My Darling Girl *Disney fanfic*

27. The Flying Eagle

The crew of the Walter were in high spirits. Their haul from Lokelani island had been vast and the deck was busy now with the pirates sorting out crates of silver and gold. Captain Bourne found Wendy up in the crow's nest, her expression stoic.

"Am I going to have trouble with you?" He asked her sternly. Wendy shook her head. Below them, the crew laughed and joked with one another, hysterical as hyenas.

"You know I'm older than I look," she reminded him. "I know how the world works. Sometimes, it's better just... not to get involved." She turned to face him properly. "I'm going to pretend I didn't see any of this. As a favour to your grandmother and... because I can't stop you anyway."

Bourne considered this.

"That seems the best course of action. We'll set you and your friend down at the next available port. As promised."

"Thank you, Captain." The air remained tense between them. They lingered for a while, Bourne sucking on his pipe.

"My grandmother thought the world of you." He commented after a lengthy silence. Wendy grimaced.

"She was... a remarkable woman."

Wendy turned away from him and slowly descended the ladder. She didn't want to talk about Tallulah Bourne. Not with what had to happen next. Wendy sidestepped past the crew and ducked down into the hold, making her way to Hook. Radburn cast her a suspicious sideways glance as she passed him. He nudged him companion and muttered something that Wendy couldn't hear. A shiver danced down her spine. 

"What's going on?" Hook asked when she pulled back the sheets, entering their makeshift sanctuary. He read her face and his thick brow furrowed.

"You need to be ready," she murmured, only loud enough for him to hear. She knew the Walter's secret – she knew about the enchanted wheel – and Wendy had seen what money and power could do to a person. Bourne may not realise it now, but he was going to worry about letting them dock. He'd fear them telling his secret, to the Crocodile or the Shrouded – neither group would likely show him mercy. "I don't think they're going to let us off this ship." Not alive at least. 

Hook raised his hand and his metal hook glinted beneath the flickering candlelight.

"What's the plan?"

Brays of laughter from above made them both flinch. Wendy compressed her lips.

"It relies heavily on alcohol."

"All the best ones do."

             They were out on the open sea with no land in sight on the horizon. Night descended and, elated from their success and satisfied with their escape, the crew celebrated. They dragged drums out across the deck and started up a fast percussion. Cups of rum were dolled out, sloshing over the rims and staining the boards. Radburn lurched across the open space, the little guy struggling to hold his liquor. He spotted Wendy, handing out drinks, and put an arm around her shoulders.

"What made the red man red?" He sang loudly and to the tune of a well-known sea shanty. "What made the red man red?"

Wendy shivered – the mental image of Tootles and his peeled head making her skin crawl. Radburn jabbed at her belly, sniggering. "He kissed a maid and start to blush. And he's been blushin' since."