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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.

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Laura slowly woke, comforted by the rocking of the ship. She frowned, dozing, thinking of the dreams from the previous night. The man at the bar, waking in the sea. Then being picked up by non-other than Captain Hook. She chuckled a little. That’s what she got for watching too many movies.

Stretching, she was startled to notice that her tiny cruise ship bed had been replaced by a much larger one, with decidedly finer sheets. Opening her eyes, she let out a gasp.

“This is the longest dream ever,” she muttered, looking around. She was definitely not in her tiny cabin. Instead, dark wood walls surrounded her, the only light streaming in from a large window. A large desk sat in front of the window, cast in shadow by the massive chair behind it. A long table with two chairs took up the middle of the room. The air was rich with smell of the sea, and sweet tobacco smoke.

“I take it you have rejoined us, then,” a deep voice said, emanating from the chair that was facing the window. Laura felt her stomach drop as the captain rose from the chair and turned to regard her with an arched eyebrow. He had removed his coat and hat, now wearing a loose fitting shirt that revealed much of his chest.

Too much, she thought, catching herself ogling the man and quickly returning her eyes to his face. His smirk told her he had caught her as well.

Turning in the bed to face him, she opened her mouth to retort when she realized she was wearing only a loose fitting shirt like the captains, and that it too verged on revealing too much. Clutching the front of the shirt together, she pulled the covers back over her bare legs.

“Where are my clothes?” she asked, alarmed by her state of undress with a strange man. Not that she hadn’t been in the situation before, but she could at least usually remember what had happened before the undressing.

“Well,” he said, coming around the desk, “I was hardly going to dampen my bed with your sea-soaked clothing. If you could call what you were wearing clothes.” He added the last statement while giving her a disapproving glare. “I had Smee change you into something dry after you fainted,” he continued.

She frowned at him for a moment without speaking and then shook her head.

“Now this is becoming the worst dream ever,” she said, looking at him with confused amazement.

He frowned and crossed his arms, his hook gleaming against his white shirt. “So I’ve gone from being an actor to a figment of your imagination, have I?”

She shrugged helplessly as she climbed out of bed. Having recovered from the shock of his presence and decided there was no harm in letting her own dream see her half naked, she proceeded to walk around the room, inspecting different trinkets here and there.

“Well, what else could you be?” she asked. “I probably had too much to drink at the bar last night, passed out, and now am having some dream that’s symbolic of my sexual frustration and calling up a twisted fantasy involving a storybook villain. I mean, I watch way too many movies and read way too many books and have a very vivid imagination.”

She turned back to regard him for a moment, moving closer even as he gave her suspicious glare.

“The thing that’s really weird though,” she said, looking up to study his face. “Is you don’t look anything like the Hooks from the movies. I guess it’s Jason Isaac’s eyes, but everything else…” she trailed off. She was suddenly very conscious their physical closeness. The wariness had faded somewhat from his face, replaced with something that caused a flutter low in her stomach. She backed away, quickly crossing her arms over her chest.

“Must be a conglomeration of actors,” she muttered, putting the desk between them again by moving to the window.

“Damnation, girl,” he said loudly, making her jump and whirl to face him. “I am not a conglomeration or a figment!” He emphasized the point by slamming his hook into the desk.

“Well you can’t be real,” she yelled back, turning her back stubbornly on him.

“Why not?” he asked as he pulled his hook out of the desk, causing the wood to splinter.

“Because you’re part of a fairy tale. And fairy tales aren’t real. Therefore, you aren’t real.”

“You seem quite convinced,” he said, his voice dangerously civil.

“The only alternative is that I’ve lost my mind,” she said, keeping her back to him, “and that’s not very appealing.”

“And there’s nothing I can do to convince you otherwise?”

Laura ignored the fact that his voice was much closer now. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“Then perhaps you would care to tell me why I would be a symbol of your sexual frustration.”

Laura went very still, processing his question, and very aware that he was now directly behind her. So close that she could feel his breath on her hair. She continued to face the ocean.

Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she said “Well, dashing pirates are a common source of romantic fantasy, aren’t they? And with the recent movies and all…”

“Did you just call me ‘dashing’, Miss Laura?” Her breath caught at his silky tone. She felt his arm start at her shoulder and slide down her arm. A sudden stinging above her elbow made her hiss and he pulled away.

Pulling up her shirt sleeve, she saw a long cut scabbing over.

“That hurt,” she said, staring at the cut.

“Yes, I’m afraid I cut you when you fell yesterday,” he replied, taking a small step back, his face impassive.

“Things aren’t supposed to hurt in dreams,” she said, turning to look at him with wide eyes. She looked back at the cut and winced as she ran her own finger across it. She turned her eyes back to his.

“This isn’t a dream?”

He sighed, “No, it isn’t.”

“And I’m not crazy?”

He smirked slightly. “That remains to be seen, but you do not seem mad at the moment.”

Her eyes dropped to metal hook shining at his side. “And you’re Captain Hook?”

“I believe I did introduce myself yesterday.”

She felt a flicker of fear as the gravity of her position settled in. She stepped away from him, pressing her back against the wall.

“Oh shit,” she whispered.

“Such language from someone so lovely,” Hook tutted. The way his eyes slid down her body made her aware of how her shirt had slid off of one shoulder. Righting it she darted around him and to the bed. She snatched up a blanket and wrapped it around her like a cloak.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, eyeing the door.

Smiling wickedly, Hook closed half the distance between them. “I had originally thought to allow you to recover, offer you a meal and suitable attire, but if you have other suggestions?”

“Then what?” she asked, ignoring the innuendo and trying to subtly shift toward the door.

Hook was not fooled. “Well,” As he spoke he wandered a few steps to place himself between her and the door. “I suppose I could offer you a place on the ship, or maroon you on the next slip of land we find. Do you have a preference?”

“I don’t suppose you could just take me home?” she asked, attempting a smile.

Hook shook his head regretfully, and for a moment, Laura believed he was sincere. “I’m afraid that will not be possible,” he said.

“But why not?” she asked, irritated at the desperation in her voice. “You could just drop me at whatever the nearest port is, and I’ll be fine.”

“The nearest port is Neverland,” he replied simply.

“Okay, then the next nearest,” she said, fighting panic and tears.

Hook’s gaze held hers. “I’m afraid that will not be possible,” he repeated.

“Weren’t you the one yesterday that said something about the impossible being possible?” she asked, drawing nearer.

He smiled wearily. “There are some things that are impossible even to impossible creatures.”

“But I have to go home!” she cried, her eyes and throat burning as she lost the fight against the tears.

For a moment, Hook’s cold eyes thawed as he regarded the girl before him. Her hair hung wild around her tan face. Even though her hand clutched the blanket at her chest, one shoulder was still exposed. He tore his eyes from the exposed flesh and when his eyes met hers again, they were cold.

“You can’t,” he said, and turned and snatched his coat and hat from a near by hook and left, slamming the door behind him.

Thanks for reading!
-L
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Straight on Til Morning