The boarders had been eliminated, but the damage to Arrow was severe. All around him the ship groaned and creaked like a sailing vessel of old. The corridor by the Cargo Bay was dark, heavy with smoke and particle weapons fire. Ahead of them, Ensign Maria Alvarez was engaged hand-to-hand with Captain Eru Ghant, corsair privateer and demon incarnate. Regan and Lieutenant Serinus were about to be close enough to be seen, when Regan pulled the bulky Magna Roman Chief of Security to one side and told him to wait. They had one chance to bring her down and they had to work together. Regan would be the bait, Serinus the trap.
Stepping out from the shadows of the smoke and red alert warnings, Regan stood before Ghant, their final encounter to be decided here in the depths of the ship.
Wilde: ::theatrically.:: Well, well, well. If it isn’t Captain Hook?
She seemed to regard him keenly. He was her prize, though he didn't really look like it after the day he'd had. His uniform was ripped, blackened with missed weapons fire, covered in a mix of blood - either his own or his pirate foes. His makeshift headband made from the hem of his tunic still kept the mess of hair from his eyes though. For that he was grateful. Her teeth bared into a hideously ravenous smile.
Ghant: AH! My Pretty! Have you come to see your admirer off, Pretty?
Wilde: You know, I asked myself when you first came aboard what fitting human pirate name you'd have if you lived hundreds of years ago. We had Blackbeard. I rather fancied Greenscalp, for you. But I like Captain Hook better. How's the wrist?
She sucked her teeth slightly, turning now to approach The Pretty One, pointing her still stinging and now slightly scabbed initial wound in his direction as she stepped lightly in a slight arc toward round the side of him.
Being so close to her terrified him, but he couldn't lose his resolve now. He had to catch her. Had to bring her down.
Ghant: It still ever so hurts, Pretty. Perhaps I should make you kiss it better.
Wilde: You’ve hurt a lot of people today, Hook. I underestimated you in the transporter room, and in the briefing room. That was my mistake. Your mistake was to take your eyes off the prize. Captain Hook famously hated and chased the boy Peter Pan - the boy who never grew up - in revenge for taking his hand. Well Pan's right here, Captain. Take me!
A mighty growl escaped her green lips and she closed the distance between them. She was on him in seconds, her sharp fingernails clawing at his tattered uniform. Instinct told him to run, to struggle, but he couldn't. He was the bait, and his task was not yet complete. She brought her bloodied face close to his ear. So close he thought she might kiss him.
Ghant: This. Is. Not. A fairy tale.
With lightning reflexes she drew her head back and headbutted him directly in the nose. Through the crushing pain and terrible sound of cartilage snapping, the blood spattered around like paint. He cried out, desperate to sooth the broken nose. But the demon still had him. They fumbled, turning and turning like dancers in this mad waltz until a low rumbling almost made them stop. A heavy popping sound loosed a beam of metal from the closest bulkhead toward them. To Regan, it was almost as if the Arrow herself was using her own structures as a weapon to expel this deadly microbe, this green terror from her insides. The bulkhead connected with Ghant harshly in the abdomen, freeing Regan from her clutches as she fell.
Suddenly free, Regan fell to his knees and tentatively brought his hands to his nose. Broken alright. Definitely broken, but easily fixed in the right hands. Relief.
Still on the floor, Ghant rotated her arms to get feeling back into them. Now was the time! Serinus - pounce! But Serinus wasn't there just yet. Why? Where was he? Had the falling bulkhead hampered his access to the corridor? Alvarez had gone now, too. Apparently weakened by her initial fight, he thought. For now, it was just the two. Peter Pan and Captain Hook. An apt metaphor if you looked at it carefully enough. Regan had always been described as a teenager who never fully grew up. He was just a free-spirit, doing whatever pleased him when it pleased him. He had the good fortune of coming from a privileged background. He wanted for nothing. The galaxy was his playground. But now he was needed. He felt like he had a purpose on the Arrow, with friends - true friends - who appreciated him and needed him as much as he needed them. Something to fight for.
Ghant: Blowing bulkheads now? Your spineless Captain must be panicking now, eh?
Wilde: Captain Shayne will defend this ship to the last man if we have to. Time to end this, Ghant!
Ghant: It matters little. I do not need that much time to kill you.
Regan hoped above all else that Serinus could get there. The demon was upon him again, clawing, biting like a banshee possessed! They struggled alone on the floor of the ship, rolling, kicking, clawing at each other despite the blood and pain from his nose.
With a swift knee to her abdomen, Ghant cursed and rolled over. Hands as fast as lightning, Regan revealed his Reman blade again and brought it to her throat. He had to do this. To save the ship and the crew from her poison. But he hesitated. He was Starfleet. He was better than this! He thought of R'Ariel and recalled how she fell in the briefing room. Of the blade at Captain Shayne's throat. The hesitation was enough. With an equally cruel kick to his side the tables were turned. She mounted his prone body, her face and teeth glistening with her own dark Orion blood. She took the knife from him.
His pirate captors were right all along. Oh, she made him dance. His legs free, but not under their own power, kicked and flailed helplessly as she cut him. He felt a long, precise stroke down his face to his jaw. And he screamed. Oh God, he screamed. He felt the knife strike true, and he prayed silently to any God listening to let him die quickly.
Everything happened at once. There was a crashing noise equal to deadly silence. He hurt all over yet was strangely at peace. The demon had danced her dark dance with him. Alone and shaking, Regan Wilde lay on the floor of the ship with his cut face looking helplessly toward the lights in the ceiling. Lights which would ordinarily highlight two lovely green eyes. Today however, with the dance done, the lights shone down on only one...
Lieutenant(jg) Regan Wilde