A/N- I do not own Peter Pan. I just thought I would give this story a go. R&R please!
Growing up was such a god awful task. The responsibilities became endless; the need to proper oneself became necessity. It was practically basic principle to become perfect in the eyes of society. She stared into the mirror through the gleam of room lights. Her fingers drifted over her skin, the pail flesh shivered over the small brush. Her stomach was lean, breast perky but just the right size… or, at least, that was what her mother had been telling her. Her lips scrunched to the side in a disapproving motion. She had grown into her smooth curves, giving her body that pleasing hour glass shape most women yearned for. Her lean fingers brushed over the curve of her breast, following down over the tender sweep of her hips. She did not understand what was so 'pleasing' about her body. She did not find it all that pleasing. Shyly she took in the 'V' between her legs. Her mother told her how a woman pleases her husband, how the act could produce children in turn. Tightly she bit her lip. Her mother explained how she will have to please to soon 'to be' husband, and how the first time will hurt. Her eyes drifted from the reflection, she had a husband to be, and she could not be more unpleased by the fact. She did not want another man; her heart still ached for Peter. Her ocean eyes flashed to the mirror angrily. She could not have Peter; she had grown up without him. She was now eighteen, a woman… and Peter, well he could not be older than eleven. The bitter taste of tears built in her throat. She should have never of left; she should have stayed at his side. The anger bubbled in her lungs. Through the hot tears leaking down her cheeks she grabbed the closest object, shattering the mirror that arrogantly gazed back at her. She let a sore scream crawl forth, bringing her to her knees in a painful weep. Long strawberry blond curls dangled helplessly down her spine, pooling over her shoulders to lay rest on her lap. Her fingers covered her face desperately trying to hide the pitiful tears behind her eyes. Had she known…. Had she known, she…
She would have still left…
A sour laugh hummed her lips. That was right. She wanted to grow up. Lazily she stood, taking in the mirror with a glare. She was to be married in the morning, to an older man. Aunty had told stories about how 'fabulously' wealthy her husband to be was. Personally, she had given him so little thought that she had not cared to remember his name. The mirror glared back in acknowledgement.
'Run away Wendy Darling. Return to dear, dear Neverland.' Her conscience was cruel. She watched as it smugly propped her fingers to her naked waist and smirk back through the cracks in the glass. She could not return. She slammed her fist into the broken shards hastily, earning fresh blood to be leaked from her tiny fists. "Shut up!" She bit her words, turning on heels away from the reflection. She quickly swept her lounge robe about her shoulders, feeling she sleek silk against her naked skin. The gown had been an imported 'kimono' from a distant country, a humble wedding gift from her husband to be. She cared little how her blood was beginning to stain the sky blue silk. It was sad to know such delicate decoration put into the sweet butterflies and cherry blossoms was all for none. She had not bothered tying the garment as she stumbled to the large window, pushing it open so she may rest against the tiny balcony rails.
She gazed down, hugging the kimono to her body as the wind whipped through her long curls. Suddenly the red seeping from her fingers caught her crescent gaze. Slowly she turned her palms over, taking in the splendour of glass penetrating her skin. The salted liquid gently slipped from her chin and onto the awaiting wound below. She could not understand. Why had growing up been so painful for her? The lost boys surly had no trouble; they quite enjoyed the fact of becoming men. She let her hands fall back to her sides, forgetting how to be modest with her state of dress. She addressed the stars above her dejectedly. Perhaps she could fly there; surely all she needed was happy thoughts. Tenderly she gripped the thick railing in front of her, pulling the weight of her body with it. Her naked feet were supple to the cold marble, running gooseflesh up her skin. She scrambled to wrap the twisting silk around her bare curves, pulling the belt tight to her waist in a knot. Loosely the belt loop slipped from her fingers, dancing into the subtle breeze. Steadily she breathed deep, eloping the bitter night air with her lungs while steadily her arms stretched out. To be able to catch the air beneath her arms again; oh, such feeling of freedom that she could never feel. Heavily her eyes shuttered close, dreaming of the island that bewitched her sleep. She wondered if the boy who would never grew up even remembered her. "Oh Peter…" There it was again, the salt water that plagued her, keeping her anything but happy. "You never came back for me." Her voice wheezed through the tears. "Why Peter?" The silk slipped over her shoulders with a great huff of wind. It hung dangerously low to her breasts, exposing the poised cleavage and milky skin. She ignored it. Her chest was not exposed completely, only the delicate curve. She could care less. "Why did you not come back?"
She wished that he could be there, fingers testing the softness of her shoulder, examining the changes that came with growing up. He would have so many questions; ask for the great story that accompanied being older. But… there was no great story, she had no fantasy to portray, just that growing up without him was awful. Her head tilted feebly to the side, imaging the trace of his fingers against her pink cheeks that sweetly drifted down her neck. What would Peter think of her now? Would he even recognise her? A sigh stalked her lungs, of course he would not, she looked nothing like the young child she had been. "My, young Wendy, quite the enchanting minx you have become." Something in her heart iced over in distaste, realizing the once imaginary trace of fingers heated in the afterglow of life. Her eyes fluttered open in animosity. Ringlet curls, black as the night beseeched her eyes appallingly, and she glared into glacier eyes.
"Do explain why you are alive." She did not move from her post upon the marble railing, did not shutter from his touch.
"Do explain, my dear, why you are ready to leap from a balcony." The humor in his tone was left unnoticed as she let her hands fall back to her side. Her strawberry curls tossed agitatedly about in the calling wind, she had no answer as in to why. She had no intention to die.
"I was hoping to fly."
"Ah," The caption tipping his hat, then with a chuckle he examined the shear blade of his hook. "A failing task I suspect. If I remember correctly, beauty, you need faery dust for that."
"Leave me be, Hook." She took in the ship sails in the distance, floating discreetly in the fall clouds. The question plague her mind, just how was it he obtained enough faery dust for such a task? "Why are you even here?"
"Oh, I heard a whisper on the wind how our Red Handed Jill was to be wed. Last night to spend as a young woman before true responsibility kicks in. How awful it must be, knowing tonight is your last chance at freedom." His fingers graced her cheek comfortably and her gaze lost all hostile nature. Regrettably it fell, watching the dead city streets below. "Unless, of course, if you fly away; return to Neverland once more."
Promptly she turned back to him, dumbfounded by the remark. "I cannot return."
"Why ever not, you want your freedom do you not?" Silently he caught her large curl between his fingers, pulling it to his lips. She stuttered on the words to say. Of course she did not want to be married, of course she wanted to return, but, she did not want to return with him. She wanted Peter. "You want grand adventures do you not, Red?" She leaned away from the sweep of the bitter cold hook against her plump lip, only to find his non-lethal hand snaked about her waist. "Then return with me, return to Nederland and forget."
The temptation of his words was as fatal as his bladed hand. Doubt crept into her soul, forcing the tender glance back at her room. This was the life she gave Neverland up for, now here she was, wishing to return because of her hate for it. How ironic. The grip around her waist was tight, slowly causing her feet to glide off the balcony rail. She glanced down nervously, watching as the heels of her feet slowly became all that remain against the stone. "You would not dare."
"I am afraid that I did not come here with the intentions of you saying no." He tugged, forcing Wendy into a panic. A yelp passed her lips when all stability was lost beneath her and her body jolted with fright. With haste she threw her arms around his neck to keep her from falling. There was an agreeable hum rumbling in his chest at her actions. Meekly she looked up at him, embarrassed by her own movement. "Are you ready to return to Neverland, Wendy?" Between hanging on for dear life and her heart hammering like drums in her ears, she took the time to glare at him. He was already moving them back to the ship, floating them through the abyss of clouds to her awaiting end. Could she forget this life and return? Forget her family and her marriage? The answer in her mind could not be more obvious.
"Yes." In all reality there was no real reason to answer him, but she had anyway, earning a broad smile on his rugged face. She had not notice when she had been a child, but for an older man he was quite handsome. Thick curls hung loosely around his shoulders, and a modest mustache perched above his lips. His eyes were the color of ice, almost so blue that they could not be describe with words. She had learned time in Neverland did not exist, so the man who looked of thirty could possibly be hundreds of years old. Silently she wondered if time would freeze for her too. Would she stay young forever? Trapped in a reality where the ticking clock silently stood by. Tightly she smiled; well, for most it did. The Captain did not have as that wondrous luck, it followed him hungrily. She stared up at him curiously, his gaze so concentrated, so fierce. She could not fathom why he always looked so bloodthirsty, why he hated Peter so. There was a fine difference between the two. Obviously they were as opposite as the north and south; but, Captain James Hook could have been Peter Pan. The decision that separated them was one single choice. It was almost cruel.
Her feet graced the smoothed ship boards, breathing a strange sense of belonging into her. She was so close. The air reeked in the thick musk of cigars and soaked cedar; but, hiding beneath the musk was luscious salt, of rain and trees. She sucked in the tender smells of her forgotten land. This was home, trapped between vigorous forest and salty sea. She wiggled her toes acceptingly against the hardwood as the great ship weaved in the rolling wind.
"Ello Captin'."
"Ah, Mr. Smee, Take the lovely Wendy to her cabin." His hand pushed the coo of her spine, encouraging her towards the old man. A warm smile crept towards her lips. She remembered Mr. Smee, he was a lovely old man. He had a pure soul, a good heart. It baffled her why he was under Hook's command; he never was violent.
"Red handed Jill, well bless me soul, dear you have grown. " He rushed to her side, taking her hands with a humble smile, a sigh of relief past her when he only took the time to grip the very tips. His old hands reached, cupping her cheek lovingly; She could not help but smile into the touch. He reminded her of the grandfather she never had. "An' so lovely, may I add."
"Thank you Mister Smee." She watched as Hook longed up the stairs, taking in the sight of the awaiting crew. They relied on him for many things, she realized that now. Ice eyes stumbled on her, a gleam of pride flashing through them.
"You ready for a real adventure, Miss Darling?" A hand of flesh reached out for her. Slowly she reached, unsure if she willing to accept. Her teeth drug deep into her lower lip, doubt wracking through her. She pulled back slightly, turning to watch big ben stair back at her. The strong hands ticked on, pushing a smile over her features. She was willing to stop that time, stop it for good. She turned back to him confidently, hand extended.
"Yes Captain, second star to left and strait on till morning."