Forever Young

Chapter Eight

The wind whipped Hook's dark ponytail, its cutting force scouring his face with salt borne from the turbulent waves. The deck of the Jolly Roger rose and tumbled with each swell, crashing into the next with the force of an object intent on disobeying nature to the fullest. The smile on Hook's face was jubilant, wild and free. Overhead, seabirds screamed their warnings, a storm was coming, surely, but he ignored them. He wanted to feel the thrill of his life hanging by a thread. That was the only time he felt truly alive.

Gray clouds gathered at the horizon, rushing forward. With an exultant laugh, Hook took the helm, turning his beloved ship's nose directly at the oncoming storm.

The water became more tumultuous the closer the pirate got to the cloud front. He could see the foggy blur in the air that meant rain was falling hard. The scent of ozone and petrichor came with a rising gust of wind that caught the sails and tried to push the Jolly Roger back from danger.

Hook's eyes narrowed. He secured the wheel to keep them on a direct course before leaping down to the main deck to rearrange the sails to allow him to tack into the wind. It was difficult work, without a crew and with only one good hand, but he'd been on the sea longer than most people got to live. Talent and experience made up for the shortcomings. Soon the ship was back on its heading, directly toward the leading edge of the storm.

The first few drops hit the deck as Hook scrambled back up to the helm, more comfortable with his hand on the wheel's spokes. Almost as an afterthought, he secured a length of rope from his own ankle to the helm's supporting post. If things got really rough, which he hoped for, he didn't want to get thrown overboard.

Soon the downpour got started in earnest, blinding the pirate and drenching the ship's deck. Rainwater that carried the tang of the ocean ran in rivulets down Hook's body, soaking every inch of his clothing and turning his hair into a clinging black mass of tendrils. The wind picked up, making the sails flap thunderously. The sea below the Jolly Roger's belly heaved, trying to smash the ship for having the audacity to challenge it.

Hook's entire body took on the language of calm control and focus. He handled the helm like a demanding lover, guiding the wheel into the positions he needed without remorse. Here was where he belonged, commanding his ship, running headfirst toward peril.

Adrenaline surged through his system as surely as the storm surged around him. Hook's heart pounded in his chest, his pupils dilated, his thoughts ticked quickly but methodically. He was in complete control for the first time in months. His laughter was lost to howling winds that ate every sound, devouring and swallowing everything that wasn't brutal and wild.

Hook was alive. Alive and at peace.

The Jolly Roger listed heavily to port. The pirate swung his hook, sinking the sharp tip into the heavy wood of the helm post, keeping himself steady. Another wave hit the ship, dousing him anew, and making him thankful for the rope he'd looped around his ankle. Lightning painted the rolling clouds with all the colors of an old bruise for a split second before dropping the world back into angry darkness.

The thunder that followed trembled in Hook's very bones, shaking the timbers of the ship. The wind suddenly changed direction, making the sails flap and the masts creak. The boom swung wildly to and fro with no crew to bring it about.

Hook shouted into the storm, letting his pain and frustration pour out of him. His mouth filled with rainwater, sluicing sideways in the wind.

His mind was calm, clear. His spirit soared with the rolling clouds.

Then, suddenly, the storm settled and began to clear.

"No!" Hook yelled, slamming his fist into the helm post, looking wildly around for which direction the clouds were moving. But they were dispersing with the rapidity squalls were known for. "No, no, no!"

Numbly, the pirate sank to the deck and put his head in his hand.

***

The Jolly Roger had been sailing the Atlantic Ocean without heading for several hours. Land was nowhere in sight. The only man on the ship, its commander and captain, was lying on the deck in nothing but his underthings, looking up at the painfully blue sky and vaguely contemplating taking his own life.

There was nothing in this world for him. His time in Neverland had left him ruined, unable to enjoy a normal existence with normal things.

Hook had nothing to live for. No life, no love, no friends or family, no happiness, nothing but emptiness and memories.

But the face of that poor boy in the waves, the one that had run to the beach hoping and praying that Captain Hook and his brave crew would rescue him, haunted the pirate. If he ran himself through, or swung from the mizzen mast, or leapt into the unforgiving sea...how many more would be like that pitiful lad?

Night was falling fast, the blinding blue of the clear sea sky fading to deep purple with the flames of sunset in the west. The first few stars came into view, timid and weak, their light still challenged by the sinking sun. Hook dragged himself to his feet, letting the gentle breeze ruffle the hair on his chest as he stretched his arms as wide as they would go. He felt like a vessel drained of its poisonous contents. Cold and empty, but clear. For the first time in many, many years, he felt like he was thinking clearly.

He left the deck for the captain's quarters below and pulled on a fresh set of clothes. Skin-tight black breeches first, then a billowing white shirt. His knee high boots went on next, followed by his oilcloth jacket, also as black as jet. Finally, his tricorn hat, worn with age and use. The skull-and-bones he'd painted on it as a much younger man was barely visible, just a few flakes of white left on the material.

Hook looked himself over in his mirror, one that had been salvaged from a wreck the mermaids had caused. Its tarnished and chipped surface was barely serviceable but he hardly cared. He knew he cut a dashing figure, even windblown and a bit sunburned. Nodding, he turned his feet with purpose back toward the deck.

It was the first real purpose he'd felt since leaving Neverland.

He bustled around the deck, tying off the sails and repairing the minor damage the storm had done to his beloved ship. When he returned to the helm, he caressed it lovingly, his fingers trailing over the well-worn wood.

"My darling," he said aloud, addressing the Jolly Roger, the one friend he knew he could always count on. "Are you ready for our greatest adventure?"

Hook smiled up at the sails, as if he was looking for an answer. He didn't receive one, of course, but he knew in his heart that he was doing the right thing.

The stars were out fully now. He took up his sextant and tracked it across the sky until he found what he was looking for. The second star to the right.

"...and straight on 'til morning," Hook murmured.

He sat down the sextant and took the helm, his strong hands turning the wheel to its new course. The ship creaked as it came about. Hook patted the wheel consolingly.

"Come along, my love," he said softly, smiling at his beautiful ship, riding high on his renewed sense of purpose. "We're going to kill Peter Pan."