Title: Island
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I do not own Hook. I do not get tired of this disclaimer.
Notes: This chapter has a few more squees in it. You may want to whack Peter over the head (who doesn't?), but he redeems himself. Onward!
Chapter Seven: The Star
Peter Pan was chasing stars.
The bout of spying proved quite productive, for Hook was never one to lay his plans quietly. His flair for the dramatic was a terrible flaw, and the pirate captain knew it, but it did not stop him from plotting in most accessible ways.
The sky was purpling when Hook unveiled the finishing touches. Peter had grown so terribly pleased with himself at this extensive discovery that he shot into the air with a triumphant crow. This made the information worthless, he knew, for Hook would surely change his plans, but Peter thought the curses Codfish sent after him quite worth it.
He remained airborne in the inky night for quite some time, turning circles around the fleeing starlight. He fell into the habit of nearly catching his target, and then letting it flee again, for he was much too fond of the chase. But Peter was quicker than even he estimated, and soon found his palms cupped around a star.
Peter hovered, peering down at the quivering ball of silver light, and his brow furrowed. The light reached out, smoothing his forehead, and memory trickled into his eyes. 'Wendy,' he murmured, slowly. And then, 'Wendy!'
He had forgotten Wendy! Peter nearly dropped the star in his excitement. How long had he been gone? His lithe body was cutting toward the sand now, but she was not there. There were tracks - lovely, small feet - and Peter rested above them for a moment in study. He tucked the star into a pouch at his belt.
Peter followed the tracks on foot. The forest whispered its excitement when he drew near, and parted politely to let him pass. When he drew near to the underground home Peter tired of the game and leapt into the air again. Wendy would be there, he was certain.
He was smiling his lazy smile when he set down before the knothole. The door rolled aside, and Peter entered. The Lost Boys were seated before Wendy, their faces frozen in rapturous gazes. Peter might have been miffed by heist of all the attention, had Wendy not been telling one of her stories.
Wendy had set her scolding face aside for Peter. It was laid out nicely, ready to be put on when he returned. But the girl was quite occupied when he did enter, arms gesturing with the climax of the story. Her eyes danced, and then warmed, and her hands folded prettily at the denouement.
The obvious end was met with cries of approval from the boys, and Wendy smiled and promised them another story tomorrow, but now it was time for all good boys to go to bed. Shooing away their complaints, she looked up and promptly froze.
Peter was standing in the doorway. He had quite forgotten his expression. At the sound of the wonderful stories and the sight of her animated telling, his face had slid into an arrangement that was appreciative and something else, something not entirely boyish. Oh, it would be very hard to chastise him now. Wendy was quite determined to do so, however, and she stood with purpose as the boys scurried to their beds around her.
'Peter Pan,' she began, firmly. He was drawing closer. Wendy continued, undaunted. 'It was quite inconsiderate of you to abandon me on the beach. You are most fortunate that I remembered the way back to the Home and to my safety. There was a very great possibility of my encountering a p- oh!' Her hands flew to her heart as the fluttering little sound left her. A shame really, for she had been doing quite well. Peter was smiling his awful, wonderful smile.
In his open palms was the star. Perhaps it sensed the presence of a lady, for it was quite still now, and glowing becomingly. Peter's smile softened imperceptibly. There was a part of him that truly wanted to please her, though what that part was he didn't know.
Peter reached out and took her hand. He had a greater confidence now when he touched in these delicate situations. It was not the ignorance of personal space, but a thing that had come with his growing taller. It had yet to frighten him, but it might have then had Wendy not been smiling so.
'Oh, Peter. It's lovely,' she breathed, cupping the light in her hands. Her face was at its prettiest in that light, and the little Wendy was peering down in awe behind older eyes. When she looked up, Peter's eyes were there.
He smiled carefully. All at once he had no idea what to do.
'I shall keep it safe, Peter,' said Wendy after a pause. She opened her locket, its contents facing her, and slipped the star inside. She shut it tenderly, and did not look up in time to see that Peter had frowned.
It was inside that awful thing, but perhaps that made the awful thing less awful. It was next to his kiss, and her heart, after all. Peter decided that this made him happy, and he looked at Wendy again. She was hiding a yawn with her hand. This meant he should do something, but he did not realize what until she said, 'I am awfully tired, Peter.'
'I haven't moved your house yet, Wendy,' he admitted. Then he brightened. 'You may have my bed!'
'I couldn't!' One could not tell whether she was scandalized or excited. Perhaps both.
'Why not?'
Wendy sobered. 'There are things that one simply does not do, Peter,' she said, gently. Peter clearly did not understand, but he swallowed it as best he could.
'I will sleep somewhere else, then.'
'Are you sure?'
How strange! Why wouldn't he be? Peter was perplexed, but Wendy needed reassurance. 'Yes, I'm sure, Wendy.'
'That is very kind of you, Peter.' Wendy smiled and turned to the bed. She had almost said 'gentlemanly', but had stopped herself, knowing how the word might offend the boy. Though it seemed terribly silly, what with Peter looking the way he did now. She settled into the furs. They were quite as nice as the cloud. 'Good night, Peter.'
Peter remained where he was, watching her for a time. At long last, when she was very much asleep, he said, 'Good night, Wendy.' It was very soft and strange, and it very nearly startled Peter. He turned and left the Home; quite sure the girl was safe this time. Tonight was not a night for sleep.
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I do not own Hook. I do not get tired of this disclaimer.
Notes: This chapter has a few more squees in it. You may want to whack Peter over the head (who doesn't?), but he redeems himself. Onward!
Chapter Seven: The Star
Peter Pan was chasing stars.
The bout of spying proved quite productive, for Hook was never one to lay his plans quietly. His flair for the dramatic was a terrible flaw, and the pirate captain knew it, but it did not stop him from plotting in most accessible ways.
The sky was purpling when Hook unveiled the finishing touches. Peter had grown so terribly pleased with himself at this extensive discovery that he shot into the air with a triumphant crow. This made the information worthless, he knew, for Hook would surely change his plans, but Peter thought the curses Codfish sent after him quite worth it.
He remained airborne in the inky night for quite some time, turning circles around the fleeing starlight. He fell into the habit of nearly catching his target, and then letting it flee again, for he was much too fond of the chase. But Peter was quicker than even he estimated, and soon found his palms cupped around a star.
Peter hovered, peering down at the quivering ball of silver light, and his brow furrowed. The light reached out, smoothing his forehead, and memory trickled into his eyes. 'Wendy,' he murmured, slowly. And then, 'Wendy!'
He had forgotten Wendy! Peter nearly dropped the star in his excitement. How long had he been gone? His lithe body was cutting toward the sand now, but she was not there. There were tracks - lovely, small feet - and Peter rested above them for a moment in study. He tucked the star into a pouch at his belt.
Peter followed the tracks on foot. The forest whispered its excitement when he drew near, and parted politely to let him pass. When he drew near to the underground home Peter tired of the game and leapt into the air again. Wendy would be there, he was certain.
He was smiling his lazy smile when he set down before the knothole. The door rolled aside, and Peter entered. The Lost Boys were seated before Wendy, their faces frozen in rapturous gazes. Peter might have been miffed by heist of all the attention, had Wendy not been telling one of her stories.
Wendy had set her scolding face aside for Peter. It was laid out nicely, ready to be put on when he returned. But the girl was quite occupied when he did enter, arms gesturing with the climax of the story. Her eyes danced, and then warmed, and her hands folded prettily at the denouement.
The obvious end was met with cries of approval from the boys, and Wendy smiled and promised them another story tomorrow, but now it was time for all good boys to go to bed. Shooing away their complaints, she looked up and promptly froze.
Peter was standing in the doorway. He had quite forgotten his expression. At the sound of the wonderful stories and the sight of her animated telling, his face had slid into an arrangement that was appreciative and something else, something not entirely boyish. Oh, it would be very hard to chastise him now. Wendy was quite determined to do so, however, and she stood with purpose as the boys scurried to their beds around her.
'Peter Pan,' she began, firmly. He was drawing closer. Wendy continued, undaunted. 'It was quite inconsiderate of you to abandon me on the beach. You are most fortunate that I remembered the way back to the Home and to my safety. There was a very great possibility of my encountering a p- oh!' Her hands flew to her heart as the fluttering little sound left her. A shame really, for she had been doing quite well. Peter was smiling his awful, wonderful smile.
In his open palms was the star. Perhaps it sensed the presence of a lady, for it was quite still now, and glowing becomingly. Peter's smile softened imperceptibly. There was a part of him that truly wanted to please her, though what that part was he didn't know.
Peter reached out and took her hand. He had a greater confidence now when he touched in these delicate situations. It was not the ignorance of personal space, but a thing that had come with his growing taller. It had yet to frighten him, but it might have then had Wendy not been smiling so.
'Oh, Peter. It's lovely,' she breathed, cupping the light in her hands. Her face was at its prettiest in that light, and the little Wendy was peering down in awe behind older eyes. When she looked up, Peter's eyes were there.
He smiled carefully. All at once he had no idea what to do.
'I shall keep it safe, Peter,' said Wendy after a pause. She opened her locket, its contents facing her, and slipped the star inside. She shut it tenderly, and did not look up in time to see that Peter had frowned.
It was inside that awful thing, but perhaps that made the awful thing less awful. It was next to his kiss, and her heart, after all. Peter decided that this made him happy, and he looked at Wendy again. She was hiding a yawn with her hand. This meant he should do something, but he did not realize what until she said, 'I am awfully tired, Peter.'
'I haven't moved your house yet, Wendy,' he admitted. Then he brightened. 'You may have my bed!'
'I couldn't!' One could not tell whether she was scandalized or excited. Perhaps both.
'Why not?'
Wendy sobered. 'There are things that one simply does not do, Peter,' she said, gently. Peter clearly did not understand, but he swallowed it as best he could.
'I will sleep somewhere else, then.'
'Are you sure?'
How strange! Why wouldn't he be? Peter was perplexed, but Wendy needed reassurance. 'Yes, I'm sure, Wendy.'
'That is very kind of you, Peter.' Wendy smiled and turned to the bed. She had almost said 'gentlemanly', but had stopped herself, knowing how the word might offend the boy. Though it seemed terribly silly, what with Peter looking the way he did now. She settled into the furs. They were quite as nice as the cloud. 'Good night, Peter.'
Peter remained where he was, watching her for a time. At long last, when she was very much asleep, he said, 'Good night, Wendy.' It was very soft and strange, and it very nearly startled Peter. He turned and left the Home; quite sure the girl was safe this time. Tonight was not a night for sleep.
