Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Peter Pan. I also borrowed some plot elements from a novel called RedeemingLove. If you can spot them, I'll give you cookies.I own my OC and that's about it.
A/N: I was so excited to find the Hook section of the site! I've always wanted to write a Hook fanfic, and I finally have an idea that no one has used yet. Please enjoy and leave a review, but be warned that I have rated this story a T because of some of the more mature content.
"Good mornin' Neverland!"
Charlotte smashed a red silk-covered pillow over her ear to stop out Smee's irritating voice. The man sounded as if he had stuck his tongue into a meat grinder. The mere thought of that podgy little weasel sticking his tongue into anything made her stomach curdle like rotten milk.
"Does he have to shout so loud?" she grumbled into the pillow. It smelled faintly of her Never-rose perfume—sweet and sickening at the same time. If she had her way, she would never wear it.
"Don't whine, my darling Charlotte," Captain Hook said as he adjusted his long black curly wig in front of an assorted array of mirrors. "It's very unbecoming for a lady of status such as yourself." He curled his moustache around his finger with a toothy smirk. "Come, help me with my jacket." He leaned back in his chair, twirling his moustache and watching Charlotte with acidic blue eyes as she slipped out the silk covers of his bed and into one of his blue lounging robes. It was much too big for her slighter frame, but he liked to see her in it—of which Charlotte was fully aware. She intentionally left a section of her shoulder and collarbone exposed as she grabbed Hook's crimson suit jacket from its rack and held it out for him to step into.
He slipped his arms into the sleeves and adjusted the fit as Charlotte fastened a few of the buttons in the front. "Fetch my hook, love," he said while buttoning a gold sleeve cuff. Hook kept his iconic arm extension on a pedestal amidst the collection of treasure chests and valuable artifacts stashed in the far corner of his cabin. Charlotte approached it—a polished iron hook cushioned on a red pillow with gold tassels—and gingerly picked it up by the crook, careful not to cut herself on its freshly-sharpened tip. It was cold to the touch, but she ignored it. She returned to the captain and locked the hook into place on the silver-plated stump of his left arm.
Hook placed his hand over hers; a wave of satisfaction passed over his face, causing his bulbous nose to twitch and his lips to pull apart in a twisted smile. "My arm is now complete. Thank you." He leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips, bracing the back of her curly red head with his black-gloved hand. His moustache tickled the top of her lip like an annoying gnat that she wanted to slap away. When he pulled back from her, he grabbed his favorite tri-corn hat adorned with a white feather and went to the door. His men were chanting his name right outside. Before he opened it however, he gestured with his hook toward the grotto of valuables in the far corner. "As per our agreement, you may take any of the jewels from my collection as payment, so long as they can fit into your moneybag—no more. I look forward to seeing you again after I have won my war." With that, he bowed, secured his hat on his head, and left the cabin with a swish in his coattails.
Charlotte hastily wiped his saliva from her mouth with the back of her hand and spat. His kisses always left a bad taste on her tongue, a taste that would leave her craving for garlic just to be rid of it. If only she could just eat garlic to be rid of him, be rid of them all, even for a little while—alas, frivolous wishing never got her anywhere. With a disheartened sigh, Charlotte discarded Hook's robe and began to don her own garments, starting with her linen shift and corset. She had barely begun the grueling task of lacing up her own corset when she caught a snippet of Hook's speech just outside.
"We have his children."
"Long live the Hook! Long live the Hook! Long live the Hook!"
"He actually did it," Charlotte muttered as she starting lacing again, her arms bent behind her back in an uncomfortable position. "He actually believes he's going to kill Peter Pan. What an idiot." She glanced at the door and clenched her jaw. "Pan's not coming back."
Upon finishing the lacing on her corset, she decided to fill up her moneybag before putting on the rest of her clothes. She went to the grotto and knelt in front of a large gilded treasure chest overflowing with gold doubloons, pearls, sapphires, diamonds, and other precious stones. She filled her moneybag with coins and jewels, and then set it aside to search for something else amidst the fortune. It took her a little longer than she had hoped, but when she found what she was looking for, she quickly hid it in her corset. By that time, the crew's shouts had become ambient noise in the background. Charlotte couldn't care less what was going on out there. She just wanted to get dressed and get out.
She was about to snatch up her scarlet gown when a new voice rose above the crowd.
"Those are my kids!" And in case Charlotte might have misunderstood the first time, he shouted again, much more fervently, "Those are my kids!"
"What?" Aghast, Charlotte bolted to the door and cracked it open just enough for her to see what was happening. There they were, the two children, suspended above the hold in a net of thick rope. A man in black pants, a white shirt, and a pirate hat gripped the children's hands, trying to hold onto them as two crewmen yanked him away and held him fast. Charlotte watched as Hook questioned the man, who claimed to be the children's father, but Hook would not believe a word of it.
"You're not Peter Pan! Smee, who is this imposter?" He shouted.
Smee, who had remained on the stairs leading to Hook's cabin during the whole exchange, replied, "He's that flocking flying Pan!" He flapped his arms like a bird to emphasize his point as he joined Hook down on the deck.
Charlotte squinted to get a better view, but to no avail. Still, the scowl remained on her face. It was obvious that the anxiety-riddled man down there was not Peter Pan. If he was Peter Pan, he could have freed those children without a second thought, probably even without a first thought. He just stood there, quivering like he would wet himself at any moment. And when they hoisted the children above the deck, he didn't fly up to get them. He crept like a snail up the mast and over the sail; he reached out to the children, fingers splayed as far as they would stretch.
"You can do it," Charlotte whispered in spite of herself and chewed on her lip. His children were almost close enough to touch. He could make it. He had to make it. Charlotte stretched her fingers through the door as if she could help him, but the sudden wave of sympathy frightened her, and she drew her hand sharply back to her chest. She had never looked out for anyone but herself; why should she change that now? This So-Called-Pan was nothing to her. Around these parts, any soft feelings like sympathy or compassion only got you into trouble. But still, she dared to think that maybe….
He reached and reached—but pulled away when he almost lost his grip. The pit of Charlotte's stomach hardened into a stone; she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up. There was no possible way he was Peter Pan—at least, not anymore.
Without a second thought, Charlotte threw on her dress, grabbed her purse and shoes, and quietly slipped out of the cabin. Most of the crew were facing the opposite direction, watching the Hook/So-Called-Pan showdown, so she was able to leave the ship virtually unnoticed, save a crewman or two who slapped her bottom as she passed down the gangplank and onto the dock. When she was clear of the ship, she stopped by a pile of crates and barrels and sat down to put on her shoes. She heard a splash and commotion from behind her and casually looked over her shoulder, thinking it was just a fish doing tricks. The crew was congregating on one side of the ship, and the So-Called-Pan was nowhere to be seen. "Well, you didn't have to kill him," Charlotte said with an exasperated sigh and put on her other shoe. It was going to be a long walk back to Madame Hyacinth's, and she didn't want to lose any time. Her boss would probably have another client ready for her upon her return.
The thought gave her the strong urge to vomit.
It was near mid-morning, and the main streets would be busy with traffic. Charlotte wasn't quite in the mood for big crowds, so she elected to use the less-occupied side streets; they would take her to the back entrance into Madame Hyacinth's. She passed a few people along the way, men who tipped their hats to her and washerwomen who would rather pretend that she didn't exist. Such was the life Charlotte endured in the pirate colony on Neverland. Its pirate population had grown several times over since Peter Pan's disappearance and Hook's reemergence, and with more pirates comes the need for more—lady companionship, as it were. Those women who were not in the business worked as servants, whether they wanted to or not. Neverland held little opportunity for anything else. Men here had no need for wives or families.
A slight disturbance in the air by her ear caused Charlotte to take a swipe at what she thought was a bug, until she heard the tinkling, like teeny tiny bells on a child's wind chime. She rolled her eyes and quickened her paces, the heels of her red shoes clacking against the cobblestone. "Do you know what kind of trouble I could get into if I'm seen with you?" she asked, seemingly to no one in particular.
A shimmering golden orb nestled safely into a mess of curls next to Charlotte's ear. It was a fairy—a pixie to be exact. "I need your help," she said in her tiny voice.
"What do you need me for?" Charlotte replied. "I'm just a grown-up. You and your lot don't take well to us grown-ups."
"You weren't always a grown up," said the fairy with a hint of nostalgia, maybe even regret, but as we all know, fairies are much too small to feel more than one emotion at a time.
"What are you talking about?" Charlotte asked, trying to swat the annoying little ball of sneeze-dust away from her ear. "Leave me alone, pixie."
"You sure got grumpy," snapped the pixie and crossed her arms over her chest. She left her hiding spot and hovered in front of Charlotte's face. The fairy's cheeks seemed to be glowing a little on the cherry-red side. Charlotte stopped walking and pressed her lips into a thin line.
"Why won't you go away?" she asked, planting her fists on her hips.
"I said I need your help," the fairy answered, mimicking Charlotte's posture.
"Well I can't help you," Charlotte said and promptly traipsed past the fairy, gathering a fistful of her skirt and flinging her red-copper ringlets over her shoulder.
But that pixie wouldn't leave her alone. She flitted back and forth around Charlotte's head, despite her attempts to wave her away. "You don't like Hook very much, do you?" asked the fairy.
"What ever gave you that idea?"
"I saw you when you left his cabin. You were unhappy."
Charlotte stopped walking and just barely suppressed a snarl in the corner of her mouth. "Of course I was unhappy. Do you have any idea what happened in that cabin? Of course not. You pixies are born out of laughter. You know nothing of unhappiness." She started walking again, but the fairy planted herself right in front of her nose and held her fast with her super-human strength.
"I know what unhappiness looks like. And I know that you don't like Hook or what he's doing with Peter Pan's kids."
"Those are not Peter Pan's kids. That man was not Peter Pan. Peter Pan is never coming back. Ever."
The pixie's wings drooped, and she pulled away. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"It doesn't matter what I believe. I just want to—" Charlotte gently massaged her forehead to stave off the ensuing headache. She couldn't believe she was even having this discussion—and with a fairy, of all people. "I just want to go home. Now please leave me alone."
When she walked away this time, the fairy didn't follow her. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
Charlotte looked over her shoulder as the pixie flew away and furrowed her eyebrows—a poor choice, she soon realized, when she unknowingly stepped on a string of lace that had come undone from her shoe and toppled forward onto the cobblestone. She grunted and slapped the stone in frustration; she hadn't tripped on her shoes in years! That stupid pixie had made her lose focus, especially when the pixie had spoken so familiarly with her. It was strange that she had though Charlotte would know where to find her, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind and heaved herself to her feet. She had reached Madame Hyacinth's.