All right, I decided to make this into a multi-chapter story. I'm using all components of the Peter Pan myth at my leisure – the original book, the movies, the plays, and parts of the recent book that came out in the last two decades about both Peter and Hook.
As always, I own nothing that I write about, I make no money, but I do get to have fun.
On a side note, if you think there are parts of my story that seem out of canon, the myth does change for every different work of art. For example, in the book there isn't much about Hook's earlier life, but in the play by Barrie, Hook's last words are the motto of Eton, England's most prestigious prep school. So tell me what you think about all my changes. I'll be sure to note all of the reviews and respond accordingly.
Thanks!
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Night came early for Neverland, like a great winged bat lowering over the island. Sometimes there were brilliant sunsets – the sky tinged a deep rose with gold leaves shimmering over the water, brighter, brightest – and then there would be complete darkness for a moment until the moon came up and the stars shone through the blackness.
But tonight there was no sunset, just night and then the moon and stars.
Hook stood on the upper deck, staring out at the infinity of stars. A lifetime ago at Eton, he had had an astronomy class where all the young men peered into telescopes eagerly and charted the direction of planets and stars. Hook had deliberately missed as many classes as he could without the headmaster being informed. Stars in the sky had not interested Hook; he was much more keen about the world around him, a world he could conquer and control.
Most importantly, he had been interested in Miss Alivia Martin, daughter of a prominent merchant whose house was less than a mile from Hook's dormitory. Beautiful, shining, angelic Alivia with that gorgeous dark hair and sparking blue eyes.
"Nine o'clock," called out a voice. "Batten down and lanterns out."
Hook frowned. It was most infuriating. When they had first come to the island or rather been taken there, Hook insisted on keeping regular hours: four hours on duty then fours hours off for every sailor. That was someone could always keep watch and someone could swab or cook of tidy up the sails, everything run in an orderly fashion.
But as time had passed and it became unclear if they would ever leave the island, Hook found it impossible to keep his old time schedule. The pirates lagged, the clocks – all silent, of course – were not wound, and men forgot to call out the hours as they lazed or even slept on deck.
Naturally, Hook had tried to install discipline. He yelled, flogged, put the whole crew of severe rations, even threatened to run his hook through the throat of the next man that defied him. Nothing worked. As Hook gradually realized to his dismay, it was impossible to keep pirates on schedule with no compensation or rewards. They could not go on leave for a night at the taverns or for the favors of a few wenches. Just like Hook, they were stuck on the ship on the island.
Hook had considered killing them all, just blowing their heads off with his pistol and being done with them once and for all. But he needed Smee to do the cooking and the washing, and Hook could not abide the thought of being trapped alone with Smee. If that happened, Hook was certain he would blow his own brains out.
So, Hook allowed his sailors to sleep at night. When they first changed the schedule, Hook had made them retire no earlier than midnight and wake at half-past five without any time fore sleep in the day, sure that sleep-deprivation would drive them back to the old schedule of four hours on/four hours off. It had not, and the eventually the hours had extended on both ends to 9pm to 7am. Ten hours of sleep and rest! That indulgence infuriated Hook to no end, and to retain some semblance of order, he keep his ship spotless, the pirates swabbing and polishing the deck until Hook could see his reflection in it.
Every third day, Hook commanded his man to carry him in his chair on a seven miles hike through the woods or on the beach. The chair was made of silver, gold, and iron with carved wood inlaid, and with Hook in it, it weighed at least six-hundred pound. Eight pirates carried it as a time, but Hook made the remaining pirates lug buckets of water on a yoke, carrying over fifty pounds. It was a tiresome, tedious task, and the pirates hated it. They vented their displeasure by swearing when they thought Hook couldn't hear them, but the exercise kept them in line and in shape.
As Hook continued to watch the stars, he heard someone limping up to the deck, accompanied by heavy sighs. Smee's head cleared the stairs, and he laboriously pulled himself up to the top.
Hook resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had stopped the beating after ten minutes, shooting that he could not get a moment's peace with Smee hollering and carrying on. Of the two punished that day, Hook would have thought that the boy had the longer punishment and perhaps the more severe. But to see Smee limping about the ship, wincing and moaning, you would have thought he got a hundred with the cat.
"Lights out, captain," Smee said in a small, pathetic voice.
"Yes, I can see that," Hook snapped, gesturing to the main deck that was all dark.
"Got to save the lanterns," Smee sniffed.
Hook gave him a suspicious glance. Hook was not sure how long they had been on the island. He had first kept a captain's log to record every day, but after over three years - 1273 days to be exact – Hook had abandoned it, feeling it was too depressing to mark days where he accomplished nothing. Sometimes he reckoned they had been there three decades, other times he thought three centuries. Even by the thirty years' guess, they should have run out of lantern oil and wicks a long time along with candles, food, rum, and whiskey. To Hook's best recollection, they had not had an abundance of supplies on the ship when they were taken to the island.
Yet, the lanterns still burned, and Smee still served good food, and the pirates could get drunk every Friday and Saturday night. Of course, they were never sure exactly when it was Friday or Saturday. Every few days, someone would suggest that it was either day, and everyone else agreed. Then they broke out the spirits and a few musical instruments and celebrated. To his annoyance, Hook found that though he tried to contradict them about the days – especially when they had three Fridays and four Saturdays in the space of eleven days! – there was nothing he could do to prove which day it was or wasn't. He could order no drinking regardless of the day, but then there were sullen looks and grumbling of "No rum on Friday night. Think this was a ruddy nunnery, the way we live here."
Hook was unsure exactly where all the supplies came from. A few times he had questioned Smee, but the short pirate evaded the questions. He would mutter something about not arguing with the ways of the island – "Best left quiet, captain, yes, very quiet indeed."
Hook never got a straight answer from him, but he told himself he didn't really care about where the supplies came from as long as they continued to come.
"Shall I bring you a glass of brandy?" Smee asked pitifully. "Before I drag my sore bones off to bed?"
"Oh, stop your caterwauling!" Hook snarled. "You know not to interrupt me in my quarters whether I am alone or not, and you let him escape. Be glad I am not running my hook through you right now. Get my brandy and get out of my sight."
"Aye, aye, captain," Smee sniffed one last time. He shuffled off, exaggerating his limp.
Later, as the ship fell silent, Hook sat in his quarters, sloshing his brandy gently to keep it warm. Unlike the seas of earth, his ship did not roll or creak in the water. Except for an occasion rise or fall, Hook might have thought himself on land. The Jolly Roger, like her captain and crew, did not age either. Her hull did not leak, her wood never rotted, and she did not groan or creak like other ships did often on the sea.
Her figurehead, the head and torso of a woman, gazed down on the ocean proudly. Her face was made of a smooth oak but her wild mane of hair was a rich mahogany wood that in the glow of the lanterns looked almost black.
In his cabin, Hook could not see her, but he knew she was out there, watching over his ship. In the darkness, her eyes were still wide, but empty, keeping eternal watch for him.
Hook reached to open the bottom right drawer of his huge desk and pulled out a half-full bottle of rum that he had confiscated from Starkey one evening when the pirates had been especially drunk. Starkey had been hanging over the side of the ship, hollering and singing out to the water. Hook had deliberated on giving him a hard kick and sending him overboard, but instead he had grabbed the bottle Starkey had dropped on the deck and left the pirate to warble to the moonlight.
Hook yanked out the cork with his teeth, and then leaned back in his chair and took a long draught. It burned his throat as it went down, a slow steady burn that sparked his senses before receded into a dull ache.
Several drinks of rum and Smee's brandy later, Hook was feeling satisfyingly tired. Smee had helped him removed his coat, shirt and hook, taking off the metal and leather contraption that fit around Hook's left shoulder and arm to keep his hook on. When he first lost his hand, the contraption had bitten into his skin, rubbing and chafing his shoulder and stump raw. But time and adjustments had eased the pain, and now he hardly realized he had it on. Yet, he hated to sleep with it, never allowing his arm to breathe free.
Hook toed off his boots and then flung himself back onto his bed, right hand still clutching the rum bottle with a little bit still sloshing around. He had a proper nightshirt somewhere, but he preferred to sleep in his breeches. If they were ever attacked, he could not bear the humiliation of being found unprepared in his nightshirt.
His bed was the central focus of his bedroom. Though all his pirates had hanging hammocks save for Smee who had some kind of large cabinet in the galley that he liked to crawl in and talk to himself, Hook had had a huge carved bed made and then anchored to the floor of his cabin. It was big by ship standards where space was precious, but on land the bed would have only held two people if they crushed together tightly.
Hook had planned to take a different woman with him on each pirating voyage. He could imagine their delight with the elegant bed and the silk coverlet, trimmed with satin, that lay on the bed. Ironically, no woman had ever shared the bed with him. The ship and crew had been taken to the island not two days after the bed was put in Hook's cabin, another cruelty he suffered. Many nights he had lay on the bed, staring out his port window at the stars, imagining a woman nestled in his arms. Her soft, dark hair splayed on the bed, her hand over his heart as she slept, her breath warm and gentle against his neck.
Hook drained the last of the rum from the bottle. Then he dropped it, letting it roll across the floor way from the bed. He considered going to find more. By normal standards, he had had enough drink to bring down a man twice his size, but tonight the numbness just wouldn't come. He had no problem marching into his own galley and getting whatever he wanted. But then his pirates would know that their captain needed rum to settle his nerves, and Hook couldn't abide their sympathetic glances the next morning. He would kill the lot of them, and then what would he do? Better to wait and hope the alcohol would send him into a stupor shortly.
Hoping to hurry the process along, he closed his eyes, just for a second. But when he opened them a soft light had filled the room.
And a woman was standing in the room at the foot of the bed.
She had long, dark hair that fell down around her shoulders in luxurious waves. Her eyes, deep and blue as the sea, watched him, framed by long sooty lashes. She wore a white dress that seemed to float around her.
Hook sat up, using both hands to push himself up.
"Alivia," Hook whispered, barely able to get the words out.
She smiled, a smile full of sadness and longing. "Oh, Jamie."
He did not return her smile. "And what have I done to bring you here? To entice you to visit my dreams?"
"Why do you think this is a dream?" she asked in a hushed voice as if they were in a quiet, holy place. Something fluttered behind her, barely visible.
Hook lifted up his left arm and moved his fingers. "I have my hand back. And you have wings."
Two huge, white wings unfolded, paper-thin and glowing with light.
Hook shook his head. "You didn't have wings when I knew you."
"It's the island," she told him.
"It always it," Hook almost sneered. There was something so beautiful, so shiny and shimmering about her – it hurt to look at her. He ran his right hand over his goatee and mustache. It felt so wonderful – the scratchiness against his fingers and palm.
"I don't suppose I could coax you into coming closer, maybe sharing this bed with me?"
Alivia looked at him with silent eyes.
"Of course," Hook nodded sarcastically. "Not on earth, not here, either. At least you're consistent, my dear."
"I'm here, Jamie," she said in a rush. "Talk to me."
"You're dead," he told her.
"Jamie," her voice was full of hurt and disbelief.
He shrugged coldly. "Women die on earth. Consumption, childbirth, killed by a jealous husband over a lover. Well, if you aren't dead, you're old and ugly, beaten by time, an old shriveled woman."
"Why are you being cruel?" her wings beat a little harder.
"I'm being as kind as you were to me," he reminded her, sitting straight up.
"You were a pirate," Alivia cried out, rushing forward several steps. "When you were in school, I thought I knew you, but then you left. And when you came back, you were a pirate with a sword in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other."
"And you were engaged to a duke with a huge diamond on your finger and a train of servants to pamper you."
"I had to marry him," Alivia insisted. "My father made me – he ordered me to marry the duke or else."
"I wanted to take you away," Hook felt anger coursed through his entire body. "I had a ship and money. Not a title nor a castle, but enough money for a merchant's daughter. I told you to come with me, begged you. But you refused. If you had come with me, we could be together here forever. But I'm alone here, and you're old or dead on earth."
Her blue eyes were brimming with tears, but the halo of light around her seemed to grow brighter.
"Where have you been?" he snarled at her. "I've searched for you in my dreams, prayed that you would visit me. But I've never seen you, not until tonight. Why now? Where have you been, Alivia? Where in hell have you been?"
His voice was racked with pain, and tears finally spilled out on her cheeks.
"I couldn't reach you," she whispered. "Something held me back. But tonight something else cried out to me. I felt a child in pain, a little boy all alone and hurting."
"No," Hook ground the word out with loathing.
"I knew that he was hurt, and even more, I knew that you had hurt him. Why, Jamie? Why would you ever hurt a child?"
"Get out of my sight," Hook ordered. He stood up, and even bare-chested and without his boots, he felt in complete control.
"Why Jamie?" she asked again.
"No," he barked the word out. "No, you do not get to come here after all this time and judge me. Yes, I hurt that brat. The same brat that brought me here, took my hand, and has kept me here until I've nearly lost my mind. You do not judge me, you filthy sow of a woman."
"You could have so much more," she protested. "You could have everything you ever wanted."
"No," Hook stated adamantly, "you took away the only thing I ever wanted, and now I'm stuck here."
"Jamie," her voice was breathy whisper, "there is more to this island that you could ever imagine. This is not a playground for children – there is more life here than you will ever see. There are fountains of joys that could be yours. You could live here, really live."
He watched her with cold eyes, his face hard and bitter. She was growing brighter and brighter. Her entire body glowed with an ethereal light, the halo like melted gold. It grew so bright that Hook closed his eyes for a second.
When he opened them, she was gone.
He blinked, then realized that he was lying back on the bed and it was morning.
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"Here you go, captain," Smee placed the cover dish of poached eggs on the table very carefully. "Just the way you like them, sir. And everything else done right, just to yer liking."
Hook looked down at his trembling bo'sun. The crew was used to their captain waking in nasty temper, but this morning Hook had been particularly vicious. Nothing could please him, and the crew dashed around the ship, trimming sails, tidying up, and falling over each other to get out of Hook's way. Hook had shouted, sworn, and knocked Billy Jukes backwards on the deck. When another pirate didn't crawl out the way soon enough, and Hook's left boot brushed against the pirate's knee, Hook lost it. After giving the wayward pirate an angry kick, Hook bellowed that there would be no breakfast for anyone, that they would all have to go down to the galley and watch Smee prepare a breakfast for his captain while they got nothing.
A chorus of groans broke out, though no man dared say anything too loud, and Smee rushed forward to say that the captain's breakfast was ready and would he like to dine on land? It was a fine, clear morning, and the good captain could take his breakfast in the clearing near the grove of pines and elms that would provide shade. And while the good captain was eating, the crew would tidy the ship up proper, oh yes, captain, they would.
Hook had considered shouting at Smee for preparing breakfast so fast and thus ruining the punishment, but instead Hook dourly agreed. He then roared for the men to carry the white iron chair and table to the clearing so he could take breakfast like gentleman. The fact that he knew as soon as he was gone the pirates would sneak into the galley and eat while Smee hurried to get them food and drink only served to infuriate Hook further. He yelled and brandished his hook while they took down the chair, table, and dishes.
He noticed the fear in their eyes along with their concerned looks at each other, but he smiled inwardly. It was good to rekindled fear in them; keep them from mutinying or getting lazy. Maintaining discipline and moral on board ship was vital while on earth – here it meant the difference between routine and insanity. If the pirates ever ganged together against him, Hook knew he could not win. He might kill five or six on his way down, but they would get him eventually. He forever played a balance between cruelty and leniency – cracking down on them one moment and showing mercy a moment later. The fact that they were all stupid pirates helped – fierce, cutthroat, greedy, yes – but stupid all the same. As he constantly reminded them, they would never be able to navigate the ship without him. Not that they needed to navigate now, but as he hinted, if they ever got off the island, they would need a good navigator. So they did not mutiny, and he did not killed them. Fair play all around.
"Good," Hook snarled as he flung himself into his chair. "Now get out of my sight."
"Aye, aye, captain," Smee nearly tripped over his own feet and he scurried out of the clearing, towards the beach.
Hook glared at him, but then he turned his attentions towards eating. From his position, he could see the sea past the white sandy beach, but his ship was hidden by the trees to his right. The sun shone upon the waves, turning the tips bright as diamonds. A few birds twittered in the trees, but they kept their songs low and did not hop out on the limbs. Hook had shot at them before, trying to hush their infernal noises so the animals knew to keep down when he was in the clearing or in the woods at all.
He poured himself a cup of tea in the thin, china cup and saucer. Hook valued the china almost as much as his ship, the china she had admired and touched in the store on a dirty street in London, sighing over its curved edges and delicate feel. Hook told his crew in no uncertain terms that if any man so much as chipped an edge of the china, he would torture that man for twenty-one days straight and then flog him to death. So far the china remained unblemished. Of course, Hook wasn't sure if that were the pirates' carefulness or the island.
The tea was good and hot, very strong too. Hook began to relax, to let his nerves unwind from his vision last night. Just the thought if Alivia was enough to set his teeth of edge. To see her, in all her splendor, her beauty untouched by age, her face soft and unlined – it made his blood boil.
But to sit here in the clearing with the pleasures of nature around him, savoring a delicious breakfast, it almost made him forget the whole night and it eased his anger. He would sit here and enjoy the morning until he went back to the ship to see how his crew had fared. They would have everything clean and ship-shape, ready to follow orders. If they looked like they had eaten, he would instruct them to ready his chair for a midday hike, though perhaps not the whole eight miles. If they looked hungry, he would announce that they had learned their lesson and would order a nice dinner for them.
But for now, just sit and relax, breathing the morning air.
Something moved in the trees. Hook's sharp eyes caught the flutter of movement in one old elm tree. About twenty feet up in the air, and the tree was maybe thirty feet away, but Hook saw the movement. No bird was that big, and no animal had a bare foot like the one that slipped into view for a moment as the branches shook.
Hook looked into his teacup at the random pattern the crushed tealeaves left. He did not like being spied on, but he had been on the way to good feelings and he hated to be interrupted when he wanted to feel one way or the other. Maybe the brat would stay in the tree and get bored, then go away.
The branches rustled, and then Hook saw, from the corner of his eyes, the brat fly to another tree. The brat actually flew to another tree, in plain sight for at least two or three seconds! The little fairy was with him this time, leaving a tiny trail of pixie dust behind her. For two creatures that were trying to be quiet, they were very noisy. As Hook pretended to eat and not notice them, he could heard the leaves rustle. Then the brat whispered a loud "Ow, Tink!" and a small limb fell, bouncing to the ground below.
Hook set his teacup down decidedly. The limb had not been anywhere near him, but he was trying to enjoy breakfast and that did not include being watched by a noisy brat.
The words "I don't believe in fairies" rested on Hook's lips. He knew that if he said them the brat's fairy probably would not die, but they would infuriate the brat. The boy would fly down and yell or cry or throw things maybe, distraught that anyone would ever say such a thing. And though Hook did not carry much about the yelling or the crying, he didn't want to risk breaking the thin china.
So he did the only thing that might help the situation.
He pulled out his pistol, aimed for the rustling leaves, lowered it half an inch, and fired.
The shot rang out in clearing, echoing through the trees.
Immediately, the brat gave a cry and tumbled out of the trees. He fell to the soft moss below, but the tiny fairy dashed down after him, giving out a furious tinkling of bell sounds.
Hook rolled his eyes. So the brat could fly, but scare him, and he fell out of the tree like any ordinary boy in a tumble of limbs and dirty rags.
"I'm all right, Tink," the boy insisted, pulling himself up to his feet. "I'm all right, really."
"Good morning," Hook said in a loud, almost grating tone as if to tell the boy that the jig was up.
Peter glared at Hook. "You shot me," he accused.
"No, I shot the tree beneath you," Hook replied calmly. "You were spying on me. Now, go away."
"No," Peter said stubbornly.
Hook looked at him pointedly. "I am taking breakfast like a gentleman. Gentlemen do not shout at little boys across a clearing while they eat. If you have something to say to me, come closer and do so."
Peter took one uncertain step, then stopped. "I have a dagger," he motioned to the small knife in a scabbard at his belt.
"And I have a gun with several shots left," Hook returned. "We are both armed. So, say what you will or leave."
The fairy pulled at Peter's ear, the bell sounds coming out high and excited. "It's all right," Peter whispered to the fairy. "I won't let him get me again . . . Stop being such a worrier, Tink. Come on, you'll see."
"The fairy stays where she is," Hook ordered. "Or I'll tell you whether or not I believe in fairies, and you won't like my answer."
Peter froze. Then he whispered, "Go back up to the tree, Tink. No, I have the dust on me – I can fly away."
With one last bell sound which resembled a huff, the fairy darted up to the tree branches above. And Peter edged closer and closer, stepped in an odd side-to-side way as if he were reluctantly to commit to walking straight towards Hook. Peter hedged, and he stopped, and he looked back, and he frowned, and finally Hook had had it. With a growl, Hook pulled out his gun and pointed it straight at the brat.
"Come close now, or I will shoot you. Close enough that you could touch the table. I mean it . . . now!"
Peter hurried forward, but once he got there, he glared at Hook with intense dislike, almost hatred.
"Good," Hook set his gun down. "Now, say what you came to say, and get out. I have a lot of work to do, a very busy day ahead of me."
This was perhaps the biggest lie Hook had told in several years, but he said it with a stern face, and obviously the brat believed him. But Peter seemed to have trouble getting words out.
"I – I," he stammered, "you – you aren't, I didn't . . . I just want –"
"Yes?" Hook said sharply. He suddenly was hit with a memory of his own childhood, what seemed like a thousand years ago. Sitting on those hard wooden benches while the schoolmaster tried to get a younger boy to recite his lessons. The younger boy had stuttered and stumbled and then started to whimper when the schoolmaster threatened to whip him. For the first time ever, Hook felt an overwhelming sympathy for that schoolmaster, having to listen to such an idiot boy.
"Yes?" he demanded of Peter again. "Do you have something to say?"
"You – you hurt me," the boy finally got out.
"And you cut off my hand," Hook reminded him acidly. "Is that all?"
"No," Peter shook his head, his bottom lip sticking out the least bit. "It was different. We – we fight with swords and sometimes we get hurt, but that was different. We sword-fight, but instead you did something different. I don't like it. I don't like being panked."
Hook's lips twitched, but he refused to let himself smile, nor did he correct the boy. "You didn't like it?"
"No, I hate being panked," Peter declared. "And I'm here to tell you that I won't be anymore. No more ever! Just sword-fighting. That's what we do."
"I can truthfully tell you in good faith that I won't pank you anymore," Hook assured him.
Peter looked relieved and let out his breath heavily. But Hook leaned over until he could see the yellow lights in the boy's green eyes.
"However, I can tell you," Hook said in a low, ominous voice, "if I ever get my hands on you again, I will spank you until you can't sit down for a week."
Peter's eyes flew open in mute horror.
"And," Hook continued menacingly, "I will drag you into my cabin to do it, but this time I won't let you go. I will turn you over my knee and smack you with my hand or the back of my hairbrush until you wish you had never laid eyes on me. What do you think of that?"
Peter's mouth open and closed, but he was unable to make a sound. He gulped and began to back up, not taking his eyes off Hook.
"Now, then," Hook leaned back in his chair, "fly away and annoy someone else for a change. Go play with those other brats or let some poor girl 'mother' you until she too gets sick of you."
The last words came out harder and bitterer than Hook meant them to be, but the effect was the same. Peter blinked very quickly, and Hook thought his eyes seemed particularly bright, but then the boy flew into the air. He flew up higher and higher until he disappeared into the high branches. Hook caught sight of the fairy dashed up too.
Hook waited, straining to hear if the brat was going to come back. But there was no swish of air or rustling of trees, so Hook assumed that he was alone for the time being. With a relieved sigh, he went back to his breakfast.