Both were breathing heavily, staring at each other, and yet the expressions on their faces could not have been more different. Hook's eyes still glowed with something like... anger that was only slowly fading, like a long-dormant volcano. But the boy - ha, James would have bet a chest full of gold that his knees were shaking. Well, James was wrong... because as before in the cabin, Luke didn't lower his eyes, but stared at Hook as if to reproach him. For not running away fast enough? Hrmph. It took James a few seconds to catch his breath, but the blabbermouth used it more or less skillfully than he had thought. Instead of begging for his life, proposing a deal, or making futile attempts to escape, as James expected from any other of his kind...

"Why?" (...) "WHAT is it about the coat that makes you want to track me to HERE and kill me for it, Hook?" (...) "You pierced the mantle without hesitation, tore it apart... And yet you pursue me like a bloodhound for it." (...) "WHAT is it about the coat that makes everyone want it? What makes it so special?" (...) "Why should I die for it? I have the right to at least know, don't I?" 
(-Luke)

The ensuing silence stretched as James seriously pondered the question. On the one hand, he has increasingly preoccupied with the thought that this fellow was not like a normal lost person to be, and on the other hand...
What is Luke dying for?
Oh, James never killed for no reason and normally he would have had a thousand answers for that. Not the least of which was that this was about a thieving snot under Pan's command. Hook actually took a while, and while his chest was still rising and falling in deep breaths, he hummed thoughtfully.
At the thought of slitting the boy's throat, he felt something like... remorse. Wouldn't it be a waste to kill this fellow? Young, still barely influenced by the other brats, and maybe actually malleable enough to have his view tipped a bit? However, such a wiry thing didn't have it easy anywhere and the fact that he had stolen Hook's coat had to have consequences. Because the respect of the crew, the fear of his enemies, or simply the status that James Hook had by now, was not earned by inconsistency and injustice. As strange as it may sound coming from a pirate, fair treatment for criminals was important under any flag. No matter if a skull and crossbones adorned it or not. Whoever dared to steal his coat - no matter if he was a lost man, a native, or even a pirate - had to answer for it... in front of no one less than himself.

In a place as depraved as Neverland, one had to set clear signs. People were full of greed, only willing to take and never willing to give. Some had already unlearned it, and others never really knew how. Whoever did not earn respect here sank like a stone in the water. You had to earn your reputation, in Hook's case by stabbing, punching, and killing... but also his intelligence and unique sense of strategy made him something... special.

And every day, the island took its toll on that. Not just from him, every woman and man, every being in Neverland paid him... whether willingly or not. So they all stained their hands with blood. Some killed only when they had to, others didn't care, and a few might even find pleasure in it. Not James, he didn't enjoy the sight of eyes going out, nor the smell of death and despair... but some things had already blackened his soul enough to look past small deaths on the sidelines. Stones to the sides of a path were so stained with shards and blood that a few more stains were barely noticeable.
Maybe that's why it took him a while to find the right words. Because of Luke's innocence, the naive thought that there was a higher purpose for which he would breathe his last... didn't fit at all into the image James had of the lost. They joked, eventually the laughter faded, then they begged, some became angry and yet could not suppress their despair. Tears, pleas, naked fear of survival... James knew all of this in its colorless facets and he had come to expect it from Luke as well.

Neverland was already playing its games with him, too, taking the toll of a dare. In a way, Pan was also just dancing to the rhythm of his home. Pranks, jokes, danger - the boundaries were so indistinct and blurred that no one cared anymore. This fellow had to be with Pan long enough to be allowed to prove himself, and yet the innocent wildness of troubled oceans shone in his eyes. Seaspray washed over Hook, causing his eyes to narrow a bit before his steely gaze drifted to the folded collar of solid fabric. Golden embroidery shone on red brocade, twigs or leaves had caught here and there, and a spider's web was about to interweave with the gold threads.

Slowly he raised his hooked hand to the face, contorted by incomprehension and the sparks of anger. Even with one hand, Hook could effortlessly stop him from breaking free. Gently, the bare metal stroked the child's delicate cheek, touching dirty streaks and soft skin. In a casual gesture, Hook brushed a brown curl away from the cobwebs. As if it were redemption, Hook paused just above the throat... just that little nudge away from taking Luke's breath away forever.
"You know, Luke..." he began softly and without taking his eyes off the fellow. "... That coat ain't special. You don't die for anything special."Coldness trickled like snowflakes from the irises, which, like a frozen lake, did not allow the slightest bit of warmth or compassion to escape. Roughly now, the hook pressed harder against Luke's neck, poking into the sensitive flesh.
"You die...because it's MY coat."

It only took the slightest twist for the metal to scratch its fine skin. A few millimeters, until the first drops of viscous red, made their way over bright white. A thin thread of blood oozed viscously and darkly down Luke's neck, soaking small remnants of leaves and crumbs of earth. James watched the life juice, as red as liquid rubies, like the captain's poison or a rare sunset. Something inside him shifted slowly the closer the drop of blood came to the ground, and finally James tore his gaze back to the boy. Why was it so hard for him? Just strike, drill his hook into the exposed throat and return with the coat. The body would remain to the animals and he could forget what had happened that night, as he had already forgotten so many other nights. Yet for some reason, James suspected that this death might not leave him cold.

Just for a tiny moment...melancholy overcame him. This child was different from the lost, had only chosen the wrong path to Neverland, but did it matter? One's place on the island was not found through birth into one of the factions or initial affiliation. So much could change within heartbeats - the first mate was probably one of the best examples of that. Not to mention, James knew by now how much turmoil the new lost ones brought to their ranks and that the goblin always particularly enjoyed having fun with them. They were fresh, inexperienced, even more, naive than the whole blue-eyed bunch, and... easier to impress. That's what the goblin loved the most, isn't it? Admiring glances, astonished faces, and open mouths when he told a scary story about the evil captain. And this fellow he had influenced enough to make him believe he had a chance to steal James Hook's coat.

Pathetic.

But maybe it would still be wiser to check if Luke was already tainted by Pan. Later, James could always kill him, and for now, maybe he'd get some answers as to why this one prodigal was a little.... different.
For the first time in many years, James felt at odds with himself. It was the faint hint of dissatisfaction because he hadn't been able to kill the boy (and he possessed that much size to admit it to himself) at the moment.

Grumbling softly, he withdrew his hook and stared at the prisoner for a moment, as if he had to be quite sure. Moonlight and whispering sea breezes balled around them like stray cats, mixing salt scent with rich forest green and possibly deciding to a small degree. It took barely a few heartbeats for James to pull back the hook and let go of the dainty wrists for the moment. A little awkwardly, he picked himself up off the ground, got to a firm footing, and knocked a few leaves off his clothes.
"Come on, get up!" he snarled at Luke, grabbing the boy's arm again with his healthy hand to pull him roughly to his feet.
"You know..." he began coolly and not without a hint of dissatisfaction in his deep voice, "...you're right. Why should you die for a coat? You can bring it back. And that's exactly what you're going to do." Iron-clad, the strong hand closed around Luke's arm, and without regard for his pace, Hook marched off.

Hardly any sounds sounded through the night forest, except the soft fluttering of startled birds, here and there a howl or muffled growl. Oh yes, they had been here far too long already. The night brought considerably more dangerous to the surface than the day, and James had known the island a good deal longer than the lad. He had witnessed the change that came with the extinguishing of the second star. He knew what it sounded like when curved claws clicked on a smooth stone. The hungry growl from a raw throat because the stomach had remained empty for too many days. Creatures, beasts... monsters just did anything to satisfy their unspeakable hunger. Some were more like animals, others were not.

James had to admit that he didn't know enough about the flora and fauna of the island to be able to categorize them (only the orchids, perhaps), yet he had heard about the peculiarities of certain monsters. There were supposed to be some that, like a wolf, hunted only when they were hungry and killed their prey as quickly as possible. But then there were the beasts to whom sounds of pain and resistance were music to the ears.
The sirens, to whom a man's struggle for survival seemed like a drunken round dance and who took pleasure in dragging sailors into their wet graves.
Mermaids, with their deadly beautiful songs, could open the gates of heaven for their listeners.
Or simply crocodiles, who didn't have to charm their prey to attract them. These beasts simply hunted, pushed them through the water like logs, and could just sit still for hours-sometimes days. Until the right piece came in front of their snout. Then they would suddenly spring out of the swampy water and bury their powerful teeth in anything they could get their hands on.
Oh yes, James knew the crocodiles and knew how deadly they were. 

All the more stoically he continued his way back to the edge of the forest, always careful to keep an eye on the surroundings and not to miss any warning noise.