First, a bit of a disclaimer. This fanfic was written after a few glasses of wine in a cafe on Table Mountain by myself and an incredible girl (whose name I won’t mention in case this ruins her writing career).
Rarely have I ignored pizza on the table. That’s how much fun I had writing this with you. Thank you 🙂
This story begins after the end of the last Peter Pan book where Peter comes back to visit Wendy for spring cleaning each and every year.
But then, one year, Peter forgot.
Wendy glanced mournfully at the window, the elastic strip pulled tight around her upper arm, needle poised. A single tear fell past her clenched teeth. Will he ever return?
She grew thinner, weaker, waiting in that room, watching the window faithfully. Her brothers grew up and moved out of the room they had shared for so long – but Wendy stayed.
All alone in that big, empty house, she watched the world outside drift past.
Was Neverland..ever? She wondered.
The clock down the dusty stairs gave off a few bleak chimes. She didn’t count how many, it was irrelevant.
There was a tap on the window. She gave it no notice. Then another tap, like metal on glass. Wendy, bleary eyed and only recently down from her last heroin trip, sat up in shock.
A face at the window.
Could it be? The sweet smell of hope penetrated years of heroin-induced fog.
Impossible indeed. For it wasn’t Peter Pan at all. No, it was…
The girl had always captivated him. Feelings had always been pushed aside for the ‘greater good’, for the sanctity of home, but most of all, for the demise of The Lost Boys.
And yet, he could not deny a certain stirring deep within his scabbard. The sight of her with that insipid, insufferable Peter Pan set him on his infamous rages. Poor Smee suffered the brunt of these spells, watching his captain shatter crockery against the main mast – and occasionally, his head.
On the most recent of his rants, Smee, tired of Hook’s destructive attitude finally confronted the Captain.
“Ye be actin’ like a g’damn fool Hook! There are men who love you on board this ‘ere ship! Why are ye all hung up over that thar wench?”
“Ye don’t understand Smee. Since she left the island, nothing has been able to keep my mind off of her. Even that wretched crock!”
He continued. “I can’t sleep. Everything tastes like sand (well, it’s always tasted like sand – yer not known for yer cookin’, hey!). The sky is grey, Smee GREY. GODDAMN GREY and I like BLUE!”
Smee sighed, wishing that blush in his captain’s cheeks would rise for…nevermind.
Resigned, he responded, “Well, why don’t ye go after her, then?”
And so he did.
His heart pounded inside his chest. Would she even allow him in. Her silhouette through the window was thinner, yet more womanly than he remembered. Her hair more wild.
He’d always been the bad guy.
And maybe she wanted him to be.
When Wendy realised the face at the window did not belong to Peter Pan, her disappointment turned into overpowering rage. She picked up a chair and hurled it at that cursed face with surprising force.
Hook, surprised, ducked just in time. The debris settled, he stepped carefully past the dagger-edged shards of glass and into the dusty chamber.
“Wendy,” he said, voice thick with years of emotion.
He took a step towards her, his hand outstretched.
“H…Hook?” Wendy’s voice cracked. The conflicting emotions within her battled to a stalemate.
Disappointed, yet, flattered. Angry, yet, amorous. Broken, yet, liberated.
Her sharp inhalation betrayed her arousal. Hook met hand, hand met hook.
Pan, forgotten for now, flew through the streets of London. Chasing a memory.
To be continued…