The Storyteller… chapter 11
A/N: I’ve had a general sketch of where this story should go for a while, but it’s been slow going. It’s picking up a bit now, so I should be posting (somewhat) regular updates. (of course, now that I say that, who knows what’ll happen.) Thanks again for your reviews; they truly make my day!
Chapter 11
Wendy stretched, smiling sleepily, her arms above her head. She’d had such a delicious dream. It had been so difficult to sleep at first, but as she finally dropped off, she could have sworn that someone had been with her, lulling her to sleep with his steady breathing and soft touches to her hair. She slid her hand to the place beside her, only to find that the sheets were cold. Strange, I could’ve sworn…
The doors flew open with the now-typical flourish that preceded Smee’s appearance. She sat up in bed, blinking as he carried in a tray of questionable-looking porridge and a steaming cup of… something. But what caught her attention was the fact that he was accompanied by the Captain, looking as pristine as ever. She was suddenly aware of her tousled hair and the fact that she was clad in only a nightshirt—his shirt. Wendy hesitated, then drew up her chin, refusing to be intimidated by his mere presence.
“Good morning, Red-Handed Jill,” Smee said cheerfully as he placed the tray on the bedside table. “Did you sleep well?”
She smiled gratefully at the friendly pirate, realizing that she was hungry. “Yes, thank you.” She turned to the Captain, and offered a smile in truce. “Thank you, Captain, for the use of your quarters. It was quite kind of you.” And, she realized in surprise, it had been unexpected. Their discussion the night before had certainly raised a few questions in her mind. He’d been polite and courteous to her, while she had been tense and combative. Perhaps she needed to reevaluate both his position and her own.
His expression did not change, although she thought he seemed pleased as he said casually, “Well, we couldn’t place you below with the men; you’d never get out alive.” She flushed slightly, but couldn’t keep a cough of shocked laughter from escaping. His lips twitched in return.
Smee looked as if he were torn between amusement and embarrassment. “Yes, well, we have clothes in the hold that may fit you. When you finish eating, come find me and I’ll help you look through them. They’re not ladies clothes, but you can’t exactly be picky, now, can you.”
She merely nodded, and Smee turned and left the room. The Captain stood in the doorway, avoiding her gaze, looking at a book that he’d selected at random. He seemed uncharacteristically off-kilter, and she wondered where he’d spent the night, and whether he’d slept at all.
“Is there something you forgot, Captain?” she asked sweetly.
He hesitated, staring at the book he’d lifted, then looked up at her. “How long has it been, for you?” She looked so comfortable in his shirt and his bed that he nearly groaned. Why was she sent to torment him so?
She instinctively knew what he meant, and swallowed hard. “Years. Many years.” Much had happened since she’d last been in Neverland.
He looked confused. “Yet you say that I have not aged.”
She blinked. “I don’t recall mentioning such a thing,” she said, willing herself not to turn red. She could not let him know that she had memorized his every characteristic, that she had been so aware of him in her younger days that she’d been able to tell instantly that every line on his face had been the same. Her attention had not changed, either; she was still hyper-sensitive when it came to the Captain.
He relented, surveying her silently for a moment, then said softly, “The men do need a Storyteller, Red. Simple pirating is not enough. It never has been.”
Suspicious of this apparent non sequitur, she nodded wordlessly. He closed the book, put it on the shelf, and left the room without another word.
Wendy bit her lip as she pulled the breakfast tray towards her. A Storyteller was needed, and she just so happened to have thousands hidden, repressed deep inside. Perhaps she could truly become Red-Handed Jill once again. It wouldn’t bring back all of her memories, would it? Some could still stay hidden?
-+-
Wendy made the giant bed, then donned her clothes from yesterday and went to find Smee. She was pleased to discover as she walked that while her wounded leg still throbbed with pain, she was able to get by with a limp. She wouldn’t need a stick to lean on.
Smee took her down to the hold, chattering all the while. As she walked through the ship, she was uncomfortably aware of the many eyes upon her. She wondered if the Captain had made a general announcement about her presence on board, for the eyes did not seem curious, but simply watchful. Some felt rather predatory, however, and she quickened her step behind Smee as he led her to the giant trunks in a corner of the hold.
“Here we are.” Smee groaned with effort as he opened one. An explosion of fabric lay inside, and he began pulling out pieces of clothing, one by one. “We’ve been gathering booty for so long that we never know exactly what we have anymore. We’ve gone through about eight cabin boys, and I’m sure some of them left their old clothes behind, so we’re bound to find something to fit you,” he said kindly.
She pulled aside shirts that looked about her size, and found a few pairs of trousers that could fit. There was so much inside the first trunk that they didn’t need to look inside the second, although Smee insisted upon opening it as well.
As she looked at all of the fabric, an idea came into her head. “Smee,” she asked cautiously. “You say that you and the men never use these clothes?”
“Not to my knowledge, no,” he said, then looked at her curiously. “Why do you ask?”
A slow smile began to cross her face. “Oh, no matter. I need to bring something up with the Captain later.” She got to her feet, stretching out the soreness in her leg, and began to help him put the clothes away. “Tell me, is there anything I can do to help pull my weight around here?”
Smee paused. “Well, you could ask Cookie if he needs help fixin’ the meals. The man’s a master chef but I’m sure more hands won’t hurt. Anything else and you’d be stuck with the men for long periods of time, and that wouldn’t be fun for anyone, least of all you.”
She smiled at Smee even as she fought back a shudder, grateful for his thoughtfulness. “Well, would you show me where to find Cookie?”
-+-
Wendy growled at the full five-gallon buckets she was attempting to drag towards the stairs. The cook hadn’t taken kindly to her intrusion upon his domain, and had relegated the task of water retrieval to her. Of course, the freshwater hold was kept down two flights of stairs; something about the necessary relocation due to dry rot and rat infestation had been muttered as he’d shoved the buckets into her arms and pointed her to the steps. She’d shouldered her burden and marched away, as best she could. It seems the man took a personal dislike to her, and had decided heavy labor would be the best punishment. Had he heard her thoughts on the porridge that morning?
“Men,” she muttered as the bucket sloshed alarmingly. “Too stubborn to know what’s good for them.”
Footsteps sounded down the shadowy corridor, and she fought against the sudden pounding of her heart. She hadn’t seen the Captain since his cryptic words before breakfast, and he was not likely to show his face down here. She forced her breath to slow; she did not like the way her heart leapt at the first sound of boots on the steps. Calm down, Red. He’s a bloodthirsty pirate who may or may not be holding you captive on this boat. Simply because you happen to dream about him in disturbing detail does not mean that reality will comply with your imagination.
Yet she still looked up eagerly as the footsteps drew nearer, only to see an impeccably dressed pirate making his way down the steps towards her.
She waited, shoulders back, eyes focused on the bucket, hoping that the man would simply ignore her and walk by. She moved back into the wall as he approached, giving him ample room to pass her, but he suddenly stopped and looked at her. His immaculate appearance began to fade upon closer inspection; he appeared out of place in the spotless clothes, as if he were playing a part, but felt ill at ease in the material.
His expression, however, was what caused chills to run down her spine; his gaze was fixed upon her and there was a hint of hatred as well as anger and desire on his face. Yellow eyes narrowed as he closed in on her personal space. “Well, if it ain’t the Captain’s newest pet,” he growled, his breath making her gag.
“Please step aside; I need to be on my way,” she said resolutely, but he moved in closer and lifted a hand to trail down the side of her face. She flinched away, but he pressed closer still and chuckled. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end in sudden premonition.
She tried to push him aside, but he grabbed her forearms and squeezed, making her bones nearly grind together and bringing tears to her eyes from the pain. “Now, now, girlie, I’ve had my eye on you, and you’re going to appreciate it proper, like a good girl should.”
Oh, God, here came the memories. Wife is second to Husband. When will you learn to speak properly to your betters? If I’m going to marry you and take you out of this hovel, you are going to learn some respect! He had appeared so pleasant at first, and her family had liked him. Too bad the most innocent looking sheep often turned out to be the worst kind of wolves.
She shook off the past and focused on the alarming present. “Let me go,” she said firmly, willing the tears in her eyes to disappear even as she wished her voice could be louder.
The pirate laughed. “Why isn’t that charming, she’s trying to tell us what to do.” Fear rose in her as she realized he wasn’t talking to himself, that another man had appeared in the small corridor. Her odds had just gone from bad to worse.
Making up her mind quickly, she flew into action. Twisting her wrist around, she kneed him in the groin and pulled away as he let go and yelled in surprise at the pain. Whirling around, she raced towards the stairs only to find herself falling suddenly. The second pirate had tripped her, and was pulling her backwards by her injured leg. She kicked out desperately, but the first man was stepping over her now and pulling her up by her hair. She gave a strangled cry of pain, but he punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
Panic flooded her, and she found herself desperately crying, “No, please stop, not again,” wordlessly as they pushed her against the wall. Help, please help me. The first man grabbed her neck and began steadily squeezing as the world slowly went black.
-+-
The Captain was moving before he realized it, striding, nearly running across the deck of the ship to get down into the hold. His men moved out of his way quickly once they saw the look in his red eyes; they recognized the spectre of death in his gaze.
He couldn’t quite understand the deep-set trepidation that motivated him; he only knew that if he didn’t get somewhere now, something horrible was going to happen. As he raced down the stairs, he heard a yelp, then a thud from the darkened corridor ahead. Another voice cried out, and his blood ran cold. Help, please help me.
Wendy.
The Storyteller… ch10
Chapter 10
The Captain gathered a few necessities from his cabin, then paused before he left the room. Feeling more than a little foolish, he returned to the bed and plumped the pillows, then began digging in the closet for suitable nightwear for one as small as she. Perhaps one of the women who visited the men had left something behind? Even as he searched for a nightgown, he frowned at the thought of her wearing something that had been worn for such purposes. She should have something untainted.
Caught in a moment of rare indecision, he finally yanked out one of his old, well-worn shirts, and laid it on the bed, then turned and stormed out of the room with his belongings, refusing to look back. He’d already done enough foolish pandering to the girl; if he wasn’t careful, she’d be running the ship before long. It was hard for a Captain to be regarded as bloodthirsty whilst asking a dainty chit if she’d like sugar with her tea.
-+-
Smee opened the door for Wendy, grinning all the while. “Captain’s orders, Red-Handed Jill,” he said cheerfully as he pushed her in.
She took in the scene with one wide look, then whirled, eyes flashing with anger. “I beg your pardon? Surely you are joking.”
Smee raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like it? This is the Captain’s room. There’s nothing better in the whole ship!”
She folded her arms. “I am well aware of the Captain’s tastes. I simply object to being forced to share occupancy.” She knew there had been a spark of attraction, an electric arc connecting them, and something more subtle that bonded their very souls together, but for him to have the audacity to assume that she’d repay his actions on her behalf with her body… well. She had a few things to say about that.
She realized that Smee was laughing so hard that he was clutching the door for support. She assumed her most regal posture and stared at him imperiously. “Is there something I have overlooked?”
The man wiped his eyes and resumed grinning at her nearly maniacally. “Why yes. The Captain ain’t here, is he?”
She looked about, paying special attention to the shadows where he was wont to lurk. “I suppose not.”
Apparently that was her answer, for he blinked at her as if she were slow. “Well, then.” The little man began to walk out of the room, then paused and turned. “The Captain isn’t in the habit of forcing women to his bed,” he added in a confiding tone. “I would’ve thought you’d know that.” Then he closed the door, leaving her gaping after him, uncertain if she were confused, insulted, or simply annoyed.
She finally decided to ignore it, tantalized by the opportunity to look about; it was not every day she was given unrestricted access to the personal chambers of the very man who captivated her so.
The most prominent object in the room was the bed, and she found herself drawn to it relentlessly. It was large enough to sleep three men comfortably, and she forced herself to refrain from thinking about who had shared it with the Captain in the past. That sick feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with jealousy, it was simply a result of fighting with him before dinner.
She forced her concentration back to the bed. The pillows were down, and the sheets were made of silk. Laid out on the end of the bed was a large shirt. Had someone set it out for her? It could fit as a nightgown for her, so she assumed it had been left intentionally. She touched it hesitantly, and found that it was quite soft. It didn’t seem new, instead it looked as if it had been worn often, but it was clean. Had he left her one of his shirts? She found her cheeks flushing at the idea of wearing something of his to bed, especially as well worn as it was.
Wendy blew out a breath in a sigh. “Snap out of it, Jill,” she muttered, and turned her attention to the rest of the room. Unsurprisingly, the walls were lined with bookshelves, and the books did not seem to fit any one genre. Apparently the Captain had varied taste, as she looked over the shelves. She could easily enjoy her time here.
She forced herself to just skim the titles, since she didn’t have official permission to disrupt his belongings. Scattered around the room were various weapons in form of disrepair; it looked as though he was in the habit of mending his own artillery. On his desk lay a rather detailed sketch of the inner workings of new machinery, alongside a book on philosophy. He seemed to be rather more complex than she had first imagined.
She smiled as she looked back at the bed. As grand gestures went, allowing her his room certainly fit the bill. She wondered if he knew that she’d have trouble sleeping in his bed.
-+-
Wendy sat up again, and pounded her pillow in frustration. She kept rehashing her earlier argument with the Captain, and retorts were cycling through her mind. He had brought up valid points; she had thought him a villain, so he had acted like one. Had he truly been ready to kill them? When he had forced her to tell Peter’s story, he had seemed so tormented, driven by a frustration that ran deeper than a mere boy’s game.
And when they had been arguing, she’d felt… something from him. When he’d accused her of orchestrating the story to her own happy ending, she could’ve sworn that he was feeling pain so fierce that she nearly gasped aloud at the sharpness of the ache. And she’d caught a glimpse of a memory of herself and Peter, dancing on air together. Her face had been suffused with light, joy and hope shining in her eyes as she gazed at the Boy Who Would Never Grow Up, even as she wished he would. Had the Captain seen them together?
She groaned aloud, and turned over again. She was never going to fall asleep.
It was his fault, really. His very presence surrounded her; she was trying to sleep in his bed, wearing one of his shirts, and yet she was trying not to think of him. It was hopeless.
-+-
The Captain puffed his cigar in the library, purposefully thinking of nothing, concentrating on keeping his mind free from the clutter of memories and emotions. So far, he’d been able to keep from thinking of her a grand total of–he checked his pocket-watch again. Seventy-two seconds.
He gave up, and began pacing. She’d been genuinely upset when he’d accused her of manipulating the story. Had she truly been unaware of her power? She’d seemed so fierce in her defense that he wondered if she knew the power she carried even now. She still seemed constrained, limited. As if there was a part of her that held on tightly to control, no matter what. The only time he’d seen that control flicker had been when he’d discovered the bruises on her arms.
He frowned to himself, lost in thought. Those bruises had been mottled blue and green, showing signs of nearly healed skin, instead of freshly inflicted injuries. She had received the blisters on her hands here, but not the bruises. Where, then? And who was so bold as to inflict pain upon her?
When he thought about it, her pain threshold was quite high. She’d been bleeding profusely and had been knocked around quite a bit, but hadn’t cried, or whined about her injuries. She had only objected when he treated her as inferior to him.
What was in her past that she was so unwilling to allow him to probe?
He stomped down to Smee’s room. Since he gave up his quarters for Red, he had kicked Smee out of his room instead. He was a gentleman, but he was not about to sleep in the common area with the rest of the men. As Captain, he needed to maintain an air of superiority as well as fear, and both were rather difficult when the men discovered you snoring in a hammock in the galley.
He took off the harness for his hook, groaning as the weight came off. It was a helpful contraption, but difficult to bear at times. The leather strap chafed, so he had taken to smearing the pulp of an aloe vera plant on his skin where it bled. Chief Tiger Lillie had shown him that useful trick; too bad she hadn’t given him an extra arm to reach his back where it truly hurt.
He lay down on the lumpy mattress, grumbling at the courtesy which had necessitated giving up his own soft bed. The little chit should be grateful to him; if she was not, he toyed with the idea of forcing her to bunk with the men, but quickly cast it aside. Even he was not that cruel.
He sighed, and closed his eyes once more, his mind returning to her as if by default. He was not unwilling, this time, and indulged himself by wondering absently what she dreamed. He slowly drifted to sleep, with the scent of lavender surrounding him and a small hand on his chest. He touched her hair hazily and sighed with contentment as sleep took him.
…and the Pirate, ch.8
A/N: I fixed it! This is the bright-shiny-and-new chapter.
This chapter gives a little explanation, and perhaps a bit more insight into the Captain, but hopefully not too much. 
Chapter 8:
(flashback to a few days ago) (I warned you guys that the timing is a little shifty) :p
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The Captain left the camp in a foul mood. The natives were clearly keeping something from him, and he’d felt so certain that he was missing something right before his eyes. There had been a moment when he felt a tingle of awareness, an electric frisson of recognition running through his body, as if his very blood knew something he did not. He’d looked about for a clue, but had been unable to see anything out of the ordinary, and his mood darkened even further.
He stormed about the jungle for a while, then had a revelation. The mermaids! It had been explained to him they were half within this world, half… elsewhere. He’d avoided them for as long as he’d been on the island, and their people operated under a shaky truce. In truth, he was uncertain and cautious around what he did not understand.
He found his way to their lagoon, wary of their seductive intensity as soon as he saw the wildly feminine forms frolicking in the pool below. He’d heard the stories his men liked to relay, and while he outwardly scoffed, he knew that they were a force to be reckoned with.
The mermaids spotted him immediately, and surfaced, watching him quietly. The leader reached up and beckoned him closer, granting him an audience. She said nothing, but he instinctively knew that he should shed his outward apparel, and bit back internal sneering at the heavy symbolism implied by his actions. He left his hat, sword, and coat behind, approaching them as a man instead of a Captain.
He bent down on one knee in a posture of respect but not submission. The girls swam closer, visibly pleased with his more approachable appearance. The leader reached out to him with a slow smile, but he drew back, keeping out of range. “You know why I’m here,” he said firmly. “What is happening to me? Why her?”
She shrugged, the casual move looking seductive and alien at once. “We will only say that you are connected at the deepest level. However, your confusion is due to her stubborn nature. She is largely unaware of the bond, and can only feel it when she’s particularly susceptible to this place.”
He sighed. He had wondered; now he knew the truth. “But… why? Why are the two of us linked in such a fashion?” He refused to admit that for the first time in a very long while, he was afraid. He did not know what this meant, and to be so deeply joined to another living person did not bode well for his black-hearted reputation. He had barely been able to resist her when she’d been a young girl, but now that she was full grown, and he could feel her, he knew that he was helpless to withstand her. What if his enemies discovered this supernatural union? He pushed the icy trickle of fear away, and focused once more on the swimming sirens before him.
They had been watching him calmly, and he wondered if they were able to hear his thoughts as if he’d voiced them aloud. The leader blinked slowly, then finally responded to his question. “As to why, only those responsible for bringing her here can shed light. We do not bother with motivation. We only know what was, is, and will be.”
He shifted alertly, his mind quickly calculating multiple possibilities and scenarios. “There are others involved? Who brought her here?”
She shrugged again. “That is for you to discover.”
He clenched his jaw, but maintained his temper. They were dangerous enough when mildly irritated; he had no desire to rouse their anger.
He began to stand, sensing that they had told him all they were willing to share, when the leader suddenly grabbed his wrist. He looked down at her, startled. Was she actually going to try to pull him down with her? She gave a flirtatious smile, and purred, “If you weren’t so clearly marked by her, I would try. But we only have one further directive: tomorrow, before sunset, you will stand watch beside the Black Castle.”
He gazed at her evenly. “And you will not tell me why?”
She laughed, the sound both lilting and terrible to his ears, and dove below the water with her sisters.
-+-
The Captain paced impatiently beside his post. The Black Castle at sunset, she’d said. Here he was, and nothing. He’d dragged three of his men along with him, with no explanation, and was not willing to return empty-handed. They knew better than to question his orders outright, but he did not want them to begin whispering about his odd habits.
There. He felt her before he heard the crashing of her sprint through the forest. Pure, icy terror had gripped her, and she was reaching out blindly for him, without realizing it. He reached out for her, in turn, with the calm assurance that she was not going to die now, if only for the reason that he forbade it.
He readied himself for the inevitable confrontation, even as he ran towards them. He hadn’t seen the creature since… he refused to touch on the events of that day, and pushed the memories far once more.
Bursting into the clearing, he saw her standing with a stout branch, ready to defend herself, looking so fierce and yet helpless that he nearly laughed. Even as he arrived, it rushed her, and she fell to the ground, and he nearly stopped breathing. Flying into action, the Captain drew his sword and slashed at the creature to get its attention. It growled, finally scenting him for the first time, and eagerly turned towards him. He noted distantly that she scrambled back, out of harm’s way, and re-focused on the croc.
The creature growled again, and rushed him. He slashed, darting around its razor-sharp teeth, and sliced it deep with his sword. It let out a bellow of rage, and he took advantage of its distraction to cut at it again. He could not kill it with his sword, but he could certainly make it think twice about devouring her. Not surprisingly, it chose to retreat to the water, grumbling all the way.
Breathing heavily, he finally turned to look at the girl. She had collapsed against the wall, staring at him, most likely still struggling with the fear and adrenaline coursing through her, so he took a moment to evaluate her as well.
He was surprised at how much she’d grown. How long had it been since she had last been here? She was much taller, and had filled out into a woman’s form. Of course, he couldn’t really tell, given that she was clothed in… a tunic and breeches? She’d clearly been staying with the natives; he realized at once that she had been in the crowd that day, and he’d felt her proximity and his body had reacted.
She was still staring at him, pale and worn, looking as though she’d seen a ghost. Well, he supposed, perhaps she was. How could she have known that he had survived? She closed her eyes suddenly, and he wondered if she was about to faint. She managed to remain upright, however, and opened them to focus on him once again.
He shook himself and sheathed his sword. She appeared to be in the early stages of shock; he needed to keep her alert and awake. He chose to needle her subtly; now was not the time for forcing her to reveal how she’d appeared in his life once more.
An image of her, looking fierce and yet fragile, surfaced unbidden, and he forced himself to keep from laughing. “Well, Red-Handed Jill, I wondered how long you would managed to avoid me.” He saw her fallen bag, and bent to pick it up and carry it to her. “I see the natives were helping you after all.”
Looking a little worried at his tone, she slowly sank to the ground. She said something about the chief helping her for her brother’s sake, and proceeded to look vaguely distracted. When she raised a hand to her head and wiped at the blood, seeming confused at its appearance, he walked towards her swiftly. Had she been injured more severely than he had assumed?
He crouched beside her, eyes quickly taking in her bruises and scrapes. She needed to be distracted from her leg; it was bleeding profusely and he knew that she would be in considerable pain once the adrenaline wore off.
He wondered if she realized that in the stress, her “shields” were completely down, and he could sense what she was feeling. When a surge of contentment came over her, followed by embarrassment, he abruptly noticed that he’d been stroking her face absentmindedly with his thumb. He’d been trying to comfort her, but he was surprised to realize that the gesture had been calming to him as well.
More than a little startled at his own demeanor, he rose, masking his confusion with the same curt-yet-gentlemanly persona he’d donned so many years ago, and demanded that she accompany him to the ship. He wasnot worried about her, he simply would feel more comfortable once Smee had taken a look at her leg. And if he was taking advantage of their connection to subtly distract and soothe her, it was only because he did not see the point of being around a hysterical woman any longer than necessary. He was only taking precautionary steps to maintain his own sanity.
When she tucked her hand into his arm, he tried to ignore the feeling of rightness that having her by his side produced, and proceeded towards the dock where his men awaited. If she leaned on him a little heavily, and he slowed his steps to match her limp, neither spoke of it.
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A/N: So. What do you think? :)
(I know, I took the easy way out with the “omniscient third party explains all,” but they didn’t really explain anything, they just verbalized the undertones which you have all, I’m sure, picked up on. 
