A/n: Brief note; Hook is very OOC but I describe why and considering this story's contents, he's OOC anyway, but for anyone out there that will have a problem with this, you were warned...
Homecoming:
With every heartbeat, he was closer, with very breath, with very pulse, closer, until the star was no longer a star but a bright expanse of glittering color and he was being pulled forward, a gentle tugging against his limbs, drawing him deeper. And with every passing moment, the warm, bright feeling of being home, home, I'm finally home pulsed through him. The excitement coursed higher as he caught the scent of warm, blue skies and brine, putting one last powerful surge into his flight. Then he was bursting through the clouds, the absolute freedom lending him another burst of energy and he spiraled up, hands raised over his head towards the blazing sun. And he tossed his head back with a throaty laugh, for what stretched out below him was the familiar sight of Never Land. Of his home.
Truly, he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life than the glittering landscape he gazed upon now and he just hung, suspended in the crisp, clear air, taking it all in with hungry, green eyes. A lush island with mountains and golden fields and wide expanses of sandy beaches reared out of the warm sapphire waters of the ocean. From where he was in the sky, he couldn't see detail but he drank in what he could see; the dip of a lagoon he knew was rocky and was home to more than twenty mermaids, the flat planes where hundreds of tepees had been erected and where drums could be heard at all hours of the night, flames turning the night sky orange. He could see the considerable stretch of forest that had been the site of his own base for so many years. There was a huge grin pulling at the corner of his lips as he pressed his hands to his hips, the high, cool wind whipping at his long hair, a certain pixy gibbering with uncontainable glee at his shoulder, glowing bright enough that even under the bright light of the sun she glowed. Peter spared her a warm smile, reaching out a long finger to brush over feather soft hair.
"You can go," he said softly, fondly and she gave a loud squeal of delight, pressing a kiss to his cheek before streaking off, a bright catapult through the shimmering air. He watched her, smiling, before letting his eyes turn to the one place that had been weighing on his mind since last night. A dark, shadowy bay, surrounded by the towering mountains where he knew a majestic wooden ship was docked, collecting barnacles, collecting malice. As high up as he was, the ship itself was just a speck but he found himself swallowing thickly, wondering if he had recalled wrong, if his mind had become twisted in the long years he had spent away. He wanted nothing more than for that particular ship to become nothing more than a place to avoid like it used to be but now he was curious. Curious and something more that rang somewhat familiar yet different and it gnawed at him, drawing him to a place full of bad memories and darkness.
With an effort, Peter tore his eyes away and sprang into motion, following the faint remains of a pixy trail, wind tearing at his hair as he plummeted towards the ground, the exhilaration of a controlled fall flaming through him, snatching his breath away, stealing it from his very lungs. He had forgotten in the gloom of a world without magic how it had felt to feel the wind in his hair, what it was like to see the ground rushing at him at impossible speeds. So much so that he wasn't sure if he should be laughing or crying, heart full to bursting point.
The green island was suddenly impossibly big as he angled towards the towering cliffs and golden planes, skimming over the bright grass, the soft tuffs brushing against his outstretched fingertips. A mini forest of conical structures bit into the flat landscapes, and he dipped so he would fly between them, weaving through the painted community as dark skinned people lifted darker heads to watch him with wide eyed amazement. He whooped when several of the children chased him, waving as they laughed, delighted and the adults pointed, wondering. Their shocked faces stayed with him as he sped towards the jagged mountains, smiling. No doubt everyone had thought him gone for good and while he might look different, older, surely there was no mistaking who he was.
He bypassed the mountains, falling below the cliffs and headed towards the lagoon, where bright waters of the purest turquoise rippled with the movement of jewel bright fins and glittering beauty. They were all still there, sun bathing on the rocks or cutting leisurely through the water, glancing up when he warned them with a wordless cry of greeting. Ethereal faces lit up upon his approach, his name shouted into the wind and he didn't even slow down as he sped towards the water, slipping under the surface with a flashy splash. The water was so clear he could see each of their faces as they surrounded him, bubbly voices exclaiming over how he had changed, touching, tugging at his hair, his strange clothes and he smiled at them, enjoying the attention. One of them was bold enough to slip her arms around his neck and he grabbed her around her slim waist, offering a water logged kiss on soft, slippery lips. Then he winked and was surfacing with a gasp and a grin, shining water falling gracefully through the air. The mermaid's voices were followed him as he tore away like the tinkling of gently shaken wind chimes, soaking and ridiculously happy, the taste of sunlight and fish lingering on his lips.
Full of water, the clothes he was wearing had become heavy and he tore at them as he rounded over the mountains, headed towards the highest spot on the entire island, chucking the heavy jacket and the thick boots, the socks and the vest until he was in nothing but a dripping blouse and a pair of black trousers. The bowtie he was unwilling to let go of as it reminded him of what he had left behind, wrapping it instead around his upper arm, keeping it for the memory of blue eyes and a soft smile.
Then he reached the pinnacle of the land, a flat plateau that over looked the entire expanse of the island, the only place where everything could be seen and he shook out his wild mane, grinning as he shot through the air. Peter paused, looking over his domain and gave in to the joy brimming over in his heart, throwing back his head and crowing his delight to the sky. The deep sound, so familiar and yet so different rang out over the land and every head turned, seeing the bright vision of shining gold in the sky. It was a proclamation, an announcement.
He was back. Peter Pan had returned to Never Land.
Mornings were never Captain Hook's favorite part of the day.
No part of the day was, as a matter of fact, as he had always been partial to night time, a time of shadows and mystery. He imagined that the darkness suited him better than the sunlight ever could. Not that he didn't like the sun. He did, it just made him feel out of place, as if he wasn't worthy to be bathed in its golden light. Long ago he had come to terms with the envy that clawed through him for beings that dwelled in the light, his longing to be able to join them palatable. Thus his rather intense dislike for mornings.
Well, that and he tended to look like crap when he had just woken up. It was an unspoken rule among his crew that he was not to be disturbed in his quarters until noon or if he exited them. Mornings were off limits and when that rule was broken, people tended to get shot, no questions asked.
That morning was no different.
He was curled in the thick skins on his small bed (though it was the biggest one of the boat), dark hair tangled around his face, trying to unsuccessfully evade a stubborn chink of golden light that insisted on falling into his eyes. It had woken him from a dream where he had heard the familiar crowing of a proud boy that had left this world years ago, leaving him feeling even more irritable than usual. The echoes of the sound still rattled around in his skull and the beginning of a blinding headache was already working its way through his brain, licking angrily at his temples. He groaned as he pulled one of the blankets over his head, willing the day away. It was too much to hope that no one would notice if he didn't get up that day. He still had a ship to run.
This was his train of thought as sleep was beginning to steal back over him, making his lids heavy when his door was unceremoniously thrown open, the resulting bang as the wooden surface ricocheted off the wall startling him. The furious throb in his head scattered his thoughts for a moment as he sat up, thinking, who's about to die now? But it was only his first mate, as bald and as slimy as ever, sweating and generally looking nervous as he wrung his hat in his hands.
"What the fuck do you want?" his voice sounded like gravel and the older man winced, sweat dripping off his shiny head and over the round contours of his face. Smee would never presume to bother him unless it was important but it was entertaining to watch the man squirm. Forcing the cobwebs from his brain, the Captain pushed the dark curls from his eyes and pinned his first mate with an icy black glare.
"S-sorry t-t-to wake you, C-captain," he stammered, eyeing the dark haired man still tangled with his sheets and stabbing him with his eyes, "I-I know n-no one is s-s-supposed to—" Fury flared hot and Hook snarled dangerously, launching a glass on the table next to his bunk across the room, narrowly missing the older man's head, a rain of glass littering the worn floor boards.
"GET ON WITH IT!!" now Smee was cowering near the floor, hands over his head and he heard a dry swallow, his head pounding from the effort of raising his voice.
"Y-yes…s-sir, I…we…" for a moment the Captain was sure the first mate was actually going to choke on his words, the ugly, terrified twist of his face almost comical and he watched in fascination as Smee tried to unearth the words that had him braving his Captain's considerable wrath. He was just beginning to wonder if he was going to have to send another breakable reminder across the room when the man threw himself onto his knees, hiding his face as hurried words spewed from his mouth, "I'm sorry but you told us to tell you if Peter Pan ever came back and he has, this morning and…" the world froze when those words struck the dark haired man, like a slap across the face, the stumbling voice continuing with its verbal hemorrhage becoming nothing more than a nonsensical buzz, meaningless. He sat, still half tangled with his sheets, hair falling into his face, wearing nothing but a loose shirt and a pair of breeches, cool dark eyes wide as his face went slack with shock. That name, the name he had forbidden for seven years, had whipped through him, stalling the steady beat of his heart and making his blood pound angrily. Back. That's what Smee had said…to tell you if he ever came back.
So then, the crowing in his dreams had not been imagined. Slowly, trying to drag his scattered consciousness into some semblance of order, he blinked when he realized Smee had gotten to his feet and was peering worriedly into his Captain's blank face. There were words, yes, a question that he needed to ask, some way he needed to react, if only he could find those words.
"Did…did you say…Peter Pan?" his voice had dropped an octave, thick, as that name always tasted so sweet on his tongue, the reason why he refused to speak it. Shifty eyes darted around the room, wondering how he was going to explode and the first mate was back to twisting that hat in his chubby fingers, licking his lips that were no doubt bone dry from fear.
"Yes, Captain," it wavered, as if Smee wanted to be anywhere but there and Hook could feel the pressure building in his chest, the anger that he used to mask everything else when speaking of the boy that had been the bane of his existence for much longer than should have been possible.
"…Back…" that was all he could manage because that aching anger was spiking to dangerous levels, something he had not felt in the entire seven years that the flying little pest had been gone. His first mate cringed, seeing the icy gaze filling with a fire he (and his head) was very familiar with.
"Y-yes…Captain…" one second then another and in the complete silence, he felt something click into place, the trigger for the detonation.
"WHHHHAAAATTTT!?!?!"His roar rocked the boat, making the water it rested peacefully on ripple anxiously, as if eager to get away from the burning source of rage. Every single soul upon the vessel, already braced, for the whispers of Peter Pan's name had been flowing through their ranks all morning, froze, every gaze turning towards the door of the Captain's private quarters. He could feel it as the red settled over his vision, his whole crew holding their breath as he threw himself from his bed. The door splintered when he slammed it open, nearly able to smell the fear that was rolling off the men of his crew. If only he knew what he looked like, his normally trim appearance wild, onyx eyes blazing behind the fall of dark curls, shirt hanging off one shoulder and caught in the wide belt he had never taken off. He looked every inch the fearsome pirate that he was. But he wasn't concerned with them. His eyes were on the sky, searching, wanting the proof. His bare feet slapped against the damp boards as he strode to the bow of the ship, snatching a monocular from a table that held useless charts of the stars.
"Where is he?" he snarled at one of the crew that had been unfortunate enough to be standing close enough so that he might address him and the man cringed as he answered. Because he wasn't wearing the hook, he was forced to balance the glass against his forearm, his lack of a second hand now more of a nuisance than anything else.
"S-sir, he was just off the starboard side, thirty degrees north," a muted voice whispered and the dark haired man swung the glass in that direction, trying not to notice how much the pounding of his heart was more like nerves, not anger. At first he saw nothing but rounded views of a jeweled colored sky, frustration already thick in the back of his throat. But, no, the sky was not empty as he had almost breathlessly hoped it would be. There. There he was.
Peter Pan.
Hook didn't notice all the curious eyes on his back as he went very still, mouth pressed into a hard line, staring through the slight distortion of the glass at a face that was familiar yet not.
The boy was perched at the edge of one of the cliffs, feet dangling over the rocky sides, grinning for all he was worth as a little golden pixy circled his head. Hook could see the full lips moving as he spoke, addressing the faerie. He was relaxed, unaware, and the Captain studied him, pondering the changes. In the seven years that the boy had been gone, he had turned into a young man. Even sitting he looked quite tall, almost as tall as Hook himself and his chestnut hair had grown impossibly long, pulled back into a thick rope of shimmering waves. His eyes were still wide, features expressive but his face…well, Hook hated to admit this but he was stunning.
The dark haired Captain's movement was fast, snapping the looking glass closed so hard, the shaped glass at the end popped out of its setting, clattering to the ground and he grabbed the nearest crew member, a burly man, shorter than himself with weathered skin and a wild beard.
"When?" he growled, long fingers wrapped around the man's throat and he barely felt the hands clawing at his wrist in a vain attempt to get free. There was a shuffle behind him and Smee slithered up beside him, a faint sheen of perspiration still clinging to his skin.
"Almost two hours ago, Captain," he said, voice still trembling and Hook's grip tightened, red blazing behind his eyelids once again as he tossed the poor soul over the railing, gritting his teeth against the wail then resulting splash. He whirled on the first mate, eyes blazing, shoving his hair from his face as it was caught by an errant wind.
"AND JUST HOW LONG WERE YOU GOING TO WAIT BEFORE YOU TOLD ME???" he raged, making the whole crew take a shaky step back and Smee once again cower against the floor. There was dead silence, the response he was expecting and he straightened his shoulders with an effort, light fracturing as the pain in his head came roaring back. It was times like these he felt old, spread thin. He pinched the bridge of his nose, something he only did when he was truly upset before turning on his heel and stalking back to his quarters, offering nothing to his stunned crew.
The sharp bang of his unfortunate door cut off the light from the rest of the world and he stopped just on the other side, anger leaking away in the wake of something stronger, much like anguish. The fire had been doused and he peered at his single hand that was vibrating violently, the other just a stump, a reminder.
"Fuck," he whispered to his quiet room, pressing his fingers to his face as his back bumped against the door, sliding down it until he was on the floor, eyes sightless. He hated that it hurt, a familiar ache accompanying the one knocking anxiously against the inside of his skull. How could anyone that escaped this god forsaken place ever want to come back? Hook might have hated that Peter had left but it was nothing compared to what he felt about his return.
As he sat on the floor in the semi-darkness of his quarters, deaf to the mutterings and movement of his crew, he realized he was in deep shit.
The old hideout was the last place Peter went to in his quest to reacquaint himself with the island. Well, the second to last place but the other didn't merit mention.
He was sad to see, as he alighted gracefully under the cool, leafy trees where their old fort had once been the home of more than a dozen boys, that nature had made quick work in reclaiming what was hers, leaving only faint traces of evidence that anyone had lived there at all. The tunnels were still somewhat intact, and the underground rooms but there had been some cave-ins and he found that he missed the sky too much to stay there for very long. It was stifling and dark and dusty, holding too many memories that crowded against the back of his eyes and left him feeling a little bereft. He would not be sorry that he had returned but that also meant that he was once again rather lonely.
Tink had found him when he had been perched on the cliffs, admiring blue waters as he sat back in long grass, bursting with news of her brethren and how exited they were that the true monarch of Never Land had returned. That had stroked his ego a bit as he had always been partial to the faeries that lived in the wood and he had spent the rest of the day with them, letting them pamper him with food and a good time. They might be small but the faeries always did throw the best parties.
Yet with the onset of dusk, he had removed himself from the revelry, not signaling to his sidekick for she looked like she was the happiest she had been in a long time and a little tipsy besides. He just flew a path that had been ingrained in his head, never forgotten and that was how he found himself staring at a familiar sight, at a place he had called his safe haven for as long as he could remember. Perhaps it was better left in disrepair. Being there would just remind him of what he had left behind, leaving him torn once again. So he just found a wide branch of a big oak some ways off and leaned back against the trunk, watching as the sun finally slipped away, engulfed in shadows, the sounds of night beginning to fill the forest. It was soothing because it was familiar and he laid back, arms pillowing his head so he could strain to see the stars winking through the breaks in the leaves overhead.
He might have dozed, he wasn't sure but the steady, distant sound of drums brought him back to the surface, a steady thrum that would permeate the island for many hours. Dreams clung to his long eyelashes, leaving him slightly disoriented. Then he noticed he was alone, Tinkerbell still off somewhere else and just like that he was no longer tired.
Try as he might, the limb he was stretched out on had become too hard, the forest around him too different from the constant sound that came from living in a city, that he was completely alone here suddenly glaringly obvious. A restless buzz worked through him, wrapping itself around his bones until he couldn't stay still a moment longer. Peter threw himself into the night with a quiet curse, something he had never really got in the habit of, the air cool on his face. He liked that he could fly again, though, and the freedom that came with it.
For a moment he contemplated joining the Indians in their celebration, recalling blazing fires and lively dances. They would welcome him with open arms; they always used to and the temptation tugged at him, making him wonder if he still remembered the steps to the dances that he had known by heart seven years ago. If he would still remember what to do when that beat slipped under his skin and commanded that he move. Human habitation, a chance at company, maybe even a place to sleep for the night, as they had often been known to be offered a place by one of the fires for the duration of the night.
And yet, as appealing as that might have sounded, the brunette steered east instead, breath caught in the back of his throat. It was unintentional but when he realized it, he didn't change course. He just kept on, pushing through the thick, cool shadows of the night, feeling the island thrumming with life as if welcoming him home. Only with a smile did he acknowledge it, eyes trained on his destination.
Peter kept flying east, to a dark bay where a certain ship floated quietly upon the black waters.
The thing about Captain Hook was that he wasn't really evil.
He was misunderstood.
Of course, he never really did anything to dispel the negative image that had come to be associated with his name and probably tossing a member of his own crew over the side of the ship didn't really help. But in reality, he was just lost.
Literally.
They had actually stumbled into Never Land by accident in their flight from a government ship intent on bringing them to justice and had been stuck there ever since. And all he really wanted was to find his way back home.
That dream, though, he had given up on a long time ago, resigned to living forever in a place that never changed, resorting to petty conflicts just to pass the time, so as not to run mad. No one else remembered the before, what came previous to their life in this place but he did, glimpses, images, feelings. They couldn't understand why he would want to leave, for leaving meant aging, dying, the possibility of being crushed by reality. It didn't matter; he had searched, hunted for the means of being able to find a way back and nothing. Not even a glimmer. He was left with a rotting ship and a pathetic crew and no future.
Hook hadn't always been Captain. He had actually been the young first mate, agreeable, practical, a little brooding but not downright violent like he was now before the true Captain died in the rather bumpy voyage through the mists that had brought them, limping, to the shores of Never Land. Control of the vessel landed upon his shoulders. His life had stopped the day after he had turned thirty one, on a trip that was supposed to bring him enough success that he would be given a command of his own, a true Captain of a pirating vessel. Okay, so he was never really on the straight and narrow but he wasn't evil, either. He just wanted to find his way home.
This desire was what drew him to Peter in the first place; friend of the Faeries and the Merfolk, Lord of the Skies, Prince of Never Land. But more than that, the boy could fly.
At first he was only interested because it seemed flying might get him home. When he had pushed his way through the dense forest in search of the boy and the secret of soaring among the clouds, he had been sure that if he put his predicament to the kid reasonably, surely he would be more than willing to help. What he hadn't been counting on was Peter's pride and total mistrust for adults. Honestly, he was still a little surprised he managed to get back to the relative safety of his ship without being killed. Psychotic brat and his posse of no-good whelps. Hook had just wanted to ask him a question and had gotten attacked instead.
This was where their conflict started. Their conflict and his obsession.
He didn't actually pursue the conflict with Peter at first, having gritted his teeth and resolved himself that he didn't need to learn how to fly to get away, back to his home. But the boy, it seemed, had other ideas. The young brunette seemed to thrive on conflict, on adventure, him and his group of followers making the Captain and his crew's lives hell with their pranks and sneak attacks. Hook was unable to comprehend the hostility Peter seemed to hold for him. For their conflict was personal, of that he was sure. Perhaps it was because the older man had been presumptuous in asking for the secret of flight. Or maybe the boy just hated him. For what reason other than the afore mentioned one, he couldn't fathom but whatever it was, it started a petty war with him and the boy at the vortex.
When he started fighting back he couldn't remember. It was a long time ago. But by then he had already been captured by the wide, green eyes that laughed at him as Peter circled in the sky, the free spirit tugging at something within him that he couldn't identify. It was that spirit that reminded him of how trapped he was, how much he wished he could be like that. But while he coveted it, he wished to tame it too, make it bend to his own will. He had been disgusted by this revelation. Peter was just a boy, after all and he was a grown man. There was no perversion in the desire, nothing that would hurt the boy. Rather, he just wanted to touch upon that bright, shining soul, to make his own mark upon it. Even when the kid had claimed his left hand, he still wanted.
Though, at that point he couldn't let the kid get away with such an offence. It was right before Peter left that things had taken a turn for the worse and while Hook had planned to knock the kid out of the sky for a while, he didn't even get a chance before Peter just up and disappeared, flying away into the sunset. Without a backwards glance, not that Hook really expected one. After all, on the surface, they were enemies.
The light in his cabin was a warm golden glow that staved off the shadows as his cool gaze studied the lifeless metal that had replaced his hand. He wondered exactly when it had become something more then what was on the surface and the fact that there was more then surface confused him. Problem was, no matter how much he wanted to hate Peter, he found that he just couldn't. The only thing he hated was that this had become his life, day after day stuck on this boat with nothing to do but brood. Sun-darkened knuckles tightened on a crystal glass of warm red wine he had been nursing since he had finally managed to stop shaking and pick himself off the floor. The taste from the first sip was still bitter in the back of his mouth and he dropped his eyes finally, the tip of the metal hook gouging a sliver of wood from the arm of the chair he was sprawled in. It just wasn't fair.
And now, on top of everything else, Peter had gone and grown up, coming back not just as carefree as usual but fucking beautiful and the Captain cursed what was left of his blackened heart.
He couldn't lie to himself, though. The time in which the green eyed boy was gone, he had been bored out of his mind, restless, hating that he wished the kid would just hurry up and come back. He even missed their petty fights, the duels, the crash of their swords and wits in a game he never was able to wrap his head around. Yet, now that he was back, the dark haired man was even more confused. And he loathed not being right in his own mind. More than that, he hated that he couldn't stop thinking about it, about the young man that he had seen through the monocular. Was this what Never Land had turned him into, he wondered; caught up on some boy while he rotted away, unable to age, to move, to do anything, slowly going crazy. He frowned deeply before knocking back the glass of the now tepid drink, swallowing the thick, bitter liquid.
Thus was the train of his thoughts when there was a soft scuffing noise outside one the windows of his quarters, catching him off guard as his eyes swung in the direction the sound had come from. He knew for a fact those windows dropped straight down into the water and the only way someone could gain access to one is to climb down from the top deck. Or fly. Feeling the distinct lack of need to react aggressively, he just set the glass in his single hand on the table by his elbow and reached into his belt, drawing out his pistol. He was even too lazy to lift it, resting his forearm against the chair and pointed it at the window the noise was coming from, waiting calmly.
A soft rustle, a scrape of something hard against wood paneling and he barely managed to keep his surprise hidden when the lock was forced up, allowing for the shutter to spring open, letting in a gust of warm night air, the lamps fluttering. There was a slit second of nothing in which his body tensed, before he was taken aback by what flew in to land on his window sill. Green eyes swung around the room, wary, guarded before they met his own and he had to physically steady himself with a slow breath through his nose.
For the person who was crouched in his window was none other than Peter Pan.
The night was cool, like every other night in Never Land, the shadows thick, dark. They couldn't hide the ship in the middle of the harbor, though, rocking gently with a soft breeze, it's sails furled, lights bobbing all along the deck and flickering in most of the windows. He had settled into some tall weeds at the edge of the water, watching shadows move along the length of the ship, voices carrying across the dark bay, rendered unintelligible with the distance.
At first he had berated himself for even coming here, letting his curiosity get the better of him but he reasoned, he wouldn't be who he was if he hadn't. Nothing had changed; nothing ever changed in Never Land. It didn't even look like the ship had sailed out of the harbor the whole time he had been gone, still in the same position it had been the last time he had seen it. And he found himself wondering about the man who commanded the vessel.
He wondered why it mattered to him if the Captain had even noticed if he was gone. Peter realized that they had never been on the best of terms and he was afraid that was his own fault. The conflict had started with his own misconception. See, the power of being the unofficial ruler over their little world had been a heady thing and whenever he had seen a play for that power, he had been sure to make sure his own claim was indisputable. That boat had appeared out of the mist many long years ago, bringing with it a man that looked born to rule, with cold eyes and a proud stature. He couldn't have such a person think they would be taking control of Never Land so he had done the first thing that had made sense to his young mind and attacked.
Now that he looked back on it, he realized how stupid the whole thing had been. In reality, it had been nothing more than a game. He wondered if the older man had realized it too for every time they had crossed blades, he had always been sure Hook was holding back.
And because he really wanted to know, he decided there was only one way to find out.
The guards posted on the boat had become lax in the years he had been away, playing cards and listening to the soft strumming of a guitar, their voices a low rumble, completely unaware he had glided just over the water, circling the ship once before adjusting his course and stopping before the lit windows at the stern. Once there, he paused, contemplating. This was probably not one of his better ideas, sneaking into enemy territory without a plan or someone who knew where he was. But that couldn't be helped now; he had already made up his mind.
He drew his short blade, working it through the seam of one of the windows, flipping the catch with a little effort, jumping back when the shutter sprang open. Golden light spilled into the dark night, spreading like a bright stain and his heart leapt into his throat, nerves rattling through him. He could still turn away but for some reason he felt compelled, drawn towards the open window until he was crouched on the sill, peering into the softly lit room.
He didn't see Hook at first amid the clutter, marveling at the riches piled and draped on all surfaces, tables, chairs, a bed, and even on the piano tucked away in a corner. It was busy and startling, making him realize he had never actually seen the older man's quarters before, though there was a good reason as the man was usually trying to kill him. His green eyes swept right over the man in the chair, looking like part of the glittering, rich disorder.
His breath caught when he finally spotted the man, bright gaze getting hung up on orbs of steely black, making him freeze.
The memories he had of Captain Hook didn't even come close to doing the real thing justice. He sat in a large chair, sprawling, long legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back, one elbow taking some weight so one broad shoulder was cocked higher than the other. He was in a calm state of uncomfortably appealing disorder, hair spilling over his shoulders and across his face in dark, oiled cork screws, shadowing the steady, cool gaze that was still, expressionless, pinning Peter from under surprisingly long eyelashes. His nose was long and sharp, lips neatly formed and curled slightly at the corners, almost as if they had been made to smile, which was ridiculous because the brunette was sure the man had never smiled once in his entire existence. His jaw was sharp, chin strong and skin dyed a deep, dark shade of tan from the days he spent under the sun. The signature red jacket was missing, leaving him in just a flowing white shirt that was open at the collar, reveling sharp clavicle bones, and a pair of dark breeches. Dark leather boots adorned graceful calves, curling over at the tops and a wide belt was fastened around the narrow waist, jewels glittering on the thick buckle. Gold hoops peeked out from the dark hair, winking in the warm light, matching the curved piece of metal fastened to the stump of his left hand. The other hand rested easily on the arm of the chair, aiming a primed pistol right at his heart. What really alarmed Peter was the absolute calm the man was facing him with.
Peter swallowed thickly before sliding all the way into the room, bare feet touching upon the cool floor boards, wide gaze watching the Captain closely. Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say, allowing himself to be studied coolly by that icy stare. Perhaps he had been wrong in coming here but he had to know; he needed the true reason he had returned to be real, not some figment of his imagination. Taking in the man's appearance, he shuddered internally at the wave of heat that washed over him.
The silence was deafening, weighing heavily on his shoulders and he shifted uncomfortably before he couldn't take it anymore. Peter spread his arms and smiled cheekily, returning the older man's stare defiantly.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" he asked, soft baritone snagging on the clutter of the room, muted, the teasing note less sharp than it might have been. Those dark eyes flickered, an emotion whipping through their depths too fast for him to identify before it sank below the cool, hard encasing ice. They narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to figure out what Peter was up to.
"Like what?" the deep bass rumbled through the room, as sharp as the man himself, belying his impatience. It was a little more than passing strange to be standing calmly in front of this man, talking like the past between them had never happened. To hide the hitch at the velvety sound of the Captain's voice he let his grin grow wider.
"Well, I'm back! Doesn't that merit something?" his voice was too bright in the cabin, too obnoxious and reminiscent of the boy he used to be but he was pleased to see the curved lips twitch ever so slightly, though in annoyance or in a suppressed smile, he wasn't sure. Whatever it was, he was happy for a reaction. Again those cold eyes flashed.
"No, it doesn't," this time the older man's voice was flat, devoid of any emotion and he wondered what was behind it. Very aware of the gun still trained on him, he sailed to a chair a few feet away and perched on one of the arms, drawing one knee to his chest.
"Hmm, I guess not," he gave another small smile as he studied the dark haired man, wondering if Hook was really planning on shooting him, "You know, you can put your gun away. I'm not going to do anything," he could tell the laughter in his voice grated on the Captain who hadn't moved a muscle since he had flown in through the window. Those lips curled in a sarcastic, half smile, the expression twisting the sharp features slightly.
"Forgive me if I can't bring myself to trust you. You did cut off my hand and feed it to a crocodile," the golden hook glittered as if reminding the younger man that it was there and he tossed a soft laugh to the ceiling, missing how those dark eyes narrowed further, watching the action carefully.
"You're still mad about that?" he snickered, tilting his head and pressing it against his knee. The man snarled softly, eyebrows drawing down in a flash of temper, the expression familiar. Hook shifted then, sitting a little straighter and pinning Peter with a hard stare, one he tried not to squirm under as the intensity nearly struck him breathless.
"Why the fuck are you here?" the man demanded, eyes flaring hotly and for a moment Peter was quiet, watching the older man fume quietly. It was strange how being in close proximity with this person was feeding a fire of longing that burned in his chest, making the familiar feeling almost alien, evading his attempts to understand it. It was bad that he liked the way this man talked, the way his dark eyes blazed when he was angry, the way he remained cold despite the anger he could see brimming over on his sharp features. One day since he had returned and he was already wondering if it had been a good idea. Feeling such things for a person who had been your mortal enemy was certainly not a good thing. Right? Finally, gathering wits that had dangerously scattered as he stared at the older man, he lifted his head from his knee, shrugging but keeping his face blank.
"Just thought I'd come give you my regards," now his voice was bland, watching the Captain grind his teeth in irritation at such a noncommittal, flippant answer. The dark gaze pulled at him, trying to incinerate him and he had to carefully fortify his defenses lest the man see how shaken he really was. There was a sharply inhaled breath, the older man's nostrils going white around the edges as he tried to rein in his temper.
"That's it? That's the only reason why you broke in here? To give me your regards?" there was an incredulous tone in that deep voice and it was his turn to frown, resting his chin against his knee now as he contemplated the man before him.
"Well, it wasn't like you were busy, or anything," he said lazily, noting how the hook gouged a nice little sliver out of the wood of the chair's arm, dark eyes blazing wildly before the older man settled again, glaring at Peter as if he was trying to pick him apart so he could figure him out.
"Indeed," was all he said, sliding back down in his chair as he contemplated the younger man, expression unreadable. Peter unfolded himself from the chair, standing at his full height and watching the dark eyes raise to stay focused on his face. The gun never wavered, remaining pointed at him, though now it was more of a statement than a safety precaution. The brunette fingered a fall of lace draped over the chair he had been sitting on, the texture rough and a little brittle under his finger tips.
"I actually came to ask for a duel," he said, catching the flicker of interest, smiling again as Hook tilted his head back slightly, looking a little amused. One dark eyebrow arched high, slipping out of sight behind an errant curl and Peter's concentration splintered a bit when he wondered how threading his fingers through those curls would feel.
"A duel…" again with the flat tone and he was dragged back from the dark shores created by perilous thoughts. His own wide green gaze met dark obsidian and he grinned again, telling his heart to stop being stupid and trying to run away up the back of his throat every time the dark haired man spoke.
"Yes. Tomorrow at noon, on the shore," it was a given the man would accept but he held his breath anyway. Again that dark eyebrow quirked, the expression making his mouth go just a little dry, leaving him suddenly longing for the night sky that would dispel the surging desire licking erratically under his skin. There was no answering smile but the dark eyes narrowed again, softly, as if the man wanted to mirror Peter's expression.
"And what does the winner receive?" Hook asked, intrigued and this time the younger man shook his ginger head, long hair brushing against the backs of his elbows.
"It's just for fun. No stakes," his answer sounded more confident than he felt, hating the suffocating feeling stealing over him, like someone was sitting on his chest, his reaction to being close to this man again startling and confusing. The lack of hate between them was giving birth to other things, desire cutting, bright and it was like he was meeting the older man all over again. This was their very first conversation, though in a way it was because they had never really traded anything but insults and blows before. He had never realized just how sharp that gaze could be or the subtle differences as the sharp features flowed from one expression to the next. It was baffling, the intensity of his reaction shocking him. Now the cool eyes were regarding him as he tried not to fidget, longing to be free of the sudden vise constricting his chest cavity. This was getting perilous and he wanted nothing more than to escape through the open window, be embraced by the open skies in hopes they might ease the ache.
"Very well, then. Noon it is," and Peter was terrified by how his heart leapt at those words. He nodded once, full lips curling into a smile and he bounded for the window. Peter was just about to leap into the shadows once again when he made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder, the need to look at Hook once more before he turned away too strong to ignore. The fire he found in that dark gaze caught him by surprise, searing through him to his very bones, mirroring the one dancing along his veins and nerves, tingling, blindingly hot. Then he was free, soaring away and he was finally able to breathe again.
He understood then as the silvery light from the distant stars carded through his bright hair, there was still a game to be played but the rules had changed and he was afraid to contemplate what would happen when the stakes were claimed.
The pistol clattered to the floor a moment after he was left alone in the room, breath expelled sharply in the heavy silence.
The moment his dark gaze had met the bright, glittering green of the younger man's eyes, he knew this game they had been playing for many long, taxing years he just lost. Peter was still himself but he wasn't. He was beautiful, witty, more contained, transformed into something bright, untouchable and it just made Hook want him even more. That admission was not as shocking as it might have been but a frown still marred his forehead as he absently gouged little pieces of wood from the arm of the chair with his hook. Before he had wanted the boy's spirit. Now he wanted the boy himself.
For a long time he stared at the open window where Peter had disappeared, claimed by the night before he dropped his head back against the chair, breathing a shaky, disbelieving laugh at the ceiling.
Oh, yeah. He was defiantly screwed.
To be continued...
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