The crew didn't notice as Wendy slipped passed, the fairy clutched against her chest. She snapped her attention around the deck to find Hook, stood at the wheel, eyes sharp on the mast rather than on her. She breathed a sigh of relief and ducked into the cabin. As usual it was warm with firelight flickering on the leather of books, the velvet of chairs and the silky cotton of the bed.
"Are you… hungry?" Wendy asked Fila carefully, lowering her down onto the desk and seating herself at the chair. She carefully avoided looking at the lantern Hook had used to imprison Tinkerbell, keeping her eyes on the fairy's- grey on violet. Fila didn't reply, but shook her head in amusement, making her black curls swing around her hips. Wendy shrugged, but fetched herself a tankard of water to keep her own thirst at bay.
Fila seated herself, tapping a finger to her lips, and began her story. Wendy fell silent, preparing herself to listen.
I have always lived here in Neverland. I am one of the few actually born here. I was born, grew, lived, loved, all here in the island of imagination. It was not lonely. Other fairies came and lived here, and then there are the Indians who respect us as spirits, and the Lost Boys who play games with us. And then there is Peter, who plays music for us.
That's why I came to you on the ship, your music was lovely. There is no music in Neverland as sweet as that of the humans.
Tinkerbell was largely outcasted from us. We are allowed to enjoy humans, to play tricks, to steal a few notes of their song, but Bell chose Peter over her own people. I don't think he ever understood that. She chose him as a way of life. I think I was one of the few who continued to keep in contact with her- she was one of my best friends and I was one of her only friends.
When she was dying she came to me and begged me to leave, to London, and find you. She called you 'that girl,' but I knew who she was referring to. Even among the fairies here you are well-known, Wendy Moira Angela Darling. Your story has spread to all in Neverland, most particularly how you escaped the charms of the half boy- half fairy Pan.
Fila paused, a yawn stretching her delightful features. Wendy pushed her tankard towards here, surprised by the long tale, but thankful that the fairy was being thorough. Fila took a deep breath and continued.
Anyway. I was scared of leaving Neverland by Bell begged me to. She told me how Pan had lived before without anyone to watch over him, how he had fallen into scrapes, how he had forgotten more than usual and 'lost' even more of his Lost Boys. Naturally, after her death, I felt honour bound to carry out her wishes.
I came to London, I flew as hard and fast as I could to the house, the nursery, the window that is so famous. I was not sure if humans lived in their old homes but you did, asleep in a bed opposite the window like a child in your night gown. I was expecting a child. I think Bell expected a child. But you were no child, and that was plain to see. And that's when I realised.
As I said, fairies are wise. This is not vanity, merely a statement of fact. And your hopes and dreams and desires are as a bright and spilling as any child's. They bubbled until they were visible, and all I had to do was stand at the foot of your bed and watch, wait, and understand. Your dreams were music and taste and song, something I had never seen before. You are an extraordinary mixture of child and woman, and I felt it was up to me to untangle you.
"I don't understand," Wendy interrupted suddenly, "I grew up. I left childhood accidently, but I did."
You tried to, but your childhood ties are embedded in your love of this place. This was plain to see, and I could see that if I were to leave you in London your soul would sicken and die, just as mine would. You would go unloved and unremembered, waiting, always waiting, and living through your daughters and your daughter's daughters, on the fringes of the place you love and yet… And yet I couldn't take you to Pan.
Pan was your childhood, which, as you rightly pointed out, you left behind. The Neverland of your childhood isn't enough for you, Wendy Moira Angela Darling. And so I compromised, and brought you to Neverland, but I brought you to the only man I thought would satisfy your bubbling, hissing fireworks of want and need, childhood and adulthood.
"Hook." Wendy whispered, chewing on her lip.
Captain James Hook. He has gone by many names but those are which he commands now. He is, like you, lost. You need one another. But as the seer told you, you are filled with barbs from your life in London, your poisoned existence in a world in which you never belonged.
"There's that word again, barbs. I am not full of barbs, I have learned to be realistic."
Realism is over rated.
Fila shrugged with finality.
"What do you mean, he's lost?" Wendy whispered, shoulders stiff, eyes boring into the fairy. Fila suddenly jerked, abruptly afraid, and backed away from the room, footsteps muffled by the panicked tinkle of bells.
Ask him yourself.
Wendy whipped around, hands already shielding the fairy from view. Hook lounged against the wall behind her, face concealed by shadow, one gun casually pointed at the light on his desk.
"Now, I cannot claim to understand fairies, but I will not have word spoken of me without my consent." He said quietly, his tone almost threatening. Fila fluttered forward to hide herself in Wendy's hair, hands pinching in her fear.
Lost. But he can be found. She whispered close to her ear, before the touch of the fairy had disappeared and Fila had darted out of the cabin. Hook lazily followed her journey with his pistol, eyes not leaving Wendy's.
"Would you care to explain what that thing was doing in my cabin?" He stalked towards her, pistol still drawn. Wendy stood swiftly and twisted so she was facing him, chin high. The Captain tangled his hook in her curls, and with the other hand lifted the pistol to her throat. "Well?"
"She was telling me why she thought it was a good idea to drop me on your cabin after having brought me from London." Wendy shivered at the cool metal, glaring at his blue eyes, "I still find myself confused as to why anyone would think that a good idea."
"What did she tell you?" Hook lowered his pistol, eyes curious. Wendy shoved his hand away from her, and bit back tears. He had been nothing but cool to her for days.
"That I would sicken and die in London, that I would be forever unquenchable with Peter, and so my only alternative was your ship. It looks like I'm stuck with you afterall." She finished bitterly, turning her face down to prevent him from seeing the tears that shimmered in her eyes. Hook lifted her face to his once more, scrutinising her expression. Wendy felt, despite her disgust with herself, a stirring of something warm in her chest at the sudden concern in his gaze.
"Is that such a bad thing?" Hook murmured, lifting his hand to trail down the curve of her cheek. Wendy shuddered, with something that was certainly far from disgust. Hook noted her reaction, and something flashed in his eyes. "If I were to kiss you now, would you push me away again?"
Wendy stared up at him, passionately confused, tears still in her eyelashes.
"I don't understand you." She whispered, shrugging away from his palm.
"Nor I, you." Hook's voice was quiet, tight with pain, desire, misery, happiness. She didn't know which.
"You have treated me with nothing but disdain, punctuated by occasions of warmth where you attempt to kiss me. I don't know if you hate me or-." Wendy turned away from him, unable to believe that she had spoken her thoughts aloud.
"I have distanced myself from you due to the evident disgust you feel towards me. When I am around you I find it difficult to prevent myself from wanting to touch you and I do not wish to cause you any more discomfort than you already suffer." His voice was smooth behind her, heavy with unsaid words, a caress on her senses. She turned to find his eyes firmly on her.
"Disgust?" Her eyes widened, "You think I am disgusted by you?"
To hear her say the words herself was too much for the Captain, who took his turn to step away to conceal the raw pain on his face.
"You asked what I dream. I dream of the past. I dream of the future. I dream of my days at Eton with nostalgia that is as piercing as a blade. I dream of a face, cloudy grey eyes wide with fear as they dart for a boy who does not appreciate her, a face I am determined to force to fear me so that no softness will tempt me as I slice my hook against her skin."
"Hook, I don't-"
"I dream of a future of loneliness and fear where my past days mock the very foundations of who I am, centred around one infuriating child, a girl, whose mouth I can't forget with a kiss hidden at its corner."
"Captain-"
"I dream of the pain of having my hand cut off for no reason. I dream of the darkness of the crocodile's belly, the sting of its acids and the taste of its blood. And yet more agonising is you, leaving me, again and again when I've come to rely on you." Hook stalked towards the door, suddenly passionately embarrassed with himself, pain tearing at his chest.
"James!"
The call was frustrated, a shriek of irritation and revelation. He turned, fist stiff, eyes shielded. Wendy stood, lips quivering, hands twisting together. She saw the wildness of his gaze, the fear of abandonment and rejection and Fila's words drifted into her mind. He can be found. Slowly, as though to avoid startling a frightened rabbit, she stepped forward. His eyes followed her in the firelight, though he flattened himself against the door, unable to prepare himself for what he was sure would be a demand to leave.
Carefully, she lifted one hand to smooth the tension in his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut.
"I don't understand how you can believe me to be disgusted by you." She murmured, half to herself, smoothing her hands over his chest and resting her face against his shirt front. His arms remained rigidly by his sides, eyes staring into nothing, waiting. Deliberately, she lifted one of his arms, the one with his hook. He tensed, but Wendy did nothing but bring her warm lips to press against the cold steel, eyes on his. "This is as much a part of you as everything else."
"You don't have to pretend." His voice was hoarse, eyes tight with an indescribable emotion.
"Nor do you." Wendy dropped his claw and turned away from him, smoothly pacing to the chair she had just vacated.
"Pretend?"
"It's obvious how much I-" She broke off, cheeks stained pink with embarrassment, fingers twisting in her lap. Hook watched her, something stirring in him, and raised an eyebrow.
"Obvious how much you…?" He prompted, tone under control, smooth, chocolate sweet, seductive.
"How much I want you."