cs fic: it's just that it's delicate
Summary: Hook asks a favor of the Crocodile, and his wish is granted.
a/n: Of course, when the possibility of Killian getting his hand back was brought to light, my first thought was: But for how long? And fairytales certainly love 24-hour wishes…
cs fic: it’s just that it’s delicate
He’s not sure why this moment comes now of all the times that he could be bestowed such a kindness – a cleverly disguised curse. But as soon as he murmurs the words, as soon as the Crocodile tersely curls his lip in grim acquiescence, it’s done.
“I’m afraid, dearie,” he mocks, “that like many of these transfigurative spells, you’ve only till this time tomorrow to do whatever it is you wish to do.”
He flexes and bends and studies the sinews of his left hand. It is scarred and new and a fleshy relic of a him many lifetimes removed.
"Aye."
And he wishes that maybe he had never wished at all.
——
He runs his hand along the rail of the pier. Notes the way the knots tangle and slow the path of his fingertips. All grain and slivered memories.
The phantom limb had long since blinked from existence, and whatever his hand is to him now, it’s not a hand (it’s not a hook).
It’s a bow to weakness; it’s an admission of failure; it’s erasure of pain (aches and deep soul pangs he’s overcome and defeated and wrestled and grappled and-)
But he is whole, and that’s what she deserves.
It’s strange, he thinks as he raps his knuckles on the bend where wood meets wood to point to the far corners of a sea he knows nothing of, that bone and flesh might make this right (whatever this is with Swan) when it was an apparition he spent a year forgetting (chasing).