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He was not propositioning her to join the crew of the Jolly Roger out of the goodness of his heart - which was impossible anyway. Hook had no goodness in his heart, and all those who dared to imply the contrary would soon find themselves on the wrong end of his hook, just before he cut them open like he would a langoustine.
Wendy was all too aware of that; beautiful his blue eyes might be, but there was also a coldness within them. Not one that reminded her of a lovely winter’s day on which Mr and Mrs Darling would take them to skate on the ice rink in Regent’s Park, but rather of the days where the snow fell so violently and the streets turned into veritable ice rinks themselves so that no one left the house.
As courteous as he might be towards her, he was still a monster. He had been downright gleeful about killing her brothers, and even moreso to kill Peter. She had seen the twisted smile as his hook was a mere hair’s breadth away from Peter’s eye, a smile that looked as if the Devil himself had carved it into his face with a single sword’s stroke.
And at last, Wendy couldn’t help but feel entranced by his entire self. There was something so alluring about him, his voice, his mannerisms, his clothes, even his scent (tobacco, rum, and something else… it smelt of fire, with just a hint of violet, sweet but unequivocally dangerous) that drew her in like a moth to the flickering flame of a lantern. Yet, these same things disgusted and even horrified her, like when one summer’s day she saw a white cat tearing apart a poor robin in the garden. Blood has stained its face and Wendy had screamed, ran back inside and told her mother about it, That night, to calm her down, her parents had sat by her bedside, her father stroking her hair and her mother telling her a story, that of Rapunzel, until she finally fell asleep.
Was this what the robin had felt like before the cat had pounced on it? Just like Wendy did when Hook, a worried expression on his face as he wiped away the silent tears that rolled over her cheeks with a creamy white linen cloth, taken from his breast pocket. Wendy wanted to pull back when it touched her face, but was surprised at how warm it felt… his warmth? Yet she did not dare to lean in, too set in her place she was by his eyes. It was like when she saw him at the Black Fortress for the first time in the flesh, not just in her dreams or the stories she told to John and Michael.
Then he brushed aside a strand of hair with his hook, and she was able to feel the cold metal through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She feared he would try to touch her again with the hook, that it would gradually turn her to ice and freeze even her heart - that she would end up just like Hook. Wendy shook herself as she lay in the hut that had been set down by the pirates again. She had not meant to think about the offer but Hook’s words had wormed themselves into her mind, and she was unable to find rest while they echoed in her head, along with the pirate captain’s face appearing to her whenever she closed her eyes. Would she like to be a pirate? She would be Red-Handed Jill, a fearsome and swash-buckling swordswoman, men would shake and shiver at the mere mention of her name, and at night she would tell stories to the men and Hook. Was that really so different to when she told stories to her brothers? And she could tell the stories John and Michael didn’t like, like the Pied Piper, the story about the White Bride and the Black One, or Mother Hulda. Pirates who pillaged and plundered would surely have different standards than the Lost Boys, who were all exactly that - little boys.
Wendy drifted off into an uneasy sleep and dreamt of salty air, the smell of gunpowder, swords clashing during ferocious duels, and twinkling eyes the colour of forget-me-nots. When she was with the Lost Boys again, she felt strange and joyless. With horror she realised that not only could she not remember her parents, be it their voices, their smiles, or their kindness, but neither could John and Michael! But there was something else… something within her itched most uncomfortably whenever she was called “Mother”. She could not be Mother on her own, not when Peter refused to be Father! It was not fair, just like it was not fair that he was unable to feel love or to even reciprocate what she might be feeling for him!
Then, when Peter came back and shamelessly mocked “Red-Handed Jill”, Wendy felt red-hot anger burst inside her. How dare he! Was everything she did to be met with his disapproval! Her feelings were shocking to him, he thought she would make a bad pirate, and he got angry when she said she and her brothers had to return to London before they would be forgotten by their parents. They weren’t alone in their desire to go back; the Lost Boys also had begun asking for their parents, some of them even crying over how they had utterly forgotten them. What a tragedy! Wendy assured them they would take them along, until she considered that she didn’t even know how to get back home. Without Peter flying them, what means did they have? And even if they could fly, she did not know the way! Peter had said something… but just like the memory of Mr and Mrs Darling, it was as if that knowledge was behind a thick fog.
Was Neverland doing this to her, to all of them? It had only been a single day, and she already struggled to remember. She needed to clear her head, then she would see what to do next. A small voice whispered something, the voice of a man, that Wendy tried to ignore as best as she could. He could not know… or could he? Wendy thought about waiting for Peter to perhaps ask him again. He had not outright rejected her… but just thinking about Peter both made her angry and sad. What if he were to say no again?
Wendy made a decision; she told the Lost Boys to gather their things and her brothers to wait for her. Then, she left the treehouse when she was sure no one was taking note of her.
Hook did not believe in miracles, but when he saw Wendy Darling stalking through the forest, he thought for a split second that maybe, despite her better judgment (and she surely had to possess that, since she was growing up), some higher power made it that she actually believed him.
“Smee,” he hissed without looking, assured that Smee would hear him and do as he was told, “take the entire crew back to the ship, before she sees a single one of you.”
He didn’t need to say that any pirate spotted by Wendy that would make her flee back to where she came from would be forced to walk over the plank with not a spark of mercy granted to him. There was shuffling as his men fell to their knees and crawled through the ferns, not daring to get up and tower over the plants. Hook grimaced. For as devoted they were to him, they still weren’t willing to face the Crocodile and kill it… what a crew they were. He waited for Wendy to pass by where he was hidden behind a tree.
She was tall for her age, her strawberry blonde hair open but for the small braid she had carried even last night. She wore a pensive expression on her face and seemed so absorbed in her thoughts that maybe she would have not even noticed the entire crew of the Jolly Roger, were they still here.
It had been a long time ago since when Hook had last seen a girl on Neverland that wasn’t from here, never mind an English one. Girls never came to Neverland, that was one of the first lessons he had learned as a Lost Boy - a fact that at first delighted him, then… shifted towards disappointment. It was around the same time when Hook had begun thinking about matters that weren’t just playing games - such as his mother and how she might feel about him being gone, what he could possibly do the day he grew tired of playing games, and how immature and childish the others always were. What he once loved had become boring and embarrassing, and in turn he became boring and embarrassing in the eyes of the others. And still, he had not hated Pan back then, rather seen it as a blessing to finally be set free and see the world.
Still, he had not lied to Wendy when he told her that growing up and adulthood was inconvenient. He knew of other Lost Boys who left Pan because they too grew tired of games and eternal youth, wanted to go back home and looked forward to what might change in their lives as time went on. Some of them returned and were never heard of again. Others joined him in his crew, although for some reason, all but him forgot about having been members of Pan’s little group. He never saw a need to tell them because it didn’t matter - just like it didn’t matter to him, he simply knew that it was like that but thought nothing of it.
He watched Wendy as she walked into the direction of the shore and set after her, slower, careful to not be seen by her which wasn’t as easy as one might think since half way on her way out, she grew unnerved and looked back into the forest, apparently indecisive whether to continue or not. Hook remained hidden but ready to stand in her way, should she decide to turn around and walk back to the others.
Why was he even so insistent on getting her on his side?
Hook shook his head as if he was chasing away a bothersome fly. This wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about at this very moment. It was one thing for Wendy to grow up while with the Lost Boys and leaving them to go back to England, or even Pan telling her to leave to not disturb him and his childish band, than for her to go to him. Pan couldn’t grow up, such was the law of things, and to see Wendy grow up - and she would, because all who eyed adulthood even once and were taken in by her allures did - would break him.
To see her grow up and by his side would destroy him.
Hook had to grin, just thinking about it lightened his mood considerably.
He didn’t need her to become a pirate to defeat and kill Pan. She could also just be driven to leave, and Pan would be off worse than before and thus vulnerable.
Yes, but why not make matters more interesting?
It wasn’t by long when the salty breeze caressed Wendy’s face and she saw the sea again. She took a deep breath and for a moment she only enjoyed standing in the sand, hearing the waves rush towards her, and the sounds of the seagulls screeching at each other.
Then she decided she was the stupidest girl in the long history of girls.
She was stupid to think that Hook would ever help her, Michael was right: he was a fiend. That he was a man of feeling didn’t make him any less dangerous, perhaps it was the one thing that did make him dangerous above all, now that she thought about it. She remembered the icy touch of his hook and shivered, she was not just stupid, she was an utter lunatic! Irresponsible, naive… like a child!
She was trapped, doomed to remain on Neverland and forget her parents but unlike John and Michael, who had been perfectly content until she had reminded them of Mr and Mrs Darling, she would know that there was something she had forgotten. Or would she forget about them as well? And even then… would that guarantee she was to remain a child forever? Or would she grow up, into a woman like her mother and still forget it all?
She turned around on her heel, ready to run back into the forest, she had to get her brothers, and then they would figure out everything together- but she wasn’t alone anymore. Wendy’s eyes went big as saucers but she couldn’t - didn’t? - scream. Too shocked she was at the sight of Captain Hook, standing on the edge of the forest and watching her, like a hungry cat would an unassuming little robin.In that moment, Wendy wished to have wings and feathers; she could then fly away, quicker than thought, away from claws and pointy teeth, over the ocean, back to England, back home, back into her room through the window, just how she left it.
But wings didn’t save those birds who ended up in a feline’s jaw.
“Wendy… darling,” Hook said and took a careful step forward.
Wendy wanted to take a step back but her feet were planted on the spot as if they had taken roots in the sand. “You said you wouldn’t follow me.”
Hook’s brow furrowed. “I did no such thing, sweet child.”
“You broke your promise.”
“I am merely taking a stroll by the beach.” He smiled, but to Wendy it looked more like he bared his teeth to her. “When you are a pirate, lass, you too will have shore-leave.”
“Where to? I will never be able to leave this place.”
Hook stopped. He tilted his head and eyed her curiously. “Now, where have you heard that?”
“I know it,” Wendy said quickly, “Unless you know how to fly away from here, you can never leave.”
Hook shook his head. “Nonsense! I come and go as I please.” He could come back because the only thing he ever thought of was killing Peter - so he always stayed here.
“Have you been to England?”
He smiled. “Yes, of course.”
“Can you take me home?”
Hook’s smile disappeared. “You do know that if you go back home to your parents, you will grow up. And now you want to, it seems?”
Wendy shook her head before he even finished the question.
“Then stay here. The offer still stands - it always will.”
He came closer, out of the shadow of the palm trees until he was only five steps away from her.
What did she want? She wanted Mother, Father, and Nana. She wanted her brothers. She wanted to grow up. She wanted to always be a child. She wanted to be a Lost Girl - even if she was the only one among a sea of boys. She wanted to be Mother, and for Peter to be Father. She wanted to be a storyteller. She wanted to be Red-Handed Jill.
She wanted to love. To feel.
To live.
Hook reached out to her - with his left hand, the one that was flesh and bone. The hand which warmth she had felt as the man belonging to it had wiped away her tears, tears she had shed because of the knowledge that her feelings for Peter would always be unrequited, never understood, something that set her apart from the Lost Boys forever, who wished for a mother but whose father refused to be called such.
Wendy steeled herself, and approached him. Whatever happened, she would never be one to show fear, she would face all scary things with bravery and calm.
She reached out as well, and almost pulled back when she touched him. Hook’s hand was rough and calloused, for some unknown reason she had expected his hands to feel like her father’s; soft and gentle. But George Darling was a clerk who worked at a bank, and Hook was captain of a ship and a swordsman.
When she rested her hand properly in his and Hook gave her a smile, Wendy felt colour rise in her cheeks. She had to look and at her feet instead, suddenly embarrassed.
“I am glad to have you on board, Red-Handed Jill,” Hook said and brought her hand up to his face, where he gently pressed his lips on the back of her hand.
Wendy felt both hot and cold, and something inside of her, maybe her stomach, stirred and unfurled.
Aunt Millicent had once complained about a man who had slobbered like a swine when he kissed her hand and both Mr and Mrs Darling had found it terribly unfitting. When Wendy had asked what that meant, Mrs Darling had explained that gallant men would kiss a woman’s hand upon greeting her, but normally behave more courtly than what Aunt Millicent had told them.
Hook’s lips had barely ghosted over her skin and yet Wendy felt as if he had branded her with a hot poker. When he put her hand down, she dearly wanted him to do it again.
Hand in hand, Wendy and Hook walked along the shore, away from the forest, the Lost Boys, Peter Pan, and Neverland.