How she'd ended up on the Jolly Roger, she couldn't quite remember. She recalled a faerie, and then a bright light, and suddenly here she was, in a lush chamber with dark ebony walls, finished perfectly and carved with mermaids and pirates and other such fantasies.
The bed was red satin and the bedpost were gilts with sparkling gold. The pillows were round and fat, the velvet quilt upon the mattress a dulcet crimson. The light was low, the many candles around the room flickering playfully in their holders. The tapestries upon the wall - depicting battles and maps of faraway places like Zanzibar and Madagascar - were bright and new, and so intricately woven that they seemed to dance before her eyes like living things.
In the centre of the room was a lovely but queer piano. The wood was black, like the heart of Death himself, and the keys were carved from the bones of men and beasts. The fingers dancing across them were pale and lovely, delicate but merciless, and they pulled out an eerie tune from the instrument beneath them.
Beside the enchanting fingers was a large glinting hook of iron, helping to extract the melody from the strange machine. Sharp it was, but nary a scratch did it make on the keys as it masterfully pressed them down, one by one.
Suddenly a voice came from the owner of the hands, deep and soft, and as smooth as ice, though considerably warmer.
"Wendy," was all it said, and the music slowly trickled to a stop. Wendy's eyes followed the talented hand and hook as they left the piano lonely for the soft favour of the Captain's lap. Her gaze traveled up the shimmering brocade set into the deep purple velvet, past the white cravat and into the intoxicating pale blue of a thousand summer mornings. The eyes she stared into were empty on the surface, but beneath the exterior facade lay the darker blue of extended suffering, and the constant ache for...
"Wendy, my dear, are you all right?" It was the voice again. Wendy, startled, stood to attention, vaguely conscious of her inappropriate dress. But she would show no weakness. She lifted her chin and spoke bravely, her grey-green eyes never leaving those impermeable blue ones that so captured her attention.
"I am," she stated simply, and her girlish voice gave no trace of the vagueness of mind she was experiencing. What ihad/i happened?
"Splendid!" Hook said, and took to his feet with the grace of an elven king. He circled to the table and pulled out a plush chair before motioning to Wendy. "Please, my dear, take a seat."
Wendy, never one to be impolite, accepted the offer and settled herself down into the chair. Hook sat himself adjacent to her, just in the next chair around the corner. He lifted a fancy bottle, uncorked it with ease, and tipped it to a goblet.
"Would you care for a drink?" he asked kindly.
"I really don't think I ought to," she replied, as politely as she could manage, "I feel rather lightheaded..."
"I am dreadfully sorry to hear that," Hook replied with the smoothest traces of concern edging his words, "You do seem rather distant. Is there anything I could do to help?"
"Er...perhaps you could...pardon me if I seem rude, but...could you tell me why I'm here?" she stammered, and blinked a few times to clear the remnants of fog from her mind. Her mind was getting clearer but her memory of the past few days was blank. She'd been with...someone...who?
"Of course, my dear Wendy!" Hook replied with affected relief, "You have agreed to sail with us! Do not tell me you've forgotten?"
"I - I'm afraid I had. I apologise, I am not feeling quite myself," she said, rather confused. She had agreed to go with them? She barely knew them! As a matter of fact, as she thought about it, she wasn't sure how she knew them at all. She -
"Our storyteller," his voice threw her all ready slippery memories back into the sea of her subconsious. Her head snapped up. "Our Red-Handed Jill. Remember?"
"Red-Handed Jill...I do remember that," she stated, vaguely. The name had struck a bell in her fuzzy mind.
i"I had once thought of calling myself...Red-Handed Jill."
"Red-Handed Jill! What a magnificent name! That is what we shall call you if you join us..."/i
She suddenly felt the dull pressure of cool iron beneath her chin, coaxing her face to turn upwards. She allowed her head to be tilted, and she found herself looking into the pools of mystery Hook employed as eyes.
Of course she'd wanted to join with him. Why had she wanted to stay...? A vague memory tugged at the back of her mind...something about boys? But she couldn't remember what, and in a moment it had slipped her mind completely.
"You shall come with us...shan't you?" Hook spoke, a look of upset dappling his fine features as his hook came quickly up to his lips in a gesture of concern.
"Of...Of course I shall. I agreed to, and so I shall accompany you," Wendy answered, at length. After all, why not? What else did she have, in the world?
"Superb!" Hook exclaimed, and he put a tender flesh hand to Wendy's warm cheek. She flinched slightly but did not turn away, for his touch was comforting to her in a time when her mind could not function properly. "We shall arrange for your quarters immediately. Smee!"
The first mate appeared in the doorway, slightly the worse for drink. His brown eyes unfocused and focused on Wendy and the Captain, and his manner was unsteady.
"Aye, Cap'n?" he said, attempting to stand straight without use of something to lean on.
"You will prepare the largest room on board for Red-Handed Jill's use."
"The largest room on board, sir?" Smee asked, his reddened face contorting with the effort of thought.
"Yes, Smee. The largest one," Hook replied, rolling his eyes in irritation and leaning his head on his hand.
Smee glanced about him, then back at the Captain.
"Should I prepare a different room for you, then, sir?" he stated, face open and without trick. Hook glared at him, daggers in his stare, and Smee straightened immediately. "On my way, sir," he amended hastily, fleeing desperately to the deck. Wendy allowed herself a small giggle, which made Hook smile kindly at her.
"And they all lived bloodily ever after!" Wendy finished with a flourish, brandishing a sword in one hand and a grappling hook in the other. A riotous cheer rose up from the assembled crew, and Hook smiled vaguely to himself and breathed on his hook vainly before shining it on his black velvet frock coat. Wendy grinned and bowed, as pleased with her story as the crew seemed to be.
"Mister Smee," Hook ordered, once the cheering had subsided, "Why don't you fetch something for Jill to eat, so that she might regain her energy from that wonderfully exuberant story?"
"Aye aye, Cap'n!" Smee said with a quick salute, before bounding off to follow his orders. Wendy smiled at him, before she was apprehended by Noodler, who insisted on a backwards handshake. But Hook stepped in and offered Wendy his arm.
"Jill, won't you accompany me for lunch?" he asked politely, smiling down the foot of height difference between them with an air of fondness that was not entirely an act. She accepted with her head held high and the two entered Hook's chambers, a mismatched but strangely similar pair: her in her nightdress and him dressed like a king, but both with regal countenance and slight smiles upon their fair faces.
Wendy sat down in the chair Hook presented to her and smoothed the cloth on her thighs before reaching for a crisp white napkin and spreading it across her lap properly. When she looked up from her activity, Hook was seated across from her and Smee was filling her glass with sparkling clear liquid with only the tiniest of bubbles in it. Curious, she reached for the goblet and held it to the light. Tiny rainbows refracted onto her face, dancing on the walls and the table like joyful dust motes in a beam of sunlight.
"Faerie wine," Hook stated simply, by way of explanation, "Do taste it, I implore you."
Wendy had had the occasional glass of wine at dinner when she was living at home, so she was not alien to the idea, but...home? Her thoughts were interrupted by a fragment of thought attatched to a gargantuan idea that she couldn't quite recall. But the more she tried to remember, the farther away the shard of memory floated, and soon her mind was as blank as the glass of wine before her dazzled eyes.
She brought the cup to her lips and took a small sip. The wine effervesced and the bittersweetest of beautiful tastes played across her tongue and up her cheeks like a cool fire. She couldn't help herself - she took another sip. The taste and the experience were undiminished from the first time. She could hear her companion chuckle, and that brought her back to reality.
"It is something, isn't it?" Hook said with a coy smirk. The rainbows from the glass were reflected in his eyes, and Wendy found herself absently turning the glass this way and that to watch the colours ripple. His blinking interrupted her and she smiled quickly to hide her vacant expression, and then took another sip of the delicious drink, still every bit as amazing as the first taste.
"It is," she replied, "Faerie wine? How do you get it?"
"It's made from faerie dust. This is all we have, however...it is not made very often. But I felt that your first day with us deserved something special, don't you agree?" Hook said, his manner as smooth as the unblemished iron of his hook, which had a white lace napkin draped over it at the moment.
Wendy was flattered, and she looked down to her plate, which had somehow acquired a meal in her brief distraction (had it been brief? Time was so hard to keep track of, here...). She could feel her face burning slightly, and knew that it wasn't any sort of delicate, girlish pink that was spreading out across her dimpled face, but a bright tomato red that only she seemed capable of.
"I do hope you won't mind me asking," Wendy said, desperate to change the subject, "But how did you come to Neverland?"
"Well," Hook said, seemingly reluctant, "I lived in London. I attended school and university, and joined the Royal Navy. But times were hard and our whipmasters harsh, and soon the crew mutinied. They elected me the captain, and it was to be that we were pirates. One day we were caught in a storm and washed up on the shore you see just outside."
"And how long have you been here?" Wendy asked, forgetting in her eagerness that her mouth was full of potato. Being a storyteller, she always wished to know as much about her beloved characters as possible. And what better an opportunity?
"It is difficult to say," Hook replied with a long-suffering look in his eyes, "Far, far too long."
Wendy opened her mouth to say something inquiring and sympathetic when the door opened and a crew member stuck his warty head in the door.
"Please, Cap'n," he said, a hopeful and intimidated look on his unpleasant features, "But th' lads're gettin' restless. C'n we 'ave another story b'fore we goes back te work?"
Hook reached for the flintlock pistol in his belt, but Wendy stood quickly and held up a desisting hand.
"It's all right. I have time for a short one. I will return, shortly, I promise," she said, and Hook was forced to comply. He replaced the gun and gestured to Wendy that she was at liberty to go when she pleased. She grabbed a drumstick as an afterthought, and then followed the massively relieved and slightly shaken crew member out onto the deck, leaving Hook to his thoughts.
They never returned to the conversation Wendy had begun that night, but the one they had instead was one to be remembered, full of laughter and understanding and silent tender moments. It was a conversation of connection and realisation, and despite himself, Hook found himself becoming more fond of Wendy than he felt he ought to.
She was here for a reason. For a purpose, and befriending her was not part of that purpose. Of course...it could not harm his plan. It was another means to The End that Hook so desired. But he could not allow himself to get too attatched to her...her delightfully unsuccessful attempts at being proper, to her obvious intelligence despite her age, to her glowing smile and enchanting eyes. Damn it all.
The candles were burning low and the groaning of the Jolly Roger was lulling Hook into a trance of his thoughts - faeries, stories, magic spells, flying, Peter Pan, Wendy, and the eventual End. And so it was, leaning on the dinnertable amidst the dirty dishes, that Hook lay down his head to sleep.
Wendy's storytelling was incredibly popular amongst the pirates, who favoured it even above their usual brawling and pillaging. Wendy was happy to oblige them, for there was nothing she fancied quite so much as telling a good story to a receptive audience - and how could she ask for a better one? She was treated as someone quite important, with her own well-furnished room, and dining with the Captain.
And the Captain - he was ever the picture of courtesy toward her. It seemed to Wendy that there was no time Hook enjoyed more than mealtimes, for it was then they had their conversations. Wendy could not help but be impressed by his sizable knowledge, it was apparent to her that his schooling had been taken seriously, and she loved talking to him.
A few days - or was it a few weeks? It is hard to tell in Neverland - had passed, and Wendy was sitting awake in her room, staring in the mirror with a brush to her hair, unmoving. She'd been sitting like that for a while, tired but unable to sleep. A story was unfolding itself in her mind, and she could not put it down until it had finished developing. She set down the brush, absentmindedly, and lay her hands in her lap, still sitting at her vanity, shoulders slumped with physical exhaust.
Suddenly there came a rapping at the window in her door. Her nodding head snapped up and the story, half-finished, paused in the blossoming of its petals. She took up a candle in her hand and stood, making her way to the door. She opened it, showing Smee in a floppy nightcap and shirt, looking just as tired as she. He yawned luxuriously before speaking.
"Miss Jill," he said, candle wobbling dangerously as he swayed slightly with fatigue, "Cap'n wants te see ya. He can't sleep an' he needs a story."
"Ah. I shall go at once," she replied, and stepped out into the brisk night air. It blew around her petite form as she shut the door, and she could hear Smee shuffling off to bed.
Hook was laying in bed, fiddling with the fabric of his bedclothes. He'd sent Smee to get Wendy, for a story. He needed some interaction, someone to talk to. He...missed her. Though he hated to admit it, he didn't like spending so very much time without speaking to her.
And...it was beginning to be more than that. He disliked having her far from him, physically. He noticed things about her, more than he'd ever noticed before. The way her small, brave hands felt on his arm as he led her to dinner. The occasional brush of a hip or touch of a finger. The way her lips moved when she spoke - he found it so difficult not to watch them, those distracting crimson things!
It would be safe to say that Hook was not in touch with his libido. He had been, once, in his youth, but through his dedication to his schooling and his profession, he had learned to ignore it, and it rarely bothered him anymore. Until now. He found himself mentally urging Wendy to sit more closely to him during meals. When he took her hand to help her down stairs, her warm skin burned at him achingly. Everything she did to him made him crazy, and he felt he might go mad if he didn't kiss her pouting, generous lips...
In slippered feet, she made her way quickly to the Captain's cabin and knocked softly and politely on the door.
"Do come in," came the voice from inside. She put a hand on the cold brass handle and turned, then pushed the door open to reveal the dimly lit room within. Hook was spread out languidly across his bed, with his covers over his feet, and clad in black velvet robe. His hair was slightly askew, but still relatively neat, and he was leaning against the pillow and gazing at Wendy with a grateful expression.
"My dearest Wendy, do have a seat, wherever you like," he invited, and gestured to the thickly furbished chair just next to his bed. He'd just finished doing up his robe when Wendy had knocked, and now rather wished it had taken him longer. Wendy stepped forward and sat down, stiffly at first, but the lush comfort of the cushions soon lulled her into a more comfortable position. How dearly Hook wished she would come sit on the bed, with him.
"I couldn't sleep...'tis a terrible thing, you know," he said, saying something - anything - that might distract him from his inevitable and shameful thoughts. There were more important matters at hand than lust. "I am troubled at night...with visions of that horrid boy, Peter Pan." iYes...Peter Pan...certainly.../i
The name struck a chord in Wendy's memory, more firmly than anything else recently had. Peter Pan, blonde hair, cheeky green eyes, tanned skin and clothing of leaves. His smug smile appeared in her mind. She knew him. He was in her stories! The stories she had told to...who?...Peter Pan and Captain Hook. And Peter always won. But...why?
"Peter Pan, who robbed me of my hand and cursed me to be stalked unto death by that beastly ticking crocodile, and to be trapped forevermore in this horrible place..." Hook continued, a pained look on his refined face. Wendy, despite herself, could not help the twinge of unhappy sympathy she felt tug at her heart.
"Could you not just leave?" she asked, concern twisting at the edges of her mouth.
"Nay, my pretty lass," Hook replied, shifting his legs and leaning his head back. His libido was calling at him, nagging in his harried mind, but it was too important that he keep her talking. He needed her to tell the Story properly, as soon as possible, before it was too late...All ready her silences were common and deep, and soon..."But it is a long story, and you are the one who is supposed to be doing the telling. Please," he said, pushing down for good the urge to take the girl in his arms, "Tell me a story."
"About what?" Wendy asked, for when she told stories to Hook's crew, everyone had favourites they wanted to hear. She wondered just what Hook's favourite could be.
"Something to cheer me out of this foul mood. How I wish I could defeat Pan, even just once," he cried, waving his hook vaguely and hitting his pillow with it. The cork on the end prevented the pillow's demise, but this was little comfort to the distressed Captain.
The story that had been growing in Wendy's mind changed colour suddenly, and its petals twisted into a different shape as inspiration hit.
"Perhaps," she said, eagerly hoping to get the story out of her head, "Perhaps I could tell you a story in which you are the victorious one!"
Hook's face lit up like a schoolboy's when presented with candy, "Oh, could you?" he asked, a genuine smile spreading across his face like a sunrise, "I would iso/i like to hear such a story..."
"Of course I would!" Wendy said happily, and then plunged headfirst into the story.
Once upon a time, there was a pirate Captain named James Hook. He lived on his ship, the Jolly Roger, in a magical place called Neverland. At first it seemed like it would be a good place to be, for their few expeditions on land proved to be rather enriching in a material sense. But despite the decent plunder, there was nowhere to spend it, and the island turned out to be inhabited entirely by children and indians, neither of which made for particularly pleasant company.
In especial, a young boy named Peter Pan took an immediate disliking to Hook. One day when he and his crew were exploring the jungle for food and signs of things more valuable, they stumbled too close to the boy's hideout. Pan and his group of wildmen, the Lost Boys, engaged the pirates into a brawl before forcing them to retreat to their ship. And since Pan, at that time, learned of Hook's location, whenever he felt like a bit of excitement, he would show up to torture the poor man.
Put off by this near-constant annoyance, Hook attempted to leave Neverland, but every which way he sailed, he ended up back at Pirate's Cove, to his great dismay. So here he was, the sole learned man in a huge ship of idiots and miscreants, stuck in a fantasy land in which he was the evil force that plucky young boys attacked like it was some sort of game, with no manner of escaping. Depressing indeed.
Eventually Hook came to terms with the fact that he was never going to leave, never going to escape the constant ostracising and juvenile name-calling that that blasted Peter put him through, and decided that if he was going to be treated as a villain, he might as well play the part. And so it came to be that the intelligent and well-mannered Captain Hook became the dastardly creature in children's stories.
Stories in which he always lost. In one case, his hand was his forfeit, and with the loss of the appendage came the curse of being following week in and week out by a gigantic, man-eating crocodile with a taste for refinement. Or perhaps it was so tired of eating filthy little boys that when it tasted clean meat, it felt it could not go back.
Life continued in a monotony of unhappy escapades in which the valiant Peter Pan outwitted a man who attended more years of school than Peter appeared to have lived. It must have been impossible, and certainly Hook was offended by it. Each and every time, his masterfully laid plans backfired - and why? There was little logical reason for it, and Hook bound himself heart and soul to proving himself and defeating that pesky little firefly that insisted on making his life miserable...
Time passed as the story did, and Hook smiled as the Story came to its fantastic finale. The End that would get him out of Neverland - for good.
"Hook laughed joyfully, with a crazed twinkle in his surprised eyes," Wendy continued, her own eyes mirroring the expression she was describing, "He had finally done it! He could finally leave! And immediately he called up his men and ordered them to prepare to sail. With pride emenating from him, he boarded his ship, a free man. And as he breathed in the glorious air and watched the sun set in the purple and red sky, he was happy. The End."
Hook clapped gleefully, he'd managed through the whole story without once pouncing on the ripe morsel of a young woman before him. "Oh, marvelous! Thank you! I do feel so cheered, now!"
But there was no happiness in Wendy's face. Hook's smile dropped immediately and he reached out to touch her shoulder, gently, carefully.
"What can the matter be, my dear?" he inquired, and Wendy shrugged slightly.
"I'd forgotten myself...what happens to Wendy?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Ohh, oh oh oh...there there," a sympathetic sound escaped Hook's lips and he took one of the girl's hands and lay it on his hook, caressing it gently with his soft, clean hand. The contact, meagre though it was, was making his heart beat faster.
"Wendy comes with Hook, of course," he said quietly. iAnd he is glad to have her../i he added mentally.
Wendy, being overtired and quite young, was not surprised to feel the backs of her eyes burning. Not being able to remember things properly was a frightening thing, and she couldn't help but be comforted by the commanding but protective presence of this man. Impulsive girl that she was, she pulled her hand away from Hook's and threw her arms about him.
This caught him totally off-guard. Everywhere she touched him, his skin was on fire. His stomach was overturned, and his heart raced like it never had done before. Oh, he wished he could pull her down beneath him and...but no. However, it didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the moment. He gingerly placed his hand and the dull side of his hook on her back, and pulled her in more closely, whispering quiet soothings and stroking her hair ever-so lightly with his hook.
From that day on, Hook and Red-Handed Jill were inseparable. They spent nearly all their time together, save for when they were attacked by Peter Pan. Hook insisted he wanted Wendy to have no part in such a dangerous activity, and would always send her into his cabin to wait it out. Though the spats rarely lasted very long, Wendy did not like being kept away from the action, and was girlishly curious about the villian, Peter Pan. She rather wished they would be attacked some time in which Wendy would not be able to be sent belowdecks, and oft daydreamed about such a thing happening, and in her imaginings she always stepped out, sword in hand, to face the infamous Pan beside her captain.
Her wish was not long in coming true.
The jungle was wet and warm, and leftover raindrops from the earlier storm continued to fall from the thousands of triangles of light green jutting from the damp branches. The smell of it was simply amazing: water and plantlife and fertile soil mingling together with the sweet flowery perfume of fantasy Neverland always employed. Wendy dangled her feet off the egde of the sedan chair, watching the ferns bow and rise again as her feet passed over them. Her slippers were getting quite wet, but she barely noticed.
"Cap'n!" came a sudden voice. It was Smee, rushing back through the disorderly procession of pirates to Hook and Wendy, "Cap'n, it's one of the lost boys! We've captured it!"
Hook's coy face turned up into a cruel smile. "Excellent. Take me to it. Wendy, stay here, I won't be a moment," he said, and then offered his hand to Smee, who took it and helped him down from his regal perch. The two of them walked off, Hook with a smug swish in his gait.
Wendy sighed and leaned back against a brocade-adorned pillow and blew a strand of hair off of her nose. She didn't want to stay behind anymore. And as she lay there, staring at the patterned velvet and silk above her, she found her mind wandering again to play with the fancies of getting to fight, as well.
As the sedan was set on the ground, she imagined a sudden cry of surprise ("Cap'n!"), and then a crowing to follow it. Then there was a bout of juvenile taunting.
"Hook, you old codfish! Let him go at once, or I'll have your other hand this time!"
Wendy sat up immediately, she had not imagined that. She stepped out of her cushy transport and looked to the head of the procession, where there was a young boy dressed in a strange costume, and there - just below the canopy of trees - was Peter Pan. Wendy gasped, and immediately grabbed a sword from an unsuspecting pirate's belt. She rushed forward, but through the throng of pirates, she could not get. So she settled for listening to the exchange, for the moment.
"Peter Pan," Hook said, snidely, with all the frustration and hatred he felt for the boy compacting into his icy tone, "I do believe you're in no position to threaten me."
"Why not?" Peter retorted, hands on hips, "All you have are your stupid ol' ruffians. iI/i have the most brilliant boys on the face of Neverland!" a cheer rose from the assembled Lost Boys, "Not to mention ime/i!"
Wendy was privately shocked at the conceit of this boy, and attempted to shuffle forward to hear and see more clearly.
"I have someone on my side that I do not think you have reckoned with," Hook replied, the calm in his tone as ominous as the eye of a deadly hurricane.
"Oh, yeah?" Peter snapped, but the surety in his tone was wavering.
"Yes. This young man is not the only person you have misplaced recently...is it?"
Even from her faraway standpoint, Wendy could see Peter's face change drastically. His hand drew his dagger and he took an offensive stance.
"Wendy," he growled, a dangerous look in his eyes. Wendy gasped, her hand coming to her mouth. He knew of her? How could this be? "Where is she, you old pirate?! What have you done with her?"
"Done with her?" Hook asked, his face the very picture of innocence, "Why, nothing, dear boy. She chose to join with us, you see...Perhaps your childish games were not enough for a lady of her standing. She is treated far better among us 'ruffians' than ever she was by you abusive children. What can I say?" Hook asked, shrugging, his eyes glittering with malice but his mouth pouted in a look of mock-sympathy, "She just likes us better!" The pirates surrounding him laughed sycophantically.
"That's a lie!" Peter shouted, and flew forward, his knife glinting in the sunlight as he plummeted toward Hook. The pirate's sword was drawn in less than an instant and came up to meet the sharp blade of Peter's weapon just as it arrived.
"I assure you, it is no lie," Hook hissed.
"No! You kidnapped her! Where are you keeping her hostage?" Peter screamed, his cheeks bright red with anger and embarrassment.
Hook pushed Pan away from him, into the group of surrounding pirates. The Lost Boys took their cue and rushed forward, shouting in a most horrific way that nearly frightened some of Hook's crew away. But the battle was not to last long - with their leader incapacitated, the pirates soon captured every last Lost Boy, and Hook was allowed a triumphant laugh.
"Oh, Peter, Peter. It appears my 'stupid old ruffians' have defeated you yet again. Revenge iis/i sweet, isn't it?"
Peter struggled against the strong hands holding him firm, but to no avail. His angry green eyes shot daggers at Hook, who seemed not to notice in the slightest.
"Where's Wendy?" Peter asked again, through clenched teeth.
"Wendy?" Hook asked, affecting sudden confusion, "Oh, you mean our dear Red-Handed Jill! Of course. Jill, won't you step foward?" he asked, holding out a hand to Wendy, who tucked her sword into her belt. She stood, and walked proudly toward her Captain, who put a loving arm on her shoulder. Hook's cocky head turned back to Peter. "See? She's the picture of health. I laid not an ill hand - or a hook - on her."
A collective gasp escaped the mouths of the assembled boys, though Wendy looked at none of them but Peter. She was confused - she knew she ought to hate him, for he was a detestable character in his conceit and lack of consideration for others, but now that she looked upon his face, her long-hidden memories began again to tug at her. There was something about this boy that she remembered. But what?
"Now, Peter," Hook said, patting Wendy and then stepping toward the boy, "What do you suppose would be a fitting punishment for such an unruly young man? A boy that never obeys the rules?"
"If you're going to kill me," Peter said, glaring, "Then do it quickly."
"Kill you? Oh, no no no, dear boy, kill you? Haha, never. What would Neverland be like without Peter Pan?" Hook asked, waving his arms in an exaggerated shrug, "Nay, my boy, I intend to do something far worse to you. Now, I had been thinking of taking you to the dungeons of the Black Castle and torturing you there...but then I thought of something even more fun."
He let the imaginations of the assembled crowd fester for a long moment before continuing. "I'm going to, oh, and you'll love the irony of this, Peter," he said, and when next he spoke his voice was soft and highly pitched in excitement, "I'm going to cut off your hand!" he cried, a huge smile on his face, "And then I'm going to - ahahaha - feed it to a crocodile!" he squeaked, and then his voice returned to normal, "And with any luck, it will like iyour/i taste so much (after all, you are no normal boy!) that it will follow iyou/i, instead! Isn't that fantastic?"
Peter was still glaring, but could think of no words to say. But that was all right, for Hook was not yet finished.
"And your dear Lost Boys, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about them! No no, it would be bad form to just ignore them. Now, the Lost Boys have not been quite so cruel to me as you, Peter, so I shall be more merciful to them - and simply kill them. I think that's fair. Don't you, boys?"
A rowdy cheer rose from the pirates, some of whom shook their captives cruelly and laughed in their ears.
"And Peter, you will be there to witness their deaths," Hook finished in a low, furious growl, "And then perhaps you will ifinally/i learn never to trifle with Captain James Hook!"
Another cheer, but Wendy did not participate. She just kept staring into Peter's face. Who was he? Who was he, really? Why did she know him? And why did she feel a strange urge to stop Hook's brilliant plan? If only he would look at her again, she was sure she could get a grasp on everything she could just barely remember! Why wouldn't he look at her?!
"Wendy?" called a tiny male voice from her right. She turned, and spied a young boy in nightgown, his face smudge with dirt and warpaint, and a miserable expression on his childlike countenance. She knew him, too...Who was he?
"Wendy, would you fetch me Pan's knife?" Hook asked, interrupting her attempts to remember. Wendy frowned, then nodded, and lifted the knife from the ground at Peter's boots. She set it into Hook's good hand and he awarded her with a winning smile. "Thank you, my dear. And now, Peter, let the knife that did the damage to me do the same to you."
Peter began struggling tenfold, but the hands holding him were steely and unrelenting. Hook brought the knife to his skin and immediately the skin split beneath it - there was quite an edge on the silver tool. Peter seemed torn between tears and bravery, and so stood stoic, watching the knife scream through his flesh. Time seemed to slow, and the dagger moved as if through molasses. Slowly, Peter's eyelids came down, crushing out a lonely crystal tear, and it was not until then that he chanced to look up at Wendy. Her eyes saw into his and in a huge rush, all her forgotten memories came flowing back.
The little boy - Michael!
Her brother John.
Her mother.
Her father.
Nana.
Her adopted sons, the Lost Boys.
Coming to Neverland.
And Peter Pan. Peter, who she loved so well. Peter, whose eyes were leaking for the pain in his arm. His arm, which was leaking blood the colour of Hook's tears. Wendy had to do something. Time suddenly sped back up.
"Stop!" she cried, suddenly, drops of water falling from her own eyes. She grabbed Hook's arm and pulled it away from Peter's, not much damage done. She managed to wrench the knife from Hook's hand and then wielded it at him, her arm shaking violently and bitter tears streaming down her cheeks. "Hook, you - " but she could not bring herself to say anything. She'd itrusted/i him! He had lied to her every moment of every day, pretending to be her friend...and why? To get to Peter!
Hook looked down at the trembling point of the blood-stained dagger, then up at Wendy's clouded eyes. The expression on his face was a novel one - surprise and badly-hidden hurt. But through her tears, Wendy could not make out the expression, however badly concealed.
"Wendy..." Hook said, softly, and she bristled at the sound of his voice - once comforting, now shaming.
"Let him go," she said, "Let them all go."
"Or what?" Hook said, unsure of what he should react with.
"Or I'll kill you," she hissed, her voice low and threatening. She looked at Hook through angry eyes, and mistook his sorrow for shock at having lost to Peter Pan yet again. She stepped forward offensively.
Hook barely moved, but patted his side for his sword - it was not there. It lay a few feet away, where he had dropped it while preoccupied with Pan. Dammit. Something always went wrong. Always. Even with the Storyteller on his side, Pan had managed to pull off a victory. Hook sighed, and there was a long pause before he again spoke.
"Then," Hook half-whispered, bowing slightly at risk to himself, "We shall retreat. Release the boys," he ordered, and his crewmates did so. But there was confusion on their dirty faces: Why was their Captain giving up so easily?
But they had no time to question, for Hook turned in a flash of gold and scarlet, and began to walk off. There was a moment of tension as he bent down and reached in the foliage for his sword, but without turning around in the slightest, he placed the shimmering gold blade in his belt, and continued walking, even past his sedan chair, back to the ship. Perplexed, his men followed suit, and the Lost Boys were so startled that they ever forgot to jeer at their retreating backs.
Wendy turned to Peter, who was clasping his wrist with a blood-stained hand. He looked up at Wendy with a look that held both anger and gratitude. She immediately bent and tore a strip of her nightdress off. She pulled Peter's hand from his arm, which was blossoming with red blood, and tied the cloth tightly around it. It soaked through almost immediately, and she realised she would need something else to staunch the flow. She turned and saw the moss on the ground - that should work. She pulled some gently up and removed the makeshift bandage. She pressed the moss onto Peter's arm firmly, and then re-tied the strip of pyjama. She looked up into Peter's face, eyes still clouded with tears.
The two of them stared at one another for a moment.
"Peter," she choked, but there was nothing to follow. She bit her lip and let her arms fall to her sides. Another moment - or perhaps it was a year - passed, before Peter cleared his throat.
"Wendy?" It was Michael again. Wendy turned to him, and he looked up at her from her side. "Wendy, why did you leave us?"
"Well, Michael," she began, trying to keep her voice from wavering. How could she possibly explain to them what had happened? "I'd...forgotten. Nearly everything. I'd forgotten you, and Michael, and Pe - " she cut off, and fell to her knees in a sorrowful swoon. She could no longer stand it, and she gathered her younger brother in for a hug. He embraced her, as well, and she cried into the boy's shoulder for a moment until the rest of the Lost Boys decided that no matter what had happened, they were glad she'd come back. They all crowded in around her, hugging one another happily, while Peter stood off to the side, staring at them and paying no attention to his throbbing wound.
Hook barely heard the thudding of his boots as he trudged across the deck of the Jolly Roger. The events of the last hour just didn't fit together in his mind. Things had been perfect, and in the time of half a second, had done a full turn and now his life was as miserable as it could have been. He tromped belowdecks, not to his quarters, but to his galley. He flung open a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of the most powerful alcohol he could get his hands on. He punched a hole in the cork and ripped it out with his hook, then upturned the bottle into his mouth and drank as much as he could before he needed a breath.
It was definitely time for a bath.
The sun had set, and a light rain was falling outside. The children were sleeping, all of them, except Wendy. She lay in one of the back rooms, on a pile of cushions, staring at the ceiling. Occasionally a flash of lightning would light up her room, but she preferred the darkness, anyway.
How could she have, for a moment, believed Hook's horrible lies? Even despite her mysterious amnesia...it was not sensible to trust a pirate. She should have known that Hook's only dream was to destroy Peter Pan. It was his iraison d'etre/i. His only goal in life. He -
"Wendy." Her makeshift door opened. A boy walked in, and pulled the curtain behind him. She felt him sit next to her.
"Peter, I - "
"Shh, for a moment," Peter said, sounding the most somber she had ever heard him. His happy heart was burdened and she could tell he didn't like feeling this way. "Wendy, I want to you tell me everything that happened."
"Everything?" she asked.
"Everything."
"And...and it all came rushing back, just then. I remembered everything," she finished, "And you know the rest."
There was a silence, and Wendy could not see through the blackness what expression Peter was wearing.
"Peter?"
A pause, and then Peter stood. "Tinkerbell."
"Tinkerbell?" Wendy repeated, perplexed, "What - ?"
"Oh, Tinkerbell," he called, exiting Wendy's room and peering into Tink's tiny cabin the tone sounded menacingly cheery. The chiming of tiny bells was heard. "Where were you, earlier today?" Jingle jingle. "Oh, you weren't feeling well?" Pathetic jingle. Wendy could just imagine Tinkerbell pouting and shaking her head. "Did you know Hook had Wendy?" Peter asked innocently. Surprised jingling. "You didn't? That's funny," he said, and then raised his voice, "BECAUSE I THINK YOU DID!!"
A sudden flash of light was seen as Tinkerbell flew out of her cubby in shock, jingling angrily. Her yellow light flashed red once or twice to make her point.
"Wanted to get rid of her?" Peter shouted, his boyish voice lowering, "You almost got rid of ime/i! Look!" he cried, and Wendy could hear his bandage ripping. There was a long pause as Tinkerbell said nothing, but she slowly sank to the floor, her light tinged with sorrowful blue. Then, without warning, she zoomed out the nearest hatch at the speed of light, crying faerie tears.
Wendy couldn't help but feel bad for the faerie - though she knew that she shouldn't, after what Tinkerbell had done to her. She could hear Peter stomping off, and the hushed whispering of the awakened Lost Boys. Wendy stood from her bed, and passed through the centre room to Peter's. He'd thrown himself onto his bed in a fit of anger, and Wendy came to his side. His wrist was no longer bleeding, but she bound it anyway with another torn bit of her nightdress.
"Peter," she whispered, "I know this isn't the best time..."
"You got that right," he said, rolling on his side to face away from her.
"I'm...sorry, Peter."
Pause.
"I know."
"Peter...I wouldn't have done anything to harm you."
"You told the Story wrong."
Wendy was caught off guard. "What?"
"The Story. It always ends with me winning. When you told it to Hook, you made him win."
"It's just a story, Peter," she said, slightly surprised that Peter's ego would take such offense at the story.
"It's inot/i just a story. Not when you tell it. You're the Storyteller, Wendy."
"The what?"
"The Storyteller. You have...power over things. You created Hook, and Neverland, and even me. The Lost Boys, the mermaids...you created us with your stories. And so you have the power to change us."
"The power...to change you? What do you mean?"
"I mean that if you tell a story, it will happen. That's why Hook wanted you...to make you tell him the story in which he wins. And earlier, there was nothing anyone could do because that was the way the story went. And then you changed it, and we won without hesitation."
Wendy stopped, and a crack of thunder lit up her shocked face - that was a lot of news to digest.
"Wendy," Peter said, and he sounded quite childlike now, "Please don't change the story anymore. Please don't make Hook win."
"I...I wouldn't, Peter," she stammered, and stood. Brow furrowed in thought, she left Peter to sleep, and retreated to her own dark chambers.
In the days that followed, Hook barely left his room. It is an embarrassing thing to be a full-grown and well-learned man, and to lose battles constantly with an eleven year old boy with the intelligence of an animal. It is embarrassing to continue to try and beat this young boy and not only lose the battle - but have him completely outwit you and cause you to lose something precious to you.
At least there was no alligator, this time.
"Smee," Hook groaned, as the first mate tried to work some soap into Hook's tangled mess of curls, "It is so terribly unfair." He waved an arm uselessly, letting it flop down the outside of the bath. "Why must he always win?"
"P'raps because 'e's the good guy?" Smee asked, trying desperately not to pull the captain's hair.
"I never asked to be the villain, Smee!" Hook cried, again gesturing with his stump.
"'Course you didn't, Cap'n," Smee agreed, consolingly, as he rinsed the soap out, "'Course not."
Hook dared not express to his first mate the attachment he still felt toward the girl. She'd been intelligent. Really, genuinely intelligent, and all Hook's trappings and fine foods and vanity could not match that sort of companionship. If only his crew could be half so good as her...he might be fine. But he was surrounded by idiots, whether he like it or not.
He felt a gnawing cancre in his heart, he felt empty, somehow, with Wendy gone.
"Do you think there is some way I could get her back?" Hook asked, out loud. He immediately wished he hadn't...he hadn't wanted to mention her at all...but it was probably just as well.
"'Oo, that Wendy girl?"
"Yes, Smee. Her."
"Well, you could always have her kidnapped again, and then force her to retell the story," Smee suggested, rhetorically.
"Re-tell the story!" Hook cried, standing violently upwards, "You idiot! You total...!" Hook's arm was raised, and Smee was cringing in terror - both of them had forgotten that Hook was not wearing his harness, and so his stump was naked and less dangerous. A look dawned on Hook's face. "Re-tell the story...yes...that's a good idea, Smee. Yes."
Hook faced away from Smee, who wrapped his robe about him. "Yes, Smee, we will get her back."
Life back at Peter's home had returned to normal - no one seemed to remember anything ill happening lately, except Wendy, who was more quiet than usual. But in their rambunctiousness, the Lost Boys barely noticed the difference.
Wendy sat in the corner of the earthy living room, a book in front of her face. The Lost Boys were out on an indian hunt, and Peter with them. Wendy, staring at the book, did not absorb any of the words. Instead, her eyes focused on a point inside the book, somewhere into space. She was thinking.
She'd been having dreams, vague ideas floating inside her head. Sadness. Betrayal. Loneliness.
The bed was red satin and the bedpost were gilts with sparkling gold. The pillows were round and fat, the velvet quilt upon the mattress a dulcet crimson. The light was low, the many candles around the room flickering playfully in their holders. The tapestries upon the wall - depicting battles and maps of faraway places like Zanzibar and Madagascar - were bright and new, and so intricately woven that they seemed to dance before her eyes like living things.
In the centre of the room was a lovely but queer piano. The wood was black, like the heart of Death himself, and the keys were carved from the bones of men and beasts. The fingers dancing across them were pale and lovely, delicate but merciless, and they pulled out an eerie tune from the instrument beneath them.
Beside the enchanting fingers was a large glinting hook of iron, helping to extract the melody from the strange machine. Sharp it was, but nary a scratch did it make on the keys as it masterfully pressed them down, one by one.
Suddenly a voice came from the owner of the hands, deep and soft, and as smooth as ice, though considerably warmer.
"Wendy," was all it said, and the music slowly trickled to a stop. Wendy's eyes followed the talented hand and hook as they left the piano lonely for the soft favour of the Captain's lap. Her gaze traveled up the shimmering brocade set into the deep purple velvet, past the white cravat and into the intoxicating pale blue of a thousand summer mornings. The eyes she stared into were empty on the surface, but beneath the exterior facade lay the darker blue of extended suffering, and the constant ache for...
"Wendy, my dear, are you all right?" It was the voice again. Wendy, startled, stood to attention, vaguely conscious of her inappropriate dress. But she would show no weakness. She lifted her chin and spoke bravely, her grey-green eyes never leaving those impermeable blue ones that so captured her attention.
"I am," she stated simply, and her girlish voice gave no trace of the vagueness of mind she was experiencing. What ihad/i happened?
"Splendid!" Hook said, and took to his feet with the grace of an elven king. He circled to the table and pulled out a plush chair before motioning to Wendy. "Please, my dear, take a seat."
Wendy, never one to be impolite, accepted the offer and settled herself down into the chair. Hook sat himself adjacent to her, just in the next chair around the corner. He lifted a fancy bottle, uncorked it with ease, and tipped it to a goblet.
"Would you care for a drink?" he asked kindly.
"I really don't think I ought to," she replied, as politely as she could manage, "I feel rather lightheaded..."
"I am dreadfully sorry to hear that," Hook replied with the smoothest traces of concern edging his words, "You do seem rather distant. Is there anything I could do to help?"
"Er...perhaps you could...pardon me if I seem rude, but...could you tell me why I'm here?" she stammered, and blinked a few times to clear the remnants of fog from her mind. Her mind was getting clearer but her memory of the past few days was blank. She'd been with...someone...who?
"Of course, my dear Wendy!" Hook replied with affected relief, "You have agreed to sail with us! Do not tell me you've forgotten?"
"I - I'm afraid I had. I apologise, I am not feeling quite myself," she said, rather confused. She had agreed to go with them? She barely knew them! As a matter of fact, as she thought about it, she wasn't sure how she knew them at all. She -
"Our storyteller," his voice threw her all ready slippery memories back into the sea of her subconsious. Her head snapped up. "Our Red-Handed Jill. Remember?"
"Red-Handed Jill...I do remember that," she stated, vaguely. The name had struck a bell in her fuzzy mind.
i"I had once thought of calling myself...Red-Handed Jill."
"Red-Handed Jill! What a magnificent name! That is what we shall call you if you join us..."/i
She suddenly felt the dull pressure of cool iron beneath her chin, coaxing her face to turn upwards. She allowed her head to be tilted, and she found herself looking into the pools of mystery Hook employed as eyes.
Of course she'd wanted to join with him. Why had she wanted to stay...? A vague memory tugged at the back of her mind...something about boys? But she couldn't remember what, and in a moment it had slipped her mind completely.
"You shall come with us...shan't you?" Hook spoke, a look of upset dappling his fine features as his hook came quickly up to his lips in a gesture of concern.
"Of...Of course I shall. I agreed to, and so I shall accompany you," Wendy answered, at length. After all, why not? What else did she have, in the world?
"Superb!" Hook exclaimed, and he put a tender flesh hand to Wendy's warm cheek. She flinched slightly but did not turn away, for his touch was comforting to her in a time when her mind could not function properly. "We shall arrange for your quarters immediately. Smee!"
The first mate appeared in the doorway, slightly the worse for drink. His brown eyes unfocused and focused on Wendy and the Captain, and his manner was unsteady.
"Aye, Cap'n?" he said, attempting to stand straight without use of something to lean on.
"You will prepare the largest room on board for Red-Handed Jill's use."
"The largest room on board, sir?" Smee asked, his reddened face contorting with the effort of thought.
"Yes, Smee. The largest one," Hook replied, rolling his eyes in irritation and leaning his head on his hand.
Smee glanced about him, then back at the Captain.
"Should I prepare a different room for you, then, sir?" he stated, face open and without trick. Hook glared at him, daggers in his stare, and Smee straightened immediately. "On my way, sir," he amended hastily, fleeing desperately to the deck. Wendy allowed herself a small giggle, which made Hook smile kindly at her.
"And they all lived bloodily ever after!" Wendy finished with a flourish, brandishing a sword in one hand and a grappling hook in the other. A riotous cheer rose up from the assembled crew, and Hook smiled vaguely to himself and breathed on his hook vainly before shining it on his black velvet frock coat. Wendy grinned and bowed, as pleased with her story as the crew seemed to be.
"Mister Smee," Hook ordered, once the cheering had subsided, "Why don't you fetch something for Jill to eat, so that she might regain her energy from that wonderfully exuberant story?"
"Aye aye, Cap'n!" Smee said with a quick salute, before bounding off to follow his orders. Wendy smiled at him, before she was apprehended by Noodler, who insisted on a backwards handshake. But Hook stepped in and offered Wendy his arm.
"Jill, won't you accompany me for lunch?" he asked politely, smiling down the foot of height difference between them with an air of fondness that was not entirely an act. She accepted with her head held high and the two entered Hook's chambers, a mismatched but strangely similar pair: her in her nightdress and him dressed like a king, but both with regal countenance and slight smiles upon their fair faces.
Wendy sat down in the chair Hook presented to her and smoothed the cloth on her thighs before reaching for a crisp white napkin and spreading it across her lap properly. When she looked up from her activity, Hook was seated across from her and Smee was filling her glass with sparkling clear liquid with only the tiniest of bubbles in it. Curious, she reached for the goblet and held it to the light. Tiny rainbows refracted onto her face, dancing on the walls and the table like joyful dust motes in a beam of sunlight.
"Faerie wine," Hook stated simply, by way of explanation, "Do taste it, I implore you."
Wendy had had the occasional glass of wine at dinner when she was living at home, so she was not alien to the idea, but...home? Her thoughts were interrupted by a fragment of thought attatched to a gargantuan idea that she couldn't quite recall. But the more she tried to remember, the farther away the shard of memory floated, and soon her mind was as blank as the glass of wine before her dazzled eyes.
She brought the cup to her lips and took a small sip. The wine effervesced and the bittersweetest of beautiful tastes played across her tongue and up her cheeks like a cool fire. She couldn't help herself - she took another sip. The taste and the experience were undiminished from the first time. She could hear her companion chuckle, and that brought her back to reality.
"It is something, isn't it?" Hook said with a coy smirk. The rainbows from the glass were reflected in his eyes, and Wendy found herself absently turning the glass this way and that to watch the colours ripple. His blinking interrupted her and she smiled quickly to hide her vacant expression, and then took another sip of the delicious drink, still every bit as amazing as the first taste.
"It is," she replied, "Faerie wine? How do you get it?"
"It's made from faerie dust. This is all we have, however...it is not made very often. But I felt that your first day with us deserved something special, don't you agree?" Hook said, his manner as smooth as the unblemished iron of his hook, which had a white lace napkin draped over it at the moment.
Wendy was flattered, and she looked down to her plate, which had somehow acquired a meal in her brief distraction (had it been brief? Time was so hard to keep track of, here...). She could feel her face burning slightly, and knew that it wasn't any sort of delicate, girlish pink that was spreading out across her dimpled face, but a bright tomato red that only she seemed capable of.
"I do hope you won't mind me asking," Wendy said, desperate to change the subject, "But how did you come to Neverland?"
"Well," Hook said, seemingly reluctant, "I lived in London. I attended school and university, and joined the Royal Navy. But times were hard and our whipmasters harsh, and soon the crew mutinied. They elected me the captain, and it was to be that we were pirates. One day we were caught in a storm and washed up on the shore you see just outside."
"And how long have you been here?" Wendy asked, forgetting in her eagerness that her mouth was full of potato. Being a storyteller, she always wished to know as much about her beloved characters as possible. And what better an opportunity?
"It is difficult to say," Hook replied with a long-suffering look in his eyes, "Far, far too long."
Wendy opened her mouth to say something inquiring and sympathetic when the door opened and a crew member stuck his warty head in the door.
"Please, Cap'n," he said, a hopeful and intimidated look on his unpleasant features, "But th' lads're gettin' restless. C'n we 'ave another story b'fore we goes back te work?"
Hook reached for the flintlock pistol in his belt, but Wendy stood quickly and held up a desisting hand.
"It's all right. I have time for a short one. I will return, shortly, I promise," she said, and Hook was forced to comply. He replaced the gun and gestured to Wendy that she was at liberty to go when she pleased. She grabbed a drumstick as an afterthought, and then followed the massively relieved and slightly shaken crew member out onto the deck, leaving Hook to his thoughts.
They never returned to the conversation Wendy had begun that night, but the one they had instead was one to be remembered, full of laughter and understanding and silent tender moments. It was a conversation of connection and realisation, and despite himself, Hook found himself becoming more fond of Wendy than he felt he ought to.
She was here for a reason. For a purpose, and befriending her was not part of that purpose. Of course...it could not harm his plan. It was another means to The End that Hook so desired. But he could not allow himself to get too attatched to her...her delightfully unsuccessful attempts at being proper, to her obvious intelligence despite her age, to her glowing smile and enchanting eyes. Damn it all.
The candles were burning low and the groaning of the Jolly Roger was lulling Hook into a trance of his thoughts - faeries, stories, magic spells, flying, Peter Pan, Wendy, and the eventual End. And so it was, leaning on the dinnertable amidst the dirty dishes, that Hook lay down his head to sleep.
Wendy's storytelling was incredibly popular amongst the pirates, who favoured it even above their usual brawling and pillaging. Wendy was happy to oblige them, for there was nothing she fancied quite so much as telling a good story to a receptive audience - and how could she ask for a better one? She was treated as someone quite important, with her own well-furnished room, and dining with the Captain.
And the Captain - he was ever the picture of courtesy toward her. It seemed to Wendy that there was no time Hook enjoyed more than mealtimes, for it was then they had their conversations. Wendy could not help but be impressed by his sizable knowledge, it was apparent to her that his schooling had been taken seriously, and she loved talking to him.
A few days - or was it a few weeks? It is hard to tell in Neverland - had passed, and Wendy was sitting awake in her room, staring in the mirror with a brush to her hair, unmoving. She'd been sitting like that for a while, tired but unable to sleep. A story was unfolding itself in her mind, and she could not put it down until it had finished developing. She set down the brush, absentmindedly, and lay her hands in her lap, still sitting at her vanity, shoulders slumped with physical exhaust.
Suddenly there came a rapping at the window in her door. Her nodding head snapped up and the story, half-finished, paused in the blossoming of its petals. She took up a candle in her hand and stood, making her way to the door. She opened it, showing Smee in a floppy nightcap and shirt, looking just as tired as she. He yawned luxuriously before speaking.
"Miss Jill," he said, candle wobbling dangerously as he swayed slightly with fatigue, "Cap'n wants te see ya. He can't sleep an' he needs a story."
"Ah. I shall go at once," she replied, and stepped out into the brisk night air. It blew around her petite form as she shut the door, and she could hear Smee shuffling off to bed.
Hook was laying in bed, fiddling with the fabric of his bedclothes. He'd sent Smee to get Wendy, for a story. He needed some interaction, someone to talk to. He...missed her. Though he hated to admit it, he didn't like spending so very much time without speaking to her.
And...it was beginning to be more than that. He disliked having her far from him, physically. He noticed things about her, more than he'd ever noticed before. The way her small, brave hands felt on his arm as he led her to dinner. The occasional brush of a hip or touch of a finger. The way her lips moved when she spoke - he found it so difficult not to watch them, those distracting crimson things!
It would be safe to say that Hook was not in touch with his libido. He had been, once, in his youth, but through his dedication to his schooling and his profession, he had learned to ignore it, and it rarely bothered him anymore. Until now. He found himself mentally urging Wendy to sit more closely to him during meals. When he took her hand to help her down stairs, her warm skin burned at him achingly. Everything she did to him made him crazy, and he felt he might go mad if he didn't kiss her pouting, generous lips...
In slippered feet, she made her way quickly to the Captain's cabin and knocked softly and politely on the door.
"Do come in," came the voice from inside. She put a hand on the cold brass handle and turned, then pushed the door open to reveal the dimly lit room within. Hook was spread out languidly across his bed, with his covers over his feet, and clad in black velvet robe. His hair was slightly askew, but still relatively neat, and he was leaning against the pillow and gazing at Wendy with a grateful expression.
"My dearest Wendy, do have a seat, wherever you like," he invited, and gestured to the thickly furbished chair just next to his bed. He'd just finished doing up his robe when Wendy had knocked, and now rather wished it had taken him longer. Wendy stepped forward and sat down, stiffly at first, but the lush comfort of the cushions soon lulled her into a more comfortable position. How dearly Hook wished she would come sit on the bed, with him.
"I couldn't sleep...'tis a terrible thing, you know," he said, saying something - anything - that might distract him from his inevitable and shameful thoughts. There were more important matters at hand than lust. "I am troubled at night...with visions of that horrid boy, Peter Pan." iYes...Peter Pan...certainly.../i
The name struck a chord in Wendy's memory, more firmly than anything else recently had. Peter Pan, blonde hair, cheeky green eyes, tanned skin and clothing of leaves. His smug smile appeared in her mind. She knew him. He was in her stories! The stories she had told to...who?...Peter Pan and Captain Hook. And Peter always won. But...why?
"Peter Pan, who robbed me of my hand and cursed me to be stalked unto death by that beastly ticking crocodile, and to be trapped forevermore in this horrible place..." Hook continued, a pained look on his refined face. Wendy, despite herself, could not help the twinge of unhappy sympathy she felt tug at her heart.
"Could you not just leave?" she asked, concern twisting at the edges of her mouth.
"Nay, my pretty lass," Hook replied, shifting his legs and leaning his head back. His libido was calling at him, nagging in his harried mind, but it was too important that he keep her talking. He needed her to tell the Story properly, as soon as possible, before it was too late...All ready her silences were common and deep, and soon..."But it is a long story, and you are the one who is supposed to be doing the telling. Please," he said, pushing down for good the urge to take the girl in his arms, "Tell me a story."
"About what?" Wendy asked, for when she told stories to Hook's crew, everyone had favourites they wanted to hear. She wondered just what Hook's favourite could be.
"Something to cheer me out of this foul mood. How I wish I could defeat Pan, even just once," he cried, waving his hook vaguely and hitting his pillow with it. The cork on the end prevented the pillow's demise, but this was little comfort to the distressed Captain.
The story that had been growing in Wendy's mind changed colour suddenly, and its petals twisted into a different shape as inspiration hit.
"Perhaps," she said, eagerly hoping to get the story out of her head, "Perhaps I could tell you a story in which you are the victorious one!"
Hook's face lit up like a schoolboy's when presented with candy, "Oh, could you?" he asked, a genuine smile spreading across his face like a sunrise, "I would iso/i like to hear such a story..."
"Of course I would!" Wendy said happily, and then plunged headfirst into the story.
Once upon a time, there was a pirate Captain named James Hook. He lived on his ship, the Jolly Roger, in a magical place called Neverland. At first it seemed like it would be a good place to be, for their few expeditions on land proved to be rather enriching in a material sense. But despite the decent plunder, there was nowhere to spend it, and the island turned out to be inhabited entirely by children and indians, neither of which made for particularly pleasant company.
In especial, a young boy named Peter Pan took an immediate disliking to Hook. One day when he and his crew were exploring the jungle for food and signs of things more valuable, they stumbled too close to the boy's hideout. Pan and his group of wildmen, the Lost Boys, engaged the pirates into a brawl before forcing them to retreat to their ship. And since Pan, at that time, learned of Hook's location, whenever he felt like a bit of excitement, he would show up to torture the poor man.
Put off by this near-constant annoyance, Hook attempted to leave Neverland, but every which way he sailed, he ended up back at Pirate's Cove, to his great dismay. So here he was, the sole learned man in a huge ship of idiots and miscreants, stuck in a fantasy land in which he was the evil force that plucky young boys attacked like it was some sort of game, with no manner of escaping. Depressing indeed.
Eventually Hook came to terms with the fact that he was never going to leave, never going to escape the constant ostracising and juvenile name-calling that that blasted Peter put him through, and decided that if he was going to be treated as a villain, he might as well play the part. And so it came to be that the intelligent and well-mannered Captain Hook became the dastardly creature in children's stories.
Stories in which he always lost. In one case, his hand was his forfeit, and with the loss of the appendage came the curse of being following week in and week out by a gigantic, man-eating crocodile with a taste for refinement. Or perhaps it was so tired of eating filthy little boys that when it tasted clean meat, it felt it could not go back.
Life continued in a monotony of unhappy escapades in which the valiant Peter Pan outwitted a man who attended more years of school than Peter appeared to have lived. It must have been impossible, and certainly Hook was offended by it. Each and every time, his masterfully laid plans backfired - and why? There was little logical reason for it, and Hook bound himself heart and soul to proving himself and defeating that pesky little firefly that insisted on making his life miserable...
Time passed as the story did, and Hook smiled as the Story came to its fantastic finale. The End that would get him out of Neverland - for good.
"Hook laughed joyfully, with a crazed twinkle in his surprised eyes," Wendy continued, her own eyes mirroring the expression she was describing, "He had finally done it! He could finally leave! And immediately he called up his men and ordered them to prepare to sail. With pride emenating from him, he boarded his ship, a free man. And as he breathed in the glorious air and watched the sun set in the purple and red sky, he was happy. The End."
Hook clapped gleefully, he'd managed through the whole story without once pouncing on the ripe morsel of a young woman before him. "Oh, marvelous! Thank you! I do feel so cheered, now!"
But there was no happiness in Wendy's face. Hook's smile dropped immediately and he reached out to touch her shoulder, gently, carefully.
"What can the matter be, my dear?" he inquired, and Wendy shrugged slightly.
"I'd forgotten myself...what happens to Wendy?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Ohh, oh oh oh...there there," a sympathetic sound escaped Hook's lips and he took one of the girl's hands and lay it on his hook, caressing it gently with his soft, clean hand. The contact, meagre though it was, was making his heart beat faster.
"Wendy comes with Hook, of course," he said quietly. iAnd he is glad to have her../i he added mentally.
Wendy, being overtired and quite young, was not surprised to feel the backs of her eyes burning. Not being able to remember things properly was a frightening thing, and she couldn't help but be comforted by the commanding but protective presence of this man. Impulsive girl that she was, she pulled her hand away from Hook's and threw her arms about him.
This caught him totally off-guard. Everywhere she touched him, his skin was on fire. His stomach was overturned, and his heart raced like it never had done before. Oh, he wished he could pull her down beneath him and...but no. However, it didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the moment. He gingerly placed his hand and the dull side of his hook on her back, and pulled her in more closely, whispering quiet soothings and stroking her hair ever-so lightly with his hook.
From that day on, Hook and Red-Handed Jill were inseparable. They spent nearly all their time together, save for when they were attacked by Peter Pan. Hook insisted he wanted Wendy to have no part in such a dangerous activity, and would always send her into his cabin to wait it out. Though the spats rarely lasted very long, Wendy did not like being kept away from the action, and was girlishly curious about the villian, Peter Pan. She rather wished they would be attacked some time in which Wendy would not be able to be sent belowdecks, and oft daydreamed about such a thing happening, and in her imaginings she always stepped out, sword in hand, to face the infamous Pan beside her captain.
Her wish was not long in coming true.
The jungle was wet and warm, and leftover raindrops from the earlier storm continued to fall from the thousands of triangles of light green jutting from the damp branches. The smell of it was simply amazing: water and plantlife and fertile soil mingling together with the sweet flowery perfume of fantasy Neverland always employed. Wendy dangled her feet off the egde of the sedan chair, watching the ferns bow and rise again as her feet passed over them. Her slippers were getting quite wet, but she barely noticed.
"Cap'n!" came a sudden voice. It was Smee, rushing back through the disorderly procession of pirates to Hook and Wendy, "Cap'n, it's one of the lost boys! We've captured it!"
Hook's coy face turned up into a cruel smile. "Excellent. Take me to it. Wendy, stay here, I won't be a moment," he said, and then offered his hand to Smee, who took it and helped him down from his regal perch. The two of them walked off, Hook with a smug swish in his gait.
Wendy sighed and leaned back against a brocade-adorned pillow and blew a strand of hair off of her nose. She didn't want to stay behind anymore. And as she lay there, staring at the patterned velvet and silk above her, she found her mind wandering again to play with the fancies of getting to fight, as well.
As the sedan was set on the ground, she imagined a sudden cry of surprise ("Cap'n!"), and then a crowing to follow it. Then there was a bout of juvenile taunting.
"Hook, you old codfish! Let him go at once, or I'll have your other hand this time!"
Wendy sat up immediately, she had not imagined that. She stepped out of her cushy transport and looked to the head of the procession, where there was a young boy dressed in a strange costume, and there - just below the canopy of trees - was Peter Pan. Wendy gasped, and immediately grabbed a sword from an unsuspecting pirate's belt. She rushed forward, but through the throng of pirates, she could not get. So she settled for listening to the exchange, for the moment.
"Peter Pan," Hook said, snidely, with all the frustration and hatred he felt for the boy compacting into his icy tone, "I do believe you're in no position to threaten me."
"Why not?" Peter retorted, hands on hips, "All you have are your stupid ol' ruffians. iI/i have the most brilliant boys on the face of Neverland!" a cheer rose from the assembled Lost Boys, "Not to mention ime/i!"
Wendy was privately shocked at the conceit of this boy, and attempted to shuffle forward to hear and see more clearly.
"I have someone on my side that I do not think you have reckoned with," Hook replied, the calm in his tone as ominous as the eye of a deadly hurricane.
"Oh, yeah?" Peter snapped, but the surety in his tone was wavering.
"Yes. This young man is not the only person you have misplaced recently...is it?"
Even from her faraway standpoint, Wendy could see Peter's face change drastically. His hand drew his dagger and he took an offensive stance.
"Wendy," he growled, a dangerous look in his eyes. Wendy gasped, her hand coming to her mouth. He knew of her? How could this be? "Where is she, you old pirate?! What have you done with her?"
"Done with her?" Hook asked, his face the very picture of innocence, "Why, nothing, dear boy. She chose to join with us, you see...Perhaps your childish games were not enough for a lady of her standing. She is treated far better among us 'ruffians' than ever she was by you abusive children. What can I say?" Hook asked, shrugging, his eyes glittering with malice but his mouth pouted in a look of mock-sympathy, "She just likes us better!" The pirates surrounding him laughed sycophantically.
"That's a lie!" Peter shouted, and flew forward, his knife glinting in the sunlight as he plummeted toward Hook. The pirate's sword was drawn in less than an instant and came up to meet the sharp blade of Peter's weapon just as it arrived.
"I assure you, it is no lie," Hook hissed.
"No! You kidnapped her! Where are you keeping her hostage?" Peter screamed, his cheeks bright red with anger and embarrassment.
Hook pushed Pan away from him, into the group of surrounding pirates. The Lost Boys took their cue and rushed forward, shouting in a most horrific way that nearly frightened some of Hook's crew away. But the battle was not to last long - with their leader incapacitated, the pirates soon captured every last Lost Boy, and Hook was allowed a triumphant laugh.
"Oh, Peter, Peter. It appears my 'stupid old ruffians' have defeated you yet again. Revenge iis/i sweet, isn't it?"
Peter struggled against the strong hands holding him firm, but to no avail. His angry green eyes shot daggers at Hook, who seemed not to notice in the slightest.
"Where's Wendy?" Peter asked again, through clenched teeth.
"Wendy?" Hook asked, affecting sudden confusion, "Oh, you mean our dear Red-Handed Jill! Of course. Jill, won't you step foward?" he asked, holding out a hand to Wendy, who tucked her sword into her belt. She stood, and walked proudly toward her Captain, who put a loving arm on her shoulder. Hook's cocky head turned back to Peter. "See? She's the picture of health. I laid not an ill hand - or a hook - on her."
A collective gasp escaped the mouths of the assembled boys, though Wendy looked at none of them but Peter. She was confused - she knew she ought to hate him, for he was a detestable character in his conceit and lack of consideration for others, but now that she looked upon his face, her long-hidden memories began again to tug at her. There was something about this boy that she remembered. But what?
"Now, Peter," Hook said, patting Wendy and then stepping toward the boy, "What do you suppose would be a fitting punishment for such an unruly young man? A boy that never obeys the rules?"
"If you're going to kill me," Peter said, glaring, "Then do it quickly."
"Kill you? Oh, no no no, dear boy, kill you? Haha, never. What would Neverland be like without Peter Pan?" Hook asked, waving his arms in an exaggerated shrug, "Nay, my boy, I intend to do something far worse to you. Now, I had been thinking of taking you to the dungeons of the Black Castle and torturing you there...but then I thought of something even more fun."
He let the imaginations of the assembled crowd fester for a long moment before continuing. "I'm going to, oh, and you'll love the irony of this, Peter," he said, and when next he spoke his voice was soft and highly pitched in excitement, "I'm going to cut off your hand!" he cried, a huge smile on his face, "And then I'm going to - ahahaha - feed it to a crocodile!" he squeaked, and then his voice returned to normal, "And with any luck, it will like iyour/i taste so much (after all, you are no normal boy!) that it will follow iyou/i, instead! Isn't that fantastic?"
Peter was still glaring, but could think of no words to say. But that was all right, for Hook was not yet finished.
"And your dear Lost Boys, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about them! No no, it would be bad form to just ignore them. Now, the Lost Boys have not been quite so cruel to me as you, Peter, so I shall be more merciful to them - and simply kill them. I think that's fair. Don't you, boys?"
A rowdy cheer rose from the pirates, some of whom shook their captives cruelly and laughed in their ears.
"And Peter, you will be there to witness their deaths," Hook finished in a low, furious growl, "And then perhaps you will ifinally/i learn never to trifle with Captain James Hook!"
Another cheer, but Wendy did not participate. She just kept staring into Peter's face. Who was he? Who was he, really? Why did she know him? And why did she feel a strange urge to stop Hook's brilliant plan? If only he would look at her again, she was sure she could get a grasp on everything she could just barely remember! Why wouldn't he look at her?!
"Wendy?" called a tiny male voice from her right. She turned, and spied a young boy in nightgown, his face smudge with dirt and warpaint, and a miserable expression on his childlike countenance. She knew him, too...Who was he?
"Wendy, would you fetch me Pan's knife?" Hook asked, interrupting her attempts to remember. Wendy frowned, then nodded, and lifted the knife from the ground at Peter's boots. She set it into Hook's good hand and he awarded her with a winning smile. "Thank you, my dear. And now, Peter, let the knife that did the damage to me do the same to you."
Peter began struggling tenfold, but the hands holding him were steely and unrelenting. Hook brought the knife to his skin and immediately the skin split beneath it - there was quite an edge on the silver tool. Peter seemed torn between tears and bravery, and so stood stoic, watching the knife scream through his flesh. Time seemed to slow, and the dagger moved as if through molasses. Slowly, Peter's eyelids came down, crushing out a lonely crystal tear, and it was not until then that he chanced to look up at Wendy. Her eyes saw into his and in a huge rush, all her forgotten memories came flowing back.
The little boy - Michael!
Her brother John.
Her mother.
Her father.
Nana.
Her adopted sons, the Lost Boys.
Coming to Neverland.
And Peter Pan. Peter, who she loved so well. Peter, whose eyes were leaking for the pain in his arm. His arm, which was leaking blood the colour of Hook's tears. Wendy had to do something. Time suddenly sped back up.
"Stop!" she cried, suddenly, drops of water falling from her own eyes. She grabbed Hook's arm and pulled it away from Peter's, not much damage done. She managed to wrench the knife from Hook's hand and then wielded it at him, her arm shaking violently and bitter tears streaming down her cheeks. "Hook, you - " but she could not bring herself to say anything. She'd itrusted/i him! He had lied to her every moment of every day, pretending to be her friend...and why? To get to Peter!
Hook looked down at the trembling point of the blood-stained dagger, then up at Wendy's clouded eyes. The expression on his face was a novel one - surprise and badly-hidden hurt. But through her tears, Wendy could not make out the expression, however badly concealed.
"Wendy..." Hook said, softly, and she bristled at the sound of his voice - once comforting, now shaming.
"Let him go," she said, "Let them all go."
"Or what?" Hook said, unsure of what he should react with.
"Or I'll kill you," she hissed, her voice low and threatening. She looked at Hook through angry eyes, and mistook his sorrow for shock at having lost to Peter Pan yet again. She stepped forward offensively.
Hook barely moved, but patted his side for his sword - it was not there. It lay a few feet away, where he had dropped it while preoccupied with Pan. Dammit. Something always went wrong. Always. Even with the Storyteller on his side, Pan had managed to pull off a victory. Hook sighed, and there was a long pause before he again spoke.
"Then," Hook half-whispered, bowing slightly at risk to himself, "We shall retreat. Release the boys," he ordered, and his crewmates did so. But there was confusion on their dirty faces: Why was their Captain giving up so easily?
But they had no time to question, for Hook turned in a flash of gold and scarlet, and began to walk off. There was a moment of tension as he bent down and reached in the foliage for his sword, but without turning around in the slightest, he placed the shimmering gold blade in his belt, and continued walking, even past his sedan chair, back to the ship. Perplexed, his men followed suit, and the Lost Boys were so startled that they ever forgot to jeer at their retreating backs.
Wendy turned to Peter, who was clasping his wrist with a blood-stained hand. He looked up at Wendy with a look that held both anger and gratitude. She immediately bent and tore a strip of her nightdress off. She pulled Peter's hand from his arm, which was blossoming with red blood, and tied the cloth tightly around it. It soaked through almost immediately, and she realised she would need something else to staunch the flow. She turned and saw the moss on the ground - that should work. She pulled some gently up and removed the makeshift bandage. She pressed the moss onto Peter's arm firmly, and then re-tied the strip of pyjama. She looked up into Peter's face, eyes still clouded with tears.
The two of them stared at one another for a moment.
"Peter," she choked, but there was nothing to follow. She bit her lip and let her arms fall to her sides. Another moment - or perhaps it was a year - passed, before Peter cleared his throat.
"Wendy?" It was Michael again. Wendy turned to him, and he looked up at her from her side. "Wendy, why did you leave us?"
"Well, Michael," she began, trying to keep her voice from wavering. How could she possibly explain to them what had happened? "I'd...forgotten. Nearly everything. I'd forgotten you, and Michael, and Pe - " she cut off, and fell to her knees in a sorrowful swoon. She could no longer stand it, and she gathered her younger brother in for a hug. He embraced her, as well, and she cried into the boy's shoulder for a moment until the rest of the Lost Boys decided that no matter what had happened, they were glad she'd come back. They all crowded in around her, hugging one another happily, while Peter stood off to the side, staring at them and paying no attention to his throbbing wound.
Hook barely heard the thudding of his boots as he trudged across the deck of the Jolly Roger. The events of the last hour just didn't fit together in his mind. Things had been perfect, and in the time of half a second, had done a full turn and now his life was as miserable as it could have been. He tromped belowdecks, not to his quarters, but to his galley. He flung open a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of the most powerful alcohol he could get his hands on. He punched a hole in the cork and ripped it out with his hook, then upturned the bottle into his mouth and drank as much as he could before he needed a breath.
It was definitely time for a bath.
The sun had set, and a light rain was falling outside. The children were sleeping, all of them, except Wendy. She lay in one of the back rooms, on a pile of cushions, staring at the ceiling. Occasionally a flash of lightning would light up her room, but she preferred the darkness, anyway.
How could she have, for a moment, believed Hook's horrible lies? Even despite her mysterious amnesia...it was not sensible to trust a pirate. She should have known that Hook's only dream was to destroy Peter Pan. It was his iraison d'etre/i. His only goal in life. He -
"Wendy." Her makeshift door opened. A boy walked in, and pulled the curtain behind him. She felt him sit next to her.
"Peter, I - "
"Shh, for a moment," Peter said, sounding the most somber she had ever heard him. His happy heart was burdened and she could tell he didn't like feeling this way. "Wendy, I want to you tell me everything that happened."
"Everything?" she asked.
"Everything."
"And...and it all came rushing back, just then. I remembered everything," she finished, "And you know the rest."
There was a silence, and Wendy could not see through the blackness what expression Peter was wearing.
"Peter?"
A pause, and then Peter stood. "Tinkerbell."
"Tinkerbell?" Wendy repeated, perplexed, "What - ?"
"Oh, Tinkerbell," he called, exiting Wendy's room and peering into Tink's tiny cabin the tone sounded menacingly cheery. The chiming of tiny bells was heard. "Where were you, earlier today?" Jingle jingle. "Oh, you weren't feeling well?" Pathetic jingle. Wendy could just imagine Tinkerbell pouting and shaking her head. "Did you know Hook had Wendy?" Peter asked innocently. Surprised jingling. "You didn't? That's funny," he said, and then raised his voice, "BECAUSE I THINK YOU DID!!"
A sudden flash of light was seen as Tinkerbell flew out of her cubby in shock, jingling angrily. Her yellow light flashed red once or twice to make her point.
"Wanted to get rid of her?" Peter shouted, his boyish voice lowering, "You almost got rid of ime/i! Look!" he cried, and Wendy could hear his bandage ripping. There was a long pause as Tinkerbell said nothing, but she slowly sank to the floor, her light tinged with sorrowful blue. Then, without warning, she zoomed out the nearest hatch at the speed of light, crying faerie tears.
Wendy couldn't help but feel bad for the faerie - though she knew that she shouldn't, after what Tinkerbell had done to her. She could hear Peter stomping off, and the hushed whispering of the awakened Lost Boys. Wendy stood from her bed, and passed through the centre room to Peter's. He'd thrown himself onto his bed in a fit of anger, and Wendy came to his side. His wrist was no longer bleeding, but she bound it anyway with another torn bit of her nightdress.
"Peter," she whispered, "I know this isn't the best time..."
"You got that right," he said, rolling on his side to face away from her.
"I'm...sorry, Peter."
Pause.
"I know."
"Peter...I wouldn't have done anything to harm you."
"You told the Story wrong."
Wendy was caught off guard. "What?"
"The Story. It always ends with me winning. When you told it to Hook, you made him win."
"It's just a story, Peter," she said, slightly surprised that Peter's ego would take such offense at the story.
"It's inot/i just a story. Not when you tell it. You're the Storyteller, Wendy."
"The what?"
"The Storyteller. You have...power over things. You created Hook, and Neverland, and even me. The Lost Boys, the mermaids...you created us with your stories. And so you have the power to change us."
"The power...to change you? What do you mean?"
"I mean that if you tell a story, it will happen. That's why Hook wanted you...to make you tell him the story in which he wins. And earlier, there was nothing anyone could do because that was the way the story went. And then you changed it, and we won without hesitation."
Wendy stopped, and a crack of thunder lit up her shocked face - that was a lot of news to digest.
"Wendy," Peter said, and he sounded quite childlike now, "Please don't change the story anymore. Please don't make Hook win."
"I...I wouldn't, Peter," she stammered, and stood. Brow furrowed in thought, she left Peter to sleep, and retreated to her own dark chambers.
In the days that followed, Hook barely left his room. It is an embarrassing thing to be a full-grown and well-learned man, and to lose battles constantly with an eleven year old boy with the intelligence of an animal. It is embarrassing to continue to try and beat this young boy and not only lose the battle - but have him completely outwit you and cause you to lose something precious to you.
At least there was no alligator, this time.
"Smee," Hook groaned, as the first mate tried to work some soap into Hook's tangled mess of curls, "It is so terribly unfair." He waved an arm uselessly, letting it flop down the outside of the bath. "Why must he always win?"
"P'raps because 'e's the good guy?" Smee asked, trying desperately not to pull the captain's hair.
"I never asked to be the villain, Smee!" Hook cried, again gesturing with his stump.
"'Course you didn't, Cap'n," Smee agreed, consolingly, as he rinsed the soap out, "'Course not."
Hook dared not express to his first mate the attachment he still felt toward the girl. She'd been intelligent. Really, genuinely intelligent, and all Hook's trappings and fine foods and vanity could not match that sort of companionship. If only his crew could be half so good as her...he might be fine. But he was surrounded by idiots, whether he like it or not.
He felt a gnawing cancre in his heart, he felt empty, somehow, with Wendy gone.
"Do you think there is some way I could get her back?" Hook asked, out loud. He immediately wished he hadn't...he hadn't wanted to mention her at all...but it was probably just as well.
"'Oo, that Wendy girl?"
"Yes, Smee. Her."
"Well, you could always have her kidnapped again, and then force her to retell the story," Smee suggested, rhetorically.
"Re-tell the story!" Hook cried, standing violently upwards, "You idiot! You total...!" Hook's arm was raised, and Smee was cringing in terror - both of them had forgotten that Hook was not wearing his harness, and so his stump was naked and less dangerous. A look dawned on Hook's face. "Re-tell the story...yes...that's a good idea, Smee. Yes."
Hook faced away from Smee, who wrapped his robe about him. "Yes, Smee, we will get her back."
Life back at Peter's home had returned to normal - no one seemed to remember anything ill happening lately, except Wendy, who was more quiet than usual. But in their rambunctiousness, the Lost Boys barely noticed the difference.
Wendy sat in the corner of the earthy living room, a book in front of her face. The Lost Boys were out on an indian hunt, and Peter with them. Wendy, staring at the book, did not absorb any of the words. Instead, her eyes focused on a point inside the book, somewhere into space. She was thinking.
She'd been having dreams, vague ideas floating inside her head. Sadness. Betrayal. Loneliness.