And thus perished James Hook.

But truly, did he perish? It seemed, at least to Wendy, Michael, John, Peter, Slightly, and the rest of the Lost Boys and the few remaining pirates, that indeed, he had fallen and had been swallowed whole by the crocodile. That was the end of him.

In a land made of snippets of dreams and snatches of stories, can the villain around which the story revolves truly die? For what is light without the dark, and what is bliss without anguish? Can you define one without its opposite?

So then, what is Peter without his Hook?

He is nothing. And so, when Captain James Hook was swallowed and subsequently killed by the crocodile, and the children had returned to their mothers – well, most of them…Peter, of course, would never return – what was Peter to do? For a time, he flew amidst the trees of the forests of Neverland, and played with the children of the Indian village, and explored caves and crevasses as his yearnings led him to do. Sometimes, he would fly from Neverland, looking again for little boys who fell from their perambulators when their nannies weren’t looking, and in time, he once again had his tribe of Lost Boys…but what of his adversary, his defining opposing force?

Such was the nature of Neverland, that not only did it provide endlessly for every want of Peter’s, it also provided for his physical needs and his emotional needs; and so, Hook again came to be as he was before, and Peter made raids to the Pirate ship as before. Sword clashed with sword, and dagger with hook, and Peter strove against Hook, for without Hook to remind him of all he did not want to be, Peter might forget that he did not want to grow up. One did not kill the other; it was a battle which took place that could never truly end.

Hook had vague recollections, sometimes, when deep in thought over his harpsichord after a few glasses of Muscat, that something terrible had happened to him. He remembered the children, that girl, Wendy, and a great fight, though it became blurry in his mind when he tried to focus upon it.
The events following that seemed hazy as well. It was as if he had come out of a dream. Snippets and hints, snatches of daily events, and then of battles amidst the murky cloud of memory, and now he was here. He tried very hard to place the events which had happened since he had come to Neverland in proper order, to somehow discern how long he had been there. At times, it seemed it had been merely months, and others, as if he had lived several lifetimes worth of years in the ceaseless battle against Pan.

The air had grown cold, and the sea stormy of late, and he looked out over Neverland one morning after a sleepless night, cursing his fate, his misery to be stuck in this place that seemed to be made more of dreams than reality, this place he could never seem to leave, no matter how far he sailed. He was a lonely man, above all. His men followed his orders, and Smee, though the closest he had resembling a friend, was still nothing more than his servant. He could not simply befriend his crew members, a captain had to maintain a certain distance from his crew, lest they find some weakness in him. That was the path to mutiny.

He thought for a time that he wanted to sail forth upon the high seas again, raiding and pirating his fortune, but he was growing tired of the endless fighting, the endless struggle with a boy who plagued him, but that he could never seem to defeat. Perhaps, he wondered, he might want to go someplace quieter…he could never truly settle down, but the life of an outlaw pirate didn’t seem so appealing to him any longer. After all, would it be that difficult to make a living trading goods or ferrying passengers across the open sea? He and his men could still find amusements in a more conventional way. If he were to put them in uniform, order them to clean themselves up and to scrub the ship top to bottom, they really wouldn’t be a too much of disreputable-appearing crew.

But first, he had to find a way to leave Neverland.

Suddenly, a great groaning, creaking noise brought his attention to the present, and he saw that the ice which surrounded the ship was breaking apart, the dark waters showing through the developing chasms between the sheets of pink-tinged ice that the rising sun reflected upon. Quickly pulling his telescope from its holster, he brought it to his eye and searched the skies for the flying figure he knew would be there…perhaps with company if he’d found yet another blasted Lost Boy.

Finally, he caught two figures in his lens, and looked upon them as they flew. It was a girl…no, not a girl, a woman, who flew with his nemesis. From this distance he couldn’t judge her age very well, but she certainly was no child, as the length of her body was nearly twice that of Peter’s.

He wondered if Peter had once again decided to bring a substitute ‘mother’ to his Lost Boys; would she be another story-teller like Wendy?

“Smee, ready the longboat!” he barked out. “We’re going on a search party.” As his men rushed to obey his order, Hook nodded to himself. An adult being brought to Neverland by Peter Pan was an unprecedented event. Not since he himself had been lured to the blasted land had another adult arrived (the Indian village seemed a permanent facet of the island, somehow). He was eager to find out about the new arrival, and perhaps, gain her assistance in luring from Peter the secret to escape Neverland. He knew well enough by now that trying to force it from the boy was a pointless exercise…no, it would have to be coaxed, and if this woman was an adult, she would surely see some reason in his arguments to escape.

And so, the story continues…
@~~~~~@


“Have you ever thought of going back…to Neverland, that is?” Eleanor's teacup clinked quietly in its saucer as she placed it on the small table.

“Sometimes, yes, I have,” Wendy replied, taking a sip of her tea. “I’m not sure I could anymore…it seems that it was a place only accessible in my childhood, that if I were to attempt it again, I shouldn’t be able to find my way there without Peter, and Peter isn’t interested in grown-ups.”

“When you tell me of it, I wish I could go there and see it all for myself before it’s too late…” said Eleanor. “I just wish to have at least one adventure before…” she trailed off, biting her lip as her impending doom seemed to overpower all other thoughts.

“But Eleanor,” Wendy began, “I should think you would be happy…Neilson Harold is a very esteemed man who my father said –”

“Esteemed?” Eleanor cut in bitterly. “Esteemed? As if all I should want is to marry a wealthy trade broker and iron his trousers and warm his bed, and for myself do nothing but embroider and host parties!” she said angrily.

“Well…” Wendy trailed off. “When I was younger, I thought that I should hate it too. But being married is not at all bad. I even find it agreeable. And now, when I think of Neverland, it seems but a distant dream that happened to someone else long ago, and which I only read about. You are a woman now, Eleanor; you’ve grown up, and must put aside those things you dreamed about as a child. Your dreams are not bad, they are simply not realistic. Actually,” she continued after refilling Eleanor’s teacup from the fine bone china teapot and taking up her needlepoint loom again, “this reminds me of something my mother told me about my father once. You see, when I was young, my brothers and I didn’t truly believe my father to be a brave man…he was, you see, just not in a conventionally brave way.

“She told us, that one thing that made him brave, was that when he’d gained a family, he’d put aside his dreams, put them away, you see, in a drawer. And every so often, he would pull them out and look at them, but that over time, it grew harder and harder to put them back into the drawer. His bravery was in continuing to put away his dreams and instead to focus on his responsibilities. I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I’ve learned from that in years since. In a way, I do the same. I write my stories, or tell them to people, and when I am done writing or speaking, I put it away. It’s hard to do sometimes, but still, I do… but that doesn’t mean I can’t still treasure my dreams when I do pull them out.”

Eleanor folded her hands tightly in her lap, pinching slightly at the deep green material of her gown (which Neilson had told her matched her eyes beautifully) as she studied the floor for a moment. It had been her second season after reaching adulthood, and she had been to many parties and social functions. Her parents were friends of the Darlings, and she had known Wendy when she was a child, but Wendy was nearly ten years older than she, and so Eleanor had never really spent much time with her. Her parents, encouraged by the Darlings, had asked Wendy (now Wendy Trunchard) to spend time with their daughter, who seemed not too keen on the thought of doing as a proper woman of her time did: namely, marrying well and making her life conform to that of her husband. Somehow, she couldn’t quite see herself running off to join the suffragettes either.

Now, looking upon her elder friend, she sometimes had trouble imagining the proper and polite woman as a girl with loose hair, a sword in hand as she fought pirates or ran barefoot through a forest and played with a wolf. Had it not been for Wendy’s stories, Eleanor would have never suspected that this woman had ever had troubles with growing up. So, Wendy put her dreams away and only took them out at special times to look at them, did she? Eleanor didn’t feel ready to put her dreams away, only to be looked at occasionally.

Eleanor had finally accepted a proposal after turning down dozens of suitors. Her parents had become increasingly frustrated with her refusal of even the finest young bachelors of London society, and demanded that she accept one of her suitors. Eleanor had chosen a man who didn’t seem too bad, all things considered. He wasn’t particularly handsome: she thought his eyes were too squinty-looking from staring at ledger books too much and his nose was too narrow, but he seemed kind enough, and was doing well in business, and he liked her piano playing and singing. He wanted to move immediately after they married to a home in the countryside, and he had even shown it to her one day the previous month. Eleanor would have servants, and her own carriage, and he had told her she should have all the parties she wished when they were married. In fact, all things considered, he was very generous and thoughtful.

“I just… don’t want to get married,” she finally told Wendy. “I want to go away to the New World, maybe to Brazil or America, and join a surveyor’s expedition and draw maps. I want to shoot guns, and explore, and I want to be on my own…” She sighed deeply, thinking about all the things she wanted to do, but would never be able to. She wondered, too, if perhaps she had been born of simple country folk if it had been any better…but no, they had the same problems, the same customs, and worked all the harder and had shorter lives for their trouble. A woman’s place was a woman’s place no matter if one was rich or poor.

“Eleanor, Mr Harold is a thoughtful man as well as esteemed. I didn’t say anything, but he came to see me last week.”

“He did? What on earth for?” she asked, bewildered.

“He said that he thought you might get lonely in your new home with him, with fewer women around who weren’t servants to talk to. He extended an invitation for us to come and stay with you at any time.” Wendy poked a needle through her needlepoint loom, glancing up at Eleanor with an encouraging smile.

Eleanor sighed, feeling conflicted. “I know he is a sweet and thoughtful man, truly, I do. It is not because I think he is not those things that I don’t want to marry…I simply want another kind of life. I know I will have nearly anything I could ask him for, but he wouldn’t be able to give me what I truly want.”

“It won’t be so bad as you think it would be. I know you will be happy.”

The two women continued their conversation, which soon turned to other, more trivial matters, not knowing that outside the window, which was open to allow the cool September breeze inside, a boy was listening. It was, of course, Peter Pan, who in a moment of uncanny recollection, had remembered Wendy when he wanted someone to tell him a story and no one was there to tell it to him. But Wendy was all grown up now.

However, he thought her friend, Eleanor, sounded like just his kind of person. She didn’t want to grow up either, even though she looked like an adult, she wasn’t really, she wanted to have adventures and be free, just like him.

And so, when the young woman left the home of Wendy, he followed her carriage through the streets of London as the sun set.
@~~~~@


Eleanor sighed as she sat in her bed, readying herself to sleep for the night, slowly brushing her hair, counting out the hundred nightly strokes before pulling it back in a loose plait. There were three months left before her wedding and she felt it approaching as if it were a death sentence. As she lay down, she wondered if she was being unfair to her fiancé. He really wasn’t an unreasonable man. He was considerate, kind, wealthy, and what he had told her of his expectations were also not unreasonable. He wanted for her to sing for him at least weekly, and for her to organise parties for his business partners, and hoped, in time, for her to bear him four children. In return, he would give her a house which many women dreamed of living in, no restrictions on visitors, and frequent gifts and jewels.

But she didn’t want jewellery. She didn’t want to think about having children yet. She felt like she had seen so little of the world – only a small part of England, and she wanted to see so much more of it. When Wendy told her of Neverland, Eleanor had dreamed that she might go there one day and have nothing to do but to enjoy herself and have adventures. Even the tales of the pirate, Hook, had fascinated her.

She closed her eyes to sleep, wishing that she could have been a man; men had so much more freedom and choices in their lives. Or perhaps, she could simply go away to the Neverland of Wendy’s stories, and spend her days in childish pursuits. With that thought, she fell asleep.
@~~~~~@


Silently as he could, Peter opened the window of the bedroom of the young woman he had followed. He hovered over her sleeping form, observing her. She had long, brown hair and fine features. Her nose was prominent, the profile of which was slightly convex, separating her deeply set, closed eyes.

With one dirty hand, he reached forward and traced the profile of her face, startling when her eyes opened suddenly and she screamed. He backed quickly to the ceiling, and they watched each other with wide eyes.

“You’re Peter Pan, aren’t you?” she asked.

Peter smiled. “Yes, I am he.”

“Yes, it seems that my dreams have finally given me what I never could have awake.”

This confused Peter, but he didn’t bother with that. Instead, he floated down to the floor beside her bed. “You aren’t like the other grown-ups,” he said. “I like that. Do you tell stories?”

“Stories? Yes, I suppose I could; mostly though, I like to sing.”

“Singing? That sounds wonderful. Sing me a song!” he demanded brightly, hopping onto the foot of her bed and crossing his legs, smiling at her and resting his chin on fisted hands as he waited for her to accede to his demand.

Eleanor laughed, thinking this boy was a product of her dream, and that she was still asleep. Why shouldn’t she sing for him? She sang a simple song, one which all children seemed to know because it reminded her of the days she was leaving behind, and as she sang, Peter watched her with rapt attention, his pearly teeth gleaming brightly in the moonlight which came in through the window. He seemed enough like a dream-creature. His blond hair was tousled, and his clothing was made of leaves sewn together, just like Wendy had told her.

“That was lovely. Do you know any more?”

“Yes, I know lots more.”

“Oh wonderful!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “The Lost Boys would want to hear you sing too. You don’t want to stay here, so come away with me to Neverland. I wouldn’t usually bring a grown up, but you aren’t really, are you?” Something in the playful sparkle of his eye filled her with a giggly sort of mood, and infectious sort of jubilation.

“No, I suppose not. Everyone I know is too concerned with marrying, and working, and parties and social engagements. I want to go somewhere where I don’t have to worry about any of that. Tell me though; Wendy said there was a wolf in Neverland, and a Pirate, and an Indian village…are they all still there?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Peter mused. “When I get back, I’m going to kill Hook. I thought I had before…” he trailed off, seemingly lost in thought, “but no matter, I will smite him and make a gift to you of his sword!”

“Yes, let’s go to Neverland,” Eleanor said. This was nothing but a dream, a delightful dream: a dream she wanted to indulge in before her real life became nothing but the monotony of marital duty and social functions.

“Wonderful! Follow me over the hill and straight on ‘til morning!” Peter leapt into the air and flew out the window. Eleanor, wide eyed, went to the window, then looked down upon the street below. Even though she felt it was a dream, she couldn’t imagine simply flying away without falling to her death.

“Peter! I can’t fly!” she shouted into the star-strewn night sky.

“Oh…oh, of course, you’ll need this.” He flew back down to her and reached into a pouch, then grinned at her before throwing a handful of sparkling dust upon her. “Fairy Dust!” he exclaimed. “That will make you fly. Now, come on!”

It seemed impossible, but Eleanor began to float, and as it was a dream, the dust he’d thrown upon her was explanation enough that she could now defy the laws of gravity which everything else must heed.

She took his hand, and out the window she flew. It was beautiful, the sky, the moon, and there, in the distance, a shooting star. Over the city they flew, then over the countryside, then further and out over the ocean, the ripples reflecting the moonlight in a dance of dazzling, twinkling spots. Eleanor felt free and happy, and for a moment, forgot all about her impending fate, enjoying the feel of the wind in her hair, the wind which rippled her nightgown, as she flew with Peter. After all, this was only a dream, wasn’t it?

---

Author’s Note: This Peter Pan fanfiction is based on the book, but most of the imagery, and especially the character James Hook, is heavily inspired by the movie in which Jason Isaacs portrayed him in such astounding fashion in the movie ‘Peter Pan’ (as evidenced by the breaking up of the ice as Peter returns to Neverland and the tale of what Wendy’s mother told her about Mr Darling’s dreams in the drawer, which did not happen in the book). I can honestly say that ‘Peter Pan’ is one of the few cases in which I found the movie to be more appealing than the book (here again, only counting the movie with Jason Isaacs…the one with Robin Williams was dreadful).

Reviews are appreciated; I know this archive focuses mainly on Harry Potter and Rowling’s creation, but perhaps a Peter Pan fanfic would not be out of place here.

Floating through the air had felt free, thrilling, and dream-like, and now as they approached the canopy of trees of the Neverland forest, it felt even more so. Eleanor felt like a bird coming in for a landing.

“This way to the hideout!” Peter called to her, turning back to flash his white pearly teeth at her in a wide, childish grin. His happiness was catching, as if everything he touched couldn’t help but laugh and dance with Peter’s joy. Eleanor felt a slight pang of jealousy that she had never been so free as a child. Always, her governess had insisted on proper behaviour. She couldn’t run and play as she sometimes saw other children – poorer children – doing in the park and in the streets. Her governess, a stern, dark-haired woman who always wore black frocks with collars which came to her heavy chin, would always look disdainfully at the boys and girls who had dirt on their hands and faces, and had taken pride that Eleanor’s hair was always in place, her hands always clean, and her manners always impeccable.

How she had envied them.

She decided this dream must be her chance…if she couldn’t be free to play and get dirty in reality, then perhaps, in this beautiful dream, she could do all the things she wished she could have done…but only for a short while, only before she was to be married…

“Peter, help!” she cried out suddenly when she realised that she was falling, and that no matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to regain that feeling that made her lighter than air.

Like a flash, Peter flew beneath her, grabbed her about her middle with his skinny arms, and tried to lift her, but Eleanor was too heavy for even Peter’s exclusively happy thoughts, though he was able to slow her fall. They landed in the foliage beneath a great tree with a light ‘thump’ in a tangle of limbs.

“I’ll be right back with help,” Peter assured her. His confidence, too, seemed unshakable.

Eleanor could only nod as he leapt into the air and flew high into the trees again. She took a moment to look around her. The ground was soft, moist, and springy beneath her stocking-clad feet, and the air was fresh and sweet with the scent of honeysuckle on the light breeze which caused the undergrowth, consisting of elephant ears and leafy vines seemingly pouring from the trunks of the trees, to sway gently. High overhead the trees towered, and she could see specks of blue sky where the leaves were thin enough. Then, in the distance, she saw the figure of Peter again, only this time, four more boys were flying, flanking him as if they were geese flocking together.

They dove and rose together, weaving between limbs of trees so closely Eleanor feared they would crash and fall to their deaths. They didn’t though, and soon they landed safely in front of her and Eleanor smiled as she looked down at them. Her governess wouldn’t have approved at all of these Lost Boys.

Peter stepped forward and bowed deeply at the waist. “A rescue party, at your service!” he exclaimed brightly. “This,” he said, sweeping his hand to indicate the left-most of the boys, “is Digger.” Digger smiled at her, tipping his hat, which was fashioned from thin bark made in the shape of a top-hat. His fingers were so grubby she could barely see the skin, and he had a smear of muddy dirt under his nose, which looked rather runny.

“And this is Gaps.” Eleanor puzzled at the name, until the boy smiled…revealing wide gaps where his front teeth should have been. “Hook knocked his teeth out last time we decided to raid the pirates…but that’s okay, Gaps thought it was better because he didn’t like the name he had before.” But what name that was, Eleanor didn’t find out, as Peter went on with the introductions.

There was Toots next…whose naming became immediately apparent…Eleanor couldn’t help but giggle at the flatulent little black-haired boy; her governess wouldn’t have approved of that either! And last, was Flipper. He was the cleanest of the boys; no dirt marred his deeply tan coloured skin. He was the most solemn looking of the children, too. Peter told her that he found the best clams and muscles for them to eat in the lagoon, and understood the Mermaid’s language nearly as well as himself. Eleanor assumed that he must spend enough time swimming that he kept clean that way.

They were all dressed in an odd combination of leaves, feathers, and scraps of clothing that were so far gone with wear and tear, Eleanor couldn’t tell what their original form was.

“Now, to the hideaway!” Peter commanded, and the four boys immediately took to action, each grabbing a limb of Eleanor’s, and Peter grabbing her around her waist. Together, they lifted her into the air, and flew into the canopy of trees. Eleanor shrieked in a combination of fear and delight as she was carried away.

@~~~~~@

“To the Black Lagoon, Mr Smee,” Hook commanded; his heavily booted feet thumped in the belly of the boat as he stepped into the bow.

“Aye, Captain,” Mr Smee acknowledged as he rowed the longboat around the shore along with three other pirates. Hook watched with his keen blue eyes the place in which Peter and the woman had vanished. He knew they had found another hideout…the one he had discovered long ago had been abandoned, and he had searched far and wide to find the new location, but Neverland, while small, seemed to have endless places to hide. His eyes seemed to take on a red glint, which went unnoticed by his crew, who were too busy rowing and wouldn’t dare look their captain in the eye at the moment.

In years past, Hook would have wished to cut the boy limb from limb and feed him to the crocodile that haunted his worst nightmares. Somehow, he seemed to be able to call up images in his dreams of what that crocodile was like from the inside…burning stomach acid, darkness, and enormous pressure…and it was terrifying.

He saw the flash of sunlight on a fin, and wished he could catch one of those Mermaids. Mysterious creatures, mermaids were; they would know the secret to leave Neverland, but he never could catch them. He still felt flashes of murderous rage and anger regarding his situation, but mostly he felt tired, as if any of the pleasure he had taken from causing pain and terror previously had ceased to matter. Even his leisure pursuits, the harpsichord, his whiskey and Muscat, seemed only to lessen the dullness which life possessed. Some days, it seemed even getting out of bed to hunt down the miscreant Pan and his Lost Boys was too much to even contemplate.

But today, today he had a new hope. With a smirk, he withdrew his pistol from its holster, and poured a measure of powder into the barrel, following that by an iron ball and a small wad of cloth which he tamped down firmly with the rod. He caressed the tooled steel of the barrel of his pistol a moment. Perhaps, today, if he didn’t find a lost boy to shoot, he would practice elsewhere. Shooting his crew was fun, but one couldn’t do that too often, as the crew were needed to run the ship.

Twenty minutes after setting off from the ship, Hook and his pirates were crashing through the jungle. Bill Dukes was hacking away at the undergrowth with an odd swing; his backward hands made most activities awkward for him.

They tramped and hacked, searched and cursed, but couldn’t find the lost boys. They even searched the former hideout, but it was long abandoned; mushrooms and moss grew plentiful around the entrance, and inside, underground, the roots of the tree under which the hideout was situated had completely obscured the former hollow.

Growing angrier by the hour, and frustrated by dusk setting in, he tramped through the forest.

“Pan!” he bellowed to the trees. “Pan! Come and meet me, you cowardly boy! Bring your new friend! Pan!” He stood for several moments, sharp blue eyes watching the trees for any flit of movement, but the only movement was that of the trees and undergrowth swaying gently in the breeze.

Scowling, he turned to his pirates and directed them to go back to the ship. However, Hook himself remained behind. He removed his flashy clothing, hat, and shoes; only his earth-toned trousers and a dark shirt he’d brought remained on. He decided that on the morrow, he would find Pan. In the meantime, he would sit in wait, watching for the boys to make a mistake, thinking that he would be on his ship.

In the low crook of a tree, he made a nest for himself of his clothes. He began to strip off his shirt to take off the harness and hook which grew increasingly uncomfortable through each day, but hesitated, and instead, decided to keep it on, just in case. It wouldn’t do for the boy to come upon him unprepared.

And so, ignoring the pinching upon his stump of a forearm, and the chafing of the straps around his torso, he made himself as comfortable as possible and drifted off to sleep…he thought, just for a moment, that he heard the sound of a clear voice singing a familiar lullaby…and just for a moment, he was reminded of his own childhood; his mother had sung that tune to him as a small boy…

@~~~~~@

High in the treetops, Eleanor crouched, peering through the boughs which obscured the tree house from view. There was only one way up or down, and that was to fly. The boys had snickered throughout the day as they had spied on the pirates below, who seemed to take it as their mission to destroy everything in their path. Eleanor had watched in horror as the boys dared each other to take increasingly higher risks, seeing how close they could get to the pirates without being discovered. Fortunately, they were never discovered.

She watched Peter closely as, finally, Hook had yelled for him. She saw the eager twitch of Pan’s lithe little muscles, but he’d held back even though he could barely resist the dare.

They dined later that evening on raw oysters brought up by Flipper, and on roasted tubers and mushrooms dug up by Digger. Peter Pan sat back after his meal, and requested a song from Eleanor.

She sang a soft melody to the boys, watching as they grew quiet and introspective. She saw, one by one, that they seemed to be taken elsewhere for a moment…and she saw Gaps, at one point, mouth the words, ‘Mother, Mother, I miss you…’

Eleanor wondered how these boys had come to be lost…had they really fallen out of their perambulators? Were their mothers, perhaps, missing them? Or were they orphans, instead?

She, too, was tired from her long day, and then she realised if she felt so tired, this couldn’t be a dream. She really was in Neverland.

---

Sorry for the long update time; I’ve been distracted by real life stuff. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! I really appreciate it! :-)

A/N: Reviews would be welcome, if you feel so inclined. Thank you.

---

When Eleanor awoke the next morning with a sunbeam shining brightly in her face, she yawned and stretched widely, then sat up. Across the bamboo floor of the tree house, she saw Peter and a number of fluttering lights circling his head. She realised, rubbing the sleep from her eyes blearily, and upon staring a moment to be sure, that it was fairies flitting around his head, speaking to him in high-pitched voices. After a moment, all the sparkling fairies flitted out of the tree house, and Peter leapt to his feet.

“Get up, everyone! Hook is sleeping in a tree, and he’s alone!” Eleanor realised that that was what the fairies had come to tell Peter. She watched, first in excitement, then in dawning shock, as the boys pulled knives and swords out, brandishing them, shouting and laughing as they bragged about what they would do.

“I shall chop off his other hand! Then a foot too!” Peter yelled.

“And I,” declared Toots, “will chop off his hair, and wear it on a headband!”

“I say we toss him to the Mermaids,” Flipper said with a cruel gleam in his eye.

Adventure was all well and good, but this sort of talk terrified Eleanor. She couldn’t imagine simply going out to search for this man, even if he was mean, to chop off a hand or a foot, or to toss him to Mermaids, who she remembered from Wendy’s stories were dark creatures, seductive but deadly, and eager to drown any who came into their reach.

“Wait!” she interrupted. “I, oh…I’ve got a better idea.” She smiled weakly as the lost boys turned to look at her.

“Well, what is that?” Peter asked.

“Well, I remember from Wendy’s stories that he is the best-dressed Pirate in all of Neverland.” They all looked at her in confusion. “And, since my arrival, I have had nothing but this simple nightdress to wear.” In fact, the nightdress was already torn and dirty. “I need new clothes, and if his clothes are the best around, we should take his wardrobe while he sleeps in the tree!” she declared.

She hoped that this would involve little bloodshed, and was glad as the boys all giggled, that this mischief seemed just as appealing to them as horribly maiming a person. Peter sprinkled her with more fairy dust before they left to give her extra help in flying, and together, the six figures flew from the tree house towards the shore.

@~~~~~~~@

Hook awoke about an hour after sunrise, slightly stiff from his night in the tree. He felt groggy, but quickly pulled himself together and silently snuck from the tree to the ground, his pistol at the ready, eyes scanning the treetops, the ground, and any shadows as he made his way through the forest. Surely he would catch these boys at their play. He crept silently from the tree and, keeping his pistol at the ready, went in search of the lost boys.

The sounds of tropical birds calling to each other filled the morning air, the buzz of insects punctuating the chorus of chirps and whistles occasionally as they whizzed by his head. He walked slowly, careful to make little impact that could be tracked. The morning grew warmer, and trails of sweat beaded down his back. His stump itched within the cup which held his hook; he was able, after long practice of enduring the discomfort and nagging aches, to ignore it. Though he did ignore it consciously, the discomfort did make him generally more angry; the constant reminder of what the boy had done to him spurred his bouts of cruelty to further heights.

This morning, though his intent had been to find the woman and reason with her, he found himself growing more and more agitated as he searched, finding not a trace of any lost boys. He searched the trees relentlessly too, thinking that since they could fly they might have chosen a home on higher ground, but he could see nothing but thick boughs of leaves and many branches. There could easily be a mansion built in the canopy and he would never know it was there.

Towards noon, he decided to give up his search of the forest, and began his return to the lagoon, where his boat would be waiting. He forgot his careful stride, and was soon stomping through the thick foliage, ripping vines in his path with his hook and cursing when they tangled in his long curly hair.

Just when he thought his morning was as dreadful as it could get, he arrived at the lagoon and found his boat was missing. With a growl of rage, he raised his pistol to send a signal to his crew, but then he heard gunshots and yells from the ship anchored two hundred yards from shore.

“Pan!” he whispered as he watched the very object of his morning’s search fly high into the rigging of his ship. Tiny figures of the other lost boys whipped about the ship at high speed, while his crew scrambled on deck, shooting pistols, cannons, and creating a general undirected bedlam.

@~~~~~~@

Eleanor was starting to regret her decision as she clung to a bundle of rigging which hung over the side of the ship, seated in one rope which was loosely looped. Her cheek rested against the wood of the ship’s hull. Above her, feet scrambled about the deck, gunshots rang out, and the smell of rotten eggs, the sulphur from the black powder, was sickening. She nearly screamed as a pirate fell overboard just over her head, making a large splash in the ocean below. Another followed the first, this time several feet from where she clung. She was waiting for the signal from Pan to climb aboard and invade the captain’s cabin of the ship.

A cannon shot rang out, nearly causing her to lose her grip as she teetered on the rope; more gunshots rang out, pirates yelled, screamed and cursed, all the while the lost boys laughed and flew around as if they were having the greatest fun.

“Peter Pan is mad,” she muttered. “Absolutely mad!”

Now that she’d met him, the boy who had seemed a wondrous adventurer in Wendy’s stories now seemed more like a boy who should be locked away for his own safety and the safety of others. She thought it ironic that in the middle of all this ‘adventure’ the thought of what she’d run from came to her mind; running a well-to-do household with many servants under her command and a husband who would have been rather accommodating didn’t seem such a bad fate after all.

She screamed and looked up as a hand suddenly grasped hers, and saw the wild face of Peter above her. She sighed, realising it had become eerily quiet on the ship.

“Pan clothiers now open for business!” he declared, grasping her other hand and pulling hard. Eleanor climbed up with his assistance, looking with wide eyes at the remaining pirates, who were all tied together around the ships’ mast. Some looked injured; one had a deep gash across his face which was bleeding steadily, while another had what looked like a gunshot wound in his leg, and yet another an open and profusely bleeding gash across his chest. Most looked generally bloodied, though she stopped short when she turned and saw one pockmarked, though rather young looking man, lying dead on the deck.

I want to go home, she thought.

Peter Pan bowed graciously, extending his hand. “Captain’s cabin this way, ma’am,” he said. Shakily, Eleanor followed him up the narrow stairs and into the captain’s well appointed cabin. She felt dizzy and faint as another boy, Toots, ran into the room and began riffling through the wardrobe while Peter threw open the large chest and began pulling out more clothes.

“I want to go home,” Eleanor whispered, but the boys didn’t hear her. They were too busy shouting playfully to one another and flinging clothing about. Eleanor looked over the assortment of fine linens and bright brocades numbly. She spotted on the far wall a harpsichord and crossed silently to it, sitting on the bench and lifting the fine cover to expose the keys. Her fingers found their place automatically, despite their shaking, and she played a tune which had always been a favourite of hers, the peaceful music in the present situation lending to a general air of surreal, dream-like shock.

Maybe she wasn’t cut out for adventure after all. She’d read many stories of adventures, and even of pirates and murder which had been invigorating, enchanting, and had inspired dreams that made her blush to think of them in the light of day, but faced with it personally, she felt weak, incapable of handling it. She hadn’t wanted anyone killed, and over what? Some silly clothes.

@~~~~~~@

It took him a long time to swim to the longboat, which he had found drifting thirty yards from shore, and to climb in without upsetting the boat. As he rowed to his ship, the noise of battle abated, and it was silent. He knew that without his leadership, his crew was nearly incapable of handling the simplest of tasks, so it was no surprise that a stupid boy had managed to create so much trouble. Pan would pay, he decided. And if that girl – or woman, whichever she turned out to be – had been a part of it, then she would pay too.

A captain knows his ship better than any of the crew, and so it was that Hook decided to go to the secret entrance to his cabin which was high on the hull, accessible by way of a porthole window which led into a storage closet in his cabin. He climbed slowly, very slowly, and once inside his closet, stopped, listening to the sound of his harpsichord being played. He nearly burst into the room with the thought of shooting whoever dared to play his instrument, but instead he listened for a few moments as the music played and the sounds of the infuriating boys riffling through his things came to him.

James Hook put an eye to a small crack in the door, though he was frustrated that all he could see was the occasional article of his clothing being tossed about. What were they doing with his clothes? He stood back, raised and cocked his pistol, then kicked the door and strode into the room.

He almost wanted to laugh at the stunned faces of the three in the room, but his eyes fell on the woman, a young woman he saw now, in a torn and dirty nightdress, who had stopped playing and now sat half-turned towards him. Her eyes widened in fear and he saw her breath catch and he grinned cruelly at the reaction he produced in her; his heart pounded with the thrill of battle, of the chase, and of the pleasant change in his quarry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pan coming at him with a sword, and quickly levelled his gun and fired, hitting the boy; the force of the shot threw Peter across the room. He began re-loading leisurely, levelling his gaze at the other boy, who seemed too stunned to move; he was staring open-mouthed at his fallen leader.

Just as he levelled the pistol again to shoot the other boy, a rush of movement to his left surprised him, and the impact of the young woman against his arm caused his shot to land directly in the centre of his very large mirror. He stepped aside to catch his balance, but he was standing in a pile of his own clothing and tripped, falling and landing with a weight atop him. When he came to rest with the sounds of shattering glass raining upon the floor of his cabin, he saw the frightened, though determined, eyes of the young woman were inches from his own.

A struggle ensued, which he won quickly, pinning the girl under him and sitting astride her waist. His hook point directly pressed to her throat stilled her movements soon enough as she saw the futility of struggling.

Pan, as it turned out, was not dead; the ball had hit him above the collar bone on his right side, punching through muscle tissue; his arm hung limply, but it would heal with little long-term difficulty, unlike Hook’s own injury. Peter arose shakily with the other boy’s help, as Hook sneered at them. “It seems I’ve caught a little songbird,” he mocked.

Eleanor struggled beneath the strong thighs of the pirate captain, but he had her held firmly. He looked down at her a moment, gave her a sly wink, before he looked back to Peter Pan.

“It appears I’ve won this round, boy. Get out now, or die…”