Chapter 8
Peter sat on the harpsichord bench, idly tapping the little ditty on the keyboard. Behind him at the desk sat Hook and John, going over a story John had written. Peter tried not to listen as Hook read it aloud; the story was rather sad and he was confused and depressed enough as it was. Everything's wrong, he thought in despair. John wasn't speaking much, and when he did it was so softly that Peter couldn't understand him. That wasn't like John at all… John always liked to speak loud, always liked to act like a grown up that knew everything.
Peter could feel the numb oblivion hovering nearby, but he kept his attention on the song, the effort of remembering it and the repetition keeping him focused. His friends needed him… No, Peter thought suddenly and the tune faltered. They don't need me. They've done fine without me for weeks now, while I've been as useful as a baby. Everything that was wonderful and special in me is gone… no one needs me. The oblivion came closer and he didn't resist it.
"I need you, Peter," the chiming whisper called to him.
"Go away, Tink," Peter answered, "you aren't real."
"I know…" Tink answered wistfully, "but I can be again. You just have to get better, get stronger again. Please, Peter, don't give up."
"I want to go home, Tink," he whispered, focusing on the ditty again, pushing the oblivion away.
"You will, I promise," the voice faded away, "Just stay strong."
Hook rubbed his head in annoyance and glanced up at Peter. He'd been sitting there all morning, tapping out that song. It was grating on the Captain's nerves, and he was sick of hearing it. "Please stop playing that, Pan," he called for the fourth time in the past hour. Once again, the boy didn't answer and didn't stop. The last strand of Hook's frayed nerves snapped, and he slammed his fist onto the desk top. "I said stop, Pan!"
John squeaked and jumped, his mouth and eyes wide in fear. Peter also jumped and the music came to a jarring halt. He crossed his arms, hugging himself tightly and began rocking back and forth on the bench, trying not to cry. He lost the battle in moments.
John stood and grabbed his story, the backed away from Hook slowly. "Please don't kill him again, Captain," he murmured, making his way to Peter. He froze in panic when Hook stood.
"I'm not going to kill him," Hook snapped. He forced himself to calm, realizing he was making things worse when John began shredding the papers in his hands. "Don't," he said soothingly, holding his hand out to John. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."
"Make Peter feel better," John said, but he stopped ripping the papers.
Hook sighed, looking from John to the boy rocking on the bench. "I'll try. Go sit and work on something. I'll help you in a bit if you need me." When John nodded and sat back at the desk, Hook knelt by the bench and took stock of the situation. That Peter was regressing was obvious. His eyes were wide, staring at nothing, and neither his rocking nor his tears had ceased. Hook put his hand on Peter's shoulder, halting his compulsive rocking and forced the boy to look at him.
"I'm sorry, Peter. How about I teach you another song, so you can play something different from time to time?" He wiped the tears from the boy's cheeks.
Peter stared at Hook and repeated the words until he understood, then nodded blankly at the man. He turned back to the keyboard, moving over to let Hook sit on the bench with him. He was uncomfortable being this close to his murderer, the memory of dying still vivid in his mind. He kept his arms crossed and tried to make himself as small as possible. But as Hook began tapping out a different tune, he found himself relaxing. Tentatively, he reached out to copy it, but drew back in fear as he touched the keys.
"It's alright, son," Hook reassured him when he saw the boy's reaction. Peter reached out again and began to play, watching the man's hand intently. After only two tries he had the tune perfectly. He's an amazingly fast learner. He could be a musical prodigy. I wonder if his potential is limited to mimicry or if he could write his own music one day?
"Wonderful, Peter," he said with a smile. "Would you like to learn to play with two hands?" To illustrate, he put both his hands on the keyboard and played a few measures of one of his favorite pieces.
Peter smiled a bit in return and looked up. "Can I… would you…" his smile faltered and fear crept into his eyes again. "Never mind," he said quickly, looking down again.
Hook put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "What would you like, Peter?"
"Would you play, like you did this morning?" Peter asked meekly. "Listening helps… helps me think… makes the darkness go away."
Hook nodded and kept his smile in place, but Peter's tone and the way he sat huddled on the bench worried him. Give him time. He's still coming back. "Aye, boy. I'll play for you. If you want to try to learn, I'll teach you to play." So Hook played until lunch came a half and hour later. John wrote and Peter listened, moving his hands in the air on an imaginary keyboard. When they broke for their noon meal, Peter fed himself for the first time since that terrible day.
Later that afternoon, Peter sat in the chair Mason had put on the deck for him and furtively watched the men and children go about their work. Everything was so strange, everything was so wrong, it only made the ache in his heart throb worse. His Lost Boys were lost to him. They went about their duties obediently, working shoulder to shoulder with the pirates. The lights in their eyes were gone, that special spark that marked them as children of Neverland.
He stared at Slightly as he helped Billy Jukes polish Long Tom. Slightly seemed a bit taller, a little older, and Peter heard Tink whisper, "He's decided to grow up."
"What happened to us, Tink?" he asked the invisible pixie, but she didn't answer.
Slightly looked up when he heard Peter's voice and he tried to smile at his former leader. "Do you need anything, Peter?" he asked nicely. Peter looked at him strangely before looking down, shaking his head 'no'.
"Yer Captain seems better," Billy observed from close beside Slightly, "but he's still lost."
Slightly looked at Billy and lowered his voice, "My captain is your captain, Billy. I'm staying with you, no matter what."
"Even if we find Neverland again?" Jukes mused. "I won't ask you to leave that behind, cully."
"You don't have to," Slightly answered. "I love you." He smiled when Billy's hand briefly closed over his own before returning to cleaning the cannon.
"I think its time for our little talk," came Hook's voice from behind them. "I want the two of you in my cabin. Have a seat there and wait for me."
Both boys froze, Slightly's skin taking a corpse-like pallor. He was too terrified to scream when Hook's hand closed upon his shoulder, but he very nearly fainted.
"Slightly," Hook said softly, seeing the child's reaction, "I'm not going to harm or punish either of you. I just need to discuss some things with the two of you before you get yourselves into trouble. Now calm down and take a deep breath." He waited while Slightly complied, keeping a steadying hand on the boy until he thought enough of the child's color was back. "Now, go wait for me," he ordered, giving him a final pat on the back.
Peter stared in confusion at the two boys as they walked past. Slightly and Billy looked like they'd been caught doing something bad, and were expecting to be punished. Slightly was crying. When his friend glanced up at him in passing, the blonde boy turned crimson for some reason and ran to the cabin, Billy close behind him. What did they do wrong? Peter wondered, worried.
"Something grown-ups do," Tink's whisper answered sadly. "Hook thinks they're too young and he wants to tell them to stop."
"Oh," Peter said simply, too engrossed in watching Hook approach to think much about what Tink said. He stared at the man as he squatted before him.
"Smee's ashore with Cookson, and I need to go talk to those two," Hook explained to the boy. "Will you be alright alone for a little while? The other men will come if you call, but everyone's too busy to keep a close eye on you." He'd considered making the boy accompany him to the cabin, but quickly dismissed the idea. Explaining sex to his gunner and a Lost Boy was bad enough. Explaining sex to Peter Pan was just wrong on too many levels. Peter hadn't lapsed again since this morning, but Hook felt it was still too soon to declare him recovered.
Peter stared at his feet. "I'm okay. You mad at them?"
Hook chuckled. "I was, but not now." But I will be very put out if they've gone too far.
Peter rattled the shackles on his feet. "You let me out? Not fair, nobody else a prisoner."
Hook considered for a moment. He's better, but he's not well. He still can't even speak properly. If he were to relapse while I'm gone, he could hurt himself. "You aren't a prisoner, Peter. These are to keep you safe. I can't let you out just yet."
Peter hugged himself, disappointed. He stared at a button on Hook's coat. "Please?" he asked so softly that Hook almost didn't hear him.
"When I come back out, I'll release you for awhile," Hook compromised, trying to reassure the boy. The distant look in Peter's eyes was alarming.
Peter blinked and looked up. "Okay," he answered, smiling a bit. He felt something warm inside, something that made the ache ease up. Hope… he mused, recognizing the feeling. He'd missed feeling hope, it was nice. He watched Hook disappear into his cabin, then turned to watch the boys on the deck. If I can get better, I can make them better too. He didn't know how, he just knew it was so, and the hope swelled inside him.
Unseen and unheard beside him, Tink recognized the change in Peter and felt joy. "Soon, Peter," she whispered. "Soon you'll find your happiness again, and your faith in things unseen. Then you'll see us again."
