He'd never realized how dark his cabin was. Many sleepless nights had been spent in the familiar, flickering dimness of amber light, his breath conducting a devil's dance of shadows across the walls. He knew his cabin by candlelight, and was more comfortable in that twilight realm than any other. In the dark, in the night, when the moon was fat and cast silver ribbons across the floor, the cabin was a twist of shadows and shapes that threatened with their inconstancy.

James Hook felt his way to his wing back chair and collapsed greatfully into it, the wood creaking at his sudden weight. He dropped his head back against the velvet and shut his eyes. He didn't know if he should be grateful or not that Smee snored. The sound grated against his nerves, as rattled as they were at the moment, and didn't help his state of mind one bit. Fortunately, it also told him the man was asleep. He wasn't ready to face him right now, him and that damned expression like an obsessive pup trailing him around as he walked. Damn him. Hook hated the image in his mind, that dog-like demeanor watching him silently through the darkness with a near-sighted squint. When he woke up, Hook knew he wouldn't say anything. He'd just roll over under the quilts and stare at him, waiting to be told he could go.

James Hook was a fool. He'd never admit it to a living soul and he would slay you on the spot if you told him, but he was a fool. He'd made a mistake that only a fool would make, one born of blindness and stupidity; even loneliness, as shamed as he was to admit it could affect his judgement. He was a fool in the most terrible sense of the word and he hated it. He hated Smee too, somehow, but it was a brittle and frustrated hate, the kind that tried to blame his fault on someone else. It WAS James' fault. How could he blame Smee? The loyalty in the man was admirable and were his position less humiliating me might have the nerve to respect him.

There hadn't even been anything unusual to start this mess. Peter had come and begun to cut the rigging and nets loose, trailing only two of the Lost Boys this time. There had been a fight, the Lost Boys had been chased off, and they had set about repairs. Hook hadn't even noticed he had been injured until the horrified bo'sun grabbed hold of his arm. A gash maybe two inches long on his left biceps left a dark patch on his jacket.

Smee had, in his infinite concern, insisted on taking care of it immediately lest it turn to poison. The captain had sworn him off for nearly an hour until he was positive all the work would be done correctly before allowing Smee to drag him into his quarters. Hook sat divested of his jacket and shirt while the bo'sun carefully removed cloth fibers from the cut, and cleaned it with the whiskey store they'd categorized as 'medicinal' some years back.

Smee acted the same way Smee always acted when Hook managed to hurt himself; careful, obsessive, and in Hook's best interest, even when Hook himself told him to leave off. Hell, when he'd lost his arm Smee had been like his raging guardian angel, threatening the crew into line for his sake despite Hook's railings, and on at least one occasion enforcing it with the guard of his cutlass. He'd despised Smee then for thinking him too weak to cowl them on his own, and by Smee's acknowledgment of his weakness only solidifying their mutinous thoughts. Hook had shouted at him and tried to cuff him with his remaining hand, but he was still bloodless then and he overbalanced, and cracked his chin against the deck. Smee had been with him at once despite his shameful behavior.

Smee had been like that through his entire infirmity, accepting and forgiving his frustrated abuse without a word and only clinging to him the more for it. From the lopping of his hand Hook had suffered an infection, and spent three days in feverous delirium soon after. Sometime past midnight on the third day he'd opened his eyes; pale, weak, and shaking, and by tails of seeping moonlight realized he wasn't alone in the room. Smee had knelt by the bedside, arms folded on the coverlet, as though he'd been guarding his captain's sleep before falling prey to it himself. His spectacles were crooked on his nose and in the moonlight he seemed too pale. His face was damp. Hook had stared for a moment in bewilderment, lucid but exhausted now that his fever had broken, and wondered that anyone was with him at all.

From Starkey he'd learned, much later, that Smee hadn't left his side in all the three days he'd lain stricken.

Compared to that sort of loyalty, Smee's attentiveness this morning shouldn't have bothered him in the least. Smee was entirely absorbed on his work, one hand holding Hook's arm in place by the heel of the hand while the other carefully blotted the cut with a whiskey soaked cloth. Hook had momentarily been lost in thought of that incident but the bright sting of alcohol caused him to turn his head. He hadn't expected Smee to be so close as he was; the man was bowed over him to best see with his old spectacles, the knuckles of Hook's arrested hand resting against his collarbone for lack of a better place. He could feel the temperature of Smee's skin through the rough cloth and the brush of his beard bristles against the pale underside of his forearm. Hook flinched, suddenly uncomfortable with this proximity as Smee's bangs brushed his forehead. No one ever got this close to him outside of a fight.

Smee had apparently seen the flinch in his peripheral vision and looked up, unfortunately bringing himself nose to nose with Hook. Both men froze. In the space of a second Smee's face turned bright red across the bridge as there was a subtle shift in his eyes, hardly noticeable and surely unintentional, but a subtlety he'd seen on Smee's face many times before when he thought the captain wasn't paying attention. He'd never thought about what it might be before.

Two seconds passed in Hook's startled silence before a panicked wave of disgust struck him and he jerked back, knocking Smee unintentionally as he repossessed his hand. Taken by surprise, Smee unbalanced, tripped over the whiskey bottle at his feet, and fell on his backside with a slosh of alcohol.

"Get out of my cabin." Hook said gruffly, standing and picking up his shirt. Smee bumbled to his feet, blinking as Hook went through the well practiced routine of one-handed buttons. "Captain, are ye allright? I didn't hurt ye or--"

"I ordered you to get OUT!" Hook snapped.

Smee jumped and scurried for the door, snapping it shut behind him. Hook quickly did up his jacket and went about retying his neck ruff, face flushed with anger and, for some reason, embarrassment. Hook had largely avoided Smee for the rest of the day, being more snappish than usual to the rest of the crew. By the darkness of night he'd been on the quarterdeck staring across a glassy sea, mind churning it's gears and springs like a manic mantle clock too far overwound. His mind wouldn't let him sleep. It wasn't that this was anything unusual, for he rarely ever slept, but the subject of his mind's restlessness was more disturbing tonight than most.

It seemed to Hook that what disturbed him most is that he was, indeed, disturbed.

He could have kicked himself when he'd heard footsteps behind him; only one person would dare disrupt him when he was in a mood and he ought to have anticipated that. He spun around and glared at the bo'sun, who's spectacles flashed silver in the moonlight and gave him an unnatural appearance. Most men would have quickly retreated at the glare Hook gave him. Unfortunately, the bo'sun never was one to take hints.

"What do you want." Hook growled nastily.

Smee's face appeared genuinely concerned, something which irritated Hook to no end "I've been wondering if ye were allright, captain. Ye'ave been acting strange ever since Peter Pan cut the rigging this morning. Are ye feeling well?"

"I assure you I'm fine." How like Smee to try to attribute his moods to an illness!

"What is it that's troublin' ye, then, sir?"

"At the moment, you!"

Smee looked appropriately abashed but made no movement to leave. "Me, sir?"

"Yes."

Smee missed a beat, and for a moment Hook thought he might actually leave on his own.

"Why?"

Hook rolled his eyes and muttered something Smee couldn't make out, but he thought he caught the word 'keelhaul' in there someplace.

"Go back to the crew quarters, Smee." he said finally. "I don't need you doting on me like some damn lovesick pup."

Hook had expected Smee to flinch at that, but the bo'sun stared at him with blank eyes.

"Lovesick pup, sir?"

Hook sighed and passed a hand over his face. "Go back to the crew quarters, Smee!"

The bo'sun moved to go but paused, and looked back at Hook. "What have I done to make you angry with me today, capt'n?" he asked, sounding pathetic and, though Hook probably imagined it, a little hurt. Hook's eyebrows climbed his forehead at the bo'sun's uncharacteristic disobedience, and he drew himself up to his full height to look down at him. Hook's size was intimidating to most any man, and certainly ought to have been enough to cowl someone of Smee's stature. He seemed largely unimpressed.

"You want to know why I'm angry with you?" he growled, using Smee's words and feeling satisfied that Smee flinched as if to be struck.

After a moment Smee realized he was waiting for an answer. This was probably going to hurt. "Y-yes sir. I do."

Hook looked at him coldly for a moment, obviously thinking, and the steel hook twitched. Smee twitched with it. Preoccupied as he was with the thought that this could very well hurt a great deal more than he'd thought it would, he didn't notice when Hook decided on his course of action with a rather malicious smirk. He did, however, notice when Hook grabbed him by the front of the shirt, hauled him up to his height, and kissed him.

It was nothing more than a violent crush of the lips, and when Hook let go of his shirt Smee sat down hard on the deck and stared up at him in shock, mouth agape. Whether or not Hook had been correct in his thinking, Hook knew Smee would be horrified, terrified, and much more careful of his behavior in the future, and Hook need never bother with this silly notion again. Several seconds passed in shocked silence before Hook ordered sternly "Go back to the crew quarters, Smee." He couldn't help a self satisfied smirk.

Smee's face wavered and he staggered to his feet, fixing his eyes solidly on some point over the side of the ship. Hook's smirk faltered. Smee's carriage and expression was like that of a beaten dog, and some tiny flutter of guilt flapped his Hook's stomach, if only for a moment. If he HAD been right about Smee, and the man did follow him out of more than proper affection, Smee had never made a move to act on it. Wasn't that something like whipping a child because he MIGHT steal from his mother's purse?

Having successfully cowled the bo'sun felt less and less satisfying by the second as Smee made no move to leave, or any move at all. Hook fidgeted slightly and readied another gruff command to leave, but he felt something tenetivly tug the cuff of his glove, and paused. Smee had lowered his head so the inadequate moonlight revealed nothing but his hand snaked shakily around Hook's wrist and pulled it towards him. Hook was too startled to pull it back. With the careful movements of a doomed man Smee pressed his lips to the captain's gloved palm, took a shaky breath, and looked up at him.

Things were not going as planned, and Hook's brain had started to babble in confusion. What reason had Smee to look at him with those eyes, looking to be the most pained man in the world but layered with resignation and sadness, all entirely belied and yet justified by what Hook could only think was desperate, beaten, and silent love. But Hook had thought he'd seen love in Cecilia's eyes, too. He should have known not to trust his perceptions by now. He should have known that it was impossible for anyone to be in love with him, really in love with him, not infatuated or obsessed. He should have known better. He should never have landed on this silly notion in the first place!

...was he really that lonely?

Smee had always been his most faithful crewman, willing to walk into death for him; not to save his life, but because Hook asked him to. He would do anything his captain wanted, without any questions and without hesitation, so should it really have been so surprising that Smee was willing to...do this...when he thought Hook wanted....thought he needed... Hook's brain was unwilling to put it into words.

"I'll do whatever you want me to do, captain." Smee said softly, voice surprisingly steady though he now stared at the ground between them, unwilling to meet the captain's eyes. He paused long enough to take a deep breath and steady himself before his other hand snaked up the buttons of Hook's jacket and caught the ruff on his collar in his fingers. He dragged his captain's head down gently to his level, and kissed him back. The bo'sun was beard bristles and chapped lips, gap-spaced teeth, and quiet acceptance. Hook's brain, that infernal machine that filled his days and destroyed his nights, was shocked into a blessed and total halt.

Hook barely knew what happened. Somehow Smee had gotten them from the quarterdeck to Hook's cabin, and the single mindedness should have alerted him to the truth then, but his mind wasn't paying attention and the rest of him didn't care about the reasons behind it. He could tell himself in retrospect that he was just skin hungry, that it had been far too long since anyone had touched him and he was reacting too quickly to the first touch that came along, but even in retrospect he couldn't tell for sure.

And he didn't care.

When all had been said and done Hook's great brain couldn't have put two coherent thoughts together for the life of him, and he'd been glad of it. Smee had been still for a long moment, but as Hook's frenetic heartbeat had begun to slow and his breathing to calm he'd felt a hand run carefully from the vein of his neck to the ridges of his abdomen, where it lingered a moment too long, and suddenly it was gone as well as a weight off the bed. Hook pushed himself up to his elbows and squinted into the darkness, hearing the rustling of cloth as clothes were collected from the floor, and seeing the flash of Smee's spectacles in the scant moonlight as they retrieved themselves from the desk.

"What are you doing?" he'd slurred, feeling entirely thick and witless and enjoying every moment of it. The noise paused.

"I'm going back to the crew quarters." Smee said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Like you told me to."

"Nonsense." Hook grumbled. "If the crew has the gall to wonder where you've been I'll just tell them I made you review the manifest..or..something." He dropped back down onto the mattress and covered his face with the crook of him mangled arm. "Get back here."

The captain was already drifting towards sleep, and paid no mind then to a momentary hesitation on Smee's part. He heard the spectacles click back on the desk and the mattress shifted slightly as a tentative weight settled back on the edge. He was asleep before Smee lay down.

It was the only time in his life Hook slept without dreaming.

He'd woken still some hour or so before dawn, and took a long moment to realize what that terrible noise was. Smee snored, didn't he? Hook settled back against the mattress and tried to sleep again, but after a missed beat his eyes flew open with a startled panic.

Smee?!?!

He hadn't had to share quarters, much less bunks, with Smee since before the mutiny on the Rake! What was he doing here?! Hook sat up and scowled at the darkness beside him, the gears of his massive brain beginning to work again now that the languor had worn off. The scowl faltered and dropped as he remembered just what indeed Smee was doing here. The realization ought to have horrified him a good deal more than it did and he spent a moment trying to work up that revulsion. He succeeded in only feeling mildly ill at the idea. Some small, annoying part of his mind muttered 'it could have been worse. it could have been Cookson.' and he stuck his tongue between his teeth. It wasn't possible for him to sink that low.

His eyes were slowly beginning to adjust to the blackness and he could ld barely see the vague outline of Smee on the very edge of the bed. An arm and a leg were dropped off the side in an attempt to get as far away as possible without actually sleeping on the floor, and Hook frowned. What was the point of that? It wasn't as though sharing a bed was an entirely new idea to Smee, they'd had to double up several times on the Rake and he hadn't seemed to mind it one bit.

_But then,_ his mind muttered nastily _he'd never been ordered to perform unnatural acts with your beforehand, had he._

Hook frowned; he hadn't ordered, he hadn't even implied he'd wanted...

But what would Smee have done, Smee the loyalist of men, if his captain had kissed him, not knowing the real motivations behind the act? It wasn't unheard of for weak men to become so lonely at sea that they they pursued unnatural relationships, and if Smee had thought that was the case wouldn't he have complied?

Because Smee would walk into death if he asked him.

Hook braced his back against the headboard and stared into the darkness as his brain methodically dismantled the only calm he'd felt in years.

God damn it all.

As Hook sat in his chair now, condemning his own bad judgement and Smee's unfaltering loyalty, the sky had begun to lighten through the portal. A diffused pinkish glow smudged itself across the walls and Hook rested his chin against his knuckles, listening for the sudden choke as Smee awoke perfectly on time as always. As expected, just as the sun began to nudge it's way over the horizon, Smee stopped breathing and turned his head to the side, waiting a few seconds before taking it up again, this time sans the noise. Though his face was away from the captain he knew the exact moment Smee opened his eyes; the man jolted and sat bolt upright in the bed, eyes scanning about quickly before his face bleached white. Hook didn't move an inch, and was unsurprised that Smee couldn't pick him out from the other inanimate shapes in the room.

"...Capt'n?" he asked warily. He was obviously looking instead of listening for the answer. For his benefit Hook dropped his hand to rest limply on the armrest. Smee's unfocused eyes immediatly located and fixed on the captain, able to identify his shape now that he knew where to look. As Hook watched him his eyes flickered with the same resignation and he lowered his gaze, staring at the rug.

He was waiting to be told he could go. Hook suddenly felt ill and he dropped his head back against the chair, sighing.

"Get dressed and get out of here, Smee." he said, feeling somehow more tired than he had a few minutes ago. "And don't say a word about this to anyone."

Smee nodded. Hook left his head where it was and didn't bother watching him as Smee bumbled about for his clothes and spectacles. When he did look down Smee was tying the knot in his black bandanna. Hook became uncomfortable as he realized he was at the disadvantage, waiting in only his trousers without so much as his hook, but Smee didn't seem to notice it. He obediantly went to leave, but paused for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, fidgeting with it.

"Er, capt'n?"

"What is it, Smee." Hook replied flatly.

The bo'sun chewed his lip and stared down at his hand, as though he couldn't say it if he was looking at Hook.

"...it's allright, you know." he said quietly, and Hook wondered if he was meant to overhear. "Everybody gets lonely, sometimes."

Smee turned the doorknob and the bolt slid back.

"Even me."

He managed a sad smile and looked back at Hook, and Hook thought he saw.....but he had to be wrong. Didn't he? Smee couldn't really...

"I'll see yeh after breakfast." Smee said softly, and slipped out the door, leaving Hook dumbfounded.

Was he wrong again?