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Peter Captured	By : lexyhamilton Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 19631 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
- 10
- 11
- 12
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and especially to those who have reviewed this! It means a great deal to me and I wish AFF had a more interactive commenting system where I could thank people individually and/or answer their queries. And complaints. Seriously, it's impossible to slip anything past you guys. Which is my excuse for waiting for ages to update this fic... there is still a glaring time-hole presented here, but I've decided to fill it in subsequent chapters, etc. Just wanted to say thanks for reading, and thanks for letting me know that you were interested in more.
-- JPP

Chapter 11: A Child's Graces

"Please make this your last, Cap'n," Smee begged. Meddlesome Smee. Hook made a grand effort not to spill rum on the table as he poured his umpteenth drink that morning. He found solace only in his wine cellar. He had been drinking straight through the two days since Pan's disappearance-- staying mostly in his cabin, but sometimes sauntering out to the deck, giving his men unintelligible orders, and leaning over the side, seasick but happy to stare for hours at his dark reflection, stark against the sky’s reflection. Sometimes he stared at the island, their accursed prison, fancying he could make out the form of a sprightly boy above the tree line. Sometimes he'd see a port too, with taverns, girls, lights, and merry sailors from all corners of the globe, and go down to his cabin for more of whatever was still on the table when the vision would threaten to fade. He dreaded sleep and the subsequent hangover, and avoided both.

Hook picked up the glass of rum and stared through its honeyed prism to see two faces, distorted by the shape of the glass.

"What do you want?" He barked as soberly as he could, slamming the drink down.

"We were just looking around, Cap'n," Robert's voice suddenly sounded from his left. Hook soon realized his entire crew was surrounding him. He stood up unsteadily, but Bill's recognizably strong grip on his shoulder pushed him back down. Smee's stout form was hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

"Nice things you've got here, Cap'n," Cecco grinned, running a cigar under his nose.

"Almost too nice," Starkey added, running his hand along the bedcovers.

"Damn you all to hell!" Hook shouted, his voice hoarse with drink. Alf caught his claw arm before it could strike anything, and Bill held his other.

Cecco opened Hook's shirt, and the knife sliced through the leather harness. They pulled off his dearest weapon with ease, and set to pummeling his body with fists and boots. Smee made feeble attempts to get the violence to end with his pleas, but was only pushed aside.

"I'll flay the hide from all your flesh!" Hook yelled, blood dribbling from a split lip, as his elbows were secured with rough rope behind his back.

"We figured we aren't going to go anywhere with the likes of you on board," Robert said, donning one of Hook's more dandyish hats.

"Hey, and where's he keeping the kid?" Alf cried after breaking down the door to the closet when he could not find the appropriate key.

"He's long-gone, he is!" Smee cried immediately, hoping to save his captain another beating.

"Calm yourself, mate," Robert said, examining a sword. "When we get ourselves back to some place of repute, we can have all the women you'll be wanting."

"Idiots!" Hook wheezed, still bending double from a kick delivered to his stomach by Starkey. "There's no way to leave this bloody place."

Cecco turned from the mirror he was using to trim his mustache. "Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with your whore and your liquor, we wouldn't be coming back here over and over like some dancing drunks."

"Aye," Bill said, still restraining Hook while the others stole and ruined items in his cabin. "It's a sorry captain that does nothin’ but sit in harbor and treat his crew like the rats in his hold."

"I'll treat you far worse than rats," Hook muttered, knees beginning to sag, though it was a resignation less to his mutinous crew than to the light nausea from his earlier drinking.

If rage and pain hadn't sobered Hook enough, entering the cold sea with a painful slap did. His boots and coat had fortunately been removed before in the pirates' greedy ransacking, but even his minimal outfit made it hard to come back up for air once it took on water.

"You've drowned him!" Hook heard Smee shouting as soon as his head managed to rise back to the surface.

"He'll make it back to land if he's got anything left to live for..." Robert said just loud enough to be heard down at the water, casting a casual glance over the side before heading away somewhere. Though Hook hurled all the obscenities and curses he could muster between inadvertent gulps of bitter water, the ship turned and headed out to the horizon.

"I can't swim, Cap'n!" Smee shouted, appearing at the aft of the ship with a look of genuine desperation. "Get to shore, and I'll come for ye as soon as I get the chance!"

As the ship made quick distance away from his position, Hook finally had to face the reality that his only hope was to try to reach the island. Much as he tried, the rope around his elbows could not be loosened, and he made very slow progress kicking only with his legs. He floundered, and choked on water and even on his own hair, the wet mass of which he could not brush from his face except by diving under. He could hardly stop without sinking, and at one point became convinced that his heavy clothing would be the death of him. Thoughts of the crocodile occasionally crossed his mind and seized him with panic, but he pressed on, driven by fury. Ideas for revenge seethed in his mind until he finally crept out on the sand-- exhaustion, thirst, splitting headache, and depression making battle for dominance while he lay gasping for sweet air. The rising surf was soon lapping at his feet again, and Hook rose with reluctance.

He crept to the edge of the beach, but the woods were too thick to walk into easily. He had no weapons, nor even footwear, and barbed vegetation soon convinced him he was better off on the sand. His clothes were drying up quickly in the oppressive heat, starched with salt. He traipsed along the wooded border, hoping to discover a stream running into the sea. He found a tiny one soon enough, prostrating himself to drink the cool water and wash off the salty taste from his parched tongue. He lay back into the cool shade, too lazy to try to extricate himself out of the binding rope, and prayed his hangover would end before night set in.

***

Peter tightened the flag around his frame. It had not been his idea to get washed by the women, and now he had been cast out of their tent, the whole Picaninny tribe whispering to each other, pointing. He had come to the Indians before when he was seriously injured. This time was different, everything was different, he knew it all too well, but even he did not expect such cold revulsion.

The chief made his way to the front of the crowd, still quite a few paces from Peter’s lonely, ostracized figure. He spoke with the usual slow cadence in his native tongue, which Peter had never bothered to be proficient with in the first place, and by now had quite forgotten. He demanded English though he could already catch the drift.

“Peter Paleface has been with pirates. Not staying here.”

“I don’t want your hospitality.” Peter spit on the floor, only remembering that it was a distinctly piratical habit when he heard murmurs in the crowd. “I only want clothing.” It was a lie, but a necessary one to placate the lump beginning to form in his throat.

“Brave clothing is proud clothing. Peter Paleface we give only woman clothing.”

Peter nodded woodenly and turned and walked into the woods. He thought he saw a look from Tiger Lily and dawdled on the outskirts of the camp, watching the usual night rituals from the darkness of the forest. His hopes were answered when the bonfires died down and he heard the girl making her way through the brush. He knew her steps would be stealthier if she were not trying to make her presence known, and she grinned a gleaming white crescent in the dark when Peter floated down from a branch he was perched on. She produced a set of clothes, and watched intently as the large flag fluttered to the floor. Though he had swum naked with Tiger Lily on many a hot, lazy afternoon, it felt strange now to have her stare so intently at him as he squirmed into his new outfit.

“What are you staring at?”

“You.”

“Why.”

“The moonlight reflects off your skin, Paleface. Not good for hunting.”

“That’s why I’m asking for clothes, stupid.”

“Stupid yourself.”

They crept back into the camp and crawled into a wigwam full of supplies. Both sat cross-legged, Tiger Lily watching Peter eat the cornbread she brought for him.

“Where are they all, anyway, the boys, Tink, … Wendy?”

“Tink disappeared soon after you disappear. They came looking for her and asking us. Then the pirate ship leaves and they leave. Probably the other fairies took them home. Thought you died, even Father thought so.”

Peter continued chewing wordlessly, staring off into space, then at Tiger Lily, who seemed to have changed since he last saw her. She was scrutinizing him just as fervently. He shuddered away when she suddenly reached out and touched his neck, still tender from that violent grasp the night before. It must have been a dark bruise there. His reflection in the water had been too murky to see that.

"So… how was the pirate?" she finally asked.

"Hook?" Peter mumbled through a mouthful of bread. The girl nodded. "What should he be like?"

"Did Hook hit Peter Paleface?" she offered.

"No. I don't know. Sometimes, I guess." Peter averted his eyes but kept chewing.

Tiger Lily did not desist, and moved closer, fiddling with a leather fringe on Peter's outfit. "People of the tribe say Hook loved Peter Paleface like girl."

"Then tell people of the tribe to stop talking so much." The boy turned to face the other side, hoping to end the conversation.

“He put gold circles and marks on you.”

“I’d take them off if I could.”

She reached and touched the hoops still dangling from his ears. He hardly noticed them by now, but entreated her to take them off. The girl’s hands were quick, and she transferred the jewelry to her own ears, evidently pleased.

"These are shiny!” She laughed as she tossed her head back and forth before turning to him again. “How does Hook love?"

"He doesn't," Peter said, going numb all over, feeling tired, so tired of discussing this, especially with her.

"He really make you a girl?"

"No." He turned away from her.

"Show where they hurt."

"No!" Peter bunched up his body, when Tiger Lily crawled around to face him again.

"I only want to see."

“Stop touching.”

“Stupid.”

“Stupid yourself.”

They sat wordlessly, glaring at each other. Tiger Lily was the first to break the silence.

“Show how Hook touches and you get a knife.”

Wary of bargains, Peter still knew a weapon was a wonderful thing. He pushed the girl back on the floor and began kissing her upper half with all the violence he recalled Hook doing to him.

“There. Happy now?”

“No. Liar. Hook did other things.”

“So?” Peter’s cheeks were blazing hot and he wondered if she could see that in the dimness of the moonlight streaming in through a flap of the tent.

“So show!”

“Don’t want to.”

Tiger Lily laughed and rolled herself over to be on top. Panic flared in Peter and he shoved her away violently. He was surprised when his hand hit something soft on her chest.

She cried out.

“It’s your fault. Get off!” He tried to push her away again.

Tiger Lily smiled. “You used to be stronger.”

“No, you used to be smaller. You’re turning into a real grown-up. Soon you’ll be fat and ugly and never run around the woods anymore.”

She stopped laughing and slapped him across the face. He slapped her back, and so they continued back and forth, only half-angry. Her body was rubbing against his and he felt it again—that strange feeling he couldn’t control. She noticed it and laughed, slinking down, the warmth of her body replaced by that of her breath.

Peter was surprised and almost protested before his thighs fell open in resignation. Mild anger, not terror accompanied the familiar feeling this time, and soft moisture instead of a callused hand made him sense even more urgency.

Peter suddenly felt his body go over a precipice he hadn’t known existed.

His hands grasped at her, tugging on the coarse braids as the rest of his body went into a short spasm then settled into dark, heavy fatigue. He woke up without realizing he had fallen asleep. Tiger Lily was asleep next to him, grey-pink light from the wigwam’s opening hitting her profile. He tied the waist-string of his pants back, and rolled up the cuffs again. The outfit was obviously meant for someone taller and wider.

He felt better, the pain of his injuries fading a little in the course of the night, and the memory of intense pleasure lingered on him like a balm, but the peculiar heavy feeling remained. He needed to lift into the air to dissipate the effect, he reasoned, but the lift would not occur. He put more mental energy into the task than he had ever done and still his body remained rooted to the ground.

Panic raced through his trammeled body. Tiger Lily shifted, eyes fluttering open.

“I can’t fly,” he said under his breath, unable to admit it more loudly.

“No?” She stretched, still groggy, not nearly as concerned as he thought the situation merited.

“I can’t… not even a little…”

“How you know you can’t?”

“I just know!”

“Are you crying? Hook really make you a girl?”

Peter wiped at his nose furiously and stood up in the vain hope that this would help end his terrestrial confinement. There were voices outside, but only Tiger Lily turned to listen with worry, trying to shush him when he began hurling accusations at her.

“It’s because of what you did to me! I can’t fly anymore after you made me a grownup with your game!”

She waved her arms and shushed him, but Peter was beyond consolation. One of the women came looking for supplies in their wigwam and ran screaming alarm when she saw the exiled boy and the princess therein. Only then did Peter have enough presence of mind to grab the knife Tiger Lily extended to him and leap out, running into the woods before any more commotion developed.

***

Damn the man who thought up to secure his arms by the elbows, Hook thought. And damn Peter Pan for lopping off his hand and prompting them to use the more devious measure rather than a simple knot around the wrists. He would surely have freed himself by now if it had been around his wrists…

It was the beginning of his second day of marooning, and he had been unable to procure anything to eat, spending all his time trying to loosen, scrape away, tear the damned hemp cable apart. His forearms were numb most of the time and his back ached from the unrelenting tension of the position.

He had imagined his revenge a myriad of times, a myriad of different ways, and that dream had grown stale when hunger, pain, fatigue, and the irrepressible desire for alcohol gnawed at him as they did now. He lay listless, not quite wishing for death only because he yearned to see his crewmembers meet a more horrible, painful end than that to which they had subjected him.

His sanity was going fast, he noted, when the specter of the boy he’d ruined walked up to him, dressed in savage gear, features dour and only wary bemusement written on his face.

“What are you doing here?” The voice startled Hook—too real to be part of a hallucination.

“Please, lad, untie these ropes. My arms have a mind to die off.”

Peter hesitated, and stayed out of reach. “I thought it was too far into shore for sea garbage to wash up.”

“Laugh all you want but I’ll admit I’m glad to see you.” The boy was not laughing, far from it, but Hook pretended to ignore the stern look. He got up to his knees, sand sifting out of his uncombed hair.

“What happened to you?”

“My dogs mutinied at last. Nothing to tell. But look at you, decked out like a pretty savage—”

Hook did not venture to finish when the point of the dagger moved close to his throat.

“Don’t talk to me as though I’m still your little prisoner-toy. Get up and keep your mouth shut if you’ve got nothing better to say.”

Hook stood up slowly, shuddering at the tone. It was true. His little prisoner toy was gone, probably forever. And this creature who stood before him now was not quite the sprite he had trapped either, but the realization of how vulnerable he was sent chills up the captain’s spine.

“Alright, lad, alright. I’m glad to see you’re safe and sound, and that’s the truth.”

“No thanks to you.”

“No thanks to me. Fair enough.”

The boy was cold. Cold and angry, and why this was at all unexpected, Hook did not know. The closest thing he had to a friend on this island just happened to hate him to death.

They stared at each other as at a standoff. Hook noticed fading purple fingerprints on Peter’s throat, still bruised from something that must have happened on the ill-fated night in the cabin. There was that familiar nervous bite on the lower lip, and Hook knew he would not be lost if only he could just insinuate himself back into the child’s graces—but only if there was no one else to interfere.

“Where are your friends?”

“I don’t know. They left.” Peter did not break eye contact. “Gave me up for dead, because I was gone so long, I guess.”

Hook did not know whether to celebrate or fear for his life. One wrong phrase could condemn him. Peter suddenly gave him the perfect opportunity to blurt one out.

“But maybe you know where Tinker Bell is?”

“Are you referring to that fairy…”

“You know who she is.”

Had the boy already found out, Hook wondered. Perhaps the Indians had found out somehow and told him? Perhaps the truth was better in these circumstances.

“She died. My men trapped her when she came looking for you and kept her under a glass bell while you were still trapped in the room, and she just went and died on us. You know how the men are… Must have crushed her body.” Peter’s eyes went wide and Hook quickly realized that truth had not been the best option, feeling his words trailing off. “We didn’t realize she’d expire like that, and it was the men keeping an eye on her…”

“Just quit talking. Quit explaining it away. You killed her. You think I’m going to help you now? For what? You don’t even deserve pity.”

“Pan…”

Peter stood motionless, watching the man take several steps toward him. Hook’s hair was disheveled, stiff with sea salt, covered in sand that spilled from it whenever the long strands swayed. He was unshaven as well, looking scarier and wilder than usual, despite his desperation. Hook took another step.

“What do you want?”

“Release my arms for starters, my dear.”

“I don’t think I shall.” Peter said, crossing his arms though the dagger was still in one of them. “What do you need your arms for, anyway? I don’t remember you freeing mine too often.”

Hook nearly forgot himself and said something angry but held his tongue. “You’re right, I don’t need my arms if you’re going to be around. But if you plan to leave me, lad, please undo the ropes so that I don’t starve like a dog.”

Peter finally broke eye contact with that piercing blue.

“I’ll stay. If only to see how you like it, being made so pathetic.”

Hook raised his eyebrows. “Then I hope you won’t mind escorting me back to that hold in the cave that we visited together. I recognize the coastline. It’s somewhere in this vicinity.”

Peter shrugged.
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Peter Captured