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Hook and the Mermaid	By : HerverusGrape Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Het Views: 5297 -:- 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
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter Two
Tonight, Tonight
Mermaids, as a rule, stayed awake long after midnight and seldom stirred from their sleeping places until noontime. But this morning Fee found her eyelids opening as the first rays of the sunrise began to shine down through the murky water.
Her slumber had been strangely restless, her dreams fragmented and repetitive and filled with images that mirrored the meeting with the mysterious stranger that she had encountered the night before. Over and over again, she would dream that she was sitting upon the flat rock, feeling lonely and sad, feeling the desperate urge to sing in order to relieve herself of the melancholy that had enveloped her. But sometimes when she opened her mouth, there emerged nothing except a low, croaking sound, more suitable to a frog than to a mermaid. And instead of the beautiful crooning of a male voice, she would hear only the echo of derisive laughter wafting across the water. Her face burning, she would dive back into the water, mortified and anxious to hide herself away from him. At other times, she would perform song after song perfectly and ever so sweetly, but would wait in vain to hear his voice boom out across the lagoon to join hers, and she would find herself weeping in despair. But even more puzzling was the times that she would hear his beautiful voice whispering into her ear, joining her in song, so close that she could feel his warm breath drifting across her skin, and yet when she would turn she would see nothing more than a shadow dancing across the moonlit sky.
Her eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown as she lay upon the soft sand and stretched tiredly. Perhaps it had all been a dream, she thought suddenly, feeling her heart begin to constrict most painfully at the notion that she had only imagined it.
"The pearl!" she thought, shaking her head and glancing down at her hand. If the jewel was still there, she certainly hadn't dreamed it. Very slowly she unfurled her fingers, and gave a short, happy cry as she perceived the pearl was still there within the palm of her hand, its outline showing clearly against the soft skin as the result of her having clutched it so tightly all through the night.
"It is real," she whispered to herself. A happy grin raised the corners of her lips. He is real," she added softly. With a quick flick of her tail, she rose swiftly to the surface, anxious to examine the jewel more closely in the bright light of the dawn.
It was indeed a beautiful pearl, she thought, tilting her hand from side to side and marveling at the soft white-pink of its color as it glowed in the sun. It must be a clue to the identity of her admirer, she thought, clasping the gem tightly in her hand as she dived back down into the ocean.
It certainly would not have come from one of the Lost Boys. Besides the fact that the voice which had spoken to her had been that of a man-the timbre deep and rich, she knew that those ragamuffins were quite content to adorn themselves with acorns, feathers, bits of braid and odd pieces of metal that they happened to pick up. None of them would have found this exquisite but small trinket worthy of their notice. Likewise, the fact that it was a simple, solitary pearl, not an elaborate piece of jewelry set in heavy gold or silver, assured her that it had not come from a pirate.
Which meant, she decided, as a look of sudden comprehension spread across her f tha that it must have come from the only other group of men on the island-one of the young braves. The Indians had always lived in harmony with the mermaids, but it had always been the very young children or the females of the tribe who had ventured forth to the edge of the water to greet them and to throw out their gifts of food or other tokens of esteem. She supposed that since their own society was undeniably matriarchal in nature, the Indians would have felt it disrespectful for the adult males to interact with them. Although upon occasion the young men did venture into the ocean-
She found herself laug out out loud with delight and relief. Of course the pearl had come from an Indian, and she should have known it from the first! How many times had she and the other mermaids watched from a distance as the braves dived into the water and bobbed back to the surface with oysters in their hands? Although they had been too far away to see clearly, there had been no doubt by the way the men hooted and hollered that they had been delighted to find pearls within some of shells.
But in a moment, her face was clouded with confusion one more. But how had a brave learned so sing such lovely songs that were so unlike the Indian chants? Biting down upon her lip, she frowned aestlestlessly twirled the pearl in her hand as she puzzled over this conundrum for several minutes.
He must have come and listened to the Wendy girl, she decided. And, of course, she had only been able to listen to her on those nights when Pan had brought her out to the lagoon. The Indians and Lost Boys had become allies ever since Peter had rescued Tiger Lily, so there must have been many nights when the braves had visited with the children, so it was quite reasonable that he would have heard many more songs than she had.
She nodded to herself, quite content with this explanation, and finding that she was now picturing a lean, bronzed figure walking silently through the forest, hesitating when he had heard her voice floating through the air and finding himself drawn to join her. It was a handsome, noble and hawk-faced profile which she pictured now, even if the details remained slightly fuzzy as she imagined him hiding behind a tree, listening to her and finally daring to raise his voice with hers. Perhaps, she thought, her heart swelling with compassion, he was a lonely man, who felt himself somewhat 'different' from the rest of the tribe, as she herself had felt isolated from the rest of her colony. That was probably why he had suggested meeting in Castle Rock. Perhaps he feared, as she did, that the others would not understand their desire to meet and to sing together.
Well, she thought, drawing herself out of her reverie and reaching out to pick up her pillow, she hoped that tonight he would overcome his shyness enough to let her see what he looked like. She gently placed the pearl beside the beads that remained of the necklace that Tiger Lily had given to her and carefully replaced the stone. She also hoped that he would be pleased to see her wearing his gift, even if she could not hope to compete with the beauty of the young Indian maids.
"What are you doing up so early, Fee?"
She started and turned to regard her mother, who was yawning rub rubbing her eyes in a very irritated manner.
"I'm sorry, mother," she replied, hanging her head. "But I couldn't sleep."
"No need to wake the rest of us up," her mother complained.
"No," Fee agreed hurriedly. "I may as well go and start gathering some food for the others-I know they'll be very hungry when they return."
For a moment her mother gazed at her sadly. "You should have gone with them," she said quietly.
"No," she answered, her voice deliberately carefree as she bent forward to bestow a light kiss upon her mother's cheek, "It was best that I stay behind. Now, go back to sleep and stop worrying about me."
Before she could reply, she turned and quickly began to swim away, heading for the area of the lagoon where there was an abundance of tasty kelp. Her mother watched her closely as she faded into the distance, trying to ignore a small but persistent fear gnawing inside of her that something terrible was about to happen.
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On the Jolly Roger, Hook was awake as well. His habit, as it turns out, was also not to arise until the sun was quite high in the sky. But this morning not even the considerable amount of brandy he had quaffed the night before would allow him to sleep through the horrible din that was arising from the deck of the ship, just outside his cabin door.
With a groan, he raised his right hand to his pounding head, barely managing to check himself before the cold iron of his claw had dug into his forehead. With an oath and a grimace, he opened his eyes and stared rather disdainfully at the hook, deciding he must have been quite drunk indeed to have fallen into bed without first removing it. With another curse upon his lips he shoved himself into a seated position and raised his left hand to undo the buckle that fastened the leather harness around his torso. He loosened the straps and eased the heavy hook and its holder away from what remained of his wrist, feeling a familiar pring ang and itching upon the scarred nub.
Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and impatiently rubbed the stump over the bed sheets. He worked at this diligently for over a minute, knowing that the tingling would fade only to be replaced by the even more disconcerting impression that his nonexistent right hand was now painfully clenched into a tight fist. With a sudden spark of pain, the transformation occurred, the itching subsiding abruptly as a low, throbbing ache ran up and down his arm as the feeling of the 'phantom' fingers sprang suddenly into his consciousness.
Opening his eyes, he gazed forlornly at the stump, wondering how his body still managed to delude itself into believing that the long-gone fingers and thumb were still there. It took a great deal of resolve to keep from relenting to the small voice within his head that urhim him to close his eyes and to pretend that the sensations were real, to indulge in the fantasy twhatwhat had been torn from him had been miraculously restored. Instead, he resolutely kept his eyes open and forced himself to study the abruptly truncated end of his forearm. He knew from experience that it would take several minutes for his mind and body to adjust once more to the reality of his condition, and for the strange sensation to fade away.
He had often sneered and declared to Smee and the other pirates that he was quite content to have a hook rather than a hand. In truth, he had became far more adept at using it than he had ever dreamed, practicing diligently until he was able to perform most mundane tasks with ease, and stoically training his left hand to perform those functions were fingers were an abse ne necessity. He had proudly added to his inventory of hooks, amassing a fine selection of ingeniously-shaped devices and elegant utensils crafted out of pure silver, all of them lovingly polished by Smee and stored in a velvet case when they were not required. At the same time, Black-Hearted Bart had hardly been the first man he had dispatched with a carefully aimed slice of his large hook, and he had no doubt that the ease and ferocity with which he wielded it as a weapon had only served to add to his aura of authority and menace. He had long claimed that the only thing he regretted about losing hand and was that it had been swallowed by that damned crocodile, thereby arousing in the infernal creature an insatiable appetite for more of his flesh. But that proclamation was a bald-faced lie.
As adept as he had become in its use, using a hook to raise a cup to his lips, or the spyglass to his eye or to steer the ship's wheel could never, would never, feel the same as it had with his own flesh. And though he might relish the way a man recoiled in fear as he brandished his formidable claw, he knew he would have gladly given away all the treasure he had ever stolen just to be able to feel the calloused palm of his right hand wander over the smooth skin of a woman just once more.
With a loud bark of laughter, he moved his eyes away from the misshapen forearm and glanced down at the large bulge tenting out the front of his trousers. "Well, now," he said ruefully, moving his left hand over the fabric and pressing down upon the aching flesh, "I suppose I should be grateful that Pan didn't cut off some other parts." Closing his eyes once more, he allowed himself to fantasize that a lovely, golden-haired wench was lying on the bed beside him, her lips wet and glistening and her legs parted invitingly.
A loud knock upon the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in!" he barked, rising from his bed and turning away from the door so that his arousal would not be too evident.
"Good mornin', Captain!" Smee said cheerfully. "You're up early this morning," he noted, setting down a large tray upon his desk.
Hook snorted and bent down to retrieve the leather harne&nbs "As if anyone could sleep through that damned noise!" he growled, jerking his head in the direction of the door.
"Ah, yes, he is making quite a racket, isn't he?" agreed Smee amiably, pouring out some tea. "But Gallagher is quite anxious to have that fish tank finished for you today."
"Yes," said Hook, holding out the harness and gesturing for Smee to help fasten it around him. "The fish tank." A queer smile appeared upon his face. "I'd almost forgotten," he admitted.
"Well, I can't tell you how happy I am that you've decided to take up a hobby," said Smee, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated upon securing the buckle.
"A hobby, Smee?" Hook asked, as he sat down upon his chair.<n n "Yes, collng fng fish could be quite interesting," he replied, hurrying to unfold Hook's napkin and place it upon his lap. "Do you have a specific type in mind?"
"Actually, yes," said Hook, picking up his tea cup and taking a small, appreciative sip of the fragrant liquid. Raising his napkin with his left hand, he delicately wiped his lips before dropping the linen and reaching out for a crumpet. "I intend to trap a very pretty little fish with an unusual talent for singing."
"Ah," said Smee, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. He could not imagine such a creature. But, as he knew he had very little imagination, the matter did not trouble him overmuch. With a shrug, he concentrated instead on taking the crumpet from Hook's hand in order to slather it with butter.
"Any more trouble with the men?" inquired Hook, as he accepted the crumpet back from Smee's hand.
"No, indeed, Captain," said Smee, nodding very happily. "They are all quite busy this morning getting the vessel ship-shape again and such-" With a cry, the man broke off and slapped his palm against his forehead. "Dear me, where is my head this morning?" he tutted.
"Very fortuitously for you, it appears to still be attached to your neck, Smee," Hook answered, knowing even as he pronounced the words that Smee would be oblivious to the sarcasm contained within them.
"Yes, indeed, yes, indeed," murmured Smee as he wiped his hands upon his trousers. "I'll be back in just a moment, Captain!" he called as he hurried out of the cabin.
Shaking his head in and sighing in exasperation, Hook leaned over and used his claw to raise the silver cover from the plate in front of him. A smile broke across his face as he beheld the large mound of eggs and sausages piled upon the platter. Whatever his myriad faults, Smee was an exemplary cook. Tossing the cover aside, he grabbed a fork with his left hand and stabbed the nearest sausage, wolfing it down with relish. By the time he had swallowed a few more mouthfuls Smee was back.
Setting the fork down, Hook studied the man carefully, noting his broad grin and the fact that he was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide a large box behind his back.
"What's this?" asked Hook, taking care to keep his tone bored even though he secretly delighted in receiving presents.
"Open it up!" urged Smee, setting a package down on the desk. Although the box appeared rather battered-looking, he had tied a rather pretty silver ribbon around it.
ook ook studied the package for a few more moments before reaching out to work his hook underneath the ribbon and slashed it in half with a quick, upward jerk of his arm. A moment later, the lid was tossed to the side and Hook gave an appreciative whistle as he moved the thick layers of tissue paper aside.
"You're pleased, Captain?" asked Smee, his fingers fidgeting nervously as he watched Hook reach down into the box to retrieve the contents of the box.
It was a hat-and not just any hat. It was a large, flamboyant hat, crafted of rich, red velvet with a wide, curved brim and topped with a large, fluffy white feather. In short, it was just the kind of ostentatious headgear that the rather vain Hook delighted in wearing.
Forcing an indifferent look upon his face, Hook shrugged. "I suppose it will do for now," he answered, turning it over between his hand and hook. "Where did you get it?"
"It was in Black-hearted Bart's trunk, sir," answered Smee. "The men opened it this morning to see what he had and several of them had their eye on this-but I said only the Captain deserves such a magnificent hat like that!"
"Yes," said Hook, frowning slightly. "But what happened to the money and jewels that he had?"
Smee's blanched slightly as his smile faded. "I-I-I don't know sir, there didn't seem to be any-"
"Hmm," murmured Hook, narrowing his eyes. He rather thought that Bart must have been planning for some time to stage a mutiny and set himself up as the new leader, for it was indeed unusual for anyone other than the captain to wear such a fine hat. No doubt, he had also used whatever treasure he had to grease a few palms as well, which accounted for the lack of gold in his trunk. Pushing his chair away from the desk, he stood up and strode over to his looking-glass.
He placed the hat upon his head, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face as he beheld his reflection.
"Oh, yes, that is a mighty fine hat, sir," said Smee, peering over his shoulder.
"It will do," repeated Hook, as nonchalantly as he could. Turning his head to the side, he continued to study his image, raising his left hand to run his fingers along his jaw. He hadn't shaved in several days, and there was an annoying brown stubble dotting his cheeks and neck, ruining the usual fine line of his goatee.
"Shall I get your razor, Captain?" asked Smee, still bobbing up and down on his tiptoes behind Hook.
"No, not yet," he replied. Removing the hat, he held it out to Smee. "I shall want you to shave me tonight, and to wax my mustache as well-just before we leave. In the meantime, shine my boots and make sure my best coat is clean with all the buttons polished. And, uh, Smee..." He paused and cleared his throat.
"Yes, Captain?"
"I'll have a bath this morning as well-start boiling some water."
At this, Smee's eyes nearly popped out of his head. The Captain was much more mindful of hygiene than any other pirate that Smee had known, but he seldom went so far as to have an actual bath.
"I want to rid myself of the stench of that damned croco's 's belly!" declared Hook, clenching his teeth angrily.
"Aye, aye, Captain," said Smee, bowing subserviently and walking backwards towards the door of the cabin. "I'll see to it immediately, sir."
As the door banged closed, Hook turned back to the mirror. After a moment, he took a step backward so that his bare shoulders were reflected within the frame as well. He silently studied his dark, curly hair, the aristocratic, sculpted features and the deep, clear blue color of his eyes. Although Hook was renown for his vanity, it could not be denied that he was an engagingly handsome man. And then a contemplative look appeared upon his face as he allowed his mind to drift back to the events of the night before.
He had been in a rather foul mood, his delight in having escaped what seemed a certain death tempered by his annoyance that none of the pirates had raised a finger to assist him. Although Smee had welcomed him back joyfully, he had feared his ability to win over the rest of the crew and reclaim his ship. He had coced ced his loyal first mate to travel on alone to the Jolly Roger to assess the situation, while he himself had remained behind in the forest.
Smee had been gone for nearly an hour, and Hook had worn a path in the forest floor with his anxious pacing when he had first heard the sound of a female voice wafting through the night air. For a few heart-stopping moments, he had been convinced that it was Wendy he was hearing, and he had felt a strange mixture of anger and relief flood over him as he hastened to make his way towards her. But he had only taken a few steps before he stopped and listened more closely, realizing that the voice he was hearing was older, higher and much more beautiful than that possessed by that impertinent slip of a girl.
Moving more cautiously, he had slowly threaded his way through the forest and peered out into the lagoon. He had been surprised to see the mermaid, having never before heard any of her kind sing in such a way. The others had always sung in that strange, cawing cry that was part seagull, part dolphin and part indescribable cacophony. Like the other men, he was not immune to the lure of their call, the mere sound of their weird crooning filling him with lustful thoughts. Yet, as a man who prided himself on his musical skills, he had always been rather disdainful of the aesthetic value of their efforts.
This little one, however, was not only singing intelligible words, she was carrying the melody in a strong, sweet voice that stirred his soul as much as any siren song had ever aroused his body. Perhaps, if she had simply continued to sing, he might have been able to simply enjoy watching and hearing her from afar. But as she faltered over the words and fell silent, a sly grin appeared upon his face as he considered his options. <n n The poor, innocent creature seemed so lonely and so sad. So...friendless. Although she might initially be startled to hear him, might not she also be flattered by his apparent solicitude and soothed by the calming sound of his melodious voice? As he sang out, he watched as surprise, curiosity and an ineffable look of joy crossed her face in quick succession. He knew in a moment that, with the proper preparation, he could continue to tempt her, allaying her fears and lulling her into a false sense of security. Even as he gently and tenderly taught her the new song, a part of him was contemplating just how he soon he could manage to lure her into a trap.
When they had finished singing and had begun to talk, he had been rather irritated with her apparent unwillingness to meet with him again. But he knew that a display of anger would only frighten her away. So he had forced himself to keep his voice soft, gentle and melancholy, instinctively knowing that playing upon her sympathies would work to his advantage. Inwardly, he was cursing the fact that he had no gold or fine jewels upon his person to bestow upon her, for the mermaids had always seem to be quite acquisitive in nature. Searching through his pockets, his fingers had brushed against thinthing cool and round, and it was not until he had held the pearl between his fingers and studied it in the moonlight that he even recognized what it was. It was one of several that he had stolen from a young Indian brave ages ago, the rest of the gems having been used to decorate one of his waistcoats. Having nothing else to offer, he had tossed it out to her. Her pathetic gratefulness for the meager offering gratified him immensely-for he was certain now that the gift had not only reassured her, but she would feel a certain obligation to meet with him again.
His eyes refocused upon his reflected image as he pulled his thoughts back to the present. He knew she had been fascinated by his voice, and he was an exceedingly handsome man with a great deal of charm-when he chose to use it. There was every chance that, if he pursued her patiently and carefully, that he might not eventually seduce her and convince her to come with him willingly. However-
He sighed and turned away from the mirror as he began once more to remove the harness and shed the rest of his clothes. He had attempted to woo Wendy to his side with a gentle manner and tender words. Although she had initially responded to him most delightfully, in the end she had chosen Pan over him. He was not a patient man by nature, and had no intention of wasting any more of his time wooing a mermaid with honeyed endearments when she might end up leaving him to pursue some doltish merman. He paused as he dropped his trousers to the floor, a puzzled frown wrinkling his forehead. There must be mermen, he supposed, though he has never seen one.
A loud knock sounded upon his door.
"Captain, we've brought the water and the tub."
He wrapped a blanket about his waist before giving them leave to enter. The door opened and Smee and another man stumbled in carrying the large tin tub, followed by half a dozen other pirates carrying buckets of steaming water. Directing them to place the basin on the floor near the desk, Hook watched silently as Smee oversaw the emptying of the buckets. It took several trips to fill the tub halfway, after which Smee dismissed the rest and went to retrieve two buckets of cold water to adjust the final temperature. Rolling up his sleeves, he began to pour in the cool water, using his left arm to test the warmth of the bath. Finally nodding in satisfaction, he gestured for the captain to proceed. Doffing the blanket, Hook stepped into the tub and gingerly settled himself in the water as Smee handed him a bar of soap and a large wash cloth.
"Anything else, Captain?" he asked, pouring a small amount of perfumed water into the bath as well.
"No, that will be sufficient," he murmured, closing his eyes and allowing his body to sink down further into the hot, steamy water.
"I'll be back later to pick up your clothes for cleaning then," said Smee.
A small nod was his only reply.
He waited until Smee had left and locked the door behind him before beginning to cleanse himself. He began by soaping his right arm, beginning at the shoulder and working down to its abnormally shortened end. He hato wto work for several minutes to work the dirt out of the creases that had been etched into his skin by the pressure of the cuff which held his hook. He then switched sides, washing his left arm as best he could with the cloth thrown over the stump of his right hand. He found himself rather amazed at how vibrantly the colors of his tattoos shone once he had rinsed off the layers of grime. Next, he worked the lather over his face and neck and then turned his attention to his feet and legs.
The water had definitely started to cool by now, but he seemed in no hurry as he reached down into the water and began to gently soap the tender skin of his genitals. He found himself thinking again about the little mermaid and wondering about what her brs los looked like-she had so modestly kept her hair draped over them as she sat upon the rock. A small smile appeared upon his lips as he threw the cloth to the side and wrapped his fingers around his rapidly-hardening manhood. Allowing his eyelids to droop once more, he slumped down in the water and began to stroke himself with his left hand, his stump thumping gently against the metal of the tub as he brought himself to climax.
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That night Fee was studying her reflection as well. It had taken her several tries to twine the beads and the pearl into her hair until she was satisfied wihe ehe effect, her efforts hampered by the fact that she had only a tiny mirror, making it difficult to view her face and her hair at the same time. Although she had finally been satisfied with her appearance, there was still a faint scowl upon her face. Having decided that her suitor was definitely an Indian, she had found herself increasingly worried as the day wore on that he, used to black-haired, dark-eyed beauties with brown skin, would find her ivory skin and blonde hair virtually colorless and unattractive. Sighing, she picked up her comb and ran it through her already-sleek tresses.
At least, she thought, setting the comb back down, she could be grateful for the fact that her movements were not being watched by the other mermaids. The group that had arrived home from the mating were understandably tired and ravenous, and after eating a large dinner which had mostly come from the food she had gathered during the day, they had all settled down to sleep. She was certain that no one would be watching her as she swam off to her assignation.
Smoothing her long hair down her front, she felt her heart pounding violently against the ribs of her chest. Placing the mirror beside her pillow, she turned and watched her mother for several minutes until she was satisfied she was sleeping soundly. Moving her tail very slowly, so that she would make neither noise or perceptible waves, she began to swim away from the colony. She glanced up at the sky, using the bright full moon above to guide her as she made her way to Castle Rock.
As she approached the meeting place, she paused and made her way to the surface, carefully surveying the entrance to the cavern before proceeding. There was a dim light coming from the small opening, and by the way it flickered she surmised that there were torches or a small fire burning within. She felt a small flutter inside of her, the thought that he was waiting for her filling her with hope, expectation, and just a little bit of fear. Taking in a deep breath to calm herself, she dove back into the water and swam very quickly into the cave, as if she were afraid she might lose her nerve should she not enter the cavern immediately. In her haste, there was little chance that she would have noticed the net that had been lowered into the water and artfully concealed against the dark rocks of the entrance.
Inside the cave, Hook was pacing nervously to and fro, his agitation growing every minute as he began to fear that his plans for the evening had gone awry. But as he heard a small splash in the water, a relieved grin spread across his face, and he stepped away from the torch and back into the shadows of the cave, so he could observe without being seen himself.
She had hopped onto one of the rocks, and by the way she glanced around her fearfully, he knew he had been right to instruct his men to remove the skeletons which ordinarily were chained to them. As she turned and squinted in his direction, he found himself taking in a quick, surprised breath. She was even prettier here in the golden glow of the torch than she had appeared in the moonlight the night before, her skin exuding a human-like warmth rather than shining ghostly silver-grey like the other mermaids. Her hair, he noted, was blonde, curly and abundant, but underneath his eyes detected the generous rise of her bosom and he could almost convince himself that he could see a hint of her delightfully pink nipples as well.
"Are you here?" she asked, her voice echoing strangely in the enclosed space.
"Yes," he answered softly. "I am here." His eyes glanced toward the entrance of the cave, where even now the pirates were beginning to raise the net in order to cut of her escape route. But he had warned them to be very slow and painstakingly silent in their work, so he knew he had to keep her attention focused on him for several minutes yet.
"I am honored that you have come," he said, secure in the way she was still narrowing her eyes against the glare of the torch that she could not see him clearly. "And you are wearing my gift!" he added, an honest note of delight tingeing his voice.
"Yes," she said, blushing quite prettily as she hung her head shyly.
"I have brought you others," he said. And indeed, very near his feet lay a small wooden box filled with a variety of sumptuous jewels with which he intended to tempt her.
"I do not need any others," she answered earnestly. "I only wish for you to teach me more songs."
"Oh, I have many things to teach you," he replied with a low chuckle. "But, I wonder if you are going to give me something?"
"Oh," she said, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I have not brought a present for you."
"Ah, but your presence is all that I wish. That-and the honor of knowing your name, little one. Will you not tell me it now?"
"I am Fee," she replied, pronouncing her name in the mermaid fashion, which made it sound almost like the cry of a gull as it circles around the shore.
But Hook simply smiled and nodded. "Fee," he replied, investing a very human-sounding quality to the name. "How beautiful."
"Thank you," she said.
"I suppose," said Hook, watching as the men brought the net halfway to the surface, "That it is short for 'Fiona'?"
"No," she laughed, shaking her head at the strange-sounding name. "It is merely Fee."
"Ah, but you see, Fiona is a name that means 'white-shouldered-one', and you do indeed have lovely white shoulders," he said, his tone lowering into a silky purr that sent a strange, exciting thrill through the girl's body.
"And what is your name?" she asked, her smile broadening as her eyes continued to search in the dark to see where he was.
"Do you really not know?" he asked slowly.
"No," she answered truthfully.
"Can you not guess?" he prompted.
"Running Deer?" she asked, trying to think of a name that would be suitable for a young Indian brave.
In the dark, Hook's eyes opened in surprise, but he managed to keep his voice neutral. "No, you must try again."
"Fearless Eagle?" she guessed, her smile broadening.
"No, I shall allow you one more chance," he said. For a moment, he had felt a sudden, illogical suof jof jealousy against the whole tribe of Indians, but his thoughts in this direction had vanished as he noted that the net had now been raised to its full height. The pirates were quickly securing it with knots and in only a few seconds the trap would be complete.
"Brave Bear?" she asked, a slight giggle in her voice.
"I see I have no choice but to introduce myself," he replied. Striding forth into the light of the torch, he raised his hand to his hat and swept it off his head as he made a low bow before her. "I am James Hook, Captain of the Jolly Roger."
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Hook and the Mermaid