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Honeydew	By : Panymede Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 4161 -:- 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
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Chapter 2

Standing at the bow of my ship, I relish the wind and spray on my face as the craft glides across the waves. Aside from my cabin, this is my favorite place to be. I’ve flown before, and this is so close to that feeling that I can’t help but love standing here. I hear familiar laughter and turn to see him standing there, smiling at me with a gleam in his eye. This is his favorite place too, aside from my cabin, and I wonder briefly if he wishes to stand beside me and enjoy it. He says something about dinner waiting for me in my cabin, but I catch the twinkle in his eye and the unconscious lick he gives his bottom lip, so I nod and follow him. I know what he wants, he’s insatiable, but I’ll give it to him because I want it too. I’ll take every chance I can get to have him.

My anticipation builds as I devour his shirtless back with my eyes, barely able to contain my need to touch him. He insists on going about barefoot, at the most wearing his breeches and a vest when the weather is warm like this. He stretches as he walks, the innocent-seeming gesture producing liquid heat in my groin. The little bastard knows what he’s doing to me, and I’ll have to punish him for it. He’s grown into a handsome young man and, despite being an adult, he’s still the playful, cocky brat he always was. And I love him all the more for it.

In the privacy of my cabin, all pretenses fall away and I leap upon him, pinning him to my bed. He gives a mocking semblance of resistance, playing our old game. I know he likes being in charge, but I’m the captain here and my whim is law. He fights me for dominance but I know his weaknesses and all too soon he succumbs to my will. He’s always melted into my kisses, and his mouth is the most delightful pleasure under heaven. He laughs as he returns my attentions and surrenders to me, but I hear the small bark of annoyance in that chiming sound. He’ll get me back later, of that I have no doubt. I can’t wait.

Somehow our clothes are gone and he’s dropping my harness to the floor. Such quick, nimble fingers my lover has. As much as I enjoy his fingers, there are other parts of him I like more, and I turn my attention to those. My kisses roam his body, trailing from his mouth down to his chest, pausing to give his taut nipples extra care. He groans and I smile wickedly, moving further down his body, taking my time. I take him in my mouth, engulfing his length and suckling him, and he begins chanting my name, pleading for release. His voice is like music and I milk him for as long as I can, turning his pleading into outright begging. He screams when I finally let him come and I swallow every drop of his essence, relishing his salty sweetness.

He lies beneath me, weak and pliant with bliss. I win this round of our game and now I’ll claim my prize. I slither up his body until my own erection presses lightly against his opening. I take a few moments to kiss him, letting him taste himself as I slowly slide into his heat. He tenses around me, hissing at the pain and I pause for a moment, allowing him to adjust.

“I love you, James,” he murmurs to me, eyes bright with desire, begging me for more.

I give him more, riding him hard and fast, as we both like it. His legs lock around me, allowing me to plunge deeper and I lose myself within him, within the soft sweetness of his young and vibrant body. He cries out and I lose control when he tightens around me, making me howl with release. I spill myself deep inside him, shuddering and gasping his name. My muscles turn to liquid and I collapse into his arms, feeling him nuzzle me lovingly. No matter how much I’ve tainted him, he’s still so pure and beautiful. He’s mine, all mine. I withdraw with regret, pulling him into my arms and holding him close. “I love you, Peter,” I mumble into his ear, giving it a gentle nip before drifting into sleep.

*****************************

I come awake with a jerk, silently cursing myself for falling asleep. The dream is still strong in my mind and I can feel the arousal it stirred in me, but I brush the memory aside. I’ve dreamed it a thousand times before, and it will always remain just a dream. I don’t deserve something as wonderful as that and, despite his drunken declaration of love, I know Peter will never feel that way for me. Peter… damn! I was supposed to stay awake to watch over him! I sit up, the bright morning light blinding me for a moment. Once my eyes adjust and I can see, I peer over the bushes to see where Pan lay. The grass is flat where he’d been and I can still see the outline of his body in the dew, but of the boy himself there is no trace.

Where is he? Did he waken this morning sober and wander off? I hope and pray that he’s safe, suffering only from a hangover and nothing more. If he woke still drunk and fell to harm… no, the morning is bright and clear. If he were hurt or worse, it’s unlikely I or anyone else in Neverland would be waking up this morning. Still, I’d expected an overcast morning to reflect his hungover mood, so perhaps the fairies found him and carried him away. He may be sleeping somewhere more comfortable now, somewhere they can watch over him. Yes, that makes sense. Honeydew induces long and deep sleep with vivid yet pleasant dreams, and it’s far too early for him to be awake yet.

Shakily I stand, taking a moment to get my bearings. Even without the hangover, he’s going to be in a foul mood when he does awaken. He’s going to remember with perfect clarity everything he did last night. I smile only a moment when I contemplate the horror he’ll feel when he remembers how he kissed me, how he told me he loved me. But my amusement fades to sadness. Of course he’ll be horrified at his actions and be relieved that I rebuffed him… yet knowing he’ll react that way is quite depressing. I’ll savor the memory of his lips on mine even as he retches in disgust from the remembered contact.

Perhaps this will serve as a lesson to him and he’ll quit the Revels. It’s wishful thinking on my part. A mortal doesn’t just stop wanting honeydew, it’s too terribly addictive. I know Pan knows this, because it was the boy himself that told me so. He warned me long before Wendy ever came to Neverland about the Revels and the honeydew, going into great detail about the aftereffects. I heeded his warning and threatened with death any of my men caught drinking the stuff, though later I succumbed to the temptation myself. The boy knows better and so does his fairy!

I make my way back to the ship to muster my men. I don’t know what the hell the boy is thinking, but I’m going to find out. The mermaids will know, they know the answers to all riddles and mysteries, and they are drawn to the darkness in men’s souls. The trick will be to get those mer-bitches to answer me, and answer me in full, because they delight in saying only enough to mislead and cause strife. But I know how to make them talk, and they will tell me everything I want to know.

*******************************

The night sky is moonless, and only the brightest few stars have the strength to penetrate the thinning layer of clouds above the isle. The last of the thunderstorm is gone, faded away as my blind rage receded, leaving only a heavy layer of gloom to match my brooding anger. To my surprise, the Revel has already begun; I can hear the faint strains of music now and I alter my course towards their source, south tonight where last night I’d turned north. This may actually be easier than I’d hoped it would be, they’ve moved the Revel but they haven’t taken steps to hide it from me. I look up again and see that the clouds are still lifting above me, Pan’s mood overriding my own and clearing the skies. It’s too early!

He’s there again, I know he is and now I know why. I’m so furious with them that I don’t know what to do, and it’s taken a supreme act of willpower to not sit in my cabin all day and mutter, “There’s no such thing as fairies,” over and over until every last one of the insects lay cold and lifeless and most satisfyingly dead. They’ve betrayed him. They took advantage of his loneliness and despair and enslaved him. The mermaids knew all about it, they’re just as much a part of this duplicity as the pixies – they chose to keep that knowledge from me yesterday. They’ve learned their lesson and from now on when I ask them a question, I’ll get the answers I seek. One of their sisters had to die and another was hideously maimed before the sea-sluts sang to me of Neverland’s treachery. Once I have Peter in hand and safely tucked away, I’ll free the survivors. I just hope my men are smart enough not to try to rape one of the beautiful beasts. I nearly lost a finger to one’s teeth, but she lost three in recompense.

I see the light now, the glow of scores of pixies, and I quicken my pace. Smee and two other men await my return on the shore, my backup in case this doesn’t go well. As before, I won’t risk any of my crew to exposure to the Revel. A childish giggle peals through the trees and my fears are confirmed. He’s drunk – drunk already! The sun’s only been down for two hours! Normal Revels don’t begin until midnight, but there hasn’t been a ‘normal’ Revel since Peter began attending. They’ve been Reveling every night for two weeks, starting at sundown and continuing until the boy passes out in his exhausted inebriation. During the day he sleeps, waking only long enough to eat a little then sleeping again with magical help. And when he wakes at sundown, the honeydew is already there within arm’s reach. No wonder I haven’t seen him for weeks before last night! They’re keeping him intoxicated! A happy Pan makes a happy Neverland, one of the mermaids said. They forgot to consider me. Pan is mine, and I won’t tolerate anyone else harming him.

It’s not his fault. He’s just a child, a child with no one to care for him and no one to tell him that this is wrong. He’s only doing this because he’s hurt and afraid, and with the honeydew the pain goes away. He was deeply wounded when his friends abandoned him, deeper than I suspected - so deeply that he couldn’t let himself forget like he manages to forget everything else. He brooded over their memory, frequently flying back to the little wench’s window to keep the wounds fresh, to watch their happiness with bitter jealousy. He could have had that happiness for himself, he desperately wanted it and all he had to do was to tap on the glass and fly inside. But he feared them, he feared the power love had over his heart and he feared the pain he’d tasted already when the ones he’d loved left him behind. He postured and pretended, maintaining the illusion of happiness here in Neverland, fooling no one but himself. He pretended he didn’t miss his Lost Boys. He pretended that he forgot his Wendy. But I saw through those lies when I realized he’d never bring another child to Neverland. He was too afraid of being left again to allow himself to make new friends.

He had Tinker Bell, and he’d convinced himself that she was all he needed. In a way, she was. She was his oldest and most loyal friend, and she loved him more than any fairy has ever loved a human. Today I finally heard the tale of how she found Peter so very long ago and brought him here – how she saved his life, finding the child shivering in the snow after his parents forsook him. I’ve been assured that he retains no memory of that day and has convinced himself that it was he who left them, but I can’t help wondering if the echoes of that first abandonment still haunt him. It would explain why he fears being left alone more than he fears death.

He’d loved her, and she was the only creature in Neverland that could love him in return. She’s dead. She died two weeks ago, too old by fairy standards to continue any longer. Ironic, isn’t it? A race that will imbue a human child with eternal youth won’t take the same gift for themselves. It’s something to wonder about, but I’ll ponder that mystery another day. Tinker Bell’s death was too much for him, the final blow for the poor boy’s heart. She was his only refuge against the lonely despair that’s hovered at the edges of all his pretends. He couldn’t bring her back to life again, he’d chanted his belief all day and he failed to elicit the slightest flicker in her. With the realization of his utter failure, Peter Pan fell into darkness.

I remember the sudden freeze two weeks ago, but I’d assumed he’d left the isle again to go see Wendy. Little did I know he was so bereft in his grief that he could barely summon the strength to stand, much less to fly. That night the air had miraculously warmed and the land and sea had thawed, indicating to me that the boy had returned. I didn’t realize something was wrong, not for several days. Pan usually came to taunt me at least once a day, but after that short freeze he never again came to my ship. My forays on the island were fruitless and the Indians came to me asking if I’d seen the boy. I was worried for Peter, I’ll admit that to myself and no one else – especially not to him – and that worry drove me to the mermaids yesterday to seek him out.

I learned today that the sudden warming two weeks ago was the result of Peter’s first Revel, of his initial exposure to the honeydew. He was only in attendance because the fairies held the celebration in Tinker Bell’s honor, their version of a wake and funeral. He wept for his lost friend and the island lay cold, so the fairies tempted him with the honeydew to quiet him and revitalize Neverland. They’ve Reveled with him ever since, holding him in blissful oblivion to keep their island green and warm. They don’t care about him, not like Tinker Bell did. They only care about his power over them, and by controlling him they now control that power. Peter’s helpless in his captivity; he’s hurt too deeply to care for himself anymore and he has no one to offer him comfort, no one to help him while he grieves. But he has me, and I hope I’m enough. If I’m not, he’ll die. If he dies, I’ll follow.

Picking my way through the dark jungle, ignoring the sounds of nocturnal beasts hunting nearby, I finally find myself standing at the edge of the Revel. A ring of trees and brush keep my vision obscured, but the glow is bright enough that I could read by it, and the fey music is loud enough to set my bones to singing. I hesitate a moment, sudden doubts arresting my progress before I can step through the final barriers. Do I have the right to do this to him? I care for him, I lust for him, and I suspect that I love him, but does that give me the right to take him away from those that he trusts? He’s oblivious but he’s happy. Is what I have planned better for him?

I shake my head, casting my doubts from me. I’m giving him a choice, a choice those fairies didn’t allow him to make. Once his mind is clear and he’s freed from their grip I’m going to let him choose what kind of life he’d rather leave. If he still wants the honeydew, preferring to drink his life away in the Revels, I’ll let him go. But I won’t spend another day in Neverland and watch him waste away like that, and he truly will be alone when I leave. If he desires death instead of the honeydew, I’ll give him a draught of my own poisonous elixir and hold him tightly until his spirit has fled to whatever place awaits us when our last breath is done.

But if I can help him through this, if I can bring my wonderful Pan back… I’ll be content knowing he’s happy, and we’ll go back to our old game of Hook versus Pan. Whatever comes, it will be what he wants. Isn’t that what you do when you love someone? You let them go, placing their own happiness above your own? I’m not sure if I truly do love him. I’ve never known love, but I think that the warmth and the longing I feel when I look at him is love. There’s definitely lust, too, and if he were anyone else I’d satisfy that lust without a thought. I’m a pirate and I’m used to taking what I want. But I won’t do that to him. The thought of satisfying my lust offends me, and I damn myself for wanting it. I don’t think the idea of forcing him would bother me if I didn’t care for him so. If I were an ounce more a pirate I’d take him, and if I were an ounce more a gentleman I’d shoot myself in the head. I’m damned but I won’t damn him too.

Finding my resolve once more, I step into the clearing, feeling the fairy magic wash over me. I lift my eyes to the heart of the glow and see him floating there. He’s smiling, his eyes bright with joy as he slowly spins in the air, but his movements tonight are more lethargic, his bliss dampened somewhat. Is he tired already?

I hear hissing and angry bells. The fairies aren’t quite drunk enough this time to ignore me, and they know better than to trust my intentions here. If only they knew… For a moment I wonder if they even know it was I who took Peter from them last night or if they suspect I plan to do it again tonight. One brave group of pixies fly towards me, bearing a small bottle of honeydew in their collective grip. They chime words of ‘peace’, ‘truce’ and ‘joy’. I smirk at them in disdain but then the heady aroma of the drink washes over me. My body begins to tingle as my mouth waters, remembering the exquisite taste of the honeydew. My old addiction surfaces and I long to take the bottle and drink my fill of the nectar. I’ll fly with Peter and we’ll dance together in the fairy light, united in our joy and the beauty of the night. Gone will be all the pain and worry, gone will be all the burdens of mortal morals and proprieties. I’ll be free to love him and the ecstasy of our union will outshine heaven itself!

Somehow I shake the images from me, snarling in anger at their manipulations. My heart freezes once my vision clears and I realize I’m holding the bottle to my lips. “God damned Satan spawn!” I hiss, flinging the potion away from me with every ounce of strength I possess. It was the cruelest of temptations and I fall to my knees, weak with the knowledge of what had almost happened.

I must steady myself. I cannot help him if I can’t control my own urges. I cannot help him just yet anyway, the pixies are too aware of me. He’s already drunk and seems to be slipping towards the deathlike slumber honeydew grants when its intoxication wears off. I’ll be able to deal with him more safely if he’s passed out, and by that time the pixies will be too far gone in their own drunkenness to pay any mind to me. I don’t fear the fairies, and given one or even a dozen I have no doubt I could defeat them. But a horde such as this one was enough to carry my entire ship across the skies to take Pan’s traitorous brats home, and they were still strong enough to return it to Neverland. A swarm of this side would tear me to shreds if I even speak to Peter. So I take this time to calm myself, lying back against a rotting log as I stare upwards and watch my Peter dance his life away.

He’s beautiful, exquisite in grace and form. He spins and dives effortlessly, every turn of his wrist a study in perfection. His unblemished skin glows with youth, his cheeks are rosy and his lips beg to be kissed. His lips… I frown as a realization comes to me, an awful suspicion of the pixie’s further duplicity. I beat him into unconsciousness last night and I specifically remember splitting his lip. He should bear some bruising from that. I peruse his face, looking for some sign that last night did in fact happen, and soon I begin to see through the glamour, the illusion falling away a piece at a time. He bears my marks on his face, his cheek and eye are dark with bruises, his lip is split and swollen as it should be. How did I miss them before? Magic? I also begin to perceive other imperfections: his hollow cheeks and sunken belly, the ribs standing out starkly on his chest. The skin I had once seen as golden brown is now yellowed with illness. The sparkle in his eyes looks more like fever shine – he’s further gone than I’d thought. Do they even feed him when he wakes? Do they make sure he actually eats?

The Revel gains momentum as the fairies drink from their small cups, the honeydew inciting them to more erratic displays of drunken delight. They swirl about the boy in a shimmering cloud, caressing his skin and giving him gentle pinches and bites. His laughter is never-ending, punctuated by soft sighs of pleasure and words hissed in an obscure fairy tongue. But he is tiring, I can see it, so I continue to wait, longing with every fiber of my being to pull him to me, to hold him and caress him as those gossamer imps freely do. I want to laugh with him and I want to be the sole source of his pleasure and joy. But I can’t. So I watch his joy with bitter jealousy, just as he watched his Wendy, and I wait for the time when I can take him away with me.

I don’t know how long I sit there before I feel the music shift around me. I’m not sure to begin with how the fairies are making this music; none of them have instruments, and the weirding tones are unlike any other sound I’ve ever experienced in my life. The shift is noticeable and immediate, and it’s so unexpected that it takes me a moment to understand what I’m hearing. He’s singing! His strange dancing has stopped and he hovers there, lying facedown in the air with his arms outstretched. His eyes are shut and he’s singing in a language I’ve never heard before, and it’s with a growing sense of wonder that I realize the pixies are singing with him, their bell-like voices weaving a strange accompaniment.

He’s singing to me! I can feel it with every fiber of my being as the magic begins to flow around me, seeping through the pores of my skin and running through my body like liquid fire. The words rise in volume and his light alto fills me with warmth and love – real love, not the base lust I damn myself for. It’s alright to love him, to want to hold and cherish him. I’ll never hurt him, all I want to do is soothe away his pain and to let him know he isn’t really alone. That I’ll always be here when he needs me. Where is the evil in that?

I can barely stand, my legs are shaking as I climb to my feet, but I’m not afraid I’ll fall. If my legs won’t support me, then I’ll fly; there’s so much dust in the air and my heart is so warm and aching that if I don’t fly I’ll burst. He’s right there; his voice is like an angel’s calling me to heaven.

“Peter,” I whisper, holding my arms out to him, and I feel my feet leave the earth as I rise to him. The boy’s eyes open, dreamy but aware, and he smiles at me.

“James, you came back! I didn’t think you would!” he giggles, his voice filled with joy and what I think is relief. He drifts downward to meet me in the air and I take him in my arms, holding him to me in a tight embrace.

“I’m here, Peter,” I whisper in his ear, smiling as he holds me back. I can’t help but smile at having him here in my arms. He’s mine now, and I won’t let him go. But even as I relish the feeling of having him, my joy becomes bittersweet. His spell is fading with the end of his song, and once more I perceive how ill he really is. Even with the honeydew, I can feel his whole body trembling. He’s going to die if this isn’t stopped, I know it and I’m beginning to suspect the pixies know it too. We’re drifting downwards again, my worry for him and my dismay at his condition destroying the joy that had buoyed me up to him. But our slow, gentle descent confuses me until I see there are a dozen fairies latched onto my coat and pants, easing me and my burden to the ground. What are they up to?

Peter nuzzles my neck, his hot breath on my sensitive skin sending sparks through me. But there’s no perverse arousal this time. He’s sick and my only response to his proximity is an increased desire to give him succor. “Don’t let me go,” he whispers and his trembling becomes more pronounced. “Don’t leave me again, please. Hold me, touch me… love me, like I love you.”

My feet settle to the ground and I stand there a moment, just holding him to me, his bare feet dangling inches above the ground as I support him. I wonder if he has the strength to stand. “I can’t love you that way, and you can’t love me like I love you,” I murmur to him, shifting his body so that I’m holding him with one arm. If he were as heavy as he ought to be, this would have been awkward. He’s so frail and light, almost as if his bones were hollow, and I support his weight easily with my claw arm. “But I promise I won’t leave you, ever. I’m going to help you. Do you want to come home with me?”

“Home…” the boy murmurs, pulling back enough to look at me, his tired eyes drooping. He’s exhausted and now that he’s in my arms, his tired body is trying to relax into sleep. I’m thankful for this; it means that soon I can take him back to my ship. I don’t want him demanding thimbles and caresses in front of my crew. “Don’t have a home. Nowhere to go now, all alone.”

Of course he doesn’t have a home. I discovered his old one and I’ve visited it often enough since then to know he hasn’t tried to occupy it again. Without his little “family”, why should he have bothered finding a new one? He and the pixie had merely been sleeping in whatever treetop was handy when night fell.

“Come to my home, Peter, and let it be yours for a little while.” I don’t know why, but I feel I need his consent before I take him there. Maybe it’s because if he agrees, then it’s not abduction and the pixies can’t claim I stole him from them.

“Your ship?” he asks, his eyes widening as he becomes a little more animated with excitement. “Yes… stay with you, James. With you I’m not alone.” He lifts a shaking hand and lays it against my cheek, his thumb idly rubbing across the stubble of my whiskers. “I’m scared of being alone in the dark. Don’t let me go.”

“By rights you ought to be terrified of where you are right now, boy,” I growl lowly, shooing a few fairies away from us. They seem to be encouraging Peter and me to come together, but they’ll find no thanks from me for their efforts. They’ve done too much damage to be forgiven, and as I gaze at the child’s wasting body I wonder if it’s already too late to save him. How could he deteriorate so quickly? How long has he been sick?

Peter doesn’t seem to have heard my comment, content to continue staring at me with his distant gaze. “I’m tired,” he murmurs, still caressing my cheek. The honeydew is wearing off, then, and he’ll succumb to sleep soon.

“Lay your head on my shoulder and rest,” I tell him, gently trying to remove his hand from my face. My relief when he pulls it away is short lived. He puts both his arms around my neck and plants his lips firmly on mine. His lips are hot, but I’m not sure if it’s from the honeydew or fever. I don’t kiss him back, keeping our contact chaste, but it seems to be enough for him. After a long moment he pulls back, a satisfied smirk on his face. I’m relieved to see that cocky expression, it means there’s spirit left in him yet.

“I stole a thimble,” he whispers smugly, “now you have to steal it back.”

I don’t know how he learned to flirt, but I hope to God he doesn’t persist in doing it when he’s sober. He’s staring at me hopefully, though, and the honeydew’s worn off enough that I see a trace of fear in his eyes. I don’t know if he’s afraid I’ll deny him or if he’s afraid I’ll comply… maybe he’s afraid of both. I don’t know which response will damage him more so I decide to keep as close to the middle as I can. I place a light, parental kiss on his lips, lasting only a moment, and then I lay another, longer one on his delicate forehead. His skin is definitely hot. Please don’t have a fever on top of everything else!

“No more thimbles tonight, Peter, and no more playing. Go to sleep,” I tell him firmly.

“But,” he protests, leaning forward again to kiss me.

“No,” I snap, putting my finger to his lips. “Go to sleep, Peter, or I’ll leave you here alone with them.” It’s a cruel threat and an empty one to boot, but its time for this nonsense to end. I feel a pang when I see tears well in his eyes, and I push his head down so that it’s lying against my shoulder. I hum softly for a few minutes, running my fingers through his golden hair. It’s tangled with leaves and twigs, and it sparkles with pixie dust, but it’s still as soft as down. “Rest, Peter, I’ve got you now and I won’t let you go.”

“Promise?” he whispers, rubbing his cheek against my coat, clutching my collar and shoulder with his fingers.

“I promise,” I answer. He sighs and plants a small kiss upon my neck before lying still, and even as I begin picking my way across the clearing I hear his breaths deepen and slow as he falls into slumber.

A handful of pixies dart in front of me as I leave, their stances challenging as they try to block my passage. They seem to be the only ones left that aren’t mindlessly drunk, and none of the hundreds of other fairies seem to notice the small commotion. One chimes at me furiously, telling me to stay or leave the boy behind, claiming that I have no right to take him. I don’t argue with him, even though the boy has agreed to come with me. Words are wasted on these creatures and they don’t deserve any explanation. They’ve had their chance to help him and they’ve failed him utterly.

“There’s no such thing as fairies,” I say lowly, glaring at the one who’d spoken. The sprite gasps and stiffens, dropping to the ground with a satisfying thump. The others chime in alarm and flee before I can turn my attention towards them, and I chuckle. I glance down, still smiling, to see the dead pixie lying there so still and dark. I’d love to stay and murder a few more, but I’ve much more important matters to attend to. I continue on, grinning when I hear a wet crunch as my boot-heel crushes the fairy’s body like a bloated spider. Perhaps when the boy is well, he and I will extend our truce long enough to go on a pixie hunt. That delightful little daydream lasts me all the way to my longboat.

Smee and the men look at me strangely when I arrive, their minds puzzling over my smile and the boy in my arms. I haven’t told Smee about the Revels, he wouldn’t have trusted me to go alone and there was no way I’d have let him accompany me. I’m going to need him too much to help with Peter, so I didn’t want to risk having to shoot him for defying an order to stay in the longboat.

Smee waves the men back and steps towards me, his eyes roving the boy’s body from head to toe. Doubtless he’s looking for an injury and wondering if I’m going to have him treat the child or help kill him. “Cap’n! You captured Pan? I’ll have the boys prep the brig as soon as we get back to the ship.”

“No, Smee,” I answer, “he came willingly. He’s going to be sleeping in my cabin.”

“Ah,” he nods, but his face bears a mystified expression. “What’s wrong with him that he’d let you carry him?”

“Honeydew, Smee,” I reply. I’d rather go over this in the privacy of my cabin, but we’re out of earshot of the other men so I decide to go ahead and explain. Before I can continue, Smee interrupts, a rather disapproving scowl on his face.

“Cap’n! You swore…”

“Not me, imbecile!” I hiss angrily. “Him! I found him at a Revel. He’s been at them for two weeks now.”

Smee opens his mouth and promptly closes it again, obviously at a loss for words. He knows full well the effects of that evil brew. It was Smee that found me after my own Revel long ago, and him that kept me sequestered and safe until I had overcome my need for more. “Thought those pixies cared about him,” he muttered at last.

“As did I,” I answer. “I can’t very well get my revenge on the brat if he’s drunk all the time, so he’s coming with us. You are going to help me get him sober, and he isn’t leaving until he’s regained control of his faculties. He’s the reason I had you install the chains on my bed and put the hammock up.”

“I was wonderin’ ‘bout that,” Smee said quietly to himself. He nodded, smiling at me, “Well, then, lets get the kid aboard and tucked in, he’s going to be a right handful tomorrow I imagine.” He follows me to the longboat, calling for the two other men to get aboard.

I settle into the boat and give the order to row, ignoring their curious stares. My eyes are only for the boy and I settle him across my lap, cradling him. How I’ve longed to have him, to hold him and keep him as my own. I want to savor this time so that I can have forever the memory of him sleeping peacefully in my arms. When he’s well he’ll leave me again, one way or another, so I’m going to cherish my time with him while I can.

Once I step aboard my ship I go straight for my cabin, Smee hot behind me. The night watch pay me no mind, doubtless they’ve been asleep at their posts and are now trying to overcompensate by scanning the shoreline, hoping I don’t notice the sleep in their eyes. I don’t give a damn about them, the whole crew could fall overboard and drown for all I care. Once in my room, Smee locks the door behind us and makes his rounds, locking all the windows. He’s an idiot at times, but he isn’t incompetent and there’s a good reason he’s my bosun. He gets things done without having to be told.

Carefully, regretfully, I lay Peter in my bed. In the brighter illumination of the lanterns he looks so young and vulnerable that I’m loath to relinquish my hold on him. But I can’t hold him forever. There is a chain attached to the wall beside my bed, and I clamp the manacle on the end of it about the boy’s left wrist. He may have wanted to come here, but I doubt he’ll want to stay, especially once his body starts screaming for the honeydew. I know how it was for me when I went through this, but I was an adult and I only had it once. Will it be easier for him, because of his age and the legendary resiliency of children? How much will his constant exposure to fairy magic affect him? How much worse will it be for him, given that he’s drank it so much? I don’t know, but I’m preparing for the worst. I double check the manacle, making sure it is fastened tightly but not painfully, and then I pull the blanket over him, tucking him into the bed. I don’t really want to give up my bed, but the hammock will be awkward for him if he’s chained and I want him to be as comfortable as I can make him.

“Rest, Peter,” I whisper, gently stroking the boy’s forehead, trying to gauge his fever. It is a fever, I’m sure of it now. I didn’t run a fever when I went through this, so already we’ve sailed into uncharted waters. “Sweet dreams while you can have them, tomorrow we begin to weather the storm.” Checking him one last time, I finally rise and let Smee help me undress and prepare for bed. I can’t help but glance at Peter from time to time - even sick and bruised his beauty fascinates me. And once I’m in my hammock and Smee has gone, leaving me and the boy alone in the dark, I can still see him lying there, a bare remnant of the fairy magic illuminating his skin even now. Unbidden, the memory of my dream arises and I feel an awful ache for what I desperately want but will never, ever have: my beautiful, innocent damnation, Peter Pan.
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Honeydew