Floating

[scripsi]

Title: Floating
Pairing: Hook/Wendy, het
Rating: R, but for theme rather than for being explicit
Category: References to violence. Non-con was on my mind when I wrote it, but very little of it is actually carried out in the text.
Summary: Short sequel to Wedding Night.
A/N: Thanks to japanpeterpan for Beta-help.



Wendy floats.

That's how it feels, as days pass, and with them months, perhaps even years, and yet she can't get hold of time. She knows she could once, that days had names, but she can't anymore. Now and then something happens, but who can say it was just yesterday or more since it did? Wendy can't, and thus it feels like she floats.

Her world is smaller now than it once was, she knows that. Her world is the creaking ship and it is James Hook, but not much else. Memories swirl around in her head, coming and going, without order. Sometimes it feels like she has always been here, but perhaps it just feels like that because she knows that she will never leave.

Whenever she dresses, or undresses, she watches herself in the mirror, tracing the white scars with her fingers. There are so many of them now, and some are so old that they can hardly be seen anymore. The hook is sharp and the cuts may be deep, but they heal easily. Now they are almost beautiful, the perfectly straight lines, and graceful curves that marks her body. It's only the scar across her throat that is jagged and ugly, but that is her own doing.

Despair is no more, but it was once, and in it Wendy broke a glass and tried to end it all. She cut deeply, despite the pain, but he came back before she had bled enough, and she survived. It took a long time, she knows that. He nursed her, letting no one else close, and he did it with a tenderness she can still hardly believe was really there. With her hands tied, so she couldn't removed the bandages and hurt herself again, he took care of her until her health ha been restored to her.

Then he taught her to never try to do such a thing again. Wendy learned her lesson. She learned that things can always get worse with Captain Hook. She never tried to kill herself again. It's not the success she fears, but the failure. The scar remains, and most of the time she covers it with some of the jewellery she has been given. It happens that she wonders where they come from, her clothes and the trinkets, is the ship's supplies endless? Does Neverland provide for what Hook wants, in all things except Peter, as payment? Is that what she is, part of keeping the pirate captain reasonably happy, so he continues to play by the rules?

Thoughts like that give her a headache.

She has seen Peter, of course. Once he got so close that she could speak to him. Standing by one of the cabin's windows she saw him gambolling in the air and she cried out for him.

"Do you know who I am?"

"You are Hook's lady."

"I'm Wendy, Peter, can't you see?"

But Peter only cocked his head and laughed. "You are too big to be Wendy. She is my size."

"Take me away, Peter! Please!"

But Peter had just laughed, swirling around in the air. Pan isn't concerned with grown-ups and what troubles them, Wendy supposed. Now that conversation is in the past, and she isn't sure anymore if she wants to leave. It is painful to be Hook's lady, but there is pleasure as well, and by time they have been intertwined to a point were Wendy can't separate them anymore.

Sometimes, always very late, Hook plays his harpsichord. In the beginning it amazed Wendy that someone like him could make such heavenly sounds, and perhaps she is still amazed. She has learned to crave those moments, though, when she lays in the bed and listen to the music. The sounds are almost visible, and they float in the air, and brings her comfort. He plays, and sometimes he sings, and his voice is beautiful as well, and Wendy feels safe. As long as he plays she is safe, and she slips into sleep surrounded by the music. It's that moment, that brief second between sleep and wakefulness that she craves.

That's the moment, when she can imagine herself happy.