belong to you now, Captain?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well you’re acting like a possessive par amour so I just want to be sure I know the state of things.”
“I’m not your lover.” Except there is a churning in my gut that feels an awful lot like betrayal, as if he is, as if he belongs to me.
Goddammit. Goddamn him.
But in the eyes of Commander William H. Hook, having a partner such as the Crocodile is no greater example of poor form.
He has no morals, no loyalty, no ambition. He is everything my father hated in a man.
I know what he would say if he saw me now with Roc: you are a stain on the name Hook.
I surge to my feet. “I need some air.”
“Captain,” Roc says, almost a growl. “I didn’t fuck the kitchen staff. In fact, I didn’t fuck the girl from the tavern either. I was just…” He sighs.
“It’s fine. I don’t care if you did.” Yes I do. “I’ll be back. Just…watch her.”
I’m at the door in an instant, but he surges to his feet and stops me there, a cold hand on my wrist. I don’t know that I like how he can move so quickly without a sound. It’s a reminder that he isn’t human. A reminder that I am.
“Be careful,” he warns. It’s impossible not to hear the thread of worry in his voice and my gut clenches.
I give him a nod. “I will.”
If you replace any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.
Report