He could hear the fire crackling.

Such a small and elegant sound, really, something friendly and companionable, but at the same time concerning; on a sea bound ship, fire was never a good sign.  The captain forced his eyes open to spot the danger but saw nothing, quite literally, as his vision was a dull and tinted blur.  He groaned and brought a weak hand up to rub his eyes.

"Captain...?  Ye awake?"  The voice was quiet and tenetive.

"Of course I'm awake, you idiot." the captain snapped, then instantly regretted it as his skull stung with pain.  He focused on it and let the pain bring him back into awareness, and with that awareness his vision began to clear.  He was staring up at the undersides of moss looped branches that glowed orange in the firelight.  He knew he wasn't on the Jolly Roger, that was for sure.  Before he could even attempt to get up the palms of his bespectacled bo'sun were pressing him back against the ground.  "Ye don't want to be getting up yet, captain." he said softly "Ye need to rest now.  Just a little while, till we 'ave you on your feet again."

"What are you babbling about?  Whats going on?"

Smee was quiet a moment.

"What do you remember?"

"Peter Pan!" the captain's eyes flashed red. "Him and his lot of mindless brats!  We'd caught them at the lagoon and fallen to...and..." he paused, and his jaw trembled the slightest. "and we......"

Were it possible for the captain to go paler at that moment he surely would have, but all the blood had allready been drained away from him.  He lifted his other arm and held it weakly before his eyes.

No....

His sleeve had been torn away at the shoulder and his wrist was clenched shut by a tourniquet of boot lacing, for he no longer had a hand to cap those veins.  Above the lacing his arm simply ended like a crooked cut of meat, bloodless, dead...

He rolled over and heaved the bile in his stomach up while Smee kept hold of him.  Surely if the world had chosen a moment to end, now would have been a fine one, so he would never again wake up to an incomplete body.  Oddly enough no matter what happens the world never does seem to end, and one must gather ones wits about onself and decide what to do next.  For James this was to spit, catch his breath, and prop himself up with Smee's able help and get a good look about him.  All he saw were the trunks of trees fading into a twitching blackness outside the firelight; the smothering nothingness of Neverland night.

"Where's the crew?"

Smee flinched at that. "They all went back to the ship, captain.  They thought you dead for sure."

"DEAD?!" The captain bellowed, then ducked his head before he could be sick again.  "They thought I was dead?  From a lopped hand?"

"Captain, he was up to ye eyes in the grave." Smee insisted, trying to explain.  "Don't ye remember?  Ye fought like a demon, pain be damned, and scared them Lost Boys running.  With all your blood on the sand ye would have thought to see at least a handful of dead men to explain where it come from. We couldn't make ye stop fighting.  Ye nearly killed yourself."  Smee went quiet.  After a long pause he whispered "I thought ye HAD....."

For a moment the captain thought the arms propping him up went tighter, and he flinched, more from an unconciouse reaction than anything.  Next he knew he was on his back on the ground again and Smee was busying himself with the fire.

"Go back to sleep, captain.  Ye need rest.  We'll take care of the mutinouse crew when ye can be on your feet again."

"Bah!" he spat, trying to sit back up.  "I could kill those filthy dogs if I had to CRAWL across the deck and slash at their shins!"  He reached for his sword to illustrate his point, and his blunted limb numbly pawed the hilt.  The captain choked, shuddered, and pulled his arm away, holding it akwardly like it was something alien to him.

Smee pushed a bramble tuft into the fire and stared, with a sort of numbness, as the flames trickled up the twigs, dragon tongues licking the flat seeds and making them explode with a satisfying crack.  The poor irishman had always been accused of stupidity and sometimes he felt they must be right.  Who but an idiot would be here, in the dark, alone.  Who but an idiot would have dragged this captain of nasty temperment away from the lagoon, while the rest of the men oared away, happy to be rid of them.

Who but an idiot would have stayed.

He heard the captain's breath hitch and he looked up.  In that trembling firelight the shadows clinging to the captain danced merrily, making his frozen form animate even against his will.  The heel of the remaining hand he had pressed hard against his brow, his eyes forced shut tightly, and his white lips stretched wide around his jaw.  Smee watched in amazement the jump of the captain's throat as he tried to swallow back the sounds.

"Captain?"

In only moments the battle was lost, and wet tracks slid down into the captain's hair, glowing like magma paths in the firelight.  To his credit only one sob made it from his ribs , but Smee could see his face contort even more, hating.  Hating weakness, hating this moment, hating his own wretchedness and that a crewman was here to see.  The hand against his brow curled into a fist and shook with the force of his hate.

He did not even realize when hands were upon him; gentle hands, taking the limb he held so strangely above himself and settling it beside him on the earth, as natural as if it was still the captain's.  His breath hitched harder as he opened his eyes, just a slit, face still drawn.  Above him were the flashing circles of the bo'sun's spectacles, nothing but mirrors for fire stuck between the beard and brow, flickering thru water of tears balancing between his lids.

"I'm not going t' leave you." the bo'sun said softly.  A palm pressed against the captain's chest moved gently, pushing against the ache he couldn't let go.

 "I'm never going to leave you......."