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Straight on Til Morning	By : LuluPopalot Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Het Views: 5319 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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I have no beta, so all mistakes are my own.
I've been working on this off and on for a couple of months now, and I can not promise weekly updates. But I promise to update as soon as I have something new. I have a few chapters ready, so review if you want more.

“Stand back, ye ruffians! She needs water!”
She felt herself pulled upward towards consciousness as rough hands lifted her head, and she felt a warm cup pushed to her lips. She sputtered as warm water flowed into her mouth and down her unwilling windpipe. Eyes still closed she pushed the offending hand away, denying her parched tongue.

“I’m awake! Jesus!” she said, sitting up, flailing arms to move those around her back. She opened her eyes, squinting against the bright sun, and tried to look around. Her vantage point on the ground caused the surrounding crowd to be thrown into shadows as they looked down on her. No, not on the ground. Ground was dirt, and she was on wood.

The only face she could focus on was of the man who held the cup of water. Seeing him, she fought laughter, causing her to start coughing again. His bulbous nose was red with the veins running through it, and his tan face was cragged with deep lines. Tufts of white hair shown on both temples beneath his red bandanna. His blue eyes, kind beneath thin spectacles, looked at her with surprise and alarm.

“Would ye like another drink, miss?” he asked, holding the cup out to her, looking slightly afraid.

She smiled gently, feeling her dry lips crack a little. Here she was, acting like an asshole to a perfectly nice old man. An old man dressed like a pirate, but still a nice pirate.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, taking the cup from him, and forcing the warm liquid down her dry throat.
She finished it, coughing a little again at the end, and handed the cup back to him.
“I’m okay, really,” she said, moving to stand. The old man jumped up quickly, causing those behind him to stumble backward. He offered his rough hand, and she took it gratefully.

Only when she was on her still unsteady feet did she get a look at those around her. Trying not to gape, she took in the men surrounding her; all seemed to wear bandannas or caps, here was one or two with an eye patch, that one had a scar running across one eye and down his cheek, and, god! Did that one have a peg leg?!

“Um…” she started, unsure. “Are you guys shooting a movie or something?”

“Movie, miss?” the old man said. The others were staring at her silently as she turned in a circle.

“Yeah, like the next Pirates of the Carribean movie? I know they said they were just doing three, but you know how Hollywood is.” She had turned a full 360 degrees, and was facing the old man again. He looked at her with pity, but the glint of fear was still there.

“Maybe ye oughta lie down, missy,” he said, taking her gently by the elbow.

“Thanks,” she said, allowing him to steer her through the crowd as she continued to take in the weather worn faces around her. Weathered skin and tattoos seemed to be everywhere she turned. “But if you have a cell phone out here, I think I should probably call the coast guard or something, right? Let them know to come get me?”

“Ye must be delirious, miss,” he said, patting her hand gently. “Ye’r talking nonsense. Now let’s just get ye lied down…”

“I’m not delirious!” she said, stopping to stare at him. “I know that I was on a cruise ship, and I was drinking at the bar with some guy and…” she broke off, fighting to remember what had happened next. “And I don’t remember what happened next but obviously I ended up in the ocean and your…” she broke off again and looked around, “…crew or whatever found me and pulled me on board. So now all I want is some Aquafina, a shower, and a goddamn phone or radio or something to tell someone to come and get me!” She realized she was shouting, and felt a little bad at the way the old man flinched at her swearing, but figured she was allowed a little rant, all things considered.

The man was opening his mouth to say something when a booming voice sounded behind her.

“Who in all the seven seas is out here screeching like a harpy?”

She turned to see a tall man, draped with a crimson velvet coat, stride out of a room behind her. His long black hair fell in soft curls past his shoulders, and he was crowned with a hat holding a long white feather. A captain’s hat, she thought.

And started laughing.

“Christ, what are you guys shooting? The sequel to Hook?” she laughed, feeling lightheaded as she clutched her stomach.

The man dressed as a captain narrowed his eyes and started to speak when the older man flung himself between them.

“I believe she’s delirious, cap’n” he said, holding his arms in front of the near-hysterically laughing girl. “She’s been talking nonsense since she came to.”

“I told you,” she said, trying to calm down, “I’m not delirious. I just want to go home.”

“And where exactly is home?” the captain said, sweeping the older man out of his way to stand closer to her, the other hand behind his back. His nearness seemed to quell any remaining laughter as she looked up at him. Something coiled in her chest as she looked up into his cold blue eyes, and she fought a lightheaded feeling again.

“Charleston, South Carolina,” she replied soberly, unable to look away.

“A most excellent port for pirates,” he said, his voice soft and startling civil compared to his original outburst.

She smirked slightly. “Yeah, well, we have more lawyers than pirates these days. Although I guess it amounts to the same.”

“Hmmm,” he said, stepping away from her enough to take in appearance as he began to circle her, hands behind his back. Suddenly, she wished desperately that she was wearing more than a damp halter top and shorts and fought the urge to cover her breasts with her arms. She started to get the feeling that something was very wrong here.

“And might I inquire as to your name?” he asked directly behind her.

“Laura,” she said, turning to watch him as he finished his circle.

“Well, Miss Laura,” he said as he faced her again. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain James Hook, commander of the Jolly Roger.” He bowed slightly, removing his hat.

She didn’t attempt to not gape now as she looked at the man before her. She was silent so long that he looked back up at her from his bent position.

He righted himself fully when she started laughing again.

“Really?” she giggled. “So this is Mr. Smee and I’m on the Jolly Roger and we’re on our way back to Never Never Land, I suppose?”

“Indeed we are,” the captain said, narrowing his eyes.

She laughed harder. “I really must be out of it! Who’s going to meet us, Peter Pan or Michael Jackson?” Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice pointed out that shock might be kicking in, because the confused look on the captain’s face made her laugh even harder.

“I’m sorry,” she said, calming just enough to form the words, “It’s cool if you’re doing some dinner theatre or something, but you are not Captain Hook.”

The other men gasped, but he just arched an elegant eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really,” she said, mocking his accent.

Laura gasped as the man closed the distance between them, and felt cold metal beneath her chin as he pressed his face closer to hers.

“And why on earth would you say that?” he asked dangerously, moving his arm to hold the hook between their faces.

She stumbled back, but not before appreciating the warm smell of rum and sea that exuded from the man threatening her. What’s that syndrome, she thought wildly? The one where hostages find the bad guys attractive?

“You have a hook,” she said, looking around with wide eyes as the men around her guffawed. They quieted instantly with a harsh look from their captain.

“How very astute of you,” he said, taking a step forward to match her steps backward.

For the first time, Laura really looked at her surroundings. There were no other boats containing film crews around them. Looking in every direction she saw only the open sea. The wood of the ship was marred, and the sails flapped above her.

“This is impossible,” she whispered, wishing Smee would offer more water, as her mouth had gone very dry. Perhaps if she could just not breathe so quickly…

“It’s amazing how many things seem impossible until they happen,” Hook said, seeming quite pleased at her dawning realization.

“I must have been hit on the head,” she said, holding her hand to her head. Now that she thought about it, her head did feel a little fuzzy. “Probably dehydrated, blacked out, hallucinating…”

“That may all be true,” Hook said, stepping so close that she had no choice but to look up. His nearness made her feel all the more short of breath. “But you are also now the prisoner of Captain Hook.”

She looked around quickly as the men cheered, and the movement set her head to spinning. She reached forward to stop from falling, and her fingers clutched around soft velvet. She felt one hand grip her arm, and winced as she felt a cold stinging above the elbow of her other arm.

The last thing she remembered was looking at the captain’s face through blurring vision, and saying “Shit.”
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Straight on Til Morning