Chapter 19 - Dinner With The Captain
Dinner with the Captain. Peter knew she would absolutely hate it, and so far she hadn’t been disappointed. And it’s only going to get worse, she thought grimly, giving herself another look-over in Hook’s mirror. Starkey had left just a little while ago, after helping her lace up the top of her dress. It was tight and she could barely breathe, but when she’d complained to the pirate he’d merely chuckled and told her to count herself lucky it wasn’t a true corset. Peter didn’t know what a corset was, but she vowed that she’d only wear one when they put it on her dead body. I suppose I’m ready; Starkey hadn’t given her anything else to put on, so she tugged on her bodice one last time, took a breath, and stepped out onto the deck.
She’d expected to be made to dress up; after all, it had been one of Hook’s demands when they’d made their truce, so she hadn’t argued when Smee had brought her the clothes the captain had procured for her. But that truce hadn’t made it any easier for her to accept. The dress was uncomfortable and heavy, but she had to admit to herself as she’d gazed into Hook’s mirror that it was beautiful. It wasn’t the one that Smee had made for her (that one wasn’t nearly as nice as this); Hook had stolen this one from some hapless vendor at Small Monday Island Fair when they’d raided it earlier in the week. It was a magical gown, embroidered with threads of silver and enchanted to change colors when the correct word was spoken. To Peter’s annoyance, only Hook knew the word so he got to pick the color. He’d chosen a deep shade of blue, which placated the girl somewhat, because if it had been pink or yellow she’d have probably hung herself with it. Her biggest complaint was that the bodice was tight and boosted up her bosom, making her small breasts appear larger and fuller – an effect that quite unsettled her.
She’d pinned up her hair in a simple style, the easiest of the ways that Starkey had taught her, and she’d been satisfied with the result. She had refused to wear the makeup Starkey had tried to put on her face, and Hook had scored major points with her by agreeing that she shouldn’t wear it. It relieved the girl to hear him say that, despite her recent growth, she was still too young to wear the paints and powders.
It was still hard to look in a mirror and recognize the girl there as herself, but she was getting used to it. It actually helped to have the memories of her life with Liam – even though she’d acted as a boy then, she’d known she was a girl and now she remembered some of her little-girl likes and desires. She knew that at one time she’d have loved to be wearing this dress, would have pretended to be a princess waiting to be rescued. But now that she’d played the prince, she found that she preferred being the one doing the rescuing. She hated being helpless, and she was filled with shame for letting herself be put in that position again.
“I’m ready, Captain,” she called from the doorway of his cabin, stepping out onto the moonlit deck. There was a table in the center of the deck, set with fine china and silverware and lit by candles. Hook was sitting at the table, facing the door, nursing a small glass of wine. Smee hovered to the side, fussing with some minute detail of the tableware. Both men looked up at the sound of her voice, and Peter froze for a moment, confused by the expressions on their faces. I look stupid, I know it. They’re going to laugh at me.
Hook stared at the girl, wondering for the briefest of moments who this young lady might be. In the shadows cast by the moonlight, Peter seemed much older, and it took his breath away to get a glimpse of the woman she would become. Then the image faded and he noticed her uncertainty and confusion. Remembering his manners (especially since manners were what this evening was all about), Hook stood and briskly approached the girl. He offered her a smile and a bow before holding out his arm. “You look absolutely stunning, Miss Pan.”
Peter blushed lightly, not sure how to take the compliment, especially since she’d been expecting an insult. Part of her was pleased by it and liked that he was looking at her so approvingly. It made her feel special and wanted, feelings she hadn’t had since her godparents had disowned her and destroyed all the happiness in her life. The other part of her hated this, hated being reduced to a novelty for Hook to enjoy, and wanted nothing more than to claw his eyes out so he’d never look at her that way again. That part of her would rather die than do things to please Hook. Her peaceful side won out, knowing it was rather hopeless to fight. The collar would keep her from attacking, and she couldn’t fly away or escape. And as much as she hated her life, she wasn’t prepared to die to escape it just yet, not when there was the slimmest of hopes that everything would turn out alright in the end, like Wendy always said they did.
“Thank you, Captain,” she answered as she stepped towards the table, ignoring the proffered arm. She wasn’t surprised when Hook’s hand clamped around her arm, halting her progress. “I can walk, Codfish,” she snapped when he pulled her back and offered his arm again. “I’ve been doing it quite well on my own for years.”
“A proper gentleman offers his arm to escort a lady to dinner, and a proper lady graciously accepts his offer,” the Captain instructed, tightening his hold until Peter quit pulling against him. “Consider that your first lesson of the evening, Miss Pan. Your second lesson is this: Do not call me Codfish ever again!”
“You’re hurting me,” Peter said lowly, glaring at them man.
Hook released the girl’s arm. “Learn your lessons, Kitten, and I’ll have no reason to hurt you.”
“Would a gentleman hurt a lady?” Peter asked, trying to turn this around on him. “Besides, the collar won’t let you harm me.”
“You are an arrogant, petulant child, and I will not hesitate to punish you if you step out of line. When you act like a lady, I will treat you as such. And as for the collar,” he loomed over her menacingly, but she merely glared up at him without shrinking back, “if you continue to try to goad me, I will have no problem testing the limits of that thing around your neck. I wonder how much I can hurt you before it will react. Does it know the difference between many little hurts and one big one? I must admit I am curious.”
“I just bet you are,” Peter said lowly, taking Hook’s arm. “Let’s just get this over with, Captain. I’m tired and I don’t want to be here.” The two not-quite enemies had been getting along quite well the past few days, but neither of them pretended that it was because they liked one another. Hook had been giving the girl her space, allowing her to recover from her ordeals. Peter had been keeping herself occupied by doing duties for Cookson and Smee. She’d seen Hook often during the day, but they’d both be so preoccupied with their respective duties then that they’d only given each other cursory looks or hurried greetings. Peter spent a lot of time on deck at night, practicing sewing or other mundane skills Smee was teaching her, unable to sleep for fear of her nightmares. Hook often joined her on deck, the two sitting in the silence of their thoughts until Peter felt it was safe to go to bed, both too tired to muster the energy to fight.
Hook seated her at the table and returned to his own seat. “Thank you for humoring me, Kitten, and cooperating. I’m relieved that I didn’t have to have you wrestled into the gown.” Peter didn’t reply, choosing instead to survey the mind boggling number of dishes and silverware on the table. For a girl used to using a bowl and (maybe) a spoon at the most, the spread before her was excessive. “You make an exceptionally tolerable young lady. If it wasn’t for your attitude, I could almost forget that you’re the odious brat that is my eternal torment.”
“I don’t want you to forget who I am,” Peter insisted, looking up at him angrily. “I’m Peter Pan, and I always will be, no matter how much you try to pretend I’m someone else.”
“No, Kitten, you won’t always be Peter Pan,” Hook corrected as he draped his napkin across his lap. “You’re in exile, and a new Pan will replace you – making you only Peter.”
“Captain…” the girl tried to interrupt.
“But we know your name isn’t ‘Peter’ either, and once we’re away from here, no one will ever call you by that name again. So you’ll be no-one, and unless you remember your real name, I’ll have to pick one out for you.” His smile widened as he thought, trying to find a name that fit her. “Do you like ‘Elizabeth’? Perhaps ‘Victoria’ is more to your liking. I knew a girl named ‘Patience’, but that doesn’t really suit you. ‘Cassandra’? ‘Samantha’ or ‘Jessica’?”
“Stop,” Peter growled, her hands balling into fists. Names were power, and she wouldn’t allow Hook that much power over her by letting him name her. It disturbed her on a very deep level to realize that he could exert control over the most basic aspects of her life whether she wanted him to or not. ‘Peter’ was who she wanted to be, the name she had chosen for herself so many years ago for her own reasons. It was the identity she’d wrapped around herself for protection, leaving behind her old, weak name.
“Perhaps you’d like something simpler?” Hook continued, enjoying the distress he saw in her expression. Peter had been far too listless lately, and it heartened him to see that there was life left in her yet. Her earlier defiance had made him realize just how much he missed their fights. A battle would be refreshing, so long as he was the one that won it. “’Mary’ is quite pleasant, or ‘Lucy’. ‘Emily’, ‘Jane’, ‘Anne’…”
“STOP IT!” Peter screamed, his last few choices pushing her past her limits. She slammed her fists onto the tabletop, ignoring the way the china bounced and clattered. “Is nothing safe from you? Why must you take everything from me?”
“I haven’t taken anything, Kitten,” Hook replied. “Oberon and Gloriana will take everything from you; I’m merely replacing what you’ll no longer have. You chose the name ‘Peter’, but it isn’t a child’s place to name herself. Your parents named you once, and since that name is lost it’s up to me, as your guardian, to choose a name to replace it. Speaking of which, you’ll need a family name. And since I’m the closest thing to family you’ll have, you’ll take my name as your own. I hope you like ‘Hook’, because you’ll be one.”
Peter continued to glare at him, trying to maintain her composure. Of all the surnames in the world, ‘Hook’ was the last one she’d take as her own. No, she corrected herself, I’ll take ‘Hook’ before I’ll take my old name back. I’ll take any name he gives me before I take my old name back. Smee chose that moment to deliver their salads, humming cheerfully as he set the dishes before them. Hook nodded at the old man and picked up his fork, waiting for Peter to do the same. The girl merely continued to glare at him, too upset and angry to be concerned about food.
“Kitten,” he growled, then paused, taking a moment to taste the word. “Kitten… Cat… Catherine! An easy nickname for a delightful name. I like it! Catherine Hook!” He smiled, pleased with his word play. “How do you like your new name, Catherine?”
Peter felt herself grow cold, her stomach lurching in response to the name. It wasn’t her real name, hearing him call her by that would have probably killed her, but it still hurt to hear him name her so casually. She’d lost so much of herself since she’d been exiled, she’d changed so much from who she was, turning from a person she’d loved to be into a hollow shell that she abhorred. And now he was killing yet another part of her old life, killing another part of Peter Pan, and he was enjoying himself. She could plainly see his cruel smile, basking in her discomfort. He was reveling in his power over her life, holding so much of it in his hand that he could change her in such a fundamental way. Now, more than ever before, she saw that he fully intended to take every shred of identity from her and replace it according to his own desires.
“You can take your ‘Catherine Hook’ and you can hang her,” she said coldly, standing up. “I don’t want a new name, nor do I need one. I HAVE a name!”
Hook stood also, his delight in seeing her hackles up warring with his annoyance at her defiance. It would always be this way between them, this fire and ice, and he loved it. It’s what fascinated him with her. “I’ve told you, Catherine, that ‘Peter’ is not suitable…”
“I remember my real name, and I don’t need one of yours!” she shouted angrily, furious that he was trying to make this new identity hers against her will. She noted his surprise with satisfaction, happy that she could at least still catch him off guard. But she knew it was a terribly small victory and that he’d recover quick enough, and she wanted to be well away from him before he could attack again. She turned away, intent on taking refuge in her room, but she was still far from the hatch when he caught her by her shoulder, halting her.
“Peter,” Hook said gently yet firmly, deciding he’d pushed her far enough for now. He wanted her lively, not running off to her room to cry, and it bothered him that she wasn’t really trying to fight him anymore. So he used her masculine name now in an effort to soothe her and make her more receptive to returning to the table and to her lesson. “Come back, dear girl, and eat. I was merely teasing you. I do intend for you to take a feminine moniker, but I know better than try to pin a name to you on a whim. I was hoping you’d banter with me, a civil debate between us, but instead you choose to run away.”
“What makes you think I have the energy or the heart to fight you anymore?” Peter asked softly, making no move towards the table but also not trying to pull away. “Every time I think I have nothing more to lose, you or the fairies prove me wrong and take something else. None of you care what I want, and you’ll continue taking from me until I’m dead.”
Hook shook his head and ran his thumb across her cheek in a gesture of comfort. “No, Peter, that’s not true. I do care what you want, which is why when the time comes for you to take a new name, I’ll let you pick it – provided I approve of your choice. If you know your real name, there’s no reason to give you a new one…” he saw her eyes narrow at that, “unless you don’t want it anymore.” He was rather surprised that he wasn’t angry or annoyed with her, but he attributed his rare patience to the fact that he could sympathize with her.
Peter couldn’t hide her surprise. “Really? You’d let me choose my own name?”
“Come, sit and eat, and we’ll discuss your name between lessons. I had my men barter with the savages for something more to your taste for dinner tonight – something I hope will sit on your stomach better than Cookson’s regular fare. You need to eat, my dear.”
Peter hesitated a moment longer, trying to decide what to do. She was still angry at him and didn’t want to seem like she was bowing to him in any way by complying. But he was being rather considerate and she didn’t want to destroy his strange mood by being difficult and spiteful. And, to her mind, if obeying him now kept her from being stuck with a name she despised later, it would be a small price to pay.
“Yes, Captain,” she agreed, smiling at the momentary relief in his expression. She let him seat her and returned her attention to her plate. The salad looked enticing enough and she was hungry. Hesitantly, she reached for one of the many forks on the table.
“No, Kitten,” Hook admonished as he took up his own fork. “The rule here is simple: start with the outside utensils and work your way in towards your plate. When you finish each dish, lay the fork or spoon on your plate. The silverware is arranged to match the order the courses are to be served, so you should never have to guess which one to use.”
Peter lifted her outermost fork. “This one?” When Hook smiled and nodded she began to eat, digging into the vegetables with a zeal she hadn’t felt in a long time.
The salad and soup courses went smoothly. Hook was surprisingly patient with her and Peter for her part tried her best to remember his tips and rules. It really wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be, and when she did slip up, the man merely pointed out her mistakes without being nasty about it. While they waited for the main course, Hook asked the question he was dying to have answered.
“You remember your name, Pan? What is it?”
Peter took a careful sip of water, wondering if they’d have another fight now. In the time it took her to swallow, she decided she really didn’t care. If he didn’t like her answer, he had no choice but to get over it. She’d humored him thus far tonight and behaved more in one sitting than she ever had in her entire life. But even though she was going to put her foot down, she took the time to think about her response before answering, to avoid as much of a confrontation as possible.
“Will you be angry if I don’t want to tell you?” she asked, keeping most of the apprehension out of her voice.
Hook paused in surprise and regarded her for a long moment. “That’s remarkably mature of you to ask me that, Miss Pan. I’m quite proud of you.”
Peter nearly dropped her glass. “Is not!” she snapped, terribly offended. She didn’t know what flustered her more – that he thought her mature or that she’d made him proud. “I just want to know if you’ll get angry so I can get a head start before I tell you no. You were rather mad at me before when I didn’t want to tell you about Liam.”
“A mark of maturity is when you consider the feelings of others before you speak or act,” Hook told her, smiling. “It’s something you were quite famous for never doing.”
She wanted to argue with him about that, to tell him that she’d always been considerate of other people’s feelings. But then she remembered several instances where she’d said or done something insensitive to anger Wendy or Tink, and several times when she suspected she’d hurt one of the boy’s feelings without intending to. The girls were rather vocal when they were offended, but the boys tended to pretend that their skins were tougher than that. For the first time, she felt a small sense of shame for her thoughtlessness. “Well, you aren’t very mature either, Captain,” she said a little petulantly, trying to spread the blame somewhat.
Hook grinned, leaning forward to regard her better over the tableware. “Sometimes I’m not, put that way. Pirates are often very immature, and captains often cannot afford to take their crewmen’s feelings into account. But I do consider my words and actions more often than you think, but not to spare anyone’s feelings. I usually seek to instill fear or anger in my enemies, and that takes some consideration.” Then he leaned back again and lifted his glass of wine. “But to answer your question: it depends on why you won’t tell me. I want to know your name, Kitten, so it had best be a good reason.”
Peter crossed her arms, grimaced, and shifted her arms lower so they crossed below her new bust line. She was still having to adjust some of her old movements to her newly developed body, and even simple things sometimes posed a problem. Once she had her arms settled, she gave Hook her best I’ve-made-up-my-mind-so-deal-with-it look and tried say what she felt and still make sense. “When I ran away from home, I left my old life there. I’ve never told anyone my name since, except Liam, and I only told him when he was dying. No one’s called my by that name in all these years, not even myself, and I don’t want to start now.”
She uncrossed her arms, feeling oddly vulnerable and exposed at trying to explain something so personal to Hook. Silly, she chided herself, I told him all kinds of private stuff that Liam did to me; this should be easy compared to that. But what Liam did to her had been an adult thing and quite out of her control. This was her own decision, something that carried a lot of emotion for her though she didn’t know exactly why, and she didn’t want him to belittle her over this. “I don’t really remember who I was when I wasn’t acting like a boy, but I remember I hated myself. I didn’t want people to know I was a girl, and I especially didn’t want people to know I had been that girl… she was weak and ugly and worthless…” Peter looked away a moment, despairing that he’d take her seriously. “I’m not her anymore, and that name’s dead and buried. I’d rather you named me ‘Catherine Hook’ than start using my real name again.”
Hook understood her feelings on this more than she could possibly realize. He’d changed his own name twice in his lifetime, once when he took up piracy and then again when this little girl had cut off his hand. ‘Hook’ was who he was now, and he considered the surname he’d been born with as dead as the rest of his family. “That’s fine, Kitten. If you abhor that name so much, then I have not intention of forcing you to become that girl again. But I still would like to know her name, for my own curiosity.”
“I never even told Tink, so why should I tell you?” She saw Hook’s frown and decided to try to be nicer. He had, after all, just told her that he wouldn’t make her take back her old name, and that really did mean a lot to her. “Liam died for me, and only then did I trust him with my name. So I’ll promise you this: I’ll tell you my real name when I feel like you deserve to know. Be kind to me, give me a life worth living, earn my trust and my regard, and there’ll never be any secrets between us.” That’ll never happen.
“Is that a challenge or a bribe, Kitten?” Hook asked, still smiling. He liked both challenges and bribes, and he liked that she was resorting to such a manipulative tactic.
Peter shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as a reward for good behavior.” She startled when Hook burst into laughter, the sound both unexpected and unfamiliar. Hook rarely laughed and when he did it was usually mocking and cruel. Here he was smiling and the sound was warm and friendly - infectious, also, as Peter began to chuckle with him. She felt good laughing and realized she missed this particular activity almost as much as she missed flying.
When he got himself under control, Hook reached across the table and patted Peter’s hand, his expression alarmingly affectionate. “My dear, you truly are becoming a woman; you’re already learning a woman’s trick of getting the better of a man. You are going to prove quite a handful, aren’t you, my clever little vixen? As much as I want to know your name, I’ll respect your wishes on this. I accept your challenge, Miss Pan, and I eagerly await the day you see fit to reward me by confiding your real name to me.”
Peter smiled in relief, completely disarmed by his unexpected understanding and cooperation. Further conversation was stilled for a short time when the main course was served. It was roast neverbird, and, roast being something Cookson couldn’t easily substitute ingredients for, it was delicious. As she ate, Peter began to consider Hook anew.
Maybe it’s time for me to change the way I play this game, she mused, thinking of how Hook had responded to her. He’d said she was acting mature, more like a woman, and she wondered if she could get her way more often if she continued to act that way. It would take practice, she had no women here to model her behavior after, but she was sure she could learn how best to pull Hook’s strings. It’ll be fun finding out.
“Captain, would you please pass the salt?” she asked, her smile widening when she saw him nod in approval. She thanked him as she took the salt and pepper shakers and decided to press her luck. “The dishes are awfully pretty captain, and I’m certainly enjoying the meal. I suppose I should thank you for inviting me… is that the proper thing to do?”
Hook nodded, feeling a surge of pride that he’d managed to teach Pan basic table manners without a drop of blood shed. “Thanking your host for a pleasant dinner is most definitely the proper thing to do, my dear, and you’re welcome. Perhaps we shall do this more frequently. The practice would do you good and I have rather enjoyed your company tonight. You’ve always been the only person on this dreadful isle that I felt I could hold an intelligent conversation with.”
“That would be nice,” Peter answered and then shrugged offhandedly. “But I don’t know… it’s such a bother having to take so long getting all dressed up, and there’s a dreadful number of dishes that Cookson’s going to make me wash in the morning.”
“If you’ll join me more often, Kitten, I’m sure we can dispense with the formality. You’ll wear the nicer dresses Smee has made for you, and we’ll save that one for special occasions.” He chuckled when he saw her pleasure at that decree, and he felt a strange indulgence overtake him. She really had been through a lot lately and she’d been well behaved for quite some time. She deserved some reward, if only to encourage her good behavior and cooperation. “As for the dishes, don’t worry about it. Cookson can wash them himself.”
Peter beamed at him, pleased with herself for figuring out a way to make her life so much more tolerable. She considered seeing if she could volunteer Jukes for the dishes, she was still furious with him and thought it would be a nice start on her revenge, but she decided not to press her luck. Too much at once and Hook might figure out her game before she’d gotten good at playing it. Instead, she thanked him for being so kind, trying not to giggle in delight. She even managed to half-pay attention while he droned on about some boring play he’d seen once in some city she’d never heard of.
Hook thought the rest of the meal was delightful. Peter continued to astonish him with her civility and her honest attempts to behave according to the rules of etiquette. She’d almost managed to act interested in his boring conversation, and Hook noted with approval that it wouldn’t take much more practice before she could convincingly act like she was listening to the driest stories he could manage. Appearing engaged in dinner conversation, regardless of how boring it was, was a skill a proper lady learned to master and Pan had picked up on it instinctively. Hook was very impressed and feeling quite optimistic about her future with him.
Eventually the meal was done and Peter took her leave, following Smee to her cabin so the old man could help her out of her dress. Both man and girl were satisfied with how the evening went, and both felt they’d scored major points in their new game.
While the bosun loosened her lacings, Peter thought back on the evening, her sharp mind comparing her actions with Hook’s responses, trying to understand how they correlated. She liked getting her way and one of the many things that had depressed her lately had been how little control she had over her own life. Now she began to see how she could turn her situation around, to make the best of what she had. As she’d proven numerous times before, she was nothing if not adaptable, and she was finally seeing how she could best adapt to life on Hook’s ship. You’ve got a soft spot, James Hook, and I think I’ve found it.
She slipped out of the dress when Smee left and quickly put on the old shirt of Hook’s she’d been using as a nightgown since she’d been disowned. She didn’t know why she still wore it, but she found it comforting now instead of distasteful and preferred it to even her shift. Crawling into bed, she soon fell asleep, her belly full and her emotions calm… her life was more peaceful and secure than it had been in weeks and she was quick to take advantage of it.
Hook sat at the table long after Starkey had cleared it, nursing his glass of wine as he thought back on the evening. He was pleased with the girl. She hadn’t even been his for three weeks and already she’d changed from the abhorrent brat he still dreamed of gutting into a pleasant damsel that he was becoming rather fond of. He missed the boy Peter Pan, he couldn’t deny that, but he enjoyed the girl Pan too much to regret the other’s demise.
“You are mine, Kitten,” he purred, watching the moonlight reflect in his wine. “In body and mind, now, you are mine.” He downed the last of his drink and went to his bed. He slept fitfully at first, feeling an odd apprehension for the girl that manifested as brief nightmares. He dreamed of her crying inconsolably while everyone around her appeared happy and oblivious to her pain. He saw her fall into the sea, and she floated awhile, like Ophelia, singing her sorrows to the heavens until at last her clothes became saturated and dragged her, unresisting, to the depths to drown.
He awoke from those dreams with a racing pulse and cold sweat on his brow. To alleviate his fears, he went out on deck, but felt his fears only heighten when Peter strangely wasn’t there. Uneasy at his own concern, he nevertheless made his way to her cabin and quietly peeked in on her. When he saw her sleeping peacefully, a small smile on her lips, he felt his apprehension leave him and he returned to his own bed, smiling derisively at his own foolishness. But he slept soundly after that, dreaming more pleasant dreams of her, dreams in which she laughed with him and smiled as she whispered her true name in his ear.