Title: Island
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I do not own Hook. I do not own You Got Served, which has no relevance, but sort of makes me sad anyway.
Notes: This chapter is even longer than the last one. And it's full of angst. The next one will be, too. And then will be some Hook, and then finally some long awaited Peter/Wendy. It's hardly over, though. If it gets too long, you can just yell at me. Thank you for the reviews!
Chapter Fourteen: Agreement
Peter landed before the Underground Home. Airborne, they had seen the Lost Boys carve a humming trail through the forest, their chatter cut off when the last one scampered behind the rolling entrance to the tree. Wendy had a private hope that they were snuggling into their beds, but it was very dim. She turned to Peter. Clearly, something had jogged his memory.
He was regarding her with some distance, taking advantage of the wide brim of his stolen hat. Wendy knotted her fingers and bravely delved into the shadow.
'Thank you, Peter,' she said. It came too softly.
Peter shrugged, and Wendy surreptitiously wrung her hands.
'Good night, Wendy,' he said, turning from her.
'Peter,' whispered Wendy. At some point she had promised herself not to plead with him, she knew. Now she broke that blindly, reaching a hand out to his shoulder. He flinched away from her touch.
'Good night, Wendy,' he said again. His voice was hard.
'Peter, please. It is only a feather.'
Peter whirled on her, and his eyes were damp and brilliant in his grim face. 'Only a feather, of course!' He stole close to her, and his fingers were around the acorn, shaking. 'And this isn't a kiss, is it Wendy? It never was a kiss.' He dropped it and backed away from her, his eyes dimming.
'Peter, please.'
'It's only an acorn, Wendy. An acorn button. It's never been anything else, has it?' His voice was level, but bitter. Wendy was helpless.
'No Peter, it's so much more.' She would not cry again.
'But the feather is only a feather,' he spat. Wendy silenced, and Peter stole into the air. She turned to the Nevertree, and did not watch him go.
The air felt heavy. Or perhaps it was she who felt heavy, or some part of her, too heavy to be warmed by the sight of the Boys, all huddled dreamless in their beds. She crossed automatically to the large bed, but did not sit. It smelled of him, and a part of her would break if she slept with his scent tonight. She glanced around, and her eyes were not long in finding something.
Rufio was not asleep. He was leaning against the wall of the tree, his arms around his torso. He was peering upward, seemingly inspecting the pattern of the roots while his eyes swallowed light. Wendy frowned. 'Rufio?'
He didn't move. 'Go to sleep, Wendy.' He seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth. Wendy moved closer, and noticed that his shirt was ripped, and his arms were pressing hard at his skin. She reached out her white hands, but Rufio resisted. 'It's nothing I can't tend to. Go to sleep.'
'Nonsense,' she shushed him, peeling his arms away. She gasped softly. It was an angry cut, wet and red, which ran the horizontal length of his abdomen. She could not judge its depth, but it still bled. Rufio sucked in a breath when the air hit the wound.
'What happened?' she asked briskly, steering him with firm hands towards a place to sit down. Rufio hoped and prayed that it was not Pan's bed. Naturally, that's exactly where he ended up. He had little choice in the matter, however, and sat with a grimace, holding his arms clear of anything he might stain. If Pan so much as smelled him, he knew what happened would make this injury trivial. He answered her question belatedly.
'Hook. It could have been serious, but I scooted out of the way. I fell off the side of the ship and into the Lost Boys' boat. They hardly noticed, I think.'
'This isn't serious?' said Wendy, frowning deeply. She turned from him to a shirt of Ace's that she had been mending. With a silent hope that the boy would forgive her, she began to tear it into strips. 'This might hurt a bit, I apologize,' she muttered distractedly, and then began wrapping the wound. Rufio squeezed his eyes shut.
She was tying knots in the bandages when he spoke again, haltingly. 'Necesito,' he muttered, and then remembered himself. 'I need-' he grit his teeth as she finished.
Wendy looked up, all concern. 'What is it? What do you need?'
Rufio collected himself, waiting until his vision cleared. When the pain subsided enough, he tried again. 'I need to leave.' He tried to stand, but Wendy's hand on his thigh kept him seated.
'Rufio, calm down,' said Wendy firmly. She attempted to translate his expression, but it was a stab in the dark at best. 'If Peter returns, he returns. You are not moving from this bed. I will not let him hurt you,' she paused, and then finished gently. 'Besides, running from things never solves them.' She let go of him carefully.
Rufio resigned, sighing. He relaxed into the bed slightly, but not enough to allow his bloodied arms to touch. Wendy must have noticed them then, for she stood and took a halved coconut from the table, filling it with water from the dripping root. She took up the remaining bit of shirt and sat beside Rufio on the bed, gingerly washing one arm, then the other.
Rufio watched her with a somber mouth, his eyes best left unexplained. He watched her still when she stood, disposing of cloth and bowl. She found a clean bowl and filled it. He spoke quietly, to her back. 'He'll always be angry if you're here to be angry about.'
Wendy didn't meet his gaze when she moved back to him, holding out the bowl. 'Drink,' she said. When he had taken it she sat beside him again, her hands limp in her lap, her eyes ahead. She spoke, and she felt that the voice wasn't hers. 'Are you suggesting that I leave?'
Rufio drank quickly and set the cup aside. The beginning of a frown took his brow when she spoke. 'No, Wendy.' He reached out and touched her wrist. Wendy looked at him, startled. He continued, nonplussed. 'Pan wants you to stay, not me. This isn't your fault. I just can't accept him as my better. I can't be like his Lost Boys.' His hand fell away, but Wendy had shifted, facing him fully.
'That's exactly what leaving would do, though, don't you see? Peter would think he had won.' Now she turned away, drawing her knees up. 'It is a game, of sorts. But I think he thinks you betrayed him, too. Not just me. I don't think he'd want to see you go, either. I think-' she faltered. Her voice had grown thick and wet, and she let herself lie down slowly, her back to Rufio. 'He feels now, and he knows he feels. But now he has to work it all out, and he doesn't know how, and he doesn't understand – oh, Peter,' she wept the last word, and continued to cry, softly.
Rufio knit his brow. He looked at her with tempestuous eyes; she looked so small, curled in on herself as she was. He reached out to her spontaneously, but the comfort fell short. His hand hovered there, and he watched her hidden face while his words tried to close the gaping distance. 'Wendy, please,' he whispered. 'This can't keep happening. It's pointless, and it's all Pan's whims. He's all dreams, Wendy.'
There was a silence, and Wendy no longer cried. Rufio took his hand back. She did not move, and her voice was quieter than her tears had been. 'I was only a little girl. I was only a little girl, and he was there, above me. And I didn't know what the look in his eyes was, or why he was reaching out to my lips. He got what he was reaching for, eventually, but not with his hands. And it was still gone when he came back, he still had it, and he was wearing the same look. I know what it was now, what it is. He does love.'
Rufio was frozen, and he could not speak. But Wendy continued.
'He always had nightmares. I held him while he slept when we were both so young. I rocked him and I cooed and I never really listened to him, I only wanted him to rest and to be happy.' Her hand was taking the bedclothes in a slow grip. 'He still has nightmares, and I still hold him. But I listen now, I can't help but listen, I don't know how not to. And he's always calling my name. It's always my name. It's like I've died. And he holds me like a vice until it's over. He never remembers when he wakes up, but sometimes you can see the fragments of the nightmares hanging in his eyes.'
'Wendy,' murmured Rufio.
'His eyes were all nightmares tonight.'
'Wendy, you can't do this to yourself. He doesn't think, Wendy. He only takes what he wants, what makes him immediately happy. How can he love?' his voice was almost desperate.
Wendy sat up suddenly and faced him. 'He's still human, Rufio. He loves, but it's strange. He can't love properly because of this place, even it if lets him grow, it doesn't let him understand. He has lived his entire life bereft of the only thing that would heal him, that would let his head catch up with the rest of him. This place is killing him.'
'What are you saying, Wendy?' He was almost frightened by her.
Wendy took in a great breath, but her words still shook. 'Whatever he loves leaves him. His parents loved him, and then forgot. And I love him – I love him terribly! – And I almost let him go. I almost closed the window. There was only a grain of time left for Peter Pan. I can't go back, you see. They say he takes pieces of the people he charms, but it isn't so. They take pieces of him. I cannot leave. I cannot take that last bit-' her voice broke, and her eyes were tired.
'He'll only hurt you. Neverland'll poison you too, if you stay. He'll only hurt you.'
Wendy was quiet for a very long time. Rufio couldn't keep himself from watching her, from seeing this unveiled Wendy. Her eyes were violently colorful now, and he finally saw the empty, quiet corner of her mouth. His hand was a fist, but he did not notice.
Wendy spoke at last, hardly moving. 'Talk to him, Rufio.'
'What?' Rufio hissed.
'Talk to him.'
'You've got to be kidding me.' He quelled the urge to laugh; it was bitter on his tongue. Wendy found his face with her eyes.
'He must understand, Rufio. I cannot make him understand, I am colored by too much. But you could, you really could. He must understand that you do not care for me,' she was pleading. Rufio was dumbstruck for a moment, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.
'Wendy,' he sputtered. 'Wendy, leaving would make more sense than that! Pan would gladly flay me; he won't take the time to listen. And even if he does, he won't understand!'
'But you must try, Rufio! Please! We have to end this, somehow.'
Rufio's jaw tensed, and he was silent for a long time, unable to look at her. Wendy watched him, reigning in her expression.
At length, he spoke. 'Fine,' he said, his voice empty. And then he looked at her, eyes grave. 'But you cannot make me stay if I succeed.'
Wendy's expression wilted, but she nodded, slowly. Her eyes were saying soft things, and Rufio looked away. 'Go to sleep, Wendy. I'll wait for him.'
Wendy was still for a moment longer. And then she eased herself to the bed again, and Pan's scent was there. Something in her was already broken, and her precaution of earlier was void now. Sleep was long in coming.
Rufio moved carefully to a vacant seat near the table. He relaxed as much of he could, heedful of the newly tended wound, and counted measured breaths, watching the door. He never looked back at Wendy. At times, he could hear her murmurs; spoken tears. He closed his ears to the sound.
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I do not own Hook. I do not own You Got Served, which has no relevance, but sort of makes me sad anyway.
Notes: This chapter is even longer than the last one. And it's full of angst. The next one will be, too. And then will be some Hook, and then finally some long awaited Peter/Wendy. It's hardly over, though. If it gets too long, you can just yell at me. Thank you for the reviews!
Chapter Fourteen: Agreement
Peter landed before the Underground Home. Airborne, they had seen the Lost Boys carve a humming trail through the forest, their chatter cut off when the last one scampered behind the rolling entrance to the tree. Wendy had a private hope that they were snuggling into their beds, but it was very dim. She turned to Peter. Clearly, something had jogged his memory.
He was regarding her with some distance, taking advantage of the wide brim of his stolen hat. Wendy knotted her fingers and bravely delved into the shadow.
'Thank you, Peter,' she said. It came too softly.
Peter shrugged, and Wendy surreptitiously wrung her hands.
'Good night, Wendy,' he said, turning from her.
'Peter,' whispered Wendy. At some point she had promised herself not to plead with him, she knew. Now she broke that blindly, reaching a hand out to his shoulder. He flinched away from her touch.
'Good night, Wendy,' he said again. His voice was hard.
'Peter, please. It is only a feather.'
Peter whirled on her, and his eyes were damp and brilliant in his grim face. 'Only a feather, of course!' He stole close to her, and his fingers were around the acorn, shaking. 'And this isn't a kiss, is it Wendy? It never was a kiss.' He dropped it and backed away from her, his eyes dimming.
'Peter, please.'
'It's only an acorn, Wendy. An acorn button. It's never been anything else, has it?' His voice was level, but bitter. Wendy was helpless.
'No Peter, it's so much more.' She would not cry again.
'But the feather is only a feather,' he spat. Wendy silenced, and Peter stole into the air. She turned to the Nevertree, and did not watch him go.
The air felt heavy. Or perhaps it was she who felt heavy, or some part of her, too heavy to be warmed by the sight of the Boys, all huddled dreamless in their beds. She crossed automatically to the large bed, but did not sit. It smelled of him, and a part of her would break if she slept with his scent tonight. She glanced around, and her eyes were not long in finding something.
Rufio was not asleep. He was leaning against the wall of the tree, his arms around his torso. He was peering upward, seemingly inspecting the pattern of the roots while his eyes swallowed light. Wendy frowned. 'Rufio?'
He didn't move. 'Go to sleep, Wendy.' He seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth. Wendy moved closer, and noticed that his shirt was ripped, and his arms were pressing hard at his skin. She reached out her white hands, but Rufio resisted. 'It's nothing I can't tend to. Go to sleep.'
'Nonsense,' she shushed him, peeling his arms away. She gasped softly. It was an angry cut, wet and red, which ran the horizontal length of his abdomen. She could not judge its depth, but it still bled. Rufio sucked in a breath when the air hit the wound.
'What happened?' she asked briskly, steering him with firm hands towards a place to sit down. Rufio hoped and prayed that it was not Pan's bed. Naturally, that's exactly where he ended up. He had little choice in the matter, however, and sat with a grimace, holding his arms clear of anything he might stain. If Pan so much as smelled him, he knew what happened would make this injury trivial. He answered her question belatedly.
'Hook. It could have been serious, but I scooted out of the way. I fell off the side of the ship and into the Lost Boys' boat. They hardly noticed, I think.'
'This isn't serious?' said Wendy, frowning deeply. She turned from him to a shirt of Ace's that she had been mending. With a silent hope that the boy would forgive her, she began to tear it into strips. 'This might hurt a bit, I apologize,' she muttered distractedly, and then began wrapping the wound. Rufio squeezed his eyes shut.
She was tying knots in the bandages when he spoke again, haltingly. 'Necesito,' he muttered, and then remembered himself. 'I need-' he grit his teeth as she finished.
Wendy looked up, all concern. 'What is it? What do you need?'
Rufio collected himself, waiting until his vision cleared. When the pain subsided enough, he tried again. 'I need to leave.' He tried to stand, but Wendy's hand on his thigh kept him seated.
'Rufio, calm down,' said Wendy firmly. She attempted to translate his expression, but it was a stab in the dark at best. 'If Peter returns, he returns. You are not moving from this bed. I will not let him hurt you,' she paused, and then finished gently. 'Besides, running from things never solves them.' She let go of him carefully.
Rufio resigned, sighing. He relaxed into the bed slightly, but not enough to allow his bloodied arms to touch. Wendy must have noticed them then, for she stood and took a halved coconut from the table, filling it with water from the dripping root. She took up the remaining bit of shirt and sat beside Rufio on the bed, gingerly washing one arm, then the other.
Rufio watched her with a somber mouth, his eyes best left unexplained. He watched her still when she stood, disposing of cloth and bowl. She found a clean bowl and filled it. He spoke quietly, to her back. 'He'll always be angry if you're here to be angry about.'
Wendy didn't meet his gaze when she moved back to him, holding out the bowl. 'Drink,' she said. When he had taken it she sat beside him again, her hands limp in her lap, her eyes ahead. She spoke, and she felt that the voice wasn't hers. 'Are you suggesting that I leave?'
Rufio drank quickly and set the cup aside. The beginning of a frown took his brow when she spoke. 'No, Wendy.' He reached out and touched her wrist. Wendy looked at him, startled. He continued, nonplussed. 'Pan wants you to stay, not me. This isn't your fault. I just can't accept him as my better. I can't be like his Lost Boys.' His hand fell away, but Wendy had shifted, facing him fully.
'That's exactly what leaving would do, though, don't you see? Peter would think he had won.' Now she turned away, drawing her knees up. 'It is a game, of sorts. But I think he thinks you betrayed him, too. Not just me. I don't think he'd want to see you go, either. I think-' she faltered. Her voice had grown thick and wet, and she let herself lie down slowly, her back to Rufio. 'He feels now, and he knows he feels. But now he has to work it all out, and he doesn't know how, and he doesn't understand – oh, Peter,' she wept the last word, and continued to cry, softly.
Rufio knit his brow. He looked at her with tempestuous eyes; she looked so small, curled in on herself as she was. He reached out to her spontaneously, but the comfort fell short. His hand hovered there, and he watched her hidden face while his words tried to close the gaping distance. 'Wendy, please,' he whispered. 'This can't keep happening. It's pointless, and it's all Pan's whims. He's all dreams, Wendy.'
There was a silence, and Wendy no longer cried. Rufio took his hand back. She did not move, and her voice was quieter than her tears had been. 'I was only a little girl. I was only a little girl, and he was there, above me. And I didn't know what the look in his eyes was, or why he was reaching out to my lips. He got what he was reaching for, eventually, but not with his hands. And it was still gone when he came back, he still had it, and he was wearing the same look. I know what it was now, what it is. He does love.'
Rufio was frozen, and he could not speak. But Wendy continued.
'He always had nightmares. I held him while he slept when we were both so young. I rocked him and I cooed and I never really listened to him, I only wanted him to rest and to be happy.' Her hand was taking the bedclothes in a slow grip. 'He still has nightmares, and I still hold him. But I listen now, I can't help but listen, I don't know how not to. And he's always calling my name. It's always my name. It's like I've died. And he holds me like a vice until it's over. He never remembers when he wakes up, but sometimes you can see the fragments of the nightmares hanging in his eyes.'
'Wendy,' murmured Rufio.
'His eyes were all nightmares tonight.'
'Wendy, you can't do this to yourself. He doesn't think, Wendy. He only takes what he wants, what makes him immediately happy. How can he love?' his voice was almost desperate.
Wendy sat up suddenly and faced him. 'He's still human, Rufio. He loves, but it's strange. He can't love properly because of this place, even it if lets him grow, it doesn't let him understand. He has lived his entire life bereft of the only thing that would heal him, that would let his head catch up with the rest of him. This place is killing him.'
'What are you saying, Wendy?' He was almost frightened by her.
Wendy took in a great breath, but her words still shook. 'Whatever he loves leaves him. His parents loved him, and then forgot. And I love him – I love him terribly! – And I almost let him go. I almost closed the window. There was only a grain of time left for Peter Pan. I can't go back, you see. They say he takes pieces of the people he charms, but it isn't so. They take pieces of him. I cannot leave. I cannot take that last bit-' her voice broke, and her eyes were tired.
'He'll only hurt you. Neverland'll poison you too, if you stay. He'll only hurt you.'
Wendy was quiet for a very long time. Rufio couldn't keep himself from watching her, from seeing this unveiled Wendy. Her eyes were violently colorful now, and he finally saw the empty, quiet corner of her mouth. His hand was a fist, but he did not notice.
Wendy spoke at last, hardly moving. 'Talk to him, Rufio.'
'What?' Rufio hissed.
'Talk to him.'
'You've got to be kidding me.' He quelled the urge to laugh; it was bitter on his tongue. Wendy found his face with her eyes.
'He must understand, Rufio. I cannot make him understand, I am colored by too much. But you could, you really could. He must understand that you do not care for me,' she was pleading. Rufio was dumbstruck for a moment, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.
'Wendy,' he sputtered. 'Wendy, leaving would make more sense than that! Pan would gladly flay me; he won't take the time to listen. And even if he does, he won't understand!'
'But you must try, Rufio! Please! We have to end this, somehow.'
Rufio's jaw tensed, and he was silent for a long time, unable to look at her. Wendy watched him, reigning in her expression.
At length, he spoke. 'Fine,' he said, his voice empty. And then he looked at her, eyes grave. 'But you cannot make me stay if I succeed.'
Wendy's expression wilted, but she nodded, slowly. Her eyes were saying soft things, and Rufio looked away. 'Go to sleep, Wendy. I'll wait for him.'
Wendy was still for a moment longer. And then she eased herself to the bed again, and Pan's scent was there. Something in her was already broken, and her precaution of earlier was void now. Sleep was long in coming.
Rufio moved carefully to a vacant seat near the table. He relaxed as much of he could, heedful of the newly tended wound, and counted measured breaths, watching the door. He never looked back at Wendy. At times, he could hear her murmurs; spoken tears. He closed his ears to the sound.
