by J. M. Page
By all accounts, it sounded like it had taken a lot for Peter to realize that he had a problem, but once he had, he'd taken the steps to fix the wrongs he'd committed. He tried to fix things. Tink seemed to think he hadn't touched the dust since the boys went missing and Wendy was inclined to agree. Not that she knew what it would look like, but she assumed she'd notice if he was suddenly a zombie without feeling. And that wasn't the Peter she knew at all. The Peter she knew... he definitely felt things. And she thought he probably regretted the way he'd handled everything, but regret wasn't enough on its own. It took action. Real steps in the right direction, not just promises and 'sorry's.
"It was our guys — the boys — performing for Hook. They'd never do that," Tink said, a dark certainty taking over.
"How can you be so sure? It sounds like things here weren't going great. Maybe they just needed to get away... from... everything."
Tink pursed her lips and looked at Wendy like she'd just suggested they all go dance in a dust storm. She eyed her up and down, looking like she was trying to decide if it was worth explaining to Wendy or not. Finally, she said, "Hook and I have a history."
Wendy's arms dropped from around her knees and she straightened her legs out in front of her, her muscles stiff and sore from sitting on the unforgiving floor in the same position for so long. She turned toward Tink, invested in this story now, wondering what the history was. She crossed her legs, sitting like a child ready for story time. "What kind of history?" she asked. Maybe they'd dated. Was Hook just a jealous ex-boyfriend?
Tink ground the remains of her cigarette into the floor and rolled her eyes, shrugging nonchalantly. Like this whole thing with Hook was really no big deal. Wendy's suspicions only grew.
"I used to be his star performer. Before I met Peter. I uh..." Tink paused. For the first time ever, she looked sheepish, almost ashamed of what she was going to say. Wendy didn't think she had any shame at all. "Well, I walked out on my contract with Hook and he's been trying to get back at Peter ever since."
Okay, so not a jilted ex-lover. Wendy shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to focus on the swirling thoughts that kept escaping from her brain. "Wait... I'm not sure I fully understand this. So, Peter took Hook's performer and then in retaliation, Hook took his? But they went willingly, right? Or no? I mean, why wouldn't they just come back if Peter cleaned up his act? Unless they were really fed up with him..."
Tink sat up a little straighter now, too. More engaged in the conversation now that Wendy was asking questions they didn't have answers to. "That's the thing, though, isn't it? They would... Or, I like to think they would. And I don't think they'd have gone willingly. We spent a lot of time making fun of Hook and dreaming up ways to ruin his day. There's no shortage of other shows to go to. Or, there wasn't. I guess if the mermaids are struggling, everyone probably is," she said, looking thoughtful. But then she dismissed that thought too and barreled onwards.
"But that's the thing," Tink said, sounding more and more like a conspiracy theorist onto a hot new theory. "Lots of people have lost performers to Hook in the last few months and none of them have come back. None of them have talked to their old friends. Nothing. It's like they stopped existing except when they're on stage."
The crazy thing about Tinker Bell's conspiracy theory was that Wendy was following it and connecting the dots all on her own. "Like they stopped being people," she muttered, remembering the things she'd thought about the dust. "Do you think Hook could be controlling them somehow? Or blackmailing them?"
Tink shrugged, falling back against the wall, pulling out another cigarette and making Wendy sneeze. "That's the question, isn't it? Like, what's happening in there? Where are all these people going? Why aren't they coming out? It's a big mystery."
"And we're going to find the answer."
Wendy and Tink both looked up at the same time to see the twins standing off to the side, a unified front, their faces grim and determined.
"You're going to what?" Wendy said, standing up as quickly as she could. Tink was more leisurely about it, but she stood too, looking at the twins dubiously.
"You have no idea what you're getting yourselves into," Tink said, looking from John then to Michael, not finding a hint of doubt in either of them.
"That's why you're going to prepare us," John said.
Then Michael added, "We screwed up the show and we want to get your real performers back."
Tink looked at them, considering, nodding, a slow smile spreading her lips.
Wendy's jaw dropped, her eyes going wide. She'd never expected her and Tink to be allies, but she'd thought after that little discussion they'd had that she could expect some kind of camaraderie or something. "You're not seriously entertaining this crazy idea, are you?" Wendy sputtered, a million ways this could all go wrong tearing through her brain in one dizzying tsunami.
They could be hurt! They could go missing! There were so many unknowns about the Jolly Roger and they wanted to just waltz right in?
They all looked to Tink for an answer, the boys with unwavering resolve, and Wendy, trying desperately to convey her silent plea. Tink couldn't agree with them. They'd never give up if she gave them just an inch. If Tink said she thought they could do it, they would never stop trying. Please don't, Wendy prayed.
Then, Tinker Bell smiled. "If you haven't heard, I'm quite the entertainer."
Chapter Twenty
Peter
He could only stay in the ticket booth wallowing in his own misery for so long before he got fed up with himself and forced himself to go back to his office for work. The office just reminded him of Wendy, though. Every time he looked for something, or touched something, he was forced to think of her. Nothing was where he was used to it being and she'd touched everything of his. Leaving her mark, her scent.
His heart squeezed painfully with the knowledge that Wendy was probably out of his life forever.
He wanted to make things right with everyone, but he didn't know how. And honestly, Peter didn't think anyone was going to be able to forgive him. How could they after the things he did? How could they ever look at him the same?
At the time, he didn't feel like he'd had any choice, but after the way Wendy looked at him, that hurt and betrayal shimmering in the endless pools of her eyes, Peter was sure that nothing could have been worse. No outcome could hurt him the way Wendy's disappointment had. No amount of booing from the crowd or beatings from Tormac. He almost thought that the beating would have been an improvement. At least he'd know what to do with cuts and bruises. He knew how to handle that kind of pain. This feeling, this raw aching despair — it was new to Peter and he didn't know how to deal with it at all.
A soft knock on his door made Peter look up from the pristine surface of his desk, his heart in his throat. For a split second, he was tempted to tell whoever it was to go away, but he couldn't do that. If there was someone in this place actually willing to talk to him, he couldn't turn them away. They may be the last ally he had left. He couldn't have many friends left in this theater after the stunt he pulled tonight, and Peter knew the dangers of isolating himself.
No, if he wanted to save himself and keep his head on straight, he needed to have someone in his corner. Anyone. Though he figured it was Tink — she was the only one that was used to dealing with this kind of thing from him, but even he was surprised that she'd given up her anger this quickly.
"Come in."
The door creaked as it swung open and Peter's heart stopped when he saw that it was Wendy, not Tink.
The brief thrill of seeing her was immediately quenched by the realization for why she must be there. The only reason he could see was that she was coming to tell him she was leaving. The look on her face just confirmed it and Peter's heart dropped through the floor.
She was here to tell him she wanted nothing to do with him. That she's disappointed with him and ashamed of him and sorry that she ever spent even a single day in his presence.
In that moment, when Peter realized he was going to lose everything, his brain — evil thing that it was — brought up the memory of Wendy wrapped in his arms. The wonderful feeling of her pressed against him, her soft hair tickling him in the breeze. How he'd felt so complete for the first time in as long as he could remember. How he'd dreamed that maybe they'd be able to create a life together.
But now all that was ruined. Peter felt sick knowing that he'd never have that again. His stomach twisted and acid burned at the back of his throat. He'd never have a chance to revisit the magic of that night at Kensington. Not now.
"Hi," she said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She hesitated there like she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to be in his office or not. He almost wished she wasn't if she was only going to tell him she was leaving to go back to Earth. He wished he had a little longer to hope that there was a way to make this right. But he couldn't delay the inevitable forever.
"Can we talk?"
Peter nodded without a sound. He was afraid that anything he said would only make the situation worse and anger her more.
She stepped forward, wringing her hands, and stood behind the chair that faced his desk. She ran her fingertips along the seam of the upholstery on the back of the chair, just hovering and examining the stitching.
After a moment of neither of them saying anything, she stepped around the chair and took a seat, folding her hands in her lap, not looking up at him. Peter wanted to go to her, to beg her to forgive him and promise that he'd do anything he could to make this right with her, but he sat in stony silence, letting Wendy gather her thoughts to leave him.
She stood again, this time, pacing in front of his desk with her arms crossed in front of her.
"What's going on?" he finally asked, sensing that this wasn't about him after all. Sure, he still assumed she would be leaving, but there was something else bothering her. He could see it in her anxious steps.
As if Peter's question had shaken her out of her internal debate, Wendy went back to the chair and sank into the cushions with a labored sigh. "The boys want to infiltrate the Jolly Roger."
Peter arched a brow, leaning forward across his desk. That was not what he'd expected to hear. "They do? Why?"
Wendy's brow furrowed and she shook her head. "Does it matter? It's too dangerous. No one knows what's going on in there. We can't just send them in there without a way to pull them back out."
Peter hardly heard anything she said after the word 'we,' his heart stuttering, then roaring back to life, beating against his rib cage furiously. He didn't dare think that she would forgive him — dream, maybe, but he couldn't actually expect it — but that one little word, two unassuming letters, gave him all the hope he could ask for.
"It does matter," he managed to say, despite having a hundred other things he wanted to say. Like 'I'm sorry,' for starters. Or, 'don't hate me,' also came to mind. And, most revealing of all, 'I need you.' He didn't say any of that, though. He couldn't. She'd only think he was manipulating her. And he would be. So he didn't.
Wendy looked up from her hands, twisted together in her lap, and met his eyes. Peter had to swallow his sharp breath, clenching his jaw. Her hurt and anger was still so raw, shining back at him from those jade eyes. She didn't try to hide it. She didn't try to spare his feelings by putting on a brave face. Instead, she forced him to confront the results of his actions head-on and it wasn't a pleasant feeling.
She wouldn't have come to him about anything else. Not like this. But this was her brothers. The boys. The only people she had left that hadn't hurt her terribly or left her all alone. She couldn't let them go without a fight and he understood that.
"Tink told me. About the others that were in the show before we got here. About the dust..."
Peter felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. His veins froze and his hands broke out into a cold sweat just knowing that Wendy knew all the details of his sordid past.
"I'm sorry you had to find out from her," he said, managing to leave it at that. What else could he say? 'I'm sorry I was a complete screw-up and didn't realize it until far too late'? Yeah, that was sure to go over well. There was nothing else he could say. He couldn't defend his actions or make any excuses for them. He was weak, and his weakness had endangered the people he cared about most. Even he hated himself. He didn't blame anyone else for feeling the same.
Wendy shook her head, her reddish-gold hair sweeping over her shoulders with the movement. Peter thought he caught the faintest hint of her floral scent, but it could just be his evil brain playing more tricks on him. Regardless of whether it was real or not, the scent was like a punch to the gut, reminding him of what he couldn't have. What he'd never have again.
"No, it's probably better that I did. She didn't sugarcoat anything," Wendy said.
"I see," Peter answered, clasping his hands together, squeezing his fingers so tight they turned white with the pressure. He waited for her to lay into him. To really give him a piece of her mind. But the lecture didn't come.
She tilted her head to the side, her eyes wide and blinking, like she was trying to figure him out still. But that was probably just wishful thinking. "Is it true you haven't—"
"Not in almost a year," he rushed to say.
Wendy nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. "But you had some," she said, a matter of fact, not a question.
He was ashamed of himself, but Peter nodded anyway. There was no use in denying it. Everyone knew the truth. "I did," he said, bowing his head to the desk, thrusting his fingers through his hair. He hated being so far away from her. With the emotional distance Wendy was putting between them, the other side of the desk might as well be another planet. He exhaled heavily, leaning his elbows on the desktop. "It was a crutch. After everything, I swore I wasn't going to touch it, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. And then you three showed up... I'd actually forgotten about it until you organized the office. Seeing it brought up a lot of stuff... But that's not an excuse," he said, his voice firm, reprimanding himself.
For all that everyone was angry at him, there'd been no shouting or lecturing or any blow-out that would satisfactorily damage him the way he felt he deserved. Both Tink and Wendy had been calm and detached which seemed miles worse than frothing and angry.
He swallowed, remorse pricking at the corners of his eyes. He stood up, not able to contain his anger with himself as he paced behind his desk. "I should've gotten rid of it the moment I found it," he said, again, berating himself more than he was trying to placate her. He should have known better than to think he could handle all of this. If his track record was anything to go off of, juggling real-life problems was not his forte. Juggling just about anything else, sure. But not problems.
Wendy considered him for a long time, her eyes searching his face, probably looking for any sign of dishonesty. Trying to decide if he was saying the right things because he meant them or because he wanted to win her back. He wished there was a way to tell her how much he meant what he said, but he knew that no matter what he said, or how many times he said it, there would always be that kernel of doubt in Wendy's mind. There was no going back to the way things were before.
"It's a good thing you didn't," she said. "It sounds like you're the only thing that saved the boys from an angry mob. They told me how scary it was to be up there with everyone throwing things and shouting at them."
Peter was already working on his next self-chastisement, opening his mouth to scold himself some more. But then Wendy's words filtered through his brain and settled in, making him realize she was siding with him? He snapped his jaw shut, knowing that anything he said would only mess this up. It was his turn, to search her face, hope swelling within him again. He knew he shouldn't hold onto this hope, but how could he stop himself? He was in love with her and you didn't just give up on that kind of connection.
His heart faltered at the thought. In love? Wasn't that a bit premature? Hasty?
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"Thank you for that, by the way," Wendy said, her voice gentler.
Peter ached with the need to touch her satiny skin, to hold her cheek in his palm and look her in the eye to reassure and comfort her. But he didn't think any of that would be welcome. Instead, he crossed to the front of the desk and leaned against it, getting as close to her as he dared to. "I promised you I'd look out for them and I meant it," he said, his voice low and quiet. Resolute.
He watched the delicate muscles in her throat move as she swallowed, then broke eye contact with him, sighing and dropping her head to her hands. Watching her struggle like this made Peter feel like he was being flayed open, the guilt tearing through him, the need to comfort her overwhelming. But knowing she would brush him off — or worse, just walk out at his touch — stung like acid in his veins.
She was the one person he'd ever cared about enough to want to comfort and console and now he'd messed it up so badly that he wasn't welcome.
"I just..." Wendy said, her voice sounding strained and on the verge of breaking. "I don't know what to make of all this. I thought you were one person and it turns out there's this whole other side to you I didn't know. But I want to believe you've changed. I want to believe that it's all in your past... I just don't know how."
Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat, realizing for the first time that maybe the situation wasn't completely hopeless. Maybe, he still had some chance at salvaging this. Maybe she could forgive him. He didn't think he deserved it. Didn't think he could be so lucky. But he still had hope and that was something Peter hadn't had in a very long time.
"I know," he said simply. He knew better than to try to convince her. There was no point in it and that would only make him look guiltier. If Wendy was going to forgive him, she'd have to come to that conclusion on her own.
"I know what I did was wrong, even if it was for the right reason. And I know that my past doesn't exactly paint my motivations in a positive light. I don't blame anyone for being angry at me. I'm angry at me." He started to reach for her hand, but at the last second pulled back, not sure what to do. "But I am still the person you thought I was. And I'm always trying to be better, Wendy. I promise you that."