A/N-Okay, since it was suggested to me, I guess I should mention that this entire story is complete and posted on Adult Fan Fiction. However, I have not edited the version posted over there, and due to a serious crash they had some months ago, the story was jumbled, and there are places in it that are impossible to read. Anyone who wants to try to decipher it is welcome to do so. I am carefull editing this version, one chapter at a time, and as soon as it is complete, I will re-upload it there as well. This version has a few subtle differences from the one on AFF, namely places where I saw that the dialogue or wasn't smooth enough, or that I needed to add a verb or adjective to give the sentence better structure. Nothing too important. Thanks for everyone who has reviewed so far, and all that have given me hints. I love you guys! On to the next chapter!-
They stood together gazing down at the grey lifeless form of the fairy. Wendy felt her stomach rise just a little as she realized the truth of what she had done. She was not however, going to allow the Captain to see her weakness. With a flounce of her hair she bravely set her back straight and prodded the fairy. It flopped over limply, and most undeniably extinguished.
Wendy sighed.
" Well, what does one do with a dead fairy?" she asked.
" What do you mean?" he asked.
" I mean, do we need to bury it, or take her ashore and leave her for the other fairies to find?"
" How about we simply flick her off into the water?" he asked sarcastically.
Wendy ignored him.
" Have you a handkerchief I could wrap her in?" she asked.
" You aren't about to use my handkerchief to wrap a dead fairy in!" he exclaimed.
" Very well then, why don't you just flick her over into the water?" she cried, feeling a little shame in the way they were discussing the deceased.
He wrinkled his nose.
" You do it, I am not touching that thing. You killed her, you bury her."
" Really!" Wendy murmured under her breath. She gingerly picked the fairy up by one delicate wing, and raised up.
" Where are you going?" he demanded.
" To find something to wrap her in. " Wendy called over her shoulder. " I am responsible for her."
'' How like a girl." he scoffed under his breath, thinking to himself what a waste of the worlds time needless sentimentality was. Nonetheless he followed her indoors.
Not more than half an hour later, Wendy had Tinkerbell wrapped and tied in one of her old handkerchiefs. She still wasn't certain what to do with her though. She found it much easier to not be ashamed of her mercilessness, now that Tinkerbell's little body was hidden from sight.
The Captain was now discussing something with Smee, in a low and serious tone. The short, older man was nodding gravely, and glancing nervously at the window. When they had concluded their meeting, Smee bustled out, frowning thoughtfully as he went.
Wendy looked expectantly at the Captain, and he purposefully ignored her for a few minutes while pouring himself a glass of brandy.
At last he had to acknowledge her presence...as her patient silence was more intense than her vocalized questions.
" I gave orders for every man to be on alert, and the watch was to be doubled." he said.
She looked surprised. " Do you really think we could be attacked?" she asked breathlessly.
" Oh, I have no doubts that Pan will attack. He would have done so sooner if we had not gotten caught in the endless days. He lost us for awhile, is all."
" What will happen?" she asked.
" How am I to know ? This particular situation has never arisen before. For years I have sat rotting away from boredom on this worm eaten ship. . .and now, when I finally desire some peace in which to enjoy more pleasant pursuits than war, he decides to cause trouble. Tuh! " He thumped the table with his hook, and swallowed the entire glass of liquor.
He was grumbling to himself as he poured another glass. He offered her one.
" Best take a good bracing drink, my beauty. It might set you in a pirate's mind-frame." he glanced over at the prone bundle on the table.
" Then again, you may not require assistance in such matters." he added to himself.
It was one thing for him to be ruthless and cold-blooded. He had long ago ceased being surprised by his own actions. It was an entirely novel thing though, to see an innocent looking young girl, (especially one who sacrificed her own life to save those of others, ) wishing something dead.
And she showed little remorse now that the deed was done. In fact she showed very little remorse at all for a lady who had, in the course of a week or so, deserted her family , became a pirate, lost her innocence, agreed to become the willing bride of a heartless pirate...and now this. Killing a magical being in order to insure that her present life remain unaltered. He was finding himself fascinated with all that Wendy would do to protect those she cared for.
She would die for them. . .she would kill for them. . .How many layers of Wendy's existed beneath that smooth skin? What burned behind those blue eyes? What was it about her that made her so different, yet so familiar to him?
He could not, or would not say.
All, he wanted at the moment was to put this inevitable skirmish with Pan far behind him, and to be allowed to fully enjoy her mysteries without any interruption.
" Put that thing over there in that box for the time being." he said suddenly. " We will dispose properly of it tomorrow, but until then, I don't want it soiling the tablecloth."
Wendy set her glass down on the table, and carefully scooped up the body.
" I suppose it was a waste, anyhow. " she sighed. "If she doesn't return to him, then he will become suspicious, and come anyhow."
" Yes, but he still won't know that you are alive and well, now will he?" Hook walked up behind her, encircling her waist with his arm.
" No...but I don't see where it should matter so much. I could explain...no, I suppose I couldn't!" she laughed, at herself. Peter would most definitely not understand. He was already leery of adults. Having Wendy grow up, then become a pirate would only be proof to him that grownups were untrustworthy.
To Wendy, it proved only that one did not have to forfeit the fun and adventures simply because you had had collected a certain number of birthdays.
In fact, she couldn't quite remember the simple pleasures of childhood ever comparing with the exquisite amount of warmth and pleasure she was feeling as the Captain nuzzled his face against her neck. She could only wonder how Peter would handle the sight of a man kissing a woman...probably with some distaste, considering his firm hatred of emotions other than ' fun' and ' anger.'
She leaned back into Hook's kiss, feeling the length of his body, warm against her back. His real hand was wrapped tightly around her waist, the fingers gripping the curve of her hip firmly. . .his steel hook, which was cold and deadly, he used as gently as a caress, to lift her hair so that he could kiss her skin.
She felt a small thrill both in knowing how dangerous both the hook and it's owner were, and small delight as her skin was chilled by the icy metal, then warmed by his searing lips. The contrast was very arousing, even if Wendy was still too innocent to know that she was being aroused. She only knew that it felt wonderful, and she wanted more.
When she turned in his arms, to catch his kiss, he was pleasantly surprised, and it distracted him. Without intending to, he had accidentally allowed the blade to touch her skin. Wendy did not feel anything except the sensation of his kiss, his tongue as it explored the depths of her mouth.
It wasn't until he pulled away to breathe, and to redirect his mouth to her throat, that he saw the red flower of blood at the base of her neck, where it trickled over and down her shirt front. At first he was mesmerized, disbelieving. He had never, in years and years, allowed the blade to cut someone unless he intended for it to.
She opened her eyes, and noticed his frown.
" What is it?'' she asked, in a low voice, worried that somehow she had displeased him.
Her movement caused the blood to begin flowing a little heavier,and he caught hold of her with trembling hands. His face was, if possible, paler than usual and his eyes seemed to go clear. Wendy simply looked bewildered as he lowered to the floor, so that she sat against the wall, and struggled to find the handkerchief that he had refused to give to her earlier.
Only when he pressed it to her neck did she feel the sting of the cut, and winced.She realized what must have happened, that her own sudden movement had no doubt caused the wound. She really did not mind too much. The blade was sharp, and she had not felt a thing. She wondered how deep the cut was, and if all who had been wounded with it were just as surprised to find themselves cut?
His face began clouding over as he wiped away the blood to reveal a small cut, only half an inch in length, but bleeding healthily.
He was furious with himself for forgetting to take proper care with the blade, and equally upset with her for distracting him beyond rational thought. Yet, it was the fact that she could distract him that was what made him want to be distracted in the first place.
Yes, Captain Hook was losing his self control, and to anyone who had watching him this week from a distance, such as his friend, Mr. Smee, it was both an amusing and sad sight. A cold man warmed by a promise, a strong man weakened by a kiss, and a brave, ruthless man suddenly shot through with cold fear because he had accidentally drawn a small drop of blood.
To any casual observer, Hook was a man experiencing the painful bite of love. Love is always harder to take as you grow older. Like childhood maladies, it bounces off of the young and gay, leaving them shining and happy. But the older the person, the more serious the disease.
Especially first love, for it is the cruelest, most bittersweet agony in the world.
Anyone could see now, as he pressed the cloth to her skin, that this was a first love. Could see it in the young Wendy, because her eyes sparkled with forgiveness and pure, romantic love. In the Captain you could see that, even though he accepted love, he was unaware of how many small effects accompanied the actual illness. One, being pure fear and confusion of the way he felt.
Wendy could see this in his eyes, but she did not understand it. No one could understand another from his eyes, completely. She thought it a small matter, being accidentally cut. It was not the first time she had ever been cut, and she tried to tell him so. His eyes blazed strangely as he told her to be quiet.
She pressed her lips together then and refused to make a sound, even as he dabbed the wound with brandy.
"Is that better?" he finally asked, in a terse tone.
" Yes, thank you." she answered, in a cool polite voice.
He had finally regained some control over his hands, and thoughts. He glanced out of the window, at the stars, which he had long ago learned to read more precisely than any clock or sundial.
" I believe you should try to rest. Tomorrow may be an eventful day." he said.
" Tomorrow? Do you think it would be so soon?" she asked, forgetting his mood.
" Yes. It could be any moment now. Don't bother going to your room, rest there, in my bed. " he sat down at his desk, as if to show her he had no intentions of following her.
" I have to get my nightgown. . ." she said, blushing, as she turned.
" Don't bother." he said, in a warm leer, that allowed her time to assume the wrong meaning before he said,
" Sleep clothed, in the event that you will need to be up and at arms in a hurry."
She stood uncertainly at the doorway between rooms a moment, undecided as to whether or not she should try to soften him with a kiss.
He waved her toward the door.
" Get thee to bed, temptress." he said, his tone again teasing and light.
" Very well. Goodnight." she said, and with a smile that would have melted the heart of colder men than James Hook, she vanished into his room.
He struggled with the temptation to follow her. The thought of her being only a few feet away, tucked into his large soft bed, was irritatingly distressing.
He paced back and forth in front of the door for what seemed like eternity, arguing with himself. At last his Captain's good sense won over, and he returned to his seat. If he did go in with her, even with the intention of sleeping, he knew it would lead to more. And he did not find the thought of having his nocturnal exploits interrupted by an attack, to be very pleasing.
Instead, he settled at his desk, reading through his books and papers, and the log that was now written in Wendy's delicate scrawl. It was a meager and comparably boring means of entertainment, but it would suffice while he waited for the inevitable arrival of Peter Pan.