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They did look terribly, awfully happy.
Peter tries to erase the smiles off their faces, as the memories play like a picture show in his mind. At first, he does. Then, when he fails, which has never suited Peter, he begins to embrace the happiness they felt as his own. His own to make, if nothing else.
Parents. Parents had caused them such joy in his absence. He had lost them to parents.
After all, it wasn't Peter's fault, but Wendy's. She had been one of the parents to the Lost Boys, and seeing their mother leave had ripped them from their father's arms, in kind. Not that he was particularly fond of the stink they filled their home with, nor the incessant whining of boredom in-between story-telling, and pirate-meddling.
Returning to the Hollow, just him and Tink had been less - fun, though.
He knew there would come more Lost Boys, for they were never in short supply. Neverland was far too alluring for that. And there wasn't a soul, he was certain, who didn't admire the boy called Peter Pan. They would seek him; they would find him. He would have to take care of them. And to keep them? He would have to give them parents. On Neverland.
Peter thinks of marrying the first boy who comes to Neverland, but it causes him to wrinkle his nose and sigh, a hand going to cradle his chin where he slumps over on his bed. For one, he does not know the age the boy would be, and could not very well have a three-year-old husband father his eight-year-old children. It would leave him with all of the work. Plus, it would be best if the children, the Lost Boys, were introduced to their parents first thing, when they arrived.
Then, he thinks of Tinkerbell. She would marry him if asked. Yet again, she was tiny, and even more of a loose cannon than Peter was. She, too, would leave him with his hands full, giving Peter no time to sit upon his throne and have fun.
No, it would have to be someone larger. Someone who had known responsibility (the disgusting thing) before. Someone who could make certain Peter had to experience as little of it as possible, without losing him his Boys.
Tinkerbell who, now often bored herself, is trying to ask Peter to fly off with her, stands atop his bed side table. With a kick to the empty tin of a kettle, she calls his attention. There, on her head, sits a leaf in the shape of a pirate's hat. She has one finger stretched horizontally below her nose, above her lips, and the other hands' finger is curved, protruding from the rest of her little fist. She begins marching around, yelling out incoherent orders.
At first, this disturbs Peter. He was in the middle of something. So he just stares at her blankly, until the image she has created, fully enters his mind. His eyes light up, sparkling with menace - an idea has been formed, and Peter's ideas, because they are his, always take flight, regardless of their merit.
Standing up, fists going to his hips, Peter exclaims, "Oh the cleverness of me! Prepare the halls for ceremony!"
Tink's entire being, small as it is, deflates into an even smaller marble-shaped thing as she lets go the idea of doing anything fun. What ceremony? And that being said, what ceremony has ever benefited her in any way?
Still, when Peter returns, she will at least have plucked a lily to sit at his bedside, and perhaps she will light a candle for him. She expects he'll be home late, wherever he is off to. Perhaps someday, maybe when the Boys return, he will remember that he used to take her with him on his adventures...
"Captain?" Smee is knocking at the wooden door of Hook's cabin, but there is no response. This is not particularly unusual, as the Captain tends to be moody and decides to keep quiet on occasion just to cause Smee grief. Smee, on the other hand, is grateful to matter so much to the Captain, and is therefore often soft-spoken and patient, even when he ought to be frustrated. It really is quite important in this moment, however, so Smee's voice rises and he knocks all the harder, knuckles busting against the rough surface. "Captain! It's Peter Pan! Some of the men say they saw him flying about, sir!" A moment later, Smee is asking, worriedly, "Captain?" because nothing else, truly, makes the Captain rise faster from his chair, than that nuisance of a boy...
"Smee!" Noodler is standing awkwardly behind him, when Smee turns, breathing harshly, eyes filled to the brim with tears. "He's carryin' off the Captain, Smee! Whatta we do?" The words enter Smee's ears, high-pitched and distorted. Finally, they come together and Smee, belly rolling out before him, fatter than his breath previously allowed him, sinks his back against the door.
"Well," Smee sighs to himself. Then, he folds his hands over the middle of his stomach, and ticks his head from side to side. Then, a wily grin spreads across his face. "Best ye start callin' me Captain Smee, in'it, then?"
Noodler's eyes widen even further, and then he nods his head, swallowing back his saliva, down a desert dry throat, and grunts, "I'll let the others know - Cap'n."
"Very good. And get the tools. I want this door open by supper."
"Pan! I demand you let me go this instant!"
Peter fake-gasps, his hands tightening their grip at Hook's shoulders. "Over the ocean? Where there are - crocodiles?" He's glad he thought to secure his hold on Hook, because Hook flinches so hard at the word, Peter nearly lets go. "I would never do such a thing." Peter's voice fades out purposefully, and he waits until Hook's turned to look at him, two deeply crooked eyebrows, and a studying gaze, to add giddily, "To my husband."
This time, when Hook sputters and shakes within Peter's already loosened grasp, he accidentally does lose his hold. At least, of everything but Hook's red, velvet coat. His mouth falls open as he sees an ever-darkening Hook give way to the night, rushing toward the glittering, cold waters below.
Then, he shakes his head, and huffs, lunging downward at his fastest speeds in order to catch Hook in his arms, this time with one arm around his back, the other beneath Hook's bent knees. He still has the coat caught between his grubby little fingers, too, not wanting to disappoint Hook too much in one night. The cocky smile that replaces his put-upon expression, when Hook's arms immediately go around his neck, face pressed to his naked collar bone, is one for the record book.
"I really have to teach you to be more careful when I'm flying you," Peter says, mocking.
"Or," Hook says, biting each word out, even as he attempts to become one with Peter's lithe little body, "You could teach me how to fly."
Peter barks out a laugh, curling his fingers tighter into Hook's body, well humored. "If I were to do that, I wouldn't have a husband, now would I?"
Hook nearly flushes at the leer of a look Peter gives him then, and instead, harrumphs himself back into Pan's otherwise quite comfortably warm chest, until they arrive safely back upon the ground.
Of course, Hook shouldn't have thought Peter would be stupid enough to just set him on the ground outside his lair. Holding him, keeping Hook captive well above the ground, bodies pressed awkwardly together, front to front, Peter lets loose with one hand, and whistles obnoxiously. That annoying little fairy appears, sparkling wings fluttering as she darts frantically around them, asking Peter what he thinks he's doing, and so on. For a moment, actually, Hook begins to enjoy himself, hearing Peter get admonished so out-right, a cat-got-the-cream smirk replacing his frown.
"I told you there was to be a ceremony, Tink - What do you mean it can't be this kind? - Well, we're going to do it anyway, and you're going to be the official!"
"Now, now, now, Peter, a fairy isn't ordained..." Hook chuckles. The cogs churn within Hook's brain, loudly, propelling him into motion. "However, I know for a fact that my man, Smee, is capable of performing our little - uh - ceremony, and so if we just go back to the ship -"
"If I say Tink is ordained, then she's ordained, simple as that!"
Hook immediately begins to grumble under his breathe at this. "You never care about anything, do you...?" He sighs long-suffering, folding his arms over his chest in defiance, perhaps resignation, now that Pan is no longer carrying him over water, or even really moving, at all.
"Besides, if you think I'm going to let that sorry lot of a crew stand in at my wedding, then you really are mad. It's a special day for us, Hook, and we'll only have the most important people here for us!"
"You, me, and the fairy?" Hook grunts, disgusted. "How wonderful for us, that we are so beloved..."
Peter almost frowns at the sarcasm there, but chooses to ignore the sting in his chest, and his eyes, and smiles brightly instead, at Hook's apparent acquiescence. "Tink, let's go get the bindings."
"Bindings!" Hook bellows, sitting more upright in Peter's hold.
"You didn't think I was just going to let you walk into my lair, did you? Silly Hook..."
Within moments, Peter is being presented thick vines Tinkerbell, and some other fairies, had pulled from the trees, helping to bodily wrap Hook within them, until his hands are no longer of use, and his legs too tied together to be fully capable of walking. Then, Peter flies him down, gently, toward the opening of the hollow tree which makes his home, and sends Hook, screaming down the chute, while he bites back a smile, and then swings down the slide, after him.
The lily flower, much to Tink's chagrin, is placed within Hook's tightly bound fists as his bouquet, Peter having ripped off a leaf to tuck into his makeshift clothing. After a stern talking to, she heaves a sigh, and flits before them where Peter's sat Hook, kneeling on the ground, Peter beside him, to make them man and husband. Not once, but twice, Peter can be heard, through his teeth saying a threatening, "Tink." Her high-pitched noises reluctantly correcting whatever nasty thing she'd originally said.
Peter says, "I do."
Hook says, "I don't." Of course, he does this through his very own kerchief and Peter nods, smiling widely, as if he said the exact opposite.
Refusing to do something as grown up as kiss, Peter clumsily folds his hand around one of Hook's fists, and squeezes. With that, their marriage is official, and Peter, once again, must decide what to do. For he certainly can't have fun for long, with his husband all tied up and useless. How will he take care of the children? Peter simply must find a way to sway him...
"James," he says to Hook, "may I call you James?" Hook's eyes widen in horror, and he talks through the cloth in his mouth, over Peter as he nods his head, saying, "Great! I'll be out for a while. You stay here." He winks, because Hook doesn't have a choice, and then flings himself around, and flies out of their home in search of just a little more magic.
Where Hook has Malice, surely somewhere must be... Love. Or better yet, Peter thinks, nose screwed up from the thought of romance, Devotion.