Six: Pan's (Not-So-)Secret

If I had thought that escaping from Captain James's pirate ship, the Marauder's Virtue, was the end of my adventure with Peter, I was very, very mistaken. In as little as a week, Peter expressed the desire to go back.

"But Peter, why?" I asked, desperate in my need for him to stay well out of the way of that awful pirate.

"Because," Peter said as if it were simply a matter of what the weather was going to be doing that afternoon, "I'm going to kill him."

"Peter!" I was shocked – don't know why, really. I should have been used to this kind of behavior by now; for Peter, it was at the heights of audacity that he was at his best.

"What? He's a pirate." Peter sipped his morning hot chocolate (he never drank coffee. "Grown-ups drink coffee.")

"Oh, so that means you have to murder him?" I shook my head in disbelief.

Peter took another sip before saying "Yes." And all without a lick of guilt.

o0o

I said that I would go with Peter, and that he couldn't stop me no matter what he tried, and that even if he left without me, I would follow him and…

"Alright already! I wasn't about to try and stop you! Jesus, woman." I couldn't help but smile: I liked to see him flustered like that.

We left the tree house – without Tinkerbell this time, whom we left in charge – and in fine disguise at that: Peter had dyed his hair with magical Neverdye (Neverdie? haha, sorry) so that it was deep, dark black. It was unnerving to see him look like that. To boot, he'd bought cinnamon powder from some witch-woman down the river. He wouldn't speak too much about that. He'd used the cinnamon powder to dust himself with faux freckles. To top it all off, he was dressed in one of his more interesting get-ups.

As for me, I was still a relatively obscure Neverlander, but all the same, Peter made me dress up: he'd braided my hair the night before into a precarious fashion and used my bandanna again to wrap around my head so that the braids tumbled down over it. Dressed like the wenchiest wench you ever did see, I was made up to be a gypsy.

When we arrived in Pirata Portus, Peter devised that we should get a room in one of the inns and lay back for a while before going after James. I agreed, if only because I had no idea what we were doing, or how we were going to do it. I wasn't exactly an experienced pirate slayer…let's face it, I wasn't even your average everyday pirate slayer. But Peter seemed to know what he was up to – as usual – so I trusted him.

"Now, just remember," he placed a hand on my shoulder before we went into the inn he'd chosen, "You're a gypsy; a medicine woman from the south. You talk with an accent, like dis." He said. I imitated the accent, and then we went in. As soon as we crossed the threshold, Peter's façade went up: his walk became more of a swaggering stroll – not in a drunk sort of way. More like a suave kind of strut. We walked up to the counter where the innkeeper greeted us.

He was a very beefy man, with a beard so tangled and overgrown that the only part of his face I could see were his beady blue eyes. "And what can I do you for, Lady and her Gent?"

Peter stepped forward before I could answer, and in his best drawling, debonair voice, he answered, "Me and the lady are lookin' fer a place ter stay. Nothin' too…costly, mind." He winked.

I stepped forward, and Peter – bless his heart – looked nervously from me to the counter. "And sometin' wit a nice view, if ya' please, sar." The beads in my hair jingled as I tossed my hair back. I chuckled a bit as I listened to Peter exhaling in relief.

Peter and I got in the room, and as soon as it sounded like the innkeeper was out of earshot, Peter whooped with glee. "That was very, very good Rose. You were brilliant!"

"Well," I said, taking off the hat and bandanna, "It all just seems like one big game of pretend." I smiled, but the smile dipped for a second as Peter put a hand low on my back.

"That's all it is, baby: a game of pretend." That moment of discomfort lasted only a second or two, and then his hand left me, and all was well again.

It was an awkward night because there was only one bed, and although to be honest, Peter did offer to sleep on the floor, I insisted that he not. "It's bad for your back, you know, and if you're going to live forever, you might as well take care of yourself."

"Don't go getting all like Tink on me." He smiled, and sat on the bed. "But if you insist, m'lady."

"And I do."

"Alright. I'm going to shower and take this absurd dye out of my hair and get back to looking my handsome self." He walked into the washroom beside our bedroom, leaving the door ajar. "To keep the steam low," he explained.

Sure, I thought.

That night, as Peter slept undisturbed beside me, I suffered a nasty bout of insomnia; I envied Peter as he slept there, oblivious to how awake I was. I wished he were awake too so that we could talk. I wanted badly to talk to him, but I couldn't wake him in good conscience.

I wonder… I reached a single finger out, and touched him. It was almost like listening to his thoughts, all jumbled up and chaotic, even within the peaceful confines of sleep. It was a very strange feeling. If this was the result of just one finger…

I placed my open palm on his chest: it must have been a fading illusion though, because I heard nothing. I could feel the spot where his skin was cut and maimed: the tattoo..he was warm, and that was nice because I was freezing! "Peter?" I whispered. "Peeee-t-eerrr!" I said, a little louder. He barely even twitched. Seeing that he probably wouldn't wake up, I snuggled close next to him, taking his arm and wrapping it around myself…for warmth, and warmth alone. I let my foot slide over his leg, appreciating the soft material of his pajama pants. And for a very short, short moment in time, I wished that I had taken the golden bracelet. Bracelet, I thought, touching the piece of cloth that Peter had tied around my wrist. About how I couldn't seem to tug it off…

Peter shuddered. A moan escaped his lips. Oh god, I thought. But then he stilled. However, his breath was hot on my neck, and it wasn't doing good things. Not good at all. He'll never know, I thought as I leaned into him, allowing my head to rest between his jaw and his shoulder. And for a while, it worked. Then, about two hours later – and with still no sleep achieved on my part – his entire body hummed. I had moved again, and I could feel his smile. A noise that I couldn't quite identify thrummed in my ears from above my head. Peter shifted in his sleep, and I gasped a little because one of his legs wrapped around mine. It can't get any worse, I thought. I was wrong; I leaned back a little, trying to get comfortable, and then, Oh my god, you must be joking! But of course not: I'd trapped myself next to Peter, who was having a very good dream from the feel of things. "Why me?" I asked into the dark.

o0o

The next day, we got back into costume – it took Peter an hour because the dye had to take effect, and then he had to dust himself up again – and left to see what news we could of Captain James. Peter – who still had no idea of what had happened in his sleep – wanted for us to stick together, but out of both the need to be away from him and my penchant for multi-tasking, I suggested that he go look on one side of the port, while I looked on the other.

"You'd better stay on the eastern side; whatever happens, don't come looking for me." This time, he got his face close to mine, perhaps to illustrate his seriousness. "Never, ever go to the west side of the port. Ever."

I nodded, but never promised him a thing.

"Alright. I'll meet you back at the inn at dusk."

"Sounds good."

"Alright, bye." We went in separate directions. I turned around at one point, and seeing that Peter was still within earshot, I adopted my accent and shouted after him, "Be carfell noo-w, you 'ear?"

He turned to face me, a grin plastered upon his face and said with his own brand of inflection, "But of course, m'lady!"

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I should have listened to him.

I went about my business, buying food for us at the port's market – all the while, listening in on the conversations around me, snooping for even the slightest little inkling about James. I heard little tidbits, but nothing of any real importance until…

"Did ya' hear? Captain James, the kid-pirate? He went and got his hand chopped off by that Pan!"

Oh, well I already knew that.

"Yes, yes…they say his ship's been missin' from port now ever since. Heard he was humiliated by Pan."

I was laughing on the inside.

"I heard he's left Neverland! I heard he went to get some special hook to replace his hand."

Interesting. The part about him leaving Neverland. Peter would want to know all about that…

I figured I had about as much information as I was going to get, so I went back to the inn and I waited.

I waited for over seven hours.

I was getting very, very worried, because night had fallen, and Peter still wasn't back. I weighed the odds, thinking about which was worse: Peter being mad at me for coming after him after he told me not to, or not going at all and then having to try and sleep knowing that Peter was gone or captured or killed or…no. It just wouldn't do. Peter's hot temper was something I could heal from. Peter's being dead? I don't think so.

I put on the cloak Peter had brought with him and left the inn, making my way quickly through the abandoned streets. I knew I'd reached the part of the port that Peter never wanted me to touch when there were no more street lamps: everything was as dark as night itself. Not even were there lights from the windows.

I started becoming afraid, in that way one does when one is all alone in the dark at night. Besides, knowing that I was in the part of the port where even Peter seemed scared to go made me feel like something bad was about to happen any moment.

I had passed a group of boys who were whispering and when they saw me, they started to follow me. I was getting more and more nervous with every minute the followed me. I could hear them whispering to each other about me. I wanted to tell them off, but didn't have the nerve. Then, Peter's words came back to me: it's all just a game of pretend. I imagined myself to be a fierce pirate woman, and so with my dagger in hand and hope in my imagination, I turned on the group of boys.

"Take one more step towards me, you blundering, mangy, flea-bitten curs, and I'll cut yar throats out – every single one of ya' – and hang 'em out wit my flag so all can see."

This had a pretty good effect on all but one. He smiled and said, "I know who you are, Rose."

I took a step back, quirking my eyebrow. "I don't know who ya're talkin' about!" I growled.

Then, things got fishier. "I don't know about this, Dré!" someone said. "I don't think it's her!"

The leader – Dré – spoke to the fellow behind him. "Shut up, Mikey, no one asked you."

Of course, now the trick was falling apart: "I TOLD YOU NOT TO TRY AND FIND ME!!!" Peter's voice echoed in the empty streets behind me. I turned around, scared now that I had angered him. To imagine Peter being angry is one thing; to see it is a whole new ball game. I suddenly wished I'd done as I was told.

Before I could protest, the boys behind me all shouted mingled things, like, "It was all Dré's idea!" and "We were just worried 'bout you, Peter."

Peter hadn't even noticed the gang of boys before, for he had been shouting at me, but now he was accutely aware of them. He walked over to the group and ripped their cloaks off. "Well, well, well. Look at this: my original lost boys came after me." He said, turning to me, the sparks of anger still present in his eyes. "Looks like you gave Princess Rose here quite a scare."

"Sorry, Peter." Said the boy named Mikey.

"We didn't mean any harm." Spoke one of the others – a blonde boy who I later learned was one of the twins, Marc or Aiden.

"You've caused none." Said Peter. "Now, go back home, every single one of you: Mikey, Marc, Aiden." He turned to face the others, "Jack and Dré, you too." Dré shot Peter an unhappy look before doing as he was told. Peter kept a smile on his face until they were all out of eyesight. Then, he rounded on me. "I told you not to follow me."

"I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough." He grabbed my wrist painfully and dragged me after him.

"I can walk just fine by myself, thank you!"

He stopped, but didn't let go. He looked at me with blazing green eyes. "I know, but this is your punishment. I will bring you along with me like a dog. If I had a leash, believe me, you'd be on it." I could see the red of his hair firing up in the roots; his anger was defying the dye. The cinnamon powder seemed to be melting, creating angry blotches of color on his face.

I was humiliated, just as Peter wanted me to be.

When we reached the inn, I'd hoped he'd let go and just let me follow him up the staircase. But no, he had to cause a scene. We stopped just outside the door of the noisy ground floor, and without letting go of my wrist, he said, "Now, you're going to let me carry you through that bar and up those stairs and you're not getting down until I say so." His voice was ragged and rank with rage. I could feel the heat radiating off his blotched skin.

"Peter!"

"I don't care. You're getting what you deserve! You could have been killed, or raped! Thank god that it was the boys who found you and not some…some gaggle of pirate outcasts or something!" I tried to run away from him, but he pulled harder and yanked me toward him so that I was pressed up against him. "You're not going anywhere on those two feet. Come here!" I wanted to scream, but somehow, that didn't seem very smart. He picked me up in the same fashion as when he used to fly me places, except this time, it was much more embarrassing; I knew what he wanted it to look like. He wanted it to look like I was his…I just couldn't bare the thought of it!

He swaggered into the bar with me in his arms, and all the men stopped talking for a moment before cheering and catcalling and whistling.

I faked a smile and tried not to make it look like I was wincing as Peter shouted, "It's going to be a good night tonight, fellas!" In that moment, I hated Peter. In that moment, I wanted nothing less than to feed him to the sharks…or better yet, that crocodile.

When we were back in the room, he dropped the act and tossed me harshly onto the bed while he went into the bathroom and took the dye out his hair; washed his face. I didn't know what to do, so I just buried my face in the pillow and cried. He returned to the bedroom and just looked down at me. I knew my makeup was running down my face and onto the pillow. Peter glared at me.

"You shouldn't have followed me. That was a very stupid thing to do."

"You were late. I was…worried." I sniffed.

Peter didn't answer.

"Peter, why were you so late?"

"I was getting something. I was bartering." He looked away from me and his voice softened. "I was buying something for you."

I cried more at this. "I can't believe you did that to me down there!"

He turned his head sharply at me. "I suppose you want me to leave you alone?" His voice was callous again.

I nodded my head, expecting him to have at least some sympathy. But it was Peter, so of course, there was none.

"Well, too bad for you, my dear, because I'm staying in for the night, and you're staying with me. From now on, as long as we are in the port, you will go nowhere without me."

I sobbed. I pleaded. But it got me nowhere, fast. Peter stripped down and got into his green pajama pants. He wouldn't let me into the bathroom to change, so I just got into my own nightclothes right there in front of him. It was one of Peter's worse punishments. When I turned my back to him so that he wouldn't see anything I didn't want him to, he reached his hand out and ran an open palm down my back and over my butt, down to my knee, sucking in his breath.

I turned around and glowered furiously at him. "Don't." He seemed unfazed by my anger.

"Be happy it's me and not some sea rat." He drew his knees up to his chest and sat still the rest of the time it took for me to get dressed. I made to get into bed, but Peter intervened. "Sit on the floor between my legs."

I couldn't believe it! But for fear of some worse penalty, I did so, facing him.

"Turn around, you foolish girl. I'm not that cruel."

I turned around. I felt him start to tug at one of my braids. He was undoing all of them, but he could have been more gentle. "Why are you pulling my hair like that?" It hurt badly, and it was knotting. It would take forever to brush it out again, and the process was going to be extremely painful.

"Because," he said with an extra hard pull – I whined – "I'm already out of costume, so I'm sending you downstairs for something to drink. Everyone thinks we've just had sex, and you're going to look the part." He pulled the last of my braids out, and sent me on my way with a hard push to the back.

That night, after he decided it was time to go to sleep, Peter made a confession. He pulled me close to him under the covers and snaked his arm around me so that I couldn't get away. I squirmed and I pulled, but he never let me go. "Stop your wiggling." He growled in my ear. He didn't smell like his usual self – he smelled like whiskey.

"Then let go of me, Peter! I don't want to be next to you like this!"

He held me tighter and to my utmost horror, he said "You didn't seem to have a problem with it last night." And with that, he fell asleep, leaving me to silent tears.

o0o

One day. Two, and the three days passed until I spoke to Peter again. He was undaunted by this, and eventually, realizing that as cruel and as awful as his ways may be…he still did it out of caring. He'd never thought about how to handle someone who broke rules that he'd made. Making me feel so horrible was his way of ensuring that I wouldn't do it again.

The trouble was, I always did it again.

When finally I decided I was ready to face Peter, I told him all about what I'd heard.

"Well," he said, "That's good to know, because I found out yesterday that James has returned. You and I are going to find him."

"When, Peter?"

Peter smiled in that maniacal way he had. "Today."

We flew over Pirate's cove until we hit open water. It was here that Peter began to grow nervous. When I asked what was wrong, he just said that he didn't like being over the open ocean. Said it reminded him too much of death. I couldn't quite fathom that one.

When we caught sight of the ship, Peter stopped and hovered. His plan was to wait in the rafters for a bit while James went about his business, and then, when the time was ripe, Peter would strike.

"But Peter, why can't I attack him?"

"Because, that is the Rule. Only I can fight James…Hook. Only I. But…if things don't go…according to plan, then you can have him. Should I be unable to fight Hook, it will be up to you."

"Peter, you won't die!"

"Even if I do, don't fret. After all, Death would certainly be a very big adventure."

Even after all that he'd done to me, I still couldn't bare the idea of losing Peter. He was my friend. He had taken care of me. And he'd shown me how to fly.

We soared quietly downward and touched down on the tallest mast we could find. Hidden in the sails, we waited.

It was a good many hours before Peter instructed me to go down to the deck with him. It was raining now, and thunder had begun to crash. Peter didn't want to risk being up this high when there could be lightening. I asked him yet again what it was he wanted me to do.

"Just…just be my witness while I take care of Hook."

I lightly put my hand on his. "Please, Peter…be careful."

"I'll try." With that, we dropped down to the ship below. It took several minutes for the pirates to realize what was going on, and by that time, I'd killed my first man – not to mention my second, third, and fourth. But of course, Peter was way ahead of me.

Once the crew figured who was on the ship, they backed away: it appeared that Peter's rule for his lost boys and girls had its own reflexive respect on Hook's crew. Only Peter and Hook; Hook and Pan – were aloud to fight one another. As for me, I knew my limits. I couldn't take them all on at once, and they didn't want to risk hurt to me for fear of Peter. Funny, how when his back was turned, they mocked him; belittled him. But when it came time to either put up or shut up, they always shut up.

I found a place to sit on a barrel, and watched the fight that would change my relationship with Peter forever.

It seemed so evenly matched: the two youths of the century clashing swords, competing in wit. But Peter seemed to be gaining momentum on Hook. It was so creepy – seeing that silver hook glowing in the stormy surroundings. Every time the lightening would flash, it would glimmer with a sinister glow. Hook's personality glowed just as cynically. It was tempting and disgusting all at once.

Then, just when Peter seemed to have won the fight, Hook pulled one of his underhanded cards from inside of his sleeve: I screamed as he placed me between Peter and himself.

"I'll let the girl go, Pan, if you let me kill you." Peter's eyes glimmered with something unearthly: something I couldn't recognize.

"Don't hurt her." Peter's voice was flat but urgent. "Please."

I could feel a bead of sweat mingle with the rain on my cheeks as the sharp point of a dagger dug into my throat. The cold metal was practically scalding me with fear. "I won't have to, if you let me kill you."

Peter looked confused; I felt scared. Hook's heart was pounding just behind my head. "Come on Peter, you don't have much time!" said Hook, a smile of the like I'd never seen marring his otherwise becoming face. I screamed as the point of the knife punctured my skin. I was horrified; there was my own blood sliding down my skin, staining my shirt.

"Stop!" Peter shouted, jumping toward me, but Hook stepped back.

"Ah, ah, ah Pan, you have to make a fair exchange. Your life for hers." There was another cut made to my neck, and it just hurt so bad. My fear had melted into dizziness – Peter looked like his inner pain was worse than my own physical ache.

Peter stepped back a few paces, wringing his hands.

"Oh, I knew you wouldn't risk your life for this wench. Because you can replace her, can't you Peter? Of course you can." Hook pulled me closer – that heartbeat was infectious.

Peter turned away, and I felt so betrayed in that moment because I could feel the dagger ripping my skin. Why, Peter?

Suddenly, Peter dropped his golden sword to the deck with a clatter and turned sharply: it was the hardest punch I'd ever seen anyone throw. Hook's jaw was bleeding and I was released. "Don't ever touch her again, you miserable fuck." Peter's eyes gave off sparks.

Peter grabbed my wrist and tugged me backward, forcing me behind him. He picked his sword up from the ground and stood over the grounded teen before him. He stuck his sword point into Hook's chest.

Despite his endangered position, Hook managed to lift his head and, looking Peter fearlessly in the eyes, he said, "Why, Peter! I do believe you've learned to care. And yet, that makes one wonder…"

"Get to your point, Hook: it will be your last."

"Did she rescue you? Did she repair the damage you yourself have done?"

Peter's grip on his sword slackened. His eyes went from angry to worry to angry again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie, Peter…or, does she not know your secret?"

Peter closed his eyes and muttered something.

"Oh! I see! The great Peter Pan has locked his greatest secret away, his greatest weakness. Oh, it's such a delicious dilemma." Hook pushed Peter's sword away and stood up again, backing away from Peter. "You should tell her, Peter. Tell her your secret."

"Shut up." Peter murmured to the planks at his feet, the rain drenching his hair and soaking his clothes.

"What was that, Peter?" Hook was baiting him, and it was working.

"SHUT UP!!!" Peter shouted to the sky; thunder crashed and lightening flashed overhead. Suddenly, the ocean seemed to give off an earth-shattering pulse: the boat lurched and Peter fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He screamed in agony and I rushed to his side, ignoring the danger I was putting myself in.

Hook strutted to stand above us, smiling at how Peter was bent over double, shaking and angry. "Leave him alone!" I shouted.

"You know what, Peter?" Hook gave him a kick in the side, causing him to wretch. I cried for his pain. "I think the girl has a point. I won't fight you until you expose yourself: better to fight a boy whose honor is intact than a boy who still keeps the truth under lock and key." The next thing I knew, Hook pulled me to my feet by the string of my skeleton key. "Don't lose this, you silly girl. It just might save him." He pushed me back down to Peter. "Both of you get out of here."

Peter stood up at last, his breath ragged; his chest heaved in time with the swell of the sea.

"I'm giving you a week, Pan."

"For – what?"

"To come clean. Not just to your little whore, but to the rest of Neverland as well. Only then, will I fight you."

"A week?"

"Yes, a week."

Peter sank to his knees again, and despite Hook and all his men being right there, he cried, adding to the rain that came down around us like shattered glass…and it was surely as sharp.

A/n: for the record, I came up with names for the Lost Boys based on their personalities. Forinstance, Mikey's full name is Mica, which means Humble.