the First

Captain's Cabin

It's cold. I'm covered in silky sheets and am lying on my back. The thing that wakes me up, however, is the throbbing ache of my leg and face. I pry my eyes open to discover a richly decorated bedroom, with deep red velvet curtains that are pulled open to let the little light that's outside in. From what I can see, the sky is gray and cloudy. I'm wearing Peter's clothing, but his pants have been torn to my mid thigh to reveal the crisp white bandages covering my right leg. I try to shift a little, but a screaming agony in my leg causes me to let out a sharp gasp of pain. Which causes the man next to me to shift in his sleep. I have to bite back another scream. What the hell is a guy doing in my bed? Then I reconsider. This isn't my bed. Is it his? But hey, he's kind of cute. Strong jawline with just the right amount of stubble, thick black hair… Oh my god. It's Hook. Ew. I totally just checked him out. Captain Hook is sleeping next to me? He doesn't look as harsh when he's asleep.

I need to get out of here. I have to get to Peter. I have to get the cure! But where is it? As if answering my thoughts, a bottle sitting on a desk at the opposite end of the room draws my attention. A little voice in my head is telling me that it's the cure. The bottle is the size of my pinky, and is made of blue glass that shows the clear liquid within. I have to find out if that liquid really is the cure. Already, a plan starts to form in my head. My eyes flick back over to Hook, who, to his credit, is sleeping on top of the sheets. At least he has a little courtesy. Memories come flooding in; the gun, the pain, the blood. I can't move without feeling an intense pain in my leg, so I lay still and wait, watching Hook sleep. He's shirtless, which gives me a pretty nice view of his broad chest and big arms, with a few battle scars here and there. He's not wearing his hook. He really does look peaceful, his features aren't as cruel as they are when he's awake. He's a good-looking guy overall, I suppose. All of a sudden, his eyes snap open with a gasp, making me jump. It sends shocking pain through my legs, I let out a small cry of pain that causes worry to flash through Hook's groggy eyes. I take deep breaths, willing the pain to go away.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

"This is my room," he says with a smirk, his worry about me forgotten, maybe I imagined it, "I believe the question is, what are you doing here?"

I pause, "I don't know."

He gives me an odd look and turns away, standing and crossing to the wardrobe in the far corner of the room. He opens it and removes a light cotton shirt, which he slides over his head. Just then, there's a knock on the door. Hook makes an irritated noise and walks to the door, which he pulls open. He blocks the opening so I can't see who's outside. He begins to speak to whoever it is, I think it's a man, I can't make out what he's saying. Finally, Hook turns and enters the room again. There is a tray laden with food, biscuits, bacon, eggs, and two cups of orange juice. My stomach rumbles loud enough for Hook to hear, he chuckles as he sets the tray on the desk.

"Hungry?"

"Uh-huh."

I haven't eaten a full meal in days, only a blueberry muffin. He picks up a piece of bacon and pops it into his mouth, and brings me my cup of orange juice. How am I supposed to drink this? I can barely move as it is. He holds it out to me and I take it, barely being able to lift my head from the pillow. I dumbly hold on to it, not sure what to do.

"Do you know how to drink?" he asks, a mocking tone in his voice.

His tone makes me get angry, so mine is full of more malice than I intend, "I'm kind of immobile thanks to you, so I'm sorry for not being able to drink orange juice, Captain."

He looks a little taken aback by my sudden harshness, "Then I hope you have a grand time starving."

With that, he picks up the tray of food and strides out of the room, leaving me alone with my cup of juice. Dammit. I prop the cup against his pillows. My leg doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did when I woke up, I was probably just stiff from sleeping. I tentatively slide higher up the bed, but stop myself when it begins to hurt. Maybe my wounds aren't as horrible as I thought. My stomach rumbles again, a reminder that the breakfast Hook walked out with was actually much needed.

I pull the sheets over myself. I survey the room, it really is nicely decorated. The walls are wooden, with a heavily marked map of what I can only assume is Neverland hung on the wall next to the wardrobe. The desk is a clutter of paper and ink quills, with the bottle sitting on the back corner. Next to the mirror. I can barely recognize myself. My entire right cheek is black and blue with a huge, painful bruise. My hair is messy and knotted. I lightly comb my fingers through it, working out the knots.

At that moment, there is a knock on the door. I can't exactly get up to answer it, so I hesitantly call, "Come in?"

It is cracked open by and older man with kind, watery blue eyes. He smiles at me and I cautiously smile back. He's holding a bottle and strips of gauze, along with a biscuit and a steaming mug. He closes the door behind him.

"I noticed the Captain storming away with breakfast, you never got any, did you?"

"No, I didn't." I respond.

He approaches me and hands me the biscuit. I thankfully take a huge bite, it's warm and buttery. Yum.

"Thank you." I say around the pastry.

He chuckles, "Of course." He picks up my orange juice and places it on the desk, next to the mug of coffee. I finish my biscuit and wipe my hands on Hook's side of the bed. A small bit of revenge, but it's revenge all the same.

The old man extends his hand to me, and I take it, "I'm Henry, but most people call me Bones."

"Why Bones?" I ask curiously.

"I'm the ship surgeon, Bones is fitting for me and my occupation, I presume."

"I'm Relia." I reply.

"It's nice to meet you. I just need to check your stitches, and I'll be on my merry way."

"Uh, okay."

Henry gently unwraps my bindings. What am I about to see? The first wound is slightly swollen, making my knee look much larger than it is. A circular injury, about one inch in diameter, has been carefully cleaned and stitched. One on the back of my calf is a little larger and messier. Both are a little red around the edges, but otherwise, they don't look horrible. They just burn. Very badly.

After a few minutes of silence, he says, "You're healing very well. You'll be able to walk soon. I thought you would be out for a longer time, but it's only been a day."

"A day?!" I gasp, Peter might die soon if I can't get that cure to him. If I can't walk, how can I?

"Please don't move too suddenly, you'll rip your stitches. What's wrong?"

"I-" I bite my tongue. I don't want to tell Henry about Peter being sick yet, he works for Hook after all.

He's quiet for a moment, "Peter's sick, isn't he?"

I stiffen, "What are you talking about?"

"The island has dropped into winter, which can only mean something bad has happened to him."

Something about this old man makes me want to trust him, so I take a deep breath, "It's a werewolf bite. I came here to get the cure for him."

He stills in his movements, "A werewolf bite? How many days has he been sick?"

"Today, it'll be three."

"He doesn't have much time, then." he mutters to himself more than to me.

"Can you help me?" I ask.

"I-" he pauses, as if choosing his words, "The captain wants Peter dead, but then he would have nothing to live for. Especially if Peter doesn't die by his own hand. I will help you. The captain won't like it, but in the end, it's for the best."

We fall silent, him continuing to poke and prod my stitches. Satisfied, he takes the gauze and rewraps my leg. Then, he crosses to the desk and picks up the bottle, just as I suspected.

"This," he holds the bottle up to the dim sunlight so it shimmers, "is the cure for a werewolf bite. I'll make sure this gets to him."

I relax back onto the bed, "Thank you."

He smiles at me and tucks the bottle into his jacket.

"I'll be back later to check on you."

"Okay."

He turns and exits through the door, closing it behind him. With Peter safe, I fall asleep.

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