Author's Note: Hey, everybody! Well, I promised you guys some full-length Peter Pan stories, but unfortunately I don't think I'll be finishing them on schedule. I haven't given up on the ideas...they're just going to be a bit later than expected. So, to hold you over while you wait here is "Hook Remembers." Enjoy! And don't forget to leave a review if you like it! :)
~CaptainHooksGirl~
Disclaimer: I don't own Peter Pan...but I do own a Captain Hook plushie doll, which is pretty sweet. :D
Hook Remembers
Hook remembers the first day he set foot on the accursed island's shore, black leather boots sinking softly into the wet sand dappled with the shadows of the palm trees swaying in the balmy breeze. He remembers the magic in the air, the electric charge that pulsed through the land like a heartbeat, as if the sand and sea and sky were somehow alive—and perhaps they are.
Hook remembers the moment he first saw the boy dancing through the starry night sky, the silvery light of the moon shining on the water and glinting on the dagger at his side. He remembers the blade biting his skin—cold, hard steel slicing through warm flesh running rivulets of red that stain the deck in splashes of wine and droplets of ruby, his remaining hand slick with blood and his brow slick with sweat—but Peter thought it was a game.
Hook remembers his first day at Eton with just the right clothes and just the right manners; he'd been a gentleman then, and some things never changed. He remembered the dorms and the books, the musty smell of the pages of history and literature and art in the quiet confines of the library where he'd devoured the knowledge of great minds like a starving puppy set loose in a banquet hall—but the scholars' words seem useless now.
Hook remembers the first time he fell in love, a shy little schoolboy head over heels for a girl with the sweet blush of youth on her cheeks and the innocence of childhood in her heart. He remembers that innocence now—longs for it—longs for her softly falling tears to wash the bloodstains from the claw and from the flesh—part of him is still human even if the hook is not.
Hook remembers what it is to be called husband. He remembers the waltzes, the whispers, the soft touch of a woman. He scoffs at the little silver thimble perched on Peter's thumb because he knows that there is so much more to kisses than Pan will ever know. But Wendy is a clever girl, wise beyond her years, and thimbles will not be enough to hold her here forever—it will be a shame to watch him break her heart, but the captain knows it's coming and there's little he can do.
Hook remembers heartache all too well. He remembers the dying breath of an angel in his arms, knowing that he will never hear the word father from her lips or from the child buried deep within the earth who never knew the warmth of sunlight outside its mother's womb. "No little children to love me"—not then and certainly not now—but he gave up those dreams a long time ago.
Hook remembers raging seas and firing cannons—the salty sea spray on his face, the tinge of smoke on the breeze, the rush of adrenaline in his veins. He remembers when he was loyal to his country, when looting enemy ships was considered service to the crown and privateers were hailed as heroes. But then the war ended, and with the single stroke of a royal pen, all the rules were changed. He was labeled as a scoundrel, a murderer, a thief—and having the role of 'villain' thrust upon him, a villain is what he became.
Hook remembers all the joy and all the pain that comes with life—the grief of loss, pride of patriotism, the fall from grace. He remembers every mistake he's ever made, every sin that darkens his soul—and though he may not be a better man for it, he knows who he is and where he came from and where he's going—even if the man he is is not the man he wants to be. Hook has more unhappy memories than happy ones, but he treasures them just the same because they are a part of who he is.
But Peter is just a boy, and Peter forgets. Peter forgets unhappy thoughts almost as soon as he thinks them. He forgets his imperfections, his flaws, his failures. He forgets everything except the present, and in doing so, he has forgotten what it is to be human—for it is only when one has experienced sadness that joy becomes full; it is seeing our faults that make us strive to become better; and it is our pasts that help shape the present.
Hook remembers all of this as he plummets out of the rigging and down toward the sea. And for a moment he closes his eyes and imagines he's flying, though his thoughts are far from happy—for if Hook is the only one who remembers, who then, will ever remember Hook?